Mydworth Mysteries--London Calling!

by Matthew Costello

  A rather fabricated grin on her face.

  Her voice low.

  “Harry – act disappointed okay? But I’m ‘in’. After the show.”

  “What do you mean?” Harry said, his brow furrowed, and no acting at all. Not sure what new step his plan had just taken.

  “I’m going to go with the girls, after the last show.”

  “Kat, I’m not sure—”

  But Kat kept smiling at him.

  God, he thought, she could be one excellent actress.

  “It’s the only way. Spoke to Lizzie. But she wouldn’t talk. Clammed up. This way – think we can find out what’s really going on.”

  But over her shoulder, Harry saw the big guy, Charlie, come out.

  “Oh – there’s um, dunno, your boss.”

  “Soon as the show’s over, we go. You guys follow. I’ll find out what’s happening. I’ll feel a lot better if I know you have my back covered.”

  Harry cleared his throat.

  “Got it.”

  He wanted to add that he wasn’t pleased with what sounded like both a daring and dangerous addition to the evening’s activities. But already he saw Charlie waddling over in the direction of the table.

  So instead, he nodded with his best disappointed look. Then his voice equally low.

  “I’ll be there. Right behind you.” Charlie almost there. “Be careful.”

  Kat spun away, hurrying backstage, dodging Charlie in mid-journey to the table.

  While Harry busied himself trying to look disappointed.

  “Night’s not over, Alfie. In fact, it just got a lot more interesting.”

  “So I heard, chief.”

  12. A Very Private Party

  Last show of the night over, Kat noticed that the other women hurried to pack their spangled costumes, stuffing them into small satchels.

  Kat followed suit, but her eyes were also locked on Lizzie, who was doing the same thing. But unlike the businesslike way the older dancers went about getting ready, Lizzie moved slowly.

  Like someone being forced.

  Then a sharp knock. The door opened. Charlie Leet didn’t care if the women were still dressing.

  “Car’s here,” he barked. “Get a move on. Shake them legs.”

  And Kat, like the others, made sure she had her stuff all gathered.

  She felt a tinge of fear. What exactly was she about to face?

  Just hope Harry has better luck tailing the black sedan than I did!

  *

  “Okay, Alfie. Here they come.”

  Harry had the Alvis pulled tight to the building.

  Engine off, they sat in the shadows.

  Harry was close enough to see Leet open the back door of the sedan. As the girls hurried in, Leet looked up and down the street as if moving contraband.

  Do the bobbies keep bankers’ hours in this part of London? Harry thought.

  Couldn’t be more deserted.

  “Sure you don’t want me to take the wheel, Harry? I know these streets. I’m on them all the time.”

  Harry nodded. A good point from his loyal batman. But then Harry had – for king and country – done quite a few tails; on foot, in a vehicle, and in a lot of exotic locales.

  So, as to who’d be better driving in the next few minutes, it was probably a toss-up.

  “Thanks Alfie, I think I can handle it. But any hints as we hit the streets, then do pass them along.”

  The sedan started to roll away from the kerb.

  “Here we go,” Harry said.

  My Kat is in that car. If anything happens to her…

  He had a couple of visions of how that could end.

  *

  Everyone in the car sat deathly quiet.

  But Kat’s position in the back allowed her to see the driver. His narrow eyes, glancing up at the mirror, from time to time locked on hers.

  Who’s this character? she wondered.

  For the first part of the journey, she recognised the route from her own failed attempt to tail them in Alfie’s truck, but then it seemed to take a different turning.

  The sedan didn’t actually race through the twisting streets, navigating the maze that was night-time Soho, but she could feel the rumble of a powerful engine. If the driver needed speed, it would be there.

  She had to resist the temptation to turn and look out the rear window. She hoped that if she did she’d see a small pair of lights somewhere behind them.

  Harry, in the Alvis, following.

