This was the evening of the Jacobite play at the Pleasance Theatre, according to newspapers and an abundance of posters in the area, their annual re-enactment of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s local sojourn in Duddingston, including the Battle of Prestonpans and the Siege of Edinburgh.
It sounded like being an entertaining evening, and I was particularly keen to see Adrian Dyce on stage and whether he lived up to Beth’s expectations and the high reputation she had built for him.
Relieved to see Jack home in time for a leisurely supper – for once – we both prepared to leave for the theatre. Jack was looking particularly good in his best suit and bowler hat, while I took out my best, and I must confess only, dress suitable for the occasion – turquoise satin, trimmed with lace, lacking only the tightly corseted fashionable hourglass shape which I resolutely refused to consider, regarding it as not only uncomfortable but utterly unsuitable for my bicycling activities.
For once unruly curls were persuaded into a velvet band with a sparkling diamante clip. White satin shoes completed the outfit to my satisfaction. And Jack’s too. He was very complimentary and said that I should dress up more often.
The hiring gig he had ordered dropped us off at the theatre, where already the audience were being ushered to their seats. There is a never-failing excitement for me about waiting for that moment when the curtain rises and I had little time to study the programme, except to notice that Steven Sawler was playing Lord Cope, in charge of the Hanoverian army.
The backdrop had been carefully executed by clever artists and I settled back, prepared to be carried back to the autumn of 1745 and the story of Prince Charlie’s triumph, depicted through the mouths of the actors as a battleground would have been beyond them on this relatively small stage. The audience had to imagine the scene of battle from the dialogue and a series of entrances and exits from one or two wounded soldiers, with bandaged heads or injured limbs.
Adrian made a handsome prince. He spoke with believable authority and I fancied he portrayed a far better commander than the real one. Watching his performance, which outshone his fellow actors, I was inclined to agree with Beth that he deserved better than a local repertory, with a magnificent voice well suited to the most difficult and varied of Shakespeare’s heroic leads.
I was not alone in my opinion as the curtain fell, with tumultuous applause, on the first act and the audience gathered in the foyer for the interval.
There were familiar faces, some surprising, like Gray. I had not expected him to be a playgoer. He still had that sharp-eyed look and I suddenly wondered if he had completely abandoned his search for clues. Wright was there too, talking to Mrs Gray, and Jack whispered, ‘Poor Con, in the wrong profession. Longing to tread the boards.’
I said, ‘Thank you, Jack.’ He looked puzzled but before I could explain, Beth emerged, radiant in a violet silk gown on the arm of a tall distinguished-looking man who at first glimpse could well have been mistaken for her father before she introduced him as Frederick.
So this was the noble Frederick, the man her family wanted her to marry. Introductions were exchanged and Jack listened politely to her exuberant comments on the performance before excusing himself to speak to an elderly fellow who looked suspiciously like a retired policeman. There is something about them, even out of uniform. Perhaps it was that ever-vigilant look they shared with Gray and never lost.
Beth murmured excuses to Frederick, took my arm and hustled me in the direction of the Ladies, where several other females were making use of the facilities.
Taking me aside, she whispered, ‘It is just an excuse – I had to see you alone.’
As she seized a vacant mirror and attended to her hair, I thanked her once again for the tickets, and said how I was enjoying the play, particularly seeing Adrian giving such a splendid performance.
She looked at me eagerly. ‘What do you think of Frederick?’
‘Charming and very good-looking.’
She was pleased and gave a happy giggle. ‘And so gracious. He would not consider my coming without an escort. Frederick is a keen playgoer, he attends all the most popular shows in London.’
‘Adrian wasn’t jealous?’ I asked, wondering how her lover regarded her escort.
She shook her head. ‘Adrian didn’t mind in the least. He is so sweet, you know, and understanding. And between you and me I think he is hoping that Frederick will use his influence in the London theatre. He is on speaking terms with the most famous actors and managers,’ she added excitedly, ‘so Adrian particularly wanted him to see tonight’s performance.’
