by R. J. Koreto
“It’s all talk,” said Prescott sullenly.
“Oh, but there’s more proof. Mallow and I left serious marks on him. There should be a bruise on his right shin from where I tripped him and another on his back between his shoulder blades.”
“Is that true?” asked Inspector Eastley. “Lady Frances, I would love to hear that story later. But for now, Mr. Prescott, could you raise your pant leg and then give us a chance to peer down your shirt? If you want, I could have Constable Smith help you, but you’ll find him much less gentle than your usual dresser.”
Looking very unhappy but seeing no other choice, Prescott obliged with his leg. Inspector Eastley raised an eyebrow at the results.
“Lady Frances. Did you leave this bruise on him? My goodness.” He shook his head and turned back to Prescott. “You are under arrest for the murders of Douglas MacKenzie and Anthony Mattins and for the attempted murder of Lady Frances Ffolkes. Constable Smith, please turn over Mr. Prescott to the two uniformed constables outside. Take care of the details, and see that Mr. Prescott speaks to no one until we return.”
Mr. Prescott tried to grab onto some final dignity, walking as if he were making a grand exit instead of being arrested. The company was still speechless, but as he was marched down the aisle, the place exploded in whispers. Rusk, however, looked absolutely broken as he tried to take in that a man he had known for most of his life had killed another friend and his great love’s husband. He buried his face in his hands.
And Emma Lockton? She was still upset, but there was something else there. Was it relief? Even triumph? Reverend Halliday, like everyone else, seemed a little stunned, and Frances could see him gently reassure his Aunt Em.
Well, we shall see, Mrs. Lockton, thought Frances. This is just beginning.
CHAPTER 32
The conversation was getting louder, and the audience was starting to get up. Frances clapped her hands sharply.
“Thank you all for coming, but we’re not done. We still have act two.” That got everyone’s attention. Considering what had happened so far, they were inclined to stay for more. Emma Lockton looked surprised, and wariness crept into her features, but she showed no signs of leaving. Mr. Rusk glanced up. All was lost, he seemed to think. No point in leaving now.
It took a few moments for everyone to settle down. Mallow gave a signal to dim the houselights, and Marie, after a quick congratulatory smile to Frances, began speaking again.
“Despite the tragedy, that wasn’t the end for Helen. She had lost her husband, but she was strong; she would lead her life.”
Into the light stepped Susan Lockton, still playing Helen. But Helen was no longer an actress, and she had lost her mask. She was well-lit and could easily be seen, wearing the hair done up just as in the portrait of Louisa Torrence that hung in her old room.
Magnificent, thought Frances. They had really done it. Mallow had put up her hair with perfect fidelity, and the dress from another generation had completed the picture. Emma Lockton cried out from the audience, incoherent, and Gilbert Rusk choked out, “Dear God!” Susan stood as the entrancing Helen, with her midnight-black hair and a creamy complexion possessed only by women just out of girlhood.
“Fortunately, Helen had good friends,” continued Marie. “Fleeing the theatre world forever, Helen took refuge with an older married couple, pious folk who lived in a town not far from London.” The actors playing the Hallidays came onstage—a sober, middle-aged pair. “With hard work and trust in the Lord, they had prospered and chose to share their good fortune with others, reaching out to those in the theatre to provide assistance and bring them closer to God. They took in poor Helen, offering her support and safety. Who knew if the traitor who had taken her husband from her was also planning to kill her too?”
Onstage, the Hallidays embraced Helen and led her to a few sticks and a sheet that represented a comfortable bed.
“And as the days went by, it seemed that Helen had indeed found a refuge. Mrs. Halliday was with child, and Helen was a kind and helpful companion. They assumed she would help when the child arrived. But Helen suddenly took a fever . . .”
Frances continued to look at Mrs. Lockton. The more Marie spoke, the more nervous Emma Lockton got, even more than in act one. She was practically shaking as the actors moved onstage, and Marie’s voice had cast a spell on the entranced audience. Frances could hardly breathe. Would it happen as she had planned? Would Emma Lockton do what Frances expected her to do?
