‘Yes. Suddenly and silent make sense, though I am not sure how it’s possible to kill someone silently during a performance of an opera.’
‘Or halfway through a speech,’ James added. When Thomas looked at him quizzically, he explained. ‘As soon as it becomes apparent that he’s not saying what they want him to say…’ He left it hanging, but when no-one finished the thought for him, he sighed and said, ‘No point waiting until the end of the show. Might as well kill him at the end of the speech when, I assume, there will also be applause.’
‘Good point,’ Thomas said, gazing at the bookshelves.
‘And if he doesn’t make this speech?’ Silas said. ‘They’d do away with him anyway?’
‘Yes,’ Thomas nodded. ‘A death during the performance will cause a scandal for the Foundation, not to mention the opera house.’
‘From what Jake showed me yesterday,’ Silas said. ‘There are plenty of ways you could kill someone in a theatre. Whole thing’s a death trap.’
Thomas rose and, after asking permission, took a book from the shelf. Opening it and finding a page, he read, ‘”Da capo, an Italian musical term meaning from the beginning, literally from the head. Often abbreviated to D.C., it can instruct the player or singer to return to the beginning of a work or section.” That’s from Grove’s, and he knows what he is talking about.’
‘A sudden death from the head…?’ James glanced from one to the other. ‘A gunshot?’
‘Hardly silent,’ Silas observed.
‘But possible for a marksman hiding in the auditorium.’
Thomas closed the book with a loud snap, as if illustrating his point.
The sound jolted James. ‘It still doesn’t give us any clues,’ he said. ‘Except that if he doesn’t do as he’s told, he’s going to be killed, presumably at some time before the end of the speech or performance.’
Thomas replaced the book and began pacing the room, moving from the fireplace to the writing table, his hands behind his head, his fingers laced.
‘The man’s an idiot,’ Silas said, helplessly. ‘He can’t just ignore this, and neither can we.’
‘So what do we do?’ James was also at a loss.
‘For a start, we don’t go anywhere near Cleaver Street,’ Archer complained.
He moved to his captain’s chair and rested his elbows on the desk, his knuckles pressed against his forehead.
Silas went to him. Thomas could sit there making notes, being logical and aloof, but Archer needed someone to show him he was not alone. He didn’t need this extra pressure, and as, like Roxton, he had chosen to ignore it, the best thing for Silas to do was humour him and offer reassurance while silently trying to figure it out. He stood behind him and massaged his shoulders.
‘Here’s an idea,’ he said. ‘I’ll come with you to the theatre this afternoon. While you have your meeting, I’ll get Jake to show me around some more, and while he’s doing it, I’ll check the place out. See if I can find out from Jake who’s going to be backstage during the show.’
‘What good will that do?’ Thomas asked, and Silas wasn’t sure if he was being methodical or critical.
‘Put in extra security just in case.’
The viscount leant back in his chair and held Silas’ hands, pulling them down so their heads rested beside side by side. The gesture, made without thinking, reassured Silas that he was still number one in Archer’s eyes.
‘That still leaves the auditorium,’ James said. ‘And I’d say that’s the most likely place for someone to fire a gun. There will be, what? Two-thousand people in there, many of them in the upper balconies, people from the East End, people the theatre is not used to dealing with. Anyone could bring in a concealed weapon, shoot it and scarper.’
‘They’d be seen.’ Thomas offered, and James countered with, ‘Depends where they were.’
They debated possibilities for another minute until Archer, pale and sighing, said, ‘I’ve decided,’ and the discussion was ended. ‘I believe you are worrying unnecessarily. If that letter was meant to do anything, it was to distract Cadwell from his performance in the way that it is distracting us from our day.’
Archer sounded tired. It was hardly surprising. He had been building his Foundation since before Silas met him, and apart from Quill’s interference, it had been the driving force of his life. He had worked tirelessly to make the gala happen while overseeing the conversions at the property in Greychurch, fighting the media and his peers while keeping all the threads of his life untangled. That was on top of the pressure he, and every man in the room, suffered when keeping their private lives concealed from the public. Where Quill had twice now sought Archer’s death and failed, a threat like this could lead to a much longer-lasting end. Prison, a massacre of his reputation, and potentially the loss of his fortune. Silas doubted that Archer had concerns for those consequences. What meant most to him was the Foundation and the young men he aimed to help.
‘Leave it to us, Archie,’ he whispered. ‘Remember what you said at that graveside? Every moment of your life is dedicated to us? Well, it works both ways.’ He righted himself and addressed the others. ‘While I’m backstage, Tom, can you check out the part where the crowd sit.’
‘The auditorium,’ Thomas corrected.
‘If you say so.’ Silas winked, and it almost brought a grin to Thomas’ stern face. ‘When the toffs… Sorry, Archie, when the posh lot come to watch, they’ll bring their butlers right?’
‘If they’re in a box, they might,’ Archer yawned. ‘Why?’
‘Well, as butler to Lord Clearwater, Tommy’s got a reason to be there early snooping around the facilities on behalf of all the others. Your mate Bursnall won’t be suspicious.’
