“Not a soul. She’s friends with a couple of the girls in the cast, I believe, but most of them think she’s hopelessly provincial, not our kind at all.”
Drew and Madeline exchanged a glance.
“What do you think, Mr. Benton?” Madeline asked.
“She seems quite a nice girl, miss. Rotten how Ravenswood treated her. Someone like her shouldn’t be in this business at all.”
“So what happens now?” Drew asked. “Business-wise.”
“We keep going, I expect.” The actor’s expression turned bright and brittle. “The show must go on, eh? I suppose Simone will inherit the old Tivoli. She’s been wanting to make some changes as it is. I suppose we’ll have them now.”
“Changes?” Nick asked.
Benton evidently couldn’t resist smirking. “Fancies herself Lady Macbeth. One thing Johnnie knew was his own limits. He played Gilbert and Sullivan well—better than anyone I’ve ever seen. Just the right touch of fun without being too broad about it. But he knew better than to try roles that didn’t suit him. I saw him and Simone rehearsing a scene from Hamlet once. She kept scolding him for not being serious. Truth was, they were both no good, only he knew it and was having her on about it.”
“Were they really that bad?” Nick asked.
Benton shrugged. “No, not really. Just not great. Very ordinary. Painfully ordinary. I expect, once she gets her feet under her managing things, we’ll at least have a go at more serious stuff. Shakespeare, Ibsen, Chekhov, perhaps Shaw or O’Neill. Not exactly what the company is looking for.”
“But Miss Cullimore is pleased, right?” Drew said. “Just how badly did she want to try something besides light opera?”
Benton looked puzzled for a moment and then barked out a humorless laugh. “Do you mean would she have killed him because of it? Don’t be ridiculous. If she didn’t kill him over all the women he had, I daresay she wouldn’t over this. I don’t know that she’s particularly heartbroken over him, but I don’t think she’d kill him.”
“Do you have any theories about who did then?” Drew asked.
“Fleur Hargreaves, of course. Oh, pardon me.” Benton made a low, mocking bow. “Mrs. Landis.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Benton shrugged. “I saw her. I heard his dressing room door slam shut. It was loud enough to wake the dead, I tell you, though it didn’t seem to help old Johnnie. Anyway, I looked into the corridor and saw her running out.”
Drew gave him a piercing look. “You absolutely saw her, and there’s no doubt in your mind.”
“I didn’t actually see her face, if that’s what you’re asking, but I saw her. She was wearing that black cloak she likes.” Benton frowned. “The one with the hood. It was pulled up over her head, so I couldn’t properly see her face, but I could tell. Who else would it be?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Nick said. “Are you sure it couldn’t have been someone pretending to be Mrs. Landis? I mean, if you didn’t see her face and all?”
“I don’t think so.”
Madeline studied him for a moment. “You can’t think of anyone else who might have wanted Mr. Ravenswood dead?”
“Johnnie was rather a rotter, but everyone more or less put up with him. I don’t know who else would kill him other than Fleur. They were having an awful row on and off.”
“But why?” Madeline pressed. “What would make her do such a thing?”
“Well, obviously, she didn’t want him telling her husband about their affair.”
“Are you saying they were still seeing each other?”
“Good heavens, no. That was over four or five years ago. Still, I’m certain Landis wouldn’t like it if he knew. Perhaps Ravenswood threatened to tell him unless she paid him off.”
Drew shook his head. “That would hardly be a threat. Landis has known about it for years. She confessed everything to him not long after their son was born. He forgave her, and she’s been devoted since.”
“Women like that, they never change. She may not have been seeing Ravenswood anymore, but she had someone else like as not.”
Again Drew thought of his time at Oxford. “Young Hazeldine?”
Benton snorted. “Don’t make me laugh. Little Billy? He fancies himself a Lothario. I expect, with the following he’s got from the girls already, he will be one day. But he hasn’t quite got the polish for it at this point. A bit too much of the country in him yet for our crowd.”
