‘What happened to your family?’ Read asked.
Magdalena sighed and lowered her head. For a moment Read thought she would refuse to tell him. It didn’t really matter. He already knew most of the details of her flight from Spain. British foreign operatives regularly updated the Home Department with information about influential Spaniards like Antonio Garcia de Aviles. He had already heard rumours that Magdalena had shot her way out of the country.
Then Magdalena raised her face and stared straight into Read’s eyes. ‘As the numbers of French soldiers in Spain increased, the rumours of French reprisals against the families of the revolutionaries became worse. Whole families disappeared overnight or were hanged, their homes and land razed to the ground. I became scared for Sebastián, Antonio’s parents and myself. I pleaded with Antonio to arrange us passage to the safety of England but he refused. We weren’t to desert our home, he said. We were quite safe on our remote estate. But I wasn’t convinced.’ Her voice rose as she relayed her frustration.
‘Eventually, I decided to act. I arranged the passage to England for Sebastián and myself. I pleaded with Antonio’s parents to come with us, but they refused. They never questioned the judgement of their brilliant son; they never thought for one moment that his conspicuous, outspoken opposition to Joseph Bonaparte might endanger his family.
‘On the morning Sebastián and I were due to leave, Antonio’s parents were away visiting his sister. We had packed the carriage and were about to depart when four French soldiers rode up the drive.’
‘What happened?’
‘We opened fire on them; they were killed. I had already armed my servants and we had the element of surprise. The French had not expected resistance from a woman, a child and two old people.’
‘Did you take part in the shooting?’
‘Of course I did. I was fighting for my life,’ she said. Her large eyes were expressionless but he thought he saw a slight tremor in her lower lip. ‘I have a pistol and my father had trained me to be an excellent markswoman. We left immediately, raced like the wind to the coast and I arranged the passage to England for Sebastián, Teresa and myself.’
They regarded each other across the desk. She twisted her hands nervously in her lap, pulling at the material of her gown. He realised that she was trying to assess the impact of her confession and, despite his reservations, Read felt a pang of sympathy for the woman. He had convicted many heartless female murderers in his courtroom over the years and Magdalena Morales was not of their ilk. She had been forced to kill in order to save her own life and that of her child. He recognised the difference and sensed her remorse and fear. Her composure was a thin veneer beneath which she was scared and probably wracked with guilt.
‘Does Stephen Lavender know about this?’ he asked.
‘I think he suspects the truth – and he knows that I can shoot to kill.’
He frowned. This was a new development. ‘Is this something to do with the highwaymen who attacked your coach at Barnby Moor?’ He heard the alarm in his own voice.
‘Yes, Stephen’s pistol had jammed and one of the highwaymen was about to discharge his shot into Stephen’s face. I shot the villain through the temple.’
‘Good grief, I had no idea.’ Agitated, Read’s hands picked up and smoothed back the feathers on his quill while his mind churned over with this latest information. No wonder Lavender was infatuated with the woman if he owed her his life.
‘You think that I’m unnatural? That I’m unwomanly?’ Her beautiful eyes bored into his across the table. ‘You must understand, Magistrate Read, that I will do anything to protect my son. Even commit a cardinal sin like murder.’
He shuffled uneasily in his chair. The longcase clock in the corner of the room gently chimed the quarter hour and reminded him of the case he was due to judge downstairs in the court. He brought the conversation back to its intended purpose. One thing was for sure: this woman was more than suitable for the job he had in mind.
‘Well, I must thank you, Doña Magdalena, for the service you have already given to the British Crown when you saved the life of Detective Lavender. His loss to Bow Street Magistrates’ Court would have been a great blow – at both a personal and a professional level.’
Magdalena nodded, her eyes narrow. Flattery and charm would be wasted on her. He needed to keep the conversation businesslike.
‘As I mentioned earlier I have a proposition to put to you that might prove lucrative in addition to your teaching. Your son is at an expensive boarding school, I understand?’
