Death at the Emerald

by R. J. Koreto

  “Very nice, Mallow. Thank you. There’s a bit more tea here, so let’s finish and talk. We certainly got a lot of information. Miss D’Arcy didn’t have such a good view of Mr. Prescott. And a decidedly less romantic view of Braceley. Love’s young dream on the surface, but decidedly unbalanced.”

  “Romance is all well and good, my lady, but Mr. Braceley sounds more like a spoiled child.”

  “I agree. None of them look very good. Rusk and Prescott sticking together, putting a more romantic view of the world on display. They didn’t want to make Braceley look bad, as he was one of those who signed the oath. Not going to betray him in front of each other. I expect we’d have heard something different if we had questioned them separately. That’s something to remember. And one more thing—Helen humiliated both Prescott and Braceley, but it seems Rusk was able to work with her. We’re going to need to speak to the actors after the show tomorrow, when they’ve had a drink or two and are likely to talk freely.”

  CHAPTER 25

  The next day Frances had some calls to make on behalf of the suffrage club as well as other charities. Later, after a quick dinner, she put herself into Mallow’s hands. They had earlier negotiated just how much time Mallow would need to “get her lady done proper” and how much time Frances would be willing to give her.

  “I have my good dress and hat ready for myself, my lady. I confess to being excited about this.”

  “Oh, it will be exciting, Mallow. It’s opening night, so we may see other distinguished members of society there. And of course, we have to keep our ears open at the theatre. I think there is more that we don’t know. Perhaps that box we found in Mr. Mattins’s room contains clues we haven’t fully plumbed yet. We know the importance of the oath and the reference to the Hallidays. But what about that program? It may have been just a keepsake, but I think it was something more. Like the other two items, it was designed to say something.”

  “It was the same play we’re seeing tonight, wasn’t it, my lady? Romeo and Juliet.”

  “Yes, and that may also be significant. In fact, after our discussion with Miss D’Arcy, I’m wondering if there is more in the background we weren’t told about. In fact, I’m sure of it. I think I’ll drop some hints that we know more to frighten Prescott and Rusk into making a mistake. There was a plot all those years ago, Mallow, and it’s still going on.”

  “I will keep my ears open, my lady. Meanwhile, I read the summary of the play, as you suggested.”

  “What did you think?”

  “Very sad, my lady. But they’re not English, are they? Verona is in Italy, I believe?”

  “Yes, Mallow.”

  “Well, that explains a lot, my lady. I’d expect the English to be better behaved.”

  Frances raised an eyebrow. “That’s a fascinating piece of theatrical criticism. I am sure my mother would’ve agreed with you wholeheartedly.”

  “Thank you, my lady. Just one more hairpin, and you should be all ready.”

  They quickly found themselves a hansom cab and were off to the theatre.

  “As you said, my lady, many fine people will be there tonight.”

  “Yes, Mallow, and we’ll be among them.”

  “What I meant is that there won’t be many personal servants in the audience.”

  “No,” said Frances, giving her maid a grin, “and not that many suffragists either.”

  Mr. Rusk had left them very good seats in front of the center orchestra, amid ladies and gentlemen in fine clothes. Mallow felt a little out of place. This was a lot fancier than the music halls she attended with her friends, but no one seemed to notice or care about her appearance. The theatre was certainly a lot more casual than a drawing room.

  They waited for the curtain to rise, and suddenly there was a rustle to one side. Everyone craned their necks to the see the small group entering one of the boxes—including His Majesty, King Edward VII.

  “Oh, my lady. The king himself!”

  “He does like theatre, and it is opening night. And that’s Mrs. Keppel with him.” Frances whispered to her maid that Mrs. Keppel was the king’s long-term mistress. “Do you disapprove?”

  “My lady,” said Mallow, shocked, “I would never criticize His Majesty’s choice of companion.”

  The lights dimmed, so there was no more time for discussion of the king’s relations, as an actor walked onstage and began to recite: “Two households, both alike in dignity . . .”

  The production was beautifully staged and acted. Frances enjoyed the music of the language, and Mallow paid close attention, watching each scene with great seriousness.

