Bright Young Dead

by Jessica Fellowes

  ‘Ja?’ This must be German Albert, the notorious doorman of the 43.

  Guy was in full uniform, so it was unlikely that German Albert couldn’t guess at his business. He certainly wouldn’t be trying to get an early drink. ‘I’d like to see Miss Meyrick.’

  The door was slammed in his face and Guy stood there wondering what to do, when a minute later it was opened again and the hulking figure beckoned him to follow. They walked past the desk where the entry fees were collected, past the staircase which curved down to the dance floor in the basement and up to the cloakrooms on the first floor, and turned into what appeared to be a small sitting room, wallpapered with a busy flowery pattern and two sofas with cushions of all sizes scattered across them. There was a fireplace and a tiger-skin rug before it, which brought to Guy’s mind the ditty of the saucy novelist (‘would you like to sin/with Elinor Glyn/on a tiger skin/or would you prefer/to err with her/on some other fur?’). His brothers had been fond of chanting it until their mother caught them and gave them a clip on the backs of their heads. Sitting, thankfully, on a sofa and not lying on the rug, was a young woman with dark, skilfully waved hair and a smart woollen suit of olive green. She couldn’t have looked further from the Merry Maids of her mother’s nightclub, but rather more as if she had prepared for a board meeting. A ridiculous thought. No woman had ever been in a board meeting. Guy reminded himself sharply to focus on the matter in hand, and ignore the seduction of the fire and the heady scent from the vase of lilies set upon a nearby table.

  The woman stood and put out her hand. ‘Good afternoon, officer. How may I help you?’

  Guy felt wrong-footed. ‘Good afternoon. You are Miss Dorothy Meyrick?’

  ‘Yes but everyone calls me Dolly. Please, take a seat.’ She gestured to the sofa opposite. Guy sat down and immediately sank into the cushions. It was impossible to sit up straight unless he perched on the very edge, but pulling himself up to that position took an embarrassing struggle with his long arms and legs. It was like fighting with a cloud.

  Dolly laughed. ‘I’m so sorry. They’re rather more for comfort than practicality. Can I get you a drink? We have a very good single-malt whisky here.’

  ‘No thank you, ma’am.’ Guy recovered his equilibrium – he hoped – and pulled out his notebook and pencil.

  ‘Oh, officer,’ she purred, ‘please put that away. I’m sure that whatever we have to talk about can be sensibly discussed before you need to go writing anything down?’ She made it sound so unreasonable of him to disagree that he reluctantly put them back in his pocket.

  ‘I believe someone called Alice Diamond was here last night?’

  Dolly’s face looked blank. ‘Really, officer, you can’t expect me to remember all of my valued clients. There must have been almost a hundred people here.’

  ‘But you welcome them on the door, do you not? You see each one as they come in?’

  ‘You’re right, officer … Do you have a name? It would be so much more friendly.’

  ‘Sergeant Sullivan.’ Guy was doing his best not to be won over easily but the heat of the fire was getting to him.

  ‘Sergeant Sullivan, you are absolutely right. I should have been doing that last night but I was busy with one or two other things. I’m sure you can appreciate how it is for me, having to run this place without my mother. Some of the staff are not so used to taking orders from a girl like me and occasionally I need to take them to one side to make sure they are doing as I ask.’ She paused. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like a drop of whisky? Or a glass of wine?’

  ‘No thank you.’

  ‘Well, last night there was Susie collecting the members’ fees, you see. And unfortunately, she let in a rabble of boys who did cause a bit of a fuss. She won’t be on the door again.’

  ‘Do you know these boys?’ asked Guy, beginning to understand now how skilful some could be at avoiding answering a question they didn’t like.

  ‘They come sometimes, not often. Nothing we can’t handle,’ she said in tones of pure caramel. She turned her body sideways, as if to warm herself from the fire, and looked at him, her head tilted. ‘Sergeant Sullivan, we have protectors. Men like you, who are so kind as to look out for us in return for the merest favour. It’s so pleasant to spend time in our little club. Perhaps you might like to do the same?’

