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

by Julianna Deering

  “That’s right.” Birdsong stood. “Thank you for the information, Mr. Landis. We will be sure to keep you informed about the case.”

  “Very well then.” Clifton stood, shook hands once more with Birdsong and with Drew and then bowed to Madeline. “Thank you all for your time. I think you’d be better off at home now, Mr. Landis.” He took Landis by the arm and led him, unprotesting, out of the office.

  “You’ve talked with all the staff at Landis’s, have you?” Drew asked the chief inspector once they had gone.

  “Yes.”

  “Did any of them see Mrs. Landis leave during the night?”

  “No,” Birdsong admitted. “That doesn’t mean she didn’t.”

  “Wouldn’t this Phillips, the driver, have heard something if the car was moved in the night?”

  Birdsong shook his head. “Sergeant Price says the man’s rather hard of hearing.”

  “So he wouldn’t have known if the car was moved the night Ravenswood was killed, either.”

  “Price did ask him that. And no, he wouldn’t have. Anything else, Detective Farthering?”

  “No.” Drew and Madeline both stood. “Though I’m led to believe you have not yet given any reply to the wedding invitation you were sent. You aren’t going to disappoint us, are you, Chief Inspector?”

  “I, uh . . .” The chief inspector’s thick mustache twitched, and there was an extra tinge of color in his face. “It is most kind of you both to invite my wife and me, but, well . . .”

  “No need to make a fuss over it, Chief Inspector, neither you nor Mrs. Birdsong,” Drew said. “We’d be delighted to have you come. Practically the whole village will be there at the church, and you needn’t stay long.”

  “Well, of course, but—”

  “You mustn’t say no.” Madeline took the chief inspector’s arm, beaming at him. “You really mustn’t. If it weren’t for you, we would likely not be getting married at all.”

  “Me, miss?”

  Drew fought a laugh, seeing the usually imperturbable chief inspector look even more flustered than before. “She’s right, you know. That was a near thing, our last little adventure, and only then did my dear Madeline realize how desperately she loved me.”

  Madeline raised one eyebrow. “I was thinking more along the lines that you didn’t actually die.”

  “Well, there is that,” Drew said sunnily. “Come now, Chief Inspector, do say you’ll come. We absolutely cannot get married without your august presence.”

  Birdsong gave them both a nod. “If you’re certain, sir, miss, the wife and I would be most honored to accept.”

  “Excellent.” Drew shook his hand. “Three o’clock on the tenth of next month, Holy Trinity in Farthering St. John.”

  He escorted Madeline out into the corridor, and Birdsong followed them to his doorway.

  “Well, if it isn’t the two of you together.”

  Drew turned and saw Conor Benton rise from the bench where he had obviously been waiting, the same bench where Landis had sat just minutes before.

  “Mr. Benton,” Drew said. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Benton stalked over to them, barely sparing Madeline a glance, glaring at the hand Drew offered. “Are you happy now? She’s dead. She’s dead because you wouldn’t let them put that . . . that woman behind bars in the first place.” His face went all red and patchy, and his lips trembled. “I told you, Inspector, and I even told Farthering here. Neither of you did the least bit of anything about it, and now an innocent young girl lies dead.”

  “We are using every resource available to us in this investigation, Mr. Benton,” Birdsong said, his voice calm and professional. “Your comments were duly noted when you made them. At that point in time, there was not enough evidence—”

  “How about now?” Benton demanded. “Do you have enough evidence now? Tessie is lying on a slab in the morgue with only a sheet to cover her, strangled to death. Is that proof enough?”

  “Come along now,” Drew said, his voice gentle as he tried to take Benton’s arm. “Sit down for a bit.”

  Benton shrugged him off with a gasping sob and then stood there shaking, fighting to compose himself.

  “Mr. Benton,” Birdsong said after a moment. “Do sit down. Please, sir.”

  Benton dropped back onto the bench and looked up at Birdsong. “She said she remembered hearing something Ravenswood said to Fleur before he was killed.”

