She brushed the thoughts aside, concentrating on her stitchery. Difficult enough, when Kate kept moving as she spoke the words of her performance.
“I pray you, Kate, remain still,” she said, on an exasperated note.
The actress glanced at her. “What is it, Cecily? You’ve interrupted my train of thought now.”
“It is that I wish not to prick you with my needle, but you move too much.”
“Oh. Well, I’m sorry, but I’ve no time to waste if I don’t want to look nohow tonight.”
Cecile threw up her free hand. “Eh bien, I leave it if you desire also that your gown may look not tidy.”
Kate’s tone softened. “No, don’t. Pray forgive me. I am nervous, Cecily. I’ve not played Margery Pinchwife before.”
“You have no need to be nervous,” came in an alien voice from a few rows away from where they were standing in the pit below the stage. “You will be magnificent.”
Flicking a glance over her shoulder, Cecile saw the theatre manager had entered the auditorium with Janey, who came down the aisle.
“Fitz is right, Kate. You will play it to admiration. Are you firm on the words now?”
“Rob is helping me run the lines.” There was a flurry in Kate’s voice. “Where were we, Rob?”
The actor’s usual sullen mien came over him. “We can stop and let Cecily finish sewing. You have it fully down in any event.” He flourished the printed folio of the play.
“No, I want to go over it all, if you please.”
Rob sighed, but found his place, gave Kate her cue and the run continued.
Cecile tuned it out after a moment, and her ears pricked as she heard instead a snatch of a discussion between Madame Ferdinand and Fitzgerald.
“What came of the rumour about this boy then?”
“It proved void. Apparently the boy was merely terrified of Lady Francis’s black servant. Though I could wish it had portended something. This uncertainty is distressing.”
“I notice everyone is a trifle on edge. No doubt it will be easier away from here.”
“I cannot imagine it will ever be easier, Fitz. The damage is far-reaching.” Madame Ferdinand’s tone lowered so that Cecile had to strain to hear her words. “Moreover, I fear poor little Dulcie is not the only girl we are going to lose.”
“What do you mean, Janey?” The manager’s tone had sharpened.
Cecile flicked a glance across under her lashes in time to note Madame Ferdinand’s nod in her direction. A flutter disturbed her pulse, but its message was overborne by Fitzgerald’s response.
“Kate? Good God, why? That would be a bitter loss indeed.”
“I don’t mean Kate, don’t be absurd.”
Fitzgerald let out a sound in which Cecile thought she detected relief. She only just caught his words. “Ah, you mean the émigré? Tretower’s little pet?”
A flicker of rage leapt in Cecile’s breast. Little pet? But how rude! She did not hear madame’s whispered answer and her agitation provoked a protest from Kate.
“Ouch! You pricked me, Cecily!”
She apologised, hastening with her work, her thoughts fastening on the dismissive appellation. She was to understand she was of no account to Monsieur Fitzgerald. Not as compared with Kate. Or, presumably, Dulcie. A bitter loss, he said of Kate. Was not poor Dulcie’s end a bitter one?
She caught an admonishing note in madame’s voice as she spoke again loud enough to be heard.
“You don’t understand, Fitz. That child was like a daughter to me. I groomed her for the stage just as if she had been.”
“Don’t talk fustian to me, Janey,” came the scoffing response. “You plucked a workhouse orphan from your sister’s kitchen and turned her extraordinary beauty to account.”
“Well, and so? We gave her a better life.”
“You took her merely to afford Arthur an ornament to draw the crowds. And it worked, to the detriment of others of greater talent.”
At this, madame became angry. “You shall not say so, Fitz. Pray how was it less than an advantage to this other — and I know very well whom you mean — to have a full theatre everywhere we went? To be seen is of first importance.”
“Who looked at her when Dulcie was on the stage?” countered Fitzgerald, leaving Cecile in no doubt that Kate was the talent in question. “Besides that Arthur gave the girl all the best roles. Galling indeed to be obliged to step into them only in this extremity.”
Madame Ferdinand let out an exasperated sound. “I cannot talk to you. You are prejudiced, Fitz.”
