Murder at the Mikado

by Julianna Deering

“You don’t think he’s still interested in her, do you? Mrs. Landis? Poppycock. Why would you even consider such a thing?”

  “No. It’s not that. Not exactly.”

  “Then what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Madeline drew her knees to her chest and hunched her shoulders over them. “She just reminds me of that girl Dinah. The one Jimmy . . .”

  Aunt Ruth nodded. “I’ve been wondering if you saw the resemblance. Not physical, of course, but the two of them were certainly stamped from the same mold. Well, if that was enough to shake you up, maybe you ought to slow things down after all.”

  “Exactly. When Drew and I first met, he was interested in me. All right, I was interested in him too, but I told you before that I was trying to make sure of him. Of us. And I thought I had. But what if I’m wrong again, like I was with Jimmy?”

  For a long moment, Aunt Ruth only looked at her, her mouth in a grim line. This past summer she had arrived at Farthering Place unannounced and determined to extinguish any spark of love between Madeline and her spoiled foreigner. Now she looked as if she were offended the young man she’d warned Madeline against was now being refused by her.

  “Have you discussed this with Drew? Whatever you decide, you owe him at least that much.”

  Madeline nodded, feeling half ashamed. “He says he doesn’t want me to marry him if I’m not sure. I just . . . well, how well do we really know each other?”

  Aunt Ruth chuckled. “Just how many murders do you have to solve together before you really know a man?”

  “It’s not funny.” Madeline sniffled and dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. “How do you know?”

  Aunt Ruth put an arm around her. “You don’t know, honey. I told you about Bert, the man I was supposed to marry, oh, a million years ago. When I found out there was going to be a scandal about his father’s bank, I broke our engagement. What if I couldn’t handle people talking about him? About us? What if he ended up being dishonest, just like his father? What if everything he ever told me was a lie? I broke it off because I was scared. And then, before I could sort out all my emotions about it, he died. He died, and I didn’t have the luxury of changing my mind again.”

  “Would you have?” Madeline asked, her voice thick. “Would you have married him after all?”

  “I would have.” There was a wistful look in the older woman’s eyes. “I never found anyone I felt the same way about. Not in all the years since then. Or maybe I just remember him as a little more perfect than he really was or ever could have been.”

  Madeline studied her face, recalling pictures she had seen from twenty or thirty years ago. Ruth Jansen had been a beauty in her day. Now she was old, and those days would never return. Madeline didn’t want to end up like her, with nothing but what might have been to look back on.

  “Have you prayed about all this?” Aunt Ruth asked.

  Madeline exhaled heavily. “Over and over. Until Fleur showed up, I felt sure Drew and I were meant to be together. Now . . . I don’t know anymore. I feel like everything’s wrong.”

  “You aren’t expecting any money-back guarantees, are you?”

  “No, but—”

  “You can’t know, honey. You can only believe and go forward and trust God one day at a time.”

  Until everything falls apart. Madeline felt that same pounding dread that had flooded over her when they told her about Jimmy when she was eighteen. She felt that same uncertainty, that same insecurity, that same sense of not being good enough. Oh, what do I do now?

  “What do you think of Drew?”

  Aunt Ruth chuckled again. “Oh, no. I’m not making this decision for you. You have to make it on your own, and then you have to live with it.”

  “All right. I guess the wisest thing to do is to break things off now,” Madeline said, her eyes on the floor, “before we both make a terrible mistake. Anyway, I just need to know if you have the list of people we sent invitations to. I must let them know as soon as possible that they need to cancel their plans.”

  “You don’t think you ought to think about this a while longer before you make a final decision?”

  Madeline swallowed hard and blinked back tears. “I’ve been thinking about it since all this happened with Fleur. I just can’t be sure I’m not making a mistake.”

  Aunt Ruth put one finger under Madeline’s chin and tilted up her face. “You’re certain this is what you want to do? And you absolutely will not marry this man you’ve been mooning over for the past six months?”

  Tears welled in her eyes again, but there was no going back now. It was over. She nodded her head, unable to say anything more.

