Social Graces

by Wendy Soliman

  With a silent prayer of apology she tucked the paper under her arm, hoping to buy herself some time by delaying the moment when Lord Torbay would see it. So far her plan had gone without a hitch. She could hear the servants moving about behind the green baize door, but none had yet appeared in the main part of the house. That situation would not endure and Sophia couldn’t waste time dithering.

  She quickly made her way to the side door. It was, she had made it her business to discover, unlocked at first light since it led directly to Lord Torbay’s mews and deliveries came to that door. The handle turned to her touch and she found herself outside in the cool pre-dawn half-light. To avoid being seen, she stuck to the edge of the path, moving quickly to the small gate that was locked from the inside and which led to the square. It took both hands to pull back the heavy bolt. She had no way of locking it again once she was outside so trusted to luck that no ne’er-do-well would sneak in before the household became fully awake.

  She found a cab easily in that part of town, even at such an early hour, and a short time later was deposited in Haughton Street. She glanced up at Connie’s apartment building and her nerves fell away. They were replaced by all-enveloping calm and a steely determination to get to the truth—now, today. No further prevarication would be tolerated.

  She marched into the building and disturbed a sleepy young man who had obviously just reported for duty at the porter’s desk and had not even tied his tie. She told him her name and that she would be in her sister’s apartment for the rest of the morning.

  ‘If anyone calls asking for me, send them up at once,’ she said, breezing up the staircase with the air of a person who belonged.

  She unlocked Connie’s door and breathed in the essence of her sister, the distinctive aroma of her floral fragrance still faintly discernible in the otherwise musty air. Memories of previous happy hours spent here flooded her mind, reinforcing her determination. She cast off her outer garments and tidied her hurriedly dressed hair in front of Connie’s mirror. Then she sat down and unfolded the newspaper. Dear Mr Simeon had printed her article more or less word for word. If that didn’t set the cat amongst the pigeons, nothing would.

  ‘Now,’ she said to her reflection. ‘We wait.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Otto cursed the delays with a simple court case that ought to have taken no time at all. He was anxious to see Sophia’s article in the newspaper, even though there was nothing more he could do to make himself useful to her for the time being. He could think of no excuse to call upon her. Parker was having the main suspects watched and if the article caused them to do anything in the slightest bit suspicious, Jake would be told at once. Even so, Otto couldn’t settle. He told himself repeatedly that every eventuality had been covered, Sophia was residing beneath Jake’s roof where no one could reach her. Where she would be perfectly safe.

  But his anxiety endured.

  He finally escaped the courtroom and borrowed a copy of the Scorpion—a pioneer of popular journalism aimed at the masses and priced accordingly—from a fellow barrister in the robing room who didn’t seem to care if his reading material was disparaged by his more discerning colleagues. The picture of Connie was flattering, but Otto only needed to read the first paragraph of the article to realise that something was seriously wrong. Jake would never have countenanced the publication of anything so inflammatory. Something that was bound to goad the killer into drastic action. Something that would potentially endanger Sophia.

  ‘What the devil…’

  The other barristers in the room looked up with expressions of mild surprise as Otto threw off his wig and gown and left the room at a run. He reached Grosvenor Square in record time and barged straight into Jake’s library, still clutching the borrowed paper in one hand.

  ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ he demanded to know, throwing the offending article on the desk in front of Jake.

  ‘Good morning, Otto.’ Jake looked up from the letter he was reading. ‘Why are you in such a flap?’

  ‘Haven’t you seen it?’ He picked the paper up again and brandished it beneath Jake’s nose.

  ‘Actually, no. We don’t subscribe to the Scorpion. I asked Parker to ensure we received a copy this morning for obvious reasons but I haven’t seen it yet. I assumed Miss Larson was keen to take a look and had had a maid take it up to her. Why are you so agitated?’

  ‘Just read it.’ Otto clenched his teeth. ‘I cannot believe you sanctioned it.’

  Jake’s face clouded before he reached the end of the first paragraph. As though roused by the commotion, Olivia appeared.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, taking in their frowns.