She frowned. ‘You have no idea how difficult it has been. Peter has done so well as Cope.’
I was wondering who Peter was when she said, ‘Steven is down as Cope, one of the main roles, and there was no time to change the programme. I believe the manager was to have made an announcement but he forgot – or didn’t intend to.’
I said consolingly that Peter was excellent and she nodded, then sighed, ‘Poor Adrian. It is too bad. Steven’s still in London, but no letter, of course.’
I asked after Lillie. She smiled. ‘She is very well, thriving. And she has a companion at the moment. My Adrian has such a good heart, always willing to help, and how people use him! An actress who used to be in the company is in Scotland for a family wedding and wanted someone to look after her little girl for a few days. So now Nanny has the two of them.’
At that the bell rang, and as we returned to our seats I spotted Amy with a small group and I was glad I hadn’t wasted the ticket. Hustled into our seats by the returning audience, she was several rows distant, saw me, waved and mimed ‘meet later’.
The final act did not dwell on the disaster of Culloden, its climax providing the audience with the well-known story of Prince Charlie’s flight, pursued by the Hanoverian army, and his meeting with his saviour, the brave Flora MacDonald. It was short and indicated a passionate tragic love affair, something of a liberty with historical fact, but making a satisfying romantic conclusion for the ladies in the audience.
The actress playing Flora was considering how best to persuade her prince to escape, reluctant as he was to leave her. He would have nothing of her suggestion that he disguise as her maid. She insisted and comedy was intended as he struggled with gown and petticoat, a bonnet and spectacles.
But for me this was no comedy.
This was a horrifying moment of truth.
We were in the front row and as the curtain fell, rose again, more applause, and as the actors took their bow, I was looking into the face of Adrian and knew that I had met the bogus Miss Hinton at last.
I wanted to tell Jack, longing to get him alone.
He took my arm. ‘Gray has invited us to share their carriage. Wait here till I find them.’
I saw Amy at the entrance, looking round anxiously, obviously waiting for her friends. She saw me, waved and pushed her way towards me.
‘Thank God, Rose. I’ve been trying to talk to you. It’s been awful.’
I murmured politely that I was sorry she hadn’t enjoyed the performance.
‘No, Rose. Not this. I’ve been trying to tell you, ever since we had tea at your house.’ She stopped, gulped, shook her head. ‘That actor, Prince Charlie – the young girl Beth’s fiancé …’
She paused dramatically. ‘Rose, he’s the man who was bullying poor Mary before … before …’ She gulped, trying to stay calm. ‘The man I saw outside her house. I tell you, it’s the same man, that actor. And what’s worse, Jane found some of Mary’s photographs and although I never said a word to her, I’m certain sure that he’s the ne’er-do-well nephew. He must have been trying to get money and the house from poor Mary. I was utterly shocked when we met him at your house that day with that lovely young girl. Someone should warn her – he’s a villain.’
A feeling of chill and disbelief swept over me. It was my turn to stay calm. ‘Surely not, Amy. How can you be sure? You could be mistaken; after all, old photographs and you only cau
ght a glimpse of him.’
She shook her head. ‘True enough. But his voice – very distinctive it is. Remember, I was an elocution teacher, voices are my business. I would have recognised his anywhere.’
Her friends were making urgent signs in our direction. ‘I must go.’ I was staring after her when Jack reappeared. In the shared carriage with the Grays, I tried to concentrate on polite conversation, my mind in turmoil.
We were set down at the Tower and had hardly closed the door when Jack turned to me, demanding, ‘Well, what’s wrong with you, Rose?’
I laid aside my cloak, shook my head, unable to think where to begin as he went on, ‘You seemed very off-key. Didn’t you enjoy the evening?’
He sounded disappointed and I sat down and told him all, finishing with Amy’s revelations. He listened silently.
I had been fairly certain that there were two involved, that the killer had a female accomplice, the bogus Hinton who had tried to steal the legacy and push me off the train. But seeing him as Flora MacDonald’s maid was my moment of truth – and on top of that, Amy recognising him as the bullying man.