  Guy was flummoxed. ‘I beg your pardon, madam?’

  She laughed as if he’d just told the funniest joke. ‘Oh, I’m only a “miss” – though not for long, I’m engaged to Lord De Clifford, you know.’

  Guy knew this titbit of information was supposed to put him in his place. This is not the face of a nightclub hostess, she was saying, this is the future wife of a peer of the realm. And you are a lowly uniform police officer.

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘You find this surprising?’

  ‘Oh, no, of course not.’ Wrong-footed again. ‘Congratulations are in order, ma’am. I mean, Miss Meyrick.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, politely. ‘There have been one or two who have demurred, shall we say? But they were easily dealt with.’

  ‘I see.’ Guy wasn’t quite sure what the message was here. This woman spoke in code but he didn’t know how to break it.

  ‘If you come back here, we’d look after you. And I’m sure, you being the sympathique man that you are, so strong you seem too … I’m sure you’d look after us.’

  Guy didn’t know how to reply to this but he was given no chance in any case.

  ‘And now, my dear Sergeant, you must excuse me. It’s another busy night at the coalface for me, so I must go and get things ready. Albert is waiting for you just outside this door.’ She stood and he saw he must stand too, which took another humiliating altercation with three small cushions, then he shook her hand and left. Absolutely none the bloody wiser.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Back home at Asthall, the atmosphere had started to lighten at last since the grim death of Adrian Curtis and everyone had started to look forward to Christmas. Mrs Stobie would mutter crossly about the extra work needed, yet there was an almost constant flurry of stirring and delicious smells of baking from the oven. Pamela snuck into the kitchen as often as she could and though the cook would complain that she had enough to do without teaching her, Louisa caught a look of pleased approval on her face when Pamela brought out a tray of perfectly golden mince pies, the pastry crimped at the edges as neatly as the hem of a dress.

  One morning, not long after they had returned from London, Nancy came into the kitchen after breakfast, where Louisa had returned the tray from the nursery and Pamela was rooting about in the larder, searching for another bag of currants. When she emerged, triumphant, Nancy gave her a withering look. ‘Honestly, you are an old woman. Anyone would think you were a kitchen maid.’

  Louisa saw Ada bristle slightly at this but it was Pamela who retorted, ‘What would be so wrong if I were?’

  Nancy ignored her and waved a letter she had in her hand. ‘Lou-Lou, it was you I came to see. Jennie’s coming down for tea tomorrow – she and Richard are on their way to stay with his parents and asked if they could come by. I thought I’d let you know. You’re old friends, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ said Louisa, though it had been a long time since she had seen Jennie and she couldn’t help but feel a little hurt that Jennie hadn’t written to her. They had been friends at school and grown up together in the same pocket of Chelsea but Jennie had been elevated out of their world when she met her husband Richard Roper, an architect and a bohemian. She had married up and although she was still the same, sweet Jennie, she moved in completely different circles now, particularly since they had moved to New York three years before. If there was a chance for the two of them to talk, Louisa would be glad to take it. After all, it was with Jennie that Louisa had first met Nancy, which had led to her job as nursery maid at Asthall; she had everything to be grateful to Jennie for, didn’t she?

  * * *

  In the end, it wasn’
t as hard as she’d feared. After Jennie and Richard had had tea with Lord and Lady Redesdale in the library, the bell had been rung and Louisa came down. Usually, at this time, it was to fetch the youngest girls after their daily hour with their parents, but today Lady Redesdale said that she would take them up, while Lord Redesdale and Richard retired to his study for a cigar. Jennie and Louisa were to be left to themselves, which was kind of her employer, though she had probably been encouraged by Nancy. Louisa felt nervous of sitting down in the library, which she knew was inane as there was no one else in there and Jennie was hardly her mistress. Yet they weren’t quite equals any more, highlighted by Louisa’s apron to Jennie’s chic brown cashmere dress and matching coat trimmed with mink, and perhaps, she thought sadly, the force of servile habit had subsumed even Louisa’s manners of friendship. To avoid the decision of whether to sit or stand one way or another, Louisa pretended to busy herself with tidying a sewing basket on the floor as they talked. Her heart ached as she wondered whether to talk to Jennie about what was really on her mind. Before she could, Jennie had a confession of her own.

