Rose Campion and the Christmas Mystery

by Lyn Gardner

“Maybe not,” said Rose thoughtfully. “But there is something else it shows. If Aurora never actually had the emeralds in her hands, it must also mean that Sir Godfrey was lying when he said he saw her with them on the stairs.”

  “It does,” agreed Effie. “And it also means that the emeralds had already gone missing before Aurora tried to take them.”

  “So who has got them?” asked Rose.

  “If, as we believe,” said Ella, “Madame de Valentina was behind the attempted theft by Aurora, then I imagine that is also a question that she, and her associates, will be asking. I don’t want to worry you, but it could make her very dangerous indeed.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Effie.

  “Well,” said Ella. “She won’t know that the box was empty when Rory found it on Grace’s dressing-room table. She might think that something went wrong with the hypnosis and that Aurora simply pocketed the necklace herself. And if she does, she will stop at nothing to get it.” Ella touched the scar on her head. “I know just how ruthless she can be.”

  “I’m going back to Silver Square to get the Inspector,” said Rose. “Elenora is due on stage very soon. When she comes off, I’m going to make sure that she is greeted by the police.”

  Rose set off at a run. Her head was swirling with thoughts, and she realised that in all the excitement, she had entirely forgotten to ask Ella how she knew how to hypnotise people. She was beginning to suspect that if Madame de Valentina was not all that she seemed, then perhaps Ella wasn’t either. She realised that she didn’t even know her second name.

  Perdita was walking purposefully towards her up Hangman’s Alley. Her eyes softened when she saw Rose.

  “Is Ella in the kitchen?” she asked. Rose nodded. “Good. I need to talk to her. Rose,” she said hesitantly. “I’ve got something that I want—”

  “Sorry, Perdita, it’ll have to wait. I’m off to find the Inspector. There have been developments.”

  She reached the end of Hangman’s Alley and was rounding the corner, wondering whether she should also send a message to Scotland Yard in case the Inspector had gone back there, when she ran slap bang into Florrie and Col.

  “I can’t stop,” said Rose.

  “But I’ve got something for you,” said Florrie, putting her hand on her arm. “I know you will want to see it.” She thrust a piece of paper into Rose’s hand. “I found this among my uncle’s belongings. I told my aunt that you had asked about The Winter’s Tale at the Imperial Grand, and she said he kept the programme of every production staged while he worked there. She remembered the story of the baby going missing. Apparently, the baby was the daughter of the lead actress playing Hermione, and she was left in the care of another actress, the one playing Perdita. My aunt can’t recall all the details, but apparently there was some question of negligence on the part of the actress playing Perdita. Something about jealousy too.”

  For a moment, Rose starred at Florrie, and she felt as if the world had tipped on its axis. She was about to discover the name of her mother. She looked down at the programme, hardly able to see the words written there, her eyes so blurred with tears.

  Her eyes focused and she saw the name of the actress playing Perdita: Portia White. She scanned the paper again. The name of the actress who had played Hermione danced in front of her eyes: Elenora Valentine.

  For a moment she thought that she might faint. The world seemed to be spinning and she could barely breathe. But then the confusion that fogged her mind cleared, and she felt in her pocket for some money, handed it to Florrie and said urgently, “This is important. We need to get Inspector Cliff to come to Campion’s as soon as possible. Florrie, you must get a cab to Scotland Yard in case he is there, and, Col, you must go to thirty-two Silver Square. He may still be there. He must come at once. Tell him it’s about the Easingford Emeralds, and that I sent you.”

  “Are you all right, Rose?” asked Florrie. “I would never have shown you the programme if I thought it would upset you so.”

  “I’m fine,” said Rose. “But please go now. We must get the Inspector to Campion’s. It’s urgent.”

  Seeing her grim face and haunted eyes, Col asked curiously, “What are you going to do, Rose?”

  Rose gave a hollow little laugh. “I’m going to say hello to the long-lost mother I’ve been looking for all my life.”

