by Tracy Grant
"If they'd wanted to stop the marriage, they'd have been more likely to kill Letty."
"True." Mélanie turned her cup in her hand. "Do you think Letty was in love with someone else?"
Manon frowned. "What makes you ask?"
"She said she hadn't decided on marrying Thornsby. She admitted part of her was drawn to the position—she even said she wanted what you had."
Manon snorted. "Then she should have held out for a man she loved. God, I sound like a lending-library novel cliché, don't I? But marriage is challenging enough. I can't imagine undertaking it with a man one didn't love."
"And to Letty's credit, I think she understood that. She wasn't sure she was prepared to give up the theatre. And she wasn't sure she was prepared to give up marrying a man she loved. She didn't say as much, but I had a faint sense that she might have meant a specific man, not a theoretical construct."
"Interesting." Manon pushed her dark gold side curls back from her face. "Letty tends to have a crowd of young men about her in the green room. Not surprising, she's young and bewitchingly pretty. I try not to gossip, but one does notice things in a company that spend as much time together as we do. Letty and Will Carmarthen have always had wonderful chemistry onstage. They do in this play. That doesn't always carry offstage—only look at Brandon and me—but before Lewis Thornsby started dangling after her, I wondered if something was developing between Letty and Will."
Which was particularly interesting, given the quarrel Thornsby's valet had recounted between Thornsby and Will Carmarthen the day before the murder. Mélanie nodded and returned her cup to its saucer. "We should note reactions when Malcolm and Roth talk to the company."
Manon met Mélanie's gaze. "That's part of the reason Malcolm's arriving with Roth, and you're here with the company, isn't it? So you can observe."
Mélanie gave a smile that may have come out more bitter than she intended. "Once an agent, always an agent."
Manon refilled their teacups. "So you're undercover again."
"With people who are my friends and colleagues." Mélanie took a sip of tea. It was hot and burned her mouth. "You'd think by now I'd be used to it."
The news of Lewis Thornsby's death had inevitably spread by the time the company gathered on the stage of the Tavistock to hear Roth and Malcolm's announcement. Actors weren't called early, and though Roth had managed to keep it out of the scandal sheets for now, Roth's constable had been making inquiries in the neighborhood the night before, and all it took was one or two loose tongues for the news to get out. So it was a sober group that crowded into the drafty theatre, clutching mugs of coffee or tea or, in more than one case, tankards or flasks. Mélanie hugged Bessie, one of the seamstresses, who was red-eyed and stricken. Mélanie remembered Bessie bringing Lewis a cup of tea on more than one occasion. She suspected the girl had nourished romantic feelings for him, though she'd seen no sign they were reciprocated.
Jennifer Mansfield, another of the Tavistock's leading actresses, came over to Mélanie and Manon. "I'm so sorry you and the children found poor Mr. Thornsby, Mélanie. Though probably better than that someone else did."
"I said much the same." Manon was holding her shawl close about her, though normally she seemed impervious to drafts.
"I tried to persuade Horace to stay home with the children. But of course he insisted on coming." Jennifer glanced at her husband, one of the Tavistock's leading patrons, standing to one side talking earnestly to Simon. "I hope he isn't driving Simon mad."
"Simon's used to it," Manon said.
"Simon is a saint," Jennifer said with the dazzling smile that had been charming audiences in Paris and London for three decades. "And I speak as someone who loves Horace dearly."
Mélanie glanced round the company. Strange to be on the other side of this. Usually she and Malcolm were the ones asking the questions. But she had to stay a part of the company. It was vital for the success of the play. And, a small voice within her mind said, it also might position her better to investigate. As Manon had pointed out in their talk in the dressing room, to all intents and purposes she was undercover. Which was something she'd once enjoyed. Well, to be brutally honest, she still enjoyed it. She was just more aware of the costs.
Malcolm and Roth had slipped into the room, so quietly even she was scarcely aware of it. She met Malcolm's gaze for a moment. He smiled at her, the sort of quick, instant communication they had during an investigation. Thank God, they were still partners. Ridiculous how relieved she was.
