The Runaway Daughter

by Joanna Rees

  ‘Surely not all?’

  ‘Granted, you need a little chutzpah. But you, little one’ – Nancy pressed Vita’s nose – ‘I’ve seen you. You have a gift. A natural flair,’ she continued, warming to her theme.

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I know so.’

  Vita felt herself glowing with Nancy’s compliment as they walked out of the store, empty-handed. As predicted, the pinstripe suit had made Vita look exactly like Lolly. Outside, as they dodged a tram to cross the road, Vita discussed the idea further with Nancy.

  ‘Percy and Mrs Bell think I should go into business.’

  ‘There you are then,’ Nancy said, as if they’d both proved her point.

  ‘But how?’ Vita asked, indulging in the fantasy for a moment. ‘Wouldn’t I need – I don’t know – backing, a bank account . . .’

  ‘A bank account is easy. There’s that chap . . . Oh, you know, the banker.’

  ‘Paddy Potts?’ Vita said, remembering the man with the polka-dot scarf in the club.

  ‘He’s something big at Coutts and Company. He could get you a bank account. Leave it with me. I’ll ask him.’

  As always, Vita was both amazed and slightly in awe of Nancy’s belief that anything was possible.

  ‘And as for selling, you find someone to stock them. Like Mrs Clifford-Meade at first. And then you work your way up. To somewhere’ – Nancy stopped and stared up at the famous mint-green facade of the W&T Department Store –‘like here.’

  ‘Nancy, don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s Withshaw and Taylor,’ Vita pointed out. ‘It’s a department store.’

  ‘Exactly. Just where your future customers will shop.’

  They stopped to watch the window-dresser who was putting together a display in the window, dressing the mannequin in a slimming cotton brassiere – the advert below claiming it would give the perfect silhouette. ‘Yours is much better,’ Nancy said. ‘It’s much more fun.’

  ‘But I wouldn’t know the first thing . . .’

  But Nancy didn’t hear her. She was already on her way through the heavy wooden doors, beaming her flirty smile at the door attendant.

  ‘Nancy, what are you doing?’ Vita asked, hurrying to keep up.

  Nancy walked confidently up to where they’d seen the woman dressing the mannequin. The window area was blocked off, but Nancy pushed past the screen.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Nancy said, drawing the dresser’s attention from the window.

  The woman, who was wearing some rather fetching linen dungarees, stepped down with difficulty, as Vita admired the rack of clothes.

  ‘We have a meeting, with that chap,’ Nancy said, as if they knew one another. ‘You know – the buyer. For the female lingerie. What’s he called again?’

  ‘You mean Mr Kenton? Lance Kenton?’ the woman said, looking confused.

  ‘That’s him,’ Nancy said, clicking her fingers. ‘How could I forget? You’ve saved the day. Wonderful window-dressing,’ she added, before stepping back out to where Vita was standing. ‘There we are. Lance Kenton. He’s your man.’

  ‘Well, maybe, when I’ve made more than one brassiere.’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ Nancy said. ‘Oh, is that the time?’ She looked up at the clock. ‘Come on. We don’t want to be late for Mystic Alice.’

  52

  Mystic Alice

  Nancy’s clairvoyant operated from a block of flats next to a wine merchant’s in St James’s, and Nancy leant on the bell for ages, shielding her eyes and looking up towards the very top floor.

  ‘What’s she like?’ Vita asked.

  ‘You’ll see.’ Nancy grinned, then pushed against the door as the mechanism opened and they entered the gloomy stairwell with its cast-iron bannister looping up and up.

  ‘She’s at the top,’ Nancy said, pulling off her hat before taking the stairs two at a time. ‘I’ll race you.’

  They reached the top landing and Vita held on to Nancy’s shoulder, laughing as she caught her breath.

  A plain brown door was slightly ajar and calypso music was playing softly on a crackly gramophone. Nancy pushed open the door to Mystic Alice’s flat and Vita followed her inside, her heart thumping with exertion and curiosity.

  The flat was filled with large furniture – an overstuffed sofa and chairs, covered in green and yellow cushions, a bulky sideboard and several fringed lamps were crammed into the tiny space, so that they had to go on tiptoe to squeeze around the sofa. A parrot flapped in a long cage next to the table by the window, which was draped in a knitted shawl.