  ‘Where is Miss Larson? Have you seen her this morning?’

  ‘No, she was feeling unwell last night, which is hardly surprising after the fraught days she has endured. That’s why she didn’t dine with us. I imagined she still feels the effects of her headache and so told Annie not to disturb her until she rings. Why?’

  ‘Read this,’ Jake said, his expression grim. As she did so he stood to ring the bell and told the footman who answered it to have his carriage brought round at once.

  Olivia quickly read the article and her complexion lost all its colour. ‘Let me see if she is still upstairs.’

  ‘Go quickly, my love,’ Jake said. ‘I very much doubt if you will find her. What the devil does she think she’s playing at?’ he added as Olivia left the room.

  ‘She wanted to do more to help,’ Otto said, pacing up and down as they awaited Olivia’s return. ‘But I told her to be patient, to leave it to us. What does she hope to achieve by implying that she’s taken up residence in her sister’s apartment and found confidential information about Connie’s affairs that might point to the identity of the killer? That she has no faith in the police investigation and won’t trust them with that information and instead plans to hire someone privately to pursue the leads.’

  ‘She wants to confront the murderer face to face,’ Jake replied, ‘and knew we would never have allowed it.’

  ‘But why?’ Otto’s hands shot out in a gesture of incomprehension. ‘At best he might boast about his deeds. And at worst…well, I refuse to dwell upon that very real possibility. Suffice it to say, he will try to force her to hand over information she doesn’t possess. Either way, it would be his word against hers.’

  ‘She probably thought we would never be able to prove who did it to the satisfaction of the law. We said so more than once in her presence.’

  ‘Does she want to know for her own peace of mind, or because she intends to do something rash to extract revenge?’ Otto sent Jake a wild look. ‘We have to stop her!’

  Olivia burst back into the room, looking worried. ‘She’s gone and her bed is cold. She must have left before first light.’

  ‘Come along, Otto. We’ll ensure her safety before anyone else gets to her. Olivia, have someone send word to Parker and have him meet us at Haughton Street.’

  ‘Take care.’ Olivia stood on her toes to kiss Jake’s cheek. ‘Bring her back safe.’

  She would be safe if Otto had any say in the matter. But then he would personally ensure that she couldn’t sit down for a week for giving him such a fright.

  ***

  Sophia had not been alone in Connie’s apartment for more than five minutes before deciding that she had made a serious error of judgement. Being surrounded by Connie’s things was a graphic and painful reminder of her devastating loss that had already robbed Sophia of her resolve. How arrogant was she to imagine she could succeed where and earl and his influential friends had failed?

  But she was here now and the die was cast, so she would have to find the courage to see this thing through. The cold room and her frazzled nerves prevented her from sitting calmly to await the arrival of visitors whom she was convinced would eventually come, so she paced up and down, trying to convince herself that she was not completely insane. She glanced at the clock every few seconds, convinced that its h
ands must be moving backwards.

  She walked up to the wall dividing the apartment from Tyrell’s and pressed her ear against it, wondering if the actor was still in bed or if he was pouring over his copy of the Scorpion, reading Sophia’s words and working himself up into a frenzy, trying to decide what it was that she thought she knew. She heard nothing other than frantic breathing. It took her a moment to realise that it was her own.

  Tyrell would know where her sister’s apartment was, obviously. So it followed that he would also know where to find Sophia, since the article had conveniently told him that she had taken up residence here. If he came calling, should she assume he was directly involved in the murder or working on someone else’s orders? Felsham sprang to mind. She hadn’t met him, but he sounded desperate enough to resort to extreme measures.

  She hadn’t forgotten about Barton, who could just as easily be the murderer. There again, all three of them would have felt betrayed by Connie’s decision. Perhaps they were in it together. She threw up her hands, realising now it was too late to change anything that her plan had been hastily formed and ill-considered. Acting impulsively had always been one of her worst failings.

  She resumed her seat and tapped her fingers restlessly on the arm of the chair. She ought to occupy herself by sorting through Connie’s possessions but knew that chore would cause her to lose her composure—composure that she was hanging on to by a thread—at a time when she needed to be at her most astute.