Simon called the company to order, achieving quiet in a remarkably short space of time. Simon was an effective leader, but also everyone was keyed to hear what would be said next. Simon briefly mentioned Lewis Thornsby's tragic death, then asked Roth and Malcolm to say more.
Roth and Malcolm gave an account of the events, trading back and forth with an aplomb worthy of a pair of actors, but saying nothing about their search of Thornsby's rooms or their encounters with Billy and Kit.
Not surprisingly, Brandon Ford, who played the hero opposite Manon in Past Imperfect, first broke the silence when they were done. "What the devil was Thornsby doing here last night?" Brandon scraped a hand over his dark hair, making it even more Byronically disheveled than usual.
"An excellent question." Roth surveyed the company. "Does anyone know? Had anyone arranged to meet him here?"
Silence hung over the company, rare for a group of actors who tended to love the sound of their own voices.
"I try to stay as far away from the theatre as possible when Tanner lets us go home." Brandon took a swig from his tankard. "Sorry that sounds disrespectful. God, I can't believe this has happened. But I certainly didn't hang about last night."
"There wasn't a meeting," Tim Scott, one of the stagehands said. "Was there?"
Silence and several veiled looks greeted his pronouncement.
"For what it's worth," Malcolm said, "we know about the Levellers. And we aren't here to shut them down."
"That's true enough," Brandon said. "But there wasn't a meeting last night. Leastways, not one I knew about." He glanced round the room. No one volunteered anything. More interestingly, no one gave a sign that they were holding something back. At least, not obviously.
"Which of you went to the White Rose with Thornsby last night?" Roth asked.
This time several raised their hands. Letty Blanchard, who was sitting with her hands locked tight together in her lap. Tim Scott. Bessie, still red-eyed. Brandon. Jim Taylor, who played comic characters. George Darnley, the assistant stage manager. And Will Carmarthen, the young actor Lewis Thornsby's valet had said he'd heard quarreling with Thornsby and who Manon had said might have had a romantic connection with Letty.
"When did you last see Thornsby?" Roth asked them.
Quick looks were exchanged across the bare stage. "When he left the White Rose," Tim said. "We all went our separate ways. Well—" He broke off at a look from Brandon. The company protected each other.
"Lewis left with me," Letty said. "But you already know that."
"And no one knows of any reason he'd have come back here?" Malcolm asked.
"Without Letty? Why would he—I mean…" Tim trailed off.
"Letty was his main interest here." Brandon shot a shrewd but not unkind look at Letty. "I think they already know that."
"What's next?" Simon asked.
"We'd like to talk to each of you individually," Roth said. "In case there's something you remember that perhaps you don't realize is pertinent."
"Or in case we killed him," Brandon said. "I mean, someone did," he added in the silence that followed. "And most likely, someone at the theatre."
"Possibly," Malcolm said in an easy voice. "But presumably Thornsby came back here last night to meet with someone and that could be someone unconnected to the theatre."
"Assuming that person killed him," Brandon said.
"At this point, we're trying hard not to assume anything," Malcolm said.
Chapter 11
It was quiet when they reached Green Park, not many having ventured abroad on such a blustery morning, but children's cries cut the air. Livia gave a cry of excitement and led the other children towards a girl of about eight and a boy of about six racing over the muddy ground. A tall young woman was not watching from the sidelines as most governesses would be (assuming they permitted their charges to romp at all), but running about with the children, so that it was only her height that indicated she wasn't one of the schoolroom party herself. Drusilla ran over and flung her arms round the young woman. The young woman bent to hug her, slipped and landed in the mud, pushed herself to her feet without self-consciousness, and walked over to Cordelia and Laura. Her tawny hair, which looked as though it was difficult to contain in the best of circumstances, slipped from its pins about her face, and mud caked the hem of her serviceable dark blue pelisse (Laura had once lived in one very like it).