  ‘Make yourself comfortable. I won’t be a moment.’ The voice came from behind a bead curtain to another room.

  The parrot squawked and flapped its wings.

  ‘Oh, psss-psss-psss,’ said a large woman, bustling into the room through the curtain, carrying a jug of orange juice. She was tall, her body clothed entirely in a long purple-and-pink robe. A gold pendant bearing a moon-and-sun emblem hung heavily around her neck. She wore an orange turban fastened with a bright jewel in the front, and looked as if she might be of Caribbean descent, but Vita couldn’t be sure. She’d certainly never imagined being in the home of someone so exotic.

  Mystic Alice placed the jug carefully on the table, then greeted Nancy warmly.

  ‘This is Vita,’ Nancy said. ‘You said it was dandy to bring her?’

  Mystic Alice’s eyes were alarmingly intense as she looked Vita up and down now. She smelt overpoweringly of some kind of musky perfume.

  ‘You will be very successful,’ she said, her low voice serious. It wasn’t a question. ‘I see great things in your future.’

  Nancy pulled an impressed face at Vita. ‘You see. Told you!’

  Mystic Alice’s voice lowered. ‘But you are a troubled child.’

  ‘Vita here? Troubled?’ Nancy asked, clearly not believing it. ‘It’s just as well I brought her then,’ she added, making light of it.

  Vita felt herself being sucked into Mystic Alice’s mesmeric gaze, as she reached out her large hand and grabbed Vita’s, turning it over. She had nails that were so long they were like talons, and they were painted a bright orangey-red. Mystic Alice closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.

  Vita pulled her hand away and laughed nervously. This woman – clairvoyant, whoever she was – had already unsettled her.

  ‘Come, come,’ Mystic Alice said, ushering them both to the table.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Nancy assured Vita in a whisper. ‘She’s always like this.’

  Nancy sat down first and took out her purse, sliding two notes across the red brocade cloth. Mystic Alice made no comment as she picked up the money and folded it, placing it down the front of the V in her tunic.

  ‘What you said came true,’ Nancy said enthusiastically. ‘After last time. I did find a new friend.’ She smiled across at Vita, as Mystic Alice slid a dark cloth from some object on the table, to reveal a large crystal ball. It was exactly like Nancy’s, although much bigger. Her eyelids fluttered for a moment and Vita had to press her nails into her palms to stop herself laughing. Surely this was all just an act? She glanced at Nancy, but her face was intense with concentration.

  Nancy put her hand on Vita’s wrist to tell her to be quiet. Then, when the silence was becoming unbearable, Mystic Alice uttered a low hum that seemed to vibrate out of her chest.

  ‘I see a train,’ she murmured.

  ‘To where?’ Nancy asked, shuffling in her chair. ‘I told you I was going to travel,’ she whispered in an aside to Vita. ‘Paris. I bet it’s Paris.’

  Mystic Alice’s eyes were closed, her fingers with their long nails trembling slightly as they lightly cupped the glass. She drew in a sharp breath and shook her head. ‘I see a man. A moustache. And smoke – smoke from chimneys . . .’

  Something about the way in which Mystic Alice was speaking was making Vita feel frightened.

  ‘He is powerful. So powerful.’ Her eyebrows pinched together
dramatically. ‘What you said to him – you never, never . . .’ She took another sharp intake of breath and made a whimpering sound. ‘No . . . no, no, Papa.’

  Vita felt her heart pounding. Could it be possible that Mystic Alice was ‘seeing’ Vita’s father and the scene in his study?

  ‘Papa? Whose father do you see?’ Nancy asked.

  Mystic Alice’s eyes snapped open. ‘Enough,’ she said, deliberately not meeting Vita’s eye. She whipped the black cloth back over the crystal ball. Her voice had changed completely now. ‘The spirits are troubled today.’

  Vita felt a tight lump in her throat. The mere thought that Mystic Alice might have been able to ‘see’ the argument with her father had been like going back to Darton Hall. And actually being there all over again – even if only in her memory – felt too close for comfort.

  Vita could see that Nancy was curious, but she was desperate to know about Paris. ‘Do you think it’s time I moved on?’ Nancy asked, her voice serious for once. ‘I was thinking of Paris?’

