Chapter 32
Pevensey’s first thought upon seeing Charlotta Shandy at the table in her dressing room was that she was the opposite of Libby Clifford in every respect.
Where Libby had been blond and buoyant, Charlotta was dark and diminutive.
Where Libby had resembled a voluptuous shepherdess in the English style, Charlotta evoked an exotic princess in the Eastern style.
It did not take a moment’s conversation with Miss Shandy for Pevensey to realize that she was far shrewder than her counterpart had been.
“You played opposite Miss Clifford in Così fan tutte?”
“I had that dubious honor.”
“Dubious?” Pevensey could sense the actress was eager to discredit her dead rival, and he, in turn, was more than ready to entertain any backstage gossip that could help with finding a killer. “I do remember hearing that Miss Clifford was, perhaps, not up to the part…”
“She had no musical training,” said Miss Shandy, her eyes flashing.
“Her pronunciation of the Italian was molto terribile. I don’t think she could even read it to learn it.
She always played the coquette to the crowd, even when the role called for a different emotion.
And Danvers only considered her popularity with the crowd. ”
“Hmm,” said Pevensey sympathetically, his pencil moving quickly along the lines of Miss Shandy’s scathing countenance. So, Libby could not read the Italian? Or was such an accusation simply the product of jealousy? “Why do you think Miss Clifford had such a prestigious part at the theater?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Only to a perceptive lady like yourself,” said Pevensey with a wink. He had his own suspicions, but he needed her to voice them.
“Oh, come now,” said Miss Shandy. “I know you Bow Street Runners are a thick-skulled bunch, but even you must understand what I mean.”
Pevensey shrugged helplessly.
“She let Danvers into her dressing room whenever he wanted.”
“Ah, so they were lovers?”
“There was no love about it, simply satisfaction of his physical urges. Danvers is disgusting. He lures the best performers to the theater by paying a wage far higher than Drury Lane and then takes it all back again in little bills, and commissions, and fees. If a girl can’t pay those, he gets it out of you in other ways. ”
“Those fees you mention—were those something Danvers charged for deliveries?”
“Who told you that?” said Miss Shandy. She looked at him thoughtfully, perhaps gaining a new respect for his intelligence.
“Yes, he does. He takes a percentage of every gift from well-wishers. If a gentleman sends flowers from the hothouse, that’s a shilling you have to pay Danvers before you can get it.
And if the gift is more expensive—well, let’s just say that Danvers unwraps it first before you get it, so he knows how much to charge. ”
“Did Miss Clifford pay Danvers for her deliveries?”
“She often boasted to the rest of us that she didn’t have to. Just like she boasted that she would be getting the part of Pamina in our next performance.”
“What was the next performance to be?”
“The Magic Flute.” Her voice was scornful. “Are you familiar with it, Mr. Pevensey? No? Well, the lead parts are quite unequal. And of course I was relegated to the Queen of the Night, while the illiterate Elizabeth Clifford claimed the role of the princess.”
“So, you believe Miss Clifford paid for her deliveries and obtained the best roles through her skills at seduction?”
“Yes. She certainly wasn’t squeamish about entertaining men like Danvers. After all, she had that fat baron in her dressing room a couple times a week.”
“I found a gentleman’s corset in her dressing room—”
Miss Shandy burst into peals of laughter. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. I daresay it was Lord Fremont’s. Oh, lud, the stories Dolly used to tell about him.”
“Dolly is—was—Miss Clifford’s dresser?”
“Yes, they were thick as thieves. Dolly used to sing main roles herself, but something happened to her voice—I don’t know what—and now she’s only a chorus member when they need extra numbers.”
“What is Dolly’s last name?” asked Pevensey.
Charlotta Shandy looked up to the decorated plaster on the ceiling in thought. “I don’t think I’ve ever known it. We just call her Dolly.”
“What sort of stories did she tell about Lord Fremont?”
“Oh, nothing fit for a gentleman’s ears—but then, you’re no gentleman, are you?” Miss Shandy sent Pevensey a coy glance that made his skin crawl.
“I like to think I am, in all the things that matter. For instance, I’d never harm a woman. But Lord Fremont—would he?”
“Oh, is that what you’re thinking? That the big, bad baron did it? I thought Dolly said the spindly solicitor was in the room when it happened. What was his name? Alden?”
