by Celina Grace
All in all, it was with some relief – not to mention joyous anticipation – that Verity and I found ourselves on an omnibus heading towards Fulham one Tuesday evening, off to see Tommy in Cinderella. It was only a few weeks until Christmas and I was glad to be seeing a pantomime. I was in the mood for something silly and frivolous and lighthearted.
Eventually the swaying omnibus pulled up at our stop. We stepped down carefully and, arm in arm, made our way towards the theatre. It was a much smaller building than the Connault and I wondered if it made Tommy sad to have ‘come down’ in terms of theatrical importance. I spared another thought about Christmas as we made our way to the entrance. There had only been two Christmases at Dorothy’s establishment since the events of Merisham Lodge but they had both been rather grim, subdued affairs. Of course, Verity and I hadn’t expected to have any time off on the actual day itself and we hadn’t had it; after Dorothy had been put to bed that night, the servants had all gathered for a late night drink around the range in the kitchen. That had been quite jolly, I supposed. And, to be fair, Dorothy had given us all presents, proper presents that were a pleasure to receive. I remembered some of my previous places of work, where the gentry had made such a show of handing over presents to the servants on a Christmas morning and how the anticipated parcels had turned out to be something completely functional and disappointing. One particular low had been when I’d been given some material with which to make up a new uniform. On my own expense! At least Dorothy was generous and thoughtful in that way; she’d given me some beautiful silk stockings and a lovely brooch last year. I wondered what I might receive this year.
We handed our tickets over to the door manager and climbed the stairs. We were in the Gods again, of course, but I didn’t let that bother me. It was still a wonderful treat to see a show for free.
It wasn’t until we actually took our seats that I began to feel uneasy. The Gods were busy and by some odd coincidence, we were sat in the same place we’d been that night at the Connault. It was so busy there wasn’t the option to move. I cast a nervous glance at the seat on the end of the row in front of us, a glance that grew even more anxious when I realised that the man sat in it bore quite a startling resemblance to Gideon Bonnacker. I blinked and looked again. Then I nudged Verity. “Doesn’t that man look like the – the man who was killed?”
Verity looked and frowned. “Not much. It’s just a coincidence, Joan.”
“But—“ I looked around me at the packed seats and then down at the waiting stage, not sure of quite why I was so uneasy.
“Shh – it’s starting.”
I tried to settle back in my seat as the curtain went up. Even so, I found myself casting jittery nervous glances about me. Everyone else was riveted on the shenanigans going on on stage. You’re being foolish, I told myself, but I could not make myself relax. I watched the Dame come on stage to start singing something full of innuendo, and try as I might, I could not find this sight of a man dressed up grotesquely in women’s clothing amusing.
Light shone from the corridor outside as a couple of latecomers came in, bending forward in that way that people have when they’re trying to find their seats in the darkness. One was a woman with a cloche hat on and the light from the stage gleamed from the jewellery around her throat.
I gasped. For a moment, I was actually back there in the Connault, on the night of the murder, aware of the mysterious woman taking her seat behind the man that she – surely – had killed. It was as if the blurred recollection I’d had was burned away, leaving the memory sharp and clear. Somewhere, deep down inside, I had seen her face and now – sitting in the raucous dark of the Fulham Broadway theatre, I remembered. I remembered the minutest glimpse I’d had of her face, the sharp cheekbones and the rosebud lips…
I sat there as if transfixed to the seat. The memory of what I’d actually seen faded once more but that didn’t matter. I knew. I knew who that woman was. My eyes went back to the stage and there was the confirmation again. Now I knew, it seemed so obvious…
Dazzled by the revelation, the pantomime passed completely unheeded. I sat there in my seat, as if turned to stone. I knew who that woman was now, but why? And how? And, once more, why?
At the interval, Verity turned to me. “Want to get some fresh air for five minutes?” I didn’t answer, still staring ahead and wondering. “Joan? What’s wrong?”