She nodded again. ‘It was the only one that would overlook his religion and accept him.’
His mention of her son had been well timed; he had her undivided attention and she looked less hostile now.
‘Do you regularly mix with the other Spanish émigrés who have fled to England? I understand that you Catholics are a closed group.’
‘Sometimes. Sometimes I meet other Spaniards or are invited into their homes. Unfortunately, some of them are wary of me because of the rumours of how I escaped to England.’
‘Yes, I can understand that,’ Read said with feeling. ‘However, you may still be able to help us. The British government is concerned about the proliferation of French spies in London – we worry that some of the Spanish émigrés may be feeding information back to the French.’
Magdalena gasped in surprise. ‘But we fight side by side against Joseph Bonaparte on the battlefields!’
‘Not all of your fellow countrymen and women appreciate the support given by Sir Arthur Wellesley and his army,’ Read said. ‘And not all of them hate the French with the same passion as you do, Doña Magdalena. There are many who are sick and tired of a war that causes economic devastation to Spain and they would like peace at any cost, even if it means submitting to the yolk of the Bonapartes. The British and Spanish alliance against the French can be uneasy at times and it is important that we know whom we can trust.’ He pulled out a piece of paper from the file on his desk and laid it face down. Read saw curiosity flit across Magdalena’s face.
‘This is a list of Spaniards who live in London and who have come to the attention of our Home Department for one reason or another.’
She gave him a slow smile. ‘If you want me to assassinate them, Magistrate Read, then I’m sorry to disappoint you. I only shoot in self-defence.’
He glanced up sharply and saw the self-mocking smile on her lips. ‘Such a thought never entered my mind, Doña Magdalena,’ he said. ‘No, we would simply like you to report back to us about them. We would like to hear about any opinions they express, the company they keep and any journeys they plan to make.’
‘You want me to spy on them?’
‘In short, yes. We would like to hear about everything they do and say, even what they eat for breakfast.’
She was thoughtful for a moment. ‘If you think that this would help the war in Spain come to a speedier conclusion, then I will assist you. Please show me the list.’
‘There are two final things I need to insist upon before I show you the list. Firstly, this conversation needs to remain confidential. Nobody must know that you’re helping us in this way,’ he continued, ‘Especially Stephen Lavender.’
For a moment, he thought he saw doubt flash across her face. But then she nodded. Read wasn’t entirely sure how Lavender would react to Magdalena’s involvement in espionage, but he suspected that he wouldn’t be pleased. Read had been surprised by the stubbornness his usually genial detective had shown concerning this woman and by the icy-cold glint that had set in Lavender’s eyes when Read had dared to criticise their liaison.
‘And the other thing is that I think you should tell Detective Lavender the truth about your escape from Spain. He deserves your honesty.’ Magdalena’s beautiful eyes narrowed and clouded with alarm. ‘If you don’t tell him, then I’m afraid I must.’ She swallowed, and nodded again.
That might bring the man back to his senses and dampen his ardour, Read thought w
ith a small glow of satisfaction.
Satisfied that Magdalena would comply with his terms, Read turned over the paper. A large smile illuminated her face as she read the names spread out before her.
‘Oh, I think I will be able to help you, Magistrate Read,’ she said slowly. ‘Now, how much did you say that you intended to pay me for this service?’
Chapter Twenty-three
The Sans Pareil Theatre was different in the daylight, Lavender realised – it was less magical. The porter had told him that the cast were in rehearsal but had allowed him to enter anyway. He walked unobserved into the back of the stalls. The company used fewer candles to light the auditorium for a rehearsal and as a result the upper circle, the boxes and the far corners of the vast chamber were shrouded in shadow, the gilded, ornamental carvings dulled. As the actors and actresses strutted across the stage, they seemed smaller and more insignificant without their elaborate costumes and garish make-up. With no soft-bodied audience to absorb the noise, Lavender was now conscious of the thud of each booted footstep across the hallowed boards and the actors’ booming voices echoing around the empty stalls and boxes of the auditorium.
