tried to persuade Marjorie to go with her, but I think she was joking.’
‘I doubt it,’ Ronnie said. ‘No pretty girl in London is safe when Geraldine’s on heat.’
In any other circumstances, the expression on Hilda Reader’s face would have been priceless. ‘How did Marjorie seem when you left her?’ Penrose asked.
‘She’d cheered up since the incident with her father at lunchtime. We kept her busy, and work seemed to help her to forget about it. I made sure she knew what jobs were to be done, and I left her to it. She seemed impatient to get on.’
‘And did you lock the gates when you left?’
‘No, I just pulled them to. It’s hard to unlock them from the inside, you see, because it’s so dark under the arch. I thought it would be easier for Marjorie when she left.’
Penrose didn’t bother to ask if anyone could have opened the gates from the street; it would be easy enough to check for himself and he didn’t want to say something which might suggest to Hilda Reader that she was in any way to blame for Marjorie’s death. ‘And there was no sign of her father hanging around outside when you left?’
‘No. If there had been, I’d never have left her on her own.’
‘Of course not. Could you tell me what happened at lunchtime?’
‘It was just after twelve. One of the other girls came down to the workroom from up here to fetch something, and she told me there was a man outside asking for Marjorie.’
‘So he’d come into the yard?’
‘Yes. When I went out to talk to him he was standing at the top of the stairs, just outside the door. I recognised him right away—he was often hanging about when the girls left on a Friday, but I never knew it was Marjorie he was waiting for. He introduced himself—Joe, I think he said his first name was—and asked if he could have a quick word with Marjorie. I told him she was out—she’d gone to the Cowdray Club to drop some samples off—but she’d be back any time. He said he’d wait across the road for her, and could I be sure to tell her? By across the road, I assumed he meant the pub. I had a quick look out the window, but I couldn’t see him in the street.’
‘And what was Marjorie’s reaction?’
‘Embarrassed. Angry. Worried that he might get her into trouble, I suppose.’
‘But she went?’
‘Yes, but she wasn’t gone long. About ten minutes, I suppose. She didn’t bother taking the rest of her lunch break.’
‘And you said she was upset when she came back?’
‘That’s right. I didn’t ask her about what had happened because she never liked you to think that she was vulnerable. She pretended to be a lot harder than she was, gave the impression that things didn’t matter to her, but they did. All she said when she got back upstairs was that she was damned if she was going to be walked all over like her mother, and that she’d rot in hell before he got another penny out of her. She was talking to herself, really, and she went quiet when she realised I’d heard. I wish I’d talked to her about it now, but I didn’t like to.’
‘How did Marjorie get on with the other girls?’
‘Well enough,’ Hilda said, considering his question. ‘There was never any unpleasantness. She made them laugh, and I think they were a bit in awe of her at times because she was a natural and learned so quickly. She could leave most of them standing when it came to the work we do here.’
‘And didn’t they resent her for that? It would have been quite natural for them to feel threatened by a newcomer, and women can be unkind if they’re put in that position.’
Hilda smiled. ‘That’s true enough, Inspector, but if they felt that way, I never saw it—and I don’t miss much. Marjorie had a charm about her, a cockiness—in a nice way, though, if you know what I mean. She wasn’t arrogant—she was just young. It would have been very difficult not to like her, and I honestly think most of the girls admired her for the way she was shaking off her past, and wanted her to do well.’
Shaking off her past was an interesting phrase, Penrose thought. ‘Did she still associate with anyone from prison?’ he asked.
‘There was one girl she saw who she’d been inside with. They’d have lunch together occasionally, go out on their days off, that sort of thing. I never saw her, though, and I can’t remember her name. Miss Size would be able to tell you that.’
‘Tell me a bit about the other seamstresses—have most of them been here a while? Where do you hire them from?’
Ronnie was not inclined to hide her exasperation. ‘As lovely as it is of you to take an interest in our business, Archie, how can that possibly matter now? Marjorie’s dead, and a full inventory of our staff is hardly going to bring her back.’
‘Just humour me.’
‘We take students from the trade schools each year,’ Lettice said. ‘Shoreditch and Barrett Street, mainly. Most of them come to us on a personal recommendation from the staff, or Ronnie and I go along to the annual exhibition and hand-pick anyone we think looks particularly promising. We’re lucky—more often than not, we get the ones we want because we can offer theatre as well as fashion, and everyone thinks that’s glamorous. There isn’t as much call for society dressmaking these days—people want more practical clothes.’
‘Thank God,’ Ronnie said with feeling. ‘Some of the staff come to us from the department-store workrooms, as well. Hilda gets us some absolute gems from Debenhams—her husband works there, so she has inside knowledge.’
‘And once they’re here, they do tend to stay. Everyone seems happy enough.’
Penrose nodded. ‘There’s a vodka bottle on the table downstairs, and it looks as though Marjorie was having a drink with someone before she died. Was the bottle around before you left, Mrs Reader?’
‘Absolutely not. We never allow drinking in the workroom. Apart from anything else, it’s dangerous.’
‘So Lady Ashby didn’t request it or bring it in with her?’
‘No,’ Hilda said, although Ronnie looked sceptical.
‘Take me through everything else that happened yesterday—you said Marjorie went to the Cowdray Club in the morning?’
‘Yes,’ Lettice said. ‘She delivered some samples ahead of the gala on Monday, then went on to Debenhams to get a few things we needed—beads, a couple of particular threads that we’d run out of. Nothing particularly unusual.’
‘Black beads?’
She looked at him curiously. ‘Amongst others, yes. She also delivered a note to Miss Bannerman at the club, asking her to send her ladies round for their final fittings. Four of them came yesterday afternoon, and Marjorie spent the rest of the day dealing with that.’
‘Who were the four?’
‘Lady Ashby, Mary Size, Celia Bannerman and Miriam Sharpe—she’s the president of the College of Nursing. Don’t ask me where that fits into the Cowdray Club—the politics are beyond me. We just smile and do what they ask, but she didn’t seem particularly happy to be here.’
Penrose jotted down the names. ‘Do you have a lot to do with the Cowdray Club?’ he asked.
‘Not really,’ Lettice said. ‘Several of the members are also private clients of ours, and we’re doing the gala for them next week—at least we were. But that’s because Amy Coward—Noel’s aunt—asked particularly for us. Flattering, I suppose, but it’s been a lot of work.’
‘Yes—the sort of flattery we can live without,’ agreed Ronnie. ‘In return, the club has been helping us out with some classes for the girls—exercise classes, physical training, that sort of thing. People who work for years in this industry are notoriously prone to health problems.’
‘And Marjorie would have been involved in those?’
‘Yes,’ Lettice said. ‘I don’t remember her being the most enthusiastic participant, but we insist that they all do it to some extent. It’s important that they keep themselves well.’
‘Mrs Reader, I’m sorry if this is painful for you, but there’s one thing I have to ask. The needle that was used in the attack on Marjorie—it’s about four inches long, and it bends slightly at the tip.’ He saw her flinch, but there was no way of avoiding the question. ‘I had a quick look around downstairs, but I couldn’t see anything else like it. Do you keep a lot of them? Would it have been easy for someone to pick up when they got inside?’
‘Four inches? Are you sure?’ she asked, forcing herself to concentrate on the question rather than its implications. He nodded. ‘That’s a sack needle, Inspector—we don’t keep those as a rule.’