I sighed and brought myself back to reality. “Nothing. I’m just thinking.”
Verity gave me a puzzled glance. “Are you going to let me in on the secret?”
I sighed once more and brought my gaze around to hers. “Not yet, V. Not yet. I’m still puzzling things out.”
Verity’s puzzlement grew more extreme. “Puzzling what out?”
“I don’t know yet,” I said. I could tell my voice was far away, almost as if I were speaking out of a dream. “That’s what I’m puzzling out.”
Verity snorted. “Well, suit yourself. I’ll be back at the second bell.”
“Very well.” Normally I would have hated being on my own for the interval, but right now, I didn’t care. I just wanted to sit and think and see if I could work it all out. I saw the couple who had come in late leave the Gods along with most of the rest of the audience. They looked very ordinary. The woman wasn’t sinister at all, and her face bore no resemblance to the one that I now remembered from that night at the Connault. I pondered the strange ways of the brain and what a mystery its workings were.
I sat there without moving for the entire interval. Normally I would have at least gone off to spend a penny, or to stretch my legs, but neither of those things seemed very important. What I really wanted to do was to go home, so I could find Tommy’s copy of Voyage of the Heart. I felt a little thrill of pride as I realised something. Hadn’t I always said that the crime was something to do with the theatre?
There was little chance of returning home early though, not with the whole cast and crew and their friends and relations in the audience, who were prepared to celebrate the first successful run through of the show. I murmured to Verity after the final curtain call that perhaps we should be thinking of going. She gave me an incredulous look.
“Go now? Without even saying hello to everyone?”
“I’ve got an early start tomorrow—“ I began to protest but she talked over me, rather crossly.
“You can’t even be bothered to say thank you to Tommy for the tickets? Really, Joan, what’s got into you?”
“Oh yes.” That did pull me up a bit. It would be the height of ingratitude and rudeness just to slope off now without a by-your-leave to the people who’d made it possible for us to attend the show in the first place. I saw that now. And, I realised with a leap of excitement, there might be an opportunity to find out something else that supported my new theory.
“You’re quite right,” I told Verity firmly, and she looked relieved. “Of course we must say hello and thank you. Come on, let’s walk down there now.”
Chapter Nineteen
Despite being a smaller theatre than the Connault, the Fulham Broadway had a bigger backstage area. It was, however, just as chaotic as it had been when Verity and I had been backstage at the Connault – more so, in fact, because so many of the actors and actresses had had visitors in the audience that night who had come backstage to see them.
As we struggled through the crowd, looking for Tommy, I glanced around, wondering whether Caroline Carpenter would be there. I wasn’t surprised when I couldn’t see her; she hadn’t been in the pantomime and she was getting married in less than a fortnight, if I remembered correctly. Perhaps Verity and I had been one of the last people to ever actually see her act on stage. That made me feel sad, to reflect on how so much talent could just be thrown away.
“Verity, Verity—“ Tommy was calling to us from the back of the room. “Over here.” We forged our way through the crowds and up to him. He was still wearing his Buttons costume and was sweating quite heavily in the warmth of the room, w
hich made his greeting kiss on the cheek slightly less pleasant than usual. I was still pleased to see him though, although I could see what Verity meant when she said he had changed. Some of the vitality that used to be so apparent had dimmed. I hoped it hadn’t gone forever.
We chatted – or rather shouted at each other above the din – discussing the pantomime and the audience and the theatre gossip. In the noise and confusion, my revelation of earlier had paled a little. I now wasn’t sure whether I’d remembered correctly or not. Had my mind just thrown up an image that wasn’t actually a real memory? Had I actually remembered falsely? I couldn’t wait to get back to the relative peace and quiet of our room so I could look at the play and work out whether my suspicions were correct.
“Hullo, Miss Hart,” said a familiar voice at my shoulder. I turned to find Gwen Deeds smiling at me. I smiled back and shook hands.
