Bright Young Dead

by Jessica Fellowes

  The last time Louisa had seen Pamela this happy was when she was appraising the gloss on a chocolate eclair shortly before eating it.

  ‘May I use the bathroom?’ asked Louisa. She didn’t really need it but she felt Pamela needed this moment on her own with the seamstress, to be a grown-up and make her own decision about her dress.

  ‘Down the hall on the left,’ said Mrs Brewster busy with the velvet, pins already between her lips.

  Louisa took her time, lingering over her reflection in the mirror as she admired her new haircut, trying it out at different angles and even using a hand mirror she found by the sink to look closely at the shingled cut and the sharp ‘v’ that it formed on the back of her neck. She was practically middle-aged according to Diana, but she thought that perhaps she didn’t look it. Would she ask Mrs Brewster for a new frock? It probably wasn’t the done thing for a girl and her maid to share the same dressmaker. Eventually, she went out but was stopped in her tracks when she saw the door opposite was slightly open and a young boy, perhaps three years old, was standing there shyly watching her. Louisa bent down.

  ‘Hello,’ she said warmly. ‘What’s your name?’

  The boy said nothing but continued to look at her with enormous blue eyes. His dark hair had been closely cut, no babyish curls left, but he had dimples where his knuckles would be in a few years, and eyelashes that were as thick as curtains. He wore a pair of sky-blue shorts that matched the colour of his eyes, but Louisa could see they had been patched more than once and his white shirt was butter-soft from constant rewashing.

  ‘I’m Louisa,’ she continued, but he suddenly withdrew and closed the door.

  Mrs Brewster was noting down the last of Pamela’s measurements when Louisa returned.

  ‘Who is that little boy?’ she enquired, wondering as she did if she should have asked, but curiosity had got the better of her.

  ‘The bambino is not mine,’ said the dressmaker. ‘I look after him for a little extra money, though I spend nearly all of it on his food. It is hard work for an old lady like me but since mio caro signore Brewster has passed to the other side, I must earn what I can…’ She trailed off and when she started speaking again it was to agree a price with Pamela for the dress, which would be finished and ready for collection in a week’s time. Louisa asked if there was a dress or bill to be collected for Miss Charlotte Curtis and Mrs Brewster was only too delighted to have been reminded; she pressed a note into Louisa’s hands. The task completed, the two of them were ushered out of the dressmaker’s door and back out into the street.

  Pamela took Louisa by the arm. ‘Come on, let’s get back to my aunt’s and get ready for tonight. I want to go back to the 43.’

  Louisa knew it was her place to refuse this, but how could she? She felt as giddy at the idea as her charge.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  This time, the three young women were prepared. Louisa had money in her pocket, Pamela had bought a new pair of silk stockings and Nancy had rung up Clara, to be sure she and the others would be there. Of course, Louisa had no new dress so made do with her Sunday best, which had the merit of contrasting white lace collar and cuffs, fortunately packed because Nanny Blor had once forewarned her always to take something smart when going up to London ‘just in case’. She did, of course, have her freshly bobbed hair, which made her feel as dashing as any young thing. Perhaps she’d catch Joe Katz’s eye tonight.

  The two sisters had supper with their aunt, who had returned, then bid them goodnight. As previously arranged, they both apparently went to bed but once in their room, changed into their frocks.

  ‘We lay down with just the bedspreads over us, hoping that Iris wouldn’t put her head round the door to say goodnight,’ Pamela had told Louisa breathlessly in the taxi later. ‘If she had, she might have noticed that Nancy had gone to bed with earrings!’ The daring had thrilled her.

  Louisa was waiting for them on the corner of Elvaston Place at the arranged hour, having sneaked out of the flat separately. It wasn’t too cold but there was something of the festive promise to come that made the night feel more wintry, and she pulled her hat further down over her ears. She could see one or two houses had put Christmas wreaths on their front doors, and the street lamps shone their brilliant white light. They greeted each other with nervous smiles without saying anything, as if their aunt might hear them from fifty yards away and two floors up. Quickly, they walked away, their eyes peeled for a taxi.