  But turning would only alert the driver. So, she sat there, facing forward, no one saying anything. The air heavy with an expectation of what was to come, so late in the night, morning only hours away.

  Though Kat had walked into quite a few risky situations, at an embassy dinner, or a late meeting with a courier in some backwater café abroad, this was new.

  And she was frightened.

  *

  “Damn,” Harry said, as the big saloon seemed to disappear into one curved street and then, so quickly into another.

  “I’m going to lose him, Alfie.”

  “No. Okay. Take the next left. See it? Tenison Court. The way that bloke’s headed, we’ll catch him on the other side, on Regent Street.”

  Harry turned to him even as they got the Alvis squeezed between the buildings, down an alleyway that seemed more suited for livestock than a car. “No other turns it could take?”

  But Alfie shook his head. “Car that big, you don’t get a lot of options.”

  Alfie grinned in the darkness.

  Always so pleased when he could be of help.

  Damn good man, Harry thought.

  The Alvis bumped down the alley, once even scraping a metal rubbish bin, until finally it emerged onto Regent Street.

  “Can’t see it! I don’t—”

  But Alfie pointed at the red lights speeding up the empty avenue, then slowing and taking a left.

  “There he is. Heading towards Mayfair, as expected,” Alfie said. “Should be smooth sailing from here.”

  “Great,” Harry said, picking up speed, following. “Remind me never to visit Soho again in anything resembling this vehicle.”

  “Least not while you’re driving, eh, boss?”

  And with that break in the tension, they both laughed.

  *

  Kat peered out of the sedan’s window as the driver pulled up beside a stately house. She could see curved wrought-iron grilles on all the windows, and an impressive stone staircase leading to a solid back door that – with its satiny sheen – picked up the glow from a nearby street lamp.

  But that glow was now beginning to fade.

  Like they were in a cloud.

  And Kat remembered.

  Right, London, gets fog. Evening cools down. The Thames nearby.

  As the sedan stopped, the streetlight began to look like an impressionistic depiction of a massive candle, the fog now seeming to threaten the light completely.

  The driver popped out.

  “Right then, ladies, come on, come on. Night’s not getting any younger.”

  Kat followed the others out, with Lizzie just in front.

  She risked a whisper. “You know where we’re going?”

  The girl turned to her. No words. Just a nod.

  Terribly sad.

  They trooped up behind the driver as he knocked on the door. A variation of the Red Rabbit code – two sharp knocks. A pause. Then two more.

  The door to the grand house opened.

  Cigar and cigarette smoke billowed out to join the fog, which also gathered at the door.

  And with the driver – their guide – keeping watch though the visibility was fading, Kat followed the other girls in.

  *

  Harry stopped the Alvis.

  “Bit close here,” Alfie said, “Could be spotted.”

  “Chance we have to take. With this damn fog rolling in, not sure what we’ll see.”

  And after watching the dancers disappear – so strange to think t
hat Kat was among them – he waited.

  The fog grew more dense.

  “What a night,” said Alfie. “Proper pea-souper.”

  Harry could only nod in reply. All this was starting to feel too dangerous. He saw some men arrive, their top hats visible, but in this mess of a fog, there was no way to see faces.

  Could be anyone, Harry thought.

  More men arrived, distinguishable only by their shape and size: this one tall; another shaped like a summer marrow; one having a spot of alcohol-fuelled trouble navigating the stone steps.

  And then nothing.

  Harry could wait no longer.

  “I’m going to take a look.”

  “What? Boss, best not. I’ll go there, take a—”

  But Harry had already popped open the door of the Alvis, and started hurrying to the house, now himself just a shadowy figure on the fog-ridden street.

  *

  While drinks got poured and passed around, Kat found herself suddenly cornered by a small man in a tux with a snow-white, perfectly trimmed moustache, his balding head covered by a few strands of hair, as if it could mask the shiny dome.

  “So, is it true?” the man said, his eyes bright, eager.

