by E M Jones
“The other side of Oxford Street, up towards the children’s hospital.”
“And is there a particular soldier or officer who is getting us in?” Charlie’s mock raised eyebrow was kind rather than cynical, and Lizzie blushed in the safety of her friendship.
“Ted.”
“Who’s Ted?”
Mary’s question was reasonable enough, but the answer didn’t come easily to Lizzie.
“Let Lizzie tell you about Ted on the way. He’s a soldier.” Charlie held one of Lizzie’s hands and one of Mary’s, raising them gently from the bed. “Ready?”
She glanced from Lizzie to Mary. Both nodded. Lizzie saw Mary’s nod and thought of all the ways in which she was not ready for what her life was about to become, but for which there was no preparation. At least she looked ready—that was all Lizzie, or anyone, could do.
“Right, ladies. To the ball.”
***
Flames danced, illuminating fractions of the ballroom and segments of faces. It was disarming at first, creating a blur of lights, room and colour, all matching the pulse of the music. The beauty of the ball took everything under its wing and made it delightful. The red jackets of officers partitioned the ballroom into shadowy enclosures, and then moved again, creating secret doorways into the maze of uniform and candlelight.
On entering the ballroom, Lizzie had been captivated. As she walked into the dancing lights she exhaled and decided to be carried into the illusions around her. She drank wine, nodded demurely in response to admiring smiles and moved smoothly around the red jackets as if she had enjoyed such occasions all her life.
The three women had been welcomed warmly, and even Charlie had been outdone in her gallantry. She was engaged in a combative exchange of innuendo with a plump and smiling officer, who appeared to find her forthright manner intriguing and more than a little alluring. He seemed nice enough, and Lizzie was relieved that Charlie would have a reasonably easy night. Charlie was bowing and paring in conversation as she always did, but the gleam in her eyes had been missing since the news of Dina’s death and Lizzie was unconvinced by her jocular performance.
Mary was also deep in conversation with a young soldier who was trying his best to look at her face as she spoke rather than any other part of her. Lizzie had seen Mary take a few cups of wine, and nothing else could be done to make her night as painless as possible.
Lizzie walked away from the other two women. She took another cup of wine and allowed the music to lead her on a path between huddles of red jackets and shining ballgowns. She smiled in response to polite nods and outright ogles, but did not stop to speak. The music and wine pulled her gently around the room, the candlelight illuminating her face, free of thought or worry, and then hiding her again in her own repose.
“Lizzie.”
Lizzie ignored the voice at first, lost in movement.
“Lizzie.”
A strong hand gently held her arm, waking her from her abandon. She looked up and met a pair of kind, familiar eyes.
“Ted.” She smiled with real pleasure.
“Lizzie, you look beautiful.”
Lizzie met his gaze with an unusual confidence. “Thank you. And you look very handsome. Would you like to dance?” She held out her hand, aware of her social impertinence and caring not at all.
Ted held her masterfully, and she allowed herself to be led by him. He took over from the magic of the ballroom, and Lizzie immersed herself once more in the beauty of the ball and the man who held her tightly and tenderly.
“How are you?” Ted’s worn eyes looked at Lizzie with concern.
She stepped determinedly onwards in time with the music.
“Lizzie?”
Ted’s strength was pulling their dance to a close, but Lizzie refused to allow this interruption to her oblivion. She held his hand tighter and moved once more in time with the music.
Where could she even begin, to tell this lovely man how she felt following Dina’s death? Interrupting a night of abandon to discuss such tragedy seemed wasteful.
She met Ted’s eyes, willing their experience to extend the generosity of silence to her. Ted looked at her as if deciphering her soul. He stood taller, held her by the small of her back, and led her in another dance.
***
In the early hours of the following day, Ted and Lizzie walked like lovers to Mrs Henry’s house. Ted had respected Lizzie’s silent request to not be questioned. He had comforted her with his physical strength and power, and she walked home under his embrace.
Approaching Mrs Henry’s house, Lizzie saw Charlie and Dina’s rooms were dark and hoped Charlie and Mary were sleeping.