"Cordelia." The young woman stretched out her hands. "It's good to see you. And particularly good to see the children. Difficult to be low-spirited with Drusilla tumbling into one."
"I know just the feeling," Cordelia said. "She's saved me from low spirits more than once. I don't believe you've met Mrs. O'Roarke? Edith Simmons."
"Mrs. O'Roarke." Edith Simmons smiled and paused to exclaim over Clara, whom Laura was holding. "Cordelia and Harry have spoken about you and your husband." She looked from Laura to Cordelia. "You know, don't you? About Lewis."
Cordelia touched her hand. "I'm so sorry, Edith."
Edith glanced at the children, now happily performing their own introductions. "Thomas sent me word this morning. He wanted to warn me before the news got out. It doesn't seem to have reached the scandal sheets yet. But I imagine it will soon."
"Sensational news has a way of doing that, unfortunately," Laura said.
"Yes." Edith looked between them. "Not that I don't appreciate the sympathy, but I expect this isn't just a social call. Assuming one can call a visit to Green Park a social call. Or just a call of sympathy. You're involved in the investigation into Lewis's death, aren't you?"
"I wanted to see you," Cordelia said. "But yes, the Rannochs are assisting Bow Street."
"Oh thank heavens. That's exactly what I'd been hoping for, knowing your friendship with the Rannochs. It's horrible for Thomas's family, but this will make it much easier. Oh poison, that sounds dreadful, doesn't it. As though it's easier to talk to someone in the same social sphere, somehow. But that's not really what I meant. Though from what I know of the Thornsbys, I expect it will help them to talk to someone in the beau monde. But I meant it will make it feel less official. If that makes sense."
"Eminent sense," Laura said. "Would you rather talk to Cordelia alone? I can watch the children."
"Oh, no. I'd much rather have the benefit of your sense and I imagine you'll have to share information anyway." Edith glanced again at the children, who were now playing hide-and-seek. "To own the truth, it's a great relief to talk. I've been longing to do something all morning. And of course I couldn't do anything, so I brought the children to the park so all of us could run off our frustrations."
"Did you know Lewis well?" Cordelia asked.
"I scarcely knew him at all." Edith smoothed her hands over her blue skirt. "I met Thomas through the Classicists’ Society. Thomas could hardly invite me to call at his home, and in any case, I gather he and Lewis didn't see much of each other. The only time I even saw Lewis was when he stopped by at the end of a meeting to collect Thomas because they were dining with their parents. But Thomas talked about Lewis." She hesitated a moment, as though suddenly uncertain for all her directness. "Thomas and I talked—talk—a great deal."
"Yes, I know," Cordelia said.
Edith flushed. "I think perhaps it was easier for him to talk to me because I was outside his family. Nothing he said was going to impact my relationship with them because I didn't know them. That wasn't going to change unless—" She broke off. "In any case, I know he was concerned about Lewis."
"About Lewis's involvement with the theatre?" Cordelia said.
"Yes, that. That is—there's a group associated with the theatre Lewis was part of. I suppose you—"
"We know about the Levellers," Cordelia said.
Edith folded her arms over her chest. "I thought they sounded rather splendid. But Thomas was afraid Lewis was involved in something dangerous, and I do understand his concern. Winston, careful of the little ones!" she called as her boy charge and Drusilla went rolling down the hill.
"Dru's equal to anything," Cordelia said. "Believe me, I can tell cries of delight from cries of distress. Did Thomas have other concerns?"
Edith hesitated. "There was a girl." She scanned Cordelia's face, then glanced at Laura. "You know already, don't you? I couldn't understand why Thomas was so concerned about this actress. But he said Lewis seemed increasingly cut off from his family. And of course I couldn't but be concerned about that. Not that—I mean I don't really know them, as I said. But Thomas and I—" She turned away, glanced at the children as though seeking distraction, but they were playing agreeably with no need for intervention.
"Edith," Cordelia said in a soft voice. "Had you and Thomas talked about marriage?"
