The Runaway Daughter

by Joanna Rees

  He’d also become aware of a feeling of freedom. London felt like such a different world from Lancashire, and he was beginning to understand how Anna had found it so easy to cut off her old life. It felt good to take a break from all his responsibilities and the austerity of the mill, and to enjoy some fine food and wine. But he was aware now of how out of place Rawlings looked, as the detective sipped his tea from the bone-china cup, before scratching his moustache.

  Clement hadn’t admitted that he’d attempted to extract information from the Blake fellow. He’d been too embarrassed that he’d botched his attempt. Anyway, after the ordeal of having had to deal with that whore who’d spotted him, he’d been keen that Rawlings take over the surveillance of Blake’s workshop.

  ‘So you saw him with a girl? Was it Anna?’ Clement leant in closer. Were they any nearer to tracking Anna down?

  ‘I couldn’t tell.’

  ‘What did she look like?’

  Rawlings referred to his notebook. ‘She was wearing a fur coat.’

  ‘And where did they go?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I didn’t have time to follow them. But I took the number plate of the car.’ He licked his finger and flipped over the page. ‘I have a friend at Paddington Green who will be able to trace it.’

  Clement nodded, satisfied, and sat back in the chair. He thought briefly again of the woman in the tavern. How it had been so easy to lure her to the darkened alley. How she’d been so eager at first . . . and then not so. Oh yes, this was turning out to be a very enjoyable adventure.

  ‘He says he can tell me the information by the morning. Although it’s tough, with the strike. All his constables are gathering in Trafalgar Square, so I hear. There’s a protest.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Clement said, his lip curling. He’d had another telegram from his father this morning, to say that Darton Mills, the press – everything was at a standstill. ‘Well, I hope your friends in the police will quash any rebellion. This strike really is quite outrageous.’

  87

  Trafalgar Square

  Vita hadn’t expected Trafalgar Square to be so full. There seemed to be people protesting everywhere. She shielded her eyes, scanning the swarming crowd. Betsy and Jane were in there amid the fray with a placard.

  It was a ridiculously hot day for early May, the sun scorching down, and Vita was rather enjoying flaunting her pink hat, which she’d teamed up with a pale-green sleeveless dress to which she’d added a lace sailor-collar. She was wearing her favourite coral-red sandals and had made a matching silk rose for the dropped waist of her dress. She’d hoped her demure appearance, in contrast to her fur coat last night, would put Archie at ease.

  She stood nervously holding two melting ice-creams, searching every face for Archie’s. And then suddenly she saw him, and her jealousy over the young woman she’d seen at his house vanished, as his face lit up in a smile.

  He laughed, taking the ice-cream from her, and they sat on the steps, watching the crowd.

  His eyes locked with hers, and the memory of the kiss they’d shared suddenly seemed so powerful. She looked at his lips, feeling desire rising in her.

  ‘So, about last night,’ Vita said eventually, plucking up the nerve to broach the subject of her visit. ‘Your house is very nice.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not ours,’ Archie said.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Our house has been turned into some ghastly modern flats. “Bachelor flats” they call them. Mother can’t bear to have it mentioned. She carries on, pretending she owns the whole of Regent’s Park.’

  He gave her a look, and Vita sensed a whole world of stress behind his flippant remark.

  ‘Was she very angry that I’d visited?’

  He didn’t answer for a moment, watching her lick her ice-cream. He trailed his finger up her arm. ‘It doesn’t matter what she thinks. What I think is that you’re the smartest woman I’ve ever met,’ he said. ‘Who looks a knockout in her “underwear”, by the way. I have not been able to get that image out of my head ever since.’

  She wanted to ask Archie if he thought she was smarter and more talented than the girl he’d been dining with, but stopped herself. His compliment was satisfying enough and she didn’t want to appear petty or jealous. She had to be assertive.

  ‘Does that mean you’ll invest?’

  ‘Yes. Well, perhaps – yes, it does,’ he said. ‘How can I not, when it’s the most interesting proposition I’ve had to date?’

