by BK Duncan
That we was the opening Vi needed.
‘All I can say is that it’s a good job this show can boast one professional on the bill; Alice’s slot wasn’t until after the interval, so it’ll be no trouble for me to change costume and do her number. I’ll speak to the wardrobe mistress when we’ve finished up.’ She crouched down and, hidden from those on stage, tipped his chin up with her fingers. ‘And, if you’re a very good boy - and only because it’s you - I might even see my way to acting as your assistant.’
He twisted away. ‘Do you really think things could possibly be that easy? Think, woman. Molly. Alice. What did they both have in common? That box was built for someone skinny and you’re... you’re...’ He threw his hands in the air. ‘No amount of clever costuming can turn you into that.’
Vi wanted to hurl herself over the footlights and strangle him. But instead she walked back over to where the turns were queuing up for her attention.
***
The rehearsal muddled through - hindered rather than helped for the most part by Horatio’s absent-minded interference - and then it was curtain up on the second half. Vi had a quick word with the band director before positioning herself in front of the pub-scene drop. He’d wanted the broken doll routine performed with heartbreak laced with a glimpse of latent sexuality. She could do that standing on her head; after all, it was no more or less than the story of their life together.
By allowing herself to imagine the worst - that he hadn’t simply been playing along with Alice’s schoolgirl crush as an innocent dalliance - Vi’s tears weren’t stagecraft as she spoke, rather than sang, the line: Don’t tell me you were fooling after all. Then she whipped her head up to stare defiantly at the gallery. Fired with the belief that need trumped flirtation and the man of her dreams - and the song - would come back to her, his love stronger than ever, her voice soared: For, if you turn away, you’ll be sorry some day... She held the final note until the plaintive cry of the violin had died into a memory.
So lost had she become in the performance that the ASM had to come on stage and gently escort her off.
The rest of the turns passed her by. Vi was leaning on the wall by the curtain pulls when Horatio came to find her.
‘You were fabulous. Wonderful. Breathtaking. The rest were just okay but you were... magnificent. When you pulled yourself up for that last line I felt as though I was being slapped around the face by that easily quoted but much misunderstood adage: the show must go on. It’s been unspeakably selfish of me to be so preoccupied with what Alice’s vanishing trick means for my act. However, no longer.’
He grabbed a passing stagehand. ‘Are there any bits of scenery and a black curtain I can fashion into an upright cabinet with a false back?’
He returned his attention to Vi. ‘I’ll rely on that old standby of making a child disappear. Less dramatic but the audience will still leave with an air of mystery. And if we select cleverly and find a little poppet who’ll look suitably terrified, then they’ll get a touch of the sinister into the bargain.’
The stagehand was scratching his head. ‘Dunno, mate. I reckon as there’s a couple of small flats in the basement storage somewhere. But it’s a rabbit warren down there full of junk left over from every show’s ever been seen at the Gaiety and I ain’t got time to go looking, not if you want that backdrop change done smoother. Someone’s gotta give the flyman a kick up the arse.’
‘Vi, do me a favour and get everyone together will you? I’m off to have a root around.’
‘I’ll go. I know exactly what you need and it’s more important you drill the acrobats to face front when they break into their juggling routine while they can still remember they didn’t.’
He gave her a rib-crushing hug. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
His breath was hot in her ear.
‘I’m sorry for what I said earlier; my only excuse is that my brain was temporarily addled by the spectre of the whole house of cards collapsing. Although the fact remains my words were thoughtless, insensitive, and patently untrue. You’ve got a beautiful figure and once we pack up shop here, I’ll take you back to mine to show you just how much I appreciate it. Then after that - if we’ve still got the energy - we can work out how to stage the sawing a lady in half trick to best effect in Glasgow. There’s a brilliant props builder lives local who I’ve put on standby to make me a new box; I’ll telegram him in the morning once I’ve reacquainted myself with your vital statistics.’
He planted a wet-lipped kiss on her cheek before disengaging himself to chivvy the next turn into leaving the safety of the wings.
