Clara and Alice went through a pot and a half of tea in the telling of the tale. Alice’s husband, Jimmy, and his brother, Richard, owned two small picture houses in the seaside villages of Whitley Bay and Tynemouth: the Paradise and the Carousel. Jimmy and Alice ran the Paradise and Richard the Carousel. Jimmy had shares in the Carousel, having helped finance his younger brother to buy what had previously been a variety hall theatre and to convert it into a cinema. Both picture houses were doing well, until the talkies came. Neither the Paradise nor the Carousel could show talkies, so Jimmy took out a loan from the bank to buy two new talkie projectors that had to be imported from America – which were still on their way – and to fit out the buildings with sound systems.
‘We wouldn’t have needed to convert so quickly if the Majestic hadn’t opened,’ explained Alice.
‘The Majestic?’
‘Aye, the big new cinema at the Spanish City in Whitley Bay – they call it a pleasure palace. It can seat a thousand, and we can only take two hundred, tops. And they’re fully equipped for talkies. We were beginning to lose business. Jimmy and Rich both put everything they had into buying the new projectors.’ She gave a bitter twist of her mouth. ‘Jimmy more than Rich – but that was always the case.’
Then Alice paused and let out a tired sigh. ‘With the new projectors we would have been all right, Miss Vale, if it hadn’t been for the fire.’
Clara leaned forward, sensing they were approaching the climax of Alice’s story and the reason Wallace Enquiry Agency had been involved. ‘Tell me about it.’
‘Well, it was the Thursday before the May Day weekend. We were going to be showing Joan of Arc in Tynemouth and The Fall of the House of Usher in Whitley Bay. Both silent.’
‘Both wonderful pictures,’ said Clara encouragingly. ‘I’ve seen them.’
‘Aye, they are. They were last year’s releases, but like I said, we can’t show the talkies yet. We would show one at one picture house, then switch them round. We were due for a big audience on the Friday night for the beginning of the holiday weekend. But just after midnight on the Thursday Jimmy got a telephone call from his brother to say the Carousel was on fire. By the time Jimmy got to Tynemouth – I stayed with the children – the fire engine was there but it was too late, the fire was too far gone.’
‘Oh I’m so sorry,’ said Clara. ‘Was anyone hurt?’ she asked, fearing the answer as she noted Alice’s mourning attire.
Alice shook her head. ‘Fortunately not. There was no one there. But we lost the building and everything in it.’
Clara let out a sigh. ‘I’m so sorry you lost everything. But so glad no one was hurt. And at least you were insured.’
Alice nodded, her mouth set in a hard pout. ‘Aye, we were. With Balshard Insurance. But they wouldn’t pay out. The investigation was done and dusted within two weeks and it was declared that we had not met proper fire safety standards. Which was absolute nonsense. But that’s what the fire inspector said. And that’s what Balshard’s investigation – if you could call it that – decided too.’
Clara leaned in. ‘Tell me a bit more about this insurance company.’
‘It’s owned by Humphrey Balshard. He’s a bigwig around these parts. It’s the biggest insurance company in the area and—’ she smirked ‘—he’s recently opened a string of picture houses too – all called the Majestic. Including the one I just told you about in Whitley Bay.’
Clara’s eyes opened wide. ‘I see!’
‘Exactly,’ said Alice. ‘And that’s why I said your uncle took on the case, because he was the only one not in the pocket of the insurers. You see, Jimmy and Rich were both convinced that it was arson. They’d found a window that had been jimmied open – and Rich swore it had been shut when he locked up after the last show. But the fire inspector, the police and the insurers all say it was just forced open by the heat.’
‘Was the glass shattered?’ asked Clara.
‘No, it wasn’t.’
Clara nodded, making a note to check the scientific plausibility of heat forcing a window to open but not shattering the glass. She looked back up at Alice. ‘How did the fire inspector say it was started?’
‘Faulty wiring. But we don’t believe that’s true. We had all the electrics checked just the month before. Jimmy gave your uncle a copy of the certificate. It should be in the file.’
‘I see. But the fire inspector and the insurance company wouldn’t take that as proof?’
Alice shook her head, barely containing her anger.
‘Why not?’
‘They said that we had left something plugged in, in the projection room, and that Rich hadn’t put the nitrate film in the metal chest it should be kept in for fire safety. When the inspector checked, the chest was open and there was evidence of film reels on the floor. They said Rich had forgot to put them away and that’s what caused the fire to spread. But Rich – whatever other issues I have with him – is not a liar. And if he said he put them away, he put them away.’
Clara continued making notes then asked: ‘So you, your husband and his brother, all think that someone came in the window, opened the chest and scattered reels on the floor?’
‘Aye, we do. We always packed the reels in that metal storage chest in the projection room. Always. I don’t know if you know this, Miss Vale, but nitrate is very flammable – that means it can catch alight easily. It’s caused fires before in other picture houses, so we took every precaution with it.’
Oh, Clara knew, but she didn’t want to interrupt the flow of the conversation by regaling Mrs Whittaker with her scientific pedigree. But what she did want to ask, and was frightened to hear the answer to, was how Alice’s husband had died.
‘So my uncle was helping you – and your late husband – prove that it was indeed arson?’
‘That’s correct.’
