Bright Young Dead

by Jessica Fellowes

  ‘Pass him a block, please,’ she said, and Mrs Brewster handed him a red one, which Daniel took and clasped with both hands, tucking his head down into Louisa’s neck and holding the precious piece of wood close to his chest as if he would never let it go.

  * * *

  Once out in the street, the enormity of what she had done hit her. There was now a boy of three who depended upon her utterly and if her plan went wrong she knew she had nothing else in place. All that mattered was saving Dulcie’s life, and the boy had to be the key.

  It was getting on for late evening now, so Louisa bought Daniel a bun from a nearby café – not enough for supper, but he ate it with relish while Louisa sat him on the floor of a telephone box. Dulcie’s family name was ‘Long’, she knew that much, and if she was one of the Forty Thieves then her family must have lived in Lambeth, within half a mile of the Elephant and Castle. Louisa went through the phone directory and soon found three addresses for Longs in the right area. She wrote them down and then telephoned Vine Street police station. She left a message for Guy, asking him to meet her, with Mary Moon, at Lambeth station at eleven o’clock that night. Hopefully that would give her enough time.

  Given her long day and how heavy and tired Daniel was, Louisa decided to take a taxi from Earl’s Court to Lambeth. This was all costing money she should be giving to her mother but she pushed the guilt to the back of her mind. She’d have to deal with that later.

  The drive south of the river – which she’d had to persuade the taxi driver to do by paying him half the estimated fare upfront after he grumbled about driving over the bridge (‘I won’t get a fare for the way back’) – took almost an hour. She sank back into the seat, Daniel fast asleep now, and watched as the street lights prettily lining the Embankment rushed past her view. On the other side of the bridge the night seemed blacker. The cab was soon driving down narrow streets with barely another car in sight. Twice they had to stop and ask a passer-by for directions.

  She asked the taxi to wait while she knocked on the first door, leaving Daniel inside. But the woman who answered said the Longs had moved out a few months before and she didn’t know where they’d gone. At the second address, nobody answered and the house looked empty. Louisa felt the nerves course through her, terrified now of what would happen if she didn’t find Dulcie’s sister.

  The third house, 33 Johanna Street, was in darkness but for a light in an upstairs window, half-moons of yellow showing through the tops of the closed curtains. The taxi driver had taken pity on her now and turned his meter off. He sat, engine idling, by the side of the road, with Daniel stretched out on the back seat, a wisp of a snore puckering his lips. Louisa knocked on the door, shivering on the step, then stood there long enough to watch a man walk the length of the street on the other side. She knocked again and then heard someone coming down the stairs before, finally, the sound of bolts being drawn.

  The door was opened by a short man in striped flannel pyjamas that Nanny Blor would have itched to wash and iron. ‘What?’ he said. It wasn’t friendly.

  ‘I’m a friend of Dulcie’s,’ said Louisa.

  At this, the man stuck his head out. ‘Who you with?’

  ‘No one.’

  ‘What’s that taxi doing there then?’ He seemed more nervous than aggressive, and Louisa could see the stubble on his chin was mostly grey.

  ‘It’s waiting for me. Please, there’s nothing to be frightened of. I’m trying to find her sister, Marie.’

  This startled the man. ‘I don’t know anything about Marie.’

  He slammed the door shut and slid the bolts fiercely back into place.

  Of course, he must have thought she was one of the Forty trying to track down Marie. How stupid she was! Louisa bent down to the letter box and shouted through it. ‘I’m not one of them, I promise.’

  There was no response. There was only one thing for it. ‘I’ve got Daniel with me. Dulcie’s boy. Please, you’ve got to help.’

  The man clearly hadn’t stepped away from the door. In a flash, he opened it again. ‘You’ve got Dulcie’s boy?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Louisa, cold and afraid now, deeply uncertain she’d done the right thing but not knowing what else to do. ‘He’s in the taxi.’

  ‘Christ alive! Bring him in.’

