The Runaway Daughter

by Joanna Rees

‘Well, send him in. Don’t keep him waiting,’ Clement snapped.

  Mr Rawlings had come from Manchester and was dressed like a man of his class. He had swarthy dark skin, a bushy moustache and a bowler hat and looked reassuringly forgettable – a bonus, for his profession. Clement wondered if he really was as good as his contact at the police force had said. He should be, for the wage Clement had agreed to pay him.

  Keen to get his next injection, Clement wasted no time with pleasantries, cutting off his mother when she offered Rawlings tea. They sat awkwardly around the card table, as Clement instructed him on exactly what was required. Rawlings nodded, reassuring him that he would be discreet in his enquiries. His mother twisted a handkerchief in her fingers.

  ‘And may I ask, Mrs Darton, what the incident was that prompted your daughter’s departure?’ Mr Rawlings asked, making notes in his book.

  Theresa Darton, afraid of eye-contact as ever, looked down at the knotted handkerchief in her lap. She had been against the whole idea of a private detective, but Clement had insisted that – as his father had suggested – they take matters into their own hands. Rawlings had agreed to put the notice in the paper, but also to follow up with enquiries.

  ‘There was an incident with Dante, her horse,’ she whispered.

  ‘What was that?’ Rawlings asked.

  Clement silenced his mother with a look and took over. There was no point in Mr Rawlings conversing with her. His mother was deranged, at the best of times, and Anna’s recent behaviour had only made it worse. There was no point in dragging out the details of his fury over Dante. He’d been perfectly justified in thrashing the beast. He rolled the wheelchair away towards the window and gestured for Mr Rawlings to follow.

  ‘The point is, my sister is not a terribly responsible person. Not to mention the fact that she’s incredibly naive,’ Clement said, before adding quietly to Mr Rawlings, as his mother stood and turned away to the birds, ‘and there may be some inherited . . . well, problems.’ He tapped the side of his temple. ‘So you understand it’s imperative that we find her and bring her home?’

  Rawlings glanced at Theresa Darton and back at Clement and nodded. Clement was relieved, knowing, as always, that such matters were best dealt with man-to-man. He pictured his sister in his mind’s eye the last time he’d seen her, and clenched his fist with fury when he thought of how she’d got away. But she wouldn’t have gone far. She couldn’t have.

  ‘There are no friends she could have gone to?’ Rawlings asked. ‘Family?’

  Clement exchanged a look with his mother. There were no friends to speak of. And certainly no family. Not people who would give Anna shelter. His mother was an only child and her parents were long dead. His father had left his own parents and sisters in Liverpool long ago, keeping the Darton wealth solely for himself.

  ‘No. No. We can’t think of anyone,’ Theresa said, her voice catching. ‘Please, Mr Rawlings. Do see if you can find her.’

  ‘I’ll try, ma’am. Perhaps you could give me a description of what she was wearing when she left. And also any distinguishing features she may have.’

  38

  An Idea Takes Shape

  Vita couldn’t wait to show Percy the dress that Nancy had given her, but he and Mrs Bell were more impressed with her hair, cooing over her and making her feel more flattered than she’d ever felt before.

  After breakfast on Wednesday, Vita went with Percy to the studio in Edward’s car.

  ‘He totally forgot he left it at the weekend,’ Percy said with an indulgent laugh, as they drove through the streets. Vita looked out at the buds on the trees. It wouldn’t be long until spring. She stared out at the shops and buildings, the buses and bicycles, realizing just how much she’d fallen in love with London.

  She told him all about Nancy’s flat, and about Annabelle’s party and Edith’s threat, and how he and Edward would have to come to the party with her.

  ‘I intend to make an impression,’ she said, pulling the dress out of the bag.

  ‘Where on earth did you find that?’ Percy asked, glancing down at the material.

  ‘I found it at the back of Nancy’s wardrobe. She said she’d worn it to a fancy-dress party. She was a mermaid,’ Vita explained, stroking the silvery material.

  ‘What’s your plan?’

  ‘If you’ll help me, I was thinking we’d take off the sleeves and cut it short.’

  ‘Goodness!’

  ‘I know it’s drastic, but it’s like I can see another dress inside this one.’