  ‘You really would? You would back Top Drawer?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Oh, Archie. Thank you. You won’t regret it. I’ll make you double the money. Triple. I promise.’

  ‘But . . .’ He paused.

  ‘There’s a but?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, I mean . . . no. It’s just – I’d rather any investment stayed private.’

  She pulled a face and let him off the hook. ‘I understand. You can be a silent partner. How is that?’

  ‘I didn’t expect to get a word in anyway,’ he joked.

  They chatted about her plans for the business, and she told him more about the presentation at W&T and how the girls were going to help her.

  Archie listened, his eyebrows furrowed. ‘But if you get a big order, it’ll be expensive making them by hand.’

  ‘I know. And demand will grow quickly, so we’ll be looking into manufacturing capability down the line. I know of some textile factories in Leeds. We’ll be talking to them.’

  Archie looked genuinely astounded. ‘How does a girl from a small village know about all this?’

  Vita didn’t tell him that she’d been watching her father all her life. That thinking big was in her blood.

  ‘It can’t be that difficult,’ she shrugged. ‘I can do it.’

  ‘And the dancing?’

  ‘Well, I can’t do that forever,’ she said. ‘Besides, I want to make my own money, doing something I’m passionate about.’

  Archie looked thoughtfully at her. ‘That’s very modern of you.’

  ‘I am modern. Hadn’t you noticed?’ she said, squeezing his arm. She watched him finish the rest of his cone, and then he wiped his mouth with his handkerchief. ‘I don’t want to be one of those women who sits around waiting for a man to marry her.’

  It had popped out, but now that it had, she realized what a daring thing it had been to say. She risked a sidelong look at Archie. They’d never come close to discussing marriage before.

  ‘Don’t you want to get married?’ he asked, putting his handkerchief back in his pocket, then he hurried quickly on. ‘You know . . . eventually.’

  She laughed. Was that a proposal? She could see Archie thinking the same thing. He looked terrified.

  ‘Of course. But nobody should marry anyone unless they’re completely and totally in love, don’t you think?’

  Archie didn’t say anything. ‘Quite,’ he replied, but he avoided her eyes. Was there something he was hiding? He wouldn’t consider marrying for any other reason than love. Would he?

  There was a small silence and then Vita changed the subject. ‘I should join Betsy and Jane in the fray. Old Connelly is going to have a fit when they don’t turn up tonight.’

  Archie stopped. ‘Oh? Are the girls not at the Zip tonight?’

  ‘No, we’re joining the workers. Nancy thinks it’s a hoot. She’s having a strike-party at her apartment.’

  ‘And are you going?’

  ‘Well, if they strike, I will too, obviously. But I don’t think I’ll go to Nancy’s for very long. To be honest, I’d rather be working on Top Drawer.’

  ‘I have a better idea,’ Archie said.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Come with me to Hartwell.’

  ‘Today?’

  ‘Yes. Right now, in fact. If the girls are boycotting the club, then what have you got to lose?’

  ‘But I haven’t got any clothes. Things for overnight?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. We can sort all of that out. Come
on, Vita. Say yes. Please?’

  88

  A Dubious Hotel

  Clement was not in a good mood as he was jostled by the crowd in Trafalgar Square. It seemed as if the whole world had descended on London, the sheer volume of bodies making it impossible to think straight.

  He felt sweat dampening his armpits beneath his jacket and cursed his sister once again. The strike reminded him every moment of home and of the money the mills were losing. They had to get back into production soon or they would miss the deadline for the ships to America.

  But the workers seemed only to get more fervent in their support of the miners, despite the Prime Minister appealing yet again for calm. It was outrageous that the whole country was being held to ransom like this. How dare all these workers defy their employers. Didn’t they know their place?

  He’d come to Trafalgar Square, knowing that Harrison and some of the other men were here from the mills. He hoped his presence would dampen their fervour, but he’d been caught in the crush and taken for one of the protesters. Someone handed him a red flag on a stick and he dropped it, grinding it under his foot.

