by BK Duncan
She wished the journey could last forever but all too soon they were at the fried fish shop on the corner of Ellerthorp Street. The carman wanted to continue up to the stables beside Limehouse Cut, so May climbed out to walk the last hundred yards. Gliding down the road in dance shoes and a dress and cape added to her sense of unreality. She’d half expected to have travelled back in time but there was Mrs Toombs calling for her boy to come in off the street, and Mr Alano setting off for his evening ritual of walking the dog as far as the public bar of the Green Man.
May let herself in the front door and went straight upstairs to change into the comfort of her overalls. One disadvantage of Alice not being around was that she had to make every trip to the coal pile in the yard herself. She would stoke up the range and boil some water for a cup of coffee; the pleasantly dreamy effects of the Chandu cigarettes were fading into a cold sickness in the pit of her stomach. She wondered if it was this empty feeling that made people take more opium. The yearning must be irresistibly strong for those who indulged on a regular basis because she’d only inhaled fumes but, even so, she was gripped by a sensory hallucination that she could still smell a hint of cloying carnations.
She walked through into the kitchen and lit the mantle. The scent in her nostrils now felt so real she could taste it... And no wonder. There on the draining board beside the empty kettle, was a smouldering opium pipe. Slim. Dark wood. Unadorned. How had they got in? The sash window was closed, the yard door bolted, and the front had shown no signs of being forced. The flickering gas flame spluttered, and then burned brighter. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw a shadow skip across the wall. She turned. Daubed in red on the whitewash were a series of Chinese characters and, on the table’s oilcloth beneath, a rat’s corpse lying in what was left of its blood. May’s heartbeat reverberated as loudly in her ears as a ship’s siren. Slug-trails of sweat stuck the coarse material of her overalls to her skin. The kitchen began to feel unbearably small. She lurched to the back door and threw the bolt. The chill air stung the back of her throat as she gulped breath after breath, waiting for her disorientation to subside.
Once she felt her as though her legs could hold her, she darted down the narrow passageway beside the house, and onto the street. She didn’t care she’d left the place open - no sneak thief could possibly add to her sense of violation - but she had to get away from the whirling images of nameless threats by nameless people. The clock over the gateway to East India Dock chimed eleven. She’d go over to the newspaper office on the off-chance Jack was working late. Right now, the distraction of company was what she needed, and his was as good as any.
Chapter Thirty-Six
At first he didn’t look up at her. And when he did, she could see why. A shiner the colour of a ripe plum was only partially obscured by his glasses.
‘What on earth... ?’
‘I’m only going to tell you this once, and then we’ll forget it ever happened. Okay?’
May’s chest tightened. Had the Tong opted to deliver a more direct warning to Jack? Although it was impossible not to consider a blood-drained rat on your kitchen table pretty personal.
‘I was engaged in a little research at the fan-tan tables. Asking a question or two of the regulars when an old lady the size of a locomotive swiped me with her handbag. Said I’d... now, how did she put it? Sodding well gone and caused her not to catch the last number with my bleeding rabbiting. Seems she was all set for the biggest win of her natural.’
The tension exploded out of May in a belly-laugh that she couldn’t control. Even when her muscles were hurting so much she had to press her folded arms hard across her diaphragm. Then, when she was gasping for air, the laughter turned into gulped sobs that were equally impossible to stop. She was dimly aware of Jack taking her by the elbow and leading her out of the newsroom.
He didn’t let go until he’d seated her at a table in the Resolute Tavern. The place stayed open through the night to pick up trade from the docks and newly-berthed ships but they’d hit it during a lull - only four groups of men who paid them no interest, and an emaciated woman crying softly into her gin. May felt quite at home with her overalls and tear-streaked face.
Jack returned with two brandies. The good stuff by the smell of it; nowhere near as expensive as Colonel Tindal’s, of course, but the best Thomas Salter kept under the counter for emergencies and valued customers. May wondered which category she (or Jack) fell into. He offered her a cigarette, which she accepted. The entire evening had been one of firsts.
‘I don’t know what came over me back there. I wasn’t laughing at you, honest.’
‘Yes you were; don’t lie to me now, Blossom of May.’
She sipped the spicy spirit, grateful he was giving her time to collect herself. He had replenished their glasses before she’d finished tumbling the whole story out - the opium den, Richard Weatherby, the desecration of her home. She had to work hard to keep her voice steady. But under the table her knees were shaking so much she thought at any moment the movement would leech upwards and set her teeth chattering. Jack knew she was distressed: she wasn’t going to let him know she was frightened.
‘Are you going to report the break-in to the police?’
‘Technically they didn’t use any force but, yes, of course. First thing in the morning. Second thing. After I’ve scrubbed the kitchen with carbolic.’
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’
‘What, for evidence? I doubt PC Collier can read Chinese.’
‘No. I meant go to the police at all. The Tong will know you’re running scared.’
‘They’d be right, then.’
