The Runaway Daughter Read online

  They watched Edward whispering into a man’s ear, before he looked across to where they were sitting, his eyes locking with Percy’s. Percy waved and Edward waved back, holding up a hand to signal that he’d be over in a minute.

  ‘I don’t even know why he does it,’ Percy said, after the waiter had placed their drinks on the table. ‘His father is a lord, you know. There would be the most frightful scandal if he realized. So Edward keeps it all terribly secret with his family and their people, but in places like this, he’s the opposite. He takes terrible risks.’ Percy sighed heavily. ‘I must sound so jealous of him. But sometimes I just am.’

  Nobody where Vita came from ever discussed their private feelings – only their public declarations of disapproval – so it felt good to lend a listening ear.

  ‘Won’t he get you into trouble?’

  ‘Most probably,’ Percy said, with a resigned shrug. She wished he would tell her more, but he suddenly changed the subject. ‘What about you? Have you got someone?’ he asked, lighting a cigarette, as Vita greedily gulped down the water.

  ‘Me?’ She guffawed.

  ‘Yes, you.’

  ‘No.’ She gave him a horrified glance.

  ‘I should’ve imagined someone would snap you up in an instant. Edward says you’re the best-looking girl he’s seen in years. So why not?’

  There were so many reasons why there had never been a ‘someone’. How could she begin to explain how outlandish today had been for her – and how very far from the person she’d ever been, or had imagined becoming.

  Hold on, though – had Edward really said that about her? It didn’t feel real. Not to her.

  She was blushing as he came over and stood by the table. She clapped politely as the barbershop quartet finished, not daring to look at Edward. A lord’s son thought she was good-looking. Percy had said it so casually, but it still made her feel different. Because if Edward could see her like that – like she’d never imagined herself before – then maybe someone else might one day, too.

  ‘Come on. Come and dance,’ Edward shouted, as the music changed and he beckoned them to the dance floor.

  ‘You go. Let me watch.’ Percy said. ‘Believe me, he’s the best teacher you’ll ever get.’

  24

  The Mysterious Man

  Percy was right. Under Edward’s careful instruction, Vita was soon getting the hang of it, despite treading on his feet several times.

  ‘Don’t apologize. Ever,’ he laughed. ‘The lady never makes the mistakes. If you muck up, carry on, like it was all deliberate. That’s what Mama always taught my sisters.’

  Vita laughed, soaking up his wisdom, and soon she was getting the hang of dancing with him, despite being out of breath. But she so wanted to impress him. She’d never been in the arms of someone so debonair and fun.

  ‘That’s it. That’s it! Now you’re getting it,’ Edward encouraged and she beamed at him, before he swooped her into his arms again, singing along to the tune. ‘Copy what I do.’

  He whisked her into a fast foxtrot around the floor and kept introducing her, as faces whirled past them in a blur, and each time he made her laugh. ‘This is Vita . . . Isn’t she a doll? . . . Wouldn’t you like to know, old fellow – she’s mine, you know . . . She’s a dancer, showing me how to do it.’

  The music got faster and faster, and bodies pressed against her. Vita felt the pulse of the drums as if it were her heartbeat and the music was her blood. Everything seemed to fade away as she closed her eyes and surrendered herself to the rhythm. And then she felt Edward’s breath in her ear. ‘See? You’re a natural, darling.’ And then, ‘What’s that one?’

  He watched her, then copied a move she’d just made up. Encouraging Vita, his eyes danced as she repeated the side-shuffle, and he danced in unison, as if suddenly she were teaching him. And then the others around them were joining in, too, copying her move, and Edward raised his eyebrows and smiled. She grinned at him, her cheeks aching.

  The clarinets seemed to scream into a frenzy as the number came to a crescendo, the drummer almost standing in his seat as he crashed his sticks down on the cymbals.

  Cheering and applause signalled the end of the number. A collective sigh of relief escaped as the band regrouped and the music softened and slowed. Vita gasped for breath and laughed, putting her hand on her chest. She felt slick with sweat and pure joy.