  Kat of course keeping a smile on her face.

  But also thinking – if this guy so much as lays a hand on me, well.

  She knew what to do in such cases. Quickly and effectively.

  “What do you mean?” she said.

  “You Americans.” The man flashed a smile, his uneven teeth catching the light. About the toothiest smile she had seen in quite a while. “Always, brave, bold…” and here the man pumped his arm as if rallying the troops to pick up the pace, “adventurous?”

  “Oh. Dunno about all that,” Kat said. “I’m more the shy, retiring type.” The man’s face fell, either not getting the humour of the situation, or genuinely disappointed.

  “Oh, um, well I—” the tubby tuxedoed man fumbled.

  Kat guessed the men didn’t have to try too hard with witty banter at this private party.

  And as she looked around, she saw the girls all chatting, and one of them – Sally – sitting on one well-dressed man’s lap, laughing up a storm.

  Must be gold in them thar hills, Kat thought. Exactly how “private” does this party get?

  But then, she saw Lizzie.

  She had been cornered by a man who towered over her. And after looking left and right, as if seeking escape, she watched as Lizzie said something to the man, and then literally bolted away.

  In the direction of the hallway to the bathroom, guessed Kat.

  Presumably the one safe place in this joint.

  And Kat knew what she had to do.

  *

  With a quick look up and down the street, Harry made his way up the steps to the big house, holding the hand rail. Part of him wanted to rap on that ominous-looking black door, and just get Kat.

  But he reminded himself: Steady. She can take care of herself.

  At the door, he leaned forward, hoping his hunch would pay off.

  To see a name on the side by a brass doorbell.

  Cedric Grosvenor.

  And suddenly some things started to make sense.

  But then he heard, on the other side of the door, steps.

  Someone coming.

  As the door handle turned, Harry raced down the steps, and – with the Alvis too far away to provide cover – he hopped over the metal gate that led to a downstairs flat, maybe to the servants’ quarters.

  He pressed against the wall by the stone stairs, in the darkness and the swirling fog, as just above his head, he heard a man walk out of the house and onto the steps.

  From down here, no way to see the man’s face. Just his shiny shoes, evening coat, a white scarf – and in one hand a large, brown envelope. Now, a movement as he popped a well-creased hat on his head.

  Something familiar about that head.

  The man reached the bottom of the steps, slipped the envelope into his coat pocket and then paused, as if he might be considering.

  Home? Or a really late nightcap?

  And as the man turned, Harry, invisible in the shadows, could finally see his profile, and he peered up through the black railings, to see…

  Oliver Pleasance, the slimy new “friend” that he’d made back at the Town Hall in Mydworth.

  The man obviously closely connected to Grosvenor’s little operation here.

  Which, Harry was beginning to think, was maybe not so little.

  He watched, still crouching against the cold, damp stone as Pleasance turned and started walking away from the house.

  And when he was safely steps away, Harry scurried back to the Alvis, staying low, though in truth the fog was proving useful as cover.

  Inside the car he wasted no time.

  “Alfie, see that chap? Got a favour to ask you.”

  To which Alfie answered by popping open his door. “Now don’t you worry, Harry. Fog like this… perfect for following a bloke.”

  “Good man. Just need to know where he lives, maybe what he does with an envelope he just tucked into that coat.”

  “I’ll do a proper recce.” Alfie slipped out of the car. “You stay here for your Kat. Tomorrow, first thing, I’ll let you know what I’ve found.”

  And with that, Alfie was gone, and Harry was left alone, looking at the building. Lights on, as if whoever lived there didn’t know or didn’t care that it was still the dead of night.

  This party clearly not coming to an end any time soon.

  13. The Sordid Truth

  Kat hurried down the long, carpeted corridor, looking for the bathroom. She passed dull landscape paintings and faded portraits – the place looking to her more like a private club than a home.

