Murder at the Mikado (A Drew Farthering Mystery Book #3)

by Julianna Deering

  “Why didn’t you divorce him?” Madeline asked.

  “I should have.” The actress managed a faint smile. “I really should have divorced him for it, but once I resigned myself to it all, somehow I didn’t care. I was still rather fond of him, and I certainly didn’t want to marry someone else. Not after seeing what marriage was like with him. I must give Fleur credit for keeping him amused longer than any of the others.”

  Tess kept her eyes on the script in her hands.

  The leading lady’s mouth turned up in a smirk. “He usually lost interest the minute they gave in to him. He was a charmer, I’ll give him that. He could sweet-talk you into or out of anything. You saw him onstage in Oxford, didn’t you?”

  Drew nodded.

  “Well, what you saw onstage was exactly how he was offstage,” she said. “Bigger than life. Always a smile. Merrily doing as he ruddy well pleased.”

  Drew looked at her for a moment, trying to read her thoughts. Actors and actresses earned their bread pretending to be who they weren’t.

  “And that bothered Mrs. Landis—his doing as he pleased?”

  Miss Cullimore nodded. “Or at least him not doing as she pleased. But really, I don’t know any details. She has always bored me to tears, and I expect Johnnie felt the same way. Especially recently.”

  “Why recently?”

  “She was rather annoying, to be frank. Dropping in at odd hours, insisting on talking to him. It’s funny, because he was quite good-natured about it all, as if he were humoring her and still going to do just as he wanted.”

  “And what did she want him to do?” Madeline asked. “Or stop doing.”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” the actress said. “They were always squabbling, and I really didn’t have the patience to listen to it. Nothing to do with me, at any rate.”

  “Then just who would know?” Drew asked pleasantly.

  “You might talk to that newspaper reporter he was so thick with.”

  “Newspaper reporter?”

  Miss Cullimore made a sour face. “Jo Tracy. Writes for the most awful scandal sheet I’ve ever read. Do you know it?”

  “I have seen it a time or two,” Drew admitted. “Not precisely Times quality, eh?”

  “Not precisely. But she has quite a following.”

  “She?” Madeline said.

  “Josephine, I believe, darling,” said Drew. “One of those très moderne career women, it seems.” He looked at the actress again. “She and your husband were friends?”

  “Now,” Miss Cullimore replied. “They were something more for a time, but I believe that fizzled out a couple of years ago. They were still quite chummy. She picked up a lot of material for her column just by listening to Johnnie ramble about our friends and acquaintances when he’d had too much to drink. I heard she wanted to be a novelist or something, and I suppose she observed a great deal about human nature, too. Actors are human, aren’t they?”

  “You tell me,” Drew said.

  She laughed. “I suppose the jury’s out yet on that one. Anyway, she’s the only one I can think of who might have any idea what Johnnie was up to. As I told the police, I went home after we had our little anniversary party with the cast.”

  “Five years at the Tivoli, was it?”

  “That’s right. Only Johnnie and I and Ronald, naturally, had been here the whole five years. Ronald, he does all the parts for gentlemen of a certain vintage, fathers, major generals and such. He’s been at the Tivoli just ages. Poor chap.”

  “And no one saw anything out of the ordinary last night?” Drew asked, looking around the half circle of thespians. “What about the stagehands? Or those in the orchestra?”

  Miss Cullimore shook her head. “They all clear out fairly quickly after a performance is over most nights. And Johnnie didn’t invite any of them to our gathering that night, I know that much.”

  “All right,” Drew said. “Mrs. Landis wasn’t at the party, was she? Had anyone seen her at all earlier that night?”

  “I hadn’t.” The leading lady looked at the others. “Anyone?”

  The gathered players looked at one another, shaking their heads and murmuring in the negative.

  “And yet you think she’s the one who killed your husband?”

  Miss Cullimore shrugged. “She was the only one he was at odds with as far as I can tell. And she could be awfully pushy when she wanted something.”