“That was Dina’s room.” She pointed to the first floor, and Ted looked up.
Quiet tears fell from her eyes. Ted enveloped her in his arms, and she wept.
It was nearing morning when Ted and Lizzie finally entered Mrs Henry’s house. All the other rooms were quiet. Lizzie felt foolish for weeping in Ted’s company, though he had held her and asked nothing still.
He led her upstairs in silence, and only once inside and sat at the edge of Lizzie’s bed did he speak. “Lizzie, it’s going to be alright.”
Lizzie looked at him, part of her wanting to agree and just go to bed. But before she did, something moved in her, that wilfulness that had moved her from the countryside to London with nothing. “No, Ted, it won’t. There is somebody out there who killed Dina, and the other girls, and who will kill more girls, girls like me. And we have to stop them.”
17
A mountainous form woke Lizzie. The smell of old perfume, sweat and paint alerted her to an unfamiliar presence in her room. Two inches from her face, the mountain range moved in urgent jerks. There were small hairs, like grassland, in view now, some white and some dark.
Lizzie’s eyes took a little longer than her nose to comprehend what was happening. The smell was familiar, after all, just not at quite this proximity.
“Lizzie! Wake up! Lizzie!” Mrs Henry’s shouted whisper accelerated Lizzie’s awakening.
“What’s wrong, Mrs Henry?” Lizzie involuntarily turned to check on Ted while answering. He continued to sleep throughout the intrusion.
“There are gentlemen here to see us. Two gentlemen. They’re downstairs now.”
Lizzie had understood from the start of her relationship with Mrs Henry that there were very few things she wouldn’t undertake for profit. However, new customers had never been admitted before lunch. This was odd, even in the context of their domestic arrangements.
“Alright, Mrs Henry. Are you feeling well? Who are these gentlemen? Why are they here so early?”
“I don’t know, Lizzie. They knocked on the door—and me not yet made up in readiness to meet company—and have demanded to see everyone in the house. Now get up!”
“Are they being threatening? I’m sure Ted can see them if they’re not behaving as they should.”
“No, they’re not threatening. They’re just sure—sure of themselves.”
“Can they come back later? Do you think they’re going to be good customers?” It pained Lizzie to discuss new customers with Ted beside her. She repressed the impulse to look at him again and just hoped he continued to sleep.
“Come back later? Customers? Lizzie, have you lost your mind?”
Ted stirred as Mrs Henry forgot her own rules about waking paying customers.
“What’s wrong, Mrs Henry?”
“The gentlemen are members of the police, Lizzie.”
“Do they receive special rates?”
“Yes. No. Oh, Lizzie!” Mrs Henry’s face exploded into a steaming russet turnip.
Ted opened his eyes and turned to Lizzie. Lizzie looked from him to Mrs Henry in confusion.
“The two gentlemen from the detective police are here on business, Lizzie. Not our business, their business. They want to talk to us about Dina. Now, please, for the sake of my old heart, will you please bid farewell to your visitor and get yourself down
stairs. And make sure that you make yourself decent!”
Like a tornado, Mrs Henry turned on her heels, turned back briefly to smile sweetly at Ted and wish him good morning, and stomped down the stairs.
“Good morning.” Ted smiled, amusement in his eyes.
“Good morning.
“I should go then.”
“Me too. You heard Mrs Henry, I’m to make myself decent.”
“You’re always decent, Lizzie.”
The lie hung between them and they turned in opposite directions to dress. Lizzie stepped behind the screen, and then her voice rose above the pasture presented to Ted.
“Ted, I meant what I said last night.”
“About what?”
“About whoever killed Dina, and the other girls.”
The silence changed as the lie was forgotten, but Lizzie couldn’t read Ted when she re-emerged to face his shirted shoulders while he dressed efficiently.
“Ted?”
As he turned, he attempted to soften the worry from his brow. “I know you did. Are you sure about this?”
“Yes.” Lizzie met his hidden fear with clear determination.
