8

Wednesday, early evening

Ruby runs her hand over Billy’s scalp as he kisses her. His hair’s cut short at the back, shaved with a razor down to the nape, like a lot of the Elephant Boys. She likes it short; she can see the scars on his head, feel them under her fingers. The wounds read like stories of his life – the battles he’s survived, here and in France. He’s proud of them, and the close crop displays them to anyone who sees him bareheaded. They serve as a warning that he’s a fighter. He fights hard, like there’s a storm crammed inside him. He swears he’d never hit her, but Ruby knows better than to believe any man who tells her that.

The scars on his back tell different stories; she’s familiar with these, too, absorbing his history through the sweat of his skin. Stories of young Billy, on the wrong end of his father’s drunken rages and belt buckle, and on the wrong end of the birch during his first spell in prison. His only spell, as it happens. He’s never been caught since then. And three years with the infantry kept him mostly out of trouble.

He rounds his back as she touches him, kisses her again, groaning into her mouth as he pushes into her. She lifts her knees higher, needing more of him, matching his rhythms, urging him harder, deeper, feeling the mattress give under their bodies, until he suddenly shudders and cries out and then is still.

He rolls off her.

‘Christ, Ruby, I’ll have spent all Solly Palmer’s cash on rubbers by next week at this rate.’ He wraps the soiled item in a piece of torn newspaper and then reaches for his cigarettes. ‘Not that I’m complaining, course.’

Ruby tucks an arm behind her head, watching him light up. He’s not managed to satisfy her this time, and her thoughts skip quickly elsewhere.

‘It was good, wasn’t it?’

‘You’re always good for me, baby.’ He grins at her, cigarette between his teeth.

‘No, not that – I mean the raid. It went well. We did well.’

‘What? Yeah, it went well. Solly was pleased enough. Annie’ll be happy, too, once the money comes in.’

‘I loved it, Billy. The look on that girl’s face when we told her to move, and that feeling when the car took off down the street. It was amazing.’

He leans over and kisses her before handing over the cigarette.

‘You’re a natural.’

‘I am. I dunno why Annie Richmond doesn’t send me out for jewellery more often. The diamonds stick to my fingers. I’m born to sparkle.’

He laughs.

‘I mean it, Billy.’ She draws on the cigarette and passes it back, propping herself on an elbow. ‘Why am I pocketing paste brooches and shoving cheap blouses into my skirts when I could be lifting pearls and diamonds? She doesn’t see my talent like you do.’

‘She does see it. That’s why she sent you out with me. But she’s running a long campaign. You’re more use to her and to the Forties out on the street than you are in Holloway. She’s protecting you.’

Ruby snorts. ‘I’m more likely to be picked up by the coppers when I’m standing waiting for Maggs and Alice.’

‘That’s true. Alice is hobbling about like an old woman lately.’

‘It’s not her fault.’ Ruby gives a short sigh and picks at the bedsheet. ‘She’s hurt her hip. Bastard husband threw her down the stairs. She’s telling everyone that she fell off a ladder, but all her neighbours know what happened.’

Alice lives next door to Maggs. It’s hard not to know about George Dunning’s filthy temper when the walls are as thin as paper. It was Maggs who picked Alice up from the floor, once she knew that George had gone out to the Crown.

‘She’s always been slow, though. Maggs tells me I’m a daydreamer, but Alice is always just standing there, staring into space. She’s Maggs’s oldest friend besides Annie, of course, so she comes out with us. And we can keep an eye on her, keep her away from George when we’re out.’

Billy lies back, smoking. He won’t pass any criticism. George is a respectable ironmonger on the High Street and a respected burglar everywhere else. He is also one of the Elephant Boys, and loyalty is loyalty.

‘We should go downstairs,’ he says, handing back the cigarette. ‘We’ll be expected.’ He swings his legs off the bed, rubs a hand over his chin and stands up.

News of their raid will have gone around the Forties and the Elephants. Ruby wriggles her toes and listens to the sounds of the pub below, watching him shave. Billy’s room is small. He keeps it neat – three years with the army means he’s used to everything being tidy and within easy reach. He cleans everything obsessively, like he’s still trying to get rid of the French mud. He’s always picking dirt from under his fingernails, and he shaves his face dangerously close, happier to nick his chin with the razor than to let the stubble grow.

