A Haunting Reprise

by Amanda DeWees

  “You seem to protect her interests as much as if she were your own mother.”

  He gave a short nod. I noticed now that his face bore some bruising around the eyes, and his nose was swollen as though it had been struck. Had he been attacked by some ruffian? “My father was Mother Sophia’s second husband, but I consider myself to have all the responsibility of a son, since she has none. It takes the devil of a lot of effort to fend off the fortune hunters, I can tell you.” With a short, humorless laugh, he added, “I wasn’t quick enough to fend off your friend, more’s the pity. If he hadn’t died, he might have squandered my stepmother’s wealth within a twelvemonth. I bore your Mr. Atherton no personal grudge, mind you, but it was clear that he was irresponsible with money.”

  “It’s a pity that wasn’t as clear to Mr. Treherne before they became contractually bound to each other,” I said. “Atherton might be alive today if they had not partnered together.”

  A quick shrug dismissed my hypothetical scenario. “If you don’t mind my speaking frankly, Miss Ingram, your late employer was feckless enough to have raised thoughts of murder in more minds than that of Mr. Treherne.”

  In his own mind, for example, if he feared that Atherton would impoverish his stepmother. But that was an absurd idea, since Treherne was the culprit.

  “Forgive me for mentioning it,” I said, “but you appear to have sustained some injuries. Were you set upon by a footpad?”

  One hand went to his swollen nose involuntarily, as if to hide it, but then he laughed. It was all too clear that it was too late to hide the damage. “I thank you for your interest, Miss Ingram, but I placed myself in the hands of my attacker quite voluntarily.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  His smile did not reach his eyes. “I have a taste for bare-knuckle fighting, and I have won some renown in that sport. From time to time I participate in a match, and sometimes the only reward I emerge with is the marks of valor on my face.”

  The compact but sturdy frame beneath his dark suit certainly suggested a strength that might be used to powerful effect in a fight. Discouraging fortune hunters from pursuing his stepmother might be a quick and violent business in his hands.

  “I shall leave you to recover from your exertions, then,” I said. “Good day.”

  He tipped his hat to me and wished me good day, but his eyes never lost their coldness. I repressed a shiver as I mounted the hansom cab that the butler had hailed for me. Thank heaven I would never meet that man in the ring. I had a feeling he would be a cold-blooded opponent.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I fetched Polly that evening so that we would have an opportunity to talk in private before rehearsal. Tonight was the first of only two dress rehearsals of the play with its new additions, and I wanted the chance to answer any questions she might have and calm her nerves.

  Rather than being preoccupied with the play, however, she was bubbling over with excitement and devotion to Narcissa. She couldn’t stop talking about her—her talent, her clothes, her jewels, her perfume.

  Don’t forget her imprisoned lover, I thought but managed not to say aloud.

  “She says the secret to her complexion is a wash of rosewater and almond oil. Do we have time to stop at an apothecary and have some prepared? And she uses a special brush with imported boar bristles for her hair, and—”

  “As fascinating as it is to learn all of Narcissa’s beauty secrets,” I said, “I’m more interested in you. How does it feel to be learning a real role? Are you excited about the possibility of performing?”

  She looked as if she had just walked into a wall. “Oh. Yes, I suppose.”

  “You suppose?”

  “Well, I’ve hardly had a chance to become accustomed to any of it yet!” she snapped. “I have all these lines to learn, in that strange old-fashioned language, and I have to remember what to do and where to stand every moment...”

  “Acting is a great deal of work,” I agreed. “You’ll feel better after you’ve had a bit more time to get comfortable with your lines and blocking. I’ll go over them with you again if you wish.”

  She nodded, sitting straighter with resolve. “I don’t want to disappoint Narcissa,” she said.

  I shook my head in bemusement. She had never shown any such resolve toward me. Perhaps, as her sister, I would never attain the glamour and impact that someone outside the family embodied. “How is everything at home?” I asked. “Have there been any more disturbances?”

  “Everything is quiet. Mother won’t stop gushing over how marvelous your husband is.”

