Mrs Compton leaned forward. ‘She should make a home for you and Reggie.’
He shook his head. ‘She tried. I can’t do it. I can’t live in that glass box she built. It’s like a specimen case.’
So many words came into my head, but there was nothing to be said. The note of helplessness in his voice was so sharp that as I stood to go I felt unsteady. I gripped the back of the chair.
‘Go with her, Mother. I will come. My bike’s close by.’ He stood and walked to the door, opening it for us.
Mrs Compton rose. She put the balls of wool and string in her bag, and clutched her cardigan. ‘Beryl might reknit this for me.’
It is an understatement to say I was relieved to be back on ground-floor level, feeling safe from ghosts and rodents, but hating to leave Jarrod Compton in that cellar.
The doorkeeper was away from his post when we emerged into his stage door haven. He appeared a moment later. I hoped he would assume that we had come through the street door in the usual way, but something in his look told me that he knew. He noticed Mrs Compton’s frayed woollen coat. He produced a clothes brush for me. ‘You seem to have picked up a few cobwebs.’
While he was putting the kettle on, Mrs Compton brushed cobwebs from my back. ‘Did you notice that Harry looks guilty?’
‘I thought he was just concerned at the look of us.’ There was a mirror on the wall. I took advantage of it to comb my hair.
She borrowed my comb. ‘Harry shouldn’t leave the stage door unattended.’
‘He hasn’t. We’re here.’
‘Now we are, but where was he when we came in?’
‘Well where do people go when they drink lots of tea?’
Harry returned, carrying cups. ‘It’s nice to have a bit of company. Will you join me in a cup of tea?’
It seemed churlish to refuse.
Mrs Compton gave him a hard stare. ‘Harry, look at me!’
He looked.
‘Now, look into my eyes and tell the truth. Did Jarrod come into the theatre yesterday by that underground route?’
‘He did, Mrs Compton.’
I admired her approach and made a mental note to try it myself sometime.
‘Don’t look away, Harry! Keep looking at my eyes.’
‘Yes, Mrs Compton.’
‘Why did you tell Selina, Trotter and Beryl that Jarrod was not here?’
‘Young Mr Compton asked me not to say anything. I did not say he wasn’t here. I said he did not come through from Swan Street and there was no motorcycle in the alley. That was true.’
‘Then why are you telling me now?’
‘Because you’re his mam and you’ve spoiled your good coat because you’ve been down there, and now you’re making me look into your eyes.’
‘Who is in the theatre now?’
‘Usual staff, Mr Waterhouse the manager going over the accounts with Mr Brockett, the publicity man, and Mrs Kelly taking round the tea.’
‘What about the company?’
‘Beryl is in the dressing room doing a bit of sewing. None of the players are here.’
‘Thank you. We’ll go up.’
Mrs Compton led the way. As we came closer to the dressing room, I caught a faint whiff of gas. It grew stronger. We turned to each other, exchanged a look and began to hurry to the dressing room.
‘Cover your face, Mrs Compton!’
I took off my hat and covered my nose and mouth. She pulled the shawl from her shoulders and did the same.
In the dressing room, I went straight to the gas fire and turned it off. Luckily, Beryl had been sewing, not ironing which might have caused a spark and an explosion. The electric iron was unplugged from the light fitting.
Mrs Compton was shaking Beryl who appeared lifeless. She was seated on a stool and slouched over the dressing table, a costume under her hands. The small window above was closed.
Between us, we pulled Beryl from the room, shut the door and dragged her along the corridor. Somehow we managed to carry her down the stairs, me taking her feet and walking backwards, Mrs Compton holding her under the arms.
It took an age to negotiate the steps, turning corners, not daring to stop when my arms threatened to part from their sockets with the strain. As we neared the ground floor, I began to call for Harry. Beryl’s head lolled like a floppy doll’s, but she was breathing.
Once on ground level, Harry hurried to help.
Mrs Compton and I were shouting orders at the same time.
‘Open the door, let’s have some air! She’s still breathing.’
‘Telephone for an ambulance and the police!’
*
Mercifully, the ambulance arrived quickly. Beryl was given oxygen and placed on a stretcher. She had opened her eyes, and closed them again.
Mrs Compton and I stood in Swan Street, watching as Beryl was put into the back of the ambulance. She looked at me. ‘One of us should go with her.’
The driver called from his cab. ‘Sorry madam, that’s not allowed. She’ll be taken to the infirmary. You can enquire after her patient number and look on the board to see how she is.’
Someone came up behind me. A familiar voice said, ‘Why is it not a surprise to find you here, Mrs Shackleton?’
I turned to see Detective Inspector Wallis of Leeds City Police, accompanied by Sergeant Ashworth. It surprised me that an inspector would turn up for an incident involving a gas fire. He wore his usual worsted suit, with an olive green tie. We eyed each other. I wondered what it was he found noticeable about me. I always tried not to look too closely at his odd eyes, the right one bright blue and round and the left eye a little smaller and less penetrating. Occasionally we met at civic functions. He always made a point of seeking me out. Now and again, if one of us was without a car, we gave the other a lift.