  * * *

  Shortly afterwards, Louisa was in the kitchen, the taxi had been dismissed and Daniel was asleep on a settee in the front room, covered with a blanket. Marie had been woken up and come down to join Louisa and the man who she now knew to be Dulcie’s father, William. Louisa didn’t have much time – Guy would be waiting for her at Lambeth station and she had to hope he’d hold on for her – but she’d explained to them how she’d come to know Dulcie, that she believed in her innocence and that she’d rescued Daniel from being sent to the workhouse.

  ‘She’d never tell us where he was,’ the father said. ‘She was afraid that if Alice and that lot found him, they’d use him to get to her. But we was worried for the little fella.’

  Marie nodded in agreement. ‘It’s better he’s with us,’ she said. ‘We’re family.’

  ‘Do you know who the father was?’

  Marie and William exchanged a glance. ‘That Mr Curtis, wasn’t it? Not that he’d have called himself the dad. Washed his hands of the poor kid soon as he could.’

  ‘Look,’ said Louisa, ‘I want to help prove that Dulcie didn’t do it – the murder, I mean.’

  ‘She didn’t,’ said Marie. ‘She’s not like that. I know some of us can be rough but not Dulcie. She’s been wanting out ever since I got started. It’s my fault she ever…’ She choked a sob and William rubbed his daughter’s back.

  ‘I think Dulcie knows who did it but can’t tell the police,’ volunteered Louisa.

  ‘She knows?’ Marie wiped her tears away with the back of her hand.

  ‘I think so,’ said Louisa. ‘I think she was meeting someone that night, a man who went between her and the Forty. She could have arranged that he’d take the things she’d stolen and sell them on. I think whoever that was was the man who killed Adrian Curtis and she won’t tell the police who it was because if the Forty find out she grassed him up, the punishment they give will be worse than any sentence a judge hands out.’

  ‘If it was one of those Elephants, they’re more than able,’ said Marie grimly. ‘But what would they have had against him?’

  ‘Might they have known he was the father of Dulcie’s boy?’ asked Louisa. ‘Could it be revenge for her having gone outside the gang? Or for him having nothing to do with Daniel?’

  Marie nodded. ‘I suppose so. Word gets about.’

  William dropped his head in his hands.

  ‘What I’m really trying to say is, I could tell the police,’ said Louisa. ‘I could say I saw him, it could come from me. Not Dulcie.’

  The father looked at her, the pupils of his eyes so large they had turned his eyes black. ‘Would you do that for her?’

  ‘The Forty won’t harm me, they can’t,’ said Louisa. ‘They don’t know who I am.’

  ‘They will!’ said Marie, alarmed, but she failed to hush her father who spoke at the same time, loudly and firmly. Louisa couldn’t miss it.

  ‘Billy Masters,’ he said. ‘That’s who you want.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Earlier that same day, Guy and Mary had been at Vine Street station locked in a friendly battle.

  ‘Please, Guy. Take me to the 43 again.’ Mary Moon had had her hands clasped in prayer, eyes open as far as they would go, pleading.

  Guy had laughed but he still hadn’t understood. ‘Why do you want to go so much?’

  Mary had put her hands in the pockets of her jacket and pouted. ‘I just do, and I can’t go alone.’

  ‘I don’t know that it’s a nice place for nice women.’

  ‘Maybe not but if I’m to be a policewoman of any merit, I can’t be shocked by anything.’

  Guy had thought it over. He had wanted to return to
the club because if there was a connection between Lord De Clifford, Dolly Meyrick and the Forty Thieves, the 43 was the most likely place to find it. It could help to have a girl by his side as it made him look more like a regular customer. On the other hand, he was wary of seeing that other police officer there. Guy was pretty sure George Goddard, the officer heading up the Vice Squad, wasn’t at the 43 for work, and if he wasn’t then observing a senior-ranking policeman at a nightclub seemed somehow indiscreet, like watching him in his own house. Guy might not approve of his drinking illegally and being surrounded by Merry Maids, but it wasn’t any of his business either. Harry had warned Guy not to say anything to any of his colleagues in case word got around that he’d snitched. More and more, Guy was sure that there was some sort of underhand business going on but he got the feeling that he was the only one not inclined to shrug it off.

