Bright Young Dead

by Jessica Fellowes

‘She’s got a temper, has Dulcie. I’ve told her to watch it but she’s got a mind of her own, that girl. Not much you can tell her. Here you go.’ Marie put a plate down in front of Louisa, two browned sausages and two slices of buttered bread. ‘Want a bit of sauce?’

  ‘Thanks ever so,’ said Louisa, surprising herself with a return to the vernacular of her pre-Mitford life. She put Daniel on the chair next to her; he had moved on to chewing a toy – of indeterminate shape thanks to its bitemarks. She ate quickly and with relish, enjoying the sting of mustard behind her nose when she put a bit too much on. Sated, she sat back and watched as Marie finished the washing up. There was a feeling of peace and warmth in the house, with almost no sound but for the water sloshing in the sink. Daniel started grizzling and Louisa put him on her lap, where he snuggled down into her.

  ‘Shall I put him to bed for you?’ asked Louisa. ‘I’d like to do something to help.’

  Marie dried her hands on a cloth hanging off a chair. ‘I’ll do it with you. Eddy and Dad’ll want to come in and sneak themselves a bit of bread and butter. Tea’s never enough for them.’

  They went up the stairs and Marie showed Louisa her room, where Daniel slept with her, in a makeshift bed on the floor. It was small, with rather drab walls but Marie had added some feminine touches – a scarf draped over a mirror and a Christmas star hanging in the window. The overhead bulb had no shade and dazzled their eyes after the dim hall. There was no sign of a man’s belongings in the room. Louisa felt at home somehow, there in Johanna Street, and Marie felt like one of her kind. That was her only explanation for asking an impertinent question. ‘Where’s your husband?’

  Marie sat heavily on the bed and lay down. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen him for a few months. We’re not even proper married. I just say that because. You know.’ She gestured to her stomach. ‘I expect he’ll come back when he’s knows it’s come out all right and is his. You can tell, can’t you? They always look like the father when they come out.’

  Louisa nodded. ‘Yes, of course.’ She looked around and saw a washbasin with some grey water in it. ‘Shall I fetch some warm water? Wash his face?’

  ‘You’ll have go to downstairs,’ said Marie, lying down. She looked ill suddenly. ‘Sorry. I’m only five months gone but I get so tired. Dad says I’m not eating enough but it all makes my insides churn.’

  ‘I won’t be a moment,’ said Louisa. She put Daniel on the bed and he lay beside his aunt, his big eyes closing as Marie’s hand gently stroked his soft, dark curls. Louisa picked up the washbasin and was just balancing it on her hip to give herself a free hand to open the door when she heard a loud bang from outside that jolted her and spilled the cold water onto her dress. The last time that had happened had been the night of Adrian’s murder.

  It had sounded like a gunshot but she told herself not to be so idiotic, it must be a car backfiring. Only then she heard yells and shouts in the street outside and now she realised that what they had been waiting for had happened at last. The Forty had come.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Guy folded the note and put it in his pocket, maintaining a face of calm but the worry bloomed in his mind like gathering storm clouds. Mary was in a back office, tidying up files and getting ready to go home when Guy came in.

  ‘I’ve had a message from Louisa,’ he said. ‘Seems as if she’s been sent a note from Dulcie and all it says on it is “Get Daniel now.”‘

  ‘What’s she asking of you?’

  ‘I don’t know. What if my interviewing Dulcie has made her overreact, suddenly worrying about her son?’

  Mary considered this. ‘I think there has to be more to it than that. Dulcie would know it wouldn’t be easy for Louisa to take Daniel. Why would the sister let him go? And where does Dulcie think Louisa could take him?’

  ‘What are you saying? That she’s been warned of some plan, by the Forty?’

  ‘Or Billy Masters. Who’s to say he hasn’t got wind of our sniffing around?’ said Mary.

  Guy rubbed the back of his neck. ‘But surely they wouldn’t deliberately harm a small child?’

  ‘No,’ agreed Mary, ‘they wouldn’t. But either way, Dulcie knows that something has happened to him or is about to happen.’