It’s already dark beyond the window, and Ruby imagines the street outside: the children playing marbles with stones; the women calling them in for something to eat; the working men on their way home from the brewery, the sawmill or the tannery, stopping off at the pub for a pint and a bet; the bookies’ runners lurking in the alleyway. There’s a good chance the coppers will be around this evening because there’s been a jewellery raid. Billy’s right – she’d better get up, get dressed and look as though nothing has happened. She stretches, stubs out the cigarette and sits up, planting her stockingless feet on the threadbare rug.

She thinks about the crescent moon in her handbag. She wants to take it out and look at it, cradle it in her hands and watch the light dance over the stones. She’d also like to wear it, to show it off and have everyone admire it – and admire her skill – but she can’t.

All the proceeds of a job are shared. And the Forties do not wear what they steal. She knows the rules.

But she hates the rules sometimes.

She’s been a member of the Forties for as long as she can remember, and she’s growing tired of being ordered around by Annie and Maggs, sent out only when they say so and going only where she’s told. It’s the excitement of raiding that fires her up. The rush of energy she feels when she leaves a store with something special hidden inside her coat. She wants more of it – and she wants to choose and keep her steals.

‘We should go out on our own more often, Billy. Just you and me,’ she says, rolling on her stockings. She stands to smooth down her dress and slips her right foot into its shoe while hunting under the bed for the left one.

‘Out on our own?’ He’s flipping one end of his tie over the other, studying himself in the mirror. ‘What do you mean?’

‘We should start our own operations out west, just the two of us and a few friendly fences. Lift some stuff we could keep or sell for ourselves. We could be famous throughout London.’

He eyes her through the mirror.

‘I’ve got plenty of my own business to take care of, without you hanging around with me.’

‘What business? You never said. I can come with you.’

‘It’s Elephant business,’ he says, gruffly, staring back at himself. ‘We’re expanding our operations. Freddy Moss thinks we should be moving west. I don’t want you involved with it. Besides, you do alright here, working with the others. The Forties provide security, and you never go short of clothes and money for the pictures, do you? You don’t want to be out lifting without the girls watching your back.’

‘You’d watch my back,’ she says, raking fingers through her hair. ‘I could help you, whatever the business is. Imagine: just the two of us, away from Annie Richmond’s rules, nicking stuff for ourselves. We’d make a mint. And I’d be even bigger than the Queen of the Forties.’

He glances behind, scowling. ‘That’s not the way, Ruby. You’ve had a good day, but don’t get cocky about it. We all have good days – and days when we’re a gnat’s whisker from gaol. Besides, you’ll do as Annie tells you, if you know what’s good for you.’

The finality of his tone tells her that there is little point in arguing now. She’ll try again later.

‘Yeah, maybe you’re right,’ she wraps her arms around him and nuzzles into his back, hiding her annoyance for a moment before turning him to face her. ‘Here, let me sort your tie out. It’s crooked. You can’t walk into the Crown like that.’

She repositions the knot to her liking, waiting for his frown to disappear.

The saloon is filling up. It’s only Wednesday so there’s no rowdy party, just people coming in to meet, drink and converse. Mostly men. The honest women are in their houses, trying to create miracles with scrag ends of meat and yesterday’s cabbage, but a few of the Forties are here. Billy swaggers in as though it’s he who owns the place, not his sister. He pauses at the bar to collect a gin for Ruby and a pint for himself and exchanges a few words with Clara before hailing his business partner, Charlie Wagstaff. Charlie and Billy run the betting from the Crown. Charlie, the more fastidious of the two, is sitting at a table, hunching his burly shoulders over a copy of Sporting Life, with several sheets of notepaper also spread out in front of him and his pencil scratching a scab on his ginger scalp. Charlie has a head for figures and a stomach for beer, counting up and down in multiples faster than most people can blink even when he can barely stand upright. Billy’s nearly as quick, but no one can sort the odds faster than Charlie.

‘Billy.’ Charlie raises his chin and shifts his chair to make room.

Billy hands Ruby her gin, plants his glass on the table, reaches for his cigarettes and then the two men immediately turn to studying the papers, heads together, locked in joint concentration over the odds.