  “Finally,” I said, “something she and I agree upon.”

  For tonight’s rehearsal we had moved back into the Crystal Palace. After dark there were no members of the public underfoot, and it seemed worth the expenditure of electricity to have the experience of performing under conditions as close as possible to those of opening night.

  As we approached, the sight of the illuminated part of the palace shining across the darkened park struck a peculiar pang into my heart. It was so very like the night on which Atherton had died. I was grateful to find that there was so much to keep me busy that my thoughts could not linger on that painful night.

  Since Polly had forbidden me to hover, I wandered about backstage, as restless as any ghost. I could hear Narcissa snapping at Polly, no doubt out of nerves. For a marvel, I didn’t hear Polly responding in kind. Gertrude, on the other hand, could be heard singing a popular song to warm up her voice, and when I looked in on her she was already in costume and regarded me with composure.

  “How are you?” I asked, probably because I was nervous myself. Tonight’s rehearsal was not the final proving ground, of course, but it would go some way toward indicating whether my brilliant plan was going to succeed or fail.

  She gave a chuckle. “My dear Sybil, as long as Lady Macduff can remember to give me my cues, I am most marvelous well.” She picked up a rabbit’s foot to daub more rouge on her cheeks. “Such a pleasure to have the chance to play the Scottish Lady again. I’m glad you persuaded Narcissa to let me take over the role.”

  Thank goodness for troupers like Gertrude. Just being in her orbit was reassuring; surely even Narcissa could not help but find her anxieties soothed when acting opposite her.

  I bade her break a leg and continued my wandering backstage. The partitions that had been erected were a maze, and soon I realized from the low timbre of voices that I must be approaching the men’s dressing area. I turned to retrace my steps, but the smell of smoke made me pause. Fire is such a risk in the theater—any theater—that caution had been ingrained in me, and even in this building of glass and iron there were wooden floorboards that could turn the place to an inferno. I could not rest until I had found the source.

  I rounded a corner and breathed a sigh of relief. No-Relation was leaning against a flat and smoking a Turkish cigarette; that was what I had smelled.

  When he saw me watching him he flashed a guilty half smile. “Don’t tell,” he said. “I’ll put it out safely, I promise.”

  So he did know better than to smoke backstage. “You aren’t the only one to feel nervous about how tonight will go,” I said.

  He shook his head and stared down at the cigarette between his fingers. He was in full costume, and the cigarette was as anachronistic an accessory to his Scottish garb as a silk top hat would have been, but the expression on his face robbed the sight of any humorous effect.

  “It isn’t that,” he said. “I’ve gotten myself into a jam. The fact is, I’ve done something dodgy, and it’s starting to weigh on my conscience.”

  You’re in the right play, then, I wanted to say, but this looked to be too serious a matter for flippancy. “I’m sure you had good reason,” I said, not because I was sure of anything of the sort but because it seemed the best way to put him at ease.

  He shook his head in self-disgust and drew on the cigarette, then expelled a whoosh of smoke. “It seemed like the best of reasons. With him o
ut of the way, she’d have to see how much better I am for her—so much closer to her in age, for a start. I could protect her and make her happy, and she would realize that I would be so much better for her than...”

  “Treherne?” I exclaimed, startled at the implication. What had No-Relation done?

  “I’m such a fool,” he muttered, as if he hadn’t heard me. “She doesn’t want me to comfort her or take her mind off Treherne. She just wants him back. Murderer or not, he’s the only man in the world for her. So it was all for nothing.”

  “What was all for nothing?”

  He glanced at me as if surprised to find that I was still there. “I lied to the police,” he said dully. “I told that Inspector Strack that I’d seen Treherne and Atherton leave the reception together.”

  A terrible jolt struck through me. “You mean they didn’t?”

  The glowing tip of the cigarette drew an arc in the air as he made an impatient gesture. “Oh, it may well have been Treherne who was with him. It probably was. Who else could it have been? But the fact is that I swore to the inspector that I was certain it was Treherne, and the truth is that I simply couldn’t tell. Not in the dark, not from where I was standing. It might have been any man of that height in evening clothes.”

