George threw up his eyes. “I might have known you would upset my conclusions at the outset.”
“Not at all. It may well have been that Fitzgerald was indeed in the coach. All I am saying is that, whoever picked Dulcie up, he could not have taken her directly to the cemetery. He might wine and dine her first perhaps.”
“Why, if he was pretending an elopement?”
“You have only Cecile’s supposition for that. All we know for a fact is that Dulcie was in alt that night.”
“Why should she be if her desperate problem was not going to be solved?”
Ottilia put up a finger. “We don’t know that either. A promise of marriage might have been made, perhaps to lull her fears. I must say it seems unlikely to me the girl would dress in her best for an elopement at dead of night. Nor did she take any change of raiment, or so much as a toothbrush.”
George looked struck and his frown reappeared. “Very well, but what of Fitzgerald? Are you saying he administered a narcotic?”
Ottilia opened her eyes at him. “I am not saying Fitzgerald did anything, George. That is an assumption on your part.”
He uttered an exasperated sound, his protest both curt and irritated. “But it fits, Ottilia. He knows the players and he knows theatre. It’s a bagatelle to him to set the scene in such a way to point to the company and he tried to make me suspect this Rob fellow. He suddenly comes up with this fairy-tale of seeing Dulcie, which I don’t believe for a moment. And to cap it all, he has the right sort of looks and personality.”
“Is he kind?” Ottilia countered. “What time was it when he saw her? Does it fit with the time Dulcie left the lodgings? Moreover, does it fit with the time of death?”
“Lord knows!” George drummed his fingers on the mantel. “Roffey places the killing somewhere between two and three in the early hours. Midnight or thereabouts for the coach, Fitzgerald claims. I’d have to check if Cecile noted the time.”
Ottilia pounced. “The approximation is enough, George. It may well fit, whether or not Fitzgerald is lying. Let us say Dulcie enters the coach around midnight. The murderer takes her somewhere convenient to ply her with refreshment in order to introduce the drug.”
“Yes, and then what? He’s got to carry the unconscious girl into the coach without being seen.”
“Just so, which is why he waits until a later hour. Indeed, he must wait, because he wants to set the scene so his candlelight will be spotted.”
George smote his own forehead. “Of course. Why didn’t I remember that? He judged it a trifle off, however, because the candles had mostly burned down by the time the villagers saw it and it was near dawn.”
“And there is the business of digging up the grave and extracting the coffin.”
George dropped into the chair opposite, resting his arms on his knees and clasping his hands together between them. “We believe he had help for that, though we have not yet discovered from whom.”
This was of interest and Ottilia allowed herself to be distracted for the moment. “What have you done to find out?”
“I set Sullivan to make enquiries of all the official grave-diggers round about. Without result, I may say.”
“Well, they are not going to confess to it, are they? The murderer would have paid them well, though it seems a deal too risky to trust such a man.” Her mind leapt to the obvious. “What about grave robbers?”
“I thought of that too, but how do we find them?”
“Difficult, I agree, when you are militia.”
He sighed. “A handicap, I don’t mind telling you, when it comes to questioning suspects.”
“I am sure it must be,” said Ottilia with a sympathetic look. “But you have gleaned a deal of information nevertheless.”
“Evidently not enough to convict Fitzgerald,” he retorted on a gloomy note.
“You may yet do so, although we have still to find out more of this fellow Paglesham.”
“I thought Lady Polbrook was going to talk to him.”
“She did, and she is quite as convinced of his being the murderer as you are of Fitzgerald.”
George perked up. “Indeed? Why?”
Ottilia laughed. “No, George, you can’t go and arrest the fellow at once. It is merely that Sybilla thinks he, of all men, is the most likely to have his ambition thwarted by Dulcie’s pregnancy, and so he rid himself of an unwelcome encumbrance.”
“Ah, but so it is with Fitzgerald. He is unmarried, but I can’t see him taking an actress to wife.”
“But he could have done,” Ottilia objected, “so we may have to give him the benefit of the doubt.” George did not look as if he wanted to give the man the benefit of anything, to her amusement. She returned to her hypothesis. “It would be well if we knew the contents of Dulcie’s stomach, George.”
