Windsor Red

by Jennie Melville

  ‘Then look for your match. I’m not saying any more. It’s dangerous.’

  Charmian grabbed Baby before she could escape. ‘What was all that about?’

  Baby looked vague. ‘How should I know?’

  ‘Talk to her. Try and find out, it could be important. I think she knows something.’

  Baby hid behind her dark spectacles and said she would try. It was debatable whether she was more afraid of Charmian than she was of Laraine. If pushed too far, she would simply disappear.

  Not beyond finding, because Baby had her little habits, her chosen places, which made her easy to locate, but it would take time and time was what Charmian guessed she did not have.

  She had not seen Harold English at the meeting, but he had been there because now he was getting into his car. Jerome had disappeared. She walked away herself, wondering how many unobtrusive figures were following Laraine, Nix and Co.

  Ascot week. Ladies’ Day.

  ‘Come to a drinks party and then we’ll go to watch the changeover from the motor cars to the carriages. A lovely chance to see the Royals, the Queen is always at her best, her favourite day. I know just the place to sit.’

  Molly Oriel had a pass—without one you did not get through the barrier. Charmian accepted her invitation. She knew it had been set up by Humphrey, Molly Oriel was just putting a good social gloss on it. As always.

  It was a fine warm day with only a few clouds in a blue sky. Hours before the arrival of the royal cars the grass under the big trees was crowded with cheerful groups in summer dresses.

  Molly Oriel had brought a picnic and champagne, but after a little while, Charmian loosened herself from the party and wandered away. Molly watched her go, speculation in her eyes.

  Wearing sunglasses and a soft hat with a brim, Charmian hoped to be unobtrusive if not unrecognisable. She had already marked down where Miss Macy, her group of children and her band of helpers had settled for their picnic. There they were on a couple of large rugs with thermos flasks of coffee for the adults and soft drinks for the youngsters. If Molly Oriel had chosen a good spot to sit, this group had an even better one. A kindly policeman had helped to settle them right up against the protective rail so that ‘they could get a good look with no one in front of the little ’ uns.’ Their party was on one side of the road down which the royal party would arrive and Charmian was on the other, but she had a clear view of them. She knew that closer to them would be other watchers.

  There they were, Laraine and Nix, Elsie and Yvonne and Betty and Rebecca all dressed in their best and with their best faces on. Even Laraine could be seen handing a seated child a sandwich. From Slough, Datchet, Hounslow and Old Windsor, they had assembled.

  Currying favour with Miss Macy so that they could be with her on the Big Day, June 23.

  Well, it won’t be a bomb, she thought, they have no explosives except themselves, or not yet, but Laraine has a gun. Not on her today, you couldn’t hide a gun in that tight suit. She had a shoulder bag, though, but was paying no particular attention to it.

  Perhaps after today they should take them all in. See what she got today, how they behaved, what she could make of it. Then a policy decision would be arrived at in which she would have a voice.

  The open carriages into which the royal family and their guests would move had already arrived and were lined up under the trees. A splendid cavalcade of some half a dozen vehicles, some built in the reign of Victoria with the others dating from Edward VII and his son and successor, George V. Old as they were, these carriages were in magnificent repair, polished and full of colour, while on the horses every inch of rein and bridle was supple and soft, with the bits and decorative brasses shining like jewels. The coachmen of a piece, their caps and uniforms swagged and decorated with ancient imperial splendour. The elegance of the livery was in itself marvellous to see.

  The coachmen, postillions and grooms were regulars, grown old in the royal service, familiar friends, always seen. ‘I know that man,’ whispered Molly Oriel, coming up to her side, ‘the one that looks like an illustration by Phiz. He’s always here. Known him for years. As long as I’ve been coming. And that one, and the man behind.’ She was smiling at them, giving little waves of welcome but not a flicker of expression marked any face in return. Training held. Even the horses, beautiful greys, remained still and calm.

  ‘Must be a great bore for them,’ said Charmian absently, her eyes still on the party across the road.

  ‘Oh no, they love it. The annual Ascot visit is a kind of picnic. All sorts of treats. The Queen is a frightfully good boss to work for.’

