Queen of Thieves

by Beezy Marsh

  Then I poured the tea and offered her a cup.

  She took a sip and screwed up her face. ‘Milk must be off.’

  ‘Mine tastes fine,’ I said, hurriedly taking a slurp, so that I almost burned the back of my throat.

  I forced a smile as she continued to drink hers.

  ‘Let’s a have a toast!’ I said, taking another sip of the scalding liquid.

  I slugged it down and she laughed and did the same.

  ‘To happy days, rolling the fellas at your house, Mrs Tibbs!’

  I chattered on for England. Her eyes were getting heavy and soon enough she was snoring like train. I took the muslin from the kitchen table, tore it into strips and tied her tightly to the rocking chair.

  Then I had a good look in her sewing basket.

  What a treasure trove that turned out to be! Amongst the knitting needles, crochet hooks and pins, was a cut-throat razor. I thought I was going to have to make do with her best carving knife but this was something else. I tested it on my finger first and it was sharp alright, a drop of blood was proof of that.

  There were a few other things that caught my eye. Her hatpin – I swiped that – and a little pocket-book with lots of names and addresses in it, and how much they’d paid and for what. Some of the things those fellas paid for would make a whore blush. I thought that all looked very interesting and could come in handy, so I tucked the book in my pinafore pocket.

  Next, I put on the spare apron that was neatly pressed and folded on the kitchen table and then I went over to her. She was still snoring away like a bear in the woods as I drew the razor, slowly and deliberately along her arm. She didn’t open her eyes at first, in fact I was halfway through my handiwork when she opened her eyes. I don’t know if you have ever seen that look on someone’s face when they are shocked awake, but it really is something to witness their terror at the sight of their own blood. I was ready with her best tea towel and I stuffed that over her mouth as I finished it.

  ‘Shhh,’ I told her. ‘It’s alright Mrs Tibbs, it will all be over soon.’ She struggled quite a lot, splatting blood all over herself as I carved the letter deep into her forearm.

  A is for Alice ain’t it? And it was a name I never wanted her to forget.

  ‘Oh, now look what you’ve done!’ I said, as I stepped back to admire my work. She’d need stitches to sew the flaps of skin back together but even then, the scars would be permanent. At least, that is what I hoped.

  ‘It was ten pound he paid you for me, Ten pounds! I can pay you back, just let me go and stop cutting me. Stop!’ she shrieked, ‘I’m begging you. I thought we were working together.’

  ‘You were wrong about that,’ I laughed. ‘If you were on fire, I wouldn’t piss on you, you rotten old bag.’

  She was rocking to and fro, like a mad thing and gurgling like crazy.

  ‘Let me go, I will pay you money. Please!’

  ‘I ain’t going to take your filthy, tainted money,’ I said. ‘Now, stop screaming, or I will cut your throat.’

  That shut her up.

  I boiled some water on the range and washed away the blood from my hands in the sink, using that nice bar of soap she had, humming to myself.

  ‘I’ll have the law on you,’ she said.

  I waved her pocketbook under her nose.

  ‘I don’t think so because this will make very interesting reading, won’t it? So, if you so much as think about going near a cozzer, I will sing like a fucking canary. And the alleyways round here are so dark, I’d be careful if I were you. You never know who might be lurking. London town can be so dangerous after dark.’

  With that, I walked out of that house, to get on with the rest of my life.

  And it was a life that was going to be lived my way.

  I took the chiv with me in my pocket, wrapped in her lace handkerchief. I’d taken quite a shine to it. Over the years, it’s almost taken on a life of its own.

  You see, when someone gets cut, it’s her voice I hear. It ain’t me doing the chivving, it’s Mrs Tibbs. She’s made me do so many bad things I’ve almost lost count but she’s a greedy mare because no matter how many cuts she makes, it’s never quite enough and sometimes I feel her itching to get out of my pocket.

  I think Nell felt the same as I did. That razor wants blood.

  Now there is only one other person who still owes me that I’d like to reacquaint with Mrs Tibbs.

  And that’s my brother, Lim.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  NELL

  Soho, London, March 1947

  After weeks of snow falling silently in the night, the pattering of raindrops on the window woke me from a drunken stupor.