  Rose slipped back inside Campion’s via the stage door. O’Leary was asleep on a chair. She walked down the corridor almost blindly. She felt bereft. All her life, she had been hoping against hope that she would find her mother. Secretly she had longed for her to be an actress – preferably one who had acted the great classical roles. Now she had found her, and discovered that she had indeed once been an actress, but Rose also knew that she was almost certainly a thief, and maybe a murderess too. She felt a tangled mixture of sadness and anger. All she knew was that, before the Inspector arrived and almost certainly arrested Elenora, she wanted to have one chance to talk to her mother alone, and find out about the circumstances of her birth. At the door of Madame de Valentina’s dressing room she hesitated. She could hear raised voices within.

  “You double-crossed me and you’ll pay for it,” said a gruff voice that sounded vaguely familiar, but which Rose couldn’t place.

  “I did no such thing. You have double-crossed me. Or else we have both been fooled,” came a second voice in reply.

  “What do you mean?” asked the first voice.

  “The only explanation I can think of is that the hypnosis was not quite strong enough, and the girl did as instructed and took the emeralds, but then woke up for some reason and decided to keep them for herself.”

  “Why should I believe you? Maybe when the girl was at her most suggestive you implanted another idea in her mind, and she dropped the necklace somewhere else before tossing the empty box through the window where we were waiting. Maybe you went back later to get the emeralds, to keep them for yourself.”

  “And risk making a permanent enemy of you, and a bullet in the back? I would not be so foolish. We have both been robbed, and I suggest we stop the recriminations, cut our losses and get as far away from here as fast as we can.”

  “After all this planning I’m not going to let the greatest prize slip through my fingers. We must go after the girl and get her to hand over the necklace.”

  “You can do what you want. Tonight is my last performance and then I will be gone. My half of the proceeds from the Plockton and Fitzcillian robberies will have to suffice. If you want to pursue the emeralds, that is your business, and if you recover them from the girl, you are welcome to the proceeds. But I will leave on the train for Calais tonight.”

  “Don’t be so certain.”

  “Are you threatening me…?” asked the first voice, but got no further, because at that moment Rose flung the door open. She expected to find two people inside. But only Madame de Valentina was there, quite alone. Rose looked wildly around, but there was nobody. Then she spotted the dressing-room window that looked out over Hangman’s Alley. It was wide open – the conversation she had heard must have been conducted through the window. The other party had clearly scarpered at the sound of Rose’s entrance.

  “Have you been eavesdropping?” asked Elenora de Valentina, grabbing Rose by the arm, her eyes steely and narrowed. Rose shook her head and Elenora let go of her arm. “Then what do you want?”

  Rose hesitated for a moment, and then she whispered, “I just wanted to say hello to my mother.”

  Elenora frowned and made a shrugging gesture with her hands, and with mock exaggeration started peering around the dressing room.

  “Your mother? I don’t think I see her here.”

  Tears sprang into Rose’s eyes. “You,” she whispered. “You are my mother. Elenora Valentine. The Elenora Valentine who played Hermione in The Winter’s Tale at the Imperial Grand, and whose baby was stolen from a pram outside the theatre.”

  A look of complete incredulity crossed Elenora’s face, followed by
one in which the truth dawned on her.

  “You think that I am Nell Valentine?”

  “Yes,” whispered Rose.

  Elenora began to laugh – a harsh, unpleasant sound.

  “Oh, Rose, you silly goose,” she said. “I’m not your mother.”

  “Yes, you are,” said Rose fiercely. “You lied to me and told me that my mother was dead because you didn’t want me to find out the truth.” Then, angrily, she continued, “We’ve worked it out. You killed poor Ivy Puddlewick so that you could get top billing at Campion’s, and hypnotised people so that they would unknowingly rob and steal on your behalf. You’re a charlatan and a liar and a murderess. The police are on their way.”

  Elenora had stopped laughing and was staring at Rose. She started stuffing things into a bag.

  “Yes,” she said coldly. “I am a charlatan and a liar. But I am not lying when I say that I am definitely not your mother, Rose. I was telling the truth that night in Lant Street when I said that your mother is dead. She is. I’m sorry, Rose, but I saw it happen with my own eyes.”