  ‘Hold on – I’ll be back,’ Edward said, suddenly leaving her. Feeling dizzy, Vita tried to find the direction of their table, and Percy. She put her hand to her head, embarrassed by how much she’d let go. She couldn’t believe how hard her heart was thumping. But then she felt arms go around her waist and a strong, large hand engulf hers.

  ‘Hello,’ a man said, turning her into his arms for a slow dance. He was good-looking, Vita realized, and he knew it, judging from the glint in his eye. The top button of his shirt was undone and he had a shadow of stubble under his chin. ‘I’ve been watching you.’

  ‘You have?’

  ‘I haven’t seen you here before. If I had, I’d have remembered.’

  She was tongue-tied for a moment. She glanced down, aware of her clammy hand in his. He towered over her and she stared at the small badge on the lapel of his dinner-suit jacket.

  ‘Well?’ He stared at her. ‘Who are you, mystery girl?’

  ‘I’m Verity. Verity Casey. Although my friends call me Vita. I’m a dancer. At the Zip Club. You know? Near the Savoy,’ she said, still out of breath.

  Then she became aware of Percy cutting in, his arm around her waist, as he very indiscreetly pushed the other man out of the way. ‘Come on, darling. You’re not to give away our trade secrets. Time to go. Step aside now, old chap.’

  Baffled, Vita allowed Percy to pull her away. She shrugged apologetically at the man, who was still staring at her. He put two fingers to his forehead and lifted them in a silent salute.

  ‘Percy, whatever is it?’ Vita asked.

  ‘He’s a reporter. The worst sort. Gutter press. You didn’t say anything? Did you?’

  25

  The Breakfast of Champions

  As Edward drove haphazardly around Soho, Percy explained to Vita that Edward was notorious for being possibly the worst driver in London – especially when he was half-cut. As if proving the point, Edward parked rakishly up on the kerb outside a dark townhouse in Gerrard Street and, stumbling and laughing, told Percy and Vita that he’d be back in a moment. ‘I’m off to procure essential nourishment,’ he slurred.

  ‘Edward!’ Percy said, giving him a look.

  ‘I won’t stay. Promise.’

  They watched as he staggered down the steep basement steps and knocked twice on a plain grey door, with just the number 43 painted on the outside. Vita saw bright lights and heard voices and music as the door opened briefly and Edward disappeared inside. Then the night was quiet again.

  She joined Percy on the pavement as he leant against the car and lit a cigarette. The sky was fading into a lighter blue. Was it nearly dawn already? This was only the second time she’d stayed up this late. The first time, she’d been running for her life.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ Vita asked. She couldn’t believe there could be somewhere open even later than Blanchard’s.

  ‘Gone to Mrs Meyrick’s. She’s quite famous, you know. She runs the ’43,’ he said, lighting a cigarette and nodding down to the basement door. ‘We were in there when the police arrested her last month.’

  ‘Arrested?’

  ‘Oh, she’s quite ingenious when it comes to getting round the licensing laws. She and Edward are great friends.’

  Vita watched as shadows passed behind the glowing curtained windows. She could hear music faintly. How exotic, she thought, feeling a sudden affinity with this glamorous woman who deliberately kept her parties going all night.

  But suddenly she shivered, the night air making her feel chilled, now that she was away from the warm embrace of the club. Percy took off his jacket and put it rou
nd her shoulders.

  ‘It suits you,’ he said, and Vita laughingly did a pose for him. He jokingly threw her his ivory-topped cane and she performed a theatrical twirl with it. ‘You wear clothes well, you know.’

  ‘You are too kind.’

  Percy smiled and narrowed his eyes at her through the smoke.

  ‘You enjoyed yourself, didn’t you?’

  ‘I loved every minute,’ she said, meaning it.

  ‘Tomorrow you’ll have to be confident. Don’t let Nancy or Edith bully you.’

  ‘I’ll try not to.’

  ‘And this. All of this’ – he waved his hands, at what? she wondered: this street? London? Life? – ‘you can’t tell them anything about it.’

  Nothing about it. But she already knew that wasn’t what Percy meant. He meant: not about us.

  ‘You can trust me,’ she said, putting her hand over her heart.

  A burst of music and the door opened in the basement. Edward tottered up the steps, carrying a silver tray covered in a white tray cloth. ‘She never disappoints,’ he told Percy with a wink. ‘Your favourite, Percy.’

