by Rayne, Sarah
Anton lay prone on the iron oblong, and at first Flora thought he was dead after all; his face was grey and his eyes were closed. But then she saw him blink and half open his eyes, and she realized that although his face was thin and sharp, he was alive. There were livid bruises on his hands and crusted blood where his nails had been torn away. Had he, then, tried to get through the cellar door?
Hal said, ‘Flora, could you get some water for him? And some brandy as well if you can find any.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Flora, glad to be able to do something. ‘There might be some brandy in the dressing rooms, and if not, I’ll run over to the Linkman.’ When she got to her feet she found she was shaking so much she was afraid she would not be able to walk, but she forced her legs to obey her and once in the green room filled a tall jug with water. By a happy chance someone had left a half-full bottle of brandy in a dressing-room cupboard; Flora snatched this up along with a small cup.
‘Only a few sips of water at a time,’ Rinaldi said. ‘Or he will get stomach cramps.’
The water, and then a small amount of brandy, revived Anton slightly, and when Hal said, ‘Reznik, are you hurt anywhere except your hands?’ he said, ‘Not much hurt.’ The words came in a dry, difficult whisper. ‘But Stefan—’ He broke off. ‘Stefan is dead,’ he said.
‘He is. I’m so sorry,’ said Hal gently.
‘Are you?’ Even like this, Anton’s eyes glittered with hatred as he looked at Hal.
‘Anton, we’re all desperately sorry about Stefan,’ said Flora. The words came out awkwardly, because she was trying not to remember that embarrassing, frightening intimacy of three nights ago. ‘You do understand it was an accident that you were trapped down there?’ she said. ‘We made an arrangement for you to be let out, but it went wrong.’
‘No accident,’ said Anton. ‘This is your revenge.’ He turned to look at Hal and Flora flinched at the expression in his eyes.
‘It was an accident,’ she said before Hal could speak. ‘Of course it was. You must know we wouldn’t have left you down there.’
‘What I know is that my brother died and I nearly died also.’
Rinaldi was binding Anton’s torn hands and fingers, using a ripped-off piece of curtain soaked in the water Flora had brought. Anton gasped in pain several times, but then seemed to relax a little.
‘You’ve been remarkably lucky, sir,’ said Rinaldi. ‘Almost three days down here without food.’
‘People have survived for three days without food,’ said Flora.
‘Not without water though,’ said Hal. ‘Reznik, we’ll get a doctor to see to you.’
‘Nothing is broken,’ said Anton. ‘Wounds heal.’
‘What happened?’
‘When we realized we could not open the door—that we could not make anyone hear us—we tried to operate the machine,’ said Anton. His voice was noticeably stronger and a tinge of colour was returning to his cheeks, and he glanced across to the trap’s outline nearby. ‘We thought to lower it halfway down so one of us could climb up and reach the stage.’
‘But the platform’s a sheet of iron,’ said Rinaldi. ‘And from below you’d be pushing against the mechanism.’
‘It was heavy and difficult,’ said Anton. ‘The machine is clumsy and cumbersome, but we forced it far enough down to reach it, and I wedged the pulleys in place. Stefan stood on the platform and began climbing up. He used the sides of the shaft to lever his way upwards—it was difficult but not impossible. But the wedges were not strong enough. The machinery slipped, and because it had already been forced onto its downward journey, it completed that journey.’
‘What happened?’ said Flora, staring at him in horror.
‘The machine came roaring down. Stefan was still on the platform. The force of the fall injured his legs—his ankles were broken, I think. And perhaps also the bones of his legs. He could not stand so he could not make the climb a second time. I could not raise the machine again, not on my own, not with Stefan on it. When I tried to pull him off the platform he screamed with the pain of his broken legs. I tried a second time and a third to move him, but it was too cruel, and I left him there, with my coat covering him. Then I tried to force the cellar door again but I could not.’ He indicated his damaged hands angrily. ‘So all we could do was lie helplessly down there in the dark, waiting to be rescued, or to die, we did not know which it would be.’ The hatred showed again in his face. ‘And it is all your fault, you bitch,’ he said to Flora.