Ruby wanders over to Maggs, who is sitting with Grace and Edith. Alice hasn’t come out tonight. Daisy neither. She pauses, watching them before she joins them. They’re old, Maggs and Grace. Past their best. And sour-faced Edith isn’t as pretty as she thinks she is. Ruby stands a little taller in her heels, pulls off her hat and shakes out her hair. Solly Palmer is as precise with scissors as he is with gemstones, and he trimmed her bobbed cut this morning, before the raid. She knows that more than one pair of eyes is on her – even if Billy now only has eyes for the Sporting Life. These are her people. Her family. Everyone knows her here. One day, they will look up to her.

A small queue forms by Billy, men shuffling in the sawdust on the floor, as he and Charlie gather up bets – small folded notes bearing the names of horses and race times, together with the coins. Each slip, Ruby knows, will also carry the gambler’s nickname – never their real name – so that they can be identified by Billy and Charlie alone. In the world of illegal betting, no one wants their name to fall into the hands of the coppers.

She could be so much more than a small-time player in a scrubby little place like this.

‘Evening, Ruby.’ Maggs indicates a space at the table.

Ruby eases herself in and nods to the others.

Clara’s told them that Ruby and Billy have spent most of the afternoon in bed, and they know the jewellery raid was successful, but they want to hear the details from her – about the raid, not about Billy Walsh. Edith, at least, is familiar enough with Billy.

Ruby tells them about the jewels they’ve taken to Solly, not mentioning the crescent brooch that she’s pinned on the underside of her dress, out of sight and high up near her thigh, in a place where no one is going to notice. She tells them about the old jeweller and his screeching daughter and an open-mouthed woman who stared after her when Ron picked them up in the car.

Ruby sips her gin, recalling the woman and her astonished expression. And her coat. The sort of coat that you can only wear if you have money. Dark beige, it was. The colour of warm honey. She had almost glowed with wealth.

Ruby lifts her head, her eyes closed, imagining what that would feel like.

A boy, barely more than seven years old, pops his head around the pub’s door and asks loudly if there’s a Mr Bull in this evening. Ruby’s eyes flick open.

Faster than lightning, Billy and Charlie roll up their papers and scoop the betting slips into their pockets. The gamblers disperse as swiftly back to their tables. And within ten seconds, all evidence of gambling has vanished into thin air. The patrons of the Crown are enjoying a quiet evening drink; there’s forced laughter from one of the tables, and someone has started to play the piano. This is the sight that greets Inspector MacKenzie from Scotland Yard and two other men in dark suits as they push open the door. It is the sight that Inspector MacKenzie expects to see – he is not stupid and, although he heard no whistle or shout, he knows his arrival will have been announced in some way.

‘Evening, gentlemen. What are you having?’ Clara greets the newcomers as old friends. In many ways, they are. The coppers are always welcome in her pub, and they are always happy to drop by. There’s an easy rapport between the police and the Elephants. Each views the other with contempt, but they are, usually, cordial.

MacKenzie is a proud man. He lives over the river, in a comfortable corner of Kensington, but he’s confident in his ability to move among the gangs of south London without fear. He is too old to have been in France – this slight against his manhood is marked only by a permanent frown – but young enough to believe himself to be a match against any of the Elephants on their own. He carries a gun, after all, and would use it if he had to.

He despises them all. Not for their brutality, but because they are so sly and slippery. Hard to catch. There’s not an honest one among them. Not like in the old days.

The policemen stand and chat with Clara for a while, affable enough, drinking the pints she pours for them. They make easy conversation with the men who are leaning against the counter. They all know one another.

The young boy who asked for Mr Bull – Clara’s son, Alfie – winds his way between the men and disappears back behind the bar long before any of them will notice their pockets have been picked.

Inspector MacKenzie makes his way to Billy and stands, pint in hand, saying nothing for a moment. Just watching intently.

Billy and Charlie appear to be reminiscing about a pal from the trenches; Ruby catches a name she’s heard before – someone who kept them entertained in the slow hours.

‘Billy Walsh, can you tell me where you were this morning, around half past eleven?’

‘Evening to you, too, Inspector MacKenzie,’ Billy nods a friendly greeting. ‘Where am I supposed to have been?’

