Dead on Cue

by Deryn Lake

  Meg looked like spite personified but said nothing.

  ‘Very well. Continue,’ said Tennant, and the action started again.

  Scene three, the falling out of Sir Greville Beau de Grave with the See of Canterbury went through seamlessly from the audience’s point of view, but backstage the actors were in turmoil. Charlie Higgs, whom Tennant both liked and trusted, had been briefed to keep an all-seeing eye on the movements of the stagehands while going through his own moves religiously. Thus he was standing by, ready to help the knights prepare for the big battle scene, the scene in which Gerry Harlington had lost his life.

  First to climb up to the battlements went Jonquil Charmwood, feeling quite sick with fear. A second later Adam Gillow, who was taking the part originally planned for him, started to climb the staircase opposite, also leading to the battlements. The dummy was up there waiting for him, put in place by Oswald Souter before the show began. On seeing Adam start the ascent, so did Robin Green, both of them climbing quite slowly in their clanking armour.

  Tennant motioned to Meg. ‘Up you go, Mrs Alexander.’

  ‘I must wait a second more. I mean, you want this show to be authentic.’

  There was a shout from Charlie and his arm shot up.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Potter urgently.

  ‘There’s somebody missing.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I’m not sure – but there was a bloke in a cloak standing approximately where I am now.’ He moved forward a few paces.

  Tennant came up. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Charlie says there was somebody standing where he is now but he doesn’t know who it was.’

  ‘Are you sure it was a man?’

  Charlie looked Tennant straight in the eye. ‘All I can say is that it looked exactly like a man to me.’

  Up in the Tudor banqueting hall, Ekaterina cuddled closer to Rufus. ‘Why have they stopped?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Something must be going on backstage.’

  They all stared down into the pit of darkness that was the audience arena. Then Perdita said, ‘Look, there’s someone moving down there.’

  Everyone peered and could see a vague figure behind the police cordon, creeping so cautiously that it was quite possible it would escape detection. Rufus rose to his feet and banged as hard as he could on the Tudor window but this, by the very nature of its fabric, could not do with much ill-treatment and after a second’s hesitation, he said, ‘Ekaterina, look after the girls. I’m going down to catch the fellow.’

  ‘Oh darling, be careful. He may be armed.’

  But Rufus had already gone, clattering down the stairs, his feet ringing hollowly on the wooden flooring. Then a door opened and closed, and after that there was silence.

  Tennant’s eyes lost their sun-warmed fruit look and became as hard as green ice. He stared around him.

  ‘Who was it?’ he asked. ‘Would you please come forward?’

  Nobody moved or stirred and the atmosphere became riven with shards of suspense. A horse stamped an impatient hoof and a woman let out a little scream. Other than that there was an intense quiet.

  ‘Well,’ said Tennant – and his voice was full of menace.

  ‘I don’t think anybody is coming,’ murmured Charlie, almost apologetically.

  ‘No,’ answered the inspector. ‘It would appear not. Shall we continue.’

  Like figures in a dream people released themselves from their trance and slowly made their way into their allotted places. The Son et Lumière started once more.

  Rufus plunged into the darkness which lay beyond the brilliance of the arc lamps and suddenly found himself hardly able to see a thing. He stood completely still for a moment listening to all the sounds of the night. Down on the moat, water fowl were moving slowly, the ploshing of their webbed feet quiet but distinct. A fox passed close to him, disturbing the long grasses, making a tunnel of sound as it went about its nocturnal business. A bird in a tree overhead suddenly gave voice, its sweet song sighing on the night wind. And then came another sound, the sound of a human being making its way stealthily towards the bridge.

  Rufus rose to his full height and shouted, ‘Hey you, stay exactly where you are.’

  His words had the absolute reverse effect as somebody stumbled towards him and gave him a hearty shove in the guts. Rufus doubled over, completely winded, and as he gasped for air he heard the feet retreating over the span and away into the open countryside beyond. The next sound he heard was that of a car starting up.

