Death and Cinderella (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 11)
Page 5
‘Three years ago. I was in rep in Llandudno and felt I wasn’t going anywhere so I thought I’d try the bright lights.’ He paused. ‘And I’m still not going anywhere.’
Felix nodded his sympathy. ‘Difficult times for the theatre. Now, Mr Parry, what we want from you is an account of your movements and any general observations you may have from about five o’clock yesterday night until you went home. I’ve picked on five o’clock because I know the dress rehearsal was still running then and you were all in it.’
‘What about the backstage people?’
‘We haven’t forgotten them. Our Inspector Hilliard is seeing them now.’
‘All right,’ sighed Iwan. ‘Five o’clock, you say? We’d about have got to the grand ball, so I’d have changed into my glad rags for that. It’s where I get pursued by Semolina, an Ugly Sister. Later I accompany Prince Charming on his hunt with the glass slipper. By about five forty-five it was finished. We had a bit of a post-mortem onstage and I cleared off home at something to seven. Probably about ten to.’
‘Anyone see you go?’
‘Not sure they did. I have a car and often give people lifts but not last night. The last people I saw to my certain knowledge were Mr Bethencourt and Betty Bagshaw, or Vladlena, as we knew her then. Alastair wanted to see us about a couple of things.’
‘To do with the performance?’
‘Yes. She’s hard work, that girl. I wasn’t a bit surprised when she cried off.’
‘In what way were you not surprised?’
‘She was a bag of nerves. She just wasn’t listening. Finally, she asked if she could speak to Alastair privately. He sent her to his office, rolled his eyes at me, and told me I might as well go home. I guessed then it would be Figgy back and I think he did too.’
◆◆◆
‘And what does an assistant stage manager do, Mr Brent?’ asked Inspector Hilliard. ‘If you’ll pardon my ignorance.’
‘General dogsbody,’ said the youth. ‘Could be a million different things. What we hope for, of course, is to get a little acting part, and tonight I did!’
‘Congratulations. What was that?’
‘I had to walk onstage in a brown overall and fit some bigger wings to Mrs Maidment, the Fairy Godmother. She’s supposed to be too fat to take off in the smaller ones. I thought I’d missed it because they had to put Figgy – I mean, Miss Figg – into the part when Miss Ossipova pinched hers and Miss Figg is too skinny to need bigger wings and Mr Bethencourt said the joke wouldn’t work. Then Miss Ossipova didn’t turn up so it was Mrs Maidment again. Do you think you’ll be very long solving the case?’
‘I really have no idea; I’m just a dogsbody too. Why, anyway?’
‘It’s just that I’m afraid they might scrub the show if it’s off for too long.’
◆◆◆
‘It must have been a shock for you, Miss Herring,’ said Felix, ‘happening right in front of you as it did.’
‘It was. Especially as you get rather wrapped up in your part, you know. You’re living in Ruritania, or wherever it’s supposed to be, and people don’t generally turn up dead there. It’s not in the script.’
‘No indeed. Who opened the door of the coach?’
‘Sam Snow. In the castle kitchen he’s Buttons, and after the Fairy Godmother casts her spell, he’s the coachman. It’s quite a difficult change because he has to be quick. When Sullivan fell out
I’m afraid that he swore and some of the audience laughed because, of course, they didn’t know what was happening. Then he and Iwan, who plays Dandini, tried to separate the rest of Sullivan from the coach because we didn’t know at the time that he was dead. He must have been sort of folded up in there with his back against the door because he tumbled out backwards and his legs were left inside with his feet trapped by the seat. They had a job to detach him.’
‘And then what happened?’
‘People in the audience were shouting at us and some were still laughing and then they brought the curtain down. And there were children crying.’
‘What did you do next? You personally, I mean.’
I’m afraid I just stood there like a lemon, or perhaps a blancmange, which is what I look like in that getup. You can’t do much in it because of the hoops. People were rushing onstage from all directions and Alastair confirmed that Charlie was dead, then Betty Bagshaw came and threw herself on him, weeping. It was all perfectly dreadful. Then John Nash arrived and took over and Clare came and said you were on your way.’
