‘Whatever you want,’ she said, putting her notebook back in her apron pocket and sloping off. Guy found a table by the window and sat close to the glass, where he thought he could at least make himself useful observing the comings and goings of the 43. It wasn’t yet nine-thirty and street trade was slow. It would pick up when the clubs started to kick their clientele out, probably around three o’clock in the morning. Guy knew the fashion was to go to two or three clubs before finding somewhere that would either serve a Chinese meal or ham and eggs in the early hours. It seemed a pretty louche way of life to him. The table next to him had another man sitting alone who had kept his hat on and the collar of his coat turned up. Probably another policeman, thought Guy. Or a man waiting for the working girls to start their shifts.
Guy drained his hot chocolate, enjoying the crunch of the sugar at the bottom of his cup. As he pulled out enough coins to pay for it, a quick glance outside hitched on two men standing in the shadows a few yards from the door of the 43. German Albert was facing in the other direction – was he on lookout? One of the men wore no hat and his gleaming blond hair was visible even in the dark – this had to be Sebastian Atlas – while the other was shorter, lighter on his feet somehow. There was some sort of exchange going on between them – Guy was certain Mr Atlas was handing over money in return for something. What Louisa had seen him do before was not a one-off then. Without stopping to think, Guy threw the coins on the table, grabbed his hat and ran outside and across the road, narrowly dodging a car that blared its horn at him. The two men looked up and both ran in opposite directions. Guy decided to leave Nancy’s friend for the moment. Guy wanted the man who was selling.
The man ran down Gerrard Street, Guy not far behind, straining to keep him in sight. There were enough people on the pavements to slow the man down as he dodged in between them and Guy was catching up, but then the man ducked down a side street. Guy turned the corner and swore – he’d lost him.
There was a noise at the other end, an ‘Oi! What do you think you’re doing?’ and Guy realised his culprit had run smack into a uniformed officer who was holding onto the struggling fellow. To run into one policeman was bad luck but two looked like carelessness.
‘Keep a hold of him,’ Guy shouted. ‘I’m Sergeant Sullivan, with the Vine Street station.’
‘Right you are,’ came back and Guy ran towards them. By the time the three of them were together, the wanted man had handcuffs on behind his back.
‘I ain’t done nothing,’ he said, and Guy could see now he was young, barely twenty-one, and a good foot shorter than him, with pockmarked skin and dull eyes. His breath was stale but his clothes were stylish; he wore his collar up and there was a flash of red silk lining. The better to blend in with his smarter clients presumably.
‘I think you have,’ said Guy. ‘What were you selling back there?’
‘Nothing.’
Guy searched through his pockets and pulled out a packet of cigarettes, a box of matches, a few coins. ‘That’s it, guv,’ said the boy. ‘Now let me go.’
Guy only sighed in reply and reached for the inside pocket of the coat, pulling out an enamelled cigarette case, inside which were several small packets made from folded white paper. ‘What am I going to find in these?’
The man gave a look of surprise. ‘I don’t know. Someone must have put them there. Now I think of it, this isn’t my coat. I must have picked up the wrong one.’
‘Give over,’ said Guy. ‘You’re coming with us.’
* * *
At the station Guy carried out the interview, alongside Sergeant Oliver, an officer on night duty. He’d had to dismiss the uniform who had helped him because he was attached to a different station. The paper packets contained white powder and were confirmed as cocaine when Sergeant Oliver dabbed a bit and put it on his tongue. After that, it was quick to charge him with possession and intent to supply, though the culprit, Samuel Jones, denied everything and protested his innocence throughout. Guy listed Jones’s possessions, from cigarettes to a wad of pound notes, then noticed he was wearing a distinctive pair of cufflinks. ‘What are those?’ asked Guy.
‘Lapis lazuli,’ Jones said, proudly. ‘Proper quality these are.’
‘Where did you buy them?’
Jones flicked his eyes down. ‘I didn’t, someone give me them.’
‘Who gave them to you?’ Guy persisted.
‘What’s it to you?’