  ‘Could it be that warning Louisa was told the night you went to the Elephant and Castle? Alice Diamond is going to take her revenge on the family.’

  ‘What would they do?’ Alarm showed in Mary’s eyes.

  ‘I don’t know!’ shouted Guy, in fear and frustration. ‘Sorry. But it could be anything, couldn’t it?’

  ‘Then we must go there.’ Mary started to pack away the last of her things.

  ‘It’s dangerous,’ said Guy. ‘We don’t know how many of them are planning to go there, let alone how. I certainly don’t want you there.’

  Mary grimaced but did not fight this point.

  Guy’s mind raced, stumbling over the hurdles, as he tried desperately to think what the best course of action was to respond to Dulcie’s cry for help. He looked at the clock on the station wall: just gone six o’clock. His shift was almost over. But they couldn’t go to Johanna Street alone, they would need reinforcements. Cornish was no longer in his office so he couldn’t be asked. The night-shift inspector would likely say that if there was a serious cause for concern, Dulcie Long would have told the prison authorities to alert the police in Lambeth. And it wasn’t in their parish, anyway. There simply wasn’t enough to go on.

  ‘What were your plans for tonight?’ said Guy.

  ‘I’m meeting Harry at the 43,’ she said, a little shyly. ‘But I can put him off, if you need me.’

  ‘No,’ said Guy, ‘go there. You can keep an eye out for any of the Forty showing up. I was going to go later, in case Billy Masters turned up.’

  ‘I can look for him.’

  ‘I don’t think Harry’s bosses at the club would be too pleased if his sweetheart started pointing fingers. Just keep a lookout and you can tell me if anything suspicious happens.’

  ‘I’m not his…’ But she thought better of it and was quiet. ‘I’ll let you know.’

  * * *

  Guy hurried home. He needed to change into his civvies before he went to Johanna Street. Whatever he did, he couldn’t show up in uniform. It would ignite even a tame event into a fireball if any of the Forty were there. Neither did he wish to be alone so he decided to take Socks with him. In spite of the fact that Guy had to spend most of his waking hours out of the house and it was his Dad who walked and fed the dog, Socks unquestionably belonged to him. As soon as Guy opened the door, a tangle of black and white fur would be leaping up at him, begging for a rub behind the ears before lying down on his back with an expectant look on his face that Guy could never resist. He was a soppy dog but his years with Louisa’s uncle Stephen had taught him how to sit calmly at his master’s side looking as if he might attack on a signal. That could be useful, too.

  ‘You’ve missed supper,’ called out his mother as Guy came through the door.

  ‘Sorry, Mum,’ said Guy, hastily untying his laces and hanging his jacket on the hook. ‘I’ve got to go straight out.’

  He poked his head around the front room door. His father was at the wooden table by the window, a newspaper spread out before him, a pencil in his hand. He liked to do the crossword every evening, now he was retired. ‘Keeps the wheels turning,’ he’d say at least once every night, tapping the side of his head with his forefinger. Bertie, the youngest brother and the only other one who hadn’t yet married, was on a low stool opposite their mother. She was winding a ball of wool and Bertie had a resigned look on his face, familiar to each son. Guy’s mother looked up at him, a worried crease between her eyes.

  ‘Anything I need to know?’ she asked, mid-wind, her elbows resting on her knees.

  ‘No,’ said Guy. ‘I won’t be late. I’m taking Socks with me.’ At this, the dog’s ears pricked up and he leapt straight onto all four paws as if a switch had been pressed. Guy went up
to his room to change his clothes and when he came back down the stairs, Socks was sitting patiently by the front door, waiting for him. Guy grabbed his coat and hat and closed the door gently behind them.

  * * *

  There was a cold wind that sliced through Guy as he hurried back along the street to the bus stop, grateful to see the warm lights of an approaching bus. Socks jumped on skilfully, with Guy swinging on by the corner pole, and they both stood looking out, refusing to sit down. The streets were busy, with men and women hurrying home, but there was a lightness to the atmosphere, the sense of Christmas coming soon – the smell of burning chestnuts in the air and the sound of a choir singing carols outside the church, a bucket rattling for coins. But Guy did not stop to enjoy any of this for he had Daniel on his mind, and he was afraid.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Marie sat up. ‘What was that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Louisa but before she could say anything else she was silenced by the ever-louder yells in the street. Daniel was alert too, looking at his aunt as if searching for his cue – were these frightening noises, or some sort of game? Marie said nothing but held him close to her.