“I’ll check with Roffey.” George stirred restlessly. “A pity we can’t get hold of this grave robber. We would have our man in a moment.”
Ottilia pondered whether to mention her notion of there being a witness other than the grave robber. It was not to be supposed that whoever dug the grave would have been encouraged to linger, which made it unlikely he might be the thief who had purloined the purse. On balance, she thought George had enough on his mind without adding to it at this present. She changed the subject.
“Let us see if I manage to glean anything from the theatre ladies, George. If Fitzgerald is a likely candidate, you may depend upon it one of them will know.”
Had it not been for Mrs Ferdinand, who was perfectly gracious and self-assured, Ottilia would have despaired of the success of the gathering for tea. She had called upon her mother-in-law to preside, but Sybilla’s presence clearly overawed Katharine Drummond, who sat mumchance for the first ten minutes. Hildegard Larkin was plainly flattered to be invited to hobnob with a lady of so high a rank as the Dowager Marchioness of Polbrook, and Ottilia was amused to find herself almost as exalted a personage in the actress’s eyes.
“Honoured, I’m sure, my lady,” she said, executing an accomplished curtsy when Cecile presented her as Milady Fanshawe.
Ottilia scotched this at the outset, for she was relying upon the creature to gossip her head off. “Oh, pray call me Lady Fan. Everyone does, you know. I never stand upon ceremony, if I can avoid it.”
Miss Larkin visibly rejoiced. “What a relief, my lady, for I’m a plain woman myself. Not that I can’t put on airs if I must, for I hope I’m a good enough player for that.”
Ottilia smiled. “Certainly you are, from the performance I was privileged to see, Miss Larkin.”
The woman dropped all reserve, leaning in and going so far as to touch Ottilia on the arm. “Hilde will do, my dear Lady Fan, if you don’t object. I can’t abide formality.”
“Then we are at one, Hilde. Do, pray, sit down by me a while.”
Nothing loath, the creature took a seat beside her on the second chair in the window embrasure where Ottilia had stationed herself, precisely for the purpose of taking her chance with each of the actresses in turn. Sybilla had pledged, not without persuasion, to entertain the rest while she conducted her enquiries.
“So you have seen our rendition of The Conscious Lovers, I take it?” Hilde began. “What did you think of us?” She then waved expressive hands. “A terrible question, of course, for how can you do otherwise than praise us all to the skies? I wish you won’t, however, for the truth is we are nothing without our Dulcie’s magic touch.”
Genuine regret sounded in the woman’s voice, but Ottilia was happy to find her so ready a talker. Not to mention an early reference to the topic of the day.
“I must admit I am sorry not to have seen her. I hear on all sides of her beauty and this gift she had of appearing to advantage on the stage.”
Hilde sighed. “A lovely creature, she was, but such a silly little fool too.” A grimace came. “Horrid of me to say it now, but poor Dulcie had less than common sense.”
Ottilia leapt on this. “You are speaking of he
r dealings with men?”
“Oh, it wasn’t her fault, Lady Fan. She was badly brought up, poor child. Janey did her best, but there is no doing anything with a girl whose head can’t help but be turned by all that attention.”
“I understood she was something of an innocent,” Ottilia suggested, watching the woman carefully.
“Too innocent. Any man might have taken her in, and of course one did. But I’d stake my oath it wasn’t one of ours.”
This was said with an air of suppressed violence. As Ottilia eyed the woman, the maid Joanie entered, followed by Tyler, both bearing trays with the accoutrements for tea, together with a selection of little cakes and dainties.
The business of making the tea, which Sybilla undertook while the servants dispensed plates and proffered the treats on offer, took some time. The conversation became necessarily general for a space and Ottilia seized her chance to take stock of the visitors.
In the presence of the others, Cecile was peculiarly self-effacing, speaking very little and seemingly content to watch and listen. Was it her habit to take a back seat with members of the company? Once the girl Kate’s initial shyness wore off, she contributed willingly, responding to Sybilla’s query about her favourite roles in the expressive voice with a timbre Ottilia remembered from her performance.