  Molly ought to know, living as she did in the shadow of the Crown. It was becoming harder to see across the road, the carriages were drawn up on that side, nearer to Miss Macy’s outfit who were thus blocked from her view. She separated herself from Molly, moving to a better spot.

  It was getting hotter now, with the sun overhead, striking brightly through the trees. The scene on the grass, full of animation and gaiety, was like an open air party. Very English, thought Charmian, still the Scot, like Henley or Glyndebourne or the one Oxford Commemoration Ball at which she had been a guest. With Humphrey, of course. There was something about the summer air and grass that suited the English spirit.

  The noise level was rising, on every side the sound of laughter and happy voices. The sound of a champagne cork, music from a radio, a child singing. People standing up, glass in hand, eyes beginning to turn hopefully towards the gate through which the Queen would come.

  Everywhere was movement and life. Except, as she suddenly observed, with Laraine and her allies. They were still, quiet, concentrated.

  She started to move, her legs were carrying her across the road towards them without her willing it. Not next week, she thought, but today. Whatever they are going to do, they are about to do now.

  She was moving fast, weaving her way through the crowds. Even as she moved she was thinking: But they aren’t killers, not even Laraine. Nix is wild, but not crazy.

  At the end of the road the royal cars were in sight of the drawn-up line of carriages. There must be a noise, the sound of the cheering, but she could hear nothing. She was frozen into a band of silence that was moving with her.

  And yet what did she see? Nothing so terrible. The women were standing close to the rail in a calm line, gazing at the first carriage. Rebecca and Betty side by side with Elsie and Yvonne a little apart. Laraine and Nix stood together and seemed to have nothing more alarming about them than a large thermos flask which was in Nix’s hands.

  She was almost up with them when the first royal car drew level to the carriage. The Queen stepped out, halting for a minute in the road while the rest of her party alighted. She looked happy and relaxed, talking to her companions. As always she stood out in a dress of pale lemon with a big lemon and white organza hat. It looked like organza anyway because although it was big with a large brim you could see her face through it clearly, and she was smiling.

  The Queen started to get into the carriage where her seat would be about level with Nix and Laraine.

  Nix was fiddling with the top of the thermos.

  ‘That’s a big thermos,’ Charmian thought. It was very big indeed, about the biggest she had ever seen.

  Nix had the top of the thermos off when Charmian began to run.

  The Queen had turned her head towards where Molly Oriel stood. Molly was smiling decorously and making a bob. No doubt they knew each other.

  Charmian got to Nix and Laraine just as Nix raised her arm to throw. Nix was shouting.

  ‘Help for women prisoners. We are women too.’

  The others were shouting too, echoing Nix’s words. Not Laraine, she was just standing there with a slight smile on her face. Doing nothing, saying nothing, but full of triumph.

  Behind them stood Miss Macy, shocked and speechless. Charmian pushed past her, treading on a child, and grabbed Nix’s arm.

  She was surprised at the strength in Nix’s
arm and the fierce, angry look she turned upon her. A furious, non-seeing look that was focussed on some inner vision.

  A great gush of blood spouted forward in a wide arc, leaving the thermos like a projectile. As it fell, drops spattered all round. Charmian got her share. So did Nix.

  The carriage moved away smoothly, its wheels spattered with blood.

  ‘Our blood is on you,’ shouted Nix, ‘we’re giving it back.’

  The Queen appeared not to have noticed. She was gone, driving smoothly away to Royal Ascot, with the rest of the procession falling in behind her.

  Red blood, liquid blood, falling blood. It was amazing how potent it was as a symbol.

  ‘You fool.’ Charmian was hanging on to Nix, gripping her wrist. She hated the feel of the blood on her dress, the wetness of the blood on Nix’s arm. ‘ You bloody fool.’

  Nix laughed. ‘ Bloody, anyway.’ She seemed to have recognised Charmian now. ‘You got that right, anyway.’

  Charmian did not let go. ‘What the hell do you think you are doing?’

  Nix laughed. ‘Making a splash.’