‘And you had no warning of this; nothing anyone said or did beforehand that might have struck you as strange or suspicious?’
‘No, not at all. Well, maybe. Has Clare been talking to you? Because I’ve been boring people for days, saying that I felt something bad was going to happen. That’s all it was, though, a feeling. And to be honest I’m not even sure that this is it; though goodness knows what qualifies if this doesn’t.’
Felix sat back and looked at her. ‘Do you often have these presentiments?’
‘Not often, no, but I’ve had them before. It’s never for anything nice, unfortunately. I expect you think it’s all nonsense, and you’re probably right.’
‘No, I don’t think it’s nonsense. Not always anyway. You might be particularly sensitive to mood or able to pull various disparate facts together without being conscious of doing it. A hunch, in fact. I have them myself quite often. I suspect most people do. I was only discussing it the other day with Sergeant Rattigan here, as a matter of fact. Have there been any tensions or undercurrents within the company that you might have picked up, or think we ought to know about?’
Jane considered. ‘I suppose there are always rivalries and clashes of personality and so on, and we’ve certainly got those, but nothing, I shouldn’t have thought, that would lead to a murder. Actors tend to be rather sensitive, volatile creatures, you know, but it’s mostly only skin-deep. The most obvious source of tension, of course, was Betty Bagshaw, but I didn’t know she existed before Monday so I couldn’t have intuited that. As for Mr Sullivan, we’d known since before Christmas that he was thinking of investing in the theatre, but no-one had met him except Alastair.’
‘Who would have been involved in those negotiations?’
‘I suppose Alastair and the Hubbards. They’re the owners of the Regent. Mr Ezra Hubbard is quite elderly. He’s well into his eighties. His son died in the war and Robin Hubbard, his grandson, looks after the running of their various businesses. He’s about thirty-five, I think. I don’t know who else there’d be.’
‘And did any of the cast take against Mr Sullivan, that you were aware of?’
‘No, quite the reverse. He was our saviour. There might have been those that didn’t much care for him as a person, but we didn’t need to have anything to do with him, and we scarcely had a chance to get to know him anyway.’
‘He was a bit – what shall we say? – unpolished, perhaps? I should explain that I met him a couple of times.’
Jane shrugged. ‘He was an East Ender. I’m one myself, though you might not think it.’
‘Theatre school knocked it out of you?’
‘No, Figgy. She’s posh and I’m a good mimic. She used to call me her cockney sparra.’
Chapter Six
‘Butler and Cook,’ said the taller of the two. ‘Actors and comedians.’
‘And your first names, sirs?’ said Rattigan.
‘Lewis,’ they said in unison.
‘Both Lewis?’
‘Yes, that’s why we’re Butler and Cook. Saves confusion.’
‘And those are your real names?’
‘Yes, we met here, as a matter of fact, and knew immediately we were meant for each other.’
‘I didn’t. He gave me a Chinese burn until I agreed. It was agony.’
‘I never did!’
‘You
did!’
‘I did not! It was a barley-sugar.’
‘Actually, gentlemen,’ interrupted Felix, ‘We prefer to interview people individually. Which of you would like to go first?’
‘Oh, we can’t do that,’ said Cook. ‘We have to tell each other what to say, don’t we, Butler?’
They stared at each other for a few moments.
‘Well, go on then,’ said Butler, ‘Tell me what to say to the Chief Inspector!’
‘I can’t,’ said Cook. ‘You haven’t told me what to say.’
Felix narrowed his eyes at them. ‘All right. How about if I nominate one of you as spokesman? Mr Cook, can you tell me anything about this business? Any suspicions about anyone?’
‘Yes, him! He murders my jokes.’
‘I don’t murder them, dear, I put them out of their misery.’
‘Mr Butler —’ sighed Felix.