  The chief inspector raised both eyebrows. “Miss Davidson did? What was it?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. She said it mightn’t be anything, so she didn’t like to say.” Benton fidgeted, his fingers in a helpless knot. “But she must have known something . . . something that pointed to Fleur as Johnnie’s killer.”

  Drew shook his head. “That’s hardly proof, Benton. Why would she—?”

  “Tess is dead! I told you, that’s proof enough!” Tears spilled from Benton’s red-rimmed eyes as he glared up at Drew. “I understand you’re about to be married.”

  Drew nodded.

  Benton jerked his chin at Madeline. “To her?”

  Again Drew nodded, and he stepped a little to one side, putting himself between Benton and Madeline.

  “Tell me, how would you like to be taken down to a cold, foul-smelling basement just to see her lying on a metal table with her face hardly recognizable?”

  Madeline’s eyes widened, and her hold on Drew’s arm tightened. He pulled her closer. He hadn’t seen the body in person, but in the photographs he had seen the girl huddled defenseless in the corner of the wardrobe room closet, her face distorted and full of blood. If that had been Madeline . . .

  “You loved her, didn’t you?” Drew said. “Did she know?”

  “I hadn’t . . .” Benton drew a painful, shuddering breath. “I hadn’t come out and said it, if that’s what you mean. I knew she was still hurting over Ravenswood, and I didn’t want her to think I was the same. I . . . I tried to show her in little ways, you know? Only as a friend at first.” He covered his eyes with one hand, and his shoulders shook. “She was just beginning to be happy again . . .”

  “Why don’t we discuss it further but in a more private setting?” Drew suggested, giving Benton his handkerchief. “Something more suitable than this hallway, eh?”

  Benton nodded and stood, and the four of them went back into Birdsong’s office. The actor took the seat the solicitor had been in, and the other three sat where they had before.

  “Now,” Drew said, “you told the chief inspector you are sure you saw Mrs. Landis hurrying out of the theater the night Ravenswood was killed. Are you still certain of that?”

  “Yes. I’m certain it was Fleur. I recognized that cloak of hers with the tassels. She had the hood up and was nearly running, but it was Fleur all right. Even if I hadn’t recognized the cloak, I could tell by the way she moved. I thought at the time it might have been Tess, but then I realized it wasn’t. Tess was such a slip of a thing. Not so tall as Fleur and not so . . . well, not shaped the same way. I didn’t know why Fleur would be there at all. She hadn’t been at the performance or at the party. But, even running, she’s always had a particular grace to her. I don’t know what it is, almost hypnotizing in its perfection. It was like seeing one of Botticelli’s angels step out of a painting and onto the pavement.” He glanced at Drew. “You know what I mean?”

  Drew nodded, avoiding Madeline’s suddenly cool gaze. Fleur did have a way about her.

  “And you saw no one else that night?”

  Benton shook his head.

  “All right,” Drew said. “What about this morning? You didn’t see anyone? Not Grady? None of the other actors?”

  Benton pressed his lips tightly together and shook his head. “Nobody had come in yet. I was in my dressing room.”

  “So you came in earlier than usual?” Madeline asked. “Why?”

  Benton looked at her, then at the chief inspector. No doubt Birdsong had asked all of these same questions at
least once already, but he seemed content to hear Benton answer them again.

  The actor blinked. “I was going over my lines.”

  “Why?” Drew asked. “You had to have done The Pirates of Penzance at least a hundred times before. More, I daresay. And you want us to believe you didn’t know your lines?”

  “I haven’t ever played the Pirate King before.” Benton shrugged. “Well, when I was at school I did once, but that was a long while back. At the Tivoli, Ravenswood was always the Pirate King. I was always Frederic. I did all the juvenile leads. Now we have Hazeldine taking on my parts and me taking on Ravenswood’s. The lyrics aren’t bad to remember; the music helps them stay in one’s head. But the lines not so much. It’s not that I haven’t heard them time and again, just that I only ever really paid attention to the bits that were cues for me. And I kept wanting to do Frederic rather than the Pirate King. I had a couple of near misses during the dress rehearsal last night, and I thought I had better run through the whole thing again on my own. Hazeldine was helping me.”