  It took him a few minutes to recover and when he had finally got his breath back he limped towards the castle and straight into the arms of Mark Potter.

  ‘You all right, sir? You look a bit done in.’

  ‘I’m OK. But I saw somebody through the window of the Tudor banqueting hall; he was creeping away and though I tried to attract your attention you couldn’t hear me. So I came down myself to try and stop him but he hit me in the guts and winded me. Sorry.’

  ‘Nothing to apologize for, sir. Are you all right to get back to the house?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll manage. And by the way, you can call off the search. I heard him drive away by car.’

  Potter let out a few expletives and then spoke into his phone. Almost immediately several police cars that had been parked just beyond the gatehouse took off into the darkness.

  ‘Trouble is we don’t know which direction he was going in,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ said Sir Rufus, ‘we can only hope you catch him.’

  In the acting area Tennant’s phone went and he made an announcement into a loaded atmosphere which had become almost overwhelming.

  ‘Come on, let’s get on with it.’

  The horses, which had been growing restive, now charged at full belt at one another and in the audience Madisson said, ‘That’s Ricardo on the left. He looks good on a horse, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Very good. I understand you are going into business with him,’ the doctor whispered back.

  ‘Yes. My beauty salon is doing really well so I’ve decided to open up one of the rooms as a massage salon. He can do all the usual treatments, hot stones, hot oil and all.’

  But her voice died away as the acting area was plunged into sudden darkness and a brilliant spotlight came up on two figures fighting on the battlements. Knowing that this was how a murder had been committed everyone in the audience fell totally silent, a feeling that was echoed backstage as well.

  Robin had obviously been briefed to fall over at the exact moment when he had been hit by the stick. Consequently, he fell back and came face to face with Meg Alexander.

  ‘You old bitch,’ he said indistinctly, speaking through his helmet.

  ‘You deserved it you arrogant bastard. You couldn’t act your way out of a paper bag.’

  ‘And who do you think you are?’ he retorted. ‘You and your bloody husband tying to lord it over the rest of us. You’re a pair of fucking little nobodies.’

  ‘Oh!’ she said, and began to make her way, clumping down the spiral.

  Adam Gillow, not quite certain what to do, ducked down and simultaneously threw the dummy over. It came hurtling towards the ground and landed on its head. On the tape came the sound of a body hitting the earth and crunching as it did so. From the back of the audience Fizz let out a long and terrible scream and continued screaming at the top of her voice until Kasper got up from his chair and hurried to her side.

  ‘My dear young lady,’ he said, ‘you really must get a grip on yourself. I know this is terrible for you – but it is for us all.’

  She looked at him, her face twisted by the agony she was feeling. ‘But that fall just now. It was so realistic. It reminded me vividly of the recent tragedy,’ she lisped.

  ‘But it was only a dummy,’ he said, and his words ran in his ears like an echo, thinking of when he had eye-witnessed a brutal killing and but for those words would have gone to help.

  They could hear the yelling backstage and Estelle said, ‘Oh m
y God, that’s Fizz. I must go to her.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing,’ said Tennant testily. ‘I don’t want any one of you to move.’ He turned to Jonquil who had come down the spiral staircase last, following Meg Alexander and Robin Green. ‘Now, I think at this stage Emma must have spoken to someone. Oswald, where are you?’

  The youth sauntered up. ‘You wanted me?’

  ‘Yes, I do. You told me that you ordered Emma to get moving, that her big scene was coming. So that must have been around about now.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it was.’ He approached Jonquil and said, ‘What are you doing here? The Elizabethan Fair is on soon. Get back to the changing tent.’ He turned to Tennant. ‘I said something like that, anyway. Then I marked it down in my stage management book. See.’ And he shoved the book under the inspector’s nose. It was written in meticulous handwriting and had been done, quite extraordinarily, with a fountain pen which abruptly changed to the use of a biro halfway through.

