The Candlelit Coffin (Lady Fan Mystery Book 4)

by Elizabeth Bailey

  Withdrawing her gaze to the nearer prospect, Ottilia saw that a number of interested persons had paused in the business of their day to watch. Extraordinary how readily the place began to fill the moment something unusual occurred.

  Her gaze swept the immediate area of the Esplanade and beyond and caught on an oddity. A long black shadow lay on the grassy bank. It fluttered in the wind and something rolled away from it, abruptly taking form in Ottilia’s sight. A series of connections clicked into place.

  “She found his disguise. That’s why he seized her.”

  Ignoring Sybilla’s startled question, Ottilia hastened towards the door. If she was right, she must secure the discarded items before some passing wayfarer took advantage.

  George ran, his gaze fixed on the tell-tale flurry of petticoats flying away from him, tight and pale against the dark of the villain who had his heart’s desire clamped under a vicious arm. Cecile looked to be half-dragged, half-carried, a burden now when Collins must know he was pursued. No sound of screams came back upon the wind. Had he a hand about her mouth, stifling her cries?

  Hemp was closing on the pair. But Collins seemed now to be splashing into the edging waves. Did he mean to drown her? A streak of raging protest tore through the fire of effort in George’s chest and he willed more speed to his legs.

  Sullivan, younger and fitter, was ahead. George yelled at him to hurry, his voice hoarse and breathless.

  The scene ahead appeared, in his disordered state, to be distant. As if he saw the figures from afar, although common sense dictated he was in fact getting nearer by the second.

  Hemp was almost upon them. Collins threw his burden from him and set off with renewed speed. But George had eyes only for the small figure that flailed in his wake, and then fell, a bedraggled little heap upon the wet sand.

  An eon passed before he reached her, his mind jolting back to reality as he spared one glance for the chase ahead. Sullivan had not broken stride, streaking after Hemp, who was again closing on Collins. Francis, going well, shot past. Three of them. Enough to subdue the fellow. The fleeting thought was gone as, for the first time in his life, George abandoned duty for the dictates of his heart. He dropped to his knee beside the fallen girl.

  “Cecile!”

  She was face down but not completely flat to the wet sand, her hands concealed beneath her. He hoped she might have saved herself from being badly hurt. He could hear her breathing, more laboured than his own as he began already to recover. Lifting her bodily, he turned her, catching her close, his gaze roving the beloved features for damage. She took in gasping breaths, her eyes closed. He brushed sand from her pallid face.

  “Cecile, my heart’s darling, look at me!”

  Her eyes fluttered open. She brought up a wavering hand and clutched feebly at his coat. “Georges … tu viens.”

  He took her fingers and brought them to his lips. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

  Her lids had sunk again but they lifted at this, anxiety leaping to her eyes. Her fingers grasped his tighter. “Georges, it is he! Rob he is the killer. I know it, for —”

  “Du calme, ma petite,” he murmured, switching to French almost as of instinct. “It is known now. He has been found out.”

  She peered up at him, frowningly intense. “Is it so? I thought it was Monsieur Fitzgerald, for he it was who gave me the cloak and the hat and the mask. I was bringing them to Madame Fan and then I met Rob…”

  She faded out, her gaze fixing on his, as if she saw there the overwhelming emotion in his breast.

  “Thank God we saw you! Oh, my love, I’ve never been so afraid!”

  George leaned down, placing his lips to hers. The contact was tender, the response warm. Elation soared within him. She was his.

  The soldier in him awoke and he became brisk. “Come, let us get you up.”

  He rose with difficulty, bringing her with him and setting her on her feet, but holding her firmly withal. “Can you stand?”

  A tiny laugh escaped her. “But, yes, Georges. Do you think it is a silly, fainting fool that I am?”

  She was smiling up at him and George lost his head, catching her into a comprehensive embrace and squeezing her so tightly that she protested.

  “Do you wish to break me?”

  He slackened his hold. “No, I wish to cherish you, ma cherie. All of my life. Will you come to me?”

  She pushed away, looking up into his face with an odd expression he could not interpret. “Does she have a name, this mademoiselle you wish to cherish?”

