The Right Sort of Man

by Allison Montclair

  “Oh, it was very bad indeed,” said Iris. “So bad that I said to meself, ‘Mary, you ’ave to come see this fellow in the flesh and see if ’e is what Tillie said ’e is.’ I was ’oping she’d fix me an intro, but things went south before she could.”

  “Well, ’ere I am, bigger than life,” said Archie, leering at her. “What’s the verdict?”

  “That depends,” said Iris.

  “On what?”

  “On whether you can help a girl in distress.”

  “I admit, I am a sucker for a sob story,” he said. “Tell me all, and per’aps I will be your gallant knight for these perilous times.”

  “It’s me legs,” said Iris.

  “What about ’em?”

  “They get so cold, and I’ve got nothing left to warm them with,” Iris purred. “Tillie said you could line me up with some nylons.”

  “I might know a fellow,” he said. “Elsie, my pet. Go see what’s ’olding up our pints while I ’ave a chat with your friend.”

  * * *

  The commotion caused when Archie and his men commandeered the back room caught Gwen’s attention.

  “Who are they?” she asked.

  “Ah, them,” Des said shortly. “They are men to be avoided. That’s Archie, the one I was telling you about.”

  “You’ve had your run-ins with them, I take it.”

  “They are part of the cost of doing business around ’ere,” said Des. “I try to keep to the up and up. It ain’t always easy. Look, there’s Elsie and your friend.”

  Gwen watched the interaction between Iris and the spiv, trying to read their lips, their expressions.

  “What do you suppose she wants from the likes of ’im?” asked Des.

  “Knowing her, anything is possible,” said Gwen.

  Then a movement at the entrance to the room caught her attention, and she stepped back from the window in surprise.

  Alfred Manners, the dustman who never returned for his interview, was walking into the room. Only he wasn’t wearing a dustman’s coverall this time. He was sharply dressed from the deep turn-ups of his trouser cuffs to the top of his trilby hat.

  “Do you know the man who just walked in?” she asked.

  “I do,” said Des grimly. “And if ’e didn’t have the rest of ’is gang ’ere, I’d be throwing ’im over this ’ere railing into the river.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s the bastard what dropped Tillie for the bad life,” said Des. “That’s Roger Pilcher.”

  CHAPTER 9

  From her vantage point, Gwen could see Pilcher but didn’t have the right angle to catch Iris’s eye. She would have given anything for a pair of semaphore flags.

  “Des, may I beg a large favour of you?” she asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “There’s a man in there I recognize,” she said. “A man who I’d like to avoid. Would you be so kind as to shield me while we walk through to the front room?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  He opened the door and stepped through it. She slipped in behind him, keeping out of Pilcher’s sightlines. Iris saw them come in and smirked as Gwen took Des’s proffered arm and nestled affectionately into his shoulder. As she did, Gwen brushed back her hair with her left hand, then repeated the gesture quickly. She followed by scratching her nose briefly.

  She walked with Des like that past Pilcher, who didn’t give them a glance. As they exited the back room, Gwen chanced a look back. To her dismay, Pilcher was moving directly towards where Archie was talking to Iris.

  “Successful evasion?” asked Des.

  “So far, so good,” said Gwen. “Thank you.”

  “Right. Shall I walk you ’ome and make sure you get there safe?”

  “I have to wait for Mary,” said Gwen.

  “But if the feller comes out ’ere and sees you…”

  “What else can I do?”

  Des glanced back into the room.

  “You go outside and wait over by the phone boxes,” he said. “I’ll wait for ’er and tell ’er to meetcher there. You can duck around the corner if you need to ’ide.”

  “That should work,” said Gwen. “But if she gets into any trouble…”

  “Why would she be getting inter trouble?” he asked. “You’re the one with the troubles.”

  “Good point,” said Gwen. “Right, let her know I’ll be waiting for her. And thank you.”

  She waved a quick good-bye to Fanny and Becky, and left, her heart pounding.