‘Inspector Wallis.’
‘Mrs Shackleton.’
‘Mrs Compton, this is Detective Inspector Wallis. Inspector, Mrs Compton. She and I had just come to the theatre and went up to have a word with Beryl Lister, Selina Fellini’s dresser.’
Mrs Compton looked upset but I knew she had also decided that it would be better not to mention our unconventional way into the theatre. ‘Thank heavens Mrs Shackleton had the presence of mind to act so quickly. I hope poor Beryl won’t suffer lasting damage.’
Harry was listening. We could be sure to rely on him not to complicate matters by mentioning the Empire and underground passages, especially since he had kept quiet about Jarrod’s comings and goings.
Inspector Wallis spoke to Harry. ‘Will you please take Sergeant Ashworth to the dressing room where Mrs Lister was working. Mrs Compton, I’d be obliged if you would accompany the sergeant and show him where you found Mrs Lister. And I’m sure I don’t need to tell you to hold hankies to your nose and mouth and not strike a match.’
Mrs Compton shot a look at me that was rather severe. The woman had a nerve. As if I would say more than necessary, as if I would involve her precious son without evidence.
The inspector waited until the door to the stairs closed behind them. ‘A word, Mrs Shackleton, please.’
Leather-covered benches ran along two sides of the room. We seated ourselves on the nearest one, keeping a decent amount of space between us.
He took out his notebook. ‘Yesterday you went into Brownlaws chemist on Boar Lane. What were you doing there?’
That explained why Ernest Brownlaw had been so elusive. He had reported having been asked to test the cigar for poison.
I considered describing my purchase of rose-scented soap flakes, but that was not what he wanted to know. And I thought Ernest Brownlaw was my friend. He might at least have alerted me that he intended to tell tales about the cigar.
‘I took in a cigar for analysis.’
‘To be analysed for…?’
‘For cyanide.’ He would know that, of course. Ernest Brownlaw had reported the fact.
‘Why was that?’
‘Did Mr Brownlaw find somethi
ng, is that why you’re here?’
He smiled. ‘I’ll ask the questions. A brief account if you please.’
‘Billy Moffatt died yesterday morning. One of the last things he did was to light a cigar. Later, he was found by some of the school’s senior boys in a collapsed state.’
I gave him a brief account of Billy’s admission to Castleberg infirmary, and his death.
‘Please don’t make me ask every question. You are aware that you need to tell me where Mr Moffatt was found…’
‘Oh, didn’t I say? By Giggleswick School chapel.’
‘… who found him, what made you pick up a cigar butt and by what convoluted process did you suspect it might contain cyanide?’
There was nothing for it but to tell him the truth. He would want names, and in particular one name. It was a curse that I knew so little about chemistry. Had I been a science whiz, I might have pretended I was the one who managed to enter the school lab and carry out an analysis. I loved that idea and could imagine myself doing it, with potions and smoke.
‘I persuaded one of the boys to help me by conducting a test, and it came up positive. The responsibility is mine.’
‘That is helpful but too brief. I shall have to ask you to come to headquarters and give me a full statement. I need the name of the boy concerned.’
‘What if I say no?’
‘Then I shall talk to the headmaster and find out from him.’
‘At least tell me whether the analysis was positive.’
Inspector Wallis thought for a moment. ‘Would I be here if he was wrong?’
‘Mr Brownlaw told me something about the type of cigar. That was all. He said he would let me know the results and naturally I would have come to you.’
He sighed. ‘Naturally. And naturally I believe you. The name? If I need to speak to the boy I shall do so discreetly.’
‘Alex McGregor.’
He had not answered my question. Had Ernest Brownlaw found traces of poison? He was a good chemist but a poor friend. He must have struggled with his conscience and the demands of the Poisons and Pharmacy Act. Now I might be on a charge of interfering with evidence.
That would explain why, when the police received Harry’s emergency call from the theatre where Billy had performed, Inspect Wallis decided that the City Varieties merited his visit.
‘I am keeping an open mind, Mrs Shackleton. Now what else do you have to tell me, assuming that you wish to avoid being charged with obstructing the course of justice?’
‘Nothing else regarding Billy’s death. Mr Brockett will be going to Giggleswick Hospital when they have the death certificate. I expect I may be asked to attend the inquest. When do you want my statement?’
His tone softened. ‘Now that you’ve told me, tomorrow will be soon enough.’ He glanced at my shoes, which were unusually dusty. Damn the man. He missed nothing. ‘Tell me about finding Miss Lister.’
‘Just that she was slumped over the dressing table, and there was the smell of gas.’
‘I’ll go up in a moment. Do you know her well?’