  Pulling up outside the 43, the tall man standing guard gave them a brief look of recognition, allowing them to slip past him and hand over their shillings to the woman behind the desk before making their way down the narrow stairs as if they were regulars. As before, the smoke and the music hit them first and Louisa breathed it in like the fresh air of a spring morning in the country. She was a city girl, after all. Perhaps it was petrol fumes and brick dust that powered her lungs.

  The room was even more crowded than it had been the night before, the wooden chairs and tables around the sides of the dance floor pushed even further from the edge. The band appeared to be in full swing and Louisa was pleased to spot Harry this time, on his trumpet, eyes squeezed shut in concentration, sweat pouring down the sides of his face. Joe Katz stood on the platform, both hands on his mic, his body swaying like a reed in the breeze, his voice mellifluous, his eyes watching the room. For a brief second, Louisa thought he locked on her, registering her new haircut, but she quickly told herself she must have imagined it. There were so many dancers on the floor this evening there was hardly space to move, let alone shimmy or foxtrot. Almost as a single body they rippled to the music, Joe Katz’s voice a stone that he threw in their water.

  And then, Louisa saw her. Alice Diamond. In the middle of the crowd, she might not have been easily spotted but she was the tallest woman there. Nevertheless, she danced well and Louisa could see that she was light on her feet in spite of her height. Her hair was fashionably done, her face made up with rouge and false eyelashes and though she was still irredeemably plain the look of pure bliss that smoothed her features gave her a look that showed her somehow more at ease in her own skin than before. Louisa noticed that there were three women, stylish too, close by her, neither quite dancing nor standing still, as if keeping lookout. Could it really be her? But if it was, how was it that nobody else seemed to register this astonishing fact?

  Then Louisa almost laughed out loud at her own idiocy. It was, of course, for that reason precisely that Alice Diamond came to the 43: because she would be left completely alone, just as everybody else was. The dark walls, the dim lights, the beat of the dancing bodies to the intoxicating music: it levelled all comers, wherever they came from.

  Nancy and Pamela had started to move through the crowd, weaving in and out of the moving parts as waiters held trays aloft and people went to and from the dance floor. Louisa counted them all as if on a school trip. Sebastian, Charlotte, Clara, Phoebe and Ted were in the same spot as the previous night. Clara greeted Nancy and Pamela warmly before taking in Louisa’s haircut and giving her a thumbs up. Louisa couldn’t help it – it was pleasing to be noticed.

  Pamela was about to walk off when she stopped. ‘Have you got that bill from the dressmaker? I can give it to Charlotte now.’ Louisa fished it out of her pocket and handed it over, and watched Pamela walk across to Charlotte, who was sitting at a table rather glumly, her made-up eyes fixed on Sebastian. He looked glassy-eyed, with one arm around a woman who was heavily made-up and wearing a dress that dipped dangerously low at the front. She was trying to attract the attention of a waiter though Louisa could see the table in front of them was already laden with drinks, a jug of coffee and a box of chocolates, opened but with none eaten. Louisa was about to turn away when her eyeline snagged on the woman suddenly jerking away from Sebastian before delivering a sharp slap to his cheek and walking off. There was a stillness in the people immediately nearby but Sebastian merely shrugged a shoulder and, with a slight swaying motion, pulled out a
chair and sank into it. Charlotte went and sat next to him; she looked as if she might be trying to show him the bill Pamela had given her but Sebastian waved his hand, batting her away. At the same time, Louisa saw his other hand in his pocket, checking something was there.

  Louisa was conscious of staring so turned back to Alice in the centre of the room, but her head was dipped, talking to someone, and Louisa couldn’t be sure now that it was her. Louisa felt a tap on her shoulder and was surprised to see Phoebe there. She was sweating slightly, tendrils of her hair stuck to her forehead, and held open a palm, giving Louisa a knowing look. In her hand was a small silver tin, the lid hinged open with what looked like white talcum powder heaped inside.

  ‘Want some?’ she slurred. ‘Bit of the real stuff. Seb gave it to me.’

  Louisa couldn’t help it; she was rather shocked. ‘No, thank you.’ She knew she sounded prim but hopefully Phoebe was too drunk to notice.

