Chapter 9 #2
Mrs. Short put out her hand for the sheet. “I’ll do it.”
Harmony hesitated then went to pass her the sheet. I snatched it off her before she could.
Mrs. Short’s brows arched so steeply they almost joined her hairline. “What are you doing?”
“Changing my bed, and if you ask me why, I’ll need to speak to my uncle about your inappropriate interest in my personal affairs. Good day, Mrs. Short.”
It was immensely satisfying to see the housekeeper’s jaw slacken and eyes widen. My satisfaction dissolved after hearing her scold Harmony for fraternizing with a member of the Bainbridge family.
After leaving the clean sheet on my dressing table, I spent some time browsing the library.
The small room off the main sitting room was packed full of tomes the discerning guest would like, but there wasn’t a single medical text among them.
It didn’t really matter anyway, as I doubted I’d find what was wrong with Lord Wrexham’s face by searching for the symptom. It would be a near-impossible task.
I was careful when leaving the library to check the sitting room and make sure my aunt and cousin weren’t present. I didn’t want to be invited to afternoon tea. Not when I had somewhere to be by five.
Fortunately I didn’t recognize anyone, and was able to leave without being stopped.
With hat, gloves and coat already in hand, I headed for the front door, only to change my mind and divert to Peter.
The front desk was quiet at this time. New arrivals had already checked in for the day and most guests were either taking tea or out.
He smiled upon seeing me. “Any advances in the investigation today?”
Goliath entered the hotel and loped over. “Frank’s in a mood.”
“When is he not?” Peter muttered.
“True enough. How’s the investigation coming along, Miss Fox?”
“Slowly, but I’m glad you’re both here. Do either of you know someone who can follow Lady Wrexham for a few days? I’d pay all travel expenses and a small daily wage.”
“My little brother would do it,” Peter said.
“Shouldn’t he be in school?”
“Try telling him that.”
“I have a cousin who’d do it,” Goliath said. “Big strapping lad who can look after himself.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Well that’s no good, is it? He’ll stand out like a giraffe.” He turned to me. “You don’t want someone who’ll look out of place on a Belgravia street. My brother shines shoes when he’s not making trouble. He can set up a stand near the house.”
“And if Lady Wrexham leaves when he’s got a customer?” Goliath asked.
Peter shrugged. “He’s quick on his feet. He’ll think of something.”
I gave Peter the address then headed out, waving at Frank as I passed him. I reached The Nag’s Head at five past five and spotted Mr. Adams seated alone at the same booth as last time. He looked up when I slid onto the seat opposite.
“You’re here without your chaperone, Miss Fox. Is that wise?”
“We’re in a popular pub filled with people. Why wouldn’t it be?”
He drew on his cigarette and blew the smoke towards the ceiling. “You made my master very angry today. Perhaps he’ll set someone on you to teach you a lesson.”
Was he threatening me? Warning me? Or simply toying with me? What would Harry Armitage say if he were here? I wasn’t sure, but I knew he wouldn’t be baited. I gathered up all my bravery and leveled my gaze with Mr. Adams’. “I have a task for you. Do you want to know what it is?”
“It’ll cost you.”
“I’m well aware that you do nothing unless there’s a reward.”
He smiled around the cigarette before removing the short stub with his thumb and forefinger. “I can’t afford principles.” He blew out smoke, not bothering to direct it away from me. “So what task do you have for me?”
“Lord Wrexham keeps an appointment diary in his office. I caught a glimpse of it today. I want you to look through it and see where he was on the afternoon of Monday the fifteenth.”
He contemplated his cigarette before drawing on it again. “I don’t go into his office. The maids clean it, and Wrexham sends the butler if he wants something fetched from there.”
I gathered up my purse and rose. “Then I’ll ask one of the maids.”
His hand shot out and grabbed my forearm. “Sit.”
I sat.
He let me go. “I can do it, but it’ll cost you more than last time.”
I plucked a sovereign coin out of my purse and slid it across the table. “I’ll give you the same. If you don’t like my terms, I’ll ask a maid. I believe they get paid less than you and do more work, so I’m sure I’ll find a willing spy. Probably a friendlier one, too.”
“You don’t want someone friendly. You want someone devious.” He pocketed the coin which I took to mean he accepted my terms.
“Report back to me here at the same time tomorrow.” I rose. “I expect a good return on my investment.” I strode out of the pub, feeling much better about this encounter with Mr. Adams than the last one.