  He drew an unsteady breath. “She will have my name, if she will take it.”

  A smile quivered on her lips. “Eh bien, monsieur le colonel, I believe she will take it.”

  “Sir, we have him!”

  The shout came from a little way away. George returned to the real world with a bang. He kept a protective arm about Cecile as he looked across.

  Collins was down, Hemp atop him, holding him there while Francis stood by, resting his hands on his knees as he recovered his breath. Sullivan had run halfway back towards his senior, negotiating a converging gathering of onlookers. George raised his voice.

  “Good work, Sullivan. Bring him to the theatre and you can hand him over to our men.”

  He saw his lieutenant make off back towards the fallen man and at once his attention was drawn back to Cecile, who was shivering.

  “You’re cold.”

  “I am wet, Georges.”

  “Come, let us get you back to warmth and safety.”

  She looked up at him, a gratifying affection in her eyes. “Safe I am already, mon cher colonel. It is that I have my very own guard now, no?”

  Happiness threatened to choke him. “It is so, ma petite émigré.” His hold about her tightened. “My very own French captive.”

  The young player Jasper, to Ottilia’s surprise, seemed the most upset.

  “Not Rob. It can’t be Rob. He wouldn’t. I know he wouldn’t. He cared more for Dulcie than any of us.”

  “There is no doubt, I’m afraid. He damned himself.” George, who had broken the news, pointed to the cloak and its accoutrements Ottilia had laid over the front of the box nearest the stage. “Cecile was carrying those when she met him. Collins must have realised she meant to give them up to me and he lost his head.”

  All eyes turned to Cecile, seated in the pit and wrapped in a makeshift swathe of material produced from somewhere by Hilde Larkin, who had a plump arm around the shivering girl.

  The rest of the company members were grouped about the empty stage, where light sprayed onto the scene through the dock doors and filtered down from high windows in the flies. From Ottilia’s vantage point by the box, they had as well have been a tableau in a scene from one of their plays. The Grand Ferdinando looked broken, his flamboyance quenched under the blow. His helpmeet stood with him, one hand absently stroking down his arm, her features drawn and white. Near them Kate Drummond had sunk to the floor, hiding her face in her hands. Lewis Payne sat on the edge of the stage, an arm resting on his raised knee, his chin on his closed fist. The stagehands, small and large, were centre stage, dazed and staring at the colonel’s scarlet-coated figure. Only Jasper, belligerent and protesting, provided the motion of the unfolding tragedy.

  “What does that prove? What have those things to do with anything?”

  “Collins wore them that night, and was again wearing them when he tried to strangle Lady Francis —” That this was news to the company was patent by the gasps and horrified glances towards Ottilia. “He wore them last night and they became damp in the rain. He broke into the Fanshawe’s lodging to try to get at the boy who can bear witness against him. ”

  Lewis looked up. “The one Roy found?”

  “Precisely. His description put several men in the picture, but subsequent enquiries have shown conclusively that Collins is our man.”

  This produced a sudden silence. No one asked for details. Only Jasper stuck to his guns.

  �
�But, why? He said it himself. Why would he kill a girl he loves?”

  George shook his head and, rather to Ottilia’s dismay, turned to her. “Perhaps Lady Francis may be able to enlighten you.”

  She cast an agonised glance at her husband, standing close by. He gave her an encouraging smile. She sighed and moved a little into the light to face the despairing stares.

  “It is only surmise, I warn you.”

  “Collins is not talking,” George put in. “He refuses to say a word, either in his defence or to explain his actions.”

  “Then he’s innocent!”

  Ottilia felt obliged to quash the young man’s eager utterance. “Sadly, he cannot be innocent, although he very nearly fooled us all into accusing someone else.”

  “Myself, for instance?” Fitzgerald walked out of the shadows in the background of the pit, moving to look up to where Ottilia stood. “Though why I should be supposed to cherish ill designs against the beautiful Dulcibella I have yet to understand.”

  Ottilia faced his mocking stare. “You were indeed under suspicion, sir. We had reason to include you.”