Vi was dizzy with rapture. The fact he’d planned all along for her to appear as his assistant in Glasgow was all the confirmation she needed that he was secretly plotting an elopement. Professional stage magicians (and he was being paid to perform at the Britannia Theatre) only ever worked with their wives; the bond of trust and secrecy required was too all-encompassing for it to be otherwise.
She was walking on air as she left backstage through the pass door and headed into the band pit to plunge into the murky world below stage.
Chapter Forty-Two
May sat at her desk. She’d woken with few signs of the drama of the day before; the skin around the fully-closed cut pulled when she bent her head forward to wash and her hip was bruised from where she’d fallen to the ground but, other than that, she felt remarkably like her old self. Except for the fact that she would now have to wear that ridiculously bright scarf Sally had bought her to hide the results of her folly.
She opened her notebook and wrote a brief summary of the events of the past few days before settling down to re-examine the break-in. She’d assumed - because of the pipe - that it had been a warning not to attend another opium party, but what if the timing had been co-incidental and it hadn’t been about that at all? What if it had been the work of one of the rival drug gangs hoping to achieve ascendency by fingering the Tong? Could those Chinese characters have been a name or some detail to incriminate Miles’ killer? She could remember the shapes clearly (who wouldn’t when they had been written in rat’s blood?) and she flipped to a fresh sheet of paper and drew them. But who to ask what they meant? No one legitimate, obviously, because if the message was a reference to the opium party then she’d have to come clean to Braxton Clarke or risk finding herself arrested under suspicion of illegal drug taking. Perhaps Jack could show it to one of his informants in the gambling rackets? Much as it went against the grain to go cap-in-hand to the already insufferably arrogant Mr Cahill, she had to admit that, on this occasion, she was stymied without his help.
***
The office of the East End News was alive with reporters, copy-boys, runners, and members of the public placing advertisements and announcements. May paused to wave at Andy Taylor through his corridor window and then dodged her way down to the cubbyhole Jack had claimed as his domain. She wondered who else would find it incongruous for the nephew of a newspaper magnate to be sitting in what amounted to a broom cupboard with his shirt-sleeves rolled up, chewing the end of a pencil. However irritating he could be at times she had to give it to him that he did have character. May took a moment to adopt a bright and breezy façade and then sauntered up to perch on the edge of his desk.
‘Not on that. I’ve two minutes to deadline.’
She lifted herself off again as he snatched a piece of paper from under her bottom.
‘Stand over by the window if you’re staying, and don’t say a word.’
May swallowed a sharp retort and did as she was told. Jack had a surprisingly good view (if he ever raised his head long enough to appreciate the outside world). The bottom of Wade Place with its fine white houses. The poshest address in Poplar; home to customs officers, and retired sea captains who’d probably made their money in the lucrative ivory trade. She fancied her lilac dance shoes might once have sat
in one of the vast mahogany wardrobes up there waiting to be worn.
‘Finished. Boy!’
Jack waved his copy in the air like a flag of victory. A lad of about fourteen with oiled-down hair ran into the room and took it.
‘Wait while Mr Taylor looks it over, then down to the print room with you. Look lively.’
He leant back in the chair, his hands clasped behind his head. ‘Miss Keaps. What a delight. And there was me certain I was in your bad books...’
May had to search her memory for what had happened when she’d last seen him. Oh yes, the altercation in the Resolute Tavern; did he really think she’d be so petty as to hold a grudge? Then she had to smile because, under other circumstances, she undoubtedly would’ve done. But the constancy of their relationship wasn’t what she was interested in right now. There was a bigger fish needed frying.
‘I’ve been wondering if it was someone other than the Tong in my house the other day.’
‘Are you telling me you’ve done something to warrant death threats from another quarter?’
‘We don’t know it was that.’
‘It’s a pretty educated guess.’
