by R. J. Koreto
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be able to handle it. Now tell me, how did that absolutely delicious fiancé of yours take it? It happened in his house, I understand.”
“He behaved rather splendidly,” said Frances.
“Good for him—and good for you! He sounds like a man worth keeping.” There was a hint of sadness in her smile. Marie was one of the few people Frances knew who was divorced. Yes, Hal was worth keeping. But did he think the same of her, no matter what she did? No—focus on the case now. There would be time later to think about Hal. To think about marriage.
“Yes, there aren’t many men who would put up with a suffragist consulting detective. But that brings me to why I’m here. I’m about to solve a case, but it’s rather tricky. It’s an old story, you see, and I thought I could catch my suspect by revealing his deeds in a play. Correction, my suspects. More than one, but they’re not connected and are working at cross purposes. So I’m going to write a play—a narrated pantomime, really, to keep it simple. I made a list of actors I want to hire from your company—not the Green Players, since this involves them. If I can rehearse here in the off hours and then perform it at the Emerald, that would be ideal. I’ll pay standard wages, if you can help me with the cast.”
Marie’s eyes sparkled, and that lovely mouth of hers curved into a knowing smile. “Is there a role for me here?”
“I’d love to have you, but I daresay you’d exceed my budget.”
“But it sounds like so much fun! I’ll do it for free. Tony Mattins was well-known and liked in every theatre in London. If this will help catch his killer, you can depend on me.”
“Delightful. I want your beautiful face well-lit front and center and your golden voice reciting the story. Get me the actors, and I’ll work on a script.” She gave her friend’s arm a squeeze, and then it was off to the Emerald for a talk with Mr. Rusk.
When she got there, she saw the new security wasn’t a rumor. She carried her bicycle inside and was prepared to walk right by the porter, but he stopped her.
“Sorry, my lady. New rule. No one who isn’t part of the company can walk beyond the lobby. Mr. Rusk’s rule.”
“But you know me. I’m hardly going to pinch anything.”
“I’m sure, my lady. But Mr. Rusk was absolutely firm. No one outside of the company. But if you’re wanting Mr. Rusk, I’ll send a lad for him.” The porter opened the auditorium door and said a few words to a boy who was no doubt working inside. A minute or two later, Rusk appeared in the lobby.
“Lady Frances,” he said. He didn’t look particularly pleased to see her. Frances wasn’t surprised, after their discussion—and the overheard conversation—the other night. “Is there something I can do for you?” He paused and forced a smile. “More tickets?”
“I just wanted to thank you. And ask a favor. Actually, by doing me a favor, I can do one for you.”
He looked nervous and quickly licked his lips. “Come to my office,” he said. She followed him down the hall.
“Your porter said there are new policies in place for visitors.”
“Oh, that? Just something from our new owners. They’re afraid, rather needlessly in my opinion, about theft. So they have asked me to restrict access.”
Even if Frances hadn’t overheard the discussion he had with Prescott, she’d have known he was lying. His voice and his shifty eyes gave away everything.
Once they were in his office, Rusk gestured to Frances to take a seat.
“Thank you again for the opening-night tickets to your delightful production,” she said. “And for allowing me to stay for the party. The king and Mrs. Keppel seemed to enjoy themselves.”
“Yes, His Majesty was most complimentary.” He cleared his throat. “You seemed very well-acquainted with them?” It was only half a question.
“Society is so small, Mr. Rusk, and the Seaforths have been at court for centuries. But I know you’re busy, so I’ll get to the business at hand. I would like to put a show on in your theatre. The audience will be private—we’ll do it on a night you’re not performing. You’re ‘dark’ at least once a week, I believe. Your cast will be invited. In fact, I’m sure they will enjoy it. I will be insulted if they don’t come. We can pick a date in about two weeks’ time. Will that be satisfactory?”
Rusk stared at her for several long moments. “I don’t know what to say, Lady Frances. I guess the first question is why?”
