Mydworth Mysteries--London Calling!

by Matthew Costello

She saw the policeman lower his hand and shake his head.

  Behind him, at the far end of the street, the sedan took another turn and disappeared from view.

  “Damn,” she said quietly, as if the officer could hear her.

  But the cop walked slowly over to her window, a mythic figure with his tall bobby’s hat.

  “I don’t care if you’re late to market, mate – there’s no call for that kind of speed.” Then he clearly saw that it was a woman driving. “Oh,” he said.

  “Evening officer,” said Kat. “I can explain…”

  “I’m sure you can, madam,” said the cop. “This time of night? I’m all ears.”

  *

  “A prank?” said Harry, handing Kat a coffee and a plate of toast, then joining her on the sofa.

  He saw her nod and then watched as she took a sip of the drink.

  “Gosh, I needed that,” she said.

  “And our London bobby… he believed you?”

  “I’m a very honest looking woman, Harry,” she said, leaning back against the cushions, suddenly feeling exhausted.

  “‘Bewitching’ is the word, I believe,” he said, smiling at her. “I expect he wasn’t immune to that.”

  He waited, while she devoured a slice of toast.

  “So,” she said, mouth still full. “Dead end, you talking to Lizzie at the club. And dead end, me finding out the mysterious destination of that sedan.”

  “Unfortunately,” said Harry. “From what I saw of her – Lizzie didn’t look happy.”

  “Not surprised, working a joint like that. You didn’t get even a hint where the girls were being taken?”

  “To the boss – that’s all I heard.”

  “Doesn’t sound good, does it?” said Kat. “You know, if she were my daughter, I’d go in fighting and not come out till I had her safe.”

  “I know you would. Though I suspect there’s no shortage of heavies in that place.”

  “But Harry – you said you had a plan?”

  “I do,” said Harry, stealing a piece of her toast. “It does involve some, um, special assistance from you, though.”

  “And?”

  “I wonder,” he said. “Remember you told me you were something of a dancer, back in the day?”

  He watched her carefully, as she put down her toast mid-mouthful.

  “Yes…” she said.

  And – taking a breath, because what he was about to suggest was somewhat outlandish – he told her the plan he’d come up with.

  10. Showtime

  Harry, with Alfie trailing behind, found that they were immediately led to their table from the night before, a prime spot at the Red Rabbit to take in the show.

  And even before they had sat down, the grinning waiter from their previous visit had materialised, his smile less about seeing old customers back for more, than anticipating the wad of notes that Harry seemed to have dispensed so easily.

  “Two champagnes?” the waiter said.

  But this time Harry shot a look at Alfie, that rumpled face not always revealing what was going on inside the chiselled brow under his close-cropped haircut.

  “Um, yes, but I think my friend here—”

  Alfie finished the sentence. “Pint of mild will do me fine.”

  The waiter – though perhaps disappointed with an order of beer – nonetheless kept his smile plastered on as he said, “Absolutely!” and whisked away to the bar area.

  Harry looked at his watch.

  “Just a few minutes now.”

  At that, Alfie leaned forward. “Didn’t want to worry you, Harry. But spoke to some other people today. You know, asked around.”

  Harry nodded, as the champagne flute and pint arrived. Harry peeled off a note and waved the waiter away.

  “Yes. And what exactly did you hear?” Harry took a sip.

  Truth be told, he wasn’t overly fond of champagne. Under the right circumstances, with the right person, well then… of course.

  But now he would have liked nothing more than a large whisky.

  Still… when in Rome.

  “They say, the people behind this joint,” Alfie waved his bear-claw of a hand, “are not people to be messin’ with.”

  “I was rather getting that impression myself. Nevertheless, what you did this afternoon? Neatly done. Brilliant, in fact. As to what happens now…”

  “Anything goes?”

  “Well, let’s hope not ‘anything’. But we’d best be ready.”

  “Oh, I’m ready, chief.”