Guy wanted to impress Oliver, or rather, he wanted word to get around that he was someone who knew his stuff. He wasn’t going to let this one go easily.
‘Would you prefer that I make this more difficult for you than it needs to be?’ he said, deliberately making his voice as hard as he could. ‘We could wait a week for the magistrate and I’m sure you could enjoy the prison hospitality at your leisure until then…’
‘I can’t tell you who and even if I could, I wouldn’t,’ said Jones. ‘Someone posh. Someone grateful.’ He smirked and Guy saw Sergeant Oliver smirk too.
‘Outside the club tonight, who was that with you?’
Jones was silent.
‘One of your regulars, was it?’ Guy pointed to the cufflinks, the blue stones set in gold like sand around a piece of the deep blue sea. ‘He gave you those, did he?’
Jones said nothing.
‘I’ll take that as a yes then, shall I?’
Sergeant Oliver smirked again but this time he was on Guy’s side.
‘You can take it however you want,’ spat Jones.
‘Take him off,’ said Guy to the uniform. ‘The magistrate’ll deal with him in the morning.’
Jones shouted and started kicking out but the sergeant dragged him out of the interview room.
Guy made an official note of Jones’s items and put everything into a large brown envelope. Except for the cufflinks. These he needed to show to someone else. He had a feeling they were going to help him. Only before he could do anything about it, Guy was handed a message. ‘It’s from a Miss Louisa Cannon,’ said the young constable. ‘She said it was urgent.’
The instruction was clear but its meaning was not. ‘Meet me at Lambeth North underground station at 11 p.m. Bring Constable Moon.’ He could only hope he’d make it in time. And why did she want Mary there? He’d have to find out.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The Longs’ house was only a few minutes’ walk from Lambeth North station. Louisa hurried there, her coat wrapped tightly against the biting wind, and prayed that Guy was still waiting for her – she wasn’t sure how late she was but from his expression she guessed it had been a while since eleven o’clock. Mary Moon was beside him, stamping her feet, which were shod prettily rather than in her usual uniform boots, her arms folded tightly across her chest with her hands tucked in. Louisa rushed up to them, taking them both by surprise as they’d been looking in the opposite direction at that moment.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she panted. ‘I’ll explain everything, but thank you for coming.’
‘What’s going on?’ asked Guy.
As he spoke, Louisa realised that she had frightened him with her message and she was sorry for that. ‘We need to catch a bus,’ she said. ‘We’re going to Elephant and Castle. I’ll tell you on the way.’
* * *
Sitting upstairs on the bus, Mary and Louisa beside each other and Guy behind, they each turned to face each other. There was only one other person there, a man smoking at the back, eyes half closed, his head leaning into his upturned collar, as if he was trying to pretend he was already in bed.
Louisa whispered urgently as she told them the story of Daniel, meeting Dulcie’s father and sister and, finally, the name that had been mentioned to her: Billy Masters.
‘I want to go to the Elephant and Castle and find out about him. If he did it, there will be rumours at the very least.’
‘What? You can’t go in and start asking questions about Billy Masters.’ Mary was appalled at the idea.
‘I’ll tell them
I want to join up. They’ve met me before, they know I’m loyal to Dulcie – I didn’t tell the police that I knew about her connection to them. That’s got to count for something.’
Guy shook his head. ‘It’s too dangerous, Louisa. I can’t allow it. Not unless I come with you.’
Louisa was caught off guard when Mary interjected: ‘No, you being there is what will make it dangerous. You’re a man, you’ll be too easily noticed.’ She turned to Louisa. ‘Let me come with you. Two is better than one. It’s safer, if things turn.’
Guy opened his mouth as if to protest but quickly thought better of it. ‘If you do that, I have to be nearby, in case anything happens.’
The journey was a short one and when they were a stop along from the big roundabout at the heart of Elephant and Castle, the three of them disembarked.
They had only walked a short way when Louisa stopped. ‘Guy, I don’t want you coming any further with us. It’s too risky. We’ll meet you back at the bus stop. You can wait there quite easily.’
Guy was reluctant but could see that these two women weren’t going to budge an inch. Bloody hell.
