His eyes still adjusting to the lack of light, he glanced at the divan nearest to him. A woman in a man’s suit and tie was miming the song to amuse a much younger woman whose slender figure was enhanced by a daring evening gown. Her hand rested on the girl’s bare shoulder.
The girl’s hair was a cloud of blonde curls. Her rosebud lips and round saucer eyes reminded him of Clara Bow, one of his favourite actresses. Looking at her distracted him from her companion. It took him a few seconds to recognise the older woman. In that instant of realisation, his gaze met hers, just as she was mouthing the words very confidentially.
He was staring at the woman he thought of as a witch.
Leonora Dobell.
*
Leonora turned her head away the moment she saw Jacob. To hide his embarrassment, he plunged into the crowd at the bar. It took him five minutes to be served, and by the time he’d drunk enough to summon up the courage to look round, the divan was empty. Leonora was nowhere in sight.
“You frightened her away,” a voice murmured.
At his side was the woman he’d seen with Leonora. Even in the fug of smoke and dope, he caught a sweet whiff of perfume. At close quarters, perhaps she wasn’t quite Clara Bow, but her petite features had a delicate charm.
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure…”
“Oh, please don’t apologise. I was taken aback, that’s all. One minute she was doing her damnedest to amuse me. The next, she caught sight of you. That was enough for her. She jumped up, and said she must go.” The girl laughed. “Do you always have this effect on strange women?”
“I’m afraid so. One look at me, and they run a mile.”
Her finely pencilled eyebrows lifted. “You don’t look utterly terrifying at first glance. Obviously you have hidden depths.”
“Yes, they’re very well concealed. Can I get you a drink?”
She asked for a Boulevardier, which Jacob had never even heard of, but the barman obliged, and within a couple of minutes he’d joined her on the divan and was sipping his third G and T of the evening.
“I should introduce myself. My name’s Jacob.”
“We’re not supposed to tell each other our real names,” she said. “That’s the point of this club, isn’t it? Clandestine, you see.”
“I’m happy to make an exception in your case,” he said. “Even if you prefer to remain a Woman of Mystery.”
She tried her cocktail, and smiled in approval. “All right, then. I’m Daisy.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Daisy.”
They exchanged shy smiles, but didn’t shake hands. With men and women all around them cavorting in the most licentious way imaginable, such formality would be absurd.
“Actually,” she said in a small voice, “there’s nothing very mysterious about me. In fact, I’m the definition of ordinary. I’ve never even been here before.”
“Really?” Disappointment needled him. He’d hoped she’d tell him more about Leonora, and the club itself. “But this place is for members only.”
“And guests, if you know the right people,” Daisy said. “But I’m afraid the person I came with turned out not to be Mr Right.”
“You didn’t come with Leonora?”
“Is that her real name? She told me to call her Leo. I’d only just met her, five minutes before you arrived and gave her the heebie jeebies.”
He leaned towards her. “Who did you come with, if I may ask?”
“You may,” she said with mock solemnity. “A colonel, no less.”
“I’m impressed,” he said.
“I thought my luck was in.” She pouted. “I used to be on the chorus line at the Gaiety, but I was sacked a couple of weeks ago, and since then, life has been hand to mouth.”
“Sorry to hear that,” he said. “There are other chorus lines.”
“I’m not so sure. One of the stars misbehaved with me, and took it badly when I complained to the musical director. It was easier to get rid of me than an actor. Even easier to put the word out that I spell trouble. Everyone knows everyone else in theatre land, and it’s the old, old story. Give a dog a bad name.”
The crooner had moved on to “Stardust”. Jacob drank some gin. The lyric was spot on: the melody was haunting his reverie. He was becoming philosophical.
“Life is unfair.”
“Too bloody right, if you’ll pardon the expression. So when I got talking to a nice respectable gentleman in Hyde Park this afternoon, and he invited me to dinner, I wasn’t going to say no, was I? Even if he was old enough to be my father.”
“And he brought you here after dinner?”
“Said he’d been a member for years. I’d never even heard of the place, even though I only live round the corner. It all sounded very secret. Exciting, though. After three days of bread and cheese and water, I was ready for some excitement.”
She finished her cocktail, and he bought another round of drinks. Oakes was right; the prices were very reasonable. Back on the divan, he settled down close to her. Her perfume was as intoxicating as the alcohol.
“Did this colonel tell you his name?”
“Told me to call him Tom.” She pouted again. “I bet he wasn’t a real colonel. Probably just some married businessman wanting to get away from his missus.”
“What happened after you got here?”
“The big chap on the door made a fuss about whether I could be allowed in. Seemed to think I was on the game – sauce! Tom made it all square with him, but the argument upset him. Once we got down here, he bought me a cocktail, but he couldn’t settle. I was in my element, watching all this going on!” She waved towards two rouge-lipped men cuddling each other a couple of feet away. “It’s the sort of thing you read about in the News of the World, isn’t it? But worse. Or better. Doesn’t seem real somehow. Tom said he needed to do something, and disappeared into the crowd. That was the last I saw of him.”
“He abandoned you, just like that?”
