Paradise Court (21 page)

Duke rallied to something like his old self. ‘I ain't completely useless yet, you know.' He jiggled Grace up and down, making her smile and gurgle. ‘Her and me get on like a house on fire, don't we, girl?'

‘She can go down for a nap if she looks sleepy,' Jess advised, hovering by the door.

Duke growled at her to get going. Baby Grace reminded him of Sadie as a child, dark and definite. She'd soon let him know if she was unhappy. ‘I'll manage here. You run along on your errand, girl; quick before I change my mind.'

Jess's arrival at the music hall coincided with the end of a matinée performance. The cheerful crowd spilled on to the street; mainly family groups all dressed up for the occasion. They bantered and inexpertly repeated jokes they'd heard onstage. Jess shuddered to think this must have been the scene on the night of the murder, with Ernie lost in just such a crowd.

She waited until it dispersed. She'd picked this time to talk to Fred Mills because she knew from Hettie that the manager never went home between the afternoon and evening shows. He took tea in his office, brought in from a pie stall, and ate it tucked away behind the main foyer, counting the afternoon takings and dividing up the wages. Jess was bound to find him there.

As she waited in under the giant circular chandelier, she crossed paths with a fat, dapper man in spats, who raised his trilby hat and asked if she needed any help. She asked the way to the manager's office. ‘Certainly, this way please.' The man grinned and turned on his shiny heel. She followed him across the crimson carpet. ‘Who shall I say wants him?'

Jess held her little leather bag neatly in front of her. ‘Jess Parsons, Hettie Parsons's sister.'

Archie Small stopped dead in his tracks. He raised his eyebrows and studied the visitor. ‘You're not looking for employment, I take it?' She lacked the sister's style. Though she was good-looking in
a striking, sultry sort of way, he couldn't imagine her treading the boards for a living like Hettie.

‘No, I came on a personal matter.' Jess coloured up with suppressed irritation. ‘If you'd just let Mr Mills know I'm here.'

But Archie thrust both hands deep in his pockets and began to circle round her. ‘Personal matter? Connected with Daisy O'Hagan, by any chance?' He knew they'd arrested Hettie's simpleton of a brother for the murder. A visit from another sister could only upset the applecart and bring the police poking their noses back in.

Things had died down nicely, as far as Archie was concerned. He didn't want questions asked about his relationships with the ladies of the chorus line. They were murky to say the least. Archie exchanged promises of work for favours from the girls; they all lived in the knowledge that he was well in with the manager and could get them kicked out at a moment's notice. Everyone knew how the system worked, except for Archie's wife, Clemmie. He didn't much want to have to face her if the truth came out. Clemmie had a bruising side to her nature. Besides, if the police realized he'd been pestering Daisy, they might drag him in as a fresh suspect. ‘I should let sleeping dogs lie if I was you,' he advised Jess. ‘Instead of barging in here demanding to see Mr Mills.'

‘I ain't barging in.' Jess stood her ground. She looked around to see if she could spot a sign on the manager's door. She set off towards it. ‘I just want to speak to him.'

Archie stepped smartly in front of her. ‘I don't really think you do.' He was wondering what to say to get rid of her when Mr Mills's door opened and the manager himself came out. Jess tried to side-step. ‘I'm telling you you can't go in there without an appointment,' he blustered, catching at her arm.

‘Losing your touch, Archie?' Fred Mills asked with a cool smile. His unbuttoned jacket showed an expanse of starched white shirt and braces. He wore his dark wavy hair slicked back and he ducked his head forward in an insinuating way. Nothing he had to say seemed sincere. ‘How can I help?' He gestured Jess out of the way into the office, allowing Archie to slip in and close the door after her.

Inside Mills's cluttered, poky office, Jess explained her mission. There was a heavy iron safe in one corner, and a stack of light bulbs in cardboard boxes against the wall. A metal shade on the desk lamp cast a small pool of light, leaving much of the room in semi-darkness, since there was no window. More of a cupboard than an office, it was Mills's domain, reflecting much about his slapdash, penny-pinching way. ‘You know they arrested our brother, Ernie, for Daisy's murder, Mr Mills. The trial comes up next month, and we all have to do what we can to help get him off.'