  Phoebe closed the box and started swaying to the music, her eyes half-closed and glassy. ‘I used to be one of the Merry Maids here, you know.’

  ‘Oh, did you?’ Louisa was doing her best to appear politely interested.

  ‘Yeah, that’s why I thought … you and me, we’re almost the same.’ She gave a hollow laugh and gestured at the crowd. ‘They call me their friend but they’re not, they never forget where I’ve come from. They just use me for my good looks.’ She leant nearer, giving Louisa a wink and Louisa was quite afraid she might fall over. ‘That’s why I wasn’t asked to the theatre.’

  ‘I see.’ Louisa was trying to sound as non-committal as possible because a conversation with a drunk never felt as if it was going to end well. But then Louisa worried that she might seem unfriendly, and perhaps Phoebe felt as she did. Despite wearing the right clothes, her good looks and even the invitations to be with Nancy and her set, she could never be truly ‘one of them’.

  ‘It’s good to see your ankle is better.’

  Phoebe laughed at this, guffawing into the back of her hand. ‘That wasn’t even true.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I mean, I tripped on the dog but my ankle was fine. I just wanted to be alone with Sebastian. But that stupid cow can’t ever leave him be.’ She grimaced and looked over to where Charlotte was talking to Sebastian, though he still looked indifferent. ‘Think I’ll go over there now, actually.’

  Phoebe had lied about her sprained ankle?

  Abruptly, the music stopped and Phoebe went scuttling off, leaving Louisa feeling exposed in the absence of sound as everyone rushed to their tables or up the stairs to the bar. She couldn’t go and sit with Pamela and Nancy but she did not want to let them out of her sight either. They were in this together but she didn’t trust Nancy not to give her the slip.

  Instead, Louisa walked across to where the band was and this time it was she who tapped Harry on the shoulder. He was mopping his brow with a large handkerchief and when he saw her he laughed. ‘We have to stop meeting like this. What are you doing here again?’

  Louisa put her hands up, palms out, a mock-apology. ‘The girls wanted to come and I have to look after them.’

  He gave her a knowing look and then did a comical about turn. ‘I say,’ he said with a low whistle, ‘you’ve had your hair cut. It looks good, Miss Cannon. It really does.’

  Louisa was pleased and gave a half-shimmy. ‘Why thank you kindly, sir.’

  ‘You know, Guy might be here tonight,’ he said. ‘After you came, I dropped him a line, suggesting that he should and he said he’d come this weekend. I must say, I’ve been trying all this time to get him here, then I only need to drop your name…’

  ‘All right, Harry,’ said Louisa, ‘stop your teasing. But I would like to see him.’

  ‘Let’s go and find him. I’ve got ten minutes and, besides, if he is in here, I need to make sure he’s safe from the Merry Maids.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Officially they’re dancers employed by the club,’ said Harry. ‘Unofficially…’ He winked and Louisa got his meaning.

  ‘Fine but I can’t leave this room, I need to keep an eye on the girls,’ said Louisa. ‘If Guy is here, please tell him to come and find me.’

  ‘Gotcha,’ said Harry and nipped off, his nimble frame easily finding the gaps between the men and women.

  Louisa leaned against the wall, feeling safe in the shadows, content to watch the people as they smoked and drank. She was lost in her thoughts when she heard a gentle voice ask, ‘Hey, lady, got a light?’

  Nobody appeared to be there and then she realised the voice came from behind her, low down, from someone sitting down in even deeper shadows. White teeth flashed a handsome smile. Joe Katz.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, I don’t,’ she blustered. Damn. Why didn’t she keep matches in her purse?

  ‘Don’t give it another thought, doll. I probably shouldn’t anyway, the doc’s told me it’s no good for my voice.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Louisa, kicking herself for not coming up with some sort of funny quip like a proper flapper would.

  ‘Ain’t I seen you here before?’ Joe asked, still sitting down, holding his unlit cigarette.

  ‘Last night,’ she said, and dared herself to carry on talking. ‘I think your music is wonderful, Mr Katz.’

  ‘Call me Joe.’

  ‘Joe.’

  ‘That sounds sweet on you.’ He gave a low chuckle and stood up. ‘It’s been a pleasure, Miss…?’