  He was relieved when he spotted Rawlings shouldering his way through the crush towards him. Rawlings helped Clement out of the crowd and, although Clement could hardly hear him, he could tell that Rawlings was pleased with himself.

  ‘We’ve got him, sir.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Blake. Percival Blake. He’s one of them, sir.’ He raised his eyebrows.

  ‘One of who?’

  ‘A queer,’ he said in Clement’s ear. ‘And that’s not all.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The car that Blake was driving. Guess who it is registered to?’ he shouted. He’d just come from a meeting with his contact at the police station.

  Clement watched the men climbing up on the giant statues of the lions, like ants.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘None other than Edward Sopel.’

  ‘Sopel? Should I know him?’

  ‘Lord Sopel’s son.’

  Clement nodded slowly, letting this information sink in. He’d read about Sopel in the papers. He was sure of it.

  They were walking down Whitehall now, and Rawlings nodded to a public house and they ducked in, away from the crowds. At the bar, Clement ordered two tankards of ale.

  ‘I followed Blake in the car just this morning. He went to Clifford Court,’ Rawlings said, once they were left alone at the end of the bar.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A hotel. The kind of hotel where people rarely stay the night.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I did some asking around. It seems that Sopel pays for a room there quite regularly.’

  ‘Goodness.’ Clement was impressed. Rawlings had certainly scored, linking this Blake character with Lord Sopel’s son.

  ‘In my experience, sir, it takes only a very small amount of pressure in this situation for the right information to come to light.’

  Clement nodded and then clinked tankards with Rawlings. He’d done a good morning’s work. It felt as if he were aiming a rifle and Anna was finally coming into focus on his scope. He couldn’t wait to pull the trigger.

  89

  In the Country

  As Archie’s motorcar slowed along the country lanes, Vita breathed in the air, holding up her hand as blossom drifted towards her from the trees above.

  ‘To be out of the city,’ she sighed, realizing how much she’d missed the fresh air. For weeks she’d been in a bubble in London, her life revolving around the club, Mrs Bell’s and Nancy’s social life, but this felt like popping free.

  ‘We’re here,’ Archie said, pulling the car over. He got out and reached under a stone to find a key and then unlocked some large iron gates. They squeaked loudly as he pushed them against the gravel. ‘This isn’t the usual entrance, but it gives the best view of the house,’ he said, getting back into the car.

  A long avenue of horse-chestnut trees, resplendent with their candle-like white blooms, stretched ahead and Vita couldn’t help feeling nervous about what to expect. Hartwell was so dear to Archie’s heart and he’d mentioned it so many times, she could see how much he wanted her to love it, too. But when the house came into view, she didn’t have to pretend.

  ‘Oh, Archie, it’s glorious,’ she told him and he grinned.

  On one level, it reminded her of Darton Hall – inasmuch as there was a drive up to the house and a very large porch – but whereas Darton was cold and dark, with sharp edges and mean-spirited black windows, Hartwell was altogether softer, with curved ashlar-stone bay windows on the ground and upper floors. Pink roses blossomed in urns at the front and, as they approached, a Labrador dog limped out of the doorway.

  ‘There’s Benson,’ Archie laughed affectionately.

  Archie came to a halt outside the front of the house and a very old manservant appeared. Vita, who had hurriedly collected some essentials from Wisey at the Zip Club, unknotted her scarf and took off her sunglasses, feeling her cheeks smarting from the wind and sunshine. A flurry of blossom whipped into a mini-tornado as she stepped out of the car.

  ‘Hello, Jeffers, old chap,’ Archie said jovially, slapping the servant on his shoulder, before crouching down to pet Benson, the aged dog. ‘I’ve brought Miss Casey to meet you. Is Bobby here?’ he asked innocently.

  Archie had explained that the servants would almost certainly gossip if they thought Archie was alone with Vita, so he’d come up with a ruse. His friend, Bobby Chartwell, was coming for the cricket, but Archie had it all planned so that he and Vita could be alone tonight.