  “You’re lying,” shouted Rose, all the hurt of the last thirteen years rising in her chest. “Why don’t you want to admit that you are my mother, and acknowledge me as your daughter?”

  “You are mistaken, Rose. I am not your mother. It is impossible,” said Elenora, and her tone was softer. She took a step towards Rose, as if to take her hand.

  But as she did so, a shot rang out from the window. Madame de Valentina crumpled forward into Rose’s arms and they both collapsed on the floor. As she fell, Elenora’s wig fell off and Rose found herself staring down into the face of a man – a man whose features were familiar from the police “Wanted” posters that had been plastered all over the newspapers. The person pretending to be Elenora de Valentina was Ambrose Skelly, better known as the Cobra. He gave a wry smile.

  “So you see, Rose Campion. I was not lying when I said that I could not be your mother. I simply took your mother’s identity after she was murdered.”

  “She is really dead?” asked Rose, her voice quavering.

  Ambrose nodded.

  “If you didn’t kill her, who did?” asked Rose.

  “The same person who has just done for me,” said Ambrose. “The Duchess. She hit poor Nell Valentine over the head and threw her into the Thames. The poor woman didn’t stand a chance.”

  Volcanic rage rose through the whole of Rose’s body, making her shake.

  “Where will I find the Duchess?” she whispered.

  “If she is still around here, she’s most likely to be found in the graveyard. We were using one of the mausoleums as a safe place to leave messages,” replied Ambrose. “But take care. She is armed and dangerous. Get the police to go with you, Rose. Don’t go alone.”

  Rose suddenly recalled the exchange she had heard between Ambrose and the Duchess.

  “Is Aurora in danger?”

  “I fear so,” said Ambrose. “I’m afraid I led the Duchess to believe that Aurora Easingford took the necklace. She will resort to anything to get it.”

  “But Aurora didn’t steal the necklace, did she,” said Rose slowly.

  “No,” said Ambrose serenely, though he was clearly having trouble breathing. “The Duchess was right. I did double-cross her. I intended to do so right from the start. I came to an agreement with Godfrey Caskins. He has long been a useful contact for me – feeding me interesting information about people in the higher echelons of society. It was he who told me that the Easingford Emeralds would be here in London. He was furious that Edward Easingford was giving the emeralds to his fiancée, Grace, and that they would be her personal property. Godfrey would be quite unable to touch them. The man has urgent money problems. It was why he wanted to marry Grace Easingford, in the hope of getting his hands on some of the Easingford fortune. He is a deeply unpleasant man. I did try to warn Grace on my first night at Campion’s, by pretending that I had made contact with her late husband, Ned. No women should be expected to put up with such a man. He is a swindler and a fraud and he has catastrophic debts. He has been helping himself to the money from the charities he runs for years, and it’s all about to come tumbling down. He’ll be exposed unless he gets his hands on substantial amounts of money very quickly.”

  Ambrose continued between laboured breaths.

  “I used the emeralds as a way to get the Duchess to help me – it was her idea that I use my hypnotism skills to get others to steal on our behalf. It couldn’t have worked out better when it turned out that Nell Valentine was coming to London. We simply intercepted her at Euston Station, dumped her in the river and I assumed her identity.

  “But then Thomas Campion refused to book me, because of that two-bit Ivy Puddlewick at the top of bill. So we had to take further action. Then, to ensure I stayed top of the bill, the Duchess came up with the idea that if people could be persuaded that I could talk to the dead, my position at Campion’s would be unassailable. It was brilliant but time consuming – all that hanging around graveyards. But her real coup was coming up with the idea of me communicating on stage with Prudence Smith’s mother before anyone knew she was dead.”

  “How did you manage it?” asked Rose, aghast at his matter-of-factness.

  “It was simple, really,” said Ambrose. “The Duchess knocked at the door earlier in the day and found out as much as she could about the place from Mrs Smith. Then, later, the Duchess and Godfrey Caskins kept watch until Prudence returned. Then the Duchess knocked again and kept Prudence distracted while Godfrey slipped in the back door, used chloroform on Mrs Smith and pressed her face into the cushion. Then he took off the St Christopher around her neck and put it in the hiding place that Mrs Smith had told the Duchess about in the afternoon. He is a man of many talents, is Sir Godfrey.”