‘But His Lordship and guests are only using the one box.’ Thomas wasn’t so sure. ‘What reason do I have if I am found in the grand circle or the gods? Apart from that, what am I looking for?’
Silas hadn’t thought his idea through, he never did, but, making it up as he went along, his ideas came out in a sensible order. ‘You’re getting the lie of the land, so His Lordship is assured his important guests will have everything on hand they need,’ he improvised.
Thomas’ silence showed that he had considered the idea and was not against it.
‘On the subject of guests,’ Archer said, rising and stretching his back. ‘My important guests will be the men and women from Greychurch, not the toffs in the stalls. But my most important personal guests will be with me, or wherever they can be.’
‘Who’s that then?’ Silas asked, returning to the couch.
‘You,’ Archer said. He smiled faintly, but it was soon lost behind his concern. ‘All of you. Thomas will attend me in my box with Lady Marshall, Markland and his friend. Oh, and Mr and Mrs Marks. James? You will be there with Tom as Silas’ main man. They have drop-down seats at the back of the box if you want to watch.’
‘You mean it?’ James’ eyes lit up like a recently cleaned gas lamp. ‘Me in the opera house?’
His reaction brought a laugh to Archer’s throat which Silas was pleased to hear.
‘Of course,’ the viscount said. ‘And in the correct uniform.’ He addressed Thomas. ‘It’s not a royal performance, so no need for that particular monstrosity.’
‘We’ve not yet ordered a new royal livery,’ Thomas reminded him. ‘Her Ladyship has not designed one, and I doubt I would fit into Tripp’s old thing.’
‘Well, it’s not needed, but Fecker will have to wear his carriage livery, and James will ride with him.’
Thomas noted the request on a separate piece of paper as Archer continued.
‘Mrs Flintwich and her husband, with Fecker and Lucy have seats at the front of the amphitheatre.’
‘Better not put them in the back row,’ Silas joked.
‘There are opera glasses,’ Archer said. ‘You’ll be able to see him.’
He’d missed Silas’ point — that Fecks and the maid were growing closer every day and took every chance they could to be alone together — but he let it go.
Archer decreed that apart from passing the incriminating letter to the police should they be desperate, there was nothing else to do but ponder the clue, if that was what it was while forearming themselves with knowledge, in this case, the layout of the theatre.
Silas suggested they gather again later that afternoon to discuss what they might find, and Thomas, keeping an eye on the time, decided they should take a quick and early lunch.
‘Shall I lay the dining room, Mr Payne?’ James asked, as he stood and straightened his jacket.
‘Don’t worry, Jimmy,’ Archer cut in. ‘There’s only us today, and I don’t feel much like eating. Tom? Tell Mrs Flintwich we shan’t need dinner, there’s a reception after the performance. She and Lucy can take the rest of the day off, but they will need to be ready to depart at six-thirty.’
‘She will be happy about that, Sir,’ Thomas said, as he opened the doors. ‘She needs to have her hair done.’
‘Oh Lord,’ Archer grinned. ‘She’s only got eight hours until curtain up. But seriously, friends…’ He became serious. ‘I can’t imagine what would have happened had Silas not gone out last night, but at least we are forewarned. We shall hopefully return from the opera house forearmed and possibly rid of this annoyance. Either way, we shall dress and meet together at six. That doesn’t give us much time. James, would you arrange a cab for Fecker and the others?’
‘Certainly, My Lord.’
James’ switch from Jimmy to first footman was impressive. Tonight, Silas would have to shift from lover to secretary, but before then, he had to play the part of investigator, and there was still the matter of Roxton’s innocence to prove, or, more likely, disprove.
As they left the study, he pulled James to one side and waited for Archer and Thomas to leave the drawing room.
‘I’ve got a job for you,’ he said, when they were alone.
‘Yes, Sir?’ The midday sun was battling its way through an overhang of grey, and the light from the netted windows lit James in a mottled shaft of silver as he waited eagerly to hear what Silas had to say.
‘You’ve got to be careful,’ Silas began. ‘And don’t tell anyone what you’re doing, but when we’ve gone, I want you to look into something.’
‘Of course, Sir.’
‘Dump the “Sir” shit, Jimmy,’ Silas sighed. ‘This is out of uniform, right?’
‘Okay,’ James nodded, fascinated.
‘There’ll only be you and Lucy in the house, but still, watch your back.’
‘Lucy seems alright.’
‘Yeah, probably, but if she says anything to Thomas, it’s going to cause problems.’
‘Why? What do you want me to do?’
‘The both of us, Jimmy,’ Silas said. ‘Archer might not take this seriously, but I do.’ He glanced to the hall, but the sounds of leather shoes on tiles had long faded. ‘We’ve got to ignore the first rule of Clearwater and go behind his back.’
Nineteen
James set to work on Silas’ request as soon as the others left Clearwater House. His livery covered by an overcoat, he hurried to the back of Delamere, Lady Marshall’s adjoining property and rang the back doorbell. The hall boy who greeted him passed his message to the second footman, he to the first, and from there it was taken by Mr Saunders, the butler, to Her Ladyship in her private salon.