  Doors on either side – were they perhaps to offices, living rooms, or maybe bedrooms? One door was different from the others – and from inside, she heard the sound of muted crying.

  The bathroom? Had to be. She tried the door – locked.

  So, she leaned close. Tapped gently.

  “Lizzie? Lizzie?”

  Silence. Then a sniff, and a low voice from inside: “Yes? What?”

  “Lizzie – can you let me in? Just for a second.”

  She waited.

  “Please,” Kat said, keeping her voice to a whisper.

  A click. The door unlocked, and with a quick turn of the doorknob, Kat let herself in.

  Lizzie, her mascara running, a crumpled tissue in her hands; the girl seeking refuge, some escape from the predatory men outside.

  “Y-you okay?”

  Lizzie gave Kat a rueful smile.

  “Yeah, just fine.”

  Kat knew they wouldn’t have much time. Whatever was going on outside, they’d be soon missed.

  Chased down.

  “Lizzie,” she said, shutting the door behind her and locking it again. “Why are you doing this? Why not just leave?”

  In the intimacy of the large bathroom, with its shiny golden taps, marble sinks and counter, Lizzie answered.

  “Leave? Think it’s that easy? Maybe for you. He’s got nothing on you.”

  “He?”

  “Grosvenor.”

  “The agent?” said Kat, not understanding. “That Grosvenor?”

  “This is his house. Didn’t you know?”

  Kat shook her head. So Grosvenor was behind all this. The club. The parties.

  “What’s he got on you?” she said, already guessing the answer. Kat took a breath. “Photos?” said Kat. “That it?”

  Lizzie said nothing, looked away. Then looked back at Kat, eyes red, and nodded.

  “Not that I’ve done anything, you know… bad,” said the girl. “Just… dressing up and stuff.”

  “Nobody’s hurt you?” said Kat.

  “No,” said Lizzie. “Not yet.”

  “And these photos – he said he’d make them public?”

  The girl nodded again. “But if I – what is it you Americans say? –
‘play ball’ all will be fine.”

  Extortion, thought Kat. And it wasn’t her first experience of it. On foreign postings, when State Department officials had found themselves in potentially embarrassing situations, Kat had often been tasked to dig them out of their holes.

  Now she had a hunch.

  Maybe Lizzie wasn’t the only one here, trapped in this life.

  “Look – I think I can help.”

  “You – you’re not really a dancer, are you?”

  Kat smiled, and put a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

  “No, I’m not. But listen – I don’t think I can just take you out of here now. Tonight. They might make good on their threat. Lizzie, do you think you can stick with this, just one more day? Then – my word – it will end.”

  “Your word? Whatever can you—?”

  A knock at the door.

  “Come on! People out here. They’re wanting a show. Get a move on!”

  Kat gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Trust me. I can help. Okay?”

  The girl hesitated.

  Kat wondered if it had been a long time since Lizzie had trusted anyone. Then, as if it was a giant leap of faith, considering the world she was trapped in and the people she was dealing with, Lizzie Spence said, “I will.”

  “Good girl,” Kat said. “Just get through tonight.”

  She unlocked the door and poked her head out to look down the corridor.

  Empty. Whoever had been sent to retrieve them, had gone. She opened the door wider, and stepped back to let Lizzie out.

  Then she watched as the young girl headed back towards the party. If that was the right word for it.

  Kat could hear a new song distantly playing on the Victrola.

  One that seemed about as inappropriate as could be.

  Eddie Cantor, crooning about “Making Whoopee”.

  Somehow she was going to have to get out of here. Not the way she’d come in – that was for sure. But she had a good idea how to do it.

  Back in New York, when she was scrambling to earn money to get through college, she’d worked as a maid in big houses like this.

  And she knew how they functioned – how below-stairs rooms and corridors fitted snug like shadows to the public areas. With their own ways in and out.

  Checking the corridor was still empty, she turned the other way, walking fast, looking for a service door. Such doors unmarked, usually without a handle.