  ‘Well, anything I can do to assist, let me know,’ Percy said, clearly amused by her. ‘But first you have to help me. The landlord visited unexpectedly and declared my studio to be a fire hazard and has demanded that I get rid of some of my treasures.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Vita said. ‘That is a problem.’

  They parked the car in the Haymarket, where Edward had asked Percy to leave it, and then walked up to the studio together. Inside the cavernous room, Vita stood by the wall of costumes while Percy made tea.

  ‘How on earth are we going to sort these out?’ she asked.

  ‘An impossible task. Agreed?’ Percy said, as he lit the stove.

  ‘Don’t the theatres want them back?’

  ‘Probably, but I made most of them, so they’re sort of my babies. And I’m a magpie – drawn to anything glittery or shiny,’ Percy said. ‘I have no idea what to do with them.’

  ‘Well, you can’t throw them out.’

  ‘Maybe some artful rearranging,’ Percy suggested.

  Vita started rummaging through the bottom rail, suddenly seeing the landlord’s point. There were actually two rails of clothing, not one.

  ‘Oh, look at this one.’ she exclaimed, pulling a costume free from the back rail. Percy laughed, seeing what had piqued her interest.

  ‘Ah yes. Boudicca.’

  ‘Actually, that’s rather interesting,’ Vita said, running her fingers over the conically-shaped bust part. ‘This round stitching is very clever. And the ribbon wound like that – to get the shape. What if we copied that idea . . .’

  ‘We?’ Percy asked with an amused glance. ‘Darling, we’re supposed to be sorting out the costumes. Not making more mess.’

  But Vita wasn’t listening. Instead she was delving under the hanging rail. ‘You’ve got bags of calico here. Oh, and ribbon – just what we need.’

  She set to, chopping up the dress and trying to create a replica of the bust section out of calico. Percy, annoyed that she was not helping, watched as he piled up costumes on the bench. But as Vita started to cut, he helped her and soon she was jumping between the mirror and the sewing machine, until she had a garment with dainty curved cups made from the ribbon.

  ‘The edge of the ribbon is scratchy,’ Vita said, already trying to improve the design.

  ‘You can use this, if you like,’ Percy said, kneeling down to look under the bench. He pulled out a bolt of tangerine-coloured silk fabric and then produced some hooks and eyes on a cardboard sheet.

  ‘Oh, Percy. You’re a genius. I really think it might work,’ Vita said.

  39

  Paddy Potts

  With the party to look forward to and with her new creation taking shape with Percy, Vita was starting to feel as if her prayers had been answered and there was a God after all. She had to pinch herself that she was actually employed, and when Mrs Winters gave her an envelope with money in it on Thursday night, Vita kissed her.

  Thursday’s show was the best yet and the audience whooped and cheered, and they had to repeat the whole routine for a second time.

  She could understand, now, why the actresses who came into Percy’s studio were so clearly in love with the theatre. Even just as a dancer in a show, she was hooked. She loved the adrenaline in her veins, the smell of the thick make-up, the slick of sweat across her body, the applause lingering in her ears as she came offstage with the girls.

  As soon as they were behind the wall, however, out of the glare of the
lights, the magic was suddenly broken and the girls’ postures slumped. But Vita loved these moments of camaraderie too. Tonight, Jane stamped ahead, kicking off one of her shoes.

  ‘The bloody clasp broke again,’ she said, doing a funny lopsided walk down the corridor, making Vita laugh. ‘Where’s Wisey?’

  Mr Connelly was backstage tonight and this was the first time he’d seen Vita’s hair. He stopped her as she bustled past with the others to the dressing room.

  ‘Hmm. An improvement, I’d say.’

  She wasn’t sure if this was a compliment or not, or whether it implied that her hair had been dreadful before. ‘Thank you,’ she said, patting it. She’d only had the haircut since Monday, but already it felt like she’d had it forever.

  Edith, who was just in front of her, stopped, looking between Mr Connelly and Vita, her face thunderous, as if Vita had made some kind of pass at him.

  His eyes narrowed behind the cloud of cigar smoke. ‘Will you be coming out front?’ he asked. ‘There’s some guests who I’m sure would like to meet you.’

  ‘Yes, give us a moment,’ Nancy said, scooping her arm into Vita’s and taking her to the dressing room. ‘Honestly, that man gives me the creeps,’ she said in a confidential whisper. ‘I don’t know what Edith sees in him.’