  All around them was a confusion of noise and movement. She was conscious of Rebecca and Elsie being taken away, of Yvonne crying. She could hear Miss Macy’s voice, protesting. ‘Not her fault,’ she thought.

  But Laraine was smiling.

  ‘This achieved nothing,’ Charmian said fiercely. ‘Absolutely nothing.’

  Laraine still smiled.

  Rebecca Amos

  Betty Dedman

  Laraine Finch

  Elsie Hogan

  Nix Hooper

  Yvonne King.

  All of various addresses in Old Windsor, Datchet, Hounslow and Slough.

  All in police custody for the night and due to appear in the magistrates’ court the next morning.

  She stood looking at them in the small interview room. Let them stay, she thought. Let them stew. Especially Laraine. She felt sorry for Nix, who, as she saw now, had a real streak of fanaticism and was willing even to enjoy crucifying herself. She was a believer, you had to believe in something, she had said so herself. Rebecca and Elsie had been paid, Elsie for the cow’s blood she had provided, that was what they believed in. Betty Dedman had taken her cut, as was her habit, and Yvonne had just been caught up, as was hers. It had been extremely unlucky for her that she had known Miss Macy, or she might not have been recruited. But unluck and Yvonne were old companions.

  But Laraine? What moved Laraine, who did nothing without a purpose and that purpose the welfare of Laraine?

  ‘I don’t know what you think you’ve done, except make fools of yourselves.’ And to a limited extent of her, too. ‘Well, you’re in here now and I’m afraid you’ll stay.’

  ‘Fine friend you turned out to be,’ said Nix. ‘But don’t think I’m sorry. I’m glad I did what I did. Women should shout for women. I’ll be in the history books.’

  ‘Prison first.’

  Laraine said with confidence, ‘You won’t keep me in. My lawyer will be round here any minute and I’ll get bail and be out. Nothing to it, you’ll see.’

  ‘You’ll stay here tonight.’ And she left them to it.

  In the corridor leading from the interview block and again in the main police building she saw signs of intense activity. Harold English crossed her path as she made her way to the door. His face was sour.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘We’ve been done. The Great Park caper was just a diversion. While we were concentrating on a group of lunatic women, Delaney and his pals were robbing a bank. Finch knew all right, knew what she was doing even if the others didn’t. She was seen giving it the once-over. Premises in Upper Sheet Street.’

  ‘Delaney?’ Charmian was thinking of Laraine’s joyful face. Yes, she had known all the time. That was what she had been up to. And escape to warmer climes with Delaney was what she had been smiling about. She didn’t love him, but he was her ticket to ride. ‘You’ll get him. Stop him at Heathrow.’

  English gave a short laugh. ‘He’s done us there too. He had another ticket booked. Just the one. He flew out to Brazil this afternoon. All on his own.’

  They talked for some time but eventually Charmian left, not with any love for English in her heart. Pesky devil, she thought.

  Outside the building, in the pale of a late summer evening she found Baby loitering while pretending to admire the view. Sorry, not Baby, but Andrea. Beryl Andrea Barker.

  ‘Surprised to see you.’ It was unlike Baby to put herself in a position of risk.

  ‘Wanted to know what happened. Oh well, don’t tell, I can guess, poor bitches. I feel I’ve betrayed them.’

  Charmian shrugged.

  ‘You did too, pretending to help them.’

  ‘I can still do that.’

  ‘Oh sure,’ said Baby sceptically. ‘Only will they believe it?’

  ‘I was doing my job,’ said Charmian. And earning a living and getting promotion. It had to be that way, it was the manner in which society worked.

  Baby sighed. ‘Women, see. It’s a woman letting a woman down.’

  ‘Not only women. I didn’t let Laraine down, she did that to the rest of you. And now she’s been let down. By a man.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’ll find out. We’ve all been led up the garden path.’

  Baby hesitated. ‘ Not the only reason I came. Wanted to tell you something. Remember you asked me to talk to Laraine? Find out what she meant with that remark of hers?’

  ‘About policemen and murder? I remember.’

  ‘I did and she told me.’ For the first time Charmian realised that Baby liked her, was even fond of her, would do something for her that might cost. ‘ She said she’d seen him around Windsor, he lives here. And he’d seen her, she said. And she laughed. So I suppose you must have seen him too.’