  * * *

  Iris’s first thought when she saw her partner cuddling with Des was a mixture of surprise and approval. Then she saw the hand signal and shifted her alertness, already at a high level, into the red zone.

  She couldn’t turn away from Archie to see where the danger lay. She was still on her feet, which meant it would be marginally easier to escape than if she had been sitting. But which way? Back through the crowd of Archie’s boys towards the front, hoping she could burst through before they were aware of her intent? And wasn’t that where the new danger, whoever it was, would be standing? How would he react to her sudden flight? Exit, pursued by a spiv? Perhaps she could make a mad dash to the verandah instead, hoping there would be some means of climbing down from there. But what if there wasn’t one? A dramatic dive over the railing into the Thames?

  She hoped that the tide was in if it came to that.

  She decided to wait and brazen it out before doing anything rash.

  “’Allo, look what the cat dragged in,” said Archie, looking past her. “The old scoundrel ’imself. What do you say, Rog? Come meet an old friend of your dead ex.”

  This gave Iris a chance to turn and see who she was dealing with. Her eyes came face to tie with a stylishly dressed man. She looked up with her best smile, then froze as she saw Alfred Manners, the nice-smelling dustman from the other day.

  From right after they parted with Tillie.

  Only Archie had just called him Rog?

  Alfred Manners was Roger Pilcher. Roger Pilcher had followed his ex-girlfriend, Tillie La Salle, to the Right Sort. Roger knew that Tillie was looking to find a new man. And no doubt knew exactly what Iris was doing in the pub tonight.

  The dive over the railing now seemed like a very viable option.

  “You know ’er, dontcha?” asked Archie.

  “Remember me, Rog?” said Iris. “Mary. We met at that pub over in Stepney. You were with Tillie, I was with an American G.I. named Harry. Sorry to ’ear about Tillie.”

  “What are you doing ’ere?” he asked.

  “Looking for stockings and a good time, but mostly for stockings,” she said. “You working for Archie now?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’m working for Archie now. What’s it to you?”

  “Makes no difference to me,” she said. “Nice to see you again. Give us a ring sometime.”

  “So you know ’er,” said Archie.

  “Yeah, I know ’er,” said Roger. “She’s a friend of Tillie’s.”

  “Then she’s a friend of Archie’s,” said Archie. “Now, it’s past me regular business hours, Mary, but come by tomorrow and we’ll see what we can do about warming up those pins of yours.”

  “Is afternoon all right?” asked Iris.

  “Any time before five,” said Archie. “Come close to quitting, we can maybe step out, put them to the test with a little dancing.”

  “Can’t tomorrow night,” said Iris. “But if you think you can keep up with me on a dance floor, we’ll make a date of it for later. Where do I go?”

  “There’s a warehouse on Wapping Wall on the side opposite the river, third one past Monza Street. You know it?”

  “I know the street. I’ll find the warehouse.”

  “If you see the pub—”

  “The Prospect of Whitby?”

  “Yeah, that’d be the one,” said Archie, approvingly. “If, like I said, you see that, you’ve gone too far.”

  “It wouldn’t be the fir
st time I’ve gone too far,” said Iris, winking at him. “Tomorrow, then. Niceter meet all of you. Rog, nice to run inter you again.”

  “Likewise,” said Rog as she walked by him.

  She intercepted Elsie in the front as she was returning, the other girls in tow.

  “I got to ’ead on,” she said. “I met the legendary Roger.”

  “Oh, did you?”

  “Yeah, only turns out I ’ave met ’im before,” said Iris. “I must’ve been three sheets that night, or I would’ve remembered.”

  “All right,” said Elsie, unconcerned. “You call me sometime and we’ll do it up right, all right?”

  “I will,” promised Iris. “You see where Sophie got to?”

  “She came back with Des,” sad Fanny sorrowfully. “Progress ’as been made, if you ask me.”

  “I saw that,” agreed Iris. “Well, I ’ope you ’ave the same luck.”

  “Not likely with this lot,” said Fanny. “Ta ta.”

  “Ta ta,” said Iris.