“. . . and as fate would have it, on a dark night, one woman was bringing life into the world, as another was planning to leave it. At least, that’s the story as it came down to us. But that’s not actually what happened. Helen herself—”
“No!” screamed Mrs. Lockton, and it came deep from within, as if she was being tortured. “For the love of God, no.” She gave a strangled cry, and before the Reverend Halliday could react, she had launched herself onto the stage. Once there, she didn’t seem to know what to do, however, as if she had hoped her presence would end everything. She looked around wildly.
The audience was momentarily surprised, but after the first shock, Frances felt a sense of disappointment from them: All right, we admit the first surprise was well done, but to do this twice in the same short play? Really, Lady Frances, do you take us for fools?
Frances took a deep breath and walked onto the stage. Looking over the skeptical audience, she said, “I assure you, this is not part of my play. Mrs. Lockton, please explain yourself.”
Mrs. Lockton turned to Frances with such rage in her eyes, Frances wondered if she would be physically attacked. “Oh, don’t be so modest, my lady. You know exactly what is happening here.”
“I gave you a chance,” said Frances coolly. “Now give me a reason to end this play now, or I will have constables remove you and finish it myself. Show me Helen.”
Rusk now joined them onstage. Frances thought he might oblige them.
“Lady Frances,” he said with forced patience, “we are in your debt to a great extent for uncovering a murderer in our midst. But he was a man we’ve known for years—for decades—and we have been through enough. If you have more to say, just say it. We have had ample drama for one day.”
Frances arched an eyebrow and looked into his eyes. So much pain and confusion there, and she felt a pang at what she was doing. But it would come out all right in the end—she hoped. For a brief moment, she became aware again of her enormous arrogance, moving people around like this. More than once Sherlock Holmes had let a guilty man go free when he thought it was right to do so. How flexible are my ethics?
She forced her voice to be steady. “Mr. Rusk. Perhaps you could somehow take charge of Mrs. Lockton. After all, she is a member of your company.”
“Is that a joke? I’ve never met this woman before today, I assure you.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mr. Rusk. The truth is staring you in the face. I deduced it, and I wasn’t even here thirty years ago.”
Frances now saw a change in Mrs. Lockton. She knew now it was over, but she wasn’t going to cringe from the truth. She looked down at the Reverend Halliday, watching her, still in utter amazement. There was love in those eyes. Oh, yes, she loved the vicar, loved him so deeply.
Mrs. Lockton then sighed—and smiled—and turned to Rusk. “Dear Gil. I thought you of all of them would remember. It’s been a long time, though. Still, I can recall the words I used when I first met you. You thought I had rehearsed them. I had, of course. ‘I’m a good hard worker, Mr. Rusk; I’ll remember my lines, follow all direction, and never give you a moment to regret engaging me.’”
Relief poured through Frances. She hadn’t realized how tense she had been and felt almost dizzy. She looked at Mallow in the wings and winked at her. And Mallow unbended enough to wink back.
“No . . . it’s not possible,” said Rusk. “Helen? My God, it really is you.” He turned to the audience. “Do you see? Helen has come back.” And seemingly without any thought, he fl
ung himself at her, embracing her. After a few moments, Helen embraced him back.
“I always knew it wasn’t you,” Frances heard her say quietly. “Not my dear Gil.”
Frances was most amused that the first person in the audience to applaud was Inspector Eastley, looking up with his wry smile. And a few moments later, everyone else joined him. She rather thought it was a triumphant end to her first—and last—outing as a theatrical impresario.
But there would be time enough to reflect later. Members of the audience crowded the stage. Frances whispered to Rusk to take Mrs. Lockton to his office, and they left quickly. She turned to the vicar. “Reverend Halliday, Mallow will show you to Mr. Rusk’s office. You must have a thousand questions, and we will answer them, but Mrs. Lockton needs you now. Inspector, my deepest thanks for trusting me.”
“And my trust was not misplaced, I see. I have a feeling there are more secrets here, but can I assume they are not legal ones?”
“Just emotional,” said Frances.
“The worst of all, my lady, but fortunately, not part of my remit. I will take myself off. There’s a prisoner who needs questioning.” He and Smith made their way out.