  ‘There’s something I’ve got to tell you darling,’ she whispered. ‘I’m pregnant. Not far gone yet, so it’s not showing and Richard doesn’t want to tell anybody until we’ve told his parents. That’s why we’re on our way to them now.’

  Louisa stood and embraced her friend. ‘That’s lovely news. When are you due?’

  ‘Late July. A summer baby – everyone says they’re happy creatures.’ Jennie radiated with the good news, her porcelain skin lit from within.

  ‘Any baby will be happy with you for a mother,’ said Louisa. She was genuinely pleased for her friend.

  ‘I hope so.’ A shadow crossed Jennie’s face. ‘I’m just a bit worried that … well, it’s going to be different to how we were brought up, isn’t it? Supposing I get things wrong.’

  ‘Every mother thinks that, and you have Richard by your side. You’ll do it perfectly, I know you will. And besides, you’ve got me – you can ask me. I know everything there is to know about how to bathe a baby.’

  Jennie laughed. ‘Yes, and anyway, we’ll have a nanny so I probably won’t be doing any of that.’

  Louisa knew that Jennie hadn’t meant to offend by pointing out to her that while she was paid to bathe another woman’s babies, Jennie wouldn’t even be looking after her own, but it still stung. But who else could Louisa turn to? She needed to confide in the one person who understood both the world she had grown up in and the one she worked in now. Not to mention that something had been bothering her lately about Dulcie and she had to thrash it out with somebody.

  ‘There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,’ Louisa began, wondering as she did if she would – should – go on.

  ‘What, darling?’

  As briefly as she could, and in something of a tumble, Louisa told her the long story of the last few weeks, from meeting Dulcie and going to the Elephant and Castle, to the death of Adrian Curtis, the 43 nightclub, the strange behaviour of Nancy’s friends, Alice Diamond and the Forty Thieves. Even Joe Katz got a mention. Jennie barely interrupted except to ask her to repeat an astonishing claim here and there. At the end, Louisa was close to tears.

  ‘What shall I do, Jennie?’ she pleaded.

  ‘I can’t quite think. Which bit do you mean? There’s such a lot to take in.’

  ‘It’s just that, as you said, we’re not where we used to be any more, but we don’t always fit in to this new life. I know I have a better life than Ma did, my work is easier and the Mitfords look after me well. But I see those women—’

  ‘Which women?’

  ‘The Forty and even the dancers at the nightclub. They look so independent. They wear lovely clothes, they do what they want to do. They’re not beholden to anyone.’

  Jennie flashed angrily. ‘They’re thieves and prostitutes, Louisa. It’s no life. You know it! You and I have worked to escape that.’ She looked around, as if afraid someone might hear her. Was her husband not truly aware of how she had lived before she met him? ‘Don’t you dare even think about it.’

  ‘Don’t be like that. I just feel as if I don’t fit in anywhere. I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘This is what you’re going to do,’ said Jennie, nearly spitting the words out. ‘You’re to tell the police about Dulcie and her connection to the Forty. What were you thinking, keeping it secret? Supposing she’s lying to you?’

  ‘I can’t do that, she’ll be killed.’ Louisa had never felt so pathetic.

  ‘Louisa. Dulcie ran with the Forty; you don’t know if she’s to be trusted. How do you know that she wasn’t a key to the murder? It’s too much of a coincidence, isn’t it? She steals jewels and the next thing is, she’s found next to the body.’

  ‘Yes, but there has to be more to it than that. Things aren’t adding up. I noticed she wore a watch that night. Why would she have done that if not because she needed to know the time?’