  Louisa put the bowl of water back on the side and went to the window, not daring to open it and lean out but needing to know what was happening. Johanna Street was perfectly ordinary, with low terraced houses that were largely indistinct from one another, bar the windows and front doors in various states of tidiness, like a line of schoolboys. Louisa knew that the neighbours would all know each other by sight, if not by name, and the children would be playing or fighting together out on the scrubby road most afternoons, without too much fear of cars coming down. At night, the women would close their houses up and draw the curtains, send the children to bed and sit in their back rooms, keeping themselves to themselves. Some on the road would be up to no good and it was better to keep your ears and eyes shut if you didn’t want the bother of the police. Ask no questions, tell no lies.

  Not tonight.

  Windows had flown open and curtains pulled back, revealing the watchful yellow eyes of the houses opposite. Louisa could see two or three men, silhouetted by the lights behind them, wondering perhaps whether to join in or whether to see them off. Or shout from behind the safety of their locked front doors. Louisa stood to the side of the window, holding the thin curtain, and looked down. The crowd that had gathered outside number thirty-three looked to be about thirty men and women, mostly men she thought, with the women at the back yelling lustily. Startled, Louisa realised that Bertha, Elsie and Alice Diamond were amongst them. They looked riled, possibly drunk, and were urging the men on, some of whom waved large, blunt sticks. A knife flashed and was just as quickly hidden again.

  Louisa froze and tears came unbidden to her eyes. This was it for her, it was all over. And she had brought Daniel here, brought this frenzy of terror to the house in their wake. She turned to Marie, wild-eyed. ‘Is there a key for your door?’

  Marie had curled up completely around Daniel, stroking his head, whispering to him that everything would be all right.

  No it bloody well wouldn’t.

  ‘Marie!’ Louisa shouted, yet even so it was hard to make herself heard above the yells which were becoming louder and more urgent by the second. ‘A key! Have you got one?’

  Marie looked up, eyes red, and shook her head. No.

  ‘Has any room up here got a lock on the door?’

  No.

  Louisa pushed the chest of drawers in front of the door and looked around for something else, anything, to add to its weight. There was a suitcase, a side table, some books. She piled them all up there. At the very least, they might add to confusion, might trip up whoever came in. As she looked around trying to find something else heavy, there was a sudden roar from the crowd and the sound of breaking glass. Louisa rushed back to the window. A man had staggered backwards, holding his head, blood pouring through his fingers. Now there was a surge, the men and women moving forward as a single, terrible force and Louisa felt the house shake. They had smashed the front door down.

  William and Eddy. They were downstairs; they would be first. She hoped they were strong, that they could fight. But they were outnumbered and the crowd was fierce, louder, nearer. Louisa could hear some of what they were saying now: ‘Traitors’ and ‘Kill the old…’

  There was no doubt left. She would be next.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Guy had crossed London from Hammersmith to Lambeth by bus and Tube, a map in his back pocket. On the train he had studied the map and memorised the route from Lambeth North station to Johanna Street. He’d remembered Louisa telling him the name of the road the Longs lived on but not the number of the house. If he got there and there was no sign of any trouble at least there was no harm done and he could lie low and keep watch for a few hours. If there was trouble then, he thought grimly, it would be all too clear which house it was happening in.

  With Socks loyally at his side, never stopping so much as to sniff at something, the two walked fast down the side streets, keeping in the shadows. It was cold but the pace meant Guy felt warm and he pulled his scarf undone so that it flapped loosely as he strode. There was little noise and few cars around, the occasional man went past, hat pulled down low, smoking. Then as he came closer to his destination, Socks’s ears pinned back and Guy’s blood ran cold. He could hear loud yells – angry calls and jeering, though he couldn’t yet make out the words. Carefully he walked at the edge of the pavement, out of reach of the pools of light thrown by the street lamps, and looked around the corner at the top of Johanna Street.

