His face grew tight, and I thought for a moment that he might hurl further abuse at me, but then his shoulders slumped. “Flora reminded me of Helen,” he said at last. “She looked so much like her that it took my breath away. But then I got to know Flora, and I found myself falling in love with her. I thought we could be happy together. It had nothing to do with Helen, not anymore.”
“Mr. Bell said that Flora told him one couldn’t live in the past, that it wasn’t healthy. She found out about Miss Whitney, didn’t she?”
His jaw clenched. “One day she found a photograph of Helen in my flat. I had kept it hidden, but she came across it somehow. And that was the end of it, just like that. She was convinced that I only loved her as a substitute for Helen, and nothing I could say would convince her otherwise. She broke it off and took up with Holloway shortly afterward.”
“That was what you meant when you told me you were doomed to love a dead woman,” I said softly. “You loved Helen Whitney and then Flora.”
He nodded. “Now there are two of them. Two beautiful blond dead women who will haunt me as long as I live.”
With this pronouncement, his head dropped into his hands, and I could no longer bear to go on pestering him.
That left only one more person.
I turned to Balthazar Lebeau.
He had been watching the proceedings with that same expression of aloof amusement, as though all of this were an inferior play he had deigned to watch. Now that I turned my gaze to him, he met it with a slight, almost expectant, raising of his dark brows.
“Mr. Lebeau, I’m afraid you’re next,” I said.
“Ah, yes. I’m interested to see what you’ve discovered about me,” he said.
Looking at his calm, confident expression, I felt a twinge of nervousness, but I pressed forward.
“From the beginning, I noticed that you and Miss Bell didn’t seem to get along.”
“I don’t think that was a secret.”
“But the reason why was rather a secret, wasn’t it?” His expression didn’t change, but I saw the flicker of something in his eyes.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Ames. I didn’t care for Flora Bell because she thought she knew everything there was to know about acting. I don’t think there’s any secret about that.”
“No. The secret was that you did not dislike Miss Bell as much as you pretended to.”
He smiled. “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
“I first began to realize it when I learned that you had visited her boardinghouse.”
“What?” Mr. Holloway exclaimed.
“I’ve already explained that to you, my dear,” Mr. Lebeau said calmly. “I was helping her rehearse her part.”
“Yes, you explained that,” I said. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t make sense. For one thing, Flora was confident in her abilities and didn’t like being instructed on what to do. For another, she had professed to dislike you.”
He said nothing.
“So why, then, would you have visited her there? I began to wonder if Flora had really disliked you as much as she claimed. She told her brother that she should not have fallen in love with an actor, that they’re too good at pretending. I thought it was likely this referred to Mr. Landon, but as the details fell into place, it began to make sense.”
“There was nothing between Flora Bell and me,” he said. He still appeared perfectly relaxed, but I could sense an alertness in him now, a sharpness in his gaze.
“I’m afraid that isn’t true.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Flora Bell wasn’t much my type of woman.”
“Perhaps not,” I said. “But you weren’t trying to win her over for the usual reasons.”
“What is this all about?” Holloway asked. I looked over at him and saw the flash of annoyance in Georgina’s eyes.
“It didn’t start with Miss Bell,” I said. “It started with you, Mr. Holloway.”
“What do you mean?” Mr. Holloway asked.
I turned back to Mr. Lebeau. “Several years ago, you lost a role to Mr. Holloway. It was, unfortunately, the beginning of a decline in your career.”
Though he smiled, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, giving him a wolfish look. “You’re mistaken,” he said. “My career has not declined.”
I would not argue this point with him, but nor was I about to back down.
“You hated Mr. Holloway ever since that moment, resented what you thought was his negative impact on your career. It was an insult to you when he offered you a supporting role in his play, but you agreed to do it because you wanted to find a way to pay him back for what he had done to you. When you met Flora Bell, you had the idea. You told me once that the best way to hurt a man was to win over the woman he loves, and that was what you set out to do. You wooed Flora Bell and won her over.”
Gerard Holloway drew in a startled breath.
“She was likely still hurting from her break with Mr. Landon and vulnerable to your charms. Unfortunately, she realized the truth sooner than you hoped. She discovered that you didn’t love her as you claimed. That you had seduced her for another reason, as revenge on Mr. Holloway. “‘One can’t go on living in the past; it isn’t healthy.’” That’s what she told Mr. Bell. That statement might also have applied to you. She broke off the affair with you, and that was when you began sending the letters.”
“Why would I do something like that?” he asked.
“That was a question I asked myself,” I admitted. “Then I realized they were meant to be a taunt that you were planning to reveal the affair to Holloway, to ruin Flora Bell’s career. That final note read ‘Let your opening performance be your best. It will be your last.’ Because you knew once Holloway found out about the two of you, he would dismiss her from the play.”
“A pretty theory, Mrs. Ames. But you have no proof of any of this.”
“I’m getting to that,” I said. “I wondered why it was that someone had hit me on the head that day after we did our scene together. I assumed the culprit believed the letters from Mr. Holloway to Miss Bell were in that drawer, and I wondered why should anyone want them. But then I realized that perhaps you thought there were other letters there. Letters from you to Miss Bell. Letters that would prove you were trying to win her over. Perhaps even a letter asking her to meet you in the theatre alone during the gala.”