  Tennant looked at it and very slowly a light began to dawn and there came that mercurial moment when the whole thing finally slipped into place.

  ‘Why did you change pens directly after the murder?’ he asked.

  ‘’Cos I lost my fountain pen. I was annoyed about that because my dad gave it to me for a prize I won.’

  ‘Oh what a shame,’ said the inspector, silken-tongued, and he slipped his hand into his breast pocket and produced a pen. ‘Try this one for size.’

  ‘Thanks. Why it looks just like mine. In fact, it is mine. There’s that little scratch on the clip. Where did you find it?’

  ‘You must have dropped it on the spiral stairs when you went up to murder Gerry Harlington,’ Tennant said quietly.

  Oswald stood frozen to the spot, then shouted out, ‘You horrible old fucker. Go to hell,’ and bolted as fast as an Olympic champion. Two constables tried to bring him down but nobody had the speed. He reached the moat and dived in, ready to cross to the other side. But it was Potter, who had joined the Police Sports Club and concentrated on tennis and swimming, who kicked off his shoes and brought him in, shivering and shaking, to where Tennant awaited him – like the angel of death.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  A dinner party was being given by Sir Rufus Beaudegrave to celebrate his new-found happiness, the coming of Christmas and the closing of the case. It was a black-tie occasion and Potter had been forced to go to Formal Tailor and hire evening dress, in which he felt somewhat uncomfortable but extremely grand when he saw himself in a full-length mirror. He had bought himself an evening shirt and was wearing a pair of cuff links left to him by his father. He had called in on his Welsh mother on the way to the party and she had said, ‘Oh Mark, you do look fine. You really ought to get yourself a suit like that.’ And Potter, hero of the hour because he had made an underwater arrest, rather thought he just might.

  He and his boss, who was looking like a wicked pixie in his formal dress with his great green eyes alight with some inner thoughts, were sharing a car and a driver so that they could have a drink and relax. And they both let out an appreciative cry of ‘Look at that,’ as the car crossed the bridge and they saw the castle in all its wondrous symmetry, fully lit up by floodlights.

  ‘It has to be the most beautiful place in the world,’ said Potter. ‘Don’t you think so, guv?’

  This was a name he used for Tennant in moments of extreme emotion and Dominic, who didn’t like the word much, just smiled to himself in the darkness.

  Three months had passed since the Son et Lumière and the Yuletide was almost upon them. Sir Rufus had been out on the island and had brought in greenery and holly and ivy and had had Ekaterina and his four girls working on the decorations so that the castle was transformed into a thing of exquisite beauty. In the great entrance hall stood a massive tree which was decorated entirely in red and green tartan. And in the Tudor dining hall, which had been splendidly set up for the occasion, stood another large tree, this one the family one, with ancient decorations hanging on it, some of which probably dated back to Sir Rufus’s childhood. To add the finishing touches to the Christmas sparkle there was a roaring log fire in the enormous grate and the sounds of a harpist playing gently, greeting the guests as they made their way in.

  Ekaterina had never looked more beautiful, glowing from within, gracious and elegant in an emerald evening dress by Gucci, not a skinny thing like a nightdress but a romantic ball gown with lace sleeves and a full and swishing skirt. As for Sir Rufus, he seemed years younger, standing beside Ekaterina and saying ‘Hello’ to all who made their way up the ivy-bannistered stairs. His four girls were also on the receiving line, dressed in their party frocks, polite and charming as always. The two little ones, Perdita and Ondine, with whom they had had tea, made a special fuss of Tennant and Potter, Perdita giving Potter a kiss on the cheek which rather pleased him.

  They were all present; all the people who had been involved in the tragic events, with one or two notable exceptions. The Alexanders had both received a stern warning; she for assaulting Robin Green; and he for running away from the police reconstruction of the Son et Lumière to attend an audition for Royal Hunt of the Sun at Lewes Little Theatre and attacking Sir Rufus into the bargain. The other absentee was, of course, Oswald Souter.