Clara paused for a moment, hoping that Alice would voluntarily talk about her husband’s demise, but nothing was said. Clara couldn’t skirt around it much longer.
‘Forgive me, Mrs Whittaker, but I need to ask. You said no one was killed in the fire. However, you said you were recently widowed. And if the fire happened in May …’
Alice’s sea-green eyes welled up. ‘Aye,’ she said, her voice thick with unshed tears. ‘Well, first of all we lost Rich.’
Clara’s hand slapped to her mouth.
‘Oh no, not like that, Miss Vale. He’s just gone to Hollywood. When Balshard turned down the insurance claim he had no business left. He’s a young man, a bachelor. He’s always wanted to make pictures, not just show them. He was inspired by Stan Laurel – you know the actor from the Laurel and Hardy films – who used to live in these parts. He went to school in Tynemouth, did Stan. So Rich decided he might as well up and leave and follow Stan to Hollywood as there was nowt left for him here.’ Her mouth twisted into the now familiar bitter pout. ‘Well, nowt but debt, which he was happy to leave my Jimmy with.’
Clara nodded in sympathy. She too had a profligate brother, so she could understand. ‘What happened then?’ she prompted.
‘Well, me and Jimmy decided we were not going to take it lying down. We still had a business here. The Paradise was – and is – still a going concern. But with our income gone from the Carousel, and the loan we’d taken out from the bank to buy the new projectors partly underwritten by that – we needed to overturn the decision of the insurance company. We needed – and still need – the money. We’ve got three children. It wasn’t that easy for us to just do a moonlight flit to Hollywood! So that’s when we hired your uncle. That was …’ she did a quick finger calculation ‘… early June. Aye, that’s right, the first of June. Your uncle made some good progress on the case, but then, by the end of the month he started to turn a bit poorly. He said it was his heart and he’d have to ease off a bit – doctor’s orders. But he was still investigating and told us he thought we definitely had cause to think it was arson. He said he needed a few more weeks to complete his investigation. But then … well, you know what happened then, Miss Vale. It wasn’t long after that that your uncle passed in his sleep. And I’m very sorry for it. He was a very kind man. But it also meant that our case was put on hold.’
Clara nodded. ‘Yes, I understand that must have been a big blow for you. So, what did you … and your husband … do then?’
Alice slumped back in her chair, her hands clutching and unclutching the handkerchief. ‘Well, Miss Vale, that’s when I lost him. When I lost my Jimmy. He heard about your uncle passing and came to try to see who was going to be taking over from him. If the business was to be sold or something. Juju Levine, downstairs, told him who Bob’s solicitor was. He went to see them – Jennings, I think – but they couldn’t tell him much. They said there was a will, but it wouldn’t be read for another month as they still had the funeral and everything to sort before then. So, they asked Jimmy to come back in six weeks’ time.
‘Well, there was nowt he could do, was there? Nowt but wait. But he was so upset about it all that … well, Miss Vale, that’s when he had his accident. The police think that he was so distracted after his meeting with the solicitor that he wasn’t looking where he was going. And he stepped out in front of a tram … he …’ Alice’s tears were now flowing freely.
‘That’s all right, Mrs Whittaker, you don’t have to continue.’
Alice nodded, wiping at her cheeks with the handkerchief. ‘The coroner says he was killed instantly. He didn’t suffer. So that’s a grace.’
Clara slowly screwed the lid back onto the fountain pen. She had absolutely no idea what to say. What did one say to a woman who had experienced such tragedy?
‘So,’ said Alice, eventually, saving Clara from thinking up something, ‘you’ll reopen the case, Miss Vale?’
Clara’s heart sank. What could she say? The truth, she thought, that’s the best thing to do.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Whittaker, but I am still not able to tell you that yet. As I said earlier, I have only discovered my uncle left me his business today. It’s a lot to take in. I have absolutely no experience running a detective agency, so I don’t think I would even be the best person to help you. But I said I’d try to help, and I will. I’ll make enquiries – I’ve just met someone who I think could advise me – and see if there is someone I could pass the case on to. But I’m afraid I can’t give you an answer today.’
Alice composed herself and folded the handkerchief into a neat square. ‘I understand, and thank you for taking the time to hear me out. Will you be staying in Newcastle a while?’
‘I’ll be heading back to London on Friday.’
Alice’s shoulders slumped. ‘Oh. I was hoping you might come to the Paradise and I could take you to the ruins of the Carousel so you could see for yourself.’
Clara looked at the sad woman in front of her. Did she really think she, Clara Vale, could do anything to help? How desperate would she have to be to think that? Desperate, thought Clara, very desperate. So, before she could stop herself, she said: ‘Well, I had been thinking about taking a trip down to Whitley Bay …’
Alice sat bolt upright, her face alight with hope. ‘Oh, Miss Vale! Will you, will you really?’
Clara nodded decisively. ‘I will. I’ll come and see it. But I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. About the business. And that means your case too. But I will come.’
‘Miss Vale, it’s all I can ask. Thank you. There’s a show on Thursday afternoon. A special matinee for the school holidays. It’ll be finished by four. If you come then, I’ll take you over to Tynemouth. Or, you could come earlier and see the flick, if you like. It’s The Circus with Charlie Chaplin. It’s up to you. Here’s the address.’