‘And no one noticed? And why drag her there anyway?’ said an exasperated Mearns. He shook his head. ‘No marks of dragging on her clothes or body.’
‘She could have been carried there in a sack or such like,’ said Denny, who liked to cling to a point.
‘Why? Why? For what reason?’ said the Major, no less determined – and, he thought, more reasonably. ‘No, she walked there and was killed there.’
There was a moment’s silence. ‘So do I take a report on this to London?’ Denny wanted to know.
‘No, no. Not yet. There is more to be discovered yet.’
‘There certainly is,’ said Denny. ‘There was more to Traddles than a head, legs and a dead dog!’
‘And more to be found,’ went on Mearns grimly, unconsciously echoing Denny. ‘Where is the trunk? The other limbs? Where are they?’
And, ‘Where is truth,’ he heard himself say aloud.
Denny heard him, but felt he would rather not have done.
‘Let’s go down to the Golden Crown, get the landlord to give us some of his best and eat some of that ham he keeps on the side. Good stuff.’
‘Yes, I’m hungry too.’ Hunger and misery felt like the same ache.
Mindy was more down to earth than the Major and Sergeant Denny in her opinion of what was going on at present in Windsor. She was also, in some ways, more observant and understanding of the behaviour of people.
‘I notice what’s really there, and I’m not sure if the Major always does. Nor Denny. Especially Denny, bless him.’
Women always liked Denny. True, they did not trust him. The sharper of them (amongst which she counted herself) instinctively understood that, trustworthy as they knew him to be as an assistant to Major Mearns, he was less so in his dealings with them. He had always treated Mindy with friendly correctness, but she was protected by her position at court and by Major Mearns.
What she had noticed was the eyes of the young actress who had found the strangled body of Dol Worboys. Henrietta Temple was her name – her acting name. The Major had told Mindy that she was really called Hetty Maggins, one of six daughters of a theatrical family. ‘Generations of them,’ he had said, ‘probably one of them cavorting on the stage when Shakespeare was working.’
Hetty – off stage she used that name – was a good actress. She could control her face, and her hands, and she had done so when she came running in, calling out what she had found. But she could not control her eyes and feet. All the time she was telling her tale, she kept looking at her feet, in their pretty slippers; they were never still.
Mindy was one of a crowd hurrying towards the Theatre, but she took no notice of them, not aware that she was observed herself. She was a well-known figure in Windsor, respected and even feared due to her position in the society of the Castle. She had helped as a dresser with Princess Caroline till her death in childbirth, and now she was head of the Castle wardrobe, in charge of the dressers and the sewing maids. More than one hopeful had offered marriage, but Mindy valued her independence with the prospect of a pension and Royal cottage in the Park when she chose to retire. Her experience of marriages was that they were hard work and brought little joy.
She knew the Major liked her, as she liked him, but it needed thinking about.
She hesitated a moment as she came close to the Theatre. Hetty might be angry. She might be angry and frightened after what she had seen. Would that make her dangerous? Mindy shook her head. No, surely not.
Jack, the stage manager, came out carrying a piece of scenery.
‘Is Hetty about? Miss Temple?’
Jack gave her a smile. ‘She’s in the wardrobe room, sorting out her costume for tomorrow.’
‘A good part, is it?’ asked Mindy, answering his grin.
‘Ophelia, Miss. Miss Temple’s best so far.’
She couldn’t help asking: ‘What about Miss Fairface? Is she in Hamlet? Who does she play?’
‘Queen Gertrude.’ He gave another smile.
‘That’s a good part – perhaps the best for a woman in the play.’ But for the older woman, of course; yes, she understood the smile.
Inside the wardrobe room, Henrietta was studying herself in the looking glass. She spun around when the door opened, a smile on her face. ‘There you are.’
‘Hetty, can I speak to you?’
The smile faded. ‘Oh, it’s you.’
Hetty eyed Mindy; she knew Mindy, knew her position in the Castle. ‘Yes, but not here.’ She looked down at what she was wearing. ‘And I must get out of this.’