“I left the gala before she was killed. You saw me.”
“I saw you preparing to leave. You told me you had an appointment, a meeting with a producer arranged by a telegraph that mysteriously disappeared. But in reality you met with her in the theatre, here on the stage.”
He said nothing, only watched me.
“She agreed to meet with you that night in order to discuss things. Perhaps she thought she could plead with you not to reveal the affair. Perhaps it was never your intention to kill her.”
“I didn’t kill her,” he said.
“I’m afraid you did,” I said softly. “I imagine she grew angry with you. Flora was a woman who spoke her mind. She must have told you what she thought of you, an aging actor whose career had sunk so far he could only live on memories of the past. Whatever the reason, you lost your temper. You’ve lost it in the past, after all. You were already on the stage. The curtain was there, right at hand. You had only to reach out and grab the rope, wrap it around her neck.”
I heard Georgina Holloway gasp and then Mr. Holloway was on his feet. “It was you, Lebeau,” he said.
He moved toward him, but a policeman stepped forward and stopped him.
“As an actor, you might have thought it was a fitting way for her to be found, hanging there onstage in one final performance. So you left her there. You see, Mr. Lebeau: it all fits.”
He looked at me, the pleasant expression on his face suddenly masking something much darker. “You’re very charming, Mrs. Ames. But I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”
“I’m afraid I’m not,” I said softly.
“I wanted very much to believe it wasn’t you, Mr. Lebeau, but it was. Flora told her brother, ‘It’s just like in the play.’ She recognized you for the villain you played onstage.”
His jaw had grown tight, his face very hard. Despite myself, I felt a little chill at the look he leveled at me.
“You can’t prove it,” he said. “You’ll never prove I did.”
“Oh, but I’m afraid we already have,” Inspector Jones said. “You see, we searched your dressing room this afternoon and discovered paper and ink that appear to be a match for the threatening letters sent to Miss Bell.”
“That proves nothing,” he said, though he was beginning to sound less confident than he had a moment ago. Though it was ridiculous, I almost pitied him.
“But there were also letters there from Miss Bell, apparently from early in your relationship.”
“There are no letters!” he said. “Flora never wrote to me.”
“I’m afraid that’s a lie,” Inspector Jones said.
“I didn’t kill her,” he said, great dignity in his voice despite the proof piled against him.
“You’ll have a chance to protest your innocence at your trial, Mr. Lebeau,” Inspector Jones replied.
Mr. Lebeau seemed about to argue further, but then a look of resignation crossed his features and he drew himself up. “Then it seems there is nothing left for me to say. I shall save my best lines for the dock.”
Two officers came and escorted him off the stage, but not before he turned to me and offered one final bow.
27
IT WAS INSPECTOR JONES who broke into the stunned silence. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience this caused all of you, but I thank you for coming.”
“That’s it, then?” Christopher Landon asked, looking up, his expression clouded. “We’re free to go?”
“You’re free to go,” Inspector Jones said.
He rose quickly to his feet, as though he couldn’t wait to be gone. He glanced my way before he left, and I gave him a sympathetic smile, despite his ill-tempered remarks. “I’m sorry, Mr. Landon.”
He nodded, then walked quickly off the stage.
“I shall never forget this for as long as I live,” Dahlia Dearborn declared, standing and elaborately wrapping her furs around herself. “I always knew that there was something off about Balthazar Lebeau. For one thing, he never looked my way twice. To think that he was a murderer. What a tale I have to tell!” With that, she swept off the stage, following Mr. Landon out of the building.
Freddy Bell still sat, as though in a daze. At last he looked up and rose slowly to his feet.
“Thank you for what you’ve done, Mrs. Ames,” he said. “I … I don’t know how I’ll get on without Flora, but I’m glad to know her killer has been brought to justice.”
“I’m happy I could help,” I said. “Your sister believed in you, Mr. Bell. I have every confidence that you will make her proud.”
He nodded solemnly and left then, and I turned to face the Holloways. They still sat near each other, though they had not spoken. At last, Mr. Holloway turned to face her. “Georgina, darling. Can you forgive me?”
“I don’t want to discuss it now,” she said softly.
“But we can discuss it eventually?” he pleaded.
She looked at him, a sudden softness flickering across her expression. “Yes,” she said. “We’ll discuss it.”
He rose and offered her his hand. After the slightest hesitation, she took it. If this had been a play, it would have been a beautiful ending.
“I can’t thank you enough, Mrs. Ames,” he said, turning to me. “I don’t know what we would have done without you.”
“I’m glad everything has worked out,” I said. “I … I hope things will continue to do so.” I glanced between them, and he smiled.
“I think they will,” he said.
Then he and Georgina exited the stage.
“Well, I suppose I’ll be off too,” Inspector Jones said. “I’ve a great deal of paperwork to tend to. Thank you again for your help, Mrs. Ames. I don’t like to say so, but it would have been difficult for us to manage this without your keen perception. I’ll be in touch.”