  Astute? Ha!

  Sophia’s bitter laughter echoed off the walls, mocking her crass stupidity. She felt as though she had been cast adrift on a sea of emotional turmoil in a rudderless craft tossed about by an unpredictable storm. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she had eaten almost nothing the previous day and had not had as much as a sip of water that morning. Parched, she made her way into the tiny kitchen, ran the tap and filled a glass. She drank it down in two gulps and felt a little better.

  Back in the main room, she had only just resumed her seat when someone tapped at the door. Heart racing, she adopted a casual pose, picked up a magazine which she left open on her lap and invited her visitor to enter. Who would it be?

  A man she had never seen in her life before walked in but she knew immediately that he must Barton. Lord Torbay’s description of him had been very accurate. His face looked ravaged but she could still see signs of features that had once been handsome. He had obviously smartened his attire since Lord Torbay’s visit the previous day and now removed his hat to offer her a sweeping bow.

  ‘Miss Larson. We meet at last. I wish it could be under happier circumstances.’

  ‘Mr Barton I presume,’ she replied, putting the magazine aside. She had been holding it upside down and hoped that Barton hadn’t noticed.

  ‘In the flesh. May I?’ He indicated the chair across from Sophia and took occupation of it without waiting for her permission. ‘I can see the resemblance to Connie in you,’ he said, examining her face closely.

  ‘We were sisters, so that is hardly surprising.’

  ‘Alike but different in so many ways. That is how she once described you to me.’

  ‘What brings you here, Mr Barton? I am sure it was not for the opportunity to reminisce.’

  ‘I saw your article. I have always known who S.S. Larson was. Connie was very proud of your achievements.’

  It seemed that whatever the reason for his visit, Barton was in no hurry to get to the point. Sophia, on the other hand, felt increasingly uncomfortable. She could very well be sitting here, conversing politely with her sister’s murderer. ‘And yet,’ she said, attempting to deliberately provoke him, ‘she barely spoke to me about you at all.’

  The barb found its mark and Barton visibly winced. ‘I don’t know how I shall manage without her.’

  ‘Yet you refuse to help the authorities by answering their questions,’ Sophia replied in a commendably calm voice. ‘I cannot help wondering why.’

  ‘How did you…Ah, of course. Lord Torbay mentioned that he represented your interests. I told him more than I otherwise would have done for your sake, my dear.’

  Sophia pushed her shoulders back and sent him an imperious look. ‘I am not your dear, or your anything. Neither was Connie. You couldn’t stand that, could you?’

  ‘I was very attached to your sister, Miss Larson. Very attached indeed, and I did not kill her. Why would I?’

  ‘I am aware that she wanted to leave your agency and marry. Men have killed for less. Jealousy is a powerful motivator.’

  Sophia heard the words she spoke but had no recollection of formulating them, or of choosing to provoke an unstable man quite so blatantly. Having done so, she could now only watch him warily to see how he reacted.

  ‘Very well.’ He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘I will break a solemn oath and tell you why I am so indebted to Felsham.’

  They shared a startled look when heavy footsteps sounded immediately outside the door. Sophia was unsure which of them looked more alarmed. Before she could decide, the door flew open and a man who must be Felsham stood there, Tyrell at his side.

  ‘Don’t be such a damned fool!’ Felsham cried, his features filled with rage. ‘For once in your miserable life, stop putting yourself first and remember your responsibilities.’

  Felsham, a wiry little man half Barton’s size, wore an air of menace that terrified Sophia as much as it clearly did Barton. Sophia swallowed when she saw the fire in his eyes and sensed the anger pulsating through him, but knew better than to let it show. From feeling cold, thanks to an onset of nerves, the room suddenly seemed insufferably hot.

  ‘Listening at keyholes, Mr Felsham?’ Sophia raised a brow in condemnation.

  ‘I don’t keep a dog and bark myself.’ He gave a mirthless chuckle and walked to the adjoining wall that Sophia had recently placed her ear against. When he pointed to a spot at eye level with a gloating expression, she noticed a small hole lost in the intricate pattern of the embossed wallpaper.