Charlie, having grabbed a trolley full of clothes with a pile of boots on top on his way in to the Theatre, pushed through the door. He smiled up at both women.
‘Busy,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Plenty to do.’
‘Leave the clothes and go.’
‘Boots too?’ His smile was angelic.
‘Of course the bloody boots too.’
Mindy said hastily, ‘I’ll wait outside. But I do want to talk to you.’
Charlie followed her. ‘She tells lies, you know.’
Mindy thought so too, but why did Charlie think it? ‘How do you know?’
‘I can tell by her face.’ He smiled at Mindy. ‘I tell lies myself when I have to,’ he said casually. ‘I know the look.’
‘Have you lied to me? Or to the Major? Or to Denny?’
Charlie shook his head silently.
Before Mindy could say anything else, Hetty appeared. She was wearing a neat day dress with a shawl over her head. ‘If you want to talk then it must not be outside.’ She looked around her. ‘In the shed over there.’
This was a wooden box-like structure where stage properties were stored.
‘Not locked?’ asked Mindy.
‘Not locked, we can go in.’
‘She’s used it before,’ thought Mindy. ‘Now I wonder what for?’
At the door, Mindy paused. ‘There’s no need to go any further. I wanted to say that I don’t believe you found the body of that unlucky woman. Not by chance. You knew she was there. Perhaps you helped to drag her there?’
Hetty took a deep breath; she rubbed her hands down her skirt before answering.
‘That’s not true.’
‘Oh come on. You’re a liar. I’m going to make you tell what you know to Major Mearns.’
Hetty gave her a little push. ‘Oh, go in, we can talk.’
Caught off her guard, Mindy stumbled forward, catching her foot on a piece of wood, and then fell. She heard Hetty enter the shed behind her and say, ‘Oh, you’re here!’ Then Hetty gave a gasp. The shed grew dark as the door banged shut.
As Mindy lay on the floor with the smell of damp and dirt in her nose, she began to realise that what she had heard had been more than a gasp. She raised herself on one elbow to take in what was before her.
In the gloomy light she could see Hetty lying on her back, with her eyes open.
It was at that moment – when Mindy realised Hetty was dead – that she smelt the smoke, felt the heat and knew the shed was on fire.
She crawled towards the door. By the time she reached it, it was already hot enough to burn her hands.
There were neither bolts nor locks on the door, but someone had pushed a very heavy object against it, blocking it, which she could not move.
She began to shout for help.
‘There’ll be no one around,’ spoke a voice inside her head. ‘There never is once the curtain’s up. You know that. No one here except whoever did it. Lit the fire and wants you and Hetty to burn. Perhaps they didn’t know you were here. Or maybe they just didn’t care.’
She hurled herself against the door, shouting. It did not move. Damn! Damn! Damn!
No one came.
She turned in despair to Hetty. No use; she was dead, right enough. There was a bead of blood on her forehead where she had been hit. The blow had dug out a little pit, which had filled with blood.
Mindy shouted again. ‘Help! Help!’ Then she began to cough as
the smoke got to her throat and chest. Her eyes were watering too.
She tried to shout again and only a hoarse croak came out. Then she heard a voice.
‘Mindy? Can you hear me Mindy? This is Charlie.’
‘I hear you,’ she croaked as loudly as she could.
‘I’m going to get you out.’
‘Get help.’
She thought she heard the boy mutter that there was no time to lose.
Then she could hear him at the door. It was shaking and from outside came a rumbling noise. It went on as she listened, and then the door moved.
She stood up, grabbing at the smouldering doorframe. ‘I am going to survive,’ she told herself, ‘I will survive.’
The door shuddered. A bit of smouldering wood, not flaming, but red hot, fell from the lintel onto her face. She could not bite back a scream.
‘Coming! Hang on there, Mindy!’ called Charlie. Then he shouted: ‘Step back! Step back!’
‘If I can,’ she thought, with the heat and smoke on her back. She wondered if her hair was burning, there was that smell …
No, it was Hetty’s hair. But she had been wearing a wig, and underneath her own hair was thin and dry.