The following morning, Harmony arrived to do my hair. She was not alone; Danny accompanied her.
He hovered at the entrance to my bedroom, looking uncertain as to whether to proceed. It was understandable, considering I wore my dressing gown with my hair tumbling past my shoulders.
Harmony had no such qualms. She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the bedroom. “Danny’s got something to tell you.”
Danny studied the dressing table as if he’d never seen anything so interesting. “My friend, Perry Alcott from the Playhouse, wanted me to tell you he found something that might interest you.”
“Oh? What is it?”
He cleared his throat and his gaze quickly met mine before he looked away again. “He was cleaning out Miss Westwood’s dressing room at the theater and found a letter which he thinks proves she was with someone else.”
“Someone other than Rumford? Now that is interesting. Thank you, Danny. Do you know if Mr. Alcott is at the theater this morning?”
“He’ll get there late morning, I expect. Do you want me to send a message letting him know you’ll meet him there?”
“Yes, please. Make it eleven.”
I managed to fill in my time with Flossy until it was time to leave for the meeting. She wanted to know where I was going and if she could come. She changed her mind when I said I was off to the Natural History Museum.
The main entrance doors to the Piccadilly Playhouse were locked, but a side door opened at precisely eleven and the debonair Mr. Alcott beckoned me.
“What a pleasure to see you again, Miss Fox. If only it were for happier reasons.”
“Danny tells me you found a letter.”
“I did. It could be a clue.” He spoke in hushed tones even though we were alone as we crossed the foyer.
Some of the memorabilia from Pearl’s memorial service remained, although most had been removed. The posters advertising Cat and Mouse still showed her face although a strip bearing Dorothea Clare’s name had been stuck over Pearl’s. I asked Mr. Alcott about it.
“Dotty hates that Pearl still features on them,” he said in a low voice. “She’s been on and on about it to Culpepper but he’s refusing to have new posters made.”
We passed through a door labeled STAFF ONLY and entered a long corridor.
There was no one about, although I could hear hammering in the distance.
We walked quickly past closed doors, some labeled, others not, our footsteps muffled by the carpet.
Finally we reached a door with a piece of paper stuck to it.
“Miss Clare” it read in neat handwriting.
Mr. Alcott lifted the paper to show me Pearl’s name painted on the door underneath.
“Another thing Dotty hates,” he said.
“Why hasn’t Pearl’s name been painted over?”
“Pearl was adored around here. It’s hard to let her go.”
He pushed open the door to reveal the lead actress’s dressing room.
As with Pearl’s flat, much of it was upholstered in dusky pink, from the sofa to the chair and cushions.
The scent of perfume hung in the air, but it didn’t completely hide the smell of cigarette smoke.
A privacy screen painted with spring blossoms separated a corner of the room.
A cream silk dressing gown hung over it and a pair of slippers had been positioned nearby.
I felt like I was intruding. “Should we be in here?”
“Dotty’s not in yet. She’s been asking Culpepper to clear out Pearl’s things for days but she finally gave up and asked me to do it, since I was Pearl’s closest friend at the Playhouse. I started yesterday, and that’s when I found this.”
He disappeared behind the screen and emerged carrying a box. He set it down on the dressing table beside a vase filled with coral peonies and roses. The box appeared to be full of women’s underclothes and other personal items—a hat, handkerchiefs, combs and brushes, a hand mirror, and many cards.
I opened one and read. It was from an admirer of Pearl’s confessing his undying devotion. It was signed with his full name and address. The next card was similar. “Did she know these men?”
Mr. Alcott shook his head. “They were strangers, people who watched her on stage and fell in love with her. Or thought they did. They’re not all from men either. Some are from women.”
“Why did Pearl keep them if she didn’t know the senders?”
He shrugged. “A reminder of her popularity, I suppose.”
“Did she need reminding?”
“We all do, from time to time. Actors and actresses thrive on adoration. Without it, we’re just ordinary.” He smirked. “And if we’re just ordinary, what’s the point?”
He said it with a light tone, but his words saddened me.
Did Pearl wonder what the point was? Did she kill herself after all because she felt the adoration was waning?
Looking at the dozens of cards, it was hard to imagine that she could feel ordinary and unloved, but sometimes it wasn’t the quantity of love but the quality that waned.
“Here.” Mr. Alcott handed me a folded piece of paper, but he held something back in his hand. “Read it.”