  ‘What is it?’ Vita asked.

  ‘The breakfast of champions,’ Edward said.

  She sat in the back of the car and Edward carefully passed her the tray, so that she could balance it on her lap. She could feel warmth seeping through the bottom of it, and the car filled with the aroma of smoked kippers as Edward started up the engine. Was that really what he’d just picked up?

  ‘She wants the tray back this time,’ Edward told Percy, and Vita realized this was a regular routine for the pair of them. It was like she was part of their secret.

  She peeked under the tray cloth. There were two plates of kippers, eggs and toast. Her stomach growled.

  ‘Don’t be shy. Tuck in,’ Edward said. ‘A lady needs sustenance after such a lot of dancing.’

  ‘She certainly does,’ Vita agreed, her mouth watering.

  ‘Especially one who has to be in rehearsals in the not-too-distant future.’ Percy consulted his watch. ‘We need to get you back before the girls wake up.’

  ‘Pass me some toast,’ Edward said, holding out his hand. Percy righted the steering wheel, before they swerved across the street.

  ‘Wait. You know the rules,’ Percy told him, slapping his hand playfully. ‘We always have our breakfast kippers in a royal park. We’re civilized like that. Turn up here, to St James’s. Honestly, Woody, how many cocktails did you have?’

  26

  The Rehearsal

  Betsy and Jane had been full of encouragement on the bus on the way over to the club, and Vita almost blurted out that she’d had the most wonderful night of her life, but she remembered her promise to Percy and had kept quiet. She was riding high on adrenaline, and she almost certainly still had gin in her system, but as they made their way onstage for the rehearsal, Nancy didn’t make eye-contact with her and Edith scowled. Vita started to feel the nerves, and her hangover made her mouth dry. She so desperately wanted to stay and earn her keep at Mrs Bell’s, but what if she simply wasn’t good enough for the line-up?

  ‘Don’t worry. Just copy what I do,’ Jane said, but Vita felt her knees shaking. She tried to copy the moves, but she was too slow and she stumbled.

  Jerome thumped his hand on top of the piano, making Vita jump.

  ‘You see,’ Edith said, holding up her hand and pulling an exasperated face at Jerome and then gesturing to Vita.

  Jane put an arm out to steady her. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll get there,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll do it again,’ Vita said. ‘I’ll get it right.’

  She tried to suppress a rising tide of fear, forcing herself to concentrate as she stood back and watched the girls dance.

  ‘And your part goes like this,’ Betsy said, demonstrating some tap-dancing.

  Vita bit her lip and swallowed, tasting gin at the back of her throat. It was so fast – and she’d never tap-danced before.

  ‘Can you do it a bit slower?’ she asked, going to stand next to Betsy so that she could copy the moves.

  ‘No! Left foot,’ Betsy said, but Vita still couldn’t get it.

  ‘We’re wasting so much time!’ Edith protested.

  ‘Why don’t we take a break and try the song,’ Jerome said.

  ‘I bet she can’t sing, either,’ Edith commented, furiously.

  ‘I can sing,’ Vita said, defensively.

  ‘Scales?’ Jerome asked.

  ‘And arpeggios?’ Edith demanded.

  Vita nodded. She’d played them on the piano for hours in the drawing room in Darton Hall, although she’d never sung them. But how hard could it be?

  ‘In C,’ Jerome said, playing a flamboyant introduction on the piano and saying over the top of it, ‘Loudly now, to “ah”. This place has shocking acoustics.’

  Vita looked around her, mustering her courage, finding the right pitch of the note.

  ‘Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah,’ she sang, belting it out at Edith, whose expression didn’t change. Jerome nodded and went up a tone, and Vita followed his lead, singing arpeggios up a scale. He raised his eyebrows, clearly ready to test her.

  ‘Faster,’ he instructed. ‘Now with a “mi” rather than an “ah”. Cut the vibrato. Come on, louder.’

  Vita felt herself sweating. She’d never concentrated so hard on anything in her life, and now the notes were getting higher and higher. Any second now, her voice was going to give out.

  ‘That’ll do.’