  At that, Alfie patted the side pocket of his jacket.

  Alfie, Harry knew, was one of those types who was always ready.

  If things got tough – well, whatever he had packed away in that side pocket could prove mighty useful.

  And, at that, the small jazz band blared out a noisy tune, full of energy but – in Harry’s opinion – lacking any finesse.

  The master of ceremonies popped onto the stage, grinning at the room full of people. Business at the Rabbit was good.

  “Ladies…”

  Harry looked around. This night, he didn’t see any “ladies” out among the sea of men.

  Well, presumably the MC had a script to follow.

  “… and gentlemen. The Red Rabbit is proud to present…” The MC began backing away to the side, gesturing stage left. “The Red Rabbit Belles!”

  A smattering of applause greeted the overenthusiastic announcement. The curtain started chugging upward, and, as soon as it was up, out came the dancers.

  With the one on the extreme right, gamely following all the moves and steps…

  Harry’s own wife – Kat.

  Or – as she was more formally known, back in Sussex – Lady Katherine Mortimer, in-law of Lady Lavinia Fitzhenry of Mydworth Manor.

  And, for a moment, all Harry could do was just watch.

  Spellbound.

  *

  Kat wasn’t completely surprised that the squat bulldog of a man, who seemed to be in charge of the day-to-day running of the club, had said she could start that night.

  After all, he was down one dancer. That dancer, as far as the club knew, was at home sick. In reality she’d been paid five pounds by Alfie to “take the evening off”. And after Kat had insisted that she was indeed well trained, a quick learner, and with her big smile hopefully radiating American pluckiness, he’d told her to come that afternoon for rehearsals and run-throughs.

  But now, as she shuffled with the other girls, the choreography basic but still a challenge, she kept a smile on her face, even as her eyes dotted right to check she was doing something approaching the correct steps.

  And when the girls linked arms and began high kicking, well, Kat handled all that with ease. Whistles from the audience greeting those kicks to the stratosphere.

  She realised that she was more than keeping up – at least trajectory wise – with the other dancers.

  Every now and then, during the routine, she tried to make out Harry, who she knew had to be sitting out there, in the dark.

  God knows what he was thinking, seeing his relatively new wife parading about in the skimpiest of outfits, reflective spangles providing only a hint of modesty.

  But the bright spotlights were totally blinding on the stage; the club could have been empty, or filled with shadowy mannequins, the only reassurance that there was an audience being the occasional claps and whistles.

  Those whistles letting the Red Rabbit Belles know that they weren’t exactly performing Shakespeare here.

  She glanced along the line of dancers, trying to see the young girl at the end.

  Lizzie Spence. Her smile rigidly in place.

  Kat had tried to get a few words with her in rehearsal, the point of this whole plan. But with the make-up, feathers, costumes and quick check of the routine, so far there had been no chance for that.

  As for the two older dancers – they seemed actively hostile.

  Like maybe they suspected the American. Something suspicious in how she
got the job?

  Showbusiness, Kat thought.

  If this was it, she was happy with the career path she had chosen.

  *

  “Blimey, Harry – I’ve got to say. Kat? She can dance.”

  “So I was informed. Apparently had a decent amount of training, and even harboured hopes of becoming a professional.”

  “Damn impressive, I’d say.”

  “And I must say, Alfie, what an outfit!”

  At that Alfie laughed.

  “Don’t know her all that well yet, boss, but can’t imagine she’s enjoying this, is she?”

  “Hard to tell. But if it means we learn something about the young girl, I believe that wife of mine would put up with anything.”

  The jazz band – sometimes seeming like they were all playing a different piece of music – shifted their rhythm, and now the dancers began a tricky mix of raising their knees, followed by kicks, and spinning in place.

  Harry could see, with this added complication, Kat falling behind, the smile on her face definitely turning a bit wobbly.

  But, well, with all that rouge and lipstick and the skimpy costumes, it was unlikely the audience had taken note of her grimace.