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I’m not happy about it though.’
‘We can handle ourselves,’ said Mary and, taking Louisa by the arm, she walked the two of them off and away from Guy, who unhappily watched their receding backs.
* * *
As Louisa and Mary rounded the corner, they saw that the Elephant and Castle was open for business. Pubs may have had to stop serving at eleven o’clock but those with punters that didn’t care too much for the law were only too pleased, it seemed, to carry on past the witching hour. Though the windows had been darkened by closed curtains, they saw three women only a little ahead of them pull the door open to enter, releasing a blast of noise and cigarette smoke into the cold night air.
‘Quick,’ said Mary. ‘If we get close behind, we’ll look like we’re in their group.’ They ran up and caught the door just before it shut. As they jumped inside, they were almost immediately pushed back against the door. It was the thickset woman Louisa had met when she came with Dulcie, the same one who had attended the court trial, and she didn’t look any more attractive or pleased at their reunion.
‘You,’ she said, and Louisa could smell the gin on her breath as she leant into her, their noses almost touching. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’m a friend of Dulcie’s,’ gasped Louisa. ‘Remember?’
Louisa realised with burning clarity that she had overestimated her sense of belonging with the Forty, or that they would recognise that she had not given Dulcie away during the inquest. To them, she was no more than an irritant, a buzzing insect. And she was trapped in their web.
‘I know who you are,’ said the woman, making even this statement sound like a threat. ‘But who is this?’ She jerked her chin at Mary and narrowed her eyes. Mary shrank back a little, though Louisa was a little awed at her steely resolve. She hadn’t run off as she might have expected.
‘A friend,’ said Louisa, her voice small. Two other women had appeared.
‘What’s going on, Bertha?’ said one. She was wiry, with a well made-up face but without a trace of good humour in her demeanour.
‘I’ve got it,’ said Bertha, broadening out her shoulders. ‘Don’t worry.’ She grabbed at the lapel of Mary’s coat. ‘Who are you?’
‘Vera,’ said Mary. Bertha looked at Louisa perhaps to see if there was a response to this but Louisa kept her face neutral.
‘Can we talk somewhere?’ said Louisa.
‘We can talk here,’ said Bertha, who hadn’t let go of the coat. The two women behind her started to shift on their feet while a taller woman beside them took a cigarette out and lit it. Bertha had her cue. ‘We’ve got all the time in the world,’ she continued.
‘We want to join the Forty,’ said Louisa boldly.
Bertha looked at her, her currant-eyes open as wide as they could go. ‘What do you think we are? Some sort of gentleman’s club? You don’t pay a fee and sign up.’ She started laughing helplessly at her own joke.
‘I know that,’ said Louisa, ‘but I want some of what you’ve got. Nice clothes and a bit of your own money. My mum was a laundress and it was a hard life. I want better.’ This was a brave speech and Bertha momentarily looked as if she might be impressed.
‘We think Dulcie’s innocent,’ said Mary suddenly and Louisa panicked. She knew this was a bad move.
The henchwomen were alerted and Bertha looked Mary up and down. ‘You do, huh?’
Louisa and Mary were trapped. The pub doors, heavy on their hinges, were closed behind them and opened inwards. Bertha stood in front of them, her wide figure spread by her ham-like thighs set astride. Behind her were the two women at her shoulders, bristling with the anticipation of a decent brawl. Louisa could hear that the pub had gone quiet. Their exchange had not gone unnoticed. And this was not even the worst of it.
There was a shudder in the atmosphere. Heads turned and elbows nudged, drinks were nervously sipped. Louisa knew this signal. Something was about to kick off and she was right at the centre of it. Bertha had dropped Mary but there was no gap, nowhere for them to run and they couldn’t turn and open the doors without getting grabbed backwards by their collars. She didn’t dare even look at Mary, she could feel the fear coming off her in waves like those on Brighton beach in the winter. She didn’t know what to do. She’d rushed here, blindly, certain that she was one of them, that somehow she’d make herself understood and they’d see she was on their side. But her time, such as it was, thieving with her uncle Stephen was long ago and even if there was some secret language amongst lowlifes – which there wasn’t – she’d long forgotten how to speak it. Who had she been kidding? Her world was servants’ quarters and nursery bedtimes, Nanny Blor’s consternation over missing jigsaw pieces and knowing that Lord Redesdale’s bark was worse than his bite.