  One way and another that could cover quite a number of policemen.

  ‘You going to walk home?’ There was a taxi across the road.

  ‘I’m not going your way,’ said Baby. ‘There’s my bus. I’ll just get on it.’

  And she disappeared from Charmian’s view, perhaps for ever.

  With Baby you never knew.

  Charmian walked slowly towards Peascod Street. She let herself linger, looking in the shop windows. She felt drained, stupid.

  It had been a remarkable day, but not a pleasing one. Her legs felt heavy. Depression, that was what it was. She stopped in front of an antique shop. It had a Victorian cradle in the window, with a china-faced doll amid the lace and frills. Take some keeping up, a cradle like that, she thought. Not to mention the laundering of the long baby clothes. Layer upon layer of silk, cotton and wool. Just as well it was only a doll inside them.

  Down the hill she fell in with Dolly Barstow, who was also staring into a shop window.

  ‘Hello.’ She joined her at the window and stared in herself. It was a chemist’s shop, and they were looking at a display of pregnancy testing kits.

  Dolly turned her head briefly. ‘Quite a day.’ Then she turned back towards the window. She did not say anything about the episode in the Great Park, although she undoubtedly was well informed.

  ‘You can say that again … Anything new about the torso case?’

  ‘Yes.’ Dolly gave a thoughtful nod. ‘One thing. A woman doctor came forward with some info about the abortion. Pretty clear it was Amanda Rivers.’

  ‘What we thought.’ Anny would be relieved. ‘Thanks for telling me.’

  ‘Yes. Don’t pass it on just yet. Her parents don’t know.’

  ‘So the heads don’t matter?’

  ‘No, the heads don’t matter.’ Dolly was still thoughtful. ‘Glad to see you. I had a thought.’

  Charmian looked around her. It was getting late, shops were closing, but there was a coffee shop still open and serving. ‘Let’s go in there.’

  Once settled with a mug of black mocha each, Dolly was fluent. ‘We’ve been working on the associati
on of Rivers and Cook. Not just personal, though they’d known each other a long time, he’d been divorced, and she wasn’t exactly virgin territory.’

  ‘Dolly!’

  ‘Oh well, yes, sorry, bad taste seeing she’s probably dead. But we’ve been taking a sneaky look at their professional side too … Records are confidential, but well, we’ve managed a quiet look. On the side, as it were, just to see if any motive for murder comes out of this. Been trying to find a connection. They have some patients in common, you’d expect that. A popular local doctor and an obstetrician and gynae specialist. He did a lot of pre-natal work, but he referred difficult cases to the hospital. She got some. That was her job. She also helped run the Fertility Clinic, took a special interest in it. Helped those who couldn’t conceive and those who did it too readily. There was that side to it as well. Emotional stuff.’

  ‘Yes. So they had some patients in common? Such as?’

  ‘Well, the Robertson family for one, although lack of fertility wasn’t their problem, the other way round, he had a vasectomy that didn’t work. They were upset for a bit.’

  ‘They like the kid now though.’

  ‘Oh sure.’ Dolly hesitated. Then began again. ‘You know the lead I was working on originally? It was part of the inquiry into the missing babies, I got drawn into the torso case through that one.’

  Charmian nodded. ‘So what?’

  ‘Mulling it over, I’ve been wondering … Supposing there was this woman, couldn’t have a child, but was going to get an adoption. A new baby. Angel in the house sort of woman. Felt she wanted to be a real mother, breast feeding, the lot. Rivers did have a couple she was leading that way. Speciality of hers. We’ve talked to one success in the art who now has a happy suckled baby. She doesn’t want to be named, but she’s in the clear. Supposing such a woman took to borrowing other people’s babies to help her on the road?’

  ‘Weird. Got a candidate?’

  ‘One or two possibilities.’ Dolly did not amplify.

  ‘Are you tying it in with the murders? Not a motive for murder, surely?’

  ‘Not a motive,’ said Dolly. ‘ Not a motive exactly, but a link.’