  Drew nodded. “But you don’t know what it is she wanted.”

  “No. Sorry.” The actress beamed at him. “Anything else you’d like to ask? While we’re all here and feeling indulgent?”

  “So none of you saw anything out of the ordinary that night?” Drew asked again.

  Again the only response was in the negative.

  “None of you remembers hearing anything telling between Mrs. Landis and Ravenswood in the recent past? Something that might not have seemed odd at the time, but might now in light of recent events? No?”

  “Fleur always made a nuisance of herself about the place,” the older man, the one called Ronald, said. “Nothing unusual about that.”

  Drew looked at young Hazeldine, suddenly reminded of Oxford and himself at that age. “Do you know Mrs. Landis?”

  “Seen her about, but not much more than to speak to,” the young man said. He blushed faintly. “She told me I ought to give up the stage and go back to the farm.”

  “Did you see her the night Ravenswood was killed?” Drew persisted, but Hazeldine only shook his head.

  “We’ve already told everything we know to the authorities,” said Dave, the man playing the First Policeman. “There’s really not all that much to say.”

  Drew handed out several of his cards. “Do let me know, any of you, if you happen to think of anything you neglected to mention. No matter how small.”

  “All right, kiddies,” Miss Cullimore said. “We’ve lost our Pirate King, and I think we’ve made as much of a dog’s dinner of Penzance as we can manage in an afternoon. Tomorrow, same time.” She turned to the three visitors as the rest of the troupe hurried out, chattering on their way. “I don’t know what else you can find out here, but I can show you Johnnie’s dressing room if you like.”

  Drew glanced at Nick and Madeline, trying to keep his expression grave and not unbecomingly eager. “That would be most helpful, if it isn’t too painful for you.”

  “It’s been a shock,” said Miss Cullimore, “and I have a feeling it will all sink in just when I’m not expecting it.” There was a flicker of pain in her eyes, and then she flashed a tight smile. “For now, the show must go on. Come this way.”

  She led them across the stage and behind the curtain to the same hallway Grady had led them up earlier. Ravenswood’s dressing room was done up as if it were his club. Besides the requisite makeup table and well-lit mirror, there was a wingback chair in front of a cozy hearth and a well-used leather sofa along one wall. The walls themselves were covered with photographs, mostly of himself, from various productions.

  “He spent most of his time in here,” the actress said. She glanced at the sofa. “What with one thing or another.”

  Drew dropped to one knee beside a dark stain in the Persian carpet. “This is where they found him, I expect.”

  Miss Cullimore nodded, paling a bit. “I saw him before they came to take him away. He simply looked . . . asleep. He looked just as he had in dozens of roles, and for a moment I thought he would jump to his feet and laugh and tell me it was all a joke. But when I saw the back of his head . . .” She blinked hard and took a shuddering breath.

  Madeline went to her, putting a comforting hand on her arm. “If you’d rather not talk about it right now, we’ll certainly understand.”

  “She’s right.” Drew got to his feet, feeling an absolute cad for putting the woman through this. “We can have a look about on our own if you’d rather go. I give you my word we won’t disturb anything.”

  Again she gave him that tight smile, and for once
she didn’t look as if she were onstage. “It’s all right. Really.” She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “He was there, just as you said. Everything else was exactly as you see it now, except for the champagne bottle. The police took that away.”

  “It was found near the body, I suppose,” Nick said, and the actress shook her head.

  “In the dustbin. The neck of it was wiped clean, but there was blood enough on the rest of it, seeped into the label and everything. It was one of those large, heavy ones. The police said there wasn’t even a crack in it.”

  “Where were you at the time of the murder, Miss Cullimore?” Drew asked, studying her face.

  “I went home. It was Sunday night. We’re always dark on Mondays, so I was planning a nice hot bath and then sleeping away a good portion of the next day. I got home and realized I’d left behind the book I was reading.”

  “What book was that?”

  “It was Sayers. Murder Must Advertise. Have you read it?”