‘A jeweller’s store on Gloucester Road was raided late this morning. One of the thieves sounded very much like you, so I thought I’d ask, while I’m here.’

Ruby squeezes her thighs together. If the copper has a description of Billy, he’ll also have one of her. She’s glad he’s gone to Billy first. He has nothing on Billy, of course. The evidence of the robbery has all gone to Solly’s, where he’ll never find it.

‘Can’t have been me, inspector,’ Billy sips his beer. ‘I’ve been in bed most of the day. Not long got up.’ He grins and rolls his shoulders.

‘Anyone vouch for you?’

‘I expect my sister will confirm it; she called me an idle shit and a no-good toerag about an hour ago.’

‘You spend all day banging Ruby upstairs instead of helping me behind the bar, what else am I going to call you?’ Clara snaps from the counter. She’s used to this game, too. ‘Oh no, I tell a lie, inspector. He did get up. I forgot. He managed briefly to drag himself away from his little tart to ask me for his dinner.’

‘Watch your mouth, Clara,’ Billy growls back. His sister’s barbed comment is unnecessary.

Ruby’s stomach tightens as MacKenzie turns to the group of women at the table. He narrows his eyes as he looks them over. He’s arrested Maggs before and is familiar enough with the others, but he’s never had dealings with Ruby. So far, she has escaped his notice; now, she commands his full attention. She bats her darkened eyelashes at him.

‘And you, I think, must be Ruby. The other thief in the jeweller’s was a woman calling herself Ruby Wilder, answering your description.’

‘Lots of women look like me,’ says Ruby nonchalantly, knowing very well that they do not. ‘Could have been anyone. And as Billy says, I’ve been occupied for most of the day. Had my hands full.’ She lifts her hands to demonstrate that they are empty before miming a gesture that makes the copper’s eyes widen. She sniggers as he turns away in disgust.

‘Oh dear, inspector,’ says Billy. ‘Don’t you like my Ruby? Not your type? I can assure you, she’s the only jewel I’m interested in.’

MacKenzie’s hand tightens on the handle of his glass. ‘So, if I brought Mr Enderby, the old jeweller with a bad heart whom you terrorised today, into this pub, or his young daughter who’s a jumping bag of nerves after what you did, they wouldn’t pick you two out of everyone here?’

Billy reaches for the fag packet and matches in his jacket pocket, lights a cigarette and considers the three policemen, a polite smile playing on his lips. ‘I really have no idea who this Mr Enderby would point to in a pub full of villains like us, even if you did have the guts to bring him here. But what I do know is this: you have nothing to prove I was anywhere except upstairs all day – the word of a man with a dodgy heart, perhaps, at most. And his eyesight is bound to be poor. You can search this establishment from top to bottom and you won’t find a ring or a brooch that hasn’t been properly paid for by any member of my family.’ He pauses, as if turning something over in his mind. ‘We’ve probably still got the receipts.’

Ruby can feel the crescent brooch hard against her skin. The diamonds are sticking into her flesh.

The door swings open to admit Annie Richmond on the arm of Frederick Moss. Ronald and Albert are a pace behind them. Annie doesn’t even check her step as she takes in the scene. It is familiar enough. She knows Inspector MacKenzie, as do Moss and her brothers.

‘Miss Richmond; good evening.’ The inspector is scrupulously polite, respectful, even. He nods to the men. ‘How’s that car of yours, Ronnie?’

Ronald looks puzzled for a moment. He’s not known for the speed of his wits. Ruby chews her lip.

‘My car? What do you want to know about my car for?’ Ronald scratches his ear and frowns. ‘Bloody thing’s useless. I should never have had it. Crankshaft’s gone again. Been talking with a man who might be able to fix it, but he’s had it these past two days, so I dunno…’ He shrugs.

Perhaps he’s not as stupid as he looks. Ruby chews harder on her lip to stop herself laughing. Annie was clever to use him. She normally prefers her black Chrysler for a swift escape but sending Ronald with his own car was a smart move.

The inspector finishes his pint and lays the glass down on the counter before turning back to Billy. ‘Mr Enderby is a sick man, Mr Walsh, a sick and old man, who lost all his sons in the war. If he dies as a result of the shock he’s had, as a result of an aggressive robbery, then you’ll be responsible for more than the theft of a few stones. I know you did it – you and your charming lady love over there – and you know I know. I can find a way to make it stick on you. Robbery with violence.’

