by C. J. Archer
The main entrance doors to the Piccadilly Playhouse were locked, but a side door opened at precisely eleven and the debonair Mr. Alcott beckoned me.
“What a pleasure to see you again, Miss Fox. If only it were for happier reasons.”
“Danny tells me you found a letter.”
“I did. It could be a clue.” He spoke in hushed tones even though we were alone as we crossed the foyer.
Some of the memorabilia from Pearl’s memorial service remained, although most had been removed. The posters advertising Cat and Mouse still showed her face although a strip bearing Dorothea Clare’s name had been stuck over Pearl’s. I asked Mr. Alcott about it.
“Dotty hates that Pearl still features on them,” he said in a low voice. “She’s been on and on about it to Culpepper but he’s refusing to have new posters made.”
We passed through a door labeled STAFF ONLY and entered a long corridor. There was no one about, although I could hear hammering in the distance. We walked quickly past closed doors, some labeled, others not, our footsteps muffled by the carpet. Finally we reached a door with a piece of paper stuck to it. “Miss Clare” it read in neat handwriting. Mr. Alcott lifted the paper to show me Pearl’s name painted on the door underneath.
“Another thing Dotty hates,” he said.
“Why hasn’t Pearl’s name been painted over?”
“Pearl was adored around here. It’s hard to let her go.”
He pushed open the door to reveal the lead actress’s dressing room. As with Pearl’s flat, much of it was upholstered in dusky pink, from the sofa to the chair and cushions. The scent of perfume hung in the air, but it didn’t completely hide the smell of cigarette smoke. A privacy screen painted with spring blossoms separated a corner of the room. A cream silk dressing gown hung over it and a pair of slippers had been positioned nearby.
I felt like I was intruding. “Should we be in here?”
“Dotty’s not in yet. She’s been asking Culpepper to clear out Pearl’s things for days but she finally gave up and asked me to do it, since I was Pearl’s closest friend at the Playhouse. I started yesterday, and that’s when I found this.”
He disappeared behind the screen and emerged carrying a box. He set it down on the dressing table beside a vase filled with coral peonies and roses. The box appeared to be full of women’s underclothes and other personal items—a hat, handkerchiefs, combs and brushes, a hand mirror, and many cards.
I opened one and read. It was from an admirer of Pearl’s confessing his undying devotion. It was signed with his full name and address. The next card was similar. “Did she know these men?”
Mr. Alcott shook his head. “They were strangers, people who watched her on stage and fell in love with her. Or thought they did. They’re not all from men either. Some are from women.”
“Why did Pearl keep them if she didn’t know the senders?”
He shrugged. “A reminder of her popularity, I suppose.”
“Did she need reminding?”
“We all do, from time to time. Actors and actresses thrive on adoration. Without it, we’re just ordinary.” He smirked. “And if we’re just ordinary, what’s the point?”
He said it with a light tone, but his words saddened me. Did Pearl wonder what the point was? Did she kill herself after all because she felt the adoration was waning? Looking at the dozens of cards, it was hard to imagine that she could feel ordinary and unloved, but sometimes it wasn’t the quantity of love but the quality that waned.
“Here.” Mr. Alcott handed me a folded piece of paper, but he held something back in his hand. “Read it.”
It was a letter, but not addressed to anyone and not signed. Indeed, it appeared to be a draft, with words crossed out and punctuation missing. It was a love letter, of sorts. It began with the author’s confession of love for the unnamed recipient and went on to plead for them to be patient and to wait just a little while longer before they could be together openly. It finished mid-sentence with “I do not love R, I love you, but he must think…”
R most likely referred to Lord Rumford. “Pearl wrote this?”
“That’s her hand. I know it well.”
“Who do you think she was writing to?”
He took back the letter. “I don’t know. It’s taken me by surprise. I thought she told me everything, but it seems she kept the name of her true love from me. I had no idea she cared for anyone but Rumford. She hid it well. But there’s more.”
He opened his palm to show me what he’d held back. It was a man’s square-set black onyx ring with a plain gold band. “This was inside the folded letter, and both were buried under her unmentionables in the left drawer.” He indicated the dressing table with its central narrow drawer and deep ones on either side.
“The letter could have been written some time ago. How long has she had this dressing room?”
“Years. The entire time I’ve known her, she’s had it.” He looked around and sighed. “It doesn’t seem right for Dotty to use it so soon after, but she insisted. She and Culpepper argued about it, and it seems she won.”