  “Fitz?” Mr Ferdinand seemed to come alive. “I told the colonel it could not be Fitz.”

  “And I’m telling you all it couldn’t have been Rob,” insisted Jasper, pushing in again to confront Ottilia.

  She eyed the handsome young man’s violent gaze, suspecting he was suffering from shock at his colleague’s perfidy. Likely he had not before had reason to understand how duplicitous a man could be.

  “I think, you know, he was indeed motivated by his feelings for Dulcie,” she said gently. “That, and his fear of his wife.”

  Jasper blew out a scornful breath. “He wasn’t afraid of Trix.”

  “Yes, he was,” came from Lewis suddenly. He jumped up and came to join the coterie about Ottilia. “Trix could break Rob if she chose.” He threw up a hand as Jasper opened his mouth to retort. “Not with her pots and pans, though she wasn’t above using them if he crossed her.” He looked at Ottilia. “Trix’s father is a merchant. He’s been keeping his son-in-law solvent for years. Trixie held the threat over Rob she’d put a stop to it. He’d get nothing when the old man died either.”

  “Then he could live off his pay, like the rest of us.”

  Lewis ignored this, his eyes on Ottilia. “But it doesn’t explain why he would murder Dulcie all the same.”

  She drew a resigned breath. “Men’s true minds are hard to fathom, do you not think? We are apt to superimpose our own values upon another. You are all players. You must have encountered roles whose surface personality proved different to the individual beneath.”

  There was a shift, as of interest beginning to overlay the effects of shock. Lewis cocked his head as if in thought; the Ferdinands exchanged a glance; even Jasper’s tight shoulders dropped a fraction, and Kate uncovered her face and looked up.

  “Yes. Yes, it’s true.”

  “But I know Rob through and through. We are all too close to be fooled so.”

  Ottilia reached out a hand towards the boy, moved by the desperation in his voice. “You are trying to picture an out and out villain in your friend, Jasper, but it is not so. Rob is as much a normal man as any of you, but driven, by strong emotion, to desperate measures.”

  “A normal man does not kill a woman he loves,” Jasper cried.

  Kate was up, moving to clasp his arm. “What of Othello, Jasper? Lady Fan is right.”

  “But Othello kills Desdemona out of jealousy, not love.”

  “Just so.” Ottilia glanced at the others and saw dawning realisation in Jane Ferdinand’s face.

  “Was it this fellow Paglesham then?” She left her husband and came across to join the little group. “Was he responsible for her condition?”

  “As far as we have been able to ascertain,” Ottilia said, “he was the only man who succeeded with her.”

  A groan escaped Jasper. “I thought you meant Rob had done it.”

  “Oh, no, I don’t think so. Moreover, Dulcie believed she was going to a happier destiny that night. And if it comforts you, I think she went to her death believing it. She knew nothing of what happened to her, and I am almost certain she thought Rob was her Perry throughout.”

  At this, another frisson of shock rippled through the players. Kate’s gaze showed distress as she stared at Ottilia.

  “You mean he acted the part? He meant to deceive her, deliberately?”

  “He wore a mask and I have little doubt he cultivated the manner and voice of his rival. He is much of Paglesham’s height and build, and it may even have been in his mind to ensure suspicion fell upon Paglesham.”

  Jasper was yet unconvinced. “Why shouldn’t it have been Paglesham then? He had more reason than Rob, if he’d made Dulcie pregnant.”

  “Oh, be quiet, Jasper!” Jane Ferdinand was abruptly angry. “You know nothing of the world if you think Peregrine Paglesham would suppose he must needs kill a girl like Dulcie to be rid of the business. He had only to pay her off. Which he would have done had poor little Dulcie confided in me. I would have made sure he faced up to his responsibilities.”

  “She would have too,” put in Lewis, looking at Ottilia. “But it’s puzzling nevertheless, ma’am. If, as Janey says, this Paglesham would never marry Dulcie, how could Rob persuade her he was going to?”

  Ottilia sighed. “We cannot know just what he said. Or more likely wrote in a billet doux, purporting to come from her Perry. What is certain is that Perry himself had no notion of whatever promises Rob made on his behalf. I should imagine Rob played on Dulcie’s fond hopes of becoming a lady.”