Then there was a crack of light where a piece of wood fell away from the door and she could see Charlie pushing and pulling – somehow both movements at the same time – at a large box used for stage dressings. As he succeeded in moving the box away, Mindy kicked the door, which opened enough for Charlie to grab at her and drag her through.
‘There’s Hetty inside still,’ she managed to say as she fell into his arms.
He put her gently on the stone flags.
‘No, don’t go, Charlie. She’s dead already.’
‘Can’t let her burn,’ he called over his shoulder.
By this time Mr Thornton had hurried out of the Theatre with his minions by his side. On his instructions they were throwing buckets of water on the shed.
Charlie re-emerged seconds later, dragging Hetty out with him.
‘You’re a brave boy,’ Mr Thornton said to Charlie, patting him on the shoulder. ‘Oh my goodness me, that poor woman.’ He was looking at Hetty.
She had burned easily. Amazing how the fire had licked over her.
‘You’re a brave boy,’ said Mindy to Charlie as he helped her back to the Castle. ‘I hope the Major does not see us,’ she said looking round.
‘Why not?’
She touched her hair and thought about the burns on her cheek. ‘What do I look like? Tell me honestly.’
‘So she likes the Major,’ thought Charlie to himself. ‘Doesn’t want him to see her not looking pretty.’
‘You always look pretty, Miss Mindy,’ said Charlie with conviction.
But the Major was on the staircase ahead. He advanced towards them, hands held out.
‘Come along, my dear. I have been in enough battles to know that you have been in one.’ Sergeant Denny loomed behind him. ‘Bring her in – I can help her. Still keep a war chest.’ He studied her face as he took Mindy’s arm and drew her along with him. ‘Those are burns; I know a burn when I see one. Seen worse, seen worse. I can cure those.’ He turned to look at Charlie, who was following with the Major. ‘What about you, young man, you burnt too?
‘Only my hands – a bit.’
‘He’s a hero,’ said Mindy, struggling to speak through singed lips and Denny’s soothing touches of some sort of cream. ‘Saved my life.’
‘Seen a fire before.’ Charlie was remembering the blaze in the old stables next to the blacking factory, and the screams of the horses. He had minded the donkey as much if not more than his friend Joe who had worked there. ‘Knew I had to be quick.’
Mindy, who could still hardly speak due to Denny’s administrations, reached out a hand to him.
The Major was watching Denny at work. ‘You’re the one to help her, but I think she’s had enough of the cream.’
‘Needs to stay on as long as possible, that way you’ll not get holes and blisters in the skin.’
‘You were always good with the wounded, Denny,’ remarked the Major.
‘Someone had to be.’
‘How long have you had that cream in store?’
Denny considered, then said with satisfaction, ‘Since Waterloo. Keeps well, doesn’t it?’
Mearns knew when he was being laughed at. ‘It will be older than you soon!’
Denny laughed as he released Mindy. ‘Made it for the last ruckus in the Guards’ rest room. Had some nasty wounds there.’ He smiled, leading Mindy to a chair to rest. ‘Who burnt you, my dear? Was it personal or an accident?’
Charlie took a deep breath – he knew what he thought, and what he had seen.
‘Tell us,’ ordered Mearns. With a few skilful questions he got the story from Mindy.
Charlie kept quiet.
‘So you were standing by the open door talking to Henrietta when you either fell or were pushed inside?’
‘Pushed,’ said Mindy in a firm voice. ‘At first, I thought I had tripped, then I thought Hetty had pushed me …perhaps she had …’
‘Then she was pushed in after you and the fire started. An accident?’
Mindy shrugged; how could she know? But she had heard Hetty call out as if in surprise.
‘So she knew who was there?’
Mindy nodded. ‘I think so.’
‘But you did not?’
‘I did not see.’ She gave a shudder as she remembered how quickly the smell of burning wood and flesh had followed. Whoever had started the fire had not cared whether she burned or not.
The Major turned towards Charlie. ‘And you? You were outside; what did you see?’