  Sickened, I leaned against the flat for support. All this time I had not seriously questioned that Treherne was Atherton’s killer. Why should I? Inspector Strack had been so certain, and he had almost made me certain as well. Now, however, that certainty had been swept away like flotsam on an ocean tide. Atherton’s killer might be going about unguessed, unsuspected by everyone. I might have spoken to him. Probably had, in fact, since Atherton was unlikely to have been killed by a stranger. The killer might well be one of my friends. It might be someone who was here tonight—someone within the sound of my voice.

  “You have to tell the inspector,” I said.

  He was staring at the floor, but now his head came up with a jerk. “Are you mad? Narcissa will never forgive me if this comes out.”

  “That isn’t as important as finding out who murdered Atherton,” I said sternly. “I know it will be painful for you, but she’ll discover the truth sooner or later, whether you tell Inspector Strack or not. The truth has a way of coming out, and it will be far better for you to be the one to come forward instead of waiting to be exposed. Think of it, er”—I had to grope for his real name—“Mr. Fairbrother. Imagine if Treherne is bound over and put on trial. Imagine if he is convicted! Think how much more Narcissa will despise you if a word from you could have spared him all of that anguish.”

  “But surely if he is innocent some evidence will come to light,” he objected. “Inspector Strack is bound to turn up something in his investigation.”

  “What investigation?” I demanded. “Why would he dig any further when he’s convinced that he has his man?”

  “Perhaps he does,” the young man shot back. “Treherne may be guilty as sin, in which case I would be exposing myself for nothing.”

  Wordless for once, I stood staring at him. That clean, heroic profile and those seemingly candid blue eyes had misled me. Like Gertrude, I had thought him an unspoiled soul. Instead he was just a fallible, flawed young man who had made a selfish decision and was too cowardly to mend it—even when the price might be a man’s life.

  “I shall give you twenty-four hours,” I said. “Before the curtain rises tomorrow night, you must tell Inspector Strack that you aren’t certain it was Treherne that you saw. If you don’t, I will tell him myself.”

  The cigarette forgotten in his hand, he stared at me until it burned down to his fingers. He shook it out with an oath. “You wouldn’t,” he said desperately. “Please, Miss Ingram. You have a kind heart, a womanly heart. You wouldn’t stand in the path of true love this way.”

  “I have a heart made of iron as far as lying to the police is concerned. As for true love, if Narcissa ever learns of what you’ve done, I wouldn’t blame her if she never spoke to you again.” I folded my arms. “In fact, I won’t even have to tell Inspector Strack. I shall tell Narcissa herself of your perjury.”

  “You mustn’t! I’ll confess, I promise. I’ll do it first thing tomorrow. Just don’t tell her. Please don’t.” He took my hand and gazed beseechingly into my face, but I had his measure now. I pulled my hand away.

  “Don’t forget to dispose properly of your cigarette,” I said coolly. “It would be a pity to add arson to your transgressions.”

  My emotions were in turmoil as rehearsal started. Standing in the wings to watch, I found that entire scenes would pass without my noticing them. What if Treherne was innocent after all? How many opportunities would that mean that I—and the police—had missed while we assumed that the killer was safely apprehended? I could no longer rest in that certainty. Now I had to reassess everything. So many conversations might have contained clues had I only known to be alert for them.

  Polly, too, was watching from the wings. When Narcissa took the stage as Lady Macduff, Polly’s attention sharpened and her expression changed to fierce concentration. In her mind, she was probably saying the lines along with Narcissa, memorizing her movements and inflections.

  My own emotions, in turmoil already after No-Relation’s confession, were painfully unsettled as I watched my younger sister. I might be witnessing the beginning of a thrilling new life for her—a life that I knew could be exciting and colorful and fulfilling. Was it a life to which she was suited, though? She had worked hard under my tutelage and said she was devoted to this goal, but I was still unsure whether she was ready for it. Until she was tested, I couldn’t be sure—nor perhaps could she herself—that she was resilient enough, tenacious enough.

