The Moonlit Murders: A historical mystery page-turner (A Fen Churche Mystery Book 3) by Fliss Chester (web based ebook reader TXT) 📕

thick jumpers, and their hair was mostly roughly combed or allowed to grow out. They were working men, dockers and hauliers, stopped in for a lunchtime pint. A different breed to the slick customer at the bar.

Fen watched as Eloise spoke to him and it wasn’t too much later that she returned to the table.

‘Drink up, Fen,’ she motioned to the half-drunk beer on the table. ‘We’ve got an appointment.’

‘Hang on…’ Fen reached across to touch Eloise’s hand. ‘Is this… I mean, is this legal?’

Eloise shrugged. ‘Tell you what, you take the bags and I’ll meet you in that nice-looking department store down the road in a few minutes.’ She sipped the last of her beer and got up to leave. Fen barely had time to finish her own half-pint of bitter and pick up the bags before Eloise was out the door.

Glancing back to check she hadn’t left anything on or under the table, Fen noticed that the slick man in the shiny suit was nowhere to be seen either. Fen smiled a goodbye to the barman and pushed the pub door open, blinking into the daylight. With no sign of Eloise, Fen had no choice but to do as she asked and head towards the department store, her feeling of giddiness and unease increasing with every step.

Illegal shopping… what would Mrs B have said about all of this? Thinking of her landlady reminded Fen to post the letter she’d written to her and Kitty, and the quick one she’d dashed off to her parents.

‘Sorry, folks,’ she whispered as she posted the letters. ‘But I’ll be home soon, I promise.’

16

The two women headed back through the damaged terraces of houses that separated the docks from the shopping streets. Fen was wondering whether Eloise had realised the seriousness of what she’d just done – dealing with black-market coupons was an arrestable offence and one that would at the very least tie her up in British red tape long after the De Grasse had steamed out of port.

Fen wasn’t a snitch though and wouldn’t have dreamt of telling the authorities about her new friend. Besides, after more than half a decade of living so austerely and going without, it had given her a certain thrill to watch Eloise pass over the illegally begotten coupons and walk out of the department store with a new dress, another pair of stockings and some new shoes.

Their shopping bags made swishing noises as they rubbed against the women’s coats and Fen decided that although Eloise’s character flaws may include a predilection for bootlegging, who could blame her? Being confined to barracks for the whole war would have made even the most honest person turn to nefarious ways to get some kicks.

She thought back to the night before and how Eloise had torn around the deck, encouraging Fen to join her in shouting out for their freedom. She must have felt cooped up and utterly frustrated for the entirety of the war, and now what would happen? She’d go home, finally, and be married to someone she barely knew, swapping one gilded cage for another.

Fen was roused from this train of thought as they approached the dock where the De Grasse was anchored and they were met with a scene not unlike that of Le Havre the day before. Troops were gathered in waiting areas, preparing to board and being ticked off long lists on clipboards held by the purser and some of the French Line land crew.

‘Come on, this way,’ Eloise said, as she craned her neck and looked over the crowds of troops.

Fen thought she was looking for someone, but soon realised that with a couple of inches of extra height thanks to her high-heeled shoes, Eloise could see the gangplank reserved for returning passengers.

Wolf whistles and friendly banter followed the two of them as they made their way through the soldiers, and although Fen coloured slightly, she had to admit that this too was a new experience for her and one that she didn’t entirely dislike. Accompanying Eloise was turning out to be a rather thrilling experience and Fen could only wonder what the next few days on the voyage might bring.

As they neared the gangplank, Fen heard a cheer go up from the troops on the quayside. She followed their gaze and saw Spencer McNeal and Genie standing on the deck above them, him waving to the crowd and her blowing kisses.

Fen laughed; James had told her how famous Spencer was and his name had rung a bell with her, though Mrs B had been quite strict with what they were allowed to listen to on the wireless during her land girl years on the farm.

Now she could hear a murmur from the crowd and as she and Eloise climbed up the metal walkway to the deck, she heard them all cheer before Spencer shushed them again from the deck.

‘Say it! Say it!’ the crowd was chanting, and Spencer was ham-acting not being able to hear them.

He motioned to shush them all once more, and now with a crowd of not just the waiting-to-embark troops, but with more who had already boarded in Le Havre lining the decks around him, he shouted out his catchphrase. ‘Who do you think you are…?’

There was a dramatic pause, of which a director on Broadway would be proud, and then the crowd erupted into the reply: ‘Some sort of animal!’

They – Spencer and the crowd in unison – repeated it several times, each time ending in more and more laughter. Fen didn’t quite get the joke herself and thought it was a rather silly catchphrase, but then context is everything and all of those troops had obviously heard him in a radio play or read some of his comic writings. He and Genie may have even entertained them during the war.

It cheered everyone up immensely, anyway, and Fen noticed the general buzz aboard the ship as she and Eloise parted ways and headed back to their own