Chapter Six #2
“Tell us,” Solomon said, “about Mrs. di Ripoli’s understudy.”
“Ellen? She’s talented—lacks just a little certainty in the upper ranges, and obviously she doesn’t have Caterina’s stage presence. But she has a very promising future, especially if she manages the part of Gilda tonight.”
“Is she ambitious?”
Rose smiled. “Of course she is.”
“Were she and Mrs. di Ripoli friends?”
Rose thought about it. “Not friends,” she said. “I don’t think Caterina noticed her much, though she was kind. Ellen admired Caterina, of course. You could almost see her learning from the prima donna, absorbing everything she could.”
“Was she jealous?” Solomon asked.
“A little, I suppose. Who wouldn’t be? Caterina had everything. Or seemed to…”
Constance rose from the sofa. “Could you possibly direct us to her?”
“I’ll get her to come to you here as soon as she’s free. I have things I should be doing for her in her own dressing room.”
“She won’t move here?”
“Not yet,” Rose said firmly, and hurried off.
“Well,” Constance murmured, sitting back down, “that’s one theory gone. It seems our roses really did come from the square garden. Do you believe her that Caterina had ended the affair?”
“She didn’t seem very sure, did she? Darrow did not appear to know it had ended.”
“And Montague didn’t know it existed. In which case, neither of them have a motive to hurt Caterina.”
“Except her money, in Montague’s case,” Solomon said. “And it was only Kellar who peddled that theory.”
Constance cast him an uneasy glance. “Kellar’s mystery is becoming annoying. Again. I think we need to tell him we’ll walk away from this unless he is completely honest and open with us.”
“We don’t know that he hasn’t been. We just don’t quite understand him.”
At the sound of quick footsteps in the passage, they broke off their discussion.
A young woman in her early or mid-twenties walked into the room.
In appearance, she was Caterina’s opposite, short and plump and ordinary.
Though her voice when she spoke was definitely beautiful, despite her harassed expression.
“Mr. and Mrs. Grey? I’m Ellen Gentle. Rose said you wanted to speak to me. Something about poor Mrs. di Ripoli?”
“That’s right,” Constance said.
“I can’t stay for long,” Ellen said. “Everything depends on me tonight, and I have to be perfect. For Caterina’s sake,” she added quickly.
“It must be very difficult,” Constance said, “especially while grieving at the same time.”
“Of course,” Ellen said, though there was no real grief in her expression.
“We understand you learned much from Mrs. di Ripoli,” Solomon said.
“I would have been foolish not to. I suppose everyone has told you I’m not yet ready for this role. They’re right, of course. I will look and sound like the understudy. But I will have done it. And creditably.”
“Were you friends?” Constance asked. “You and Caterina?”
“No. Not that she was ever unkind, and nor was I. She just…moved in a different world from me. She was the prima donna, I very much the understudy who was never supposed to be needed. But I think she liked that I did study. And it’s as well, as things have turned out.”
“I understand she sang well on Wednesday evening,” Solomon said.
“She was brilliant,” Ellen said. “She lit up the stage, the whole auditorium. She was Gilda, and she sang perfectly. It was probably her best performance, and I have watched them all.”
“Did you congratulate her afterward?”
“Of course, though I doubt she noticed. She knew what she’d done.”
“Did she celebrate with the rest of the cast?” Constance asked.
“Oh, no. She thanked us as usual and rushed off home as soon as she had changed.”
“Was that usual?” Solomon asked.
“Yes, when her husband didn’t come. She lingered more when he was with her.”
“You saw her leave on Wednesday evening?”
“Yes, I was at the stage door when she stepped into her carriage.”
“Did she have flowers with her? Or a bag?”
“No, not that I saw. Why?”
“She must have had many admirers,” Constance said without answering. “All trying to speak to her as she left, thrusting gifts into her hands…”
“She’d learned to avoid all that. With grace, too. She carried the double role very well.”
“Double role?” Solomon repeated, although he knew perfectly well what she meant. He was trying to make her betray any intense jealousy she might feel, the kind that would surely be necessary if she had harmed Caterina.
“Prima donna and respectable wife.”
“She had everything,” Constance said, echoing Rose’s earlier words.
But Ellen only nodded. “She seemed to.” She shivered. “She was not so much older than me. How is her husband?”
Solomon thought more of her after that. Rose had not asked after Montague.
“As you would expect. Shocked, unable to quite grasp his loss.”
Ellen nodded. “The funeral is tomorrow.”
Montague had not mentioned that. The speed of the burial startled Solomon, though he said only, “Will you go?”
“We shall all go to the memorial service. And to the house afterward, since we are invited. To show our respect.”
“Well, we might see you there,” Constance said, rising to her feet. “Thank you for talking to us.”
Ellen’s brow twitched, as though she still wasn’t sure exactly why she had been summoned, but she nodded politely before she turned to go.
“Oh, Miss Gentle?” Solomon said as she reached for the door. “Where was it she lived?”
“Somewhere off Fleet Street, isn’t it?” She glanced over her shoulder, frowning. “You would know that if you really came from her husband. Who are you?”
“You misunderstand,” Constance said, picking up her leather bag. “Of course we know. The question was to see if you did. Have you ever been there?”
“No,” Ellen said, her nostrils flaring. “None of us have, even Rose. I think Watson had better show you out.”
*
“Do you really suspect Ellen Gentle?” Constance asked as they walked back to the office.
Solomon sighed. “No. And if I did, I don’t know what I’d suspect her of.
No one seems to have wished Caterina ill.
The doctor is convinced she died of natural causes.
The roses most likely came from the square, probably picked by Caterina herself, during the night when she couldn’t sleep for all the euphoria of her brilliant performance.
The idea of murder seems to be all in Kellar’s imagination. ”
“Why?” Constance asked.
“I have no idea. I vote he is our first port of call tomorrow morning.”
“We could go tonight,” Constance said.
He caught her gaze. “Or we could stay at home.”
The wicked gleam he loved lit up her eyes. “We could. After office hours.”
“Of course.” He adjusted her hand on his arm, drawing her closer and caressing the skin of her wrist beneath her glove. “How far away is that?”
“Oh, an hour or two.”
Solomon, responsible and conscientious man though he was, began to seriously contemplate how to remove Janey and Hat from the office early.
Reluctantly, he decided the only excuses he could come up with were too blatant to be believed.
He would just torture himself with anticipation instead.
Even that held a strange pleasure, because she was his.
Until he thought of Digby Montague, sitting alone in his house in his bewildered grief, his joy taken from him in one unforeseen instant.
Every moment in this life had to be lived to the full, with no opportunity lost. Perhaps that was what had driven Caterina to follow her every whim.