  “We’ve already questioned Mr. Hazeldine,” Birdsong put in.

  Drew nodded and turned again to Benton. “And did you go through everything?”

  “No. We were only about a third of the way into it. Where the pirates first come across Mabel and her sisters.”

  “Why did you stop there?”

  “I thought I heard someone in the corridor. The wardrobe room is down the hall from my dressing room. From all the dressing rooms. I thought perhaps Tess was coming in, so I opened my door to tell her good morning.”

  “That was when you saw—”

  “I didn’t see anything actually, so I went to the wardrobe room to see if she had already gone in, but I didn’t see anyone in there.”

  “What made you open the closet?” Drew asked quietly.

  “There was something caught in the door. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew Tess wouldn’t be happy about it. She was very careful of the costumes. So I opened the door and that’s . . .” Benton’s face contorted again, and tears welled in his eyes. “I found her there at the bottom of the closet.”

  “You didn’t see a sign of anyone else being there?” Madeline asked.

  Benton shook his head.

  “And was she still there when you left last night?” Drew glanced at the chief inspector. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes, I told her good-night. She said she was going to be a bit longer. I don’t know what she was working on exactly. Sometimes one of the costumes had to be mended, either from something that happened onstage or just from rough handling while being put on and taken off in a hurry. She generally tried to get it done and the wardrobe room tidied up before she’d leave for the night. I know because sometimes I would stay with her and talk until she was ready to go. That way I could make sure she got home all right. I didn’t like to think of her on the street that late.” He paused and wiped his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I didn’t want anything to happen to her.”

  “But you didn’t stay last night?” Madeline asked.

  “No.” He sniffled and caught a hard breath and then calmed somewhat. “No, I wanted to get to sleep since we were supposed to open today. Of all the nights to leave her there on her own . . .”

  “Was anyone else there last night?” Drew asked. “After you left?”

  Benton shrugged. “Just Alf. He would have been there.”

  “Alfred Penrose, the night watchman,” Birdsong supplied. “We’ve spoken to him. He saw Mr. Benton leave. He was the last of the company to leave, excepting Miss Davidson of course. And Penrose spoke to her right after Benton left.”

  Drew nodded. “And he didn’t see anyone come in?”

  “No,” Benton said. “Alf’s been with the Tivoli a long time, same as Grady. He mostly finds himself a chair in a warm corner and sleeps. Everyone knew it.” His expression turned bitter. “Even Fleur.”

  “Why do you think Mrs. Landis would want to kill Tess?” Drew said, watching his eyes.

  “Because of Johnnie. Obviously.”

  Drew raised an eyebrow. “Obviously?”

  “Tess must have seen Fleur when she killed him. That, or she had some evidence that would have proven Fleur killed him. Probably threatened to go to the police. Knowing little Tess, she’d have told Fleur to turn herself in and hope for mercy from the court. I expect Fleur found it more convenient just to kill her, too.”

  “And you know of no one else who might have had reason to?”

  “No.” Benton crossed his arms over his chest, looking as if he wanted to curl into himself. “Who would want to kill her except the person who killed Johnnie? Two murders here, one following after the other, and you expect me to believe they aren’t tied together?”

  Drew smiled just the slightest bit. “No, that would be quite a coincidence. Not at all likely. Still, are you certain? She didn’t have someone she was seeing? Someone who might have been jealous?”

  Benton shook his head slowly. “She wasn’t the type. Mostly went straight home when she was done at the theater.”

  “Perhaps so,” Drew mused. “But there was Ravenswood.”

  With a curse, Benton leaped to his feet and shoved Drew against the wall, chair and all, making a framed photograph hanging there go crashing to the floor.

  “Here now!” Birdsong grabbed Benton’s shoulder and pushed him back down.

  Benton huddled in his seat, his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees. “He has no right to say those things about Tess. She was a good girl. So Ravenswood led her astray. She wasn’t the first to fall for his charm, but you make it sound as though she would go with anyone. It’s not right, I tell you, and I won’t have it!”