  Tennant had felt rather sorry for him. Along with almost every other member of the Odds he had been driven mad by Gerry Harlington’s lack of directing skills and the last straw for everyone had been the hip-hop dance in the middle of the Elizabethan Fair. But a very slightly crazy mind had been driven over the edge and Oswald had done what a dozen or so other people had thought about. But it was the murder of Emma Simms which had been both cruel and vicious. Still, Tennant had to admit that with a good defence barrister and a sympathetic jury the boy should get off with a relatively light sentence.

  Yet all these thoughts were swept from his mind when he saw a surprise guest. Black headed, slim, dressed in red, his heart actually jumped in his chest as he looked in the direction of Olivia Beauchamp. Standing on either side of her were the Reverend Nick Lawrence, in a dinner jacket and a dog collar – a somewhat strange combination – and Dr Kasper Rudniski, dashing beyond belief. Tennant advanced on her.

  ‘Hello, Olivia,’ he said, and, taking her hand, kissed it in the old-fashioned way.

  She gave him a look from those dark dreamy eyes of hers but what was in their depths he could not fathom.

  ‘Hello, Dominic,’ she said, and smiled.

  Over in a corner, Paul Silas had taken on the role of Bluff King Hal and was looking about him at the roistering scene with a merry glance. Standing with his back to the fire, rocking back on his heels slightly, he was saying to anyone who would listen, ‘By Jove, this is a very fine occasion, is it not? Very kind of Sir Rufus to host it. I wish one and all the compliments of the festive season.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Silas,’ answered the Polish doctor. ‘I return them to you.’

  Further down the hall, dressed in rather garish colours but for all that having made an obvious effort, were Estelle and Fizz, holding forth about their time in the theatre. Nick, looking round him, thought what a good occasion this was and, staring at Ekaterina and Rufus, hoped fervently that they would do the decent old-world thing and marry one another. He could rather imagine himself doing the blessing and smiled at the thought. But a butler was announcing in stentorian tones, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please be seated.’

  There was a general scraping of chairs as each took their place where their allotted name cards indicated. As luck would have it Tennant found that Olivia had been placed next to him and felt determined that this stroke of good fortune would not pass him by.

  ‘I am so glad to see you back safely,’ he said. ‘I’ve thought about you.’

  She turned on him an amused glance. ‘Did you get my postcard?’

  ‘It’s still on my mantelpiece.’

  ‘Do you like your new flat?’

  ‘I love it. Olivia, will you come and have dinner
with me?’

  ‘In your place? Or elsewhere?’

  ‘I think elsewhere to begin with.’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘That is a very pleasant idea.’

  Paul Silas rose from his chair. ‘Ladies and gentlemen. I crave a moment’s silence.’

  Pompous old fool, thought Nick, Kasper and Tennant simultaneously.

  ‘I would like to propose the health of Sir Rufus Beaudegrave and to thank him for his congenial hospitality in inviting us all here tonight.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ cried Robin Green who was attired in an evening suit that reeked of mothballs and had once belonged to Robin’s father.

  ‘It is marvellous for us humbler mortals to be invited within these magnificent portals . . .’

  Oh dear, thought Potter, and his lips must have moved because Sir Rufus’s eldest, Araminta, winked at him and he found himself getting a little flushed.

  ‘. . . and I am sure that we can all get a sense of the place’s fantastic history.’

  He rambled on and everyone stopped listening politely. Jonquil, looking very pretty in pink, whispered to Nick, ‘I owe you a dinner. Would you like to come?’

  And he heard himself answering yes with a certain enthusiasm.

  The toast finally ended. ‘And I would call on you all to raise your glasses to Sir Rufus Beaudegrave.’

  Everyone stood and Kasper called out, ‘Coupled with the name of Fulke Castle.’

  ‘Sir Rufus and Fulke Castle,’ they said.

  And outside, the frosty moonlight blended with the lights that shone on that ancient and venerable building, while the moat glistened silver in the darkness.