  Gypsy groaned as I leaned over her to peek out of the thin curtains into the street below, where the pavement had turned to a mass of grey slush. The thaw was finally here; spring was on its way.

  Alice had rewarded me with my own diamond ring, after what I did to Iris. It sparkled on my finger, as I rubbed sleep out of my eyes. A dull ache throbbed in my temples. I wasn’t a big drinker, I could barely take a couple of sherries at the best of times, but when I got back to The Windsor, I wanted to blot out what I’d become with that razor in my hand. After my act, I hit the bottle, hard.

  I felt queasy after cutting her hair, as if I’d gorged myself on the violence of it. It reminded me of the time I’d stuffed myself with cake on VE Day and almost threw up. What I’d done bubbled up my gullet and drink felt like the only way to force it back down again.

  The last thing I remember was Lou the barman chuckling to himself as he poured me another large whisky after closing time, and Gypsy and me staggering home, singing at the top of our voices.

  Now, as I watched the newspaper boy struggle up the street with his soggy bundle of papers, I wondered if I’d done the right thing punishing Iris. She belonged to the world of mugs; people who had straight jobs for a living and grassed on the likes of us. Alice said she had it coming, and I suppose she did.

  ‘To forge new ties, you have to cut old ones, Nell,’ she said. ‘You have to make painful decisions at times in this game and you’ve proved you are willing to do that. We don’t live by their rules, we live by ours, remember that.’

  Oh, I’d have liked to have snatched her chiv and slashed her to ribbons with it, to teach her all about the pain I was still feeling because of what she’d done to me.

  But instead, I smiled and accepted the ring while Molly was turning green with envy.

  So, this diamond ring proved that I was getting somewhere in The Forty Thieves, even after that stunt I’d pulled with the watch in the lift backfired so badly. Now, I was enjoying a winning streak and I intended to keep playing my cards close to my chest.

  Gypsy sat up in the bed and grabbed hold of my hand to admire my diamond again. She’d been trying to get the truth out of me about it, but I wasn’t telling.

  ‘Come on, spill the beans, where did you get that?’ she cooed. ‘Got a fancy man?’

  ‘If I have told you once, I have told you a thousand times; it was a family heirloom from a friend over the water,’ I said, holding it up, so she could get a better view.

  ‘It really is lovely,’ she said. ‘You are a lucky so-and-so. And you were celebrating something last night, I know you were. I bet your fancy fella bought it for you!’

  I didn’t need a man to buy me jewels.

  I had earned it. And I was sure of one thing: this would be the first of many.

  She laid back down, so that her hair spread out around her on the pillow, like a great cloud: ‘I wish I could get a fella to buy me a sparkler or two!

  ‘I never get anything nice, can’t afford it, bloody ration coupons and economy drives,’ she said, pouting. The room was littered with shoe-boxes from her last spree up Berwick Street market. Nothing she bought had fitted her and the dressing table was strewn with bunches of paper flowers from Woolworths because she’d taken a fancy to those and wasted all her money on tat, as usual.

 
Maybe it was guilt about my old pal Iris, but I felt Gypsy needed someone to take care of her, in the way that only that a member of The Forty Thieves could.

  I gave her a wicked grin: ‘Tell you what, why don’t we go and have a look around the shops before work? That’ll cheer you up!’

  People were still muffled up to their chins, with the rain falling like stair-rods, as we sauntered through the West End to Gamages. The tramlines up on High Holborn were glossy in the wet for the first time in months, instead of white with snow.

  ‘Oh, I’m like a drowned rat,’ laughed Gypsy, shaking water from her head as we stepped into the shop. Everything stank of soggy woollens and people still had their wartime faces on; tired, lined and now thoroughly cheesed off with the great British weather which had gone from sub-zero to downpour overnight.

  We pushed our way through the crowds, who were sheltering from the elements rather than buying, and Gypsy stopped at a heap of buttery-soft leather gloves. She picked up a black pair and examined the price tag.

  ‘Nineteen shillings and sixpence!’ she scoffed. ‘Who can afford that these days?’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘It’s daylight robbery.’