  Harry also guessed that she couldn’t see him.

  Would love some eye contact, he thought. Maybe some indication that she’s chatted with Lizzie?

  Perhaps even learned something?

  But for now, Harry was, in both senses, totally in the dark.

  *

  After a roller-coaster set of fifteen minutes that seemed to race by like a train barrelling down the track without a driver, the performance ended, the dancers bowing in unison.

  Kat followed the others backstage, the troupe performing – as directed – rather idiotic bunny hops as they left.

  She was breathing hard. After all, dancing like this? It had been a while.

  The women, weary, silently treading back to the dressing room area.

  Kat let the other two dancers – one already popping a cigarette into her mouth – walk ahead, while she drifted back to where Lizzie, as if lingering behind them, moved more slowly.

  Now or never, Kat thought.

  “Wow,” Kat said, “that’s one tough routine.”

  Lizzie looked up. The face set, eyes narrow. Grim, would be the word.

  “Yeah. It’s hard.” Then she started to move past Kat.

  But Kat didn’t let her shuffle too far.

  “But you still do it?”

  The girl barely looked up. “This place? The punters out there?” her face lit up with sarcasm. “Oh, it’s my dream come true.”

  More steps to the dressing room, but Kat wanted to get in as many questions as she could before being under the scrutiny of the two other dancers.

  Doubt they have much sympathy for young Lizzie, Kat guessed.

  She risked a touch, reaching for Lizzie’s arm.

  “Lizzie, right?” The girl at least stopped moving. “Then why don’t you just leave?”

  And at that, Kat immediately knew – standing in the darkness, still in costume, the spangles barely reflecting the scant light – she’d hit a nerve.

  Because the girl took a step closer.

  “You’re the new girl. Yank, to boot. You don’t know anything, do you?”

  “Well, I—”

  “About how things run here? The way things” – long pause – “are.”

  And in that moment, Kat saw that while Lizzie might barely be twenty-one, something had happened here to make her sound decades older.

  Then Kat – again realising that she had to take absolutely any opportunity – said, “Right. I don’t know. But I want to. I want to understand.”

  Kat was tempted to say even more. But she held her tongue. That could really backfire, scare the girl.

  Because it sounded very much like Lizzie Spence was trapped.

  Lizzie waited for a long time, before taking a breath, then said, “Really?” Then she shook her head. “We have to get ready before the next show, don’t have time—”

  Kat risked another touch to a bare shoulder.

  “Maybe later? We can” – a small smile, hoping to disarm her – “talk some more?”

  At that, the girl nodded. But whether dismissively or in agreement, Kat couldn’t tell.

  Lizzie turned and walked away.

  The night was only beginning at the Red Rabbit.

  11. Secrets of the Red Rabbit

  Harry looked at his watch. It had been a night of shows, and no information from Kat. He and Alfie had long since swapped their beer and bubbly for soda water.

  And with the lack of information – had Kat learned anything? – they grew silent.

  Except, as they headed to the last show of the night, Alfie sniffed the smoke-filled air, played with his glass of water.

  “This is hard, chief. Sitting here, not knowing.”

  Harry nodded – but he knew that whatever happened, would be different from the night before.

  The plan: in the middle of the last set, Alfie would go and bring the Alvis round to the front of the club.

  No rattling old Austin van to tail the mysterious black car, this time.

  That is, if it even turned up again tonight.

  Harry knew he was pretty good at tailing someone. Staying just far enough back, so in the rear-view mirror his headlights remained small, almost unnoticed. Nothing to be alarmed about.

  “Well, Alfie, I think we’ll know soon enough.”

  The band started playing, even less synchronised than before, probably fuelled by the free drinks provided all night.

  And Harry sat there, his face set too.

  Wondering… what is happening?

  *

  Kat had waited until Lizzie had left the dressing room, to turn to one of the other girls. Meg she said her name was.

  Kat came close, ignoring the girl’s openly disinterested look.