  Jeffers, who seemed to be an even older version of Jenkins, the butler in London, nodded his head gravely towards Vita. ‘Mrs Hopson got a wire. Mr Chartwell has been delayed. With the strike, you know. Terrible business. He’s hoping to be here in the morning before the cricket.’

  ‘Oh, bother. Looks like it’s just us, Vita dear. Do you mind dreadfully?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Will you be wanting lunch, sir?’ Jeffers asked.

  ‘A picnic, I think. What do you say, Vita?’

  ‘Sounds tickety-boo,’ she said, remembering Nancy’s favourite phrase. The servant’s face remained impassive.

  ‘Very good, sir . . . Miss,’ he said, nodding his head deferentially, before shuffling back inside as Archie grabbed their suitcases from the car.

  ‘Looks like his hips are playing up again,’ he whispered to Vita.

  But Vita was still on a high from being treated as Archie’s equal and she smiled. She wouldn’t mind betting that she was shortly to be a very hot topic of gossip amongst the household staff.

  Inside, Hartwell was as lovely as it was outside. A round mahogany table housed a vase bursting with Sweet Williams. There was a large window seat halfway up the stairs. Vita knelt on it to look at the back of the house.

  ‘Aren’t the gardens lovely?’

  ‘They were laid out by Capability Brown,’ Archie informed her. ‘I can’t wait to show you around.’

  They went along the first-floor corridor and then Archie opened a door.

  ‘This is you,’ he said.

  She smiled at the small four-poster bed with the pretty coverlet of needlepoint roses. He went over and pulled back the shutters, and daylight flooded the small room with its pretty lace-covered furniture. She thought of the cold guest room in Darton and the black floorboards, and how very few guests had ever been to stay.

  As Archie smiled at her, she knew there was no way she’d ever be able to sleep in such a lovely room, knowing he was in the same house. Being here with him – all alone – did that mean he expected . . . what, exactly? She didn’t know, but whatever it was made her feel breathless with excitement.

  ‘Come on, let’s go and explore,’ Archie said, grinning at her.

  She followed him out into the corridor and he ran down the stairs two at time, before rummaging in a deep cupboard.

  She could hear him sa
ying something, but his voice was too muffled, but then he came back out. ‘Roller skates,’ he declared, holding up two sets of adjustable wheels. ‘It’s the only way to get around.’

  ‘You’re serious?’

  ‘Quite. Mother desperately disapproves, but Horace saw them in New York and brought them home. We had great fun,’ Archie said, sitting down beside her on the stairs. ‘He used them on the crossing, too. Said it was the only way to get around the cruise ship.’

  She smiled at him, watching his fringe fall into his eyes.

  She laced the skates onto her shoes. They were too big, but they held, and shakily, with the help of the newel post, she got to her feet. She was used to skating on the pond at Darton when it got cold enough, but this was an altogether new sensation. She concentrated hard as she felt the skates on the hard tiles beneath her. She slipped a few times, Archie having to catch her elbow, before she got the hang of it.

  ‘That’s it. Come,’ said Archie. ‘This way.’

  He set off down the corridor at speed and she had to hurry to catch up with him, holding on to the walls occasionally and trying not to upset any of the vases on the occasional tables they passed.

  At the end of one corridor Archie turned suddenly, like an expert, and stopped by a grand double door. He caught her as she fell into his arms.

  ‘I knew you’d be a natural,’ he said.

  He opened the door and she followed him inside, gasping at the splendour of the chandelier. He padded over the carpet to the floor to ceiling shutters and opened the brass catch. Dusty sunlight illuminated the vast room.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ he said.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Look so cute that I just have to kiss you.’

  He came over to her and grabbed her playfully, and Vita lost her footing and, as the wheels whipped from under her and she fell backwards onto the sofa, Archie crashed on top of her, but neither of them was hurt. She felt the weight of him pressing down on her as they both laughed. Then he tenderly stroked the hair out of her face and kissed her.