“Alright. Well, you have an appointment with Mrs Henry and the gentlemen from the police now. How about we talk about this over coffee this afternoon at Taylor’s?”
“Yes. Four o’clock?”
“See you there. Goodbye, Lizzie.” Ted kissed her lightly on the cheek and left.
Lizzie allowed him a few minutes ahead of her, and although she knew noise did not carry from the parlour to her room, she still heard Ted’s banknotes pressed into Mrs Henry’s hand.
***
“Of course, detective.” Mrs Henry, in the form of demure innocence, walked into Lizzie as she arrived to meet the gentlemen. “Oh, Lizzie, here you are. Gentlemen, this is our fourth resident, Elizabeth.”
Lizzie smiled as the two officers evaluated her appearance and broke into a glaze of smiles.
“Miss.” They nodded in unison.
“Please—Lizzie.”
Lizzie offered her hand in a way she hoped conveyed confidence. The two gentlemen shook it, muttering their “Davies” and “Taylor” and nodding solemnly. Lizzie turned to sit, meeting Charlie’s bemused smile and the crown of Mary’s head as she studied the faded remains of a swirled pattern on the parlour carpet. Lizzie seated herself as Mrs Henry returned, huffing and carrying a faded laundry sack.
“These are Dina’s things, sirs. As I said, she had some strange habits, what with her being French. Nothing against that, obviously—we have some very nice French friends at our house. I kept these safe when she… when we found out that she… when I knew she wasn’t coming back.”
Frozen by her speech, Mrs Henry landed on the chair next to Lizzie.
Charlie’s gaze had also dropped to the faded pattern on the carpet, and Mrs Henry seemed mesmerised by hazy dust hanging in the middle distance. Only Lizzie witnessed the detective who had introduced himself as Taylor stab at Dina’s belongings with his pencil, and she hoped the rest of the investigation would not be so half-hearted.
“Thank you, Mrs Henry. We will take these with us, as evidence.”
“Of course, gentlemen. What else can me and my girls do to help you?”
Davies inhaled as if about to speak, then stopped abruptly and exhaled. He repeated this several times, as if travelling along a road with many turns to choose from, and unable to select the right one. He seemed to have finally decided upon the right turn as his exhaled breath was replaced with, “Well, ladies, what we need—what we need to do, as part of our investigations into the death of Miss… Mademoiselle… your friend… your…”
“Gentlemen, Dina was our friend, and she was killed.” Everyone turned to face Charlie, who sat straight-backed in her chair, her sad eyes flashing with determination. “We want the bastard who did it caught. Forget your niceties—ask us what you need to know. We will all have heard worse.”
Lizzie, Mrs Henry and Mary in turn sat taller, as if pulled by the string of Charlie’s command. Davies looked to Taylor, who shrugged his shoulders. “Right, well, alright then. Who were Dina’s most recent customers?”
“Well, at our establishment, we don’t like to reveal our patrons’ identities.” Mrs Henry’s face modulated, a combination of pride and discomfort. “We provide a discreet service, you see. Some of our customers come from the highest circles, you know, peers of the realm.”
“Mrs Henry, if you don’t tell them, I will.”
“Charlie!” Mrs Henry turned to face Charlie and was met with a stare that exhumed the old woman’s conscience. “Alright, then. Well, since I mention it, Dina was involved with a peer of the realm, Sir Glynne…”
Lizzie allowed Mrs Henry’s storytelling to fade into the background as she stared at the patterned carpet. She looked across and saw Charlie’s dainty feet, poised for movement as ever. Her entire body was pointed forward, and the anger of her grief apparent in her readiness to correct, spur on or encourage Mrs Henry’s account. She would definitely come with Lizzie to meet Ted; they would think of something between them to help find Dina’s murderer.
Mary’s gaze had also returned to the faded pattern, as if there were greater secrets to discover in the remaining swirls if only she could concentrate long and hard enough on the puzzle. Lizzie could not yet read the young woman’s feelings from the way she sat. How did she feel after her first night at work? Lizzie remembered the strange mixture of emotions that had swum inside her after her first night out at work: a lingering and immovable feeling of uncleanliness; pride at having succeeded in her new profession; shame, and the hope she would never see her customer again; freedom that she was making her own money in London; and the isolation that comes from disappointing yourself with an act that can never be reversed. After that first night, Lizzie had known her world was changed forever, that laws, morals and mores were skew-whiff for her from then on.