“She might have been mistaken. Could it have been Lord Fremont? Or even Mr. Danvers?” Pevensey arched an eyebrow at the actress.
She snorted. “Any and all of them. They don’t care a fig about us beyond taking their own pleasure. I can tell you this, Mr. Pevensey—I didn’t care for Libby Clifford, but I’ll gladly watch any of those gents hang for her murder.”
Pevensey gave the bloodthirsty primadonna a thin smile. “Have you ever considered that the murderer could have been a woman, Miss Shandy?”
“A woman? We might scratch and bite, but none of us would end another’s life. You might as well say that I killed her since we fought about that ridiculous rose she had painted on her door.”
“What was your objection to a painted flower?”
“She only thought of it because I had a sun painted on my door first. She was too stupid to think of anything on her own.”
“Ah,” said Pevensey, beginning to feel a little lightheaded surrounded by such concentrated fumes of jealousy. “Some might argue that you could very well have killed her over the role in The Magic Flute. And they say that poisoning is a woman’s crime.”
“Poisoning? What do you mean?” demanded Miss Shandy. “I saw her body hauled out of the theater, and she’d been stabbed. Stabbed with the very dagger she would have made her reign supreme on the stage.”
“What do you mean?”
“Pamina’s dagger, you dolt. The one she almost kills herself with to escape the commands of the Queen of the Night. Libby kept it on her dressing table to remind all of us that Danvers had selected her as Pamina.”
“A real dagger?” said Pevensey. “One would think that a false blade would be better for the stage.”
“One never knows what is real and what is false on this stage,” said Miss Shandy.
“How if I were to tell you that she was poisoned before she was stabbed?”
“I would say you are concocting a very melodramatic opera of your own, Mr. Pevensey. But if it were poison, the only one who would have that opportunity would be Dolly. She brought the food for dinner before we went on stage.”
“Then I’d best speak with Dolly again,” said Pevensey. “Does she have her own dressing room?”
“Lud, no. There’s only room for a half dozen of us to have our own rooms. There’s mine and what used to be Libby’s, and one for George and one for Vincent—the tenor and baritone lead singers.
The rest have to change in the commons area and sleep elsewhere.
” Miss Shandy cocked her head. “Come to think of it, Dolly wasn’t at rehearsal today. Danvers said she was sick.”
“Do you know where she lives?”
Miss Shandy snorted. “No. Libby would’ve, but then, I’m not Libby.”
“No, you’re not,” agreed Pevensey. In some ways, the world would have been a better place if she had been.
Helena peered out the window to see Geoffrey disembarking from his carriage and handing down a lady in a coral gown.
She gasped. Surely, that could not be who she thought it was?
A moment later a little boy and an elderly gentleman climbed down, and she could barely wait for Polly to open the front door.
“Lady Compton! Gerald! And Sir Anthony!”
“There you are at last, my dear,” said Lady Compton.
She embraced Helena as if she were a long-lost granddaughter while Geoffrey, standing on the doorstep, looked on quizzically at the happy reunion.
Apparently, he had done some investigating of his own and knew exactly which house Helena had leased so he could keep an eye on her from afar.
“Is this your house?” asked Gerald, his large head swiveling as he looked around the narrow entryway. “It’s much smaller than the other one we went to.”
“I’m borrowing it,” said Helena, recovering from Lady Compton’s embrace and reaching out her hand to ruffle the boy’s hair.
“A nice, snug little spot,” said Sir Anthony approvingly. He laid his cane against the little console table in the entrance hall.
“But what are you all doing here?” asked Helena.
“Why, finding you, of course,” said Lady Compton.
“You disappeared without a word. I suppose a lady might leave London surreptitiously, but departure from a small village is different. It caused quite a stir in Carham. Sir Anthony discovered that you’d taken Auld Donald’s coach to London, and we couldn’t rest thinking about it.
‘At least she has Polly with her,’ I said, ‘but there’s no telling if she’ll go into labor on the way.
’ We knew you would not have left without good reason, and it was Sir Anthony who guessed that Mr. Aldine was in trouble. ”
“I daresay it was all in that letter I delivered to you,” said Sir Anthony, as if he felt guilty for having been the bearer of it.