  ‘Listening and watching,’ Sophia said, sending Tyrell a scathing look. It must be he who did the listening and watching, which explained why Felsham had made him take the apartment. They really must have been desperate to procure Connie’s services. ‘How very gentlemanly of you.’

  ‘I do as I’m told, darling,’ Tyrell replied. ‘As you will soon wish that you had.’

  Sophia lifted her chin. ‘No one tells me what I can and cannot do.’

  ‘Your sister used to say the same thing, and look where that got her,’ Felsham growled.

  ‘Why don’t you tell us precisely what she said that made it necessary for her to die?’ Sophia swallowed down her fear and fixed the loathsome man with a steely glare.

  He gave an unconvincing shrug. ‘How would I know?’

  ‘You must be an agent. You are certainly no actor.’

  All heads turned towards the door, which Felsham had not closed behind him, to see who had spoken. Sophia’s mouth dropped open when the last person she had expected to see—an old lady of four-foot ten inches, dressed from head to toe in the deepest black—stood on the threshold and waved her walking stick in the air for emphasis.

  ‘Grandmamma. Whatever are you doing here?’ Sophia asked.

  ‘The same thing you are, I dare say. Looking for answers. Well, help me into a chair, girl. Don’t stand there gawping. My legs aren’t what they once were and those stairs are the very devil.’

  ‘But…but you despised what Connie did,’ Sophia said, crossing the room and taking her grandmother’s arm to guide her towards the most comfortable chair.

  ‘Maybe I did and maybe I didn’t. All I know is that she was still my flesh and blood, as are you. Someone has to rein in you headstrong gals. I don’t intend to lose you as well.’ She glanced at the three men in the room, all of whom were at least twice her weight and strength, but her appearance and forthright words seemed to have struck them dumb and rendered them motionless. ‘Introduce me,’ Grandmamma said imperiousl
y.

  Sophia recovered her wits and did so.

  ‘And you suppose one of these three murdered your sister?’

  ‘It seems that way. Mr Barton was about to tell me what keeps him associated with a third rate repertory company.’

  ‘I say!’ Felsham’s face flushed with anger.

  ‘It would have done nothing for Connie’s career to associate herself with Felsham’s company, and yet her trusted agent tried to persuade her to do so.’ She nodded towards Barton, who had the grace to look ashamed. ‘But Connie decided against it, told Barton she intended to marry and to leave his agency and then next thing we know, Connie’s dead. What would you make of that, Grandmamma?’

  ‘Either that the man’s a murderer or a fool. My money is on him being an imbecile. Connie, unless fame had changed her, was always guided by her conscience and so I expect he’d been able to talk her round in the past. He wouldn’t have given up at the first hurdle.’ She waved the end of her stick at Felsham, who quickly dodged out of its path. ‘But your spy next door knew differently. He knew my granddaughter was in love with a decent man and would place her trust in him in future. He knew because he watched and listened. Felsham was furious. Barton had let him down—not, I suspect, for the first time. All possibility of salvaging his life’s work was about to go up in smoke, so he took his revenge.’

  ‘You interfering old hag!’ Tyrell cried.

  Felsham shushed him with a wave of his hand. ‘An interesting hypothesis well put,’ he said. ‘I could offer you a part in one of my productions, but for the fact that few parts are written for women of your age.’

  He raised a hand to strike Sophia’s grandmother. Without conscious thought Sophia sprang to her defence, which was probably what Felsham had anticipated. He could not have reached her otherwise. She had been standing behind her grandmother’s chair and could have evaded him. The heavy poker resting on the edge of the fender was tantalisingly just beyond her reach. Sensing that she would be in need of a weapon at some point, her fingers had been itching to close around it but she hadn’t wanted to spook Felsham, foolishly imagining that she could talk him round. She might have managed it too, had it not been for Grandmamma’s untimely arrival. Now that Sophia had a witness to whatever was said, Felsham wouldn’t be able to wangle out of things, and so neither of them would be permitted to leave.