“Thank you for coming,” said Frances to everyone else remaining. “I thought that, as members of the Green Players, I owed you a chance to witness the return of one of the most celebrated members in the long history of your company and the arrest of the man who killed her husband and your great friend and colleague, Mr. Mattins. Thank you all, and good evening.”
With that, she left them to gossip among themselves and quickly followed Mr. Rusk, Mrs. Lockton, and Mallow to Rusk’s office. Susan dashed over to her. “Lady Frances, I don’t understand. Why was my mother here? Why was she so upset? Why were people calling her ‘Helen?’”
“Oh, Miss Lockton. I’m glad you’re here. I was just going to send Mallow for you. Come with me, and we’ll answer all your questions.” She took the girl’s arm and led her to Rusk’s office.
“My mother is going to kill me when she discovers I was an actress. I thought she wasn’t supposed to find out I was doing this.”
“I think your mother may be a lot more understanding than you think.”
It was a little crowded in Rusk’s office, but Mallow had asked a couple of stagehands to push his desk against the wall and bring in some extra chairs. They sat in a circle—Frances and Mallow; Mrs. Lockton, being comforted by a still confused Reverend Halliday; Gil Rusk, looking steadily at Mrs. Lockton as if he couldn’t believe Helen had come back; and a fearful-looking Susan. Mrs. Lockton spared a quick look for her daughter, but it was a loving one, not angry.
Mrs. Lockton spoke first. “Very well, Lady Frances. I told you that it wasn’t just my secret, but others’. But it’s too late to stop this now. You’ll take the blame for any consequences.”
Frances just met her gaze. She rather admired Mrs. Lockton but had had enough of her completely one-sided point of view. “I’ll accept my share, Mrs. Lockton, but you must take the blame for not telling the story for all these years,” she said coolly. “But there’s no point in looking back. Would you like me to tell it? Or should you?”
Mrs. Lockton smiled. “I was just an actress. You’re the playwright, my lady.”
“You were an actress?” asked Susan.
“Yes, your mother was the most beautiful actress in London, I’ve heard it told,” said Frances. Susan lightened the mood by giggling at that, and Mrs. Lockton just shook her head. “But I will tell the story. As I showed in my play, a beautiful young woman—about your age, Miss Lockton—showed up at the Emerald Theatre and got herself a place in the Green Players. She had come from a wealthy, prominent family, but she wanted another life away from a strict father who could only see one path for his elder daughter.”
Helen had chosen another path, thought Frances, entering a world where her father had humiliated her mother with a succession of mistresses. What a message to send—joining the same milieu where her father had misbehaved so shamelessly.
“She changed her name and called herself Helen. Once settled among the Green Players, six men wooed her. I think one truly loved her”—her eyes darted to Mr. Rusk—“and one saw her like a daughter. One lusted after her, seeing her as a challenge to his pride. At least one obsessed over her. But she married an accountant. You see, Helen never fit into the theatrical world, and once the initial excitement was over, she decided she wanted a balanced, modest life and an equal partnership with a man, where she could raise a family. They planned to move far away, where she would never be recognized—but one of her former suitors could not let her go and decided if he couldn’t have her, no man would. And so, he killed her husband. You saw the results of that in act one.”
Mrs. Lockton started to quietly cry, and the Reverend Halliday put his arm around her. “You don’t have to stay for this, Aunt Em. I will take you home.”
“No—let’s finish,” she said.
Frances continued. “And so Helen, not even sure who had killed her husband—and afraid she might be killed next—turned to the Hallidays, who had established a mission in the theatrical community. We were told Helen died of a fever, but there was something about her that was hidden, something I didn’t realize myself until recently. Helen had been a married woman, if only briefly. And Helen found herself with child, just like other married women—and just like Mrs. Halliday. This is when it became very complicated. The two women delivered their children on the very same night. Reverend Halliday, you commented on the sad irony that your mother, sickly and getting on in years, delivered a healthy child, while Helen, young and healthy, died quickly from a fever. But that’s not what happened.”