  “Well then.” Her aunt’s voice became gentle and sympathetic as she pulled Madeline into a hug. “I don’t want you to worry about any of it, all right? I’ll see that everything’s taken care of.”

  Madeline clung to her aunt, shaken with grief. She loved Drew. More than she could have thought possible, she loved him. She wanted him. But she couldn’t marry him and then find out it was all a huge mistake. It was best if she stopped wanting him.

  She sat up, blew her nose, and straightened her shoulders. Best to decide such things now before it was too late.

  “Thank you, Aunt Ruth. We should start thinking about going back home now.” She sniffled and made herself smile. “I suppose Denny or Nick would make the reservations for us.”

  “Don’t you worry about that either, Madeline. I don’t want to be in such a hurry that we end up on the first tramp steamer going west. When I go home, I intend it to be on a respectable ocean liner, so we might not be leaving right away. That’ll be all right, won’t it? Or should we go stay at the inn until I can get all the arrangements made?”

  Madeline shook her head, feeling rather foolish. “No, it’s not as bad as that. Just a little awkward maybe. With Drew and with everyone else in the house. You know how the servants talk.”

  “Pshaw, let them talk if they like. If you don’t mind being around the young man for a few days more, then we’ll stay here. One thing’s for sure, he’ll be polite about everything. Whatever else you might say about him, you can’t fault his manners.”

  Tears spilled over onto Madeline’s cheeks. She couldn’t fault his manners or much else about him. But if in a month or a year or two it all fell apart . . .

  Making soothing clucking noises, Aunt Ruth put her arm around Madeline’s shoulders again. “You go ahead and cry, honey. You’ve had a lot on your mind lately. There’s nothing like a good cry to make you see things a little more clearly.”

  The next day, after Madeline disappeared into her bedroom following an uncomfortably quiet lunch, Dennison informed Drew that he had a telephone call. A few minutes later, Drew hunted up Nick, who was going over the estate accounts in Mr. Padgett’s office at the back of the house.

  “Can that wait a bit, old man?”

  Nick looked up. “Just trying to figure out whether or not the farrier got paid properly, but it’s not urgent. What are you on to?”

  “I received a call from Grady over at the Tivoli. He claims he’s found something we ought to take a look at.”

  “You know it was Grady for certain, do you?” Nick went to get their hats and coats. “You don’t think he’ll be dead by the time we get there, do you?”

  Drew laughed grimly as they headed out to the Rolls.

  Grady was waiting for them when they arrived at the theater and escorted them to the wardrobe room at once.

  “I was cleaning out this room, now that the police have done with it and all,” he said, “and I came across this.” He handed Drew a piece of paper, folded into thirds. It was a letter.

  Drew opened it, scanning the cramped, angular writing.

  Darling,

  Thursday. At the same little inn we stayed at during Ascot.

  Mad about you, my flower.

  Your wanton wolf,

  C

  Drew passed the letter to Nick and then turned to Grady. “Where exactly
did you find this note? I would have thought the police would give this room a thorough going-over.”

  “I expect they did,” Grady said with a thoughtful scratch of one ear. “But it was stuck behind a drawer in the sewing table. I opened it to put away some pins and a thimble I found on the floor, and I couldn’t get it to shut properly. So I took the drawer out, and there was the letter. Neat as you please.”

  “So Benton’s involvement with Tess was not quite as advertised,” Nick observed, handing the letter back to Drew.

  “I don’t know.” Drew looked the letter over again. “I say, Grady, how long had Miss Davidson been working here at the Tivoli?”

  “Since the first of August, I believe. I remember feeling a bit sorry, because she said it was her birthday and she didn’t have anyone to celebrate it with.”

  “She didn’t know anyone in the troupe?” Drew asked.

  “Not that I knew of,” Grady replied. “She’d been in Dover before then. Born and raised there, I understand.”

  “And she didn’t know Mr. Benton before she came here?”