  Perhaps even ruthless enough.

  LESS THAN TWENTY-FOUR hours later, the final dress rehearsal of the revised Macbeth began. As with the previous, ill-starred incarnation of the play, select financial backers and members of the press had been invited to attend.

  That morning I had received a letter from No-Relation telling me that he had been to the police and recanted his testimony. His account was confirmed when Inspector Strack himself had come to deliver the news to Roderick and me that Treherne’s guilt was no longer certain and to question us again about the events of the night in question. Neither of us had anything new to add, although I had some theories that I was turning over in my mind.

  Once I had learned from No-Relation that Treherne was no longer the only suspect, I had done a great deal of thinking. Indeed, I had slept little the previous night. I wondered if Strack had questioned Mr. Richmond, with his jealous concern for his stepmother’s fortune and his pugilistic tendencies. Atherton’s profligate habits had pretty nearly become common knowledge by the time of his death, his attempts to deflect guilt to me notwithstanding, so it seemed possible to me that if Mr. Richmond had learned that night that I was not in fact partly to blame for Atherton’s presumably draining his new wife’s resources, he might have responded with violence. Not necessarily with intent to kill, but with fatal results nonetheless.

  From what Strack had said, it sounded as if the killer’s throttling might not have proved fatal if not coupled with the blow to the back of the head. I could easily envision Mr. Richmond seizing Atherton by the neck with such suddenness as to throw him off balance and send him reeling back into the concrete hide of a dinosaur.

  “There is also No-Relation,” I said to Roderick over breakfast.

  “You really think he may have killed Atherton?” he asked, once he had sorted through his mind to identify the man who bore that strange nickname.

  “I grant it seems farfetched, but it’s possible. He might have done it to dispose of Treherne.”

  “But then why tell you that he wasn’t certain of Treherne’s involvement?” Roderick asked. “That would have been a prime opportunity to sew up his rival.”

  “Well, it might be a kind of double bluff. To make himself look innocent by proclaiming someone else’s innocence.”

&nb
sp; “I don’t think that’s what ‘double bluff’ means, my little flibbertigibbet.”

  I threw a muffin at him, but he was familiar with my methods and caught it handily.

  “You know what I mean,” I said. “He deflects suspicion by pretending to be so guiltless that he is concerned for another suspect’s welfare. That whole conversation between us could have been designed to throw me off the scent.”

  Roderick’s mouth quirked. “I take it you no longer view No-Relation as a snow-white soul uncorrupted by the world. Has the innocent lamb feet of clay after all?”

  Perhaps I had been a bit too flattering in my description of the young actor to Roderick. My weakness for masculine beauty might have made itself obvious, and the thought made me brusque with embarrassment.

  “Quite apart from mixing metaphors, you’re being extremely silly,” I said. “If I found innocence that attractive, I’d not have married you. But it’s true that I see him very differently now. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.”

  “I’d give good money to see how far you can throw him,” said Roderick, splitting the muffin I had flung at him and then buttering it. He reached across the table to offer me half. “But killing a man in cold blood purely to frame a romantic rival seems pretty brazen for someone who’s scarcely grown in his first moustache. Who else is there?”

  I sighed. “Treherne still seems the most likely. It has to be a man, according to Strack, because the finger marks aren’t those of a woman.” Momentarily I felt a sickening pang at the thought of violent hands clenching around the neck of my old friend, and I wrenched my mind away from the thought. “But that’s not to say a woman isn’t involved. Narcissa seems the most likely.”

  “Also, coincidentally, the prettiest,” Roderick said. There were no more muffins to throw at him, so I just glared, making him laugh. “She’s only the prettiest because you aren’t a member of the troupe any longer,” he said placatingly. “There’s no call for you to send her to the gallows just to ensure that you’re the fairest damsel in the realm. As for other possible accessories, Gertrude seems to have benefitted greatly from the way things have gone, from what you’ve told me.”