‘We should have left you down there to rot,’ began Rinaldi hotly, but Hal waved him to silence.
‘Accusations won’t help anyone,’ he said, ‘but Reznik, if you use language like that again to Miss Jones, injured as you are, I shall knock you out.’
Anton hunched his shoulder angrily. ‘Stefan was terrified,’ he said. ‘He was always terrified of the dark as a child—I always protected him. But this time I could not do so. When first we understood we were locked in that cellar, he crouched in a corner sobbing for hours, his arms over his head. He saw demons and spectres—he was afraid they were creeping towards him in the dark. After he was injured, he lay on the iron platform, screaming, on and on until his voice cracked. I had to listen. I listened to him die.’
‘Of his injuries?’ said Flora.
‘Of madness from his thirst,’ said Anton. ‘It comes sooner than you think, the madness of thirst, and it is a terrible thing to hear someone die in that way—’ He broke off, and sipped the brandy and water again.
Hal said, ‘How did you survive yourself?’
‘A small amount of rain water came in through a flaw in the brickwork,’ said Anton. ‘I managed to crawl over to drink a few drops. But I could not get Stefan to the trickles of water, or the water to Stefan.’ He set down the brandy and suddenly grabbed Flora’s wrist. His fingers were hot and dry against her skin and his eyes glittered. ‘My brother is dead because of you. There will be a reckoning.’
‘There will be no reckoning,’ said Hal sharply. ‘Your brother was the victim of a tragic accident. We all know quite well what happened that night.’
For the first time Flora saw Anton hesitate. Hal obviously saw it as well, because he said, ‘There will be an inquest on your brother, of course, but the verdict will undoubtedly be misadventure.’
‘I shall say you locked us down there. You will be guilty of murder.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. No one locked you down there. It’s an old lock. Unreliable. It simply jammed,’ said Hal. ‘But you were both drunk that night and you assaulted Miss Jones. I saw that for myself. Rinaldi saw it as well. In the fight Stefan fell downstairs and you both refused to come out. If you had done so, you wouldn’t have been trapped. And,’ he said, ‘all of us would testify to those facts if we had to.’ He did not say, ‘And since I’m a member of Her Majesty’s Foreign Office, my word will be believed,’ but Flora could see Anton thinking it. After a moment, Anton said, sneeringly, ‘So that is your famous British justice.’
‘That is our famous British truth,’ said Hal coldly. ‘Reznik, I will do what I can to help you with the practicalities of your brother’s death if you wish it—perhaps there are papers that would be needed—papers you do not have…’ He let the sentence remain unfinished, and Flora saw at once that this, even more than Hal’s Foreign Office standing, had struck some kind of chord in Anton. His eyes flickered, but he did not speak. After a moment, Hal said, ‘And so you must accept what I have said.’
‘I will accept it for the moment, for I do not waste my time fighting what cannot be defeated. I will deal with my brother’s death by myself.’ He broke off, then looked from Hal to Flora. ‘But one day I will destroy you,’ he said. ‘One day I will destroy both of you for what happened to my brother.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
IT WAS A MATTER OF mild interest to those who moved in thespian circles or in the raffish world of the music halls, that the Tarleton was being refurbished and electrified that November. The
management was looking towards the Christmas season, said people, and hoped there would be a lively panto this year. The Tarleton’s rivals said sneeringly that if the place were to be plastered with silver and gilt and given electricity from roof to cellars, it would still be what it had always been: a gaff, a former blood-tub, fit only for the vulgarians.
Another section of the community was currently wondering whether there was any truth in the rumour that Sir Hal Chance had made moves to acquire the freehold of the theatre, and with an air of elbow-nudges and sly winks, asked if his deepening friendship with the infamous Flowered Fan could possibly have anything to do with this.
‘I don’t know how these things get out,’ said Hal to Flora over lunch at Kettner’s. ‘There’ve even been a few comments in the newspapers.’
‘I know. I’m sorry about that,’ said Flora. ‘It’s the juxtaposition of our two names more than anything else. The sum is greater than the parts.’