Mills let her speak, but he was already discounting her. No need for Archie to get hot under the collar; he could deal with the girl easily enough. She lacked guile, she just came out with things straight. But if she wanted someone at the Palace to give her another little fact, a tiny piece of evidence to get her brother off, she must look elsewhere. Like Archie, he preferred things the way they were. ‘What can I do, Miss Parsons?' He expressed concern, but he was half turned away, riffling through papers on his desk.

Jess heard the other man fight up a cigar, and felt its pungent smoke prick her nostrils. The room was tiny and claustrophobic. ‘I want to know more about that night, Mr Mills; what you found when you checked things through with the police, anything unusual that you couldn't quite place, either before or after Daisy got killed.'

Mills glanced up. ‘A proper little Sherlock Holmes, ain't you? You ain't thinking of interfering with a prosecution witness, are you, Miss Parsons?'

Hastily Jess shook her head. ‘Course not Only I thought, since you was the one here inside the place when Ett discovered poor Daisy lying there, that you'd want to help. I ain't asking you to do nothing wrong, am I?' She was shocked at the idea. ‘If you was me, you'd want to do your best for Ern, wouldn't you?'

Archie came up from behind. ‘Listen, girl, you can't go asking Mr Mills to tell you more than he already told the coppers. What he told them's gonna come out at the trial, clear as daylight. If I was you, I'd go on home and talk things through with Ett.' He paused, drew deep on his cigar and exhaled. ‘Lovely girl, that. What's she doing with herself these days?'

Jess's heart sank. She ignored the lecherous comedian as best she could. ‘For Ernie's sake, Mr Mills, ain't there nothing at all that'd help? Who was Daisy hanging round with that week? Who'd want to meet up with her after the show?'

Mills looked Archie in the eye and grinned. ‘A whole football team, I shouldn't wonder, Miss Parsons. She was a popular girl. Like I said, I think you should ask your sister. She knew Daisy better than most.'

‘I already done that! What do you think, that I'd come over here without talking to Ett?' Jess's indignation rose to the surface. In her innocence she'd believed that people at the Palace would want to help them. Now she saw they had reasons for wanting to hide things. She turned on Archie Small. ‘You was one of them!' she accused. ‘According to Ett, you was one what fancied having a fling with Daisy!'

The man backed off, then he wheedled. ‘Other way round as a matter of fact. Daisy O'Hagan went after anything wearing trousers, if you want to know. I had to tell her to keep her hands off me; I'm a married man.' Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. His cigar glowed, then he was masked again by a cloud of blue-grey smoke.

Jess struggled to choke back her anger. She swung round to face Mills, finding herself sandwiched between them in this muggy, confined space.

‘I'd be more careful what I said if I was you,' Mills said smoothly. ‘It might just backfire in front of a jury, and the family of the dear departed might have to listen to some awkward facts about their darling girl.' He buttoned his jacket. ‘Now then, if you'll excuse me, I've got a show to put on.' He pressed by her with an empty smile, then hung on a moment longer by the door. ‘We know how you feel, believe me. I don't even blame you for having a go. I wish you luck on the day. But if your brother did go all haywire and do the poor girl in, like the coppers say, you ain't doing no good going round putting people's backs up, are you?'

‘Leave it to the lawyers,' Archie cut in. ‘They can talk the hind leg off a bleeding donkey and bore everyone to death. With a bit
of luck they'll get a not-guilty verdict for him just so we can all go home!'

His false cheerfulness disgusted her. ‘We need more than luck!' She stalked our into the foyer. ‘What we need is the truth!' Her cheeks burned as she glared at them both. ‘And it seems to me that it's in short supply around here!'

Her anger only died away in the cold evening air. When she finally got rid of their grinning, furtive faces from her mind's eye, she shook with fresh doubt. She feared that she'd done more harm than good again as she went home to confess to Frances that her search for new evidence had led to a dead end, or worse.