May was pleased the words had come out with the double-bluff of bravado she’d intended. Jack would think it unnatural for her not to take the threat seriously but she wasn’t going to let on how much she believed it wasn’t an idle one. The only way she could get them off her back was if she dropped the investigation into what had been going on out at Anchor Wharf with Elliott Shipping. And she couldn’t - wouldn’t - do that.
‘I can’t take on the Bow Kum Tong alone, Jack. The police aren’t able to do anything about their activities but perhaps they could offer me some protection the next time I’m in Limehouse.’
Except as soon as she said it she knew waltzing around with a boy in blue would make any remaining sources of information clam up tighter than a sailor’s knot. So the investigation would be dead anyway.
Jack tipped her one of his mock-salutes. ‘Except you’re not alone, Blossom of May. Partners, remember?’
Was he doing one of his muscling-in-on-the-story manoeuvres?
‘I’m not sure what good you think you’ll be when you can’t even take on a harmless old lady without getting beaten up in the process.’
A flush was on his cheeks as he made the slow and careful movement of buttoning up his lips. May smiled at both the childish gesture, and his discomfort.
‘I’ll be the first to admit my talents don’t extend to the strong-arm stuff, right enough. But I am a newspaperman and, as such, no slouch when it comes to getting to the heart of the matter. Brains, not brawn, May Keaps, is what you need right now. For a start I can help you work out why they chose to deliver the warning to you at this precise moment. Can you pinpoint exactly what it is you might have blundered across recently?’
‘If that’s an example of your insightful questioning then no wonder you got whacked at the fan-tan tables - if I’d been there you’d be lucky to be able to see clearly out of either eye. And the timing isn’t particularly relevant anyway; surely you can’t have forgotten they firebombed Mrs Loader’s?’
‘No, no. It was me they were after on that occasion. Because I’d been stepping too hard on their heels in the gambling dens.’
‘How secure it must make you feel to be so much the centre of your own little world. Far be it fro
m me to disabuse you but the Tong have been tracking my every move. Do you really think it was a coincidence they chose the night I was in there to torch Elliott Shipping-’
‘I seem to recall being present on that occasion as well.’
‘-and they knew I was out tonight. Probably had me followed to the Causeway. Maybe even sent that little party of dope smokers to keep me there.’
‘All I can say is thank the Virgin Mary they did or if you’d have got home earlier it could’ve been much worse.’
Much to her annoyance, May realised that Jack was helping. Not with his fatuous theory that she had unwittingly discovered something worth killing her for, but because she began to appreciate exactly why they wouldn’t.
‘I don’t think so. They wanted to warn me... threaten... however you want to put it, but they did so because they thought it’d be enough to scare me off.’
‘I never had the Tong down as being stupid.’
She refused to bite. ‘They’re careful. Disposing of someone actively involved in the drugs racket - and it’s beginning to look as if that included Miles Elliott - is one thing. Trying to get a rival, Brilliant Chang, indicted and hanged for murder, another. But they’d never risk killing an Officer of the Crown. The full force of the law would come down on their heads for that and put paid to every one of their little sidelines. You saw how quickly the Palm Court Club had to close once the police surveillance started.’
‘Pardon me for pointing this out, but don’t you think your attendance at an opium party might be interpreted by some as having a foot in both camps?’
May slammed her glass on the table. The buzz-saw of drunken exchanges died around them. Thomas Salter wandered out from behind the counter.
‘You all right there, miss? He bothering you? I can fix it for a couple of the lads to chuck him out arse over elbow if you see fit.’
‘Yes, he is bothering me, but that won’t be necessary. Thanks all the same.’
The landlord returned to his station leaving May irritated further by every man’s assumption that she couldn’t handle things herself and needed rescuing. Across the table, Jack was grinning at her. She could kick herself for being so weak as to need to seek him out in the first place. And for the tears. Especially for the tears. Her self-loathing spiked into viciousness.
‘You reporters have a habit of casting out information to reel people in, don’t you? I wouldn’t be surprised to learn it was you dropping hints to the Tong about where to find me; after all, everyone’s fair game in the search for a story, isn’t that right, Jack?’
‘Jesus, May. You really do have a low opinion of me, don’t you? I didn’t even know where you were tonight - in fact, I can’t say I spend much time thinking about you or your activities at all. Besides, I was nearly trapped in the fire at Elliott Shipping, too, remember? And if I am really such a hard-nosed callous bastard of a newspaperman as you take me for then it would be completely out of character to flirt with the possibility of the story dying with me, now wouldn’t it?’ He stood. ‘I’m having another brandy. To soothe my hurt feelings and quiet the temptation to forget you’re under duress and punch you in the jaw. In my professional opinion as a low-down bum, you’ve had more than enough of the hard stuff.’