‘But it could have meant something else; maybe trying to point me in another direction. You see, I had a bit of a clash with one of the dope-runners in Three Colt Street yesterday.’ She tried to keep her voice light. ‘He took exception to my presence.’ Good, just the right tone: professional and detached.
‘I take it you gave him as good as you got? I’d have liked to have had a ticket; I’ll stake my wages on it being better than a bare-knuckle prize-fight.’
May couldn’t bring herself to re-live the details - her tiger was caged somewhere deep inside and she didn’t want it roaring out and taking them both by surprise. On the other hand she wasn’t going to let Jack get away with making a joke of it. She whisked the scarf from her neck aware that, with the light behind her, he wouldn’t be able to make out the full extent of the damage.
‘I didn’t return one of these, if that’s what you mean.’ She felt a warm surge of satisfaction as he winced. ‘I need to know exactly what it was they wrote on my wall.’
She outlined her theory that a clue about Miles Elliott’s murder could be buried somewhere in the message. Jack sat forward, took off his glasses and set about cleaning them with a crumpled scrap of material.
‘If you’re asking for my help-’
‘That’s why I’m here.’
‘-then the answer’s no.’ He put his glasses back on and stared at her. ‘I’m not prepared to run around and find more rope for you to hang yourself with. I can’t believe you care for yourself so little. And care even less for the feelings of those of us who, for some reason that is beyond me right now, harbour a vestige of affection for you. What did you do, go up to the dope-runner and demand a sample of his handwriting?’
May gently re-tied the scarf before walking over to lean straight-armed on the vacant patch of his desk.
‘I might well have done if I’d thought about it at the time. As it was I merely asked him to relay a message to his lords and masters.’
‘Now I’ve heard everything. You’re so out of your depth playing games with them; next time they won’t be content with a little light disfiguring. Don’t you see that it hardly matters whether the message was a death threat or not when it’s your own foolhardy and reckless nature that will do the job for them?’
Andy Taylor stuck his head through the doorway. ‘Cahill, my office. Now. Hello, May. That piece is going to be spiked. I need another couple of hundred words. Decent ones this time.’
‘Shit.’ Jack got up to follow him. ‘Please don’t make me ever regret falling for your charms, Blossom of May, because I couldn’t bear it if you let anything happen to bring our all-too-brief liaison to an abrupt and irrevocable close.’
Chapter Forty-Three
First thing in the morning, May was walking past the tobacconist in the High Street when Jack stepped out onto the pavement.
‘I thought you’d like to know that I found someone else to do my translating for me.’
‘Good morning, Miss Keaps. Yes, thank you, I slept very well.’
‘I do wish you’d give up on your sarky comments about my lack of social graces, it’s becoming very tedious.’
‘Who?’
‘Never you mind. Suffice to say that it was designed to scare me off the investigation.’
‘I forbear to mention the fact that my educated guesswork was spot-on. Oh dear, that just slipped out. I suppose me saying I told you so all the time must be a tad wearing, too.’
May narrowed her eyes and shot him a dagger look. ‘You can only call it educated when you know what you’re talking about; I highly doubt that, even given the loose accuracy of your self-publicity, you can boast reading Chinese amongst your many talents.’
‘What is it that makes you unable to resist having a go at me? I seem to be gifted enough when you want my help with something.’
‘Stop whining. The point is that I rattled their cage by going to the opium party which proves I must be getting close to something.’
‘Did the cut on your neck vanish overnight along with your high opinion of me?’
She couldn’t help reaching up to check the scarf was still covering the scar. ‘I’ve been thinking that maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing I showed them my cards - isn’t that what you gamblers say?’
‘I’m not a gambler. I’m an investigative reporter working on a gambling story. There is a difference. Are you going to swallow your pride and get the police involved now?’
Is that why he thought she’d kept silent? And he had the nerve to accuse her of misjudging him. She was almost tempted to march him off to the police station right now so he could witness how little she cared about losing face. Except any assistance she might seek from that quarter had to wait until she had a foolproof plan in place to spring a trap, and not before.