  ‘Neither do I. Surely she could do better.’

  Because it wasn’t as if the girls were short of admirers, Vita thought, as she and Nancy went with Jane, Emma, Jemima and Betsy through the small stage door into the club. Having never received any attention in her life, it was weird to see how they were perceived in the club after the show, and several people applauded them. She could get used to this feeling, she decided.

  Nancy smiled at Jerome, who was leading the band, and he smiled back. Now that the show had finished, the floor was filled with couples dancing in the smoky atmosphere.

  Nancy pushed her way to the front of the crowded bar area and winked dramatically at Matteo, the barman. Vita had met him a couple of times and liked the way he spun the glasses dramatically in the air, and how debonair he looked in his shirt and waistcoat. Nancy had told her that Matteo’s mother was from Malta, which probably accounted for his swarthy good looks. He was definitely very attractive, and Vita wondered exactly what was going on between Nancy and Jack Connelly’s young bartender. They certainly had some sort of arrangement, because Connelly wasn’t one to endorse free drinks for the staff, but soon there was a row of glasses in front of Nancy, for her and the girls. Vita offered to pay, keen to repay all the favours she owed, but Matteo winked at her and told her to put her money away.

  Jemima left to go and meet her boyfriend, but even just with the five of them, as they toasted one another, Vita felt as if she were part of something glamorous and sinfully good.

  Jane leant in close. ‘Watch your backs, girls,’ she whispered. ‘Lolly and Ra are in.’

  Vita looked over her shoulder to where two manly-looking women in riding outfits were chatting at the other end of the bar. One of them waved to Nancy, who raised her glass back.

  ‘Ra is a snowbird,’ Emma confided.

  ‘A what?’

  ‘You know,’ she said, putting one finger over her nostril and sniffing. ‘That’s why Nancy is friends with her.’

  ‘But who are they?’

  ‘Quite the couple around town,’ Betsy said.

  ‘They’re together?’ Vita asked.

  ‘Oh yes. Famously so.’

  ‘Sapphic love. It’s everywhere,’ Nancy said, turning back from the bar and joining in the conversation. ‘Anyone who is anyone is a lesbian these days.’

  She looked over at the pair, and Vita thought about the explosion of sheer moral outrage her father would have if he could see these women flaunting their relationship. ‘Well, good for them,’ she said.

  Nancy gave her a look that made Vita feel as if she’d passed some kind of test. ‘Good news, ladies,’ she said. ‘Paddy Potts is in. Over there. Table at the back.’ She pointed over to a man in a smart black suit, a dashing red-and-white polka-dot scarf around his neck. ‘He’s rich. A banker. And he likes buying us champagne. Come on.’

  She grabbed hold of Vita’s hand and pulled her through the crowd to the booth.

  ‘Paddy, darling!’ she gasped, reaching him and leaning in to deposit a red lipstick mark on his cheek. He was very tall. ‘Meet Vita. She’s our new girl,’ Nancy said, and Vita shook his hand, thinking how sweet it was that he was blushing. ‘Didn’t you love the show?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I always do. Nice to meet you, Vita.’

  But Nancy was already pulling him away, dragging him by both ends of his scarf. ‘Come and dance!’ she called, wriggling in front of him. ‘I won’t have you being a shrinking violet at the back.’

  Vita laughed, seeing how helpless Paddy was, and how funny it was seeing Nancy pulling such a large man behind her.

  She wondered, for a fleeting moment, what life might be like if she were still at Darton Hall. If she hadn’t done anything to Clement and this was just a normal night. She looked out at the jammed dance floor filled with women in colourful dresses, the air thick with perspiration and jazz, and contrasted it with the dry, dull, grey monotony of Darton. Would her father and Clement be forcing an introduction to that horrible man, Malcolm Arkwright? Probably. She shuddered, truly grateful for the chance she’d been given, even if it had come at such a terrible price.

  Don’t think about it. Don’t let the guilt in. Not when this is so much fun.

  Vita joined in the dancing for a while and then, as Nancy had predicted, Paddy offered to buy them a bottle of champagne, and Nancy, Jane, Vita, Betsy and Emma went to his table.