Edith gave a strangled laugh. She dragged her gaze back to Cordelia's face, almost as though at once forcing herself to do so and relieved to speak. "Talked about it? In an oblique sort of way. Thomas is the sort who wouldn't have a discussion about those sorts of feelings at all without offering marriage, but he couldn't offer marriage. So we mostly discussed it in the sense of Thomas's pointing out what he couldn't offer me. He has his sisters to provide for somehow. And an estate to look after, at least when he inherits it. It's heavily encumbered. Being a classicist is hardly a profession that pays. Neither does being a governess."
"It's beastly," Laura said. "How personal relationships become tangled with economics."
"Yes," Edith said. "It is. One of the reasons I find myself in sympathy with these Levellers Thomas was talking about. It's all very well to think about being happy in a garret. I actually think I could be happy in a garret in the right circumstances. Thomas doesn't need a great deal as long as he has his books. But he has his family to think of. I don't think I could be happy if they weren't provided for, and I know he couldn't. Not that I'm sure I'd marry him anyway if it was a possibility. I mean—one gives up a lot to marry, doesn't one?"
"I can't say I ever really thought about it," Cordelia said. "Not at the time. I had it in my head I had to marry, that it was the only way to independence. Even if it wasn't the man I wanted. The man I thought I wanted. I'm shocked every day at how lucky I've been. Now—" She glanced at Livia, racing after Colin, and Drusilla wrestling with Jessica. "I hope my girls feel they have more options."
"I thought about it." Laura said. "So much that—despite having lived as a governess—I was determined never to marry again after my first husband died." She tucked a fold of blanket round Clara, who was looking round the park with wide eyes. "It took a rather extraordinary man to change my mind."
Edith scanned Laura's face with a gaze at once coolly ironic and that of a scholar seeking answers. "Because you loved him so much it was all worth it?"
Laura felt herself give an involuntary smile. "That was part of it. I wouldn't have married without it. But I also wouldn't have married without believing that he'd never use the intolerable legal powers the law puts at a husband's disposal against me."
&nbs
p; Edith's eyes widened in acknowledgment. "Yes, precisely. Most people can't understand how there could seem to be more freedom in the life of a governess than that of a wife. But sometimes I think there is. I trust Thomas implicitly. And I know he values my scholarship. But it would be different if I were his wife. There'd be a role he'd need me to play. He'd have expectations. Even if he doesn't see that, I do." She hugged her arms. "Of course, I may just be saying that to comfort myself because anything actually happening between us is so very unlikely."
Laura saw Cordelia hesitate, her role as a friend warring with her role as an investigator. "It must have been difficult, Lewis's being his aunt's heir."
Edith met Cordelia's gaze, her own level. "And you're thinking Thomas might have killed his brother so he could have his aunt's fortune. I can quite see that, obviously you're looking for motives. I could talk a lot of twaddle about Thomas's love for his brother and how he's the sort of man who would never do that. And I'd be speaking the truth. But I daresay you wouldn't believe me, and I'm not sure I would in your shoes. Truth to tell, I wouldn't want you to. You'll never get to the bottom of this if you don't question everything, and for Thomas's sake I desperately want it solved. But the thing is, just on a practical level, there's no guarantee Lady Shroppington will make Thomas her heir. In fact, it seems rather unlikely. She has no desire to rescue the family's faltering fortunes. According to Thomas, she's made that clear often enough. There are cousins on the other side of the family. And she might leave her fortune out of the family entirely. Whereas, if Lewis had inherited, Thomas was confident he'd have helped the girls with their marriage portions and helped with the estate." Edith hesitated a moment, glanced at the children, tugged at the faded dark blue brim of her bonnet. "I think he had hopes that with the girls settled and some support for the estate, it might even have been possible for us to marry. But since he can't let himself talk openly of marriage, I can't be sure. And as I said, I wasn't sure what I'd have done if he'd been able to ask me. I think I was afraid to consider it."