  Drew nodded. “But she has a new one out now, doesn’t she?”

  “I think so. This one came out last year, but I’d only just gotten round to it, and I was keen to read more. Anyway, I called up to the theater and asked Grady if he would get it out of my dressing room and send it home with Johnnie.”

  “Mr. Ravenswood didn’t usually accompany you home after performances?”

  “He did at times, but usually not. If he didn’t have some assignation planned, he often stayed late anyway, going over the performance that night, seeing if there were any notes he needed to give the cast, that sort of thing.”

  “You didn’t think it odd for him to still be here that late?”

  “Oh, no.” Eyes wistful, she looked at one of the photographs. It was Ravenswood as a young Orlando. “Not at all.”

  “He was very handsome,” Madeline said, studying the same picture.

  “That was how he looked when I first met him, like a blond Errol Flynn. As fair as Apollo, and as fickle.” The actress’s smile turned rueful. “Whatever you do, Miss Parker, don’t let yourself be taken in by a handsome face and a silver tongue.”

  Madeline glanced at Drew, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, and the leading lady’s mouth turned up slightly.

  “Present company excepted, of course.”

  Nobody said anything for a moment, and then Nick ran a hand over the splintered doorframe. “I understand they had to break down the door.”

  “To get in,” Miss Cullimore said. “Yes. Grady has keys to every door in the building save this one. Johnnie was very particular about that. He didn’t like anyone being able to come into his sanctuary without his permission. And now the key is missing.”

  “You didn’t have a key?” Drew asked.

  “No. Not even when we first came here. Not ever. He absolutely wouldn’t have it.”

  Drew examined the label on the bottle of bay rum that sat on the dressing table. “And no one he may have had in here would have had a key? Not even Mrs. Landis?”

  The blonde shook her head. “He wasn’t like that with his lady friends. He didn’t want them to feel at home here. This was his domain, and we weren’t allowed to ever forget it.”

  “I suppose you’ve already been through all this with the police,” Drew said. “Anything else you think important enough to mention?”

  “Not that I can think of.”

  “I understand someone claims to have seen the killer. Do you know anything about that?”

  “That would be Conor,” the actress said, and she looked annoyed. “But you’ll have to ask him about what he saw. It’s possible that Fleur killed Johnnie, but I wouldn’t have thought she’d be stupid enough to be seen doing it.” She shook her head, her eyes shining now with tears. “Johnnie was really quite a monstrous cad, you know, but one couldn’t help being charmed by him. At least for a while. I suppose now I will spend the rest of my life thinking more fondly of him than I did when he was alive.”

  Six

  Miss Cullimore gave them permission to look about the theater on their own. Later, when Drew and Madeline and Nick returned to the stage, everyone was gone. Everyone but Tess, who was collecting the scripts left behind after the rehearsal and tidying up the place.

  “Pardon me,” Drew said, and she started.

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were still here. Is there something else you needed?”

  “Are you terribly busy at the moment?” Drew asked.

  “Not terribly, no.” Her expression was wary. “May I help you?”

  “You’re the script girl, correct?”

  She looked down at the stack of scripts in her arms. “Not officially. Millie eloped, and we haven’t anyone to replace her yet. I’m actually wardrobe, but I help out wherever I can.”

  “I see. We were wondering if you could tell us about Mr. Ravenswood. You knew him fairly well, didn’t you?”

  She looked down, clutching the pages against her chest. “I’ve worked here for the past five months. I first met him when I started. I’d seen him onstage before that, of course, but never to speak to. So, no, I can’t say I knew him well.”

  Nick glanced at Drew and then again at the girl. “Could you tell us your impression of him?”

  Tess shrugged. “Like Miss Cullimore told you, he was very charming. Not that he ever meant a word he said, but he was very attractive saying it.”

  “Miss Cullimore seems to hold rather a low opinion of his moral convictions,” Drew said, and the girl blushed.