  Jennie looked confused by this change of direction. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I think she must have arranged to meet someone at the bell tower and that’s why she needed to be sure of the time. Not Adrian. It doesn’t make sense that she would meet him in the house and then again in the church. I mean someone who was going to take the stolen jewellery from her. That’s how the Forty get rid of their stuff – they have fences who pass it on for them. It means the Forty don’t have to hold onto it. I think whoever she was meeting must have killed Adrian Curtis.’

  ‘Then why doesn’t she say so?’

  ‘Because it means grassing up the Forty or one of their fences, whoever it was who did it. Then they’d kill her and her sister.’

  Jennie thought this over. ‘She’s a dead woman walking either way then. But to choose this route must mean there’s someone she’s protecting.’ A beat passed. ‘She’s protecting herself, of course. Hasn’t she set you up to be the one to tell the police about the Forty?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She took you to the pub, didn’t she? She told you about the Forty, and then she asked you to find a room to meet Adrian Curtis in.’

  Louisa worked this over. ‘You think she meant for me to tell the police, so that she wouldn’t be the one who let the cat out of the bag? You think Dulcie knew the murder was planned and she’s set them up, so long as I play my part?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘But then I’d have to admit to the Mitfords that I knowingly let a thief into the house. Not that I knew she was going to steal anything.’

  Jennie’s look was not a forgiving one. ‘But you did, didn’t you? And I feel the blame of that. I brought you to them. They have looked after you and this was how you repaid them. You owe them more than that. You owe me more than that.’

  Without saying goodbye, Jennie strode out of the room and Louisa was left alone, staring at the fire.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Guy and Mary Moon were at Vine Street police station, eating sandwiches over a desk piled high with brown foolscap files that had gathered the crumbs of several lunches. Guy was keen to get back out on the streets but felt badly for Mary who had been told in no uncertain terms to stay in the station in case any women officers were needed to deal with lost children or female victims of crime. In spite of their successful arrest of Elsie White, the chief inspector had said he couldn’t have all his officers out looking for the Forty Thieves and Mary had been held back.

  ‘It’s so frustrating,’ she was saying, mouth full of white bread and ham. ‘I know there must have been women selling packets of cocaine in the 43 but unless CID send me in there undercover, I can’t do anything about it.’

  ‘I don’t know, Mary,’ said Guy. ‘It’s dangerous work. I wouldn’t be too keen if I was you.’

  Mary sighed and looked out of the window, chewing. ‘I just want to get out of here sometimes.’

  A constable came over to the desk. ‘Sorry to interrupt the party,’ he smirked, ‘but ther
e’s a telephone call for you.’

  Guy went pink and stood up, brushing the crumbs off his lap. ‘Sorry. Back in a minute.’

  At the front desk, Guy picked up the telephone that had the flashing light. ‘Sergeant Sullivan here,’ he said, formally. Perhaps it was Miss Meyrick, having remembered that Alice Diamond had been at the club and seen doing something he could arrest her for.

  ‘Guy? It’s me. Louisa.’

  ‘Oh, hello.’ The image of Joe Katz kissing Louisa’s hand came to his mind.

  ‘Look, there’s something important I need to tell you. It’s a police matter but I don’t want this to be an official thing.’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand.’ The complications of Louisa came flooding back to Guy.

  ‘Nor do I, really.’ There was a sound that could have been either a sob or a swallowed laugh. ‘Just hear me out and then help me decide what to do. Please.’

  It was lunchtime, the station was quiet. ‘Yes. What is it?’ The phone was silent. ‘Louisa? You still there?’

  ‘Yes, I’m here. It’s about Adrian Curtis, the murder, I mean. I know something about Dulcie Long, the maid that’s been arrested for it. She was also arrested for stealing from one of the guests staying that night, which she has admitted to.’

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘There’s something that I should have mentioned to the police then and I didn’t. She’s one of the Forty Thieves, and I knew it before she came to Asthall. In fact, she took me to their pub.’

  ‘What do you mean, their pub?’

  ‘It’s a pub they all go to. The Elephant and Castle. If you want to find Alice Diamond and the rest of them, that’s where they’ll be, most nights.’