Chapter 25
My One and Only Love,
When I consider the manifold wonders and unexpected workings of Providence that have contrived to bind you to me as my wedded wife, I am more astonished than ever at my own unworthiness and at my own undeserved good fortune.
From the moment I saw you, I loved you. But you belonged to another, and you were as high above me as Helen of Sparta to a poor shepherd boy on the hills outside Troy.
I have struggled my whole life to contain my jealousy of my brother, but in this instance, I struggled in vain.
He possessed everything I wanted, and you were that everything.
When I learned how he had wronged you, I could have killed him.
But instead, I helped him repair the damage he had done and make amends with a betrothal.
When he perished in the Thames, I was no brother worth the name.
My thoughts were only for you and your poor heart.
And then, when your brother told me he intended to find someone to wed you so you could keep the child, my only hesitation was my own unworthiness.
Just to be near you, albeit in the shadow of my brother’s prior claim, is enough for now.
I will not press my own desires upon you until your heart is mended.
Someday, I hope that dear heart will have the courage to love again, and I pray most fervently, that I might be the recipient of that love.
But until then, I live only to serve you at a polite distance across the dinner table and adore you from the distant land across the corridor.
Your loving husband,
Ralph Aldine
Helena read the letter a second and a third time and then refolded it to press against her breast. Ralph loved her.
He adored her and her alone, and his only business with that blond lightskirt at the King’s Theatre had been to keep her from disturbing their peace.
When Edwina had revealed that the dead actress had been Will’s mistress, Helena had felt nothing except a sense of elation. Ralph was innocent. And Ralph was hers.
More somber thoughts came later—the thought that the unborn child in the womb of the murdered actress might have been brother to her own child.
The realization that Ralph thought her so enamored with Will’s memory that he had hidden from her the reason for his trips to London.
The fear that Mr. Pevensey would not be able to find the real culprit in the case and that Ralph would hang for a murder he had not committed, still thinking he could only adore her from “the distant land across the corridor.”
Edwina’s return interrupted these dire reflections, however, and Helena informed her that the second room upstairs would be hers. “I feel quite at home already,” said Edwina, “for this is the second time I’ve stayed in this room. You must let me pay you for my room and board.”
That reminded Helena that the rent for Mr. Cox, the landlord, was still due.
She called a meeting of all the souls inside the Baker Street house, reflecting that Lady Compton would be proud of her for taking charge of the household.
“We must organize ourselves,” she announced.
“Polly, can you take the dust covers off the furniture and clean the rooms? Nell, here is the rest of the money Mr. Aldine left. Can you go to the market and find us some food? I daresay Polly can watch Samuel while you are away. I must discover what bank holds my funds so I can withdraw some money for living expenses and pay Mr. Cox.”
“Can you not ask Geoffrey?” Edwina interrupted.
“Yes, but he is determined to keep me from visiting Ralph at Newgate, and I would not like to go to him and admit I am unable to set up my own establishment.”
“Then I shall go with you,” said Edwina promptly. “Depend upon it—your money is almost certainly at Hoare’s.”
“I suppose Auld Donald has already set out for the north,” said Helena, considering how they would make their way to Hoare’s.
“Not yet, ma’am,” Polly chimed in. “There’s a carriage house attached to this ‘un in the back. He stayed there last nicht wi’ th’ horses.”
“I wonder if I can convince him to stay a few weeks,” said Helena. “As ancient as his equipage is, it would still be most useful to get us around town.”
Auld Donald, as it turned out, had no pressing business back in Carham.
The old-fashioned fellow agreed to Helena’s terms of a shilling a day and feed for the horses, and within a quarter hour, he was on his way to Hoare’s with Helena and Edwina clinging to the sides of the carriage as it rattled over the paving stones.
The bank manager at Hoare’s was as unctuous as an olive tree once he realized that Helena was the Duke of Tilbury’s sister.
“Yes, yes, your account is in very good hands here at Hoare’s.