  ‘Fine,’ he had said at last, ‘meet me at the Eros statue at half-past eight tonight and we’ll go together.’

  ‘Thank you, Guy!’ Mary had jumped and looked as if she was going to kiss him in gratitude but stopped herself just in time. So Mary had an agenda of her own, Guy thought then, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

  * * *

  At the appointed hour Guy was standing in Piccadilly Circus, enjoying the flashing lights of the advertisements and the excited hubbub of people as they walked around, planning their night out. He was feeling quietly smart in a suit he’d splashed out on recently. Even his brother Bertie had commented on the fashionable cut and good quality of the grey cashmere, though he’d had to dodge the inevitable questions on why – and for whom – he was all dressed up. Guy’s brothers went drinking in the local pubs in Hammersmith; Soho nightclubs were rather out of their ken. Somehow he hadn’t wanted to mention Mary, whether because he didn’t want to jinx it, or because he wasn’t sure what he felt about her, he couldn’t say. And Louisa was on his mind again. Anyway, he reminded himself sharply, tonight was work.

  Lost in thought, he hadn’t noticed Mary standing in front of him, waving and laughing.

  ‘You’re such a four-eyes,’ she giggled.

  Guy did his best not to register surprise but though he had seen her in her own clothes when they were tailing the Forty, and though they had even been to the 43 together, it was clear that tonight she intended to have an effect. Her hair was a sharp bob with a perfect kiss curl shaped by each ear and she wore a silver cloche hat that had a wide-fishnet veil pulled over her face and tucked under her chin. The effect, with her dark red lips, was captivating. Though she had her coat buttoned up, he could see trails of silvery beads looping on the hem of her dress peeking out from beneath and shoes with a heel. Most of all she looked giddy with excitement, dispelling his confusion of feelings with the grin of a schoolgirl.

  They walked to the club, or rather, Guy walked, Mary trotted along, clicking on her heels and bobbing up and down in a way that was quite disconcerting. He had grown used to her clomping in boots, which she complained were made of hard, uncomfortable leather. At work, her hair had to be pulled back tightly with not a strand out of place and no make-up was permitted. Though the men at the station teased and people frequently gawped at her in the street with her policewoman’s hat and long skirt, Guy had grown used to her practical look on their shifts together. His tongue was tied now and he found himself caught between wanting to give her a good night out, as she was clearly in the mood for, and keeping the tone more suitable for a work assignment.

  At the entry to the club, the hulking spectre they had come to know as ‘German Albert’ stood guard. He looked at Guy warily but opened the door. Inside, Dolly Meyrick was at the desk, collecting each guest’s ten-shilling fee. After the mob had ransacked the club she was taking no chances. On seeing Guy, she gave a wide smile.

  ‘Nice to see you back,’ she said, ‘and you’ve brought your sweetheart with you this time?’ She accompanied this with a sideways glance in Mary’s direction.

  Guy involuntarily took a step away from Mary and started to protest but then saw Mary look rather offended. ‘We’re just coming in for a moment,’ he said. ‘My friend is in the band.’

  ‘Let me fetch someone to find you a nice table, Sergeant Sullivan,’ said Dolly, a woman who though young – she couldn’t have been more than twenty – must have had the charisma and competence of her mother.

  ‘No, really, I—’ started Guy, but Mary pulled on his arm and he went quiet. He wasn’t at all sure about accepting the hospitality of the club’s owner. Surely he was breaking some sort of law? He would just have to make sure he didn’t drink any of the alcohol. Or dance with any of the Merry Maids. He couldn’t even look at them, in fact. Oh, damn. Why had he agreed to come along tonight?

  Dolly clicked her fingers and a young woman came out of the shadows, wearing a red flapper’s dress with a band around her head that had an elaborate black ostrich feather attached to it. When she stood by him, Guy had to move his head to prevent his nose from being tickled.

  ‘Follow me,’ she said after a quick word with Dolly.