Jane Scott had seated herself in the third row of the stalls. A dark blue turban held back her wiry hair; a flowered overdress covered her dark gown. She had kicked off her shoes and sat cross-legged, peeling an orange while directing her actors at the same time. ‘Good heavens, Bill! Do you have a memory in that head of yours?’ she demanded as one of the actors forgot his lines again.
‘Sorry, Miss Scott!’ Bill called down off the stage cheerfully.
‘Oh, do us all a favour and shake out some of the sawdust that’s between your ears then,’ she replied acidly. The rest of the cast laughed.
Jane Scott clapped her hands to get their attention again. ‘Now, now,’ she said sternly. ‘Let’s try to finish this act and work together, shall we?’
The actors redid the scene, word-perfect. Lavender smiled. Jane Scott ran a tight ship. He stood and watched for a while as the act jerked awkwardly towards its finale.
‘I suppose that this will have to do for now.’ Jane Scott sighed. ‘Let’s break for some refreshment and I hope that you return more alert than you have been this morning.’
Lavender saw his opportunity and assuming a cold professional attitude, he walked towards her.
‘Detective!’ She rose to her feet and wiped her orange-juice-soaked hands on her gown. ‘What a surprise. Have you more news about poor April?’
‘Yes,’ he said, not returning her smile. ‘May we talk in private?’
She led him back to the same office where they had talked on his last visit. The smell was as cloying as it had been last time he visited the dark, narrow, backstage corridors. Lavender’s ears caught the hum of conversation and laughter from the actors in the green room. It was directly in front of him at the end of the corridor. The door was open and he could see the table against the far wall where April Clare had put down her play script. Good. This would make Woods’ role easier.
Once in the privacy of the office, Jane Scott removed a dusty pile of folded velvet curtains, and a jester’s hat complete with jingling bells, from the only chair in the room. She sat down gracefully, smoothed her gown and folded her hands primly in her lap. ‘How can I help you, Detective Lavender?’
‘I have some good news – and two pieces of bad news for you, Miss Scott.’
Her hand fluttered to her bosom and her face whitened and emphasised the outline of the smallpox scars beneath her powder. She blinked up at him. ‘Oh dear. Perhaps I should hear the good news first to cushion the blow?’
‘Very well. The good news is that your actress, Miss April Divine, is not dead.’ He paused to let the full impact of his words sink into the startled brain of the shocked woman. She gasped, gave a short laugh, shook her head in disbelief and asked him to repeat himself.
‘Miss Divine is not dead. But alas, her identical twin sister, Mrs Willoughby, is. That is the first piece of bad news. Where you aware that Miss Divine had a twin sister?’ he asked.
Speechless, she shook her head.
‘It was a natural mistake to make when the surgeon examined Mrs Willoughby,’ he continued. ‘He didn’t know that Miss Divine had a twin either, and he assumed that he was examining the body of the famous actress.’
‘Quite,’ Jane Scott spluttered. She took a deep breath and blurted out her next few sentences. ‘This is wonderful news. I’m so pleased that dear April is still alive – but it’s distressing to hear about her sister. Where is poor April now?’
‘Miss Divine is very upset. She has been staying with her stepmother, Lady Caroline. The funeral takes place tomorrow morning but she hopes to return to work for Saturday night’s performance of The Necromancer.’
‘Of course, of course,’ she said. Frown lines suddenly appeared above her thin eyebrows. ‘Poor April,’ she said, thoughtfully.
‘My second piece of bad news concerns this,’ he said. He pulled the crumpled news-sheet out of his pocket and placed it face down on the table between them. He smoothed it out until the headline, Actress Brutally Slain, was visible. ‘As it turns out, poor Mrs Willoughby died from natural causes and – of course – she’s not an actress. Somebody was ill-informed when they spoke to the newspaper.’
‘Ah.’ Guilt flashed across her features.