‘I don’t mind it, you know. And that photo of us in the Morning News was rather a good one, I thought. Well, it was good of you, at any rate.’
Flora said the Morning News was a gossipy old rag and Hal grinned.
‘In any case, it’s perfectly true that I’m interested in buying the Tarleton,’ he said. ‘That’s why I invited you out today to tell you about it properly. I’ve made an approach through my solicitors, to enquire if the present owners might negotiate a sale.’
‘And will they?’
‘They’re being a bit guarded but the signs are very good indeed,’ said Hal, eating partridge au choux with apparent enjoyment. ‘They’ve already agreed to make last year’s accounts available to my solicitor.’
As the main course plates were removed and the pudding brought, Flora found herself struggling against a feeling of inadequacy. Hal Chance had a title and a house in Kensington and an office in Westminster. He helped his masters deal with diplomats and people in foreign embassies, and he prepared reports for cabinet ministers about far-flung places with outlandish names which were part of the British Empire. He had solicitors who did his bidding and provided him with complicated-sounding balance sheets. I wouldn’t know a balance sheet from a laundry list, thought Flora, and I wouldn’t know how to go about buying so much as a potting shed.
I suppose I may as well go to bed with him if he asks me, she thought, dismally eating Kettner’s exquisite charlotte russe; it’s all I’m likely to get and at least I’d have it to remember when I’m old. Because Minnie will be proved right: when it comes down to it, all he’ll want is four bare legs in a bed and no marriage lines on the mantelpiece.
Then Hal said, ‘It’s a massive undertaking, buying a place like that. If I think about it too much it rather daunts me. I’ve never actually bought any property before—I inherited the house I live in at the moment, so things have been handed to me in a neat parcel so far.’ He smiled at her and Flora instantly felt better. ‘But I’d like to buy it if I can,’ he said. ‘Providing it isn’t ridiculously expensive and the fabric’s sound. Somehow, I always think of it as your theatre.’
So it wasn’t entirely a question of a good investment after all. Flora said carefully, ‘That’s not because of what happened there that night, is it?’
‘Stefan Reznik’s death? No, certainly not.’ He paused, and then said, ‘That’s all over, you know. The inquest brought in the verdict I expected.’
‘Death by misadventure. Yes. I did think,’ said Flora, speaking very carefully, ‘that Anton would have made more trouble for you—for us. He was sick with grief that night, but those threats he made were very strong.’
‘Anton didn’t dare draw too much attention to himself at the inquest or anywhere else,’ said Hal drily.
‘Didn’t he? That night you said something about him needing papers that he might not have. I didn’t entirely understand that. Is he some kind of criminal? Were you telling him you knew something about him? Something discreditable? Illegal?’
‘None of those things, really.’ He thought for a moment, then said, ‘Flora, Magna Carta, praise its ancient old parchments, grants Englishmen and women the freedom of movement and departure. In other words, we can come and go in this country and most other countries to our hearts’ content. And thank God for it. But not all countries permit that. The Tzar, for instance, is a bit jealous of his subjects’ movements. I believe it’s quite difficult to leave Mother Russia—and one or two other countries besides—without very specific permission.’
‘Is Anton Russian?’
‘I don’t know what he is, but if he isn’t Russian he’s probably from somewhere in Eastern Europe,’ said Hal. ‘Hungarian or Romanian, perhaps. In certain circumstances it can be very useful to be vague about nationality. And if Anton and Stefan left their native shores without permission—or because they were in some kind of trouble there… When I said that about papers, it was a bow drawn at a venture. Nothing more. But it struck home—we both saw that. And whatever the truth behind it all, it seems to have prevented him from making trouble. But, Flora, I wouldn’t have said it if I hadn’t known you and I were entirely innocent of Stefan’s death. And neither of us bear any blame or any responsibility for what happened.’
‘I know.’
‘It doesn’t alter the Tarleton for us, does it? When I said I thought of it as your theatre, I meant the successes you’ve had there,’ said Hal. ‘The pleasure you’ve given audiences.’