‘No. What happened is over and done with and no one will talk to me if word gets out I’ve been running to PC Collier and his ilk.’
‘I hesitate to point out that precious few are talking to you now.’
‘Well, clever clogs, that’s probably because I’ve not been asking the right questions of the right people. Horatio Barley-Freeman gave me an idea-’
‘Ah, he must be Einstein’s brother then.’
‘-he’d been over checking the spices in his father’s warehouse and that got me thinking that Elliott Shipping must’ve had someone doing the same thing. Miles couldn’t possibly have kept tabs on everything they discharged and stored until the owners could pick it up. Especially if he was distracted by keeping illegal consignments under wraps. Even if it had been casual labour, someone on the quay might remember. That’s where I’m off to now.’
Before she could stop him, Jack had reached out and pulled the scarf from where she’d tucked it into the collar of her blouse. He whistled.
‘Jesus, I didn’t know he’d cut you that badly. Let me remind you that you got it for opening your mouth and saying something stupid. You’ve done it before, and I know you’ll do it again. Except the next time you won’t be so lucky. Don’t you realise the Tong only use razors as a weapon when they’re playing nice?’
‘How many times have I got to tell you that this is my job? I have to gather evidence to put before a jury and of course some of those with reason to hide the truth don’t take kindly to me doing so. But I’d be useless at it if I allowed that to stop me. And if you so much as think that I’m more vulnerable because I’m a woman... it goes with the territory, that’s all.’
She took the scarf from him and tied a knot this time.
‘Besides, this is the only assault I’ve received in two years as coroner’s officer whereas you were clouted by an old lady’s handbag two mon
ths off the boat, so you’re hardly one to talk.’ Her point made, she relented a little. ‘But you’re right. I let my anger get the better of me when I confronted the dope-runner - it doesn’t matter why now - and I shouldn’t have done.’ She held her hand to her neck. ‘This was a tough lesson but I’ve learned it now: the scar will be my reminder.’
Jack nodded. Just once. She knew he was remembering the firebombing of Mrs Loader’s house and how it hadn’t stopped him in his tracks. The look he gave her was one of professional respect.
‘Okay then. If you’re still alive tonight then would you care to accompany me to the beast’s lair - the Tong’s gambling den? I think it could be time for us to reprise the sailors fresh on shore leave act; if you’re determined to scurry about under their noses then you might as well bluff them by turning up in the place they’d least expect.’
May wasn’t fooled by his pretence that they’d be doing it for her benefit.
‘I seem to recall you needed me as cover in Brilliant Chang’s nightclub as well. All right, but only if it’s on the understanding that neither of us interferes in each other’s lines of inquiry. Leave a note on my office door with the place and time and I’ll meet you there. And Jack...’
He had started to step off the kerb and he paused with his foot hovering in mid-air.
‘... Thanks.’
‘What for?’
‘You know, caring about me.’
‘Partners, remember? It’s what they do.’
She watched as the back of that hideous jacket disappeared behind a parked delivery van.
***
May headed for Limekiln Basin. Not the river end where Elliott Shipping sat but the main gate where Fore Street met Three Colt Street. The roadway was as busy as Chrisp Street market on a Saturday night. A line of carts filled most of the available space as they waited for their turn to reach the dock gates and be loaded. The shire horses - the only ones strong enough for the job - had rendered the stone sets slippery with their urine, the spicy smell of their manure fresh and pungent by turns. The last few carmen had abandoned their charges to their nosebags and were presumably in the Fish and Ring watching through the windows for when it would be worth leaving their beer to move further up the queue. Recently disembarked sailors were rolling with their unsteady gait towards their lodging houses, sometimes stopping one of the sherbet sellers or muffin men for something to sustain them on the way. Boys with trays of steaming meat pies balanced on their heads were waylaid by those dockers and stevedores without wives or daughters to cut them lunch at home. Stragglers from one of the passenger steamers that called in on its way to the world beyond Tilbury were threading their way through the chaos.