‘Saw a man come up behind Henrietta … Mindy was in the shed. I think Henrietta pushed her – not sure about that; I was a way off.’ He paused. ‘Then the man hit Henrietta, closed the door and set it alight.’
‘How?’
‘He had a lamp behind the shed, and a brand which he lighted with him …held it to the door. He was all ready to do it.’
‘You didn’t try to stop him …’
‘The door caught fire at once; he may have put something on it – oil.’ You could do that, he knew; he had heard that this was what had been done to the old stables. Word had been that the animals had been smeared too so that they would burn quickly.
The Major saw his face and nodded. ‘No, you did the right thing; he’d have knocked you out. Mindy would have burnt like Henrietta.’
‘Please!’ exhorted Mindy.
‘So who was he? Did you see his face?’
Mindy shook her head. ‘Didn’t see him – only heard Hetty’s voice; she knew him.’ But she was on her way to being dead.
‘What about you lad?’
Charlie shook his head. ‘I saw his back, not his face. He was wearing a long black cape with a collar up round his neck and hat pulled low.’
‘Oh.’ The Major gave Charlie a long, cold, assessing look. Charlie knew what it meant; the Major thought that Charlie might have something to do with the fire. Mindy saw the look and knew what it meant too. She reached out to grip his hand in support. Charlie winced with pain.
Denny noticed the pain. ‘Let me get at you, Charlie, and see what I can do.’ He took a look. ‘You’ve been in the wars too.’ He picked up his pot of ointment, then began to spread it on the boy’s hands.
Mearns relaxed. He trusted Denny’s judgement. The judgement of others he wasn’t so sure about.
‘I suppose we shall have Felix and the Unit working on this new death.’ Mearns did not rate Felix’s powers of investigation very highly. ‘And the coroner, Dr Devon,’ he added. Nor did Mearns rule out intervention from the magistrate, Sir Robert Porteous.
‘It’s up to us, Denny,’ he said aloud.
In the grander part of the Castle where the King had his chambers, the sovereign was being shaved by one of his valets while a Gentleman-in-Waiting talked to him. At intervals His Majesty took a sip of brandy.
‘Go on Wavered, go on! One of the actresses has been killed?’
‘Yes, Sir. Looks like murder. Burnt, Sir, burnt to a crisp.’ Or so he had been told. ‘But she was hit first, then pushed inside the shed and the fire started.’
The King’s mouth turned down. He drank a long draught of brandy.
‘Does that mean there won’t be a performance at the Theatre tonight?’ enquired the King petulantly. ‘I was looking forward to it.’ He added: ‘That’s the second death there, is it not?’
‘The first was not an actress, but a woman of the town.’ Lord Wavered stuttered as he spoke.
‘You’ll fall over your own feet next time you go out, Wavered!’ said the irritated monarch. He prepared to let his valet get back to work. ‘Shave on. And you, Wavered – get to the Theatre to find their plans.’ Then he added, as an afterthought: ‘And what they are doing to discover who killed those poor women … Not a good thing so near the Castle, not good at all.’
‘I’m sure the new Unit will soon find out,’ said Wavered. ‘And no one would want to harm Your Majesty.’
‘You think so, do you? But I have always known you for a fool …’
Wavered began to bow himself out. Since the death of the Princess Caroline and her stillborn son he had learnt to be wary of His Majesty’s temper. He was in pain too, by the look of him, and far too fat.
The King called after him: ‘And if any woman wants to see me, send her away!’
Lord Wavered nodded politely. Any woman indeed – Lady Coningham perhaps? Or the old Queen, his mother. Or one of the Princesses.
He got to the door, bowed again, and fled with relief. As the valet started with his razor, King George muttered that he had more trust in Major Mearns – he was the one.
Chapter Eight
Mr Pickettwick was the first visitor to the Major and Sergeant Denny that evening, coming eagerly from the town to ask what had gone on, while at the same time anxious for Mindy. ‘She was burnt, was she – how? Some say she and Henrietta – such a lovely woman – were locked in on purpose – which is murder, is it not? But Mr Thornton says it was an accident. But all say that Charlie is a hero.’
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