‘Yes,’ he said sternly. ‘The paper will need to print a retraction. The story you gave them was incorrect.’
She flushed with embarrassment and gathered up the offending news-sheet. ‘Of course, Detective, of course. I will contact the reporter today. I will make sure that the newspaper prints an amendment in tomorrow’s edition.’
A tiny paragraph at the bottom of the page, no doubt, Lavender thought.
‘That would be one approach to take,’ he said, slowly. ‘However, there is another way to undo the damage of that premature article and further the interests of the theatre at the same time.’
‘There is?’
‘You have been most fortunate.’
‘I have?’
He paused for a moment to let her dangle on his hook for a bit longer. ‘Yes, Miss Divine has come up with an idea which may help the Sans Pareil and alleviate any problems caused by your mistake.’ Her eyes were alert, attentive and fixed on his. ‘Miss Divine has suggested that you allow the news-sheet to make a big story about her miraculous resurrection. She feels that it would only enhance her career – and increase attendance at her performances in the theatre – if they reported the full story about how she was assumed to be dead.’
Jane Scott’s eyes lit up and she clapped her hands together in glee. ‘Of course! What a clever girl April is! The news-sheet will sell out in a matter of hours with a story like that on the front page – and so shall we! The actress who rose from the grave will become the talk of London. They will flock to see her performances!’
Lavender hid his smile and let her enjoy her moment. The queen of the lurid melodrama stood up and paced the floor of the office, her mind bursting with ideas. ‘We will have to give April a part in Mary, the Maid of the Inn,’ she said. ‘I shall organise a reception to be held in the green room for her return on Saturday night.’
‘There is one last thing, Miss Scott,’ he said. ‘Although Mrs Willoughby died from natural causes, we’re still not happy about the other circumstances of her death.’
‘No? Oh yes – that dreadful place where she was found. Yes, I can understand that, Detective.’
‘As a result, we have decided to provide Miss Divine with some discreet protection for a short while. I would appreciate it if you would allow one of my constables into the theatre under the pretence that he’s a labourer, in order that he can watch out for Miss Divine’s safety.’
‘Certainly, Detective. I’m more than happy to help in any way I can.’
‘No one must know that he’s a policeman.’
‘Of course not, you have my word. I shall be discreet.’
Lavender stared at her smiling face and was tempted to say something cutting, but he held back. If their plan was to succeed he needed the cooperation of Jane Scott. He needed her to weave her influence with the news-sheet reporter, whom he hoped would maximise the sensation about April Clare’s return to the theatre and inflame the public’s imagination. It was important to his scheme that by Saturday most of London was talking about the actress, April Divine. He needed the whole city to know and marvel about the fact that she had risen from the dead and was returning to the Sans Pareil for Saturday evening’s performance. Despite any nagging doubts he still harboured about this female theatre owner, he recognised that he needed Jane Scott’s skills and her flair for publicity.
Lavender decided to call at the language school and see Magdalena before he returned to Bow Street.
No one received him as he entered the deserted hallway of the dilapidated non-descript building on Hart Street. He heard the low murmur of voices from one of the rooms; the unmistakable chant of students declining French plural and singular nouns. But apart from this and the muffled noise of the traffic outside, the place was eerily quiet.
He knew from his own lessons that the Spanish classrooms were on the second floor and he ascended the narrow, wooden staircase. When he turned the corner on the first-floor landing, his face broke out in a grin. Above him, he heard the unmistakable sound of Magdalena berating her students.
‘No, no, no!’ she shouted. She accompanied each syllable by rapping a wooden stick across the top of a table with a sharp thwack. ‘Pay attention! The ser and estar verbs are different. Both are the same as the English verb: “to be.” Both soy or estoy mean “I am” – but you use them in different circumstances. Try again. Estoy viajando a Madrid – I am journeying to Madrid.’
The Sans Pareil Mystery (The Detective Lavender Mysteries Book 2) Page 20