Billy holds his gaze and shakes his head very gently. ‘I don’t think so, inspector. You’re fishing, and you’re not catching anything but tin cans. You’ve got no evidence – nothing that would stand up in court. My lawyer would make light work of you very quickly.’ His eyes harden, even as he smiles. ‘You’re disturbing my evening. Why don’t you go somewhere else, before I decide to disturb yours?’

‘Is that a threat?’

‘Certainly not. When I threaten you, you’ll know about it. Call it a friendly suggestion.’

The inspector stands, resolute, staring at Billy for what seems like a long time, his frown deepening and his face etched with revulsion, as though the scent from the nearby tanneries has reached his nostrils. ‘We’ll see.’ He turns to the door and walks out, nodding to Annie and Clara on the way. The two coppers stride after him, trying to maintain their confident swagger as they pass the Richmonds and Frederick Moss.

Moss, with Ronald and Albert, makes his way over to Charlie to discuss yesterday’s races at Kempton, aware that the coppers might still be outside. Annie takes the seat next to Maggs.

‘Well done,’ she nods to Ruby, voice low and rasping. ‘You did well, with Billy and with the coppers.’

Ruby feels a flush of pride. Belonging, even. This is what they all strive for: a word of congratulation from the Queen of the Thieves. She soaks up the acclamation. Billy is looking over, too, his face beaming. She’s stood her ground with MacKenzie for the first time. She is strong.

The sense of elation lasts only for a moment.

‘I’ve been over to Solly’s,’ Annie says, tapping her fingertips gently on the table, as if beating to music no one else can hear, making her rings jangle. She’ll reach for a cigarette any minute. She’s edgy. ‘Told me what you and Billy brought in. Sounds like a good amount. He’ll sell it on over the next few weeks, in dribs and drabs; it won’t be noticed.’

Maggs grins at Ruby. ‘Good news,’ she says. ‘The shares’ll be appreciated by the girls when Solly pays out.’

‘They will,’ says Annie. ‘We’ll all enjoy the proceeds. Which is why’ – she gives Ruby a hard stare – ‘I’d like to know what happened to the brooch.’

‘What brooch?’ Ruby will brazen it out.

Annie shakes her head gently. The tapping fingers lie still. ‘Solly said there was a diamond brooch, shaped like a crescent moon. He said it was worth a small fortune; he was going to pick out the stones and send them to Amsterdam and put glass and paste in their place. That way, he can sell the knock-off in his shop and get a good deal on the real diamonds. Except, he can no longer find it.’

‘He’s probably hidden it too well,’ Maggs scoffs. ‘You know what he’s like. That place is like Aladdin’s cave.’

‘No, Maggs. Solly says that it stuck to Ruby’s fingers as she was helping him hide the goods. He says she didn’t want to give it up in the first place. And that she’s a thieving bloody magpie – his exact words to me.’ She is still staring at Ruby, waiting for her to respond.

Ruby shrugs. ‘He always says that. That’s what he calls me. Like Maggs says, he’ll have forgotten where he’s put it. I bet if I were to go home, I could find it in five minutes.’

Annie keeps staring. She says nothing for a moment. Then she sniffs and reaches into her handbag for her cigarettes. ‘Alright,’ she says, fiddling for a smoke. ‘Have it your way. You go home to Solly’s, and you go right now, and you find that brooch in five minutes, like you say, and give it to the old man. Or I swear, Ruby Mills, I’ll shake you so hard you’ll be shitting diamonds all week.’

Ruby does not blink. She does not move.

‘Go on, fuck off.’ Annie lights up and rests back in her chair. ‘And don’t ever forget who you work for – and what you owe to us.’

Ruby drains her glass, as slowly as she dares, before standing up and pulling on her coat. The crescent moon is weighing heavier on the inside of her dress, and she wonders briefly if any of the women will notice the altered line of her clothes or hear it, if it knocks against the table. She eases herself carefully away from them, the fury growing in her chest.

She doesn’t look at Billy as she walks across the saloon to the door. He will know, he will guess, what has happened. And he won’t be happy.