I looked at Jack sitting there saying nothing. I thought he would be very excited by this new information, but, being Jack, he merely shrugged before proceeding to tear my revelations into fine shreds.
‘All very dramatic, Rose. Of course, I believe your story but alas, as you must realise, it is only circumstantial evidence. There isn’t a single clue we could use as evidence in all this. We can hardly arrest Adrian because in female dress he resembles the woman who tried to kill you. Think about it, Rose—’
‘But I am sure—’
He cut short my protests and went on, ‘All I can say is that Gray would tell you that a dozen actors in that disguise would have looked like your bogus Miss Hinton, and insist that you imagined the whole thing – felt faint on the train, tried to open the window for air, opened the door instead and the woman was trying to stop you falling.’
He paused and sighed. ‘As for Amy Dodd, Gray would want more than her claim that she recognised a man – whom she had merely glimpsed – by his voice, even if she was an elocution teacher.’
I knew it was useless to protest any further. And he was right about Gray’s reactions, especially as I had an unhappy thought that Jack possibly shared them but did not want to hurt my feelings.
I didn’t sleep much that night, troubled by nightmares. And when I lay awake afraid to go to sleep again my thoughts turned to Beth. If my suspicions and Amy’s were true, and Adrian was a killer, where did that leave Beth? What sort of a future lay ahead, dispossessed by her parents, for this young girl with a baby?
Of course, she had said that Frederick wanted to marry her, but was that merely in her imagination too? Would he still want to do so when the publicity of her liaison with a murderer hit the newspaper headlines? What about his own reputation damaged by association?
I thought of Adrian, the splendid actor, remembering when he visited the Tower with Beth. He seemed such a nice pleasant fellow, he didn’t look like a killer. But then Jack would say, and I knew also from my own experience, murderers usually looked no different to the ordinary fellows you met in the street on their way to work every day.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Jack arrived home earlier than usual that day. He had the afternoon off, kind permission of Gray, to compensate for having been on call since he came back from Peebles.
‘I thought we might go out to Joppa and see Meg.’
I decided that was a great idea and he went on, ‘And I have some other news. The dead man at the loch has now been identified. He is Steven Sawler.’
‘Adrian’s friend!’ I gasped. ‘The missing actor! Beth told me Adrian said he was in London.’
It was all becoming clear now as Jack said: ‘He was identified by Con when he was in the mortuary with an accident victim’s relative. He was very upset. Sawler had encouraged his stage ambitions, tried to get him bit parts with the Portobello Players.’
Jack paused, sighed. ‘And since Gray thinks he was murdered, we’re now looking for another killer and we’re interviewing Adrian at that boarding house where they both lodged.’
It had all the makings of an open-and-shut case; considering my own suspicions of Adrian, confirmed by the play last night, and Amy’s revelations, he must have invented Steven’s London audition.
Again my first thoughts flew to Beth and Nanny Craigle. Police interviews were always an ordeal even for the innocent.
I looked at the theatre programme which I had read briefly at the performance: ‘John Cope played by Steven Sawler.’
A sudden thought. ‘For Sawler, read Lawers – both are variations of Reslaw,’ I said, remembering how Beth said Steven was always going on about his ancestors. ‘Perhaps he is the missing link with Simon Reslaw.’
‘And thirty thousand pounds in chewed-up paper the reason for three murders,’ Jack added grimly. ‘With our prime suspect now conveniently dead. Oh, almost forgot, met our postman toiling up the hill. Here – he was delivering this letter.’
It was from Jane Hinton, thanking me for tea that afternoon, saying how she had enjoyed our meeting and so forth. And adding that she had been rereading through those old letters, she wrote, ‘Do you remember me telling you that Mrs Lawers had married her first cousin, Andrew Lawers, so she hadn’t changed her maiden name?’
I put the letter down. Of course. It was all beginning to fall into place, the reason for this legacy being passed from one generation to another and reaching Mary Lawers who, either refusing to acknowledge the existence of a nephew of dubious parentage, or fearing she was not long for this world, her memory fading, believed that the distant cousin in Lochandor was the last of the line and became obsessed with the idea of getting the legacy to him.