  Vita stopped and turned to see a man in a dark-grey suit coming down towards the stage from behind the bar area. He clapped slowly.

  ‘Oh, Jack, there you are,’ Edith said, stepping forward.

  So this was the famous Jack Connelly, the proprietor of the Zip Club, Vita thought. As he came into the light, he struck her as the kind of man who had most probably lived his entire adult life in nightclubs and bars and had rarely seen the light of day. He wasn’t handsome exactly – more weathered, with thickly oiled black hair. In his flashy pinstripe suit he was undoubtedly what Vita thought her father would have described as a spiv.

  ‘This is the girl. The mistake,’ Edith said, but Jack Connelly’s eyes were raking up and down Vita’s figure.

  ‘There hasn’t been a mistake. She has a fine pair,’ he said, with a twitch of his moustache, ‘of lungs on her.’

  Vita blushed, unsettled by his lewd compliment.

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘Sugar, don’t cause an argument, my head can’t take it today,’ he said, his eyes flashing a warning, and Edith slunk back. ‘She’s just the ticket. Now come on, ladies. Why don’t we all get along.’

  27

  Against Doctor’s Orders

  Clement stared at the breakfast plate on the silver tray on his lap, his mouth filling with sour saliva, but he felt too wretched to eat. His whole body felt like a bruise.

  ‘Where is she?’ he managed, through clenched teeth. The pain was intolerable, but he was eking out the injections, craving the sharp mind he relied upon, over the warm fuzz of relief that left him good for nothing.

  ‘Nobody knows,’ Martha said, in her timid whisper. ‘She’s gone. We’ve asked everywhere. Even at the mill. Nobody has seen her anywhere. It’s been nearly a fortnight now and the police haven’t had one lead. Your poor mother is sick with worry—’

  Clement’s fist came up under the covers and punched the breakfast tray violently, so that it tipped off the bed, everything clattering to the floor, smashing the china cup and saucer, as the fried egg slithered onto the rug. Martha yelped and backed away.

  Crying out in agony, Clement lifted his feet out of bed and made to stand up, clinging onto the wooden bedside table.

  ‘It’s too soon,’ Martha warned. ‘Doctor Whatley said—’

  ‘Damn Doctor Whatley,’ Clement snapped. ‘If none of you will find her . . . I’ll find her myself.’

  He pushed up from the bed, howling with pain. He took two steps, then collapsed.
He hit the floorboards hard with his fist. Damn his sister. Damn her to hell. When he found her, he’d make her suffer this pain for herself. Only worse.

  28

  To the Roof

  The rest of the week passed in a blur and Vita spent every moment she could practising the dance for the Friday-night show. And when she wasn’t actually with the girls, she went over and over the dance in her mind. And now, finally, she’d done the routine several times without making a mistake.

  The song that accompanied the number was coming together, too. Nancy, Edith and Jemima had the strongest voices and sang soprano, while Emma and Jane took the low tenor part. Vita had just about got the hang of the alto part with Betsy. It was the first time she’d sung close harmony in a group, and it felt thrilling.

  Now, on one of the last rehearsals before the show that night, Jerome ran his fingers back over his thinning hair.

  ‘All right, ladies. That’ll do,’ he said, blowing out a hot breath. ‘Good work, Vita. You’ve really come on. Now, I don’t want you too exhausted before tonight. Be back here for the rehearsal with the band at five.’

  They relaxed from their static finishing poses – all of them wilting with a collective sigh. Vita felt her blisters stinging and her heart hammering from exertion. Tonight, if she made it through the first show, she hoped Mrs Bell would give her a bowl of warm water and some Epsom salts to soothe her ruined toes. But the pain and exhaustion were worth it. Every single minute that she was with these girls, she knew she had to do her very best. Because now that she was here, she never wanted to leave.

  ‘Hey, girls. Let’s go to the roof and get some air,’ Jane said, but Nancy went offstage and Edith stayed behind, no doubt hoping for some time alone with Mr Connelly. She still saw herself as the main attraction, a whole rung higher up the ladder than the rest of the girls. A real prima donna. Wasn’t that the phrase that Jemima had whispered only this morning, as they’d all been getting dressed?