Even more stupidly, she had brought Mary. What for? She’d wanted to show her, like some pugilistic idiot. She’d wanted Guy to see she was not just tough but clever, too, and for Mary to witness this and be made to feel inadequate by comparison. Vanity, that’s all it was. She felt like a bloody idiot. An idiot in danger of serious attack.
As she was thinking this, stricken, Bertha suddenly stumbled and tottered to one side, her mouth opened to say something and then quickly shut. She’d thought better of it. Standing in front of them now was the tall woman Louisa had seen in there before, and in the 43, with her well-cut clothes and rings on every finger. The Queen herself. Alice Diamond.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Fear clung to Louisa’s skin and made her hairs stand on end. She could do nothing but watch as Alice crossed her arms, the diamonds glittering on her long fingers, with nails that were short but clean. Her dark eyes looked at them both before her, her mouth in a tight slit that you couldn’t slip a stamp through. Bertha started to say something but Alice shut her up with a glare.
Mary was completely frozen to the spot. Not only could she neither move nor speak, if she had gone any paler she’d have been transparent.
Louisa tried to swallow but her mouth was completely dry. She tried to speak but no more than a croak came out. Alice roared with laughter and Bertha made a sound that was probably a giggle but was more resonant of a shotgun spraying pellets.
‘You’re quite the honoured guests, aren’t you?’ said Alice, and looked from side to side, waiting for her loyal subjects to titter politely at her joke. They duly did, of course.
‘They’ve been sniffing around about Dulcie,’ growled the woman who’d stamped on the cigarette.
Alice leaned forward slightly, her smile gone. ‘I’d get your nose out of that nasty smell, if I was you.’
Louisa dared to speak up. In for a penny and all that. ‘I don’t think she did it. I think she’s been set up by someone.’
Alice said nothing but clicked her fingers and someone handed her a cigarette, already lit.
‘She�
�s going to take the fall for a man. That’s what I think.’ Louisa was all too aware of Mary beside her, her elbows pressed into her sides as if she was trying to make herself as small as possible.
Alice picked a bit of tobacco out. ‘Tell me more.’
‘I don’t know any more,’ said Louisa. ‘It’s just that it doesn’t add up. Dulcie’s admitted to nicking the jewellery but said she’s innocent of the murder. I think she was meeting someone that night but can’t say who it was because they’ll do for her when – if – she gets out of gaol.’
The silence in between roared in Louisa’s ears. She pressed on. ‘I think it might be someone you know. What if he’s trying to set you all up? Trying to bring down the Forty.’
Bertha spat on the floor. ‘No man can bring us down,’ she said.
‘What if it was Billy Masters?’
‘Who gave you that name?’ Bertha shouted.
Before Louisa could react, another woman came into view, curious perhaps at the scene going on by the door. Louisa only just registered her, her mind desperately wondering how to say she knew Billy’s name, but Mary reared back as if she’d been struck. The woman came up and looked at her closely, then hit Bertha on the shoulder.
‘It’s the old bill.’
Alice spun round. ‘Did I hear right?’ she said
‘Yeah, she’s the one who nicked me at Debenham and Freebody.’
Louisa didn’t dare even try to look sideways but she was afraid now that Mary would faint. Was there anything she could say to get Alice to understand that a terrible mistake had been made and she was only trying to help prove Dulcie’s innocence?
No, there wasn’t.
Out of the corner of her eye Louisa saw that some chairs had been pushed back and one woman had pushed her sleeves up, the better to reveal black and purple tattoos that twisted from wrist to elbow. She could hear the soft wheeze of the pump as the barmaid continued to pull pints, and the occasional click of a match striking. The pub had settled, like an audience waiting for the curtains to rise, comfortable in the knowledge that they had their tickets and the star performer had arrived.
Bright Young Dead Page 22