I can tell you that it was previously arranged for one half of the interest accrued on the account to be sent to Carham each quarter. ”
“Indeed,” said Helena, feigning knowledge of something she knew nothing about. “And now I should like to withdraw the sum of five hundred pounds to defray our expenses while we are in town.”
“I see,” said the manager. He whispered some instructions to a subordinate who went into the back room to obtain the necessary funds. “Allow me to express my condolences, Mrs. Aldine, on your husband.”
Startled, Helena looked down and remembered that she was clad entirely in black—black for a black-hearted scoundrel who had taken her innocence, betrayed her trust, and never feigned even a hundredth of the love her husband held for her.
“My husband is still alive,” she informed him.
“I merely wear mourning for a…distant relative.”
“Er, yes,” said the manager. “I was simply referring to what the newspapers have said about the upcoming trial.”
“My good man,” said Edwina mildly, “It should be clear to anyone who has met him that Mr. Aldine has been falsely accused. If you would like to keep the business of both the Aldines and the Duke of Tilbury, I suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head.”
Relieved at Edwina’s presence of mind, Helena accepted the manager’s apologies and received the five hundred pounds to deposit into her reticule.
“You handled that beautifully,” said Edwina as they stepped into the carriage.
“Your contribution was greatly needed,” responded Helena, with a catch in her throat.
She had not realized that Ralph’s imprisonment would be common knowledge in London.
Any acquaintance who had heard about her marriage would also likely know about the shocking accusations against her husband—and minds would tend in the same direction as her own had traveled, to the implied relationship between Ralph Aldine and the actress he was supposed to have murdered.
“Now that you are in funds, what is the next step?”
“I shall pay our landlord Mr. Cox, I shall order some new dresses not in this odious black, and I shall discover how to visit Ralph at Newgate.”
“I can deal well enough with bank managers,” replied Edwina, “but I’m afraid that entrance to Newgate is not something in my repertoire. Do you think they allow genteel women to visit the prisoners there? And in your condition—” She gave Helena’s pregnant belly a sidelong glance and shrugged.
“I will find a way,” said Helena determinedly.
Geoffrey, she was certain, would not budge in his adamant refusal to take her to see Ralph.
But Geoffrey was not the only gentleman of her acquaintance.
She would find someone else to take her to Newgate where her one and only love was waiting along with a piece of her heart.
“Mr. Danvers,” said Pevensey coolly, “I daresay that the King’s Theatre would like to be known for its respect for law and its collaboration with His Majesty’s officers at Bow Street—not for this cheeky insolence and a refusal to cooperate.”
“Oh, is that what you dare say?” said the beefy fellow in a snide voice. “Well, I daresay I’d like to get on with the show. We’re rehearsing for a new production, and I won’t have you taking my actors away from their work.”
Tibbs shook his fist at Mr. Danvers and was about to grab him by his coat, but Pevensey held up a hand. “Then let your actors work. I’m happy to begin with you, Mr. Danvers. Take a seat.”
Still fuming, the theater manager lowered his bulk onto the narrow settee in the theater corridor.
On either side of him were curtains leading into the premier boxes that the upper class enjoyed.
And below the boxes was the pit for the regular theatergoers and a stage full of performers practicing a dance which would figure in the new production.
Pevensey removed his notebook. Tibbs moved behind him and stared over his shoulder.
Annoyed, Pevensey looked back at him. He could hardly perform his customary sketches with Tibbs skulking about.
A pity. The theater manager’s features were as angry and wrinkled as a bulldog’s face.
Pevensey could easily imagine the man plunging a knife beneath the actress’ breastbone.
But having the foresight to bring a cup of poison?
He doubted whether the man had the patience for it.
“Miss Clifford was one of your key performers?”
“She certainly thought she was.” Danvers snorted. “I’ve seen better.”
“But she was talented enough for a lead role?”
Danvers shrugged. “She was fair-haired and pretty and had the figure to attract the gentlemen. Let’s just say that no one complained when she sang off key on the high notes—they were too busy getting an eyeful.”
“Did she have any friends in the troupe? Who were her associates?”
“Not Charlotta Shandy, that’s for certain.”
Pevensey raised his eyebrows.