  She looked around the pub quickly. No sign of Iris, but there was Des, who gave her a meaningful nod. She went up to him.

  “Sophie saw someone in ’ere she didn’t want to see,” he said. “So, I sent ’er to wait for you by the telephone boxes down the corner.”

  “Thanks, and thanks for watching out for ’er,” said Iris.

  “She’s worth the watching,” said Des. “Night, then.”

  “Night,” said Iris.

  She walked out of Merle’s and kept herself from breaking into a run. Gwen peeped out from a phone box as she crossed the street.

  “You made it out alive,” she said. “I didn’t know what else to do. I was going to give you another minute, then phone for help. Are you all right?”

  “I’m all right,” said Iris. “I’m not quite sure what just happened.”

  “Alfred the dustman is Roger the ex,” said Gwen. “And Roger the ex works for a black marketeer.”

  “Who Elsie and Tillie also worked for,” said Iris. “Come on, let’s walk and figure this out.”

  They walked down Wapping High Street. They got about half a block when Iris lifted her head and listened.

  “We’re being followed,” she said.

  “Yes, you are,” said a man.

  They spun to see Roger Pilcher standing behind them.

  “Mrs. Bainbridge, Miss Sparks,” he said, nodding to each in turn. “What a lovely surprise.”

  “For all of us, I’m sure,” said Gwen.

  “I’d like to know what you think you’re doing, poking around my business,” he said.

  “We weren’t poking around your business,” said Iris. “We were poking around someone else’s business, and you popped up unexpectedly.”

  “Is that right?” he said. “And ’ose business were you poking around in?”

  “None of your business,” said Iris.

  “Why did you come to the Right Sort?” asked Gwen.

  “Why does anyone?” he asked. “I was looking for love. That’s what you sell, ain’t it?”

  “You were following Miss La Salle,” said Gwen.

  He shrugged.

  “I was curious,” he said. “Wondering what she was all about. She was acting mysterious about something. So, you’re poking about in ’er life, are you?”

  “Is that a problem?” asked Iris.

  “I would say, yes, that is a problem,” said Pilcher. “It doesn’t ’ave to be. But if you show up ’ere again, it will become very problematic indeed. And I ’ave a solution for problems like you.”

  “That sounds like a threat,” said Gwen.

  “It very definitely was a threat,” said Iris. “Do you feel threatened?”

  “Not particularly,” said Gwen. “It’s two against one, after all.”

  Pilcher smiled unpleasantly, then pulled a switchblade with a staghorn handle from his waistband. With the press of a button, the blade snicked open, gleaming in the light from the street lamp.

  “How about now?” he asked.

  “Yes, I confess it, I do feel threatened now,” said Gwen, backing away.

  “I don’t,” said Iris.

  “But he’s got a knife,” pointed out Gwen.

  “So do I,” said Iris as she pulled it from her bag and flicked it open.

  Pilcher looked momentarily nonplussed.

  “Not what you expected, is it?” said Iris. “You think when you pull a knife on a girl, they’ll do what you say, don’t you?”

  “Please,” said Gwen. “Could we all take a deep breath and pause for a moment?”

  “Don’t make this worse for yourself,” said Pilcher.

  “Worse?” scoffed Iris. “I think I’ve made it considerably better. Now, do we really need to escalate hostilities from here?”

  “I’m warning you,” said Pilcher.

  “Warn me all you like,” said Iris as she started to circle to the left, the knife rock steady in her grip.

  “Look, this is very exciting, and I can’t wait to go home and write it all down in my diary,” said Gwen. “But could you both put away the cutlery before someone actually gets hurt?”

  “You first,” Iris said to Pilcher.

  “Not bloody likely,” he returned.

  “Very well, if you’re going to behave like children, I shall be forced to take action,” said Gwen.

  The other two turned to look at her as she opened her handbag and rummaged through it.

  “And what ’ave you got in there, a Tommy gun?” asked Pilcher.

  “Oh, blast, where did I put it?” muttered Gwen. “It’s always on top when I don’t want it, and now that I—ah, there you are!”