“Then who is it, do you think, Mrs. Landis is seeing?”
“I haven’t the foggiest,” Benton said with a shrug. “All I know is a cheat is a cheat, once and always.”
Drew looked at him coolly. “I suppose you speak from experience.”
“I’m no saint,” Benton said with a sneer. “I daresay I’ve made a false step or two, but I mean to give that over. It grows rather stale after a time.” He glanced at the doorway Tess had just passed through. “I’d like to think there’s something rather more meaningful to be had.”
Nick gave them a sly look and turned again to the piano, picking out a few notes from a jauntier tune in the play.
He will be faithful to his sooth
Till we are wed, and even after.
Seeing Benton’s sour look, Drew said, “Perhaps Mrs. Landis felt the same way. Landis seems the sort of fellow who might convince a woman to settle down. And there’s the child, as well.”
Benton crossed his arms over his chest. “That woman has no more mothering in her than I have.”
“Just how well do you know Mrs. Landis?” Drew asked.
“Well enough. She’s been flitting about with Ravenswood for the year and a half I’ve been with the troupe, telling him how to run the productions. Said she was onstage herself for some while. Seemed to think that gave her the right to order us all about.”
“Ravenswood didn’t object to that?”
“He’d only laugh and let her have her way. When it didn’t interfere with his own way, of course. Simone was livid about it. Not that he was seeing Fleur, but that he was letting her as much as be the director, something he never let Simone do. No matter that Simone was his actual wife.”
Nick leaned back against the piano again and crossed his legs. “But that wasn’t recently?”
“No,” Benton replied. “Only about three or four years ago, I’m given to understand. Maybe more. What I heard was that when Fleur was going to have her baby, when her figure started to change, he moved on to someone else, that lady reporter to be exact, and Fleur didn’t come about anymore. Not until a couple of years later. Evidently she missed the stage and her friends in the troupe and liked to help with the productions. That seemed to suit everyone until about a month ago.”
“What happened a month ago?”
Benton frowned again. “I really don’t know. I heard her in his dressing room a time or two, both of them talking low and . . . I don’t know, fierce is the only word for it.”
“They weren’t seeing each other again?”
“No, I’m almost sure of it. There’s a different feel to a lovers’ quarrel. As an actor, it’s my business to know this sort of thing. If I’m going to give a believable performance, there are certain undertones, gestures and looks that say more than the actual dialogue. I’d almost bet there was nothing between them in the least anymore. Not love anyway. But whatever she was after him to do, he only laughed it off. I hated that about him, you know. Everything was a joke.”
“Jolly fellow,” Nick said.
“And you don’t know what she wanted him to do?” Drew asked.
“I have my suspicions,” Benton said, “but no, I don’t know for certain.”
Drew lifted an eyebrow. “Suspicions?”
Benton laughed. “Did you ever see Ravenswood? Onstage?”
Nick shook his head.
“Yes, you did, old man,” Drew corrected. “Remember when you and I took a couple of girls round to see Iolanthe? Our first term at Oxford? Remember the L
ord Chancellor?”
“No, not really.”
“Of course you do. Tall, blond fellow. Got the most applause at the end. A girl rushed out of the audience and gave him roses.”
Nick nodded. “Right. I remember now. He was all the ladies could talk about during the interval.”
“That’s the one.”
“That was Ravenswood?”
“The same,” Drew said.
“Exactly.” Benton gave them a knowing look. “Blond. Blue-eyed. And Mrs. Landis’s little boy?”
“Blond and blue-eyed,” Drew said. “Still, that’s not much proof of anything. I understand Mrs. Landis was blond as a child.”
Benton shrugged. “Just a theory. But what happens to her happy marriage if Ravenswood decides to claim the boy as his own?”
Drew looked at Nick. It had been obvious from that night at dinner and afterward that Landis doted on the boy.
“Legally, the boy is Landis’s,” Drew said.
“Legally,” Benton agreed. “That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have tossed the child and his mother into the street if Ravenswood had made that claim and Landis believed it. It’s been known to happen.”