“Who’s Charlotta Shandy?” asked Tibbs.
“The brunette who played opposite her in Così fan tutte. They fought like cats on a chimney pot in the full moon.” Danvers grunted. “You’d never believe the caterwauling Charlotta put up when Libby had the Rose of the World painted on her door.”
Pevensey resumed his own line of questioning. “Besides Charlotta, what were her relations with the other actresses?”
Danvers shrugged. “Dolly was her dresser. They seemed to get on.”
Pevensey had met Dolly in the course of his previous investigations and had run into her again while searching the dressing room.
Since her testimony was the primary evidence connecting Ralph Aldine to the murder, Pevensey had already noted the flirtatious, wide-hipped actress as a person of interest.
“Did Miss Clifford have any admirers?”
Danvers smacked the settee with a rough hand. “Course she did! Didn’t I tell you she gave them an eyeful on stage? She always had some nob in her dressing room. I ough’t’ve charged them rent.”
“Did she, to your knowledge, engage in congress with any of the men?”
It was a necessary question, but as Pevensey expected, it caused the rude Danvers to laugh and leer. “Making the beast with two backs? I never spied to see.”
“What were the names of these nobs?”
“We don’t keep a guest book, Mr. Pevensey.”
By which, Pevensey inferred that he preferred to be discreet with the names of his actresses’ conquests.
“Surely you recognized some of them?” demanded Tibbs.
Danvers shrugged. Pevensey wished Tibbs would stop interrupting—clearly, Danvers was determined not to reveal the names of his actresses’ lovers.
“What would have happened if Miss Clifford fell with child?” asked Pevensey.
Danvers’ leering ceased and a wary look came over his face. “What would have happened? What do y’mean?”
“Would you have terminated her employment if she fell with child?”
“Course I would. This isn’t a bawd house.”
“Of course not,” murmured Pevensey, just as Tibbs growled, “Could have fooled me!”
Pevensey clenched his teeth. “Mr. Tibbs, could you go find Dolly? I’ll need to speak to her next.” Grumbling, his fellow Runner moved away from his shoulder and went to look for Miss Clifford’s dresser.
Pevensey turned back to the affronted Danvers and began to sketch in his notebook. “Were you aware that Miss Clifford was, in fact, with child?”
“If I were, she wouldn’t have been here anymore. Are you saying that she was?”
“I believe that was the coroner’s report,” said Pevensey mildly.
Danvers swore, but there was more bluster in his tone than believability. Pevensey was persuaded that this news was no surprise to him. Pevensey finished a rough outline of his face.
“As her dresser, Dolly most certainly would have known,” continued Pevensey.
“Urgh,” growled Danvers. “Those two were cut from the same cloth. I’m not surprised that Dolly would’ve kept secrets for Libby.”
“Who found the dead body?”
“Dolly did. She woke me up, and I sent a boy to Bow Street.”
“Ah,” said Pevensey. Dolly had certainly known about the letters hidden in the room. He wondered if she had hidden them there or if it had been Libby. He wondered if Dolly had even more secrets to share.
It was unlikely, however, he’d unlock any of them with Tibbs’ melodramatic interruptions or Danvers’ glowering countenance in the vicinity. Pevensey saw Tibbs, followed by Dolly, coming down the narrow corridor towards them.
“Mr. Danvers, I wonder if you could show my associate, Mr. Tibbs, what path a visiting gentleman might have to traverse to reach Miss Clifford’s dressing room?”
Danvers swore again. “I don’t have time for that poppycock. He can find his way himself.”
With that, the beefy Danvers stormed off. “Tibbs,” said Pevensey quietly, “I think Mr. Danvers might be the key to this case. Do you think you can follow him discreetly? Make notes on where he goes and what he does?”
“I s’pose I could,” said Tibbs suspiciously. He looked from Pevensey to Dolly, unwilling to miss out on any of the interrogation.
“I’ve already spoken with Miss Dolly before,” said Pevensey with a bored tone. “It’s all a matter of form.”
“Right,” said Tibbs. He gave a violent nod and then followed in the direction Danvers had gone.