  Unable to do anything else, Guy and Mary walked behind her and down the steep steps to the basement below. It wasn’t as crowded as before, though a good number of people were dancing to the band, and Guy saw Joe Katz crooning at the microphone. The flapper girl led them to a table with two chairs and swooped off, like a bird of prey, thought Guy grimly. He looked around but couldn’t see Alice Diamond, although he had to admit that the combination of his eyesight and the dimly lit room meant he couldn’t be certain. Mary had handed her coat in upstairs but kept her hat on and was sitting cross-legged on the chair, her legs jiggling, moving her head about.

  ‘What are you trying to look at?’ asked Guy.

  Two spots of pink bloomed on Mary’s cheeks. ‘I was just looking at the band,’ she said. ‘Did you say Harry would be here tonight?’

  Oh, thought Guy.

  ‘Yes, he should be. He’s at the back.’ He resisted pointing out that Harry’s small stature made him hard to see.

  He knew he should have the manners to ask Mary to dance but was saved by the arrival of a waiter with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. ‘On the ’ouse,’ he said, and disappeared.

  Mary looked at Guy, a glass halfway to her lips. ‘Can we drink it, please?’

  ‘We’re within licensing hours,’ said Guy. ‘It’s not for me to give you permission. I’m on duty myself.’ Immediately he regretted saying it. Why was he so prim at times like this?

  Mary was chastened and put the glass back down. She blinked hard a few times and looked straight ahead of her.

  Abruptly, the music stopped. Joe announced a short break and the dancers spilled off the floor, weaving their way back to their tables or up the stairs to the bar on the first floor. It was then that Guy noticed a man with blond hair and thought he recognised him as one of those who had been in the circle of friends with Nancy and Pamela Mitford before. He had been seated but stood as two women who had been dancing came up to him at the table. They looked familiar, too – the dark-haired one, Guy was certain, was the sister of the man who had been killed at Asthall Manor. She had a guarded look about her but he supposed he could hardly blame her, given the circumstances. The other girl was very pretty, small and blonde, wearing a dress that made him think of fallen rose petals in the late summer. As he watched, Dolly Meyrick approached the table and sat on the knee of a man he hadn’t noticed before, a younger-looking chap in a fashionable, well-cut suit. There was something about the atmosphere of their group that Guy found puzzling. Although they must have known each other well, there was an awkwardness in the way they stood about, as if they were not quite comfortable. The pretty blonde one was drinking with frequent, nervous sips, her blue eyes flashing, looking about as if hoping someone would come and take her away. Dolly and her suitor were the only two who seemed happily lost to the rest of the club, nuzzling each other and talking in close whispers. The very blond man had a bruised, grey look about his face and was ba
tting off the one Guy thought was the dead man’s sister – Charlotte Curtis, that was her name – who was pawing at his sleeve but in a lazy, ineffectual manner, like a sleepy cat.

  ‘Hey, amigo, great to see you here!’ Guy was jolted by a whack on the side of his head. Harry was standing over him, a teacup in one hand with liquid spilling in drops over the edge onto Guy’s suit.

  ‘Careful!’ Guy said, rather too sharply.

  ‘All right, keep your toupee on.’ Harry chuckled and winked at Mary, who giggled back.

  Guy looked at them both. ‘You’ve met before, haven’t you?’

  Harry and Mary exchanged a private glance. ‘You might say that,’ said his friend, and Mary’s cheeks went pink again. Guy had introduced them the last time he’d been in the 43 but he wondered now if they’d met up on their own since then.

  ‘In that case, I’m going to leave you to it. Excuse me,’ said Guy and before Harry could stop him, he was out of there, twenty minutes after he’d arrived, needing to get away from the crowds and the smoke, needing to breathe in the night air.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Guy pushed past German Albert and looked about him. The street, as usual, was busy with its out-of-hours trade. Despite having left the club in a hurry, he wasn’t ready for the night to be over. The adrenalin was running through him, and he realised he should probably go back and make sure Mary got home safely at the very least. He was angry with himself for not spending more time trying to see if any of the Forty or their associates were there. But how to do a policeman’s work when a policeman shouldn’t be in there? He needed a moment away to think it through, so he went to a café over the road and ordered a hot chocolate. When the waitress raised an eyebrow, he said: ‘I mean it, a hot chocolate. I don’t want rum in it or anything like that.’