  She plonked them back on the pile and was rifling through for a cheaper pair, while I moved my handbag to the edge of the table and idly swept the ones that she wanted inside it. A shop assistant glanced over from the till, and I smiled at her sweetly. I wasn’t nervous in the least. I looked down at my diamond ring and it glinted under the electric lights. I could be like Alice Diamond; all it took was the guts to carry it off.

  ‘Fancy a look upstairs?’ I said and we wandered on through the shop together.

  ‘I could do with some new underpinnings,’ said Gypsy, twanging the strap of her brassiere. ‘They might have something on sale.’ It was true, most of her undergarments had seen better days, which was another reason she performed starkers.

  She stopped at a rail of rayon slips and camiknickers and picked a few up to try. I pulled some silk ones from their padded hangers, which brought the shop assistant running like the clappers.

  ‘Would you like to try those?’ she said, snatching them from me, as if they were the crown jewels.

  ‘They’re for my friend,’ I said, gesturing to Gypsy, who was waiting patiently by the changing room, with a handful of underclothes in the cheapest, scratchiest material imaginable from the bargain counter. The shop assistant looked her up and down, with something approaching pity, which really got me riled.

  Gypsy was oblivious to how she was being sneered at. She was so excited just to be in the shop trying on some nice things, rather than bartering with some market stall trader in Berwick Street.

  ‘Try this,’ I said, handing her the white silk slip and some drawers to go with it. ‘It looks gorgeous.’

  ‘Price tag to match, I’ll bet,’ she said. ‘But no harm window-shopping!’

  I pretended to look through some stockings for a moment and then stuck my head around the changing room curtain, where Gypsy was shimmering in the slip. It clung to her curves.

  ‘Imagine if Albert Rossi could see me in this,’ she giggled. ‘He’d fall at my feet, wouldn’t he?’

  She did look stunning. It didn’t seem fair that she couldn’t afford such a lovely piece of lingerie.

  She pulled it off and hung it up, before putting on the rayon one, which looked every bit as cheap as the material it was made from.

  ‘This one’s only three shillings and six pence, plus one of my clothing coupons, so I’m going to take it,’ she said, chirpily, twirling around to admire her reflection.

  We took everything she’d tried on over to the till in a big heap and as the assistant was ringing through her purchase, I put my coat on top of the silk slip and camiknickers, just as Alice Diamond had taught me.

  ‘Might I trouble you to show me those handkerchiefs?’ I said, pointing to the neatly folded tray in the cabinet below.

  She pursed her thin lips, giving me a look that let me know I was being a nuisance, but she had no choice but to oblige. As she bent down to get them, I picked up my coat and one of the silk slips with it, shoving it up the sleeve.

  Gypsy was so busy counting her pennies she didn’t see what I was up to.

  I felt a warm glow inside, that I was doing something nice for my friend and getting on over on that snooty cow of shop assistant. And it was easy too. I couldn’t wait to show her what I had nicked.

  Gypsy carried her purchases proudly in a brown paper bag, while I had my hoister’s haul concealed up my coat sleeve and in my handbag. It wasn’t bad for a first trip out on my own. My heart was beating a little faster, but I took my time, smiling at the shop assistant as we left, just like Alice did.

  At the other end of the womenswear department, there was a crowd gathering around a mannequin in a glass cabinet, which was dressed in the most extravagant, long, swishy skirt I’d ever seen. There was enough material in it for two economy suits and one pair of curtains, at least. The gold-coloured jacket had a nipped-in waist but it flared out across the hips and the whole lot was topped off by a fine felt hat, with a sweeping brim. It was so different from the clothes we were used to; ours were cut on the knee, with teensy collars or tiny little pleats. This outfit was so generously cut that it was almost shocking.

  ‘Just look at the yardage on that!’ said one woman, nudging her friend in the ribs. ‘War Office won’t like it!’

  ‘Far too showy, all that wasted cloth,’ said another matronly woman, peering over her spectacles to get a closer look.

  But we were all drawn to it, like bees to honey.

  ‘Well, I love it!’ said Gypsy, loudly, pressing her nose to the glass for a closer look.