“Let’s go back to the night of the murder,” Drew suggested. “What do you remember?”
Benton knit his brows, thinking. “We did the show. Came off rather well that night, and we got an extra round of applause when Johnnie announced it was our fifth anniversary at the Tivoli.”
“And after?” Madeline asked.
“We came back to his dressing room and had a bit of a party. Just the cast. The orchestra and the hands had gone. We had some remarkably fine champagne too, if you ask me. Even old Grady had a sip, and he’s a temperance man,” Benton said, smiling faintly. “Just a few drinks, a little reminiscing about when we each joined the company and who’s not with us anymore. Didn’t last long, as I remember. Everyone had fairly much cleared out by one.”
“Why hadn’t you gone yet?” Drew asked.
“I’d noticed there was something chewing at the wiring in my dressing room. A rat or something, I expect. I was talking to Grady about trapping it or poisoning it or whatever it is one does with the little beasts. Then I heard a noise and went to see what or who it was, and that was when I saw Fleur running down the corridor.”
“Running where?” Drew asked.
“Out the door that goes into the alley. I don’t know why it wasn’t locked. It generally is. Anyway, she dashed out, and I didn’t see her after that. A few minutes later, Simone called to get Grady to give Johnnie a message. When we couldn’t rouse him, Grady and I broke down the door. And, naturally, he was dead.”
“How long after you saw Mrs. Landis did Miss Cullimore call?” Madeline asked.
“As I said, only a minute or two.” Benton considered for a moment. “Couldn’t have been more than five at the outside.”
“And Grady saw this cloaked intruder?”
“No. He was behind me.”
Nick grinned at the actor. “So how do we know you didn’t set this all up yourself, and there was never anyone there but you? Did you kill Ravenswood?”
“I was with Grady the whole time. He had taken Johnnie his usual steamed towels, and I caught him as he was coming out. Johnnie was fine then. I saw him there on his sofa, smoking a cigarette. Grady and I were together the rest of the time, until we broke down the door and found the body.”
“Steamed towels?” Madeline said.
“Oh, yes, Miss Parker. He was very particular about taking off his makeup every night. Didn’t want to lose that youthful glow, you know. Had to have steamed towels and then cold cream. Afterward he would lie down for half an hour with a cold towel over his face. Never changed.”
“So he was a man of regular habits, was he?” Drew asked, watching the actor’s eyes.
“Ruddy machine, he was,” Benton said, sneering again. “Once he set himself on something, there was no shifting him. Every prop, every bit of business, every line, every inflection in every word had to be the way he said and had to be the same night in and night out. The only thing he liked to change up regularly was his women.”
Benton chuckled, and there was a touch of irritation in Madeline’s eyes.
“What about the lady reporter?” Drew asked. “Josephine Tracy.”
“What about her?”
“Was she at the party the night Ravenswood was killed?”
“Yes, I believe she was, come to mention it. She was talking to Johnnie and scribbling like a maniac in her notebook.”
“Scribbling what?” Nick asked. “Do you know?”
Benton shook his head. “I assumed she was going to put something about the anniversary in her column and Johnnie was telling her what he wanted in the story. I’m surprised it wasn’t in that rag the next day.”
Drew frowned. “It wasn’t?”
“No,” said Benton, again shaking his head, this time directed at Drew. “Just the usual society rot. Same thing, different names, over and over again.”
“You don’t think this woman could have had anything to do with Ravenswood’s death?”
“I shouldn’t think so.”
“Anyone else at this little bash you had after the show?” asked Nick. “I mean, it was the cast and the lady reporter and your stageman Grady. Who else?”
“Zurrie . . .” Benton thought for a moment and then nodded. “Yes, I’m certain he was there.”
“Zurrie?” Drew said.
“Lew Zuraw. Manages the business side of things. Simone insisted Johnnie find someone to do it. He was frightful with figures and hadn’t a clue whether we were making a profit or where that profit might have gone. The second time we had our lights cut off, she told him he had to engage a business manager. Simone’s never liked the man, but he was better than leaving that sort of thing to Johnnie, so they kept him on.”