‘Not well, but I don’t believe she would have been so careless as to let the flame die in the gas fire. When I was in the dressing room last night, she made a point of turning off the fire.’
‘Are you saying someone deliberately tried to kill her?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. If she doesn’t recover, this will be fourth death in the company in a matter of eighteen months.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘So that’s why you’re here?’
At that moment, the sergeant and Mrs Compton returned from the dressing room.
Wallis waited for his sergeant to speak.
‘No sign of anyone else up there, sir. I opened the window. Harry the doorkeeper has gone to fetch the wind machine. He’ll have it hooked up to disperse the gas.’
‘Any note?’
‘No note, sir, not unless there’s one about the lady’s person.’
Mrs Compton glared at the two men. ‘A note? A note? Do you imagine Beryl would begin hemming a dress and then think to herself, I won’t finish sewing this costume. I’ve taken against the colour. I’ll just gas myself instead.’
Inspector and sergeant pretended deafness.
It was my turn to be helpful. ‘What about the cup on the dressing table? Was it tea, and was it still warm? If Beryl had taken a tipple that might explain her dropping off, or not being her usual alert self.’
The sergeant frowned. ‘What cup? I didn’t see a cup.’
‘There was one. Did you see it, Mrs Compton?’
She had not. ‘I was busy looking at poor Beryl, and that dreadful dress she was mending. It’s the wrong sort of red for Selina.’
‘Then someone has moved it. There was definitely a cup there.’
‘Go up and find Harry, Ashworth. Search the building. I want to know who else is here, and nobody must leave.’
He pulled out his police whistle, went to the stage door, signalling for the beat bobby, before picking up the telephone.
Mrs Compton whispered, ‘You’ll look very silly if you imagined the cup.’
‘I didn’t. Earlier you asked me my occupation, well I’m not a solicitor, or a travel agent, I am an enquiry agent or if you prefer, a private detective. And when the inspector is off the phone, tell him I’ve gone upstairs to see whether someone tipped the contents of that cup into one of the vases or the plant pot because whoever moved it wouldn’t have run along a corridor carrying half a cup of tea.’
No interloper was discovered in the theatre, perhaps because there were too many ways in and out: the main doors, actors’ alley entrance, the scenery dock doors. Every person in the theatre was with someone else and had been nowhere near the dressing rooms.
Mrs Compton and I were allowed to leave by the stage door, with Inspector Wallis’s warning ringing in my ears that I must report to headquarters in the morning, to make a statement.
‘Poor Beryl,’ Mrs Compton murmured. ‘She has devoted the best part of her life to Selina Fellini. More fool her.’
‘I wonder how long Jarrod had been in his cellar hideaway when we arrived and disturbed him?’
‘Don’t you dare point a finger at my son, Mrs Shackleton. We talked to him for a quarter of an hour at least. It couldn’t possibly have been Jarrod. He would not do such a thing, my Jarrod.’
But was he still her Jarrod?
Twenty-Nine
The Other Jarrod
A subdued silence prevailed as I drove Mrs Compton back to her house. I must have been mad to go underground with her, but if I hadn’t we would not have found our way into the Varieties and Beryl surely would have died. Perhaps our adventure gave Beryl a chance of life. Neither of us had mentioned Jarrod to the inspector, and nor had Harry. Now I wondered whether that had been a mistake. I felt sure that Inspector Wallis knew we were holding back.
I brought the car to a stop outside her gate, expecting her to get out.
She did not.
‘Will you come in with me?’
‘No thank you. I’d best be off.’ I chose not to mention that tomorrow I would need to call at police headquarters and give a statement that may well lead me into trouble and Alex McGregor to being disciplined, if not expelled.
‘I should like you to come in because that’s Jarrod’s motorcycle in the back garden and I want you to be absolutely clear in your mind that he would not have attempted to gas Beryl Lister.’
‘Very well, and if it’s any consolation I believe you are right about the timing.’ Since I had come to find Jarrod, I should follow through and find out what he did know about the other deaths. And in spite of my reassurance to Mrs Compton, there was still the niggling possibility that a powder in her tea and slow release of gas could be the work of the charming Jarrod. If I were a murderer, I would make sure to be charming on the outside.
We walked to the gate. ‘Jarrod likes Beryl. They’ve known each oth
er since some youthful theatrical performance when they were at school. Beryl was bridesmaid when he married the Fellini girl.’
This seemed an odd way for her to refer to Selina but I expect that’s how she thought of her during the courtship: the Fellini girl, whom Jarrod might grow out of.
‘Jarrod has a soft spot for Beryl. He used to encourage her to strike out. She had that same dreadful elementary education as Selina but her father paid for a great deal of additional tuition. She speaks French, she designs dresses. Her parents had great hopes for her. She wastes her talents designing for Selina and doing up her buttons.’
Death in the Stars Page 25