  ‘Certainly,’ Mystic Alice replied, her vivid green gaze not leaving Vita.

  ‘Soon?’

  ‘As soon as possible.’

  Vita looked at Nancy in alarm. ‘I knew it,’ Nancy said. ‘I’d better get packing.’

  ‘You can’t leave,’ Vita said, seeing that Nancy had wholeheartedly taken Mystic Alice’s comment to heart.

  ‘But I have to, if it’s my destiny,’ Nancy said.

  ‘And you will go with her,’ Mystic Alice said to Vita, at which Nancy reached out and squeezed Vita’s hand.

  ‘Oh, goodie,’ she trilled with a laugh. ‘What fun.’

  Vita frowned, annoyed that Nancy had fallen for this woman’s hokum – hook, line and sinker. She couldn’t have Nancy thinking they were both going to Paris. Because as much as she’d like to go on an adventure, there was no way she could. Not without a passport or papers. Not without revealing that she was already on the run. For all she knew, there might be police at the border looking out for her.

  Mystic Alice nodded, as if understanding her inner turmoil. It really was quite unsettling. Nancy put her hands in a prayer position and bowed to Mystic Alice, and Vita held on to her bag, too embarrassed to do any more.

  As they were going through the door, Mystic Alice grabbed the top of Vita’s arm. Her fingers pinched through the cloth of her coat.

  ‘Watch out for the dark stranger,’ she said in an urgent whisper. ‘He’s coming.’

  53

  Shaken

  Outside on the street, Vita breathed out heavily, but it didn’t stop the feeling of panic inside her. She realized that her hands were shaking.

  ‘Well, that was . . .’ Nancy put her hand on her chest, letting out a shocked laugh. ‘Well! I don’t know how to describe it. I’ve never seen her like that before. I thought she was going to have quite a funny turn at one point. Whose father was she talking about? Wait! Yours? Was it yours?’

  Should she tell Nancy? Because this was her moment, Vita realized. The right time to tell Nancy the truth about who she was and where she came from. Surely, after all the intimacy they’d shared, Nancy would understand?

  Or would she? If Vita were to open the floodgates – tell her about Clement and what she’d done – then Nancy might tell the others. If she knew one thing about Nancy, it was that she thrived on gossip. She wouldn’t be able to keep such shocking information to herself. And one of the others – most likely Edith – would almost certainly be compelled to tell the police.

  She felt panicked about all the lies she’d told. One after another, until she’d woven a whole fabric of deceit. Nancy would never be able to forgive her.

  ‘No,’ Vita shook her head, feeling more unsettled than she could cope with. ‘Not mine. He’s dead. Long gone,’ she lied, not meeting Nancy’s eye. ‘I’m afraid I have no idea what any of that was about.’

  ‘Oh,’ Nancy said, disappointed. ‘You never said. Sorry, old girl. You don’t seem to have had much luck with family. Do you?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I’ve got friends now,’ Vita replied, forcing a cheerful tone into her voice. She grabbed Nancy’s arm as they started up the street, her voice catching. ‘Let’s forget all about it and get a drink.’

  ‘But we’re off to Paris, darling,’ Nancy said. ‘Isn’t that exciting?’

  ‘You can’t honestly believe that?’ Vita said, stopping to stare at her.

  ‘Why ever not? Everything Mystic Alice says comes true.’

  Vita was unconvinced.

  ‘Watch out for zee dark stranger,’ Nancy continued, imitating Mystic Alice, not letting the subject drop.

  ‘Oh, stop it. Anyway, what would I do with a dark stranger?’

  ‘I can think of plenty of things,’ Nancy said, her voice laden with insinuation. ‘I think it sounds exciting. What if there is someone, Vita? A dark stranger, waiting out there for you?’

  Vita thought of Clement. He had dark hair. Was he coming for her? From the Other Side?

  ‘I don’t want a dark stranger,’ she said, too loudly.

  Nancy laughed at her reaction, running to avoid the tram that was rattling towards them.

  ‘Whatever has got into you?’

  ‘I’m serious, Nancy. I don’t need a man bossing me around. Telling me what to do. I’m perfectly happy as I am.’ Vita could hear the rising hysteria in her voice.