As Jack read the letter, I told him my own theory. That it was the nephew, Steven Sawler, or Reslaw, who had heard the story of the missing thirty thousand. Beth had been so excited about Adrian’s expectations – perhaps Steven had realised help was needed if he was to be successful and confided in Adrian, who had not been unwilling to come to his aid. So the two of them had set about recovering a fortune hidden in 1745 in the region of Arthur’s Seat by Steven’s ancestor, certain that the secret of its whereabouts must lie in Mrs Lawers’ legacy. ‘Thinking about it,’ I concluded, ‘the reality seemed a forlorn hope, but to two impoverished actors it doubtless promised a lifetime of ease and luxury, the world indeed becoming their oyster.’
This was a new twist. I knew from Beth that Adrian would do anything for Steven, his hero. Had the latter realised that, since Adrian had a dubious kinship, he was the perfect person to help him achieve his dream?
If I expected congratulations in having unravelled the mystery, I was disappointed. Jack’s reality at that moment was meeting Meg, who he shamefully admitted he had not seen for far too long an interval in the life of a three-year-old child.
As we went to Joppa, I could see that Jack, although nervous of this encounter, was impressed by the exterior of the handsome villa where the Blakers lived.
The housekeeper opened the door and ushered us into the sitting room. A moment later, Mrs Blaker appeared. She recognised me immediately but regarded Jack in some surprise.
Not waiting to be introduced, he stepped forward eagerly, held out his hand. ‘We have come to see my daughter Meg. I hope this visit is convenient.’
Mrs Blaker stared at him, opened her mouth, shut it again and sat down heavily on the nearest chair. ‘That cannot be,’ she said, shaking her head, her voice trembling; she looked pale, ready to faint.
‘That cannot be!’ she repeated, staring up at Jack. ‘Mr Macmerry called for Meg last Thursday. He wished to take her to visit her grandparents for a few days. We could not refuse this request. Oh dear God,’ she groaned.
It was Jack’s turn to go pale. Rigid at my side, I clutched his arm for support while he took out a police card, the proof of his identity, and handed it t
o the distraught woman on the sofa.
With the two of us trying desperately to be calm and Mrs Blaker now in tears, sobbing, the housekeeper appeared wondering what the disturbance was about, and seeing her mistress’s distress immediately applied the much needed smelling salts, murmuring, ‘There, there, madam.’
Mrs Blaker looked up at her. ‘Mrs Robb, this … this gentleman is Mr Macmerry … the man who took Meg—Oh dear God.’ And collapsed again.
The housekeeper was clearly shocked but remained calm and Jack decided he would get more sense out of her.
‘Do you mind if we sit down?’ he said. ‘You opened the door – can you describe the man?’
Mrs Robb said, ‘Oh yes, he was about forty, clean-shaven. I never doubted him, sir – you see, he was wearing a policeman’s uniform, carrying his helmet.’
That shook me – the bogus policeman again.
Mrs Robb looked ready to join her mistress in tears. ‘I brought him through here to the mistress, went upstairs to collect Meg from the nursery and pack a few things.’
Jack, with admirable calm in the face of such dreadful news, turned to Mrs Blaker and said quietly, ‘And how did Meg react to this man?’
‘When he said “I’m your pa, Meg, come to take you on holiday” Meg looked as if she wasn’t quite sure what a holiday meant and I said, “You’ll be coming back home, dear.” The man was holding out his hand. She looked at me – bewildered, a bit frightened – and … and then she went over and took his hand.’
Mrs Blaker began to cry again. ‘I watched them leave. He had a carriage waiting. Oh Mr Macmerry,’ she wailed, ‘what have I done? I should have been protecting her, and I’ve let some vile man kidnap your little daughter. Who could have done such a cruel thing to a little girl? What can we do?’ she repeated helplessly, looking ready to faint, Mrs Robb at her elbow.
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