“Story of my life, Jacob. My trouble is, men think I’m as common as muck. And cheap too. I’m a flirt, I admit. But I’m not easy. And when they’re disappointed, they get cross.”
The singer launched into “Blue Skies”. As Daisy sipped her cocktail, he felt the pressure of her leg against his. With a head start over dinner, she must have had plenty to drink already.
“You bumped into Leonora by accident?”
“She said I was looking lost and lonely, and what was the matter? When I explained, she said it was shocking that a man could walk out on a pretty girl like me. She bought me a Boulevardier.” She took another sip. “I should have said no, I could see what she was after, and I think it’s horrid, but I was miserable, so… anyway, nothing came of it. You turned up in the nick of time, and scared her off.”
“I hardly know the woman,” Jacob said. “We’ve only met once. Through work. I suppose she was embarrassed to be seen here.”
“Dressed like a man, you mean?”
“Yes, I had no idea she was… well, you know.”
He was about to tell her that Leonora was married, but bit his tongue just in time. What she got up to in her private life was none of his business. Now he understood why she spent so much time in London. In this vast, anonymous city, she could amuse herself in a manner quite impossible on a country estate in Yorkshire.
“What sort of work do you do?”
“I’m a journalist.”
Her eyes were like saucers. “Gosh, how marvellous. What newspaper?”
“The Clarion.”
“Then just remember this.” She giggled. “Next time you review a musical, say that the chorus line could have done with legs like Daisy Smith’s!”
Had he said too much? He persuaded himself that she’d have forgotten most of their conversation come the morning. There was a touch of bleariness about those lovely big eyes. Before long, she’d be dozing.
“I suppose I’d better be off,” he said.
Daisy yawned. �
�Same here. Nothing to keep me. And I’ve had more than enough cocktails.”
He stood up. It hadn’t been a bad evening’s work; he’d learned nothing about Gilbert Payne but more than he’d bargained for concerning Leonora.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Thanks for driving that woman away, I’d have had a job getting shut of her on my own.” She struggled to her feet. “I don’t suppose you can do me a favour?”
“You can always ask.”
“Would you mind seeing me home, just to my front door? It’s only five minutes from here, but at this time of night there are some roughnecks about. If they see a lady on her own, they think they’re quids in.”
Why not? He didn’t mind doing a good deed. And she did look rather like Clara Bow.
“All right, Daisy.”
“Thanks, I knew you were a good egg.”
The dapper man on the door bade them an effusive goodnight and let them out. They climbed up the stairs, and knocked on the door at the top. The sergeant major greeted them with a brisk nod.
“You’ll be wanting your hat, sir. And your coat and bag, madam?”
Jacob collected his fedora, tipped the sergeant major, and stepped out into the night air. Daisy joined him at the top of the stairs outside the building, and they gazed up at the stars together.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” she said. “It’s not only ‘Blue Skies’ that make you remember life’s probably still worth living.”
“Of course it’s worth living! No matter what goes wrong, there’s always another day, another chance.”
“You’re lucky. You’ve got a job. Probably a nice wife or girlfriend. A few bob in the savings bank. It’s not like that for everyone.” She linked arms with him. “Sorry, don’t mean to be maudlin.”
As they wove through the maze of streets, he pondered her words. Might he pick up the Clarion one day and read a couple of lines about a former chorus girl who had put her head in a gas oven because she couldn’t pay the bills? He wished he could help her to find work.
“I haven’t got a wife or girlfriend,” he said. “Or a boyfriend, in case you’re wondering.”
She guided him around a barber’s shop, and into the narrow entrance of a cramped and insalubrious mews. To left and right were one-storey workshops, most of them derelict. Ahead of them stood a narrow terrace of houses in dingy yellow brick. No lights shone at their windows. In the dull lemon glow cast by a lamp on the street, he saw a rat scampering across the cobblestones.
“Married to your job?” she asked.
“You could say that.”
“Watch your footing; some of the cobbles are loose.” She halted by a door at the side of the skinny end house. “Here we are. Thanks very much, Jacob. Lucky or not, you’re a gentleman, and there’s not many I can say that for.”
Standing on tiptoe, she pecked him on the cheek. Again he caught her fragrance.
“Goodnight, Daisy.”
Clara Bow eyes gazed into his. “I don’t suppose you’d fancy a nightcap?”
“I’ve got work in the morning.”
“Don’t be frightened. I’ll leave your virtue intact. Just one drink, and then I’ll shoo you away. Promise.”
He felt confused. The gin didn’t help. “It’s not that I don’t think you’re very attractive.”
“I’m not on the game, if that’s what you’re scared of.” A fierce note entered her voice for the very first time. “A nightcap, and nothing more than a nightcap. What do you say?”
Where was the harm? The truth was, he could do with the company. And if, after the nightcap, they forgot themselves and got carried away, well, they were both adults, with only themselves to blame.
“All right. I mean yes, I’d like that. Thanks.”
Taking a key from her bag, she said, “I’m in the garret. Draughty in winter and boiling hot in summer. At least I can afford it for another few weeks.”