  “He murdered Pru’s mum,” whispered Rose.

  “I’m afraid so,” said Ambrose. “But if it’s any small comfort, he was going to get his comeuppance tonight. We had an arrangement to meet in the graveyard after I had completed my final performance. He was going to hand over the necklace, and I was going to give him the money I had agreed with him: my share of the Plockton and Fitzcillian robberies. Of course, I had no intention of doing so. Once he had handed over the necklace, I would have slit his throat and left him for dead.” He gave a little humourless laugh. “Look how our fortunes have been reversed.”

  “You don’t deserve one, but I’ll get you a doctor,” said Rose, scrambling to her feet.

  “Too late for that, I think,” said Ambrose. Rose was already at the door when he spoke again.

  “You know, from the moment I arrived at Campion’s, I always thought that you were the person who was most likely to see through me. It’s why I pretended to be speaking to your dead mother that night in Lant Street. I wanted to crush you. But you are un-crushable. If I had ever had a daughter, Rose, I would like her to have been like you.”

  Rose ran along the corridor calling for help, and people came running, spurred by the urgency in her voice.

  “Luke,” she gabbled, “run for Dr Neagle. Madame de Valentina has been shot and needs help, only she’s not who she says she is. She is actually Ambrose Skelly. Hurry.”

  She sent Lottie to find a policeman – as many as she could. She hoped that by now Inspector Cliff would be on his way to Campion’s. She wanted to go to the graveyard to try and find the Duchess, but she knew that Ambrose was right. She must wait for the police, but with every second that passed she felt as if her heart would burst with the tension of waiting. She went to return to Ambrose’s side, but at that moment Effie appeared, running across the stage.

  “Rose,” said Effie. “It’s Rory. She’s disappeared.”

  “Missing?”

  “Yes,” said Effie. “Rory got a message from O’Leary at the stage door, asking her to meet Edward in St Olave’s graveyard. Said it was urgent. But then Edward arrived and I told him where she had gone, and he said it must be some mistake because he had sent no no
te. After what Ella said, about whoever did steal the emeralds thinking that Rory had pocketed them, I thought I better go to the graveyard and see.”

  “You’re right,” said Rose. “We’ve got to go, and now. I know who sent that message.”

  “Who?” asked Effie.

  “The Duchess. She wrote it to lure Rory to St Olave’s. She believes that Aurora stole the necklace. There isn’t a moment to lose.”

  They set off, shouting at O’Leary to inform the others where they had gone, and to redirect Inspector Cliff to the graveyard as soon as he arrived.

  As they ran, Rose gave Effie a potted version of what Ambrose had told her. Effie’s eyes grew round, particularly at the revelations of Godfrey’s involvement. As they approached the graveyard, Effie said, “We should split up. Do you know which mausoleum the Duchess hides out in?”

  “Not for certain, but I think it could be the one we hid in on the night the Tanner Street boys tried to kill the tiger. Somebody had clearly been there recently.”

  Effie nodded. “You approach from one side and I’ll take the other.”

  Rose nodded grimly.

  The only thing they had on their side was surprise. If the Duchess was indeed holding Aurora, their only chance of overpowering her would be if they startled her. At least they would be three against one. They crept through the graveyard, past the ravaged stone angels with disfigured faces, and around each side of the mausoleum as quietly as possible. At the entrance they paused, holding their breath. They could hear no sound from within. Rose stepped forward into the darkness, fearing that she would find Rory’s lifeless body inside.

  Then a voice from behind them said, “Stay where you are, and put your hands up if you want Aurora Easingford to live.”

  It was the Duchess. She had them trapped. Rose felt like a fool. After everything she had heard from Ambrose, she had felt the need to pursue Aurora to the graveyard immediately. The Duchess might well kill all three of them and get clean away, unless they could keep her talking until help arrived. The girls raised their hands slowly and turned around. The Duchess had tied Aurora’s hands together behind her back and she was pointing a pistol at Rory’s temple.