‘Sorry, Chief Inspector, we can’t help it. It’s because we’re still in character. Under these stripey drawers, however —’
‘There’s another pair!’
‘Cook, Mr Felix doesn’t want to hear about your underwear. Be sensible for once.’
‘Well, I will if you will. The fact is —’
‘I didn’t tell you to say that!’
‘The fact is, we were dressing during the coach scene, so we weren’t actually there.’
‘This was in your dressing rooms?’
‘Yes.’
‘And did you see anyone else about the place, while you were down here?’
‘Yes, half the cast, all rushing to change for the ball. Nothing queer going on, I doubt. There wouldn’t have been time.’
‘Thank you. It hadn’t occurred to me that people would be down here during the show. And can you tell me at what time you left the theatre last night?’
‘Must have been close to seven. Say five to. It takes an age to get all this stuff off.’
‘And you left together?’
‘Yes, always.’
‘All right, gentlemen. Thank you. We may need to call on you later.’
At the door, Butler turned back. ‘Incidentally, Chief Inspector, you might care to enquire if a certain young dancer went home when he claims to have done. Could be interesting.’
‘Make a note of that, Sergeant,’ said Felix.
◆◆◆
‘One considers oneself a serious actor, Mr Felix,’ rumbled the multi-chinned Arthur Penfold. ‘Musical comedy is not, unfortunately, one’s forte. However, one does one’s best.’
‘I understand you play Baron Hardup, sir.’
‘I do, for my sins.’
‘And what is your view of this dreadful business? Any idea who might have done it?’
‘I have not a clue. But why, one wonders, should it be assumed that the miscreant is still within these walls, or is a member of the company? Might he not have crept in, committed this atrocity, and departed? Might he, indeed, be a denizen of that violent world Mr Sullivan is said to have inhabited? Protection rackets, razor gangs, anarchy!’
Felix nodded. ‘We’ll be looking into that of course, sir. Did Mr Sullivan have any visitors to the theatre from the racing world, do you know? Or from anywhere else, for that matter.’
‘Why, yes, he did; his own assistant, for one, a Mr Andrew Haigh. He was in and out of the place continually. I have even seen him in this corridor. One wonders why.’
‘Did you see him here on Friday?’
‘I don’t recall. He might have been.’
◆◆◆
‘What’s that old fool been telling you?’ said Sam Snow, plonking himself down unbidden. ‘Thinks he’s Henry Irving, he does.’
‘And your name, sir?’ said Rattigan, raising an eyebrow.
‘Samuel Snow, actor and dancer, age: twenty-two, address: nineteen Straw Street, Camberwell. I play Buttons, and a coachman.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Regarding your question, Mr Snow,’ said Felix, ‘I’m afraid I can’t comment on other witness’s statements. But how would you know about Mr Irving, I wonder? He died before you were born. Two years before, if I remember rightly.’
‘Yeah, well, that’s what they say, ain’t it? They say, “Thinks he’s Henry Irving.” Anyway, he wasn’t even there!’
‘Mr Irving wasn’t there?’
‘Very funny! Arthur Penfold wasn’t there.’
‘You’re concerned, naturally, sir, with your part in the discovery of Mr Sullivan’s body. However, from our point of view we are equally interested in where and when the gentleman actually received his quietus. Doctor Benyson tells us he died between about seven and nine yesterday evening. Can you tell me where you were at that time?’
‘Me?’ said Sam, as if surprised. ‘I left at about six forty-five, to catch the bus. After the rehearsal I’d been talking to some of the mouse mummies, as we call them.’
‘I see. Pretty, were they?’
Sam looked down his nose at him. ‘Can’t say I noticed. I was too busy sorting out their ’orrible kids. There’s always one or two that’s trouble or can’t remember their steps or wet themselves.’
‘Did you see or hear anything suspicious at that time?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘And when did you change into your ordinary clothes?’
‘Last thing, before I went home.’
‘Did you see anyone who would confirm when you left?’