  ‘Cannon. Louisa Cannon. I mean, call me Louisa.’ Damn, she couldn’t think straight.

  ‘Louisa.’ He seemed to roll her name like a body turning in the night. ‘Forgive me but I’d better get back to the music.’ She thought for a second he was going to kiss her but then he took her hand and kissed that instead, and his lips were soft and warm. Just as they might feel upon her own.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Seconds later, Louisa felt the atmosphere change, as if everyone had received a secret signal, and the room was packed again, everyone at the ready with either drink or dance partner in hand, waiting for the music to cue their next move.

  When Louisa looked up she jumped: Guy was standing only a few yards away, a look of bewilderment on his face. Taller than most of the people in the room, his round glasses glinted in the light that was thrown by the lamps on the tables and the glass beads of the women’s dresses and jewellery. She stepped out and went towards him and tried to dismiss thoughts of Joe Katz, as if Guy would be able to read upon her face the picture of his kiss.

  ‘Guy,’ she called, ‘it’s me, Louisa.’

  ‘You’ve cut your hair,’ he said, too stupefied to say hello.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, having to raise her voice over the insistent stretches of trumpet that looped around the tinny keys of the piano. A real conversation was pointless. ‘I’m with Miss Nancy and Miss Pamela.’ She jerked her head in their direction, though she wasn’t entirely sure they were still sitting there.

  ‘I see. I did wonder…’ He leaned in closer, his eyebrows wrinkled in concern. ‘I read in the newspaper about what happened. It must have been terrible. How is everyone?’

  Louisa started to reply but was interrupted by a pretty young woman coming up and thrusting a hand out to her. ‘Hello, I’m Mary Moon,’ she said, ‘I work with Guy.’

  ‘Hello,’ said Louisa, uncertain as to what this meant. She looked at Guy but his face gave no answer. Mary Moon – what a farcical name – was wearing a dress that was perhaps supposed to be fashionable but looked fussy to Louisa, with too many things going on, patterns and sequins and things.

  Mary clasped her hands in front of her and looked around the room, eyes wide. Guy beckoned Louisa a little closer and whispered in her ear. ‘Harry says there’s a rumour Alice Diamond is here tonight,’ he said.

  It was her, then.

  ‘Have you seen her?’ asked Louisa.

  He shook his head. ‘No, but we’re going to look. It’s a bit strange doing undercover work in this get-up but … nee
ds must.’ Louisa noticed now that he was holding a top hat.

  ‘I thought you came here because Harry asked you to come along.’ She felt mean for pointing this out when Guy had obviously wanted to impress her with his police work.

  ‘Yes, but now we’re here … Never off duty and all that.’ He looked uncomfortable.

  ‘Perhaps we should get something to drink?’ said Louisa.

  Guy agreed and asked a waiter for fruit cup for the three of them. When the waiter had gone, Mary said to Guy that if they were going to be undercover, he should have asked for gin or champagne like the regular customers. ‘But that would mean drinking illegally,’ he protested. ‘It’s after ten o’clock.’

  ‘You’re not on duty,’ Louisa pointed out.

  ‘Never off,’ he repeated but gave up arguing the point. The waiter returned with a tray, a glass jug of dark red liquid and three glasses, plus the bill. Guy squinted at it and gasped. ‘Two pounds?’ he said, ‘are you having me on?’

  The waiter shrugged. ‘I don’t set the price,’ he said, in what Louisa recognised as an Italian accent. Why was she coming across so many Italians all of a sudden?

  Guy dug into his pocket and paid, then took a sip from his glass and almost spluttered it out again. ‘It’s gin!’ he said, furious to see Mary and Louisa laughing.

  ‘That’s how they do it, then,’ said Mary, who mimicked the waiter’s exaggerated shrug and took a sip herself. It almost made Louisa like her.

  A heartbeat later, Guy straightened up and pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘Will you excuse me?’ he said, ‘I’m going to take a quick look-see.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ said both Louisa and Mary at the same time. Guy looked at them, his eyebrows crinkled together.

  ‘No, thank you,’ he said, ‘it’s something I need to check alone. Back in a minute.’