He followed the others backstage, and Milo and I were left alone.
“Are you ready, darling?” Milo asked. I looked out at the empty theatre. It was dark, most of the seats hidden in shadow, and I thought how sad and lonely the place seemed.
“In just a moment. I … I think I’d like a few moments here to think about everything.”
“Very well. I’ll just bring the car around.”
Milo took his leave, and I was left alone on the stage, a thousand thoughts whirling in my head. A moment later, there was movement behind me.
“Oh, Mrs. Ames. You’re still here?” It was Gerard Holloway. He walked out to where I still stood. He seemed much more relaxed now that Mr. Lebeau had been arrested and he had hope of making amends with Georgina, the tension and worry that had clouded his countenance the past week evaporating from his features.
“Oh, yes,” I said with a self-conscious laugh. “I’m afraid I was lost in thought.”
He smiled. “There’s a lot to think about.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “This has all been such a shock. I never would have thought Mr. Lebeau capable of such a thing.”
“Perhaps you’re not quite as perceptive as you thought,” he said lightly.
I glanced at him. “Perhaps not.”
“Of course, you did do an excellent job of picking up on the clues. They led rather neatly to Mr. Lebeau, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“The perfect final scene to a most excellent tragedy.”
“What do you mean?” I asked slowly.
He smiled, and suddenly the amiable countenance I had always known seemed to alter before my eyes. “I mean I am in your debt, Mrs. Ames. Balthazar Lebeau got what was coming to him after a very long time, and I have you to thank for it.”
“I told you she was clever, Gerard.” The voice came from behind him, and Georgina Holloway stepped out onto the stage to join us.
“Yes, I’ve always known she was clever,” Gerard Holloway said pleasantly. “Not too clever, of course. But clever enough.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked uneasily. My heart had begun to pick up the pace.
“We knew, of course, that it would be no good to hand him to you on a silver platter; that would be too obvious. And so we dropped the breadcrumbs in a more circuitous route. I congratulate you on following them, undeterred, to Mr. Lebeau.”
“You did it,” I whispered, my voice filled with horror.
“Brava, Mrs. Ames,” Mr. Holloway said. “You come to the truth at last.”
“Gerard,” Georgina said sharply. “You shouldn’t say such things.”
“Oh, but I must,” he said, his eyes still on me. “Mrs. Ames believed herself so smart. I want her to know what really happened.”
“Always the braggart, Gerard,” Georgina said. Her voice had taken an amused tone that somehow chilled me more than malice might have done. “But Amory has a finely tuned sense of morality. She’s going to tell the police.”
He shook his head, that once-familiar smile now sinister. “I don’t think you’ll spread rumors, will you, Mrs. Ames? After all, I should hate for another blow to the head—a fatal one, this time—to befall you.”
“It was you who hit me that day,” I said.
He nodded. “Another black mark leveled against Mr. Lebeau, I’m afraid.”
“You might have killed me,” I said, my head throbbing at the memory of that ringing blow.
“I would have, if I’d have had the time,” he said in a tone that made my blood run cold. “That idiot Freddy Bell wandered into the theatre. I heard him coming and was able to hide, and when he went for help, I slipped out.”
“Georgina, why are you shielding him from the police?” I asked, turning to my friend. “Your husband is a killer. Do
esn’t that matter to you?”
She smiled. “Dear, sweet Amory. I’m afraid Gerard is right; you’re not quite as smart as I believed.”
“No,” Mr. Holloway said. “You see, Mrs. Ames, we killed Flora Bell together.”
I gasped. “No!”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
My eyes darted between them. “But … but why?”
Mr. Holloway looked over at Georgina. “We learned long ago that there is nothing like danger to heat the blood. It builds passion, a connection like nothing else.”
“You … you mean you did it for … sport?”
“It’s much more amusing than killing lions and elephants,” he said dryly.
I blinked. I had a surreal feeling, as though I were in a dream. Or perhaps some very bad play.
I licked my lips, but my mouth was dry. “Why Flora Bell?”
He shrugged. “Why not.”
I felt ill at the implication. “You selected her randomly.”
“Not exactly.”
“Gerard, don’t do this,” Georgina said. “You needn’t give her the details.”
“There’s no harm done,” he said. “She’s worked very hard on the case, after all. She deserves to know.”
“What do you mean ‘not exactly’?” I pressed.
“I mean that I actually selected Dahlia Dearborn. A young, pretty girl who would look very nice dead onstage. It was only when I realized that she had an uncle in government that I knew it would be risky to use her. Flora was a much better choice. She was, after all, nearly alone in the world. We decided to kill Flora and then, for added amusement, to implicate Mr. Lebeau in her murder.”
“But why?”
“When I was first starting out in the theatre world, I was able to get a role he wanted, a role that would have suited him. But the critics compared me unfavorably to him, wrote that it would have been a better play had he been in it. It ruined my chances at making a name for myself.”
I frowned at this illogic. “You’ve been producing plays for years. You might have given yourself a role in any of them.”
An Act of Villainy Page 27