Sam grinned. ‘Yes, bloody Henry Irving!’
‘Well in that case it might pay you not to antagonise him. He might turn out to be your only alibi. Are you quite sure that you went home at six forty-five? Someone suggested that you didn’t.’
‘All right, it was a bit later; maybe seven-fifteen.’
‘Mouse mummy?’
‘We’re friends!’
‘Then you didn’t, in fact, see Mr Penfold? It always pays to be accurate, Mr Snow, or you could get yourself into a lot of trouble. Who did you see?’
‘I don’t think I saw anyone.’
‘Except this lady?’
‘I saw her off the premises. Then I went.’
‘All right. Now, regarding tonight, when did you first become aware that the body of Mr Sullivan was in the coach?’
‘When he fell out of it! I thought: what the hell is that?’
‘Couldn’t you see him through the glass?’
‘I dunno. I suppose I could’ve if I’d looked but I didn’t. I was focussed on opening the coach door on cue.’
Felix pulled forward some paperwork. ‘I have here Mr Bethencourt’s annotated script, from which I see that the curtain rises on the Hardups’ kitchen, revealing Cinderella, waxing lyrical about the handsome young hunter she’s just met.’
‘That’s right. Enter Buttons, stage right.’
‘Which I assume means you’ll have been waiting in the wings on that side, for your cue.’
‘Yes, I was.’
‘For how long?’
‘Quite a few minutes. There’s a lot of stuff with the Ugly Sisters first, and the Hardups.’
‘One assumes they were also waiting there, at one point.’
‘Yes, they were.’
‘And the coach, I believe, lives there too.’
‘Yes, it does. It gets a bit crowded. You have to be careful you don’t trip over something. And then, of course, there are the pantomime horses, except they’re supposed to wait a bit further back until they’re hooked on.’
‘And in all that time not one of you noticed the dead body in the coach. Rather surprising, isn’t it?’
‘Well, like I say, you don’t see some things, do you?’
‘Then is it fair to say that, notwithstanding the quite large glass windows, some aspect of the coach or perhaps the lighting in th
e wings makes it difficult for anyone to see inside? Or perhaps it’s rather unlikely in the circumstances that they’ll even look?’
‘I suppose so, yes.’
‘Well, which is it, do you think?’
Sam was seen to struggle with this line of questioning. ‘I don’t think they’d look,’ he said finally.
‘Then it’s possible Mr Sullivan’s body could have been placed in the coach at any time from when he was murdered, and the murderer might have hoped, even expected, that it would not be discovered until the door was opened, only provided that no-one saw him do it?’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
All right, Mr Snow, thank you. You may go.’
◆◆◆
‘It had to have a small cast,’ explained Figgy, ‘because by that time there were only eight of us left. Most importantly it had to make us money fast because we only had about tuppence-halfpenny left in the kitty, and pantos are about the only shows that can guarantee a profit. They also have the advantage that you can co-opt children to make up the numbers and they don’t expect to be paid. We discussed it as usual but everyone wanted something different – Jack and the Beanstalk was popular, I remember – so Alastair suggested we send out spies to see what the others were planning. It turned out that no-one else was doing Cinderella this Christmas, so that was our decision made for us.’
‘It all sounds very democratic. Is no-one in overall control?’
‘Oh, Alastair, always. But if we can decide anything amongst ourselves, we do, and he encourages that. Same goes for casting: we all decide. Not that there was much choice there either. At our level its mostly sex, height and weight. Jane had to be Cinders because she can dance and she’s pretty, but she needed a Prince Charming who was decently taller and would make a passable boy. I’m five foot six to her five foot two, so as long as we’re not standing too close to the men it just about works. Sam, the other dancer, was the only possible Buttons, Baron Hardup ought to be a bit Falstaffian, we felt, which was just as well because all we had was Arthur, and so on.’
Felix nodded. ‘Interesting. Now then, I have to ask where you were at about the time Mr Sullivan died, which we estimate to be between about seven and nine last night.’