“Oh. Didn’t I say? It’s about the tragic death of Anthony Mattins. But even more, it’s about Helen. It’s about the Oath of Tyndareus. One night. One performance. And a chance to reveal some long-held secrets.”
“My lady. I don’t see how—”
“You don’t have to see how,” said Frances. She also could act, and she put every ounce of her patrician background into her voice, now cold and commanding. “You just have to remember your oath. You said it was silly, but it was real. This is about Helen. If you ever cared for her, you will agree to this. You will be there. Mr. Prescott will be there. Now I suggest you get out your calendar and work with me to pick a date.”
Mr. Rusk just kept looking at her, and Frances stared right back. Oh, please, don’t challenge me again. Just do what you’re told. If you really cared for Helen . . . if you really believed that a soldier with a bayonet was seeking vengeance . . .
“Very well, my lady.” And he consulted his leather-bound diary. They settled on an evening, and then Frances thanked him and retrieved her bicycle. Just one more visit today, one more effort at diplomacy.
She parked her bicycle inside the gate of Lady Torrence’s house, and the butler quickly answered the door. “Her ladyship is in the drawing room, my lady,” he said. He showed Frances into the room, where Lady Torrence looked up hopefully as Frances took a seat.
“You look . . . excited, Lady Frances. Have you come to report?” she asked. Frances saw she struggled to keep her voice steady. She must’ve been living on a knife’s edge these past days, wondering if her daughter was dead or alive—or if her fate would remain a mystery.
“Yes, I have something to report.” She took a breath. “I can tell you that I will produce Louisa for you. I can’t do it now, but I am confident I can do it in the next couple of weeks.”
Lady Torrence nodded. “I am . . . astounded. But I don’t entirely understand what you’re saying. Where is she, if you know she lives but can’t produce her immediately?”
“I wish I could tell you more. I know a woman who can bring her forth, but it will take some convincing and a little money.”
“Money? I’ll give you everything I have!” Her voice cracked.
“Hardly that. I wrote out some numbers. It may vary slightly, but these are my estimates.” She handed Lady Torrence a piece of paper.
“This is very little. I’d pay ten times this. I’ll have a check sent to your residence tomorrow. Will that be satisfactory?”
“That is sufficient.” She stood. “I have plans to make. I wish I could tell you more.”
“So . . . I will see Louisa again?”
It has been a long time, thought Frances. Would she like what she saw? But I never promised her peace of mind. Only the truth.
“Yes, Lady Torrence. You will see Louisa again.”
Mallow, meanwhile, was on an assignment of her own. She carefully timed her arrival at the shop for just as the store was closing. Mrs. Lockton and Susan were turning off the lights and covering the counters against dust. As they were leaving, Mallow came upon them.
“Good afternoon. I’m so glad to catch you before you left. Miss Lockton, I had some more thoughts about your desire to become a dressmaker. Her ladyship has given me leave to discuss it with you, as my guest at a tea shop, if you have time now.” She turned to Susan’s mother. “With your permission, of course, madam.”
It seemed a little unusual, thought Mrs. Lockton, for Lady Frances to give money to a servant to take her daughter out. But it was kind, and she had no wish to offend Lady Frances, as eccentric
as she was.
“That is very thoughtful. Please thank her ladyship on my behalf. Susan, I’ll see you at home after your discussion.”
Susan seemed pleased and curious. She and Mallow got themselves a table at a nearby tea shop and ordered tea and cakes.
“This is very nice of you, Miss Mallow,” said Susan.
“It is my pleasure. And her ladyship’s. She is very impressed with you,” said Mallow in a tone that indicated that very few people impressed Lady Frances. “She will be speaking to her dressmaker at her earliest convenience. But meanwhile, she has a job for you. Both of us will be working together in the coming days. Her ladyship will be writing and directing a play.”
