An Act of Villainy

by Ashley Weaver

  “Thank you.”

  He looked dashing, as usual, in his evening clothes, but something was off. Though there was a pleasant expression on his face, his eyes were uneasy. Clearly, he was still concerned about the threats against Flora Bell. Perhaps he was also worried about how his play would be received and how the evening would go with his wife and mistress under the same roof. All things considered, I couldn’t blame him for his apprehension.

  A passing couple stopped to speak to Mr. Holloway just then, and when they had gone there was another woman who came to tell him how much she was looking forward to the performance. He thanked them graciously, but once or twice I saw his eyes flicker in our direction with suppressed impatience.

  “I came up the back staircase to avoid the crowds,” he told us when we were once again alone, “but it doesn’t seem to be working. I want to talk to you for a moment, but I’m afraid we won’t get any privacy here. Come backstage, will you? You can have a bit of an inside look at what happens before a performance.” He smiled, but it was strained.

  We followed him down the corridor, the murmured voices of the lobby growing distant, and through a door that led to a narrow staircase. We descended and went through another door and found ourselves backstage. People were moving about quickly, anticipation in the air. Everyone had been working very hard for this moment, and I could feel the excitement as the actors and stagehands prepared for the product of their months of effort to come to fruition.

  It was not excitement emanating from Mr. Holloway, however.

  “Is something wrong?” Milo asked, apparently having noticed the same feeling of tension that I had.

  “I don’t know,” Mr. Holloway said. He looked very uncomfortable suddenly, as if he would rather the conversation had never begun. “I … ah, I was going to ask if you’d seen Georgina.”

  There was a moment of silence as this question settled between us. I was unsure, really, what he meant. Was he wondering if I had spoken to her recently?

  “I haven’t seen her tonight,” I said coolly.

  “I … ah, I’m afraid I haven’t seen her either. I only wondered if she was here…”

  Silence fell again as his words trailed off. I wasn’t sure what he expected from us. It seemed rather strange that he had brought us backstage just to ask about his wife’s whereabouts.

  His next words revealed that this was not entirely the reason. “I wonder if I might have a word with you, Ames,” he said. “It’s about something rather urgent. You don’t mind, Mrs. Ames?”

  I did, in fact. I very much disliked being shooed away from important conversations. But I supposed there was nothing to do about it. In any event, I would make Milo tell me later what Gerard Holloway had to tell him.

  “If you’d like to wish Flora good luck, I’m sure she’d be happy to see you,” Mr. Holloway said, nodding in the direction of the corridor that led to the dressing rooms.

  “I’d hate to intrude before the performance,” I said.

  “Nonsense. She likes company. Especially … given recent events.” I had the distinct impression that he was trying to make me believe he wanted me to go and make sure she was safe. Though I was fairly certain this was a ploy to get me out of the way, it wouldn’t hurt for me to keep her company until he had finished with Milo.

  I went down the corridor, full now of people hurrying to and fro, doing whatever last-minute things needed to be done before a performance. I stopped before Miss Bell’s dressing room door and was just prepared to tap on the door when I heard the sound of voices.

  It seemed that Flora already had a visitor.

  “Come now, be reasonable,” the male voice was saying.

  “You’re the one who’s being unreasonable,” Flora Bell replied. “You can’t expect me to help you. Not again. Especially after what you did.”

  “I’m hard up. I need more money.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this again, Freddy,” she said. “I’ve told you already that I’m not in a position to give you anything more. You already owe me more than you’ll ever be able to repay. I have my own expenses. I can’t keep supporting your … unsavory habits.”

  He laughed harshly. “You didn’t mind my ‘unsavory habits’ when they kept us from starving or from being separated and sent to live with people who cared nothing for us.”

  “Your luck seems to have changed since then,” she said softly. “I appreciate what you did to keep us going after Mum died, but times are different now.”

  So it was her brother. I remembered now that Milo had mentioned she had a sibling who had been involved in some distasteful business dealings. It had not occurred to me that the two speakers might be related, and then I realized why. Flora Bell’s accent was much more refined. It seemed she had worked to shed that particular remnant of her past on the way to the stage.

  “Yes, times are different now,” he said. “You have money enough for both of us.”

  “I’m telling you, Freddy. I don’t have any money to give you.”

  “Don’t give me that, Flo,” he said. “You’ve got Holloway wound around your little finger, and he’s rich as Croesus. Don’t tell me you don’t have any money at your disposal.”

  “I don’t ask Gerard for money,” she said. “It isn’t like that. I’m going to make a name for myself. I don’t want to owe anyone. Do you hear me? Not anyone!”

  “If you’re so keen on making a name for yourself, why did you drop that actor for Holloway?” My ears perked up at this.

  “Freddy.” It was difficult to tell what emotions were encased in that single word, but she clearly felt strongly about his mention of an actor. It seemed we might not be wrong about her attachment to Mr. Landon.

  “Holloway gives you things, doesn’t he? Jewelry, furs? I could sell them.”

  “No,” she said, her voice suddenly hard. “I’ve told you that I’m not going to give you anything more, and I mean it.”

  “They’ll hurt me if you don’t, these people I owe money to.”