With which, she left him, coming quickly down to join the group just as Kate and Rob came to the end of their running of the lines.
“There, I’ve done it,” said Kate on a note of satisfaction.
“And I am finished sewing you also,” Cecile told her, snipping her thread.
“Thank you, Cecily.” She wriggled in the costume, adjusting the fit at the bosom. “It feels much more comfortable.”
Rob thrust the folio at her. “Take this. Arthur wants me to keep Jasper out of the tavern. Though why the deuce I have to be the wretched boy’s nursemaid I really don’t know.”
He directed a look of annoyance at Janey as he spoke, which she ignored, addressing herself to the actress on a note of anxiety.
“Are you satisfied, Kate? You are not dismayed to be doing these roles for Dulcie?”
Kate’s smile was tremulous. “I could wish I had more time to prepare, Janey, but of course I am happy to oblige.” She caught her breath on a sob and her eyes filled. “Poor little Dulcie. I miss her, Janey. More than I ever supposed I could.”
Madame Ferdinand gave her a hug. “We all do, Kate, we all do.”
Instinct sent Cecile’s gaze flying back to where the manager stood, his brows drawn together as he watched with narrowed eyes. Kate could not have heard the exchange, could she? No, she was too concentrated on her lines. Did she know he liked her?
The thought flickered in Cecile’s head and she balked. Did he like her? Or was it that he admired her acting only? How much did he like her? Enough to rid her of a stage rival?
She watched him surreptitiously as he turned and walked out of the auditorium. In light of her knowledge that he was still very much on George’s list, Cecile could not dismiss the conversation. She would have liked to for it made sad hearing. She knew, for Dulcie had told her, of those difficult beginnings and she spoke with affection for the Ferdinands.
“I would do anything in the world for Janey and Arthur, Cecily. I owe them so much. Without them, I would have been nothing but a kitchen skivvy.”
No, Dulcie had been inordinately grateful. If only she had not been permitted to be so free with her fellow actors.
For the first time, as she gathered her sewing accoutrements together, Cecile was moved to judge Janey more harshly than she had ever thought it possible to do. She glanced over to where the Ferdinands were now deep in discussion. Lewis and Hilde had disappeared, Kate was moving towards the dressing-rooms and Rob was heading for the stage door with Jasper. Was Madame Ferdinand telling her husband of Fitzgerald’s words? It was clear by what she had said to Kate that they had gone home.
The little altercation niggled at the back of Cecile’s mind and she wondered if she ought to speak of it to this Madame Fan. Could she seize a chance before this final performance?
The thought she might run into George at the Fanshawe’s lodging was both a spur and a deterrent, leaving her in a quandary.
“She won’t give him up without a fight, I warn you,” Francis told his friend, casting an experienced eye over the smart young lieutenant who accompanied Tretower and was detailed to remove Perkin.
“Precisely why I’m glad I caught you first.”
“You may not be when I tell you what happened here on Sunday.”
In a few brief sentences, Francis put his friend in possession of the facts. He had been reluctant to leave Tillie alone even though she was recovering well, but Joanie was wi
th her and Hemp was under strict orders not to allow her to venture forth. He met George as he came out of the house on his way to escort his mother home from her morning excursion to the Assembly Rooms. His friend was predictably horrified, but Francis cut him short, reverting to the subject of Perkin.
“I know well you’re expecting me to smooth Tillie over, George, but she’s not happy. I told her this would happen. She’s relying on me to persuade you to treat the boy with leniency.”
George exchanged a glance with his junior. “I’ve already told Sullivan here we’ll set him to soldiering. Will that content her?”
“Well, she thought he ought to be set to some trade. He’s got used to Hemp, though. He’ll likely make a bid for freedom.”
The young man stepped up, looking to his senior. “Sir, it occurs to me it might be well for the steward to come along with us, if his lordship don’t object.”
George snapped his fingers. “An excellent notion, Sullivan.”
Francis at once entered a caveat. “I dare say Hemp would be willing, but I don’t want Tillie left without her guardian until I return.”