“I imagine if she walked out now, the production would be in jeopardy.”
“Lord, yes. Her understudy isn’t up to snuff yet. But Dotty better tread more carefully if she wants Culpepper to keep her on long-term.”
“Perhaps she doesn’t plan on staying long-term. Perhaps she’s hoping a man will come along and whisk her away to another life.”
He narrowed his gaze. “You mean she wants more than Pearl’s job? She wants her benefactor too?”
The door opened and Dotty Clare paused on the threshold upon seeing us. She stared at me a moment, as if she couldn’t place me, then entered. “You’re in early, Perry.”
“I wanted to finish up in here before you arrived, but I see you’re early too.”
“I had a meeting with Mr. Culpepper.”
Mr. Alcott motioned to me. “You remember Miss Fox from Pearl’s memorial.”
“How do you do?” She dropped her bag on the dressing table and threw her coat onto the sofa. “Have you come to help Perry?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Thank God.” She flounced onto the chair and peered at herself in the dressing table mirror. “I want it all gone. Every single thing. Gone. I don’t want to see so much as an eyelash of hers in this room.”
“I’m not your servant, Dotty,” he said with a steely edge to his tone.
“I know you’re not, darling, but I’m finding that woman’s things everywhere. It’s very upsetting.”
“You can say her name. Or are you afraid if you say it, she’ll come back to haunt you?”
She pulled a face at her reflection. “Don’t even joke about such a thing. I swear I can feel her presence in here.” She waved a hand at the box. “That’s why I want it all gone. Hopefully her spirit will leave with her things. God knows there are enough memories of her at every turn in this place, I don’t need more.”
Mr. Alcott discreetly tucked the letter and ring back inside the box and picked it up. “She was a star here for a long time, Dotty. You can’t erase her a mere week after her death.”
“I don’t want to erase her, Perry, but Culpepper is being excessive. He’s just doing it for the publicity, you know.”
“Doing what?” I asked.
“Keeping her things around. Her picture on the posters, photographs in the foyer, her name on my door. While the newspapers are still talking about her, he’ll continue to associate her with the Playhouse. Ticket sales have been good since she died. Did you know that?” She looked at me over her shoulder before turning back to the mirror. “The seats have been full, whereas they were half empty before.”
Mr. Alcott rested the edge of the box on the dressing table and glared at her reflection in the mirror. “Are you suggesting Culpepper killed her for publicity?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I never said that. But let’s be honest with one another. Her star wasn’t going to be rising for
much longer. She only had a few years left before her looks began to fade. When that happened, the public would move on and Mr. Culpepper would need a new star to attract the audiences again. The lovers would disappear too, of course.”
“Lovers?” I asked. “Plural?”
Dotty looked up at me through her lashes and smiled. “She’d be a fool to have just one.”
“Wouldn’t that invoke jealousy?”
“Yes! But isn’t that the fun of being beautiful? Come now, Miss Fox. Don’t look so shocked. I’m sure Pearl had a lot of fun, but she also knew it couldn’t last forever. She’d be the first to admit that her life was better off ending now at the height of her fame.”
“Dotty!” Mr. Alcott cried.
She removed a hairpin and a tendril of blonde curls fell past her shoulder. “Although I’m sure she would have wished to die in a different manner.” She shivered. “Her scream as she fell was blood-curdling.”
“You were here in the theater when she died?” I asked.
“Of course. We all were. We had a show that night.”
“Where were you?”
“In the privy, if you must know. I’d just come out when I heard her scream. Then there was silence. It was very strange. Unnatural, almost.”
“It took everyone a few moments to work out where the scream had come from and what it meant,” Mr. Alcott said quietly. “Then Pearl was found and…it was chaos.”
“Who found her?”
“Culpepper was first on the scene,” Dotty said. “He shook her as if he couldn’t believe she was gone. Then when it did sink in, he held her in his arms.”
Mr. Alcott wiped away a tear. “I can’t talk about this anymore. Forgive me, Miss Fox, but I think we’re finished here.”
I followed him out and we walked back along the corridor together. “What will you do with her things?” I asked.
He studied the box in his arms. “Give them to her sister, I suppose.”
I was about to ask him if I could keep the letter and ring for a while when the door we were passing by suddenly opened and Mr. Culpepper almost bumped into me.