  Prescott made an impressive Lord Capulet. He commanded all his scenes with a strong presence and a powerful, flexible voice. Frances felt a twinge during the scene where he bullied his daughter into marrying Paris. Fathers and daughters; an echo of Sir Arnold pressing his daughter to go to India to become an officer’s wife. Had Sir Arnold sat in this theatre, watching this same play? Had he seen any irony in Lord Capulet’s behavior—especially while trying to seduce the Juliet?

  The play flew by under nimble direction, and before they knew it, the prince was saying, “For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.”

  Mallow applauded with great enthusiasm. “Oh, my lady. Very exciting . . . very affecting.”

  “I agree completely, Mallow. I look forward to telling the actors ourselves, as we’ve been invited to stay after for a reception.”

  “I should very like to meet the actress who played the nurse, my lady. She was very amusing.”

  The crowd dispersed, talking and gossiping. Frances and Mallow made their way to the lobby and then along the hallway to the back.

  “The reception will be in the greenroom. It’s where the actors gather during the play,” Frances explained.

  “Why is it painted green, my lady?”

  “It isn’t painted green.”

  “Then why do they call it the greenroom?”

  “After we solve this mystery, Mallow, we’ll devote our full attentions to that one.”

  Many of the actors had not yet arrived, busy taking a quick rest and cleaning off their makeup, but Rusk was in the greenroom along with a few other ladies and gentlemen—and the king and Mrs. Keppel.

  “Oh!” gasped Mallow.

  “You’ve seen the king before,” said Frances.

  “But as a servant, my lady. I am a guest here.”

  “And like me, his most loyal subject. Come.”

  The king’s eyes roved and landed on Lady Frances.

  “Dear Lady! So pleased to see you here. I hope you enjoyed it as much as Mrs. Keppel and I did.”

  Frances and Mallow curtsied. “Yes, we did, your Majesty,” said Frances.

  “I wonder how you find time for the theatre, being so busy working on suffrage for women.”

  “I find it very refreshing, sir, and will be able to address members of Parliament with renewed vigor the next day.”

  Mrs. Keppel laughed. “Well said, Lady Frances.” She greeted Frances warmly. “I enjoy meeting you again. Wit binds together all members of your family.”

  “You are too kind, Mrs. Keppel. May I present my friend, Miss June Mallow.” Mallow was standing in Frances’s shadow, never expecting to be introduced, but she was equal to the task.

  “Your Majesty. Mrs. Keppel,” she said and curtsied again.

  “Did you enjoy the play as well, Miss Mallow?” asked Mrs. Keppel.

  “It was very full of emotion, Mrs. Keppel,” said Mallow.

  The working-class accent and simple clothes identified Mallow as a servant, but Mrs. Keppel pretended not to notice: If Lady Frances chose to bring her maid to opening night at the Emerald, that was just another one of her eccentricities, and nowhere near the most egregious.

  Frances started to take her leave, but first the king said, “Have your brother send me another invitation. The conversation was amusing, and his cook was unparalleled with game meats.” Frances said
she would. They stepped away, but not before Frances caught a look on Rusk’s face. She had impressed him. Oh, he had known she was of the aristocracy, but being in a position where she could banter with the king . . .

  Actors were beginning to show up. Junior cast members set up a table with drinks and food, and people spilled into the hallway and onto the backstage.

  Mallow dabbed at her forehead. “Did I . . . was I correct, my lady?”

  “I was the one who jested with the king about suffrage, and you ask if you were correct?” Frances laughed, and Mallow looked relieved. “But let’s not forget we came here to work. We need to talk to the actors and see if we can pick up any gossip. I’d be surprised if we didn’t, what with Mr. Mattins’s recent death. And I have a feeling that Helen’s spirit hovers over this play. I do want a private word with Mr. Rusk. And over there, unless I miss my guess, is the actress playing the nurse. Go over and introduce yourself.”

  “What shall I say, my lady?”

  “Start with a compliment. Actors can never get enough compliments. I see Mr. Rusk has left the king and Mrs. Keppel to speak with some of the other actors. Time to get to work. I’m sure this has been a difficult period for the surviving signatories of the Oath of Tyndareus, and gossip and rumors may have spread after Mr. Mattins’s death. Be sure to help yourself to a glass of wine. I’m sure it’s little better than vinegar, but we want to look relaxed.”