Susan almost spilled her tea. It was unheard of, a woman—a titled lady!—involving herself in the theatre. Was Miss Mallow having a joke at her expense? But Mallow reassured her with a gentle hand on her arm. Her ladyship had said this might be a little difficult to arrange, but Mallow was determined not to let her down.
“It’s a special project, Miss Lockton. Special and secret, to help a friend of her ladyship’s who’s also a lady. We need your help.”
“As a costume seamstress?”
“No. As an actress.”
Susan blinked. “But my mother doesn’t even like me working as a seamstress in the theatre. Can you imagine if I worked as an actress? Miss Mallow, I couldn’t possibly . . .”
“But it’s not really a performance. It’s a special project, just for a few people. It’s very respectable, Miss Lockton. Lady Frances is the daughter of a marquess, and her brother is a marquess now and very important in the government. You can just tell your mother you are working on a special project for her ladyship, which is the truth.”
Susan still looked doubtful as she drank some tea and picked up a little cake. “What will her ladyship pay?”
“Twice what you make as a seamstress. And it will be after your work in the store.”
“But to be an actress,” said Susan, shaking her head.
“Just this once. And it doesn’t really count, because only people her ladyship invites will come.”
Curiosity and desire for money won out.
“Very well,” said Susan. “Tell her ladyship she can rely on me.”
Mallow sighed with relief. The two young women proceeded to finish their tea and the plate of delicacies.
“So Miss Mallow, I daresay this is the most unusual thing her ladyship has ever done,” Susan said.
But Mallow just shook her head.
“Miss Lockton, not even close.”
CHAPTER 30
Frances and Mallow found themselves very busy over the next few days. First, there was the writing, as Frances dashed off page after page of script. Mallow was given the task of making lists of costumes and the various items the actors would use, which her ladyship said were called “props.”
It got a little crowded in their rooms when Frances engaged a typist to print a final version of the script. As the typist was a woman, the hotel rules did not forbid Frances from having her—and her machine—in their rooms. But it was hardly traditional, and Frances had to reassure the manageress, Mrs. Beasley, that the typist would only be around for a few days. She decided not to tell her that she was already planning to purchase one of these machines herself and to ask the typist to train her in its use.
After a few days, Frances said that the actors were ready to start at the St. James Theatre, where her friend Marie had helped her collect them. They gathered their papers and hailed a hansom.
“This is very exciting, Mallow. We are not only solving a mystery but entering a whole new world.”
“Yes, my lady. But I do want you to know I will never leave your service for full-time theatre work.”
“I am glad to hear it. Although I do want to reassure you that what we are doing is perfectly respectable.”
“I am sure, my lady.” Mallow seemed to take some assurance from her words nonetheless. It wasn’t like they were actresses.
The St. James was similar to the Emerald, and Frances and Mallow quickly found their way to the stage, where the cast had already gathered. The actors looked curious and amused, knowing little except that a rather odd titled lady wanted to direct a play and was paying good money. Susan Lockton and Marie Studholme were also present.
“Thank you all for your cooperation on this play that will run for only one performance but will be remembered for a long, long time,” Frances said. “It will be pantomime, so it will be mostly about movement. The action will be narrated by Miss Studholme, so there will be few lines to memorize. I would like to introduce you to your stage manager, Miss June Mallow. Although she is new to the theatre world, she is exceptionally well-organized, and I am sure I can count on you to follow her directions. Now the name of my play is Death at the Emerald—”
“Excuse me, my lady,” said one actor. “If I may give you some advice, I’m not sure that is the most engaging title. May I suggest another one?” He was young and good-looking, and Frances was sure he knew exactly how handsome he was and relied on that. Dealing with actors was going to be a little more of a challenge than she had anticipated. She saw her friend Marie just raise an eyebrow and wait to see how this would play out.
It was Mallow who spoke first. “Excuse me. You—the one who just asked her ladyship a question. What is your name?”
“Winslow Gardener, at your service, Miss Mallow,” he said.
“Well, Mr. Gardener, in the future, if her ladyship wants your opinion, she will ask for it.”