With the sky clouding over and threatening rain, James was glad to accept the offer to wait in the servants’ hall. It was identical to Clearwater in design but reversed and busier. Lady Marshall favoured male servants, it seemed. Everyone James saw, from the cook to the hall boy, was a man, apart from one maid and the housekeeper, who, the boy told him, was married to the cook. Delamere had twice as many staff as Clearwater, and James assumed her Ladyship did more entertaining than the viscount. She also had a liking for foreigners, judging by the many languages spoken by the staff. The hall boy, Peter, was from South Riverside, the same as James, and was, he said, the only local apart from Mr Saunders. Interesting though the conversation was, James was keen to hear her Ladyship’s reply, and it finally came back down the chain as a note. Written on a scented card, the message was exactly what he wanted to hear.
They will be with you in half an hour, dear boy. Intrigued. FFN.
‘What’s the FFN for?’ he asked, as Peter showed him out.
‘Her Ladyship writes that on everything,’ the lad told him. ‘It stands for Farewell For Now. Her Ladyship says we should never take one second for granted, because every second could be our last. So, she always says farewell in letters just in case they take longer to arrive than she has left to live.’
James returned to Clearwater thinking her Ladyship’s habit apt considering her nephew might well have his final moment that evening. Although the task Silas had given him was not directly involved with Mr Roxton’s safety, it was part of the story, and according to Silas, vital for him to know and Lord Clearwater not to discover. James was more than happy to assist, not only because he loved his job and Clearwater House, but because in Silas, he had found a kindred spirit. He was not alone in his new world, Silas too was an amateur in his station, and his presence gave James confidence.
He took it with him into the library. Having lit an oil lamp, because the curtains and shutters were closed, he set about clearing a large table. That done, and having made sure Lucy was below stairs, he entered the viscount’s study and took away his copy of Bradshaw’s Continental Railway Guide. Silas had told him he would need it and that he would have to betray Archer’s trust by entering his study without permission, but he had also said that he would take full responsibility if the need arose. Once he explained to James what he was about, James was more than happy to join in with the scheme and didn’t care that it might lead to trouble. They were looking out for the viscount, and Silas needed help. They were the only two things that mattered.
He was back in the library, arranging paper, pens and the large atlas when he heard Lucy crossing the hall. Lady Marshall was as good as her word. Better, in fact, because Oleg was ten minutes early. He carried a large pile of newspapers and refused James’ help to heave the burden to the library. He placed them on the table as if they were weightless and stood erect. He was almost as tall and wide as Fecker and had a similar accent.
‘From Her Ladyship,’ he said, the words dripping from his lips like honey. ‘She does not need them returned, but she is looking forward to an explanation.’
James thanked him, had Lucy show him out, and then shut himself in the room. Her Ladyship would be given one of two explanations depending on what he found. It was either going to be an inconsequential invention — that James wanted to brush up on previous court circulars and society news, or it would be something far more unpalatable. He hoped, for Silas’ sake, it would be the latter, not because he wished trouble on Mr Roxton, but because he didn’t want to lie to Lady Marshall, nor to anyone.
Examining the first few copies of The Times, he realised that they were stacked in date order, working backwards. That made his task a lot simpler, and he discarded October and September’s publications immediately. Working through the August editions, he looked for headlines that mentioned the weather. The newspaper was a wall of small print in long columns and very dull, unlike The Illustrated Police News which he used to read at The Crown and Anchor, but each section was divided by a heading which was easy to spot, and he soon learnt where the meteorological reports were listed. He found what he was looking for in the August 17th edition, “The Impossible Heat”, a summary of the then current wave of unusually hot weather. Looking at the paper printed seven days before, and follow
ing through from that date, he was able to find the editions printed during the hottest week of the month; the hottest on record, according to The Times.
He had found the period when Silas saw Roxton at Cleaver Street.
Putting that week’s editions in order, he turned to the arts pages, running his finger down each column and muttering as he scanned the print looking for any mention of Roxton.
Nothing.
He checked the Society pages.
‘Lady Somerset is giving a ball… The Earl of Broxton is planning a hunt… Sir John Sebastian Bach Stopford is…’ He reread the name, ‘That’s got to be a joke,’ and carried on, searching every appropriate section for the full seven days.
He found nothing, and time was moving on.
Checking the mantle clock, he was shocked to see the hour hand approaching the three. The others were due back at five, and in Thomas’ absence, it was up to James to lay out and inspect the viscount’s naval dress uniform. He gave himself one more hour, then he would have to throw away the papers, tidy up, see to the uniform and his own evening livery, and be ready for duty.
He looked at the stash of publications still to read; it would take him hours even at his scanning speed. There had to be a more logical approach. Thomas would have thought of one, and he missed his presence. Tom was always so calm and gentle, serene almost as if he floated through life on a never-fading cloud of contentment. He was the same in everything. Whether he was serving a vintage port or stroking James’ hair, his long fingers were always assured, his voice soft.
‘What are you doing?’ He caught his mind wandering.
He considered the newspapers, now in four piles.
Unspeakable Acts Page 18