As for Mrs Ferdinand, she was both gracious and graceful, yet had a confident way about her that argued as strong a personality as the dowager, if less forceful. She listened with clear indulgence to Kate expressing her desire to play the great female Shakespearean roles, like Juliet, Lady Macbeth and her namesake Kate the Shrew.
“But such opportunities are rare,” she said in her musically modulated tones. “Audiences won’t come for Shakespeare.”
“We are besides too small a company,” Mrs Ferdinand added with a smile. “We would have poor Wat and Aisling running around like flies in a tar-box, trying to play a dozen different characters.”
Ottilia seized opportunity, lowering her voice. “Your stagehands, I believe. They at least could scarcely have time for dalliance with the female players, I surmise.”
Hilde showed her a face both astonished and amused. “Lord, no! Are you thinking of our poor Dulcie? Neither Wat nor Aisling could have hoped for a chance with her, I assure you, Lady Fan.”
“Who could then, Hilde?”
Hilde threw a glance at Kate and dropped her voice to a murmur. “I shouldn’t care for Kate to know it, but if you ask me Jasper would have whipped Dulcie’s skirts up in a minute, if she’d let him.”
The descent to vulgarity rather amused Ottilia than otherwise, besides serving her purpose. She similarly dropped her voice even further, adopting a conspiratorial tone. “I understood Kate has something of a yen for Jasper. Is it so?”
Hilde rolled her eyes. “She is besotted. She knows well he is the worst possible match for her, but she can’t help herself, poor love. Mind, she tries. She pinches at him with the best — we all do so, you must know, Lady Fan, for he is the most annoying boy. Arthur despairs of him and I don’t blame him.”
“But Dulcie did not indulge him? You are sure of that?”
Hilde shook her head with vehemence. “Wouldn’t touch him. Or let him touch her where it matters. There’s no stopping him from fondling, of course. The boy has hands like an octopus.”
Ottilia moved her off the unprofitable subject of Jasper, who appeared to be the bane of the company. “I gather your other fellow — Rob, is it? — was a little épris?”
“Which of them was not?” Hilde tossed her head. “Galling for poor Kate, though she was as fond of Dulcie as any of us. You would think us females would be jealous as sin, would you not? If I still had my youth, likely I would have been. But Dulcie was such a sweetheart, you couldn’t do anything but love her.”
There was a catch in the woman’s voice and Ottilia saw her eyes rim with moisture. Genuine affection? Ottilia tested it.
“You must miss her sorely.”
Hilde sniffed, but her voice had turned a trifle husky. “We are all trying to carry on, because there’s nothing else to do. Besides, we are mostly old troopers. But it’s hard, Lady Fan, very hard.”
“I am sure it must be.” Ottilia took a deliberate measure. “Harder for the murderer in some ways, never knowing when his guilt may be discovered.”
Shock rendered Hilde silent for a space. She eyed Ottilia as if she was a dangerous animal who might at any moment make a fateful leap. Then she drew a tight breath.
“You can’t believe it’s one of ours, you simply can’t.”
Ottilia held her gaze. “It’s a possibility we cannot set out of count.”
Hilde’s eyes became frantic. “But who? Not Lewis. It wasn’t Lewis, that I can swear to.”
“How can you swear to it, Hilde? Do you know for a fact he was at the lodgings that night?”
A deep flush crept over the woman’s features and she threw an apprehensive look at Mrs Ferdinand, deep in conversation with Sybilla. Ottilia noted Cecile was engaged in a low-toned discussion with Kate. Opportune. She turned her eyes back to her quarry.
“Hilde?”
The actress’s gaze came back to her, becoming intense. Her voice was a murmur. “This is to go no further, Lady Fan.”
Ottilia hesitated. “I can’t promise that if what you want to tell me is pertinent to the case.”
Hilde’s hand came up, fidgeting with the neckline of her gown. She appeared to make up her mind. “Lewis was with me.” She gripped her fingers together. “We — we don’t flaunt it. We try to be discreet.”
“Can you keep it secret? In such a close-knit company?”