Ever since Ernie's arrest, Frances had kept herself in touch with the outside world through her meetings and her work. Her nerves were strung out, but she kept up the front of continuing to cope because giving in was not an idea that ever crossed her mind. She wasn't a crier or a shouter, except over her big split with Duke, when they'd leapt to opposite sides of a giant chasm over the window-smashing at Coopers'. She was a doer. If anything, she worked harder now in the pharmacy, kept herself abreast of preparations for the trial, and attended more meetings.

Her friend, Rosie, kept a watchful eye on her. ‘Don't wear yourself out,' she advised. It was the evening of Jess's failed mission to the Palace. ‘You have to take care of yourself, Frances, whatever happens.'

‘Oh, I'm never ill, I'm not the type.' Frances sat in the coffee room at the lecture hall after a talk by the brilliant Elizabeth Garrett Anderson on the need for better health care for women. Rosie had encouraged her to attend. ‘I got the constitution of an ox.'

Rosie looked doubtful. She was a cheerful, practical woman, perversely enjoying the war effort because her training as a nurse was proving immediately useful. She felt herself moving for ever out of the trap of factory work and marriage. ‘I ain't never seen an ox look this pale and thin,' she said. ‘In fact, I got patients with shell-shock at the hospital looking healthier than you.'

‘Thanks!' Frances stirred her coffee.

‘Don't mention it.' Rosie laughed and got up from the table. ‘Speaking of which, I gotta go to work on the night shift. Are you walking that way?'

Frances looked up at the wall clock. ‘No, I'll hang on here. I want to speak to Billy about defence witnesses for Ernie. He's seeing Mr Sewell after a class upstairs.'

Her companion nodded. ‘Don't wait too long. It's late already. And get him to walk you home. It ain't safe if you leave it too late.'

‘Says who?' Frances appreciated her concern. She smiled warmly.

‘Says me. Here's Billy now. I'll leave you in his tender care. Look after her, Billy. She's worn herself out as usual.' Rosie sailed out, the picture of health.

Billy took her place at the bare table with a look of concern. ‘You sure you're all right?' His heart went out to her. ‘She's right, you look done in.'

‘The next person to tell me that had better watch out,' she warned. ‘Now, what did Mr Sewell say?'

Billy discussed the latest tactics; Hettie must be prepared to be called as chief witness for the defence, since they only had Robert's written statement.

‘Will Ern be called to give evidence?' Frances tried to consider how he would cope.

‘It ain't been decided yet. Mr Sewell ain't sure about the prosecution line. They could chew Ernie up good and proper. On the other hand, he's working hard at getting him to remember more about what went on at the stage door. If he can do that, it could help the defence case to hear Ernie give his version. Sewell says we'll wait and see. He says he'll discuss it with you if you call into his office.' Billy delivered all the information without once taking his eyes off her face.

Frances put on her gloves and got up to go. The wall behind her was fined with red and blue books, a gaslight on the side wall shone its soft light on her face and made a halo of her hair. People passed downstairs and through the entrance hall, hidden from view.
Suddenly Billy seized her hand and came to stand close by her. She didn't react.

‘I ain't got no right,' he began. One arm was around her shoulder. ‘Tell me I ain't!'

‘That's right, Billy, you ain't.' Gently she tried to extricate herself. She felt a fool. How had she missed the signs of his interest, to be taken so much by surprise now? Was it that she'd given up thinking of herself as a desirable woman? She had one hand against his chest, the other clasped in his at waist level, forming a barrier between them. ‘We mustn't mix things up. It'll ruin us!'

But he felt he'd stepped off the edge of a cliff. He'd trodden this path for a long time; studying Frances, watching her, helping her. He could have gone on for a lifetime; only, as she slid her slim white hand into her glove, his heart had missed its footing and gone tumbling down. He kissed her long and hard.

Their simplicity went smash. She found she liked his kiss, and he knew she liked it. She couldn't say it was a mistake and go back to how they were. New knowledge got in the way. Slowly she drew away, searching in his face for what they should do next.

Billy put his hand to her face and held his palm against it. Not for the first time he told himself that he was forty-three years old; a newspaper vendor with a sick wife, a mother-in-law and a discontented outlook. No catch for someone like Frances. He wanted to turn back the clock ticking overhead, not five minutes, but twenty years. He wanted his time over again.

Frances reached up and held the hand that stroked her face.