And she remembered Dina, tenderly washing her hair outside in the basin, combing it as if Lizzie were heir to the throne on the morning of her wedding. The memory stirred her, and she focused once more.
“…and that is how it became that one of my girls was paramour to Sir Glynne.” Mrs Henry beamed with pride at the end of her tale, until she saw Charlie’s anger and arranged her face more demurely. “My girls are good, you see, and as long as their regulars come back, their place is safe here when everybody’s out of town in August.” Mrs Henry’s pride sneaked into place again around her smile, until she once again was disciplined by Charlie’s stare.
Lizzie decided to try to make a useful contribution to prevent Mrs Henry and Charlie’s silent and growing conflict. “More recently, we’ve been out and about in different places. We’ve been at The Alhambra—the music hall. Johnny, the doorman, sees all the comings and goings. We went to the pleasure gardens at Cremorne one night. We try different places at this time of year, but I couldn’t see that Dina had any particular regulars—did you, Charlie?”
Lizzie willed Charlie to direct her rage to help catch Dina’s murderer.
“No, Lizzie’s right. We’ve been around town, but I can’t remember anyone in particular. It might be worth talking to Johnny.”
“And you, miss, erm, Miss Mary?” Having checked his notebook for her name, both Davies and Mary blushed crimson.
“I don’t—I didn’t—”
“Mary didn’t know Dina. Mary’s taken Dina’s place.” Charlie’s clarification ended the conversation.
“Thank you all, ladies, for your help. We’ll take these. We might have some further questions.”
“Gentlemen, you are welcome at our home anytime. Please tell your friends about us, and how polite and cooperative my girls are.” Mrs Henry looked past Charlie as she guided her visitors to the door.
As Charlie leapt forward from her seat, Lizzie held her arm, stopping her forward movement. “Come with me. Ted and I have plans. We’re going to work out who killed Dina.”
18
“Well, hello, sir.”
Lizzie ignored the surprise that passed across Ted’s face at Charlie’s jocular greeting.
“Coffee, sir?” Charlie leaned towards him, successfully suggesting far more than a warm drink. “You are very quiet this afternoon. New to these parts, are you?”
Lizzie was unsure whether Charlie had cast a glance at her own parts, and decided to imagine not for the sake of efficiency. “Sit down, Charlie. Right, what are we going to do?”
Charlie’s posture grew serious in response to Lizzie’s tone. Coffee was poured, groups chatted around tables, customers arrived and settled in huddles. Lizzie, Charlie and Ted sat silently at their table.
“Look—Lizzie, Charlie,” Ted made careful eye contact with both women, “are you sure you want to look into this? It could be dangerous. The detectives have already visited—"
“Ted. If you don’t want to help, that’s fine. But Charlie and me are doing this. The detectives haven’t done anything, or Dina wouldn’t be dead.”
The sound of coffee splashing, trifling chatter and light laughter filled the spaces between the three again.
“What can we do that the detectives can’t do?” Ted asked. “There are more of them, they know the city, they know who lives where and who might act in this way.”
Lizzie ignored Ted and turned to Charlie. She was unusually quiet, staring out the window of the coffee house, as if trying to identify the breed of a distant bird.
She snapped back to her immediate surroundings. “That’s it. Ted, you’re right. What we’ve got that the detectives don’t have is that we knew Dina. We knew Dina better than anyone. We can work out where she went, who she saw, and how this happened. Let’s face it, Dina was good—very good—at what she did. We all learnt from her. She was careful, she knew which customers to avoid and when to end the night and just get home. Something strange must have happened, something unusual. We can work out who she saw in the couple of weeks before she was killed, we can find them and ask them about her and anyone else who took a fancy to her. Lizzie and me have the perfect excuse to want to chat to them.”