Her mouth worked a little. “They suspect, I dare say, but I’d swear none knows for certain. Besides, we prefer the informality. Neither of us is tied to the other.” She eyed Ottilia in a sly fashion. “Now tell me I’ve shocked you.”
She had indeed, if Ottilia was honest. She could not approve a liaison which evidently left both parties free to seek amusement elsewhere. On the other hand, where there was no promise of fidelity, one might argue there could be no betrayal. She found it personally distasteful, but who was she to pass judgement? She smiled.
“A little perhaps.”
Hilde’s mouth twisted. “But it’s what you expect of actresses, is that it?”
“I did not say so.”
“You don’t have to, Lady Fan. I’m used to it. And I’ve no doubt it’s what made poor Dulcie a target.”
“No doubt.” Glad of the return to the point at issue, Ottilia took instant advantage. “You think she was targeted by one of her admirers?”
Hilde shifted her shoulders. “She had so many.” A spasm crossed her face. “You asked about Rob.”
Encouraged, Ottilia looked a question. Hilde sighed. “No use denying it. Rob was smitten with Dulcie. Nothing he could do about it, for Trix would have his bollocks.” She then threw a hand to her mouth, consternation entering her eyes and her cheeks flying colour. “Oops! I do beg your pardon, ma’am, it slipped out.”
Ottilia gave her a wry look, but avoided commenting on the vulgarity.
“Trix is his wife?”
“Yes, and she’s a tartar of the first order. Can’t call his soul his own, our Rob. She’s the only woman I’ve ever thought ought to be muzzled in one of those scold bridles. Scratch, scratch, scratch, like a bad-tempered cat.”
“She sounds a very shrew,” Ottilia said, keen to keep the woman talking of this particular player.
“Oh, hideous. Lewis tells him he ought to give her the back of his hand, but Rob’s terrified of the woman. She nagged him constantly about abandoning his apprenticeship for the theatre. Now if Trix had been murdered, I’d be telling you to look at Rob, no question. It’s no wonder the poor man lusted after Dulcie. She was the sweetest little thing. Mind, she couldn’t act to save her life. No one cared though. She made a pretty picture and both Arthur and Janey coached her to say her lines with the right inflexions so she passed muste
r, but that’s about it.”
“She could not conjure the emotions needed?”
“Oh, a semblance of ’em. The audiences did not care, for they were too dazzled by her. Or the men were. But the real stuff?” Hilde shook her head. “Nothing. Not the way Kate does it. Or Jasper, for the matter of that. That’s why Arthur puts up with him. The rest of us are competent. I don’t count Arthur for he’s old school, with his roaring and posturing. But Jasper and Kate are supreme.”
It was said in a matter of fact manner that drew Ottilia’s admiration. “You do not sound as if you envy either, Hilde.”
She shrugged. “Why should I? I’m content with my lot. I’ve got regular work and I enjoy my roles. I’m fond of Janey and Arthur.” She dropped her voice. “And I have Lewis for a friend.” Another shrug. “I had my time, Lady Fan, and it was good. I’m lucky to be still able to work in the profession. And what would I do else?”
What indeed? Ottilia warmed to the woman, despite her tendency to go off the subject. She took her firmly back. “And you have no notion who Dulcie might have favoured outside the men of the company?”
“None at all. I paid no heed, to be honest. There were ever hopeful males hanging around the stage door. I’m always too busy making sure the costumes are put away in good order, and then I want nothing more than a nightcap and my bed.” She laughed in her hearty way. “I’m a dull creature, Lady Fan, when all’s said.”
“It’s not the adjective I would use.” But Ottilia had no desire to continue the conversation. She was hunting her mind for an excuse to exchange Hilde for Kate, when she remembered the theatre manager.
“How well do you know Mr Fitzgerald, Hilde?”
“Fitz? Pretty well, why?” Her eyes widened. “You’re not thinking to couple Fitz with Dulcie, are you?”
“Why not?”
Hilde stared. “Why not? Heavens above! It’s ridiculous, that’s why not.”
Ottilia held her gaze. “Why is it ridiculous?”
The Candlelit Coffin (Lady Fan Mystery Book 4) Page 18