  Mystic Alice had shaken her to her core and reminded her of everything she’d run away from. With all her hard work over the past weeks, she had almost managed to forget that she was Anna Darton. Because Verity Casey was so real. And she wanted Verity Casey’s future so very badly.

  ‘Noted. No dark strangers,’ Nancy said.

  54

  A Lead at Last

  Having been at home for over a month, it felt good to be back at work. Clement leant on his stick as he entered the mill, putting a handkerchief over his nose to protect himself from the air, which was thick with cotton dust. The mill floor had to stay heated to stop the cotton from breaking, and he felt the familiar wall of humid heat making his skin prickle as his ears were assaulted by the deafening noise of the machines.

  He looked across at the giant looms, the spinneys clacking, the huge bales of fabric being made one line at a time, the workers in their overalls and boots manning the machines. It was magical, he thought, the way the strings of cotton were coloured in, until the fabric was created.

  He made his way over the concrete floor to the cast-iron staircase and, grabbing onto the rail and wincing with pain, hobbled up to the office.

  His father sat behind the large leather-topped desk and hardly looked up. ‘You’re sure you’re fit enough for work?’ was his greeting.

  ‘Of course I am.’

  ‘I don’t need you here.’

  Clement resented his father’s words, but tried not to let them smart as he busied himself checking the figures for the latest shipment of cotton from America. Then he signed off on the designs from Barrington and his team.

  His father stood looking down through the glass windows at the giant spinneys below, his hands behind his back, his fingers twitching.

  ‘She can’t have found out. About Arkwright. Can she?’ he said.

  He was obsessed, Clement thought. All he could think about was Anna.

  ‘No. There’s no way. She certainly must have run out of the money that she stole,’ Clement said.

  ‘The money isn’t important,’ his father said. It almost sounded as if Darius Darton actually cared.

  The office door opened and Darius spun round as one of the junior clerks appeared.

  ‘What do you want?’ he snapped.

  ‘There’s a Mr Rawlings, sir.’

  Darius and Clement exchanged a look. A moment later Rawlings appeared at the top of the stairs. He stood while both the Dartons sat and then, after some pleasantries, retrieved his notebook.

  ‘I interviewed the stablehand, a Mark . . . Thwaites,’ he said, consulting a page.


  Clement’s jaw clenched. What had Mark told Rawlings?

  ‘It took me a while to get the information out of him, but it seems he saw Miss Darton on the night she disappeared.’

  ‘He did?’ Darius said in surprise.

  ‘She was heading across the fields to the railway tracks.’

  Why hadn’t that occurred to Clement before? Not only that Mark might have seen her, but also that Anna might have gone over the fields and not along the road. They’d all assumed she must have left Darton by road, maybe picking up a lift from a wagon, which is why they’d only really searched locally. When they’d put the notice in the paper, Clement had assumed that his sister might – at a stretch – have made it as far as Manchester.

  ‘She could have boarded a train?’ Darius said, in alarm.

  ‘It’s a distinct possibility.’

  ‘Then she could be anywhere.’

  ‘It’s a question of making a methodical search. To find out the trains that passed through that night. I happen to have discovered that there was one to London, which was delayed because of a fault. It didn’t leave until after midnight.’ He looked at Clement and then at Darius Darton. ‘I’ll find her, sir,’ Rawlings said calmly. ‘I just need more time and resources.’

  ‘That’s no problem,’ Clement said, thinking of the workers’ collection for his sister. ‘Whatever you need. I’ll come with you, if necessary.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Clement,’ his father said.

  ‘As you wish,’ Clement said, bowing his head.

  ‘Leave it with me,’ Rawlings said tactfully. ‘I have a one-hundred-per-cent success rate. I’ll find her.’

  55

  The Bee’s Knees

  The brassiere that Vita had made for Nancy was in vermilion red, to go under her favourite blouse, and Vita crossed her fingers at Jane, as Nancy tried it on behind the screen in their dressing room after the show on Thursday.

  ‘Oh! It’s simply the bee’s knees,’ Nancy declared, coming out with her arms wide and admiring herself in the mirror. ‘The way the shirt hangs now. Don’t you think? And look!’ She did a pirouette and some funny jazz-hands. ‘I can move. Oh, I just can’t wait to show Lulu.’