  A big sign at the bottom of the glass case read ‘DIOR – NEW LOOK for Spring 1947’ and there was a display poster about a fashion show on a stand beside it which read:

  ‘SPRING FASHIONS 1947. Ladies! GAMAGES proudly presents the NEW LOOK by the House of Dior at our spring fashion show, featuring furs from the Alaska Fur Factory, at 4pm on Wednesday March 23rd. Tickets 6d. On sale now.’

  Beneath that, on a little card, was written ‘Models wanted, apply to manager.’

  ‘We could go to that,’ I said.

  ‘Might be nice,’ said Gypsy.

  ‘As models, I mean,’ I said. ‘That way at least we’d get to try on some of the clothes. It might be fun.’

  Gypsy nodded.

  The only hitch was whether that witch of a manageress, Miss Hunter, would tumble who I was.

  But I was a pathetic, scared, mousy brunette when our paths had last crossed and now, as a platinum blonde and a full-fledged member of the Forty Thieves, I was brimming with confidence. The old Nell was history.

  By the time we reached Wardour Street, Gypsy was still high as a kite with excitement about the little gifts I’d hoisted for her.

  ‘But I didn’t even see you do it!’ she squeaked. ‘You are so clever. Where on earth did you learn to do that?’

  ‘Oh, here and there,’ I said. ‘It’s just like nicking the table-cloth from the Lyons Corner Tea House, only you have to have to be a bit more game. With prices the way they are, it’s only fair that girls like us get a few lucky breaks, don’t you think?’

  She nodded in agreement and chucked her cheap rayon slip in the bin: ‘Never liked it anyway. Don’t know why I even bought it! Thanks, Nell, you are such a pal!’

  The stale stench of last night’s booze and fags wafted up the staircase as we descended into The Windsor. Lou, the barman, was like a blue-arsed fly, buzzing about, with money on his mind.

  ‘Wet weather means more punters,’ he boomed.

  ‘Cocktails are our special for today.’

  He was studiously ignored by gaggle of dancers who pretended to mend their costumes.

  ‘Are you lot even listening to me?’ he barked.

  I walked over and perched on a stool. Alma, the lead dancer, strutted up and sat beside me, picking at her bed bug bites
. Gypsy stifled a yawn and joined us. Lou seemed mollified by our presence.

  ‘That’s lemon cordial with some white wine, but you will sip at it as if its nectar because we’re charging the mugs three shillings a glass and I will pay you sixpence, clear?’

  We nodded.

  ‘And Mr Sullivan has just got a consignment of chocolates in which are very special,’ he breathed, wiping the sweat from his brow, as he heaved a cardboard box on to the bar for us all to admire. They were probably filled with sawdust because, God only knows where you could find chocolates with rationing as it was, but at least they looked like chocolates on the box outside. Pity the poor sods who had to eat them.

  ‘I’m thinking a pound a box and you can get five shillings back from me for everyone you shift. Got it?’

  We made a great show of hanging on his every word. Nobody wanted to get booted out on the streets in this weather.

  Something heavy thudded down the stairs and a man crashed through the doors, with one end of a rolled-up carpet tucked under his arm.

  Bringing up the rear, sweating like a pig, his sandy blond hair flopping over his forehead and his trilby hat pushed back on his head, was Jimmy.

  Our eyes met.

  ‘Nell!’ he cried, putting his end of the carpet down and rushing towards me.

  My heart was pounding, and he hesitated for a moment, almost drinking me in, before he took a step towards me, his hands encircling my waist.

  ‘You look stunning, Nell,’ he said, his voice hoarse with longing.

  Before I knew what was happening, he’d pulled me into a fond embrace, kissing me on the cheek. My stomach somersaulted the way it always did with Jimmy. Even after everything I’d been through, he only had to look at me with those cornflower blue eyes and my heart started to melt. I fought that feeling, as hard as I could but it was useless. My mouth could tell a lie, but my heart couldn’t. I still fancied him something rotten and the anger about everything I had been through got tangled up in it all. The words got stuck in my throat.

  ‘How’ve you been, Jim?’ I croaked.

  Alma whistled: ‘Lovebirds!’