  “He was a man of the world, as they say, and he certainly had no end of admirers. But for all that, underneath I’d say he was a bit unfeeling. He was one to say the way he was going to have something be, and that was how it was. No good asking him to think about how someone else might see it. He wanted his own way and didn’t much mind anything else.”

  “He directed the plays as well as acting in them?” Nick asked.

  The girl nodded. “Sometimes he and Mr. Benton would quarrel over a bit of business or what have you. Nothing of any importance most times.”

  “What about Mr. Benton?” Drew asked, encouraging her with his eyes. “What’s your impression of him?”

  A faint color rose in the girl’s cheeks. “Mr. Benton, he’s . . . uh, I don’t know him that well, though he’s been very kind to me. I think he sings beautifully and he’s quite a good actor.”

  Drew nodded. “These disagreements with Mr. Ravenswood, none of them was particularly serious, was it?”

  The girl’s smile was rather tentative. “Oh, no. It was just that Mr. Ravenswood had been doing everything the same way for so long now, and Mr. Benton, well, he wanted to change it up some. You know, make it a bit more up to date.”

  “And Mr. Ravenswood objected?”

  “As I said, he was rather one to say how he wanted things and not expect anyone to say any different. I’m afraid I don’t know what else to tell you.”

  “You will telephone me if you think of anything, won’t you?” Drew asked. “You still have my card?”

  “If I think of anything, I’ll ring up.”

  “Tess, are you coming to my—?” Benton stopped, noticing Drew, Madeline, and Nick were still there near the stage. “I thought you three left an hour ago.”

  Tess looked up, and there was a touch of guilt in her expression. “I’m sorry, Conor. I’m just going now.”

  She hurried off the stage, still clutching the scripts, and Benton watched after her. Then he turned back to the three visitors and said, “Look, she’s been through enough lately. No need for you lot to be badgering her, too.”

  “It was only a few questions,” Drew said. “We’re just trying to find out what happened to Ravenswood.”

  “She’s a frightfully decent girl, and she doesn’t deserve all this.”

  “All this?” Drew asked. “All what? What is it she’s been through lately?”

  Nick slid onto the piano bench nearby and softly picked out a few notes, a line from one of the
songs they’d been rehearsing.

  Pretty brook, thy dream is over,

  For thy love is but a rover . . .

  Drew knew the words from the tune as almost anyone would. Being in the play, Benton clearly knew them better than most.

  “It’s none of your business,” the actor snapped. “Nothing to do with the murder.”

  Still at the piano, Nick added more notes.

  Sad the lot of poplar trees,

  Courted by a fickle breeze!

  Benton glared at him and then at Drew. “All right. You’ve figured it for yourselves anyway. Johnnie, as Simone already made plain, was an absolute swine when it came to women. Tess is a parson’s daughter. She didn’t stand a chance with a smooth talker like him.”

  “Threw her over right after, I expect,” Drew said sympathetically.

  “Didn’t even have the kindness to speak to her about it. Just made sure she saw him with his next fling, one of the new girls from the chorus. Tess never said a hard word to him or about him as far as I know, but you could see the heartbreak in her eyes.” Benton shook his head, his eyes full of pity and then a flash of anger. “I let him hear about it, though. I can tell you that straight out.”

  “And Ravenswood said . . . ?”

  “Just shrugged and said she had to grow up sometime.” Again Benton’s eyes flashed. “As if that’s what defines maturity. Is there anything more immature than selfishness? He didn’t love her. He didn’t care a thing for her.”

  Nick turned around on the piano bench, leaning back against the keys. “I wonder she’s still around. I’d have thought a girl like that would bolt back home.”

  Benton sighed. “I told her she ought, but she was afraid what her father might think. I’ve never met him, but from what she says about him, he seems a good chap. Not the type to turn a girl out of the house and all, you know? But she says she’s disappointed him and doesn’t think she has any business being around him anymore.”

  “And here he’s probably longing for her to come back,” Drew said. “Does she have anyone here? Friends? Relations? Anyone?”