“Why didn’t she like him?” Madeline asked. “Didn’t he do a good job?”
“I suppose so. We didn’t have the lights cut off after that anyway. I don’t know what it was exactly. Simone never cared for foreigners, I suppose. They just never quite hit it off. But as I said, he was better than Johnnie, so she didn’t complain.”
“Why didn’t she just do the books herself?” Nick asked.
“Simone Cullimore? Keep books?” Benton snorted. “Miss Cullimore, in case you didn’t know, is an actress. No, pardon me, she is an artiste. A leading lady. She has far better things to do with her time than tot up the receipts and pay bills.”
Drew nodded. “How did this Mr. Zuraw get along with Ravenswood?”
“Well enough,” Benton replied, looking a little disgusted. “Everyone did, you know.”
“No quarrels between them?”
“Not that I ever heard. Zuraw was engaged here only four or five months ago. Quiet fellow. Thick mustache. Thick glasses. Thick middle. Polish, I believe. He has a bit of that accent, though I think he came here when he was young. Lived in Hounslow or something, British schools and all that.”
“And where might we find him?” asked Drew.
“His office is down at the end of our storage rooms, but I don’t believe he’s in now. Ought to be tomorrow. He’s rather a night owl and likes to keep the same hours we do. Made it nice for Simone and Johnnie, I suppose, to be able to pop in and check up on the receipts whenever they liked.”
“I see. I’m a little unclear on this point. Did Ravenswood own the theater? The troupe?”
“He did,” Benton said. “It wasn’t much, but I fancy he would rather have run the whole thing at our little place here than work at someone else’s posh theater in London. I suppose it’s Simone’s now, mortgaged as it is.”
“Any idea how much of it was his free and clear?”
Benton shook his head. “Zurrie would know. He keeps to himself, though, so I don’t know how much you’ll be able to get out of him. Doesn’t matter. If you’re looking to find out who killed Johnnie, I’ve already told you it was Fleur. No m
atter that I couldn’t see her face.”
“She claims she was home,” Drew said. “With her husband.”
Benton laughed. “She claims.”
“She says she turned down your advances, turned them down flat, and that’s why you’re claiming you saw her after the murder. For spite.”
The actor snorted at the thought.
Madeline looked the man in the eye. “Is all this just to get back at her, Mr. Benton?”
He crossed his arms and was silent for a while. Finally, he said, “Very well, it’s true. After a fashion. When I realized she and Johnnie weren’t seeing each other, I thought perhaps she and I could have a bit of fun together. No strings, you know. But that was more than a year ago now.”
“What did she say to you?” Drew asked.
“Just laughed and said she wasn’t that desperate.”
“Rather harsh, eh?”
Benton shrugged. “A bit of a slap, I’ll grant you, and meant to be. It’s not as if I were brokenhearted over her. I didn’t fancy I loved her or any such nonsense. Didn’t actually even like her, not even back then. But I figured there had to have been something about her that kept Johnnie coming back as long as he did. Looking as she does, I wanted to give it a go myself. That was all. I never really thought twice about it since.”
“So you aren’t just trying to get back at her by saying you saw her? Not at all?”
Benton’s expression turned grim. “Not at all. I admit she wasn’t very good for my ego, but I’d be rather a beast to try to get her hanged for it. This is murder we’re talking about after all.”
“True.” Drew gave the actor his card. “If you think of anything else that might pertain to the case, do telephone.”
“All right.” Benton put the card in his waistcoat pocket. “But I already told you who did it. I don’t know what else there is to say.”
Seven
He seems awfully certain,” Drew said as they walked from the dim theater into the wan winter sunshine.
“But why would she have killed Ravenswood?” Nick asked. “It doesn’t quite fit together.”
Murder at the Mikado (A Drew Farthering Mystery Book #3) Page 9