She led him up two vertiginous flights of uncarpeted stairs before arriving at a minuscule landing. The ceiling was low, and Jacob needed to duck his head.
“Be it ever so humble,” she sang softly, “there’s no place like home.”
He followed Daisy inside, and was assailed by the smell of mildew. She bent over to strike a match. He was right behind her when something hit him hard on the head, and everything dissolved into blackness.
*
When he came round, the back of his head was throbbing. What had happened? Had a burglar broken into the attic? His brain wasn’t working as it should. He felt disorientated. Forcing his eyes open, he blinked away tears.
He was lying in bed. A sickening stench of mildew filled his nostrils. The room was pitch black.
And he wasn’t wearing a stitch.
Gingerly, he lifted his hand, and brushed the back of his head with his index finger. The matted blood on his scalp was sticky to the touch.
Groaning, he shifted position, only to brush against smooth, chilly flesh. He wasn’t alone. The bed was a double, and someone was lying next to him. Also naked.
For heaven’s sake, Daisy had taken him to bed with her when he was unconscious.
Wrong, wrong, something was terribly wrong. He was too confused to make sense of things. He touched Daisy’s bare back. It was cold. He put his hand on her side, and pulled her to him.
Too weak to scream, he gave a muffled sob of horror.
He was mistaken. Daisy wasn’t lying beside him after all.
He was sharing the bed with a corpse.
The lifeless body of a naked man.
18
Jacob tumbled out of the bed and on to hard floorboards. They creaked in protest. His bones were aching. As he got to his feet, his sore head almost hit the low ceiling. He felt nauseous, his mind was spinning. Blinking hard, he tried to focus. Moonlight crept through a gap in the curtains. He took a step forward, and his bare foot caught a nail sticking out of the floor. Although he let out a little cry, he was almost beyond pain, beyond caring. Limping to the window, he tore apart the curtains.
A crescent moon illuminated the deserted mews. Through the cobwebs on the window, he could see the way out to the street. In the shadows, he detected movement. The dark shape of a man. The mews was under guard.
At the end of the room was the only door. Someone must have stood behind it as he followed Daisy in. His attacker had been lying in wait. Everything was planned, must have been. The girl was in cahoots with the people at the Clandestine Club. She’d lured him here so that he could be knocked unconscious. And then, while he was out of it, she and his attacker had put him to bed with a dead man.
His gorge rose as he looked at the corpse. The face was dreadful, the distorted expression a parody of shock and betrayal. The brown hair was long, the cheeks pale, the shoulders narrow. He was thin, not in the least muscular. Only a few years older than Jacob, by the look of him.
A wound gaped in his chest. On the floor by the side of the bed was a steak knife with a wooden handle. The stained blade spoke for itself.
A pound to a penny, Jacob’s fingerprints were daubed all over it.
He felt his chest tightening. He must escape, he had no choice. Stay here, and he’d be at the mercy of whoever had done this. They’d allowed him to live. There could only be one reason. They meant to frame him for the murder of this man. Someone he’d never even met.
What on earth could be his motive for such a vile crime? Why would anyone believe he’d killed a perfect stranger?
He forced himself to take a closer look at the body. The smears around the mouth gave him the answer.
The dead man was wearing lipstick.
Jacob’s feverish mind worked out the narrative. It made perfect sense. This man had met him at the Clandestine Club, and brought him back here. Once he’d been enticed into bed, a quarrel had started. Perhaps he’d been overcome by shame. Or anger, or both. The knife had been to hand. In a fit of unreasoning rage, Jacob had plunged the blade deep into his new acquaintance’s heart.
<
br /> On a bedside table stood an empty gin bottle and two glasses. A picture of debauchery. Jacob saw in his mind the huge headline on the front page of the Witness, as gleeful as it was garish.
House of Horror Slaughter – Clarion Reporter Arrested
They’d love it; they’d pump out one special edition after another. An image sprang into his mind of Haydn Williams holding court in the Magpie and Stump, shaking his head and saying that he’d always thought there was something funny about the lad. Couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but…
No, no, no. He bit back rising hysteria. If he didn’t get out of here, the best he could hope for was ridicule and ruin. The worst was a hood over his head, and a noose around his neck.
He tried the door. Locked, inevitably. The wood was cheap and rotten. It should be easy to charge it down with his shoulder. That still left the door on the ground floor. As he smashed his way through, the racket would bring the guard running.
Next, the window. A forlorn hope, given the height of the attic above ground, but he’d risk anything to escape the dead body. The window was bolted shut and looked as though it hadn’t been opened for years. The bolt was covered in rust. After half a minute of trying to shift it, he gave up. Another option gone. Breaking the glass would be far too noisy.
He looked up, but there was no hatch in the ceiling. Even if there had been access to roof space, there would be no way to get outside unless tiles were missing. Not that anything was impossible in this dank hellhole.
Taking a step back, he trod on something. Not a nail this time. Bending down, he picked up a wooden hammer. This must be the weapon someone had used to knock him out when he entered the room. It hurt like hell, but it could have been much worse. If he’d been hit with full force, the blow might have killed him.
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