That wiped the smile off his face, and there were snickers among the rest of the cast.
“Is that what a stage manager does, my lady?” whispered Mallow.
“Absolutely, Mallow. I see you have a talent for this.” Then to the company at large, Frances said, “If there are no more questions or comments, we will get started. Miss Mallow, please hand out the scripts, and we will begin.”
It didn’t take Frances long to realize that, just as Mallow was going to be an excellent stage manager, she herself was well-positioned to be a director. She started out giving directions, then began actually positioning the actors and actresses, turning them around the stage as if they were full-sized dolls. “Stand like this, only three-quarters to the audience . . . Now let’s be a little more enthusiastic here; you’re young and in love . . . Say, we’re going to need some special lighting here. Mallow, didn’t we engage a lighting designer?”
“Yes, my lady. He will be available for discussion later this week.”
“Excellent. Now let’s do a run-through once more . . .”
And so it went for the next few days. Frances had told the cast in a vague way that this was going to help in her investigations of who killed Anthony Mattins. Not that they entirely believed her. During a break, she definitely heard one actor say to another, “Our director is as mad as a March hare.”
Well, let them think that, she thought with some amusement. The less seriously people took this play, the more likely it would work. Meanwhile, the actors did what they were told, and Mallow performed her role with serious determination, as if she were the housekeeper in a great country mansion organizing a formal ball.
Working with the lighting designer was a fascinating experience.
“I don’t know the correct term, but I believe there is a way to send a shaft of light into a particular place?” Frances asked him.
“Bless you, my lady, there is. It’s called a baby lens, and we have a hundred watt one here. A watt is—”
“Thank you, I am familiar with watts. Can you show me?” Frances and Mallow climbed to the top of the theatre, and the designer was pleased to show them the powerful beam.
“And can you use lighting to put someone in a half shadow?”
He chuckled. “With the right lighting, my lady, you can do anything.”
“Very good. Would the Emerald have a similar lighting system?”
“I’m sure, my lady. All the big theatres
have the latest electric lighting nowadays.”
“Good. Thank you.” They clambered down, and later, while they headed home, Frances said, “Mallow, we are well along here. It’s time to make sure of our audience. Inspector Eastley, of course, and Constable Smith. I did promise them that they would be present for any arrests. And Mrs. Lockton, of course. Her presence is essential.”
“I imagine she’ll be upset to see her daughter on the stage, my lady.”
“I think that by the end of the play, having a daughter on the stage will be the least of Mrs. Lockton’s worries,” said Frances.
Mallow nodded. “I see your point, my lady.”
Once they had returned to Miss Plimsoll’s, Frances dashed off a note for Inspector Eastley, inviting him to come with Smith and two constables who would need to remain hidden.
“Getting Mrs. Lockton will be a little harder, I’m afraid. She isn’t going to want to come anywhere near the Emerald Theatre. We need to give her a motive.”
The next day was Friday, and during their final rehearsal, Frances congratulated her cast for bringing it all together so neatly.
“I will see you all for our opening—and closing—night on Monday at the Emerald. Miss Mallow and I will be there early and have arranged for the costumes to be brought over.” They’d be wearing clothes of the last generation, which more than one actor remembered from their youth.
“For now, Mallow, I’ll leave you at Miss Plimsoll’s and have a final talk with Mrs. Lockton. It’ll be a little difficult. Our last conversation did not end well. I’ll have to give her a very strong reason to attend.”
“And what will that be, my lady?”
Frances smiled. “Nothing less than the triumphant return of Helen to the London stage.”
The salesgirls were helping other customers when Frances arrived at Mrs. Lockton’s store, and when one was free, Frances gave the girl her card and asked if she could possibly speak with Mrs. Lockton in her office. She headed to the back, and Frances wondered if Mrs. Lockton would dare refuse to even speak with her. Oh, I bet she’d have the courage to refuse me, but she’s too curious, too concerned about what I might know to not speak with me.