Frances paused. She had everyone’s attention, and Mrs. Lockton was clutching the Reverend Halliday as if she’d otherwise collapse. “In fact, Mrs. Halliday was the one who lost her child and her last chance to be a mother. Helen had no fever. She was young and healthy, and so was her son. But what could she do? Return to making a precarious living on the stage, where she might be killed? Crawl back to her parents and live in quiet humiliation for the rest of her life? She had no skills for any kind of work, no way to support a baby.” She turned to Mrs. Lockton. “So in your pain and fear, you forged a brilliant plan with the Hallidays. It was put out you had died, and no one outside of that small household had even known you were with child anyway. In fact, you turned over your baby to the Hallidays to raise as their own, and the Halliday baby was put in your grave.”
Mrs. Lockton buried her face in her hands and cried, just as Lady Torrence had when talking about her daughter’s disappearance. The age and circumstances didn’t matter, Frances saw. They were mothers who had lost children.
“With a fevered haste, everyone went to work that night. Mr. Halliday was a builder, but he had started life as a carpenter. He quickly built a coffin. A sexton worked in ignorance and was paid off, along with the midwife. The late Halliday baby was buried in an adult coffin to keep up the pretense, and the vicar was convinced to play along for everyone’s good. Church records disappeared in an ‘accident.’ And for all that the Hallidays loved their adopted boy, they never forgot the child born to them, and so they gave him an impressive monument and visited the site regularly.”
The Reverend Halliday frowned. Then, as if he was afraid of his own words, he said, “Lady Frances, are you saying that Mrs. Lockton is my mother?”
“Yes,” said Frances softly, “that is exactly what I’m saying. Did you ever see the way she looked at you? It was clear to me how deeply she loved you when she spoke of you and when I saw the two of you together. I am deeply ashamed of myself for misinterpreting that love at first. She loves you as a mother loves a son.”
“So, Reverend Halliday, I guess you’re my brother?” asked Susan. “No wonder my mother didn’t like me to—well, never mind.” She blushed. If the scene hadn’t been so full of emotion, it would’ve been funny.
“I didn’t want this to ever come out,” said
Mrs. Lockton, looking at her son for understanding and forgiveness. “Please, if it had not been forced from me, I would’ve taken my secret to my grave.”
“But why?” asked the vicar. “Where is the harm or embarrassment? What you did, what my parents—that is, the Hallidays—did, was out of love. There is no shame to you, me, or Susan.” And crying louder than before, Mrs. Lockton threw her arms around her elder child. Frances nodded to Mallow, who produced a bottle of sherry and a glass. Frances filled it and pressed it onto Mrs. Lockton.
“Sip it. It’s all out now. It’s almost over.” Mrs. Lockton did what she was told and gathered herself.
“How could you possibly have known?” she finally got out. “Everyone who knew is long gone.”
“There were clues. And in some sense, Reverend Halliday, I think you suspected something was wrong somewhere.”
“I knew there was a secret,” he said cautiously.
“Just look at the clues. Your name to start with—Samuel. Thanks to Mallow here, I was reminded about the story of the pious woman whose prayer for a child was granted. ‘God Has Heard,’ was carved into Helen’s stone—that’s what Samuel means in Hebrew.” The Reverend Halliday nodded, looking a little embarrassed that he hadn’t figured it out himself.
“And then there’s the visual proof. I should have seen that right away.” She turned to Mrs. Lockton, who seemed more composed now that the worst was over. “Susan looks like you did at her age, the same creamy complexion and midnight-black hair, the same mouth. I should have seen it earlier. Prescott noticed—I even overheard him saying Susan reminded him of someone. Perhaps later he would’ve remembered. Mrs. Lockton, you didn’t want Susan working here because you were aware she looked like you and didn’t want anyone to look at her and see Helen. And you, Reverend Halliday. You also took after your mother. The same jet-black hair and pleasing features. It finally became clear. But where was I? Oh, yes, the brilliant plan. Mrs. Lockton, you still needed to find a place in the world, and you wanted to be near your son, even if you couldn’t acknowledge him—and the Hallidays were pleased to help. So you went away, perhaps to trusted friends or relations of the Hallidays. And then you came back to them. You had a new name, made yourself a little dowdier. It was the new name and the story you gave yourself that confused me at first, but that was also a final clue. The Torrences had a history with Shropshire.”