  She pulled out something small and silvery and held it up triumphantly.

  “I have a whistle,” she announced. “It’s a very good whistle, and I have excellent lungs, so if you don’t put those knives away immediately, I shall wake every dog inside of a mile, as well as any bobbies within earshot. I understand that the Wapping police station is not too far away, but you know this neighbourhood better than I do, so you tell me if that is the case. Well?”

  Pilcher looked back and forth at the two of them, then folded his blade back into its handle and slid it into his waistband.

  “Don’t come back ’ere,” he said, his finger raised in warning.

  Then he turned and walked back to the pub. He gave them one more glance before disappearing inside.

  “Well done,” said Iris.

  “Iris, put that knife away,” said Gwen sternly. “Now.”

  Iris looked at her partner’s expression, then meekly folded up her knife and placed it back in her bag.

  “To be fair, you still have your whistle out,” she said.

  “And it will stay out until we reach the train,” said Gwen, turning and walking down the street. Then she stopped, and looked back at Iris.

  “And in exactly which direction is the damn train?” she shouted.

  “Right,” said Iris, hurrying to catch up with her. “This way, Milady.”

  “Fine. Let’s go.”

  “What is the matter with you?” gasped Iris, rushing to keep pace as Gwen strode angrily along.

  “With me?” exclaimed Gwen. “How about you? You could have got yourself killed, pulling a stunt like that. More to the point, you could have got me killed!”

  “I was protecting us—”

  “You were doing nothing of the sort,” said Gwen. “You took a situation that we could have talked our way out of in numerous ways, and went straight to armed combat.”

  “I warned you that this could be dangerous.”

  “There’s unavoidable danger that happens because it finds you, and there’s avoidable danger that happens because you decide to prod it with a sharp stick. What were you thinking, goading him on like that?”

  “You were goading him, too,” said Iris defensively.

  “I was merely standing up for myself,” said Gwen. “I did nothing to provoke him. What did you hope
to accomplish by bringing a knife—my God, Iris! You have a knife! How long have you been carrying that around?”

  “Since ’37,” said Iris. “Want to see me hit that sign from here?”

  “You’re insane,” said Gwen. “I’ve roped my fortunes to a madwoman.”

  “I thought you knew,” said Iris.

  “I know better than to pull knives on people, and I’m the one who was in an asylum!” shouted Gwen.

  “You were? You never told me about that.”

  “No, I didn’t,” said Gwen. “It was none of your concern.”

  “No, but still—I’m your friend, you could have—”

  “Friend? How long have we known each other?”

  “Well, I was at your wedding, but—”

  She blanched as Gwen glared at her.

  “All right, actual friendship,” said Iris hurriedly. “From when we met for lunch after George and Emily’s wedding.”

  “Which makes it five months,” said Gwen. “We’ve known each other for five months, we’ve been working side by side for three. We’ve chatted about everything but our recent history. What I know of your life during wartime has been censored more than the Vatican Library. So yes, I have a past that you don’t know about. I was in an asylum. I cracked up when Ronnie died. They pieced me back together, more or less, filled me with arcane potions, cleared me for some aspects of my life, and were quite enthusiastic about me working with you. ‘Good girl,’ said my doctor. ‘Takes the old noodle off what’s troubling it, what?’”

  “Your doctor talks like that?”

  “Shut up,” said Gwen. “So, there we were in our ramshackle office in our decrepit building, spreading happiness and joy and making a few bob into the bargain, and now we’re investigating a murder and consorting with spivs and being accosted by switchblade-wielding thugs in the middle of the docks—”

  “We’re not in the middle of the docks,” said Iris.

  “You did hear me say ‘shut up,’ didn’t you?”

  “Sorry. Carry on.”

  “And I see for the first time that you are a woman who wants nothing more than to dive into danger at the drop of a hat, dragging me kicking and screaming behind you. I suspect you of instability, Iris Sparks.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first,” said Iris. “But you’re missing the big picture.”