“Yes, it must have been bad news through and through. Nothing else would have sent you on such a furious flight. We gave Gerald a holiday from his studies, sent Mr. Whitmore off on a walking tour of Scotland, and set off for London ourselves. It’s been ages since we were in town, but we found the Duke of Tilbury’s house with a little asking, and your brother was kind enough to bring us here to find you. ”
Helena looked at her tall, leonine brother standing, arms crossed, on the step. “You can stop lurking out there, Geoffrey, and come inside too. Let’s all go into the parlor and hear the rest.”
Within minutes, they were sitting in the parlor, Lady Compton and Helena on the sofa, Geoffrey and Sir Anthony in the two armchairs, and Gerald wandering the room to examine each nook and cranny.
“Now, what’s this about Ralph being in Newgate?” said Sir Anthony.
Briefly, Helena explained the situation and gave vague details of the crime of which Ralph had been accused.
She saw Gerald’s eyes grew wide as the child began to edge closer to the sofa to hear more.
She saw Geoffrey’s eyebrows beetle and his chin set into hard lines when she mentioned she’d been to Newgate to visit her husband, but she managed to tell the tale without implicating the Marquis de Montesquerrat or rewarding his kindness with betrayal.
“But what was Ralph doing at that theater in the first place?” asked Sir Anthony.
“Oh, I think he was—that is to say—” Helena cast a helpless look around the room.
Lady Compton eyed Gerald and decided this conversation was no longer suitable for his consumption.
“Gerald, go to the kitchen and see if Polly or Mrs. Mabley can give you a little nuncheon. You were such a good child in the carriage.” Distracted by a different sort of treat, Gerald disappeared from the parlor, eager to investigate the rest of the house on his way to the kitchen.
“What my sister means to say,” interrupted Geoffrey, “is that her husband was sorting out a matter that I ought to have sorted out. You are likely not aware that my sister was almost married to another man prior to her elopement with Mr. Aldine, and—”
“They know all about that,” said Helena.
“All about it?” said Geoffrey in confusion.
“Yes,” said Helena, “including the part about the baby.”
Geoffrey’s jaw dropped. “Then, allow me to be frank, far franker to two strangers than I would ever dream of being, but apparently my sister has taken you into her confidence. My sister’s first betrothed was a fool and a rake—I’m sorry, Helena, but it’s true.”
Helena gave a graceful shrug to show that she made no argument.
“Along with courting Helena, he was also paying his addresses to an actress at the King’s Theatre.” Geoffrey cast a pained look at his sister.
“It’s all right, Geoffrey,” said Helena. “I know all about that.”
“You do?” Geoffrey’s voice was filled with astonishment.
“And if you or Ralph had told me sooner, then neither of you would have had to fear it coming to my ears through some other way.” She turned to Lady Compton to finish the explanation.
“The actress was blackmailing my husband, claiming that she was also with child by his half-brother and that she would tell me if he didn’t pay her. ”
“How sordid!” said Lady Compton.
“That explains why Ralph was at the theater,” said Sir Anthony. “But why is he being accused of murder?”
“I don’t know,” said Helena, unable to stop some tears from flowing. “Supposedly his card was there in the actress’ dressing room, and they assumed—”
“How preposterous!” said Lady Compton. “Why would anyone leave his card if he’d gone to murder someone?”
“There’s more to it than that,” said Geoffrey. “There is a witness who names him as the last person to enter the actress’s rooms after her performance on the night in question.”
Lady Compton reached out to seize Helena’s hand. “Well, we know Ralph, so we know the accusation isn’t true. There must be some way of convincing the courtroom.”
A firm knock sounded on the parlor door and Polly entered. “Beggin’ yer pardon, ma’am, but there’s a braw gent at the door demandin’ entry an’ askin’ fer the Duke of Tilbury.”
“Did he give a name?” asked Helena, trying to wipe the stain of tears from her cheek.
“It were the same name, first an’ last,” said Polly.
Geoffrey, ever willing to stand between his sister and the encroaching world, leapt from his seat and took three long strides to the parlor door. “Sir Philip!” Helena heard him say in surprise. “What do you mean by coming here?”
“I’ve just been to the coroner’s,” said a full, sonorous voice, “and learned some rather distressing news about the case. I wanted to make you aware of it right away, and your grace’s butler informed me as to your whereabouts.”
There was a slight pause. “You’d better come in,” said Geoffrey, ushering the new arrival into the little parlor and offering him the empty armchair.