  “You should have thought of that before you got into debt.”

  “You’ll be sorry if something happens,” he said. Was it a threat? It was difficult to tell.

  “Nothing’s going to happen,” she replied.

  “You’re my sister. You ought to help me,” he said pleadingly, and I tried hard to determine if the distress in his voice was real. Whether or not it was, Flora Bell did not appear moved by his plight.

  “We’re done talking about this,” she said. “You’re welcome to come and see me, Freddy, but don’t ask me for money again.”

  I had thought to quietly retreat, but the door to the dressing room was suddenly flung open and there was no time for me to turn away.

  It was Flora who had opened the door, and she was still facing her brother. It was not until she saw his gaze light on me that she turned.

  Something sharp crossed her eyes before she smoothed it away and a lovely pink flush came to her cheeks, as though she was merely embarrassed and not angry to see that I had overheard the conversation. She really was a marvelous actress.

  “Oh. Hello, Mrs. Ames,” she said.

  “Hello, Miss Bell. Mr. Holloway suggested that I come and wish you luck for the performance.”

  “That was very kind of Gerry,” she replied. “And of you.”

  She was being terribly polite, but there was a certain stiffness in her manner. She disliked that I had overheard that conversation with her brother.

  The gentleman in question stepped out into the hallway. The resemblance was immediately apparent. He was tall and lanky, with a sort of languorous ease to his movements. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his brown suit, and he moved with a restrained energy. Judging from what Flora had said about his taking care of her when their mother died, I assumed he was older than she, but he looked just as young. He had the same fair, curly hair and the same blue eyes as his sister, but there was something hard about his eyes. His gaze swept over me in an uncon
cerned way.

  “Mrs. Ames, this is my brother, Frederick Bell.”

  “How do you do,” I said.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “Mrs. Ames and her husband are old friends of Gerry’s. They’ve taken an interest in our little play.” There was something not quite friendly in her tone. I wondered if she resented our sudden interference in her life. I suspected that she wished Gerard Holloway had never told us about the threatening letters, though, from what she had said yesterday, our involvement had been the price she had paid for keeping the police out of the matter.

  “It’s a wonderful play, made all the better by your sister’s performance,” I said, hoping to ease the atmosphere a bit.

  “Yes, my dear little sister’s a marvel, isn’t she?” he asked, his tone heavy with sarcasm.

  “I’m sorry you’ve got to rush off, Freddy,” Flora said pointedly. “I hope you’ll come and see me soon.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you do,” he replied. “Break a leg, sister dear.”

  With a careless nod in my direction, he walked past me and ambled out of the theatre.

  Flora turned back to me. “My brother never stays for my performances. It’s a little superstition of mine.”

  “I see,” I said.

  She looked as though she was about to say something else, but seemed to think better of it. She turned back into her dressing room. “Come and talk with me while I finish my makeup, will you?”

  I followed her into the room. “You’re sure I’m not disturbing you?”

  “Oh, not at all. I’m rather used to people coming in and out of my dressing room. There’s no privacy in the theatre. But close the door, will you?”

  I did as she asked and then took a seat on the chair in the corner.

  “I’ve never asked you how you know Gerry,” she said. She smiled at me in the mirror, the disarming, youthful smile that made me feel as if we were young girls sharing confidences.

  I briefly wondered if I should tell her the truth, then decided there was no reason why I shouldn’t. “I’m actually a friend of his wife’s.”

  If I had expected the flush of embarrassment to cross her face, I was to be disappointed. She didn’t seem at all uncomfortable at the mention of Georgina. “I have heard Mrs. Holloway is a charming woman,” she said. “Gerry speaks very highly of her.”

  I found myself at a loss as to how to respond to this, which was, perhaps, her aim.

  “I hope to be able to meet her tonight,” she went on. “I want to congratulate her on the success of the charity gala.”

  She spoke in a perfectly natural tone, despite the rather shocking way she referred to congratulating her lover’s wife. I rather hoped that Gerard Holloway was smart enough to prevent such a meeting. I couldn’t imagine that it would end well. Surely Miss Bell realized that?

  She picked up a tube of lipstick and applied it to her lips, rubbing them together to achieve the desired effect. “What do you think of this color?” she asked.

  “It’s very nice.”

  She studied it, turning her head from side to side. “I’m not sure. It’s rather dark. I’m not sure if it’s becoming. I imagine it would look lovely on you with your coloring.”

  “I think it suits you,” I replied. In truth, I supposed there were few things that would not suit Miss Bell.

  She turned suddenly in her chair to look at me. “Don’t you think Kit is handsome?” she asked.

  “Kit?”

  “Christopher Landon.”

  “Yes,” I agreed carefully, unsure why she had switched the topic so suddenly to her leading man. I realized there was something very searching in her gaze, despite the flippant way she spoke.

  “All the ladies are very fond of him, which can be a nuisance. But I’m glad he’s so good-looking. I don’t think the play would have worked as well without someone very handsome in the role. I like to look well with my leading men.”

  I remembered how Milo had mentioned that she hadn’t wanted to star opposite Balthazar Lebeau. Though he was handsome, I suspected he was too old for Miss Bell’s taste.