  “Um, this place, what they pay you… doesn’t exactly cover the rent, does it?”

  Meg fired a look at her partner, and took the role of spokesperson.

  “Pays enough, I reckon. You used to getting more? For your ‘services’ back in the States?”

  At that, the two hardened dancers laughed.

  “Well, no. But was thinking… sometimes I used to, you know, pick up a little bit extra. After a club closes?”

  Another look fired between the girls. And Meg took a step towards her as if ready to challenge.

  “Oh, right? And how exactly did you do that?”

  Eyes fixed on her. Kat decided not to directly attempt to answer that question. Instead, “You girls, know anything here that might bring in some extra cash?”

  Meg grinned at this. “Spare bob or two, you mean?”

  “Something like that.”

  And the girl took a breath.

  “Maybe. Though, tell yer what, girlie. You best talk to old Charlie ’bout that. Me, and Sally here? We don’t know nothin’.”

  Meg turned on her heels.

  Only minutes till the next show.

  Charlie…

  Kat had to take a shot at it, so she spun away and hurried to the door, out of the cramped dressing room, to the corridors, following the stench of stale cigar smoke, to find Charlie Leet.

  *

  Kat saw Leet standing by the stage, sucking on the now unlit cigar stub. Chewing at it.

  And she tried to be coy.

  But she knew, last night, all the girls packed into that expensive black sedan? They went somewhere.

  Charlie would know where. Why.

  Still, she had to tread cautiously.

  “Charlie, I was wondering—”

  “Whatsamatta? The other dancers? They’re not giving you problems are they?”

  Then Leet took a small step forward, like a toad hopping one slimy lily pad closer.

  “Cause, I tell you, kid. You’re looking good, from out front, never know you was just hired.”

  The cigar stub r
eceived a chew or two, as if the chunk of tobacco was part of the conversation.

  Kat smiled, concealing the real emotion the tubby troll in front of her summoned.

  “Just that, you know, being here in England, money’s so tight. One of the girls they mentioned—”

  She didn’t have to go any further.

  “Ah, right. Gotcha. Wanna earn a few extra bob, eh?”

  Though she knew the term, Kat decided to continue with the role of parvenu just washed up on foreign shores.

  “Bob?”

  “Money.”

  “The other girl, Sally, said—”

  Charlie nodded. “Yeah. The after-hours thing?” Charlie looked away as if checking that no one was in earshot. “Bit of a private show, you know? Nice clientele.” Again he leaned towards her as he repeated. “Real nice. Pretty much what you do here, at the Rabbit, got it? Dancin’ and all. But maybe… just a little bit friendlier.”

  Kat forced a smile and offered what she hoped was a convincing reply: “That sounds great.”

  And Charlie Leet laughed. “You Yanks, you don’t waste no time, do you? Moving in on whatever’s going on. Okay, you just be ready to go after the show.”

  Another grin from Leet. “Transport and the rest of it – all sorted.”

  Kat nodded as Charlie began to turn away.

  “Just one thing,” she said. “Um, outside, there’s this guy. Guess you’d call him a stage-door Johnny. Wanted to, you know, see me after the show.”

  Charlie’s beady eyes remained locked on her.

  “I think I better ask him to just leave. When he’s done.”

  “I could get him to lay off. Don’t want the customers messin’ with you girls anyway.”

  Kat gave Charlie another smile. “I mean, the guy, seems nice enough. Maybe, best, you know, I just run out. Tell him?”

  And though Kat realised that she hadn’t offed any logic for her delivering the message to the imagined swain she was discussing, Charlie nodded.

  “I s’pose. Just be quick. Last set coming up. End with a bang.” And at that, Charlie laughed as if he had just made one hell of a joke.

  “End with a bang – ha!”

  And with a nod, he indicated that Kat could dash out to the audience.

  Out to Harry.

  *

  Harry saw Kat emerge from the side door. In seconds she was there. Leaning down.