  ‘You’re a shocking flirt,’ Vita teased her friend as they waited for Paddy and he waved from the bar.

  ‘So? He doesn’t mind. It’s all a game,’ Nancy said. ‘He’s very happily married.’

  ‘She’s right. You mustn’t take everything so seriously, Vita,’ Jane added.

  Vita decided that she should follow Nancy’s lead. After all, Nancy seemed to be very skilled at getting exactly what she wanted. She wouldn’t want any husband of hers ever to come dancing alone at the Zip Club, with the likes of Nancy on the loose.

  But it seemed that the crowd in the Zip didn’t live by the moral code she’d always known. Here, people came to dance and enjoy life, and the sense of freedom was palpable.

  Jane, Emma, Betsy, Vita and Nancy all huddled together at the table, and Jane pointed out the two couples on the other side of the room who had just come in. One of the girls looked decidedly tipsy, and they all talked about how they admired the large bow in her hair. Then Paddy came back with the champagne and put it on the table with their glasses. As he leant over, Nancy whipped the polka-dot scarf from around his neck. She turned to Vita and tied it around her head in a big bow.

  ‘You should have one, too,’ Nancy said. ‘Doesn’t it look lovely on her?’ Paddy nodded and, once again, Vita felt sorry for him. She could tell he would be perfectly prepared to lose his scarf, if it meant Nancy being happy. ‘Mind you, everything looks lovely on Vita. She has that . . . je ne sais quoi.’

  She touched Vita’s face tenderly, and Vita caught Paddy’s eye. He looked a little crestfallen that he wasn’t the object of Nancy’s affection, but she felt something bloom inside her, as she stood and admired her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Oh, it felt so good to belong.

  The music changed to the unmistakable introduction to ‘Baby Face’ and Nancy jumped up. ‘Oh,’ she exclaimed, ‘come on, girls – it’s our song.’ She downed a whole glass of champagne and then, grabbing Vita’s hand, headed for the dance floor.

  40

  Motherly Advice

  Vita was excited about Annabelle’s party on Saturday night and got changed quickly after the show.

  ‘So you remember the plan? I’ll meet you at Annabelle’s,’ Nancy said, hurriedly looking at herself in the mirror. She was wearing her stage make-up and a
sky-blue lace dress that Vita had admired before. ‘I’ll fix my face on the way,’ she said, squirting herself with a hefty mist of perfume. ‘Toodle-oo, little one. Now chip-chop and don’t be late. Tonight is going to be fun.’

  And with that, she was gone, off in a whirlwind to one of her mysterious pre-party arrangements. Vita waved, trying not to show that she suddenly felt nervous about being alone, not least because she had to make her own way across town to the party from the club. Edith, who was also going, had made it perfectly clear that Vita couldn’t come with her, as there wouldn’t be room in the car.

  When the others had disappeared out to the front of the club, Vita changed into the dress that she and Percy had altered during the week, but she could really have done with some much needed reassurance about her daring fashion choice. It was left to Wisey to deliver the verdict.

  ‘It’s unusual . . .’ she said, admiring the sparkling fringing. ‘I’ll give you that. And you’ll catch your death,’ she said, looking down at Vita’s legs, before rearranging Nancy’s fur stole. Vita hoped that she meant ‘unusual’ in a good way. Wisey’s hands stayed on the fur, like a hug.

  Vita leant forward and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. The simple gesture surprised them both. ‘You sound like my mother,’ she said, although that wasn’t true. Her mother would never have let her out of the house.

  For a fleeting moment she wished her mother could see her now. Or was she so beholden to her own husband and son that she would begrudge her daughter her freedom? Vita stamped out the faint flicker of hope. She knew the answer only too well.

  ‘I wouldn’t let any daughter of mine out, looking like that,’ Wisey said, but her smile was gentle. There was a beat as her warm brown eyes stared into Vita’s. ‘Should you not at least write to the poor woman, Vita? Your mother, I mean?’

  Vita swallowed hard, wondering what the others had told Wisey. She’d provoked a sad response from Jane and Betsy when she’d told them that she didn’t speak to her mother and was estranged from her family. She was shocked that Wisey had asked such a direct question. She knew that the girls must have been gossiping about her and saw that Wisey, like them, must be full of unanswered questions.