  “Not in the least.” Grady shook his head. “Far as I could tell, he had hardly a word with her until a week or two ago. He never was much for speaking to anyone beneath him, our Mr. Benton. Like he was doing a bloke a favor if he so much as said good morning to him. Not like Mr. Ravenswood. Mr. Ravenswood knew, of course, that he was fairly better than anyone, save the Archbishop of Canterbury, but at least he’d stand you to a drink and tell you so.”

  “But not Benton?”

  “Oh, no, sir, though I would say he got a bit chummy this last two or three weeks. Perhaps he’d seen the error of his ways or some such.”

  “Hmmm.” Drew glanced at Nick and then turned again to the stageman. “Tell me, was Mr. Benton seeing anyone in particular before Ravenswood was killed? Anyone at all?”

  “Particular? Not that I knew of. I mean, he and Mr. Ravenswood always had their pick of the girls. In the troupe. In the audience. Didn’t much matter to them. Sometimes the same ones.” Grady gave a disdainful sniff. “But I don’t know as either of them was steady with just one. To be fair, I’d have to say I didn’t notice it much with Mr. Benton lately.”

  “Since Miss Davidson signed on?”

  “Well before then. Nearly a year now.” Grady chuckled. “I thought maybe he’d got religion or something.”

  Drew tapped the letter thoughtfully, not responding to Nick’s inquiring glance. “Right. Or something . . .”

  The stageman seemed rather disappointed. “I thought maybe I’d found something grand there, Mr. Farthering, sir, but I guess it didn’t end up being much after all.”

  “It’s hard to say at this point,” Drew told him, “but I’m certainly glad you found it. Now, what have the police said about it?”

  “Oh.” Grady looked sheepish. “I suppose I ought to have rung them up first, eh? That chief inspector isn’t going to be too pleased, is he?”

  Nick shook his head. “Knowing him, he may have you brought up on charges. Interfering with a police investigation?”

  “You don’t think he would, do you?” the stageman asked. “I would have told him. I just didn’t think.”

  “Don’t you worry now,” Drew soothed. “Chief Inspector Birdsong is a reasonable man. Go ahead and ring him up and tell him what you’ve found here. No need to tell him we saw it first.”

  Grady nodded. “No, not at all. Not at all. Thank you, sir.”

  “Before we go, you wouldn’t mind if we copied out what’s in the note, would you? Just so we can study it more later?”

  “No, sir,” Grady said.

  “Excellent.” Drew handed the note back to Nick. “You have your notebook, don’t you, old man? Mind seeing to that?”

  “Not at all.” Nick settled himself at the corner of the table and started writing.

  “You didn’t happen on anything else, did you, Grady? Sworn confessions or anything? Photographic evidence?”

  “No. Just the thimble and the pins. Miss Tess, she was kind enough to let me call her that, she kept this wardrobe room neat as you please. But there’s always something goes astray here and there, especially, you know, after . . .”

  Drew gave him a grave nod. “Why do you suppose the police didn’t find it? They searched the room, you said?”

  “They did, sir.”

  “Might I have a quick look about the room?”

  “If you like.” The stageman opened the bottom drawer in a well-used sewing table in the corner. “It was this one.”

  Drew examined the drawer. The table itself wasn’t very well made. The drawers were no more than wooden boxes that fit into cubbyholes. There was still a bit of adhesive tape stuck to the back of the one he was looking at.

  “I suppose they missed it,” Grady said. “It wasn’t much of anything, mind you. After I swept up those things and was putting them away, I felt a little bit of a scrape or something when I tried to close the drawer. Didn’t feel anything out of place in the drawer itself, so I figured it must have been behind it or under it. And there it was. I could see how it might be missed by a constable in a hurry, especially as the . . . uh, means of death was readily seen.”

  Drew nodded, then turned to Nick. “Got it all down, old man?”

  “Just done.” Nick handed the note back to the stageman. “There you are.”

  “Remember, no need to mention our little visit when you ring the police,” Drew said. “Not if it doesn’t come naturally into the conversation.”

  Grady winked. “Right you are, sir.”