“We’ll wait for you, Fan, never fear.”
“I presume you want the boy because he’s a witness?”
“I want him for his protection. I mean to set it about that we’ve got a witness.”
“A lure? A trap?” His friend’s face was grim as he nodded and foreboding leapt in Francis’s mind. “What’s to do?”
“Sullivan found a fellow whose testimony throws all our suppositions into doubt.”
When he had heard the details, Francis was inclined to agree. He recommended his friend to go up and confer with his wife — “though you will find her decidedly out of frame, and I won’t have her distressed” — while he went to fetch his mother, rather relieved than otherwise to leave Tillie under his friend’s protection, and proceeded on his way along the Esplanade.
He had not gone far when he recognised two of the players in a pair of men ambling in his direction. To his surprise, the young fellow Hemp had pointed out in the tavern hailed him.
“Ho, there! Stay a moment, sir!”
“Jasper, you can’t accost strangers,” came in a hissing admonition from the other, but the boy paid no heed, greeting Francis with a grin as he halted, unable to help wondering if either of these fellows had been responsible for mauling his wife.
“Wanted to ask you where your black fellow Roy is, sir. Haven’t seen him for several days.”
“He has been occupied. Jasper, is it not?”
Francis eyed him as he answered, taking in the giveaway pallor, the shadows under the eyes and in them a cloudy aspect that bore witness to his early career of dissipation.
A jaunty bow came his way. “Jasper Jefferies, sir. And this here is Rob Collins, my bear leader for the day.”
“Jasper, be quiet.”
The boy grinned again. “He don’t like the job and I can’t blame him. Arthur wants me sober, y’see. Pity about Roy, though. I like him. Wish he’d follow us to Bournemouth.”
Francis had nodded at Robert Collins, taking due note of the fellow’s sulky mien and generally hangdog air. “Unfortunately, I cannot spare my servant to you, Mr Jefferies. He is my wife’s steward, you see, and she has need of his services.”
Jasper sidled closer, a look of cunning entering his features. “S’pose you wouldn’t consider ordering him to give me a chance in the ring with him, would you, sir?”
A short laugh escaped Francis. “Yes, he told me you were anxious for a bout.”
“Well, anyone can see he must strip to advantage.” The player’s mobile features twisted into an expression both wheedling and mischievous. “Roy thinks I’ll prove a weakling, but I’m fit as a fiddle despite my excesses, y’know. Have to be when you tread the boards. Takes energy.”
“That’s true enough,” put in the other, unexpectedly entering the lists. “But he’ll burn himself out before he gets to my age, the rate he’s going.”
“Devil a bit,” said the other cheerfully, his eyes on Francis. “Will you, sir?”
Francis raised his brows. “What, instruct my servant to oblige you? Certainly not. Hemp is his own man.”
Jasper looked crestfallen. “The devil! I made sure you’d step in.”
“Then you were mistaken. Nor do I sympathise with your desire to derive entertainment from being knocked about by my servant who has better things to do.”
“Is he helping with this enquiry about our Dulcie then?”
The question elicited a buffet on the arm from Rob Collins. “Jasper, will you be quiet? I make you my apologies on his behalf, my lord.”
Francis made a swift decision. “No need. In fact, that is precisely what he is doing. He is minding the young lad who witnessed the murder.”
He watched the effect of this announcement on the older man. Shock leapt in his eyes. Had he turned a trifle paler? But it was Jasper, blazing with excitement, who took it up.
“Good God, do you mean the lad Roy was seen with? Who fainted because he thinks all black men are devils?”
“He fainted because he thought Hemp was the murderer,” said Francis with deliberation.
“What? Why?”
“Because of his height and size and, we think, because the murderer was likely wearing a mask that blacked his face.”
Jasper gaped at him, but Francis kept his attention on the other, whose brow had turned thunderous.
“By God, I hope you get him, the dastard! Who was it? Did the boy say?”
“He does not know the man. But his description fits with several my friend Tretower has under his eye.”