“Do call me Joan, Miss Deeds.”
She laughed. “Well then, do call me Gwen.”
We chatted pleasantly for a bit. If I’d remembered Gwen, it had been the bitterness in her voice that had stuck with me when she was talking about Caroline and about some women have all the luck. But I’d forgotten that she could also be good company, warm and funny as well. Even so, after ten minutes or so, the conversation began to drift once more into the slightly malicious. Even though it was guiltily amusing, I could tell that Gwen was the sort of person that you don’t entrust with your secrets.
In the end, it was I who brought Caroline into the conversation. “So, Miss Carpenter is getting married next week, is that right?”
Gwen’s eyes lit up with spiteful glee. “Oh, yes. It’s going to be an enormous do, apparently. Saint Paul’s, no less. Well, you can’t imagine her going for the little local church, can you? Not our Caroline.”
I smiled inwardly. “Will there be many people from the theatre there?”
Gwen sniffed. “Not likely. I suppose Tommy may get an invitation. I can’t imagine she’ll want many of this motley crew there. Doesn’t quite send the right message, does it? Not for the new role she’ll be playing.”
“New role?” For a moment I felt glad that perhaps Caroline Carpenter wouldn’t be giving up her acting career after all.
Gwen soon put me right. “Lady of the manor, that’ll be her new role.” She sniffed again and added, cattily “I’m sure she’ll be just marvellous at it.”
I was growing tired of the malevolence. It was briefly amusing but after a while, you just felt a bit dirty. I opened my mouth to change the subject when Gwen added, “I can’t imagine Caroline will be getting too flustered about being married. It’s not like she hasn’t done it before.”
“Really?” I asked, fascinated. “Caroline – I mean, Miss Carpenter – she’s been married before?”
Gwen looked both gleeful and sly. “Oh yes, she has. A long time ago now.”
“How do you know? Did she tell you?”
Gwen giggled. “I was helping her unpack at her lodgings this one time. Years ago, now. I saw her marriage certificate – well, just a glimpse of it before she snatched it away. ‘Goodness,’ I said, ‘are you married, Caroline? Whoever to?’ and she looked cross as a cat and said she had been once but no longer, thank goodness.”
“Who was she married to?”
Gwen looked regretful. “I don’t know. I didn’t see the name and she got it away from me too quickly. She wouldn’t tell me.”
“No?”
“No. I got the impression she was a bit ashamed of it, to be honest. Probably something rather hasty, if you see what I mean.” She raised her eyebrows at me as if I should know what she meant, which I did, a little, without knowing her exact meaning.
“Joan!” I looked up to see Verity waving at me. “It’s nearly eleven o’clock. We have to go or Mrs Anstells will have our hides.”
“Golly, I’d hate to be a servant,” Gwen said, and this time she didn’t sound catty, she merely sounded sincere.
“It’s not that bad,” I said, wondering who I was trying to fool. I was happy to go, anyway; I’d had my fill of gossip and slander, and I really wanted to get home to see if my previous suspicions were correct. That reminded me of something. “Gwen, do you remember you lost a costume? Not that long ago? You thought somebody had stolen it?”
Gwen’s face, which had been frowning through the first part of my speech, cleared. “Oh yes, that. I remember. I found it right at the back of a cupboard.”
“What kind of costume was it?”
Gwen gave me a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what was it? What role?” I held my breath. If it had been a lion suit, for example, or a suit of armour, then perhaps my theory was utterly wrong.
“Oh, I see. Oh, it wasn’t anything special, actually. That’s why I couldn’t understand someone pinching it. It was just a female outfit for one of the chorus, that’s all. Just a coat and hat and a bit of jewellery.”
I closed my eyes briefly, breathing out. I had been right, then. Why did I never trust my own judgement? “Thank you, Gwen.”
I must have sounded oddly heartfelt because she gave me a strange look and muttered “That’s all right.”