  “Very good, my lady.”

  Even at a party where the king was in attendance, Mr. Rusk was busy. She found him upstage in a relatively quiet spot, talking to a couple of stagehands. As they departed, Frances approached him.

  “Theatre work is never finished, is it, Mr. Rusk?”

  He forced a smile. “A few things have to be fixed before tomorrow’s curtain. I hope you enjoyed the show, my lady?”

  “Very much. I came specifically to thank you for the tickets. Nimbly directed, handsomely staged, and every performance was gripping.”

  He laughed. “What a wonderful line. I wish you were a theatre critic.”

  “If I were, I would single out Mr. Prescott. It’s not a large role, but he commanded the stage in all his scenes. He played very well with Juliet.”

  “Thank you. He’s aged rather nicely into paterfamilias roles, although I believe he still wishes he could play romantic young leads as he used to. He did a very good Henry V once.”

  “I can imagine. Once upon a time, I believe he was a very commanding suitor to Helen. More than you led me to believe. Made quite a nuisance of himself, so I heard.”

  Mr. Rusk looked uncomfortable. “May I ask who told you that?”

  “Actors are terrible gossips, as I’m sure you’re aware. Still, the real surprise is what I’ve heard about Alexander Braceley. If Mr. Prescott was annoying, Mr. Braceley sounds mad by all accounts. A love that intense can lead to a bad end. But again, I’m stating the obvious—look at the play we just saw.”

  Rusk was now even more nervous and ran his finger under his collar. “My lady, this was all many years ago. I can’t recall the details after all this time. But can I ask if you’ve made any progress in your search for Helen?”

  “Oh, yes. That’s why I was asking about Mr. Braceley. It’s part of the lore that no one came home from the Sudan campaign, but we don’t know that really, do we?”

  “What could that possibly have to do with Helen?”

  “Mr. Mattins is dead. I wonder who killed him?”

  “That was a robbery, my lady. That’s what the police said.”

  “Police? Who’s talking about police?” It was Prescott, and on his arm was the actress who played his wife, Lady Capulet. Frances noted that her face was strong with sharp cheekbones, so she probably didn’t get the ingénue roles. Frances thought she’d make a great Lady Macbeth.

  Rusk seemed to welcome the interruption. “Nothing at all,” he said, dismissing the police talk. “Lady Frances, this is Edith Lasalle, our Lady Capulet.”

  “I enjoyed both your performances. The deep and complex relationships among the Capulets made for some very poignant scenes,” said Frances, and both actors were pleased with their compliments. Seeing their arms were linked, Frances thought to tweak them. “I am glad the two of you seem to have a greater friendship than Lord and Lady Capulet, however.”

  “How observant of you, my lady,” said Prescott. “Because we do have such a deep appreciation for each other, it requires all our acting skills to pretend we have a coolness onstage.”

  “Oh, don’t listen to him, my lady,” said Miss Lasalle. “He’s only being affectionate with me because the actress who plays Juliet won’t have anything to do with him.”

  Prescott fought looking irritated at that.

  “What a shame,” said Frances. “You don’t seem to have much luck with Juliets, do you?” She saw a flash of anger, but it was gone in a second. Her eyes quickly turned to Rusk, who was also unhappy. Miss Lasalle looked confused. Of course—she probably hadn’t even been born when the oath was signed.

  “Luck with Juliets?” Miss Lasalle asked.

  “Only that he doesn’t get along with either the actress or the character,” said Frances. She realized that she had upset both Prescott and Rusk. Good. She wanted them off-balance. Someone had been hunting her, and the secrets were lost in the origins of the oath.

  “But we should speak of Romeo too,” said Frances. “He was exceedingly appealing. One could see why Juliet fell in love.”

  “I may be accused of being immodest,” said Prescott. Oh, really, thought Frances. “But when we did the play some thirty years ago, I daresay I was a most ardent Romeo.” He looked at Frances, as if daring her to disagree.