‘Oh. Yes, I see.’ Flora felt even better.
‘I don’t know the first thing about running a theatre,’ he said, ‘so I’d rely on people who did and just keep a—a controlling interest. I’ve been hoping you could give me your advice on that side of things.’
This was intensely pleasing and so interesting that Flora forgot about her pudding, and said she would try to provide some possible names. ‘But the one person who comes instantly to my mind is Rinaldi. You really couldn’t do better for a stage manager. He’s quite young, but he’s very good, very knowledgeable and reliable. He’s been there ever since he was about twelve: he learned the work from his father, I think—he was the Tarleton’s stage manager as well. It’s a kind of backstage dynasty.’
‘Yes, Rinaldi is a good idea.’ He smiled at her. ‘Shall we walk along Burbage Street and take a look at the old place with an acquisitive eye?’
‘Now?’
‘Well, finish your pudding first.’
As they went towards Burbage Street, Flora suddenly said, ‘Hal, why are you doing this? Your work’s with the Foreign Office. Even with a management board, a theatre’s a very long way from the things you’re used to.’
He took a moment to reply, then said, ‘Let’s pose a theory. Let’s say you and I thought of getting married. That’s a purely theoretical assumption at the moment, you understand.’
‘Yes?’ said Flora. It came out quite calmly, but her heart had given a thump of delight.
‘If that situation were to arise, I can’t see how you could combine your stage career with being my wife. That’s an old-fashioned outlook and it isn’t mine, I’d like you to know. The world’s changing, but I’m afraid it’s not yet changed enough, and a lot of people would find it unacceptable for Lady Chance to dance on a stage.’
‘I know that,’ said Flora.
‘And government circles—Foreign Office circles—are very hidebound indeed. For myself, I wouldn’t care. I’d be proud of you. My God, Flora, if the prime minister himself challenged me, I’d tell him to— I’d say it was none of his business,’ said Hal temperately. ‘And I like theatre people—I’ve liked the ones I’ve met through you. But I can’t, in all honesty, see that it would be accepted.’
‘You mean me continuing to dance on a stage and consort with vagabonds and strumpets, while you spend your time with embassies and diplomats,’ said Flora, hoping this did not sound catty.
‘They’d all make you out to have been far more daring than you actually are,’ he said, ‘and it would end in ruining both of us. They
’d strip you down to just sequins and ostrich feathers and precious little else.’
Flora thought, and is that what you really want to do to me, I wonder? Strip me? Is this just an elaborate ploy to get me into bed? How far can I trust what you’re saying?
‘It sounds as if I’d expect you to give up your career in favour of mine,’ he said, apparently seeing nothing odd about having this discussion in the middle of a Southwark street in the Tarleton’s shadow. ‘I wouldn’t expect it, but—’
‘But the world—your world—would?’
‘It has to be said that it would. And assuming this theory about marriage might be acceptable to you—’
‘It would be,’ said Flora at once.
‘Would it? Good. I wasn’t sure about that, you know. Well then, you’d have to be very generous about abandoning your stage life. And you’d have to be very sure indeed that you wouldn’t resent that loss. That’s what I’m grappling with,’ he said. ‘It’s why I’m skirting round this with theories and unromantic plans because I’m worried you might resent it sometime in the future. I think you’re one of these remarkable new women: after a time, marriage in itself wouldn’t be enough for you. But for Lady Chance to have a—an interest in the managing of a theatre might go some way to…’
‘Fill the gap?’ Lady Chance, thought Flora. Oh God, I’d be Lady Chance. Is that terrifying or exhilarating?
‘Yes, exactly that.’
He appeared to wait for a response, and Flora said carefully, ‘Speaking purely theoretically, and always allowing for the unexpected, it sounds rather a good theory.’
‘You think so?’
‘I do,’ said Flora. She saw his eyes narrow in the smile that was becoming familiar and beloved and she had to fight not to gaze besottedly at him or let him see that as far as she was concerned, heaven had just opened up in the middle of Burbage Street.