I shook myself mentally and said goodbye properly. Then I went over to say goodbye to Tommy.
“You were brilliant, Tommy. Thanks so much for the tickets.”
Tommy smiled. “You’re welcome, my dear. Oh, by the way, you two, are you free next Wednesday night?”
Verity and I looked at each other and shrugged, ruefully. “Unlikely,” I said.
“Possibly,” Verity said
“Well, do be free if you can be. We’re having farewell drinks for Caroline at the Connault. Just a few backstage, to say goodbye.” Tommy looked downcast for a moment. “It’ll be a bit of a wake for Aldous as well.”
I hesitated. “I’d love to come, Tommy, but I’m not sure if I can. I will try.”
Verity nodded her agreement.
“Oh, by the way,” I asked, more out of curiosity than anything else. “Did Caroline send you an invitation for her wedding?”
Tommy half-smiled. “She did, actually. Kind of her, although I’m not sure I’ll go. I’ll be a complete fish out of water there amongst all those highborn folk.” He got up and fished about in the pocket of a jacket hanging up on the wall. “Here you are. The very thing itself.”
I took it, looking at it curiously. It was very much as I expected, heavy cream card and lots of twirly gilt lettering but on turning it over I could see Caroline had written in a flowing hand Do come, Tommy darling. Love, C.
“It was kind of her,” Tommy said again, sounding as though he was trying to convince himself. I handed the invitation back to him.
“Come along, Joan,” said Verity. “Mrs Anstells will have our hides if we’re late. Sorry, Tommy, but we must go.”
“Very well, my darlings. I’ll hope to see you there on Wednesday. Have a safe trip home.” There were kisses all round and then Verity and I took our leave.
I must have been uncharacteristically silent on the way home because, as we rounded the corner into our street, Verity drove a sharp elbow into my ribs.
“Ow!”
“Well, honestly, Joan. You’ve been like a deaf-mute all the way home. What is wrong with you this evening?”
I rubbed my side, slightly annoyed. “I’ve just been thinking, that’s all. You should try it sometime.”
Verity gave me a look but didn’t rise to my bait. “What have you been thinking about?”
“Lots of things.” We had reached the basement railings by now and began to descend the steep steps carefully. Whenever you got back late, there was always a slight nerve-wracking moment where you wondered whether Mr Fenwick had already locked the kitchen door. He never had, so far, but what would I do if he had?
As it happened, he hadn’t locked the kitchen door, of course. We slipped inside and made our way upstairs as quietly as we could. Once we were safely in our room, I divested myself o
f my coat and hat and sat down on the bed.
“I know who killed the man at the Connault Theatre.”
Verity stopped dead, her hands to her hat. She took them off slowly and lowered them to her sides. “Guido Bonsignore? You know who killed him?”
“Gideon Bonnacker,” I corrected her. “And yes, I think I do.”
Verity’s eyes were wide. She asked the obvious question. “Well, who, for goodness’ sake?”
I shook my head. I felt a bit mean keeping it back but I still didn’t know why. “Sorry, V, I can’t tell you. Not yet.”
Verity snorted. “What?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know enough myself yet. I can’t tell anyone yet, not even Inspector Marks.”
“For goodness’ sake, Joan. You can’t even give me a hint?”
I shook my head regretfully. “Actually, I’m sorry I mentioned it. Sorry.”
Verity looked daggers. “You are impossible, Joan,” she said coldly and stalked from the room, her shoulders rigid.
I felt bad but what could I do? As yet, I only had the theory and one tiny bit of evidence. I wasn’t going to make a fool of myself by making a big announcement that could well turn out to be wrong. Thinking of that, and as late as it was, I turned to the copy of Voyage of the Heart on my bedside table and opened it, quickly turning to the part of the play that I needed. I tried to think back to what Inspector Marks had told me about the time of death. I read on, nodding to myself. Yes, that tallied. Just about. That was possible.