“It’s Miss Fox, isn’t it?” He frowned. “What are you doing here?”
“She came to see me,” Mr. Alcott said before I could speak. He indicated the box. “I’ve been cleaning out Pearl’s dressing room.”
“I’ll take that.” He reached for the box.
Mr. Alcott drew it away. “I was going to give it to Mrs. Larsen.”
“I’ll pass it on to her after I go through it. Property belonging to the theater should remain here.”
Mr. Alcott handed the box over and we continued along the corridor. Once we were out of earshot of Mr. Culpepper, he said, “I hope he doesn’t destroy the letter.”
“So do I.”
It wasn’t a complete disaster if he did, however. I’d recognized the ring.
Chapter 10
I carried the key to Pearl’s flat in my purse so I didn’t need to return to the hotel to retrieve it. Her flat was exactly the same, with all her things in the same place, as if Pearl had just stepped out. It made my task easier.
I went straight to the table with all the photographs and bent to study them. In the one I wanted, Pearl stood in the center, dressed in the sleeveless and belted stola of a Roman noblewoman, a gold band in her hair and another around her upper arm. On one side of her, with a hand resting on her shoulder, was a man dressed in a Roman gladiator’s costume. I recognized him from the posters in the Playhouse’s foyer as the lead actor in Cat and Mouse. On Pearl’s other side stood another man, his hand also resting on her shoulder. He was not in costume but wore a pinstripe suit. On his smallest finger he wore a ring with a dark square gem.
I took the framed photograph with me and returned to the Playhouse, just a short walk away. The side door was still open and I slipped inside and made my way along the corridor that led to the offices and dressing rooms.
I stopped at Mr. Culpepper’s door and knocked quietly before I changed my mind.
“A moment!” His voice sounded thick, muffled.
I waited and several moments later, the door opened. I think I was as shocked to see Mr. Culpepper as he was to see me. While I’d certainly expected him to open the door, I hadn’t expected him to have swollen red eyes. He’d been crying.
It took the wind out of my sails. I was no longer sure how to begin.
“What are you still doing here?” he asked.
At least he didn’t invite me in. I didn’t want to enter his office. If I was going to confront him with what I knew, I preferred to do it in the corridor. I glanced along it, left and right, but there was no one about.
“I have some questions to ask you,” I said.
He clutched the edge of the door and leaned into it, as if it were the only thing holding him up. “Are you still trying to suggest Pearl was murdered?”
“Why are you so sure she wasn’t?”
He sighed. “Because I believe Rumford drove her to take her own life. It’s obvious. Something happened between them, they fought, he was going to give her up…something like that.”
“You don’t really believe that, Mr. Culpepper.”
He looked down at the carpet.
“You don’t believe that because you know she wouldn’t kill herself because of Rumford. She wasn’t in love with him.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed with his hard swallow. “What makes you say that?”
“She was in love with you.”
He looked up. His eyes brimmed with sorrow and something else. Remorse?
“Mr. Alcott showed me the letter Pearl wrote expressing her love to the unnamed recipient. She never got a chance to give it to him, which is a tragic shame.”
He swallowed again. “I just read it myself. It was very moving. Why do you think I am the man she was writing to?”
“The ring wrapped up with the letter is your ring, isn’t it?” I showed him the photograph. “Did you give it to her as a token of your love?”
He closed his eyes and tipped his head back. He expelled a shuddery breath before looking at me again. “All these years of hiding our relationship, and a complete stranger uncovers it.” He huffed a humorless laugh. “Pearl would have found that amusing.”
“You loved her, and that’s why you can’t bring yourself to clear out her dressing room or change the posters.”
He pressed his lips together, but it didn’t stop them trembling.
“Tell me about your relationship. When did it begin?”
He stepped aside, inviting me into his office.
“Let’s talk out here.”
His frown deepened before clearing in understanding. “You think I killed her and will kill you too for discovering our secret?” He shook his head. “Pearl really would find that amusing. I didn’t kill her, Miss Fox. I loved her. You even said so yourself just now.”
“You must have been jealous of her relationship with Lord Rumford.” When he didn’t respond, I forged on. “I imagine this is painful for you, but if you want me to believe you didn’t hurt her, you have to talk. But I’ll be staying right here.”
He stroked his thumb and forefinger over his thin moustache. “I wasn’t jealous of Rumford. I had no reason to be. I