  Drew paused. “One last thing, Grady.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “What sort of actor is Mr. Benton? I mean, what’s he especially good at?”

  Grady frowned a bit. “I dunno, sir. He’s a fine singer. Far as I’ve heard, he always knows his lines and his cues and the bits of business he’s got.”

  “Did you ever see him do any character roles? You know, silly walks, funny voices, impersonations?”

  “No, sir. Mostly juvenile lead roles, though now he’s taken on Mr. Ravenswood’s parts of course. He does like to devil Miss Cullimore with imitating her when they argue. It would make Mr. Ravenswood laugh till he cried, and I wasn’t sure if it was due to the imitation or just because it riled her so.”

  “Did her well, did he?”

  “Oh, spot on, sir. Tone of voice, walk, everything. I think that’s mostly what riled her.”

  Drew chuckled. “Very likely so. Well, thanks awfully for all the help.”

  “Sorry it didn’t amount to much, sir, but if there’s anything else I come across, I’ll make sure you hear about it straight off.”

  “We’ll be much obliged.”

  Drew tossed the man a half crown, and then he and Nick went on their way.

  Madeline stood staring into the wardrobe in the room she and her aunt had been sharing. Drew’s mother’s old room, stylish and expensive and still very much belonging to Constance Farthering, despite its living occupants.

  It was odd, since Madeline had come here planning to spend only a few days, how her things managed to end up everywhere. Of course, since her stay had stretched longer and longer, she had bought several outfits, not to mention shoes and hats and underthings and all the rest. And she did tend to amass books. Even with the large library downstairs and the smaller one on this floor and even the rather substantial one in Drew’s study, she had managed to collect quite a few books of her own.

  She sighed. Perhaps she should leave them here. Or perhaps she could hand them out in the village. Surely some of Drew’s neighbors who couldn’t afford much in the way of reading material would enjoy them. Perhaps the church could take them and use them to raise money in their next rummage sale. No, what did they call it? A jumble sale. Yes, that might be best.

  She began ferreting out the books she had stashed all over the room. The ones on lace making, she would keep. There were only two or three of those, and they would fit easily in her
luggage. The others, mostly mysteries, she would leave behind. She felt a familiar tightness in her throat as she gathered them up. Agatha Christie’s Peril at End House. Maybe she’d hold on to that one. A memento. She remembered vexing Drew by snatching that one out of his mail and reading it before he had a chance to. But he’d really been very sweet about it and let her keep it.

  She put a few more books into the pile she planned on leaving behind, and then she found another one that made her pause. Have His Carcase by Dorothy L. Sayers. Drew had brought her that one the day Aunt Ruth had come to stay. He had told her later that he meant to keep that one to himself and not even let her have a peep at it until he had read it through. But, seeing how miserable she was with Aunt Ruth so insistent she return to Chicago right away and accusing Drew of all kinds of misconduct, he had given her the book then and there. She wasn’t sure if he’d ever gotten a chance to read it.

  Perhaps she ought to give it to him now. No, he could get another copy. Perhaps she’d even buy one and send it to him or give it to him before she left. But this one was special. She didn’t want to leave it behind.

  The telephone rang downstairs, and she couldn’t help wondering if it was Fleur again. With a little hissing breath, she put the Sayers book with the Christie one into the pile with the rest. She wouldn’t keep them. Best to leave everything behind. He was very sweet and so much fun to be with, but that was precious little on which to build a marriage. She was twenty-two. Still a child, if her aunt was to be believed. What business did she have making so serious a decision as marriage when anything could happen?

  Drew was twenty-four, only two years older than she. Certainly he hadn’t been as sheltered from the world as she had, but did he truly know what he wanted? What he wanted for all the rest of his life? What if one day he changed his mind? What if one day he ran into another Fleur? What if? What if? What if?

  She’d ask Anna to find a box for the books and then send them all to the church. At least there would be some good come of them. These old churches always seemed to need something done to them to keep them from falling over. Little wonder they were forever having these jumble sales. Well, this would help and be no loss to her.