  Unlike those he had just gone past, the houses here had their lights switched on, people standing at their windows, one or two in an open front door, watching the terrifying sight of thirty or so men and women gathered around number thirty-three. A few of them waved glass bottles – some had been thrown violently to the pavement and smashed – and some held long sticks, thick and heavy. He saw one woman standing beneath the light of a street lamp, her face twisted and ugly with the promise of violence before her. There were women standing at the back of the crowd, their hands in the air, urging the men to go in, to beat the bastards. Near the front he saw one woman, taller than the rest, her yells the lustiest and the most bloodthirsty. The sight was apocalyptic and frightening, like watching wolves gather and fight over a pathetic straggle of sheep. Whoever was in that house didn’t stand a chance.

  As fast as he could, Guy retraced his steps to where he remembered running past a telephone box. They were few and far between here and he’d been lucky to see it. Sweating, his hand slipping on the door handle, he hurled himself inside and picked up the handset, his other hand clicking the phone repeatedly, shouting for the operator. When she answered, she was calm and efficient and put him through to the nearest police station. Guy gave the address and explained the situation as briefly as he could but leaving no doubt as to the urgency. ‘Send several men,’ he said, ‘in cars. As quickly as possible. Please!’ He’d given his officer number, they’d know he was serious.

  By the time Guy returned to top of Johanna Street, he could only pray he’d made the call in time. As he turned the corner, there was a smash of glass and Guy saw a window had been kicked in; on the floor above hands threw up a sash and a jar came flying out, hitting one of the men on the head. He cried out in pain and the crowd’s shouts grew louder, like an engine roaring into life. Without warning, a hand appeared in the air from the middle of the mob, holding a gun, and fired a shot. There was the briefest of silences and a woman who had been standing on the front step of one of the houses opposite ran inside and slammed her door shut. Then the baying began again, the threats less words than the cries of animals. There was a sickening thud as the men kicked at the front door. Guy looked up and saw the one thing he had hoped more than anything not to see. Louisa, half-hidden by a curtain, peering out at the mob below. She was trapped and he was helpless.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  The
house they were in was not a large one. There were just two flights of stairs that led up from the hall on the ground floor, where the kitchen and the front room were. Louisa knew she, Marie and Daniel only had a few minutes while William and Eddy tried to hold back the men but it was certain they would be beaten. There was no telephone in the house and there was little point wasting time trying to signal to the people standing in the windows opposite. They wouldn’t have telephones either and had probably decided that the inhabitants of 33 Johanna Street deserved what they were getting as none of them had come out to help disperse the mob.

  For God’s sake, had her message not yet reached Guy? Had no one in the street called the police?

  Of course not. For the same reasons no one had ever called them on the Peabody Estate when Louisa was growing up. Even in the most serious circumstances, nobody ever wanted the boys in blue turning up. If there was retribution to be handed out, they’d rather do it themselves in a way that was quick and direct. No courts, no judges, no lingering.

  Marie was sobbing now, though quietly, without hope of being heard or comforted. Daniel lay curled into her arms, completely silent but his eyes open.

  Mere minutes had passed since that shot had sounded but Louisa felt as if she had relived her life since then, thinking of her mother, the Mitfords, even her uncle Stephen. What would they do when they heard what had happened to her?

  There were muffled yells and cries coming from downstairs, with thumps that could be anything – a man being thrown to the floor, a head being smashed against a wall. There was nothing they could do but wait.

  * * *

  Outside, Guy froze. He could see the men piling into the house, the women staying outside but not letting up with their urging cries. Louisa had disappeared from the window and all at once, rage invaded Guy and sent him running down the street, almost flying, Socks racing beside him, ears back. He had almost reached the crowd – one or two women had turned to look at him and he caught the silver flash of a knife blade – when the sirens sounded. Everyone knew they had only seconds left. Most of the crowd had started to run off by the time the three police cars turned into the street, two at one end, one at the other. Men jumped out and began to give chase.