  “Yes, yes,” Birdsong told him. “All right.”

  “I do beg your pardon, Benton.” Drew bowed his head. “I meant nothing against Miss Davidson. Just trying to keep my facts straight.”

  “Mind you do then, that’s all.”

  “Is there anything else you’d like to say about the case?” the chief inspector asked.

  Benton drew a deep breath and then let it out, shoulders sagging. “I don’t suppose there’s any more to say. You have the killer locked up now, even if it is too late for poor Tess.” His lips quivered, and tears again filled his eyes. “Poor Tess.”

  “Come along, Mr. Benton.” Birdsong took him by the arm and helped him to his feet. “You go on home now, and someone will telephone you if there is anything else we need to know.”

  Benton dragged the back of his hand across his eyes and then under his nose. “You get it right this time, Inspector, do you understand? Fleur is behind this, I know she is, and I’ll swear to it before the court, before God if you like.”

  “No doubt, no doubt.” The chief inspector put his hand on the actor’s shoulder. “We’ll see to things from here.”

  “If you lot had seen to things, Tessie wouldn’t be dead just now, would she?” Benton wrenched out of Birdsong’s grasp and stormed out of the office.

  “That went well,” Drew said brightly.

  Birdsong merely nodded, looking rather disgusted. “Well, he tells the story the same every time at any rate.”

  “The same words and all?” Drew asked. “As if he were speaking lines?”

  “No, no. I can spot those a mile off. But he tells the details the same. Most of the time that means he saw what he says he saw.”

  “Then he saw Fleur,” Madeline said. “Or thinks he did.”

  Drew took her hand and looked into the clear depths of her eyes. “You believe him?”

  “I believe he’s telling the truth,” she said. “Whether or not he’s mistaken, I don’t know, but I don’t think he’s lying.”

  “I suppose the girl’s family have been contacted by now, eh?” Drew asked. “I don’t know who she had for family, except that her father was a parson of some kind.”

  “In Dover, according to our records,” the chief inspector said. “We’ve sent someone to speak
to him. Of course, he’ll want to see to the arrangements.”

  Drew sighed. “Poor girl. Well, as the Mikado says, ‘It’s an unjust world, and virtue is triumphant only in theatrical performances.’ ”

  He hadn’t always agreed with the Mikado on this point, but as he and Madeline drove back to Farthering Place, he wondered if the Mikado hadn’t been right all along.

  Sunday was quiet, and Drew and Madeline stayed home except for the morning service at Holy Trinity. Funnily enough, the text had been that same one from Proverbs he and Nick had talked about just a few days before: “Can a man scoop fire into his lap without his clothes being burned?” Odd that old Bartlett would choose that verse just now. Drew had foolishly scooped fire into his lap when he met Fleur, but those embers had gone cold six years ago and the burnt clothes were thrown into the dustbin. He had the scars, of course, and even now it seemed there were consequences of his foolishness still to be borne. But he was thankful for the divine mercy that covered those scars and that foolishness and assured him he was forgiven. He wished he could be as sure of Madeline’s forgiveness as he was of God’s. There was something strained between them. There had been since Fleur had showed up.

  The next day, while Madeline and Aunt Ruth were upstairs with the dressmaker, Drew made his way, as usual, from the back of the newspaper to the front. He couldn’t help a sardonic grin when he saw that the Tivoli’s production of H.M.S. Pinafore in repertory with The Pirates of Penzance was scheduled to open tomorrow. Apparently the show must indeed go on.

  When he turned to the front page, he stopped short. ARREST MADE IN RAVENSWOOD MURDER, the headline blared. There was the usual photograph of Ravenswood, the one in profile from the marquee at the theater. There was also a photograph of Fleur. It must have been from her days onstage. She was younger then and looking fatally glamorous.

  Drew glanced down the page and stopped at a third photograph, this one obviously more recent than the other two. It showed Brent Landis coming out of a church, a fair-haired little boy clutched in his arms, hiding his face against Landis’s neck while a group of men with cameras and notepads surrounded them. Landis himself looked flustered and rather desperate to get away. Drew didn’t blame him.