  “Yes, I suppose that helps,” I said vaguely. I decided I might as well press the topic a bit further. “He doesn’t seem an exceptionally pleasant person.”

  For the space of an instant, it seemed that her expression slipped, but she recovered quickly. “Oh, Kit’s a lamb, really. One just has to learn to understand him. I’m beginning to realize that people aren’t always what they seem to be.”

  I wanted to press her for more details on their relationship, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  She stood then, dropping the robe she was wearing, leaving it on the floor, as she walked to the closet and took out an evening dress of shiny white satin.

  “Do you like this one?” she asked. “I think I’m going to wear it to the gala.”

  “Yes, it’s lovely.”

  “I do hope I’ll get to visit with you after the performance,” she said. “I’d like to get to know you better. I always like to know the right sort of people, you know.”

  I wasn’t exactly sure what to make of her. There was a guileless quality about her, as though she didn’t know the impact of what she was saying. She blithely said the most startling things and then moved on from them as if they were of no importance.

  There were moments, however, when her eyes became sharp and there was a flash of what might even have been cruelty in them. It was as if, for just a moment, her mask slipped.

  It might, of course, have been my imagination, but I didn’t think so. There was more to her than the charming, careless girl.

  I thought that Milo would have had much better luck with her if left alone for a while. He had a knack for drawing women out.

  There was suddenly a loud rap on the door. “Ten minutes to curtain, Miss Bell,” someone called.

  Flora looked up and smiled at me in the mirror. “Almost showtime.”

  I rose. “I’ll leave you to finish then. Good luck, Miss Bell.”

  “Oh, no, you mustn’t say that,” she said with a smile. “It’s unlucky.”

  8

  THERE WAS NO sign of Milo or Mr. Holloway backstage, and I was nearly knocked over twice by rushing stagehands as they went about making final preparations, so I retraced our path back up the narrow staircase to the corridor where we had first encountered Mr. Holloway. The din of voices had subsided now, as nearly everyone had made their way to their seats.

  I passed through the red velvet curtain into our box, but Milo was not there either. I decided to take my seat and wait for him. There was no use roaming around looking for him.

  Our seats had an excellent view of the stage. It was a different vantage point from the one where we had previously watched the play, and I was eager to watch the story unfold again.

  I only wished that I could be certain that nothing bad was going to happen onstage tonight. I felt misgivings about not having contacted Inspector Jones. Despite Flora Bell’s protests, I would have felt much better knowing that the inspector was in the audience.

  A moment later, Milo slipped into the seat beside me.

  “What did Mr. Holloway want?” I asked.

  “He wanted my advice,” he said in a low voice.

  “What sort of advice?”

  “Thing are … tense between him and Georgina.”

  “Did he expect anything less?” I asked.

  “No, but he’s also worried about Miss Bell. He says she hasn’t seemed herself tonight. He thinks there may be some strain between her and the other actors. He said he feels like she’s keeping something from him.”

  “As we suspected, there was—or is—something between her and Christopher Landon,” I said. “The way she spoke about him all but confirmed it.”

  “The plot thickens,” Milo said.

  The lights dimmed then, and I felt a sense of nervous anticipation that had nothing to do with the performance I was about to see. My interactions with Mr. Holloway and Miss Be
ll had not left me feeling any more relieved. In fact, the sense that something bad was going to happen only seemed to get stronger.

  Milo must have noticed the tension in my posture or on my face, for he glanced at me, then reached over to lay a reassuring hand on my leg, leaning in to murmur, “Holloway’s instructed the stagehands to keep a close eye on Miss Bell throughout the performance. It’s going to be all right.”

  I nodded. I certainly hoped he was right.

  The curtains parted and, as Flora Bell stepped onto the stage, I could feel the shift in the audience. They were ready to see what Gerard Holloway’s mistress had to offer. There were, I knew, a great many people here who were friends of Georgina’s, and I suspected they would not have been displeased to see Flora Bell fail.

  If Miss Bell sensed the mood of the audience, however, she gave no sign of it. She began to speak her lines, and I could almost feel her drawing the onlookers in with every word, every subtle gesture. They had been prepared to scoff at Gerard Holloway’s mistress, the unknown actress to whom he had given a choice role, but it was becoming clear to them that she was much more than that. She had been wonderful during the dress rehearsal, but tonight she was magnificent.

  By the time the first scene was over, she had the audience in the palm of her hand.

  As the play went on, I found myself relaxing into my seat as some of my tension faded away. As it had done at the dress rehearsal, the combination of the gripping plot and the wonderful performances pulled me into the world of the story, and I began to forget that there was possible danger at hand. I began to forget that Flora Bell was anyone other than Victoire, the character she played.

  As each scene moved past without incident, I began to think that nothing was going to happen, after all. Perhaps the perpetrator had been discouraged by the watchful stagehands. Or, more likely, it had been an overreaction on my part to take the notes so seriously. They had been a malicious prank, but likely nothing more.

  I determined to let down my guard and enjoy the rest of the evening.

  During the intermission, the tone of the talk regarding Miss Bell had changed.