He watched the change that came over Collins. Shock, followed by fear and then swift fury. His voice became hoarse.
“Me, is it? He thinks I did it? I’m one of them?”
Jasper seized his arm. “Steady, Rob. He never said so.”
Collins shook him off. “He has no need to say it. I’m of a height with your friend Roy, though I’ve not his breadth of shoulder. Close enough though, eh, my lord?”
Francis did not speak, only holding the fellow’s eyes. He noted Jasper’s dawning dismay, but ignored it, waiting for what Collins might say in his own defence.
“It’s not so much the insult,” came in a low tone of suppressed rage. “It’s the downright idiocy. Why would I do it? Does a man kill the thing he loves?”
“Rob, you fool!”
“Yes, I confess it, though I’ve tried to keep silent. I’ve a wife and children to think of, and I’ve fought it hard. But I can’t help it. If you’d only known Dulcie…”
To Francis’s surprise, it was Jasper who turned on him. “You can’t think it was Rob. He wouldn’t hurt a hair of Dulcie’s head. Everyone outside thinks it was her beauty, but it wasn’t that. Not just that in any event. She was a delectable piece, but that wasn’t it, sir. Dulcie was a sweetheart. We were all fond, if you want to know, though we all knew she couldn’t act. Not that it mattered.”
“Of course it didn’t matter,” snapped Collins. “Nobody cared about her acting and Arthur knew it.” He glared at Francis. “Dulcie knew it too. I mean, she knew she had no talent. She admired everyone else’s and kept trying to learn. She did as Janey and Arthur told her and it served because she was beautiful and she had charm.”
“Unconscious charm,” chimed in Jasper. “If she’d known, she wouldn’t have been so innocent. She was a decent chit and it’s a damned shame she got into trouble.”
So that was out in the open, was it? But Jasper had not finished.
“A catastrophe for Arthur too. D’you think Rob would have brought that about? It’s his livelihood, sir.”
Not a bit surprised to hear what Tillie had already guessed at, Francis nevertheless maintained a cool front.
“Yes, I dare say. I regret I am unable to set your minds at rest, but you may take it that my wife will discover the truth. She has never yet failed.” Both men gave him frowning looks at this, but
the reminder of Tillie made him impatient to be off so he could get back to her. He gave a perfunctory bow. “If you will forgive me, I am en route to fetch my mother back from the Assembly Rooms. We look forward to tonight’s performance.”
“Ha! I wish you joy of it,” said Collins in a surly fashion. “It won’t be the same without Dulcie.”
Jasper’s lips twisted in a rueful smile. “Not so sure of that, Rob. Kate’s a far better actress, sir. Fitz thinks she’ll rival Siddons if she gets a chance.”
This was too good an opportunity to miss. “Fitz? Do you mean Fitzgerald, the theatre manager?”
“That’s him. Thick as thieves with Arthur and Janey. Hilde says they used to act together, all three of them, years ago. Fitz is a judge too. He’s seen all sorts.”
“Yes, but he need not have despised Dulcie,” said Collins on a sour note.
“Balderdash! Fitz was as bemused by her as the rest of mankind. You’d have seen the way he looked at her if you hadn’t been so smitten yourself, Rob.”
“I wish you’d be quiet, Jasper.” The older man turned a slightly anxious gaze on Francis. “Pay no heed to him, sir. He’s befuddled with drink half the time. He doesn’t notice anything.”
“Much you know! If I couldn’t observe, I couldn’t act, could I?”
“Your arrogance is unbelievable. Just because Arthur thinks you’re special, it’s gone to your stupid head.”
“I’m not listening to you, Rob. You’re merely jealous.”
Francis left them arguing and slipped away. He had heard sufficient to be keener still to return to the lodgings as swiftly as he might. Tillie would relish these small, but revealing details.
Yet on meeting the dowager, his attention forcibly veered. His mother was already on a path towards the lodgings, accompanied by General Godfrey in his wheeled chair, who hailed him with a rallying quip.
The Candlelit Coffin (Lady Fan Mystery Book 4) Page 30