He stalked up to the counter leaving May with the sour taste of an apology on her lips. She wasn’t sad to see him begin a conversation with the landlord. No doubt about her. Well, she deserved that. She’d never really considered Jack a snitch. But someone must’ve made it easy for the Tong to keep tabs on her. Brilliant Chang’s words in the courtroom came back to her: A carefree future often rests in the hands of those with the means and inclination to destroy it; do not put yourself in the position of having to learn that firsthand. She hadn’t listened closely enough then, but now she was hearing every word with ringing clarity. Being wise after the event was the easiest thing in the world: she had to start wising up to events. So who had known she was going to the opium party? Sally. But that was absurd. Liza? She’d been terrified when she’d seen Richard Weatherby outside the café and might’ve set May up to protect herself - or her son. And if Liza had told Richard Weatherby, then that would’ve given him plenty of time to perfect his story about Amelia. Except she found it hard to believe anyone could fake such emotional despair. But there had been other men on Three Colt Street who could’ve see them together and threatened Liza afterwards: the dope-runners.
And that was where her thinking stopped. The combination of opium smoke, the shock of what she found when she got home, and the brandy had finally caught up with her. She’d go home, use the last of her energy to dispose of that disgusting corpse, and go to bed. With any luck she might wake up in the morning with a bright idea of what to do next.
May staggered a little as she walked up to stand beside Jack.
‘I’m sorry for the things I said. You are a friend. A good friend. Thank you for being there when I needed you.’ It hadn’t been so hard to say it after all.
‘It was all my pleasure, Blossom of May. Well, not all, truth be told, but I’m not so dim not to know that even only having a part-time partnership with you entails taking the rough with the smooth. Give me a second to down this and I’ll escort you home.’
She laid her hand on his arm. ‘I’ll be fine, thanks. I’ve taken up too much of your time already; Andy Taylor will have your guts for garters if you don’t finish whatever it was you were working on in the newsroom.’ On impulse, she raised herself on tiptoe and gave him a peck on the cheek.
The warmth of his smile would be more than enough company back to Ellerthorp Street.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
It was Sunday, and the long awaited - and much needed - dress rehearsal. Vi was as jumpy as a lodging house mattress, she so desperately wanted everything to go well. And then there was that other plan she was hoping had all miraculously fallen into place: that of arranging for Alice to have made a pig’s ear of her run-through with Horatio last night. Except it appeared she was to be disappointed in that regard because she was over in the OP corner with him now, her hand on his sleeve, and a beaming smile putting the spotlight to shame. Perhaps she’d read the girl all wrong and she was used to the effects of cocaine - that little talk they’d had would’ve guaranteed she’d have taken some - so had still been capable of following his instructions to the letter. Although she looked to be high on something now. Even from here Vi could see the tell-tale signs of too-bright eyes, and glowing red cheeks like a penny ragdoll. She was jabbering nineteen to the dozen and tossing her hair back to command Horatio’s attention every time it strayed. It was an object lesson in distraction; Vi reluctantly admitted that if Alice could keep her mouth shut on the night she would make the perfect magician’s assistant.
But then she realised that was exactly what she couldn’t do right now. The cocaine was doing the talking for her. Maybe the rehearsal was going to be even better than she’d hoped, because with the combination of lowered inhibitions and inexperience, Alice might well not be able to control her performance. Horatio hated nothing more than displays of public humiliation. Particularly if he was shown up in their wake. All she had to do was bide her time and let Alice do the rest. He was already beginning to look a little hunted as he twisted away from the girl to signal to the band director.
‘I believe we’re ready to begin now. If you’ll get your boys to take their places...’
***
‘Can’t you get them to jump a little higher? I’m sure they were better than that at the try-out; the gallery will be hard pushed to believe they’re not nailed to their podiums.’
Mr Dansi threw a despairing look at Vi but Horatio was directing the thing and, as far as she was concerned, if he wanted the poodles to pirouette on one leg, then that’s what they had to do. They finished their routine with a little more spark, the tabs closed, and she strolled on pushing her coster
barrow - they’d gone back to the original plan of her working front of curtain. The band struck up and she poured everything she had into her song. In the pause she allowed for the audience’s reaction she felt waves of admiration reach her from the wings. A little business with an imaginary bunch of daisies, then her monologue. She knew she’d pitched the tone perfectly: a measure of haughty dignity mixed with pathos to leave the audience not knowing whether to laugh or cry. When she bobbed her ironic little curtsey she was rewarded with an outbreak of spontaneous applause. She dropped her gaze to Horatio sitting in the front row. He blew her a kiss.
‘We’ll take a short break. I want that lighting sorted out before we go any further.’ He looked up at the gantry. ‘How about if you dim that main spot a little and bring up the sides to compensate? It’s atmosphere I’m after, not the effect of a bull’s-eye lamp in a fog. And on the first opening of the tabs, make sure you pick out the poodles and not Dansi; he’s not the one they’ve paid to see.’
A loud guffaw issued from the wings. Followed by a high-pitched snort. Vi looked across to see the comedy duo bent-over with mirth, Alice in the throes of finishing off the punch line. With any luck she was giving them some fresh material. But there was a chance it might prove doubly rewarding because Horatio had swung around to glare at the stage.
‘Shut up, back there. A break isn’t permission for you to start screeching like deranged monkeys. This isn’t a school playground. Rehearsals are a serious business. It’s not as if any of you have the luxury of perfect routines.’
Alice stuck her head around the flat. The silly girl.