  “But she would not have confided in Rob,” Kate objected.

  “No, she said as much to you. But you are a close company, as Jasper says. I dare say there are few real secrets among you.”

  A dry laugh came from Lewis. “True enough. Though it seems some secrets were well enough kept.” He glanced at Cecile, who flushed and turned away.

  George at once cut in, his tone sharp. “That will do, Mr Payne. Cecile’s honour in keeping her friend’s confidence is to be commended, not condemned.”

  Lewis threw his hands palm up, his brows rising. “No offence intended, Colonel.” He turned back to Ottilia. “You’re saying Rob killed Dulcie because she was ruined?”

  “No, rather because he could not endure the knowledge she had been with another man. It may be he cherished a romantic notion of Dulcie’s innate purity.”

  At this, Cecile intervened, rising and coming to the edge of the stage. “But how can he know? Dulcie told no one of the child.”

  “She told you,” Hilde said, coming to join her. “Rob might well have been listening. Always thought him shifty. It wouldn’t surprise me if he looked through keyholes or hid behind the bed curtains.”

  A scattering of mutters greeted this.

  “It’s true he always knew everything.”

  “He could be sly.”

  “And sarcastic.”

  “Morose, that was Rob.”

  Jasper said nothing, fairly glaring at his colleagues. He was too young to understand they needed to distance themselves somehow from a man who had, to all intents and purposes, betrayed them. Each had been dealt a blow, even if the young man was the only one to make his public. He held to his denial.

  “It’s not good enough. This isn’t Shakespeare. This is real. This is life. It doesn’t happen in life.”

  Ottilia sighed. “I fear it happens all too often, Jasper. Such deeds are nearly always brought home to those closest to the victim.”

  Kate shuddered. “Yes, because they have most reason to harm. I can believe Rob’s passion for Dulcie overcame him.”

  “It was not passion alone, I think.” Ottilia turned back to Jasper. “In addition, I imagine there was the powerful fear his wife would believe he had seduced Dulcie and got a child upon her. I suspect she knew how he felt about the girl, for she was altogether callous when questioned.”

  It was plain
Jasper was shaken by this, but he was not yet ready to accept it. “Why go to such trouble? Why make such a production out of it, with the burning candles and the coffin? That’s not like Rob at all.”

  “Oh, yes, it is.” The contradiction came from the impresario, of all people. Throwing back his leonine head, he surged forward. “It’s Rob all over, only you’re too befuddled half the time to see beyond the end of your nose, you plaguey brat.”

  His helpmeet threw up a hand. “Don’t roar at him now, Arthur. But it’s true, Jasper. Rob was always full of imaginative ideas for the staging of our plays.”

  “Most of them far too expensive to be considered,” put in her spouse on a sour note. “Not to say too elaborate for a touring company. We’d need three wagons to accommodate his sketched out scenery, not one.”

  Argument and discussion broke out, urgent, perhaps necessary for minds still struggling to come to terms with what was, Ottilia surmised, disaster for the company of the Grand Ferdinando. To lose one player was bad enough. To lose two must spell the end.

  She said as much to Francis, shifting out of the heated fray to re-join him. She had not thought George heard until he spoke.

  “You underestimate Ferdinand, Ottilia. From what I know of him, he will bluster and roar, but he will find a way.”

  He received an odd look from Francis, accompanied by that endearing quirked eyebrow. “Even though he is also going to lose the convenience of his little French seamstress?”

  Ottilia saw George’s colour deepen even in the uncertain light in their shadowed portion of the stage. “Is it settled then, dear George? Have you taken the plunge?”

  He cleared his throat. “It — er — rather fell out that way, yes.”

  “I am so glad.” She was moved to close in and, setting her hands to his shoulders, kiss his cheek. “She is a delight, George, and I wish you very happy.”

  A twisted smile came. “I am more like to be driven utterly demented, but let that pass.”

  Ottilia received a wry look from her spouse. “It goes with the territory, my friend, but you will find the compensations are worth it.”