  “You weren’t Romeo then. You were Mercutio. Braceley was Romeo,” said Rusk with a weary patience.

  “I was Romeo,” Prescott said insistently. “We decided Braceley wasn’t quite ready to play Romeo.”

  “You were Mercutio. You twisted your ankle during your death scene rehearsal, and we were nervous you wouldn’t be ready for opening night.”

  “I won’t argue it. It’s pointless. But I was Romeo. You don’t think I remember each role?”

  Rusk shook his head. “I ought to thank His Majesty again for coming,” he said, looking to leave. Then he glanced at the stagehands toward the back, who were fixing some sets. “But someone needs to keep an eye on them until we can properly replace Mattins.”

  Frances’s mind worked furiously. She saw Rusk and Prescott lock eyes. They wanted to get rid of Miss Lasalle and talk about Frances’s comments, and Frances saw an advantage in keeping them there. As she well knew, it was easy to hide if you knew how.

  Her eyes darted around.

  “The king will no doubt exit through here,” said Frances. “If you want to be sure not to miss him, just move a little downstage. You’ll see the stagehands and can be sure not to miss the king.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Rusk said. “I thought he might want to leave through the alley door to avoid the crowds, but they’d be dispersed by now.”

  “Meanwhile, please excuse me. I do want to find and compliment the rest of your cast. Thank you again.” And she left them, the men looking just a little astonished.

  CHAPTER 26

  Mallow did compliment the actress who played the nurse, pleasing her with the praise. Seeing her up close, Mallow realized she was much younger than she had seemed onstage. Makeup had tricked the audience. London was full of maids working to make their aged mistresses look younger, but here the opposite happened. It was a different world.

  Before she could engage the actress in further conversation, however, an actor came by and gave the nurse a kiss, and with laughter they ran off. Things didn’t happen like this in the drawing rooms of good houses, that was certain.

  But Mallow wasn’t alone long. A few moments later, she saw Mrs. Mancini, the costume supervisor she had helped earlier.

  “Miss Mallow, I’m so pleased you and your mistress could come. And fan
cy that, the king and Mrs. Keppel showing up again. It’s always exciting when royalty attends. Did you enjoy the play?”

  “Very much so,” said Mallow, “and so did her ladyship.”

  “I’m so pleased. His Majesty seemed entertained as well.” She sighed. “It was hard to pull it off, I don’t mind saying, without Mr. Mattins. He was so good at organizing everything, and also there was a lot of sadness about his passing. But Mr. Rusk said the production would be a tribute to him so we’d all pull together. And everyone did. Even the actors, and let me tell you, getting actors to behave is something.”

  “Yes, that was very sad about Mr. Mattins. Have the police made any arrests?”

  “No. We’re all guessing it was just a chance robbery. But Mr. Rusk has been powerfully affected by it. He even hired extra porters to watch the doors—said he was afraid of criminals pushing into the theatre. I thought it was a little strange. No one is going to do anything when the place is packed with people. But men get cautious as they get older.”

  “It does sound strange,” said Mallow. “Did Mr. Prescott also get nervous? I know he is also older, and he seemed to be a particular friend of Mr. Rusk’s.”

  “Funny you should mention it, Miss Mallow. He wasn’t worried about that, but he has been very nervy too, of late. The young man you saw play Romeo tonight? Well, I’m sure you noted that there’s a fair amount of swordplay, and there was some frustration that young Romeo wasn’t as convincing as he might’ve been. So quietly after rehearsal, just yesterday, he asked Mr. Prescott if he’d show him some pointers with the sword—apparently because he was good with weaponry. Well, Mr. Prescott screamed that he was insulted—who was spreading the word that he knew anything about blades?—and that he wasn’t a damned fighting instructor, if you’ll pardon my language. He said he didn’t want to hear any more about blades. He was so loud, people came running. Poor Romeo slunk off, and Mr. Rusk had to take him aside to soothe him.”

  Mallow wrinkled her nose. “But why get so upset? It sounds like Romeo was complimenting Mr. Prescott by asking for his advice. The late marquess, her ladyship’s father, took great pride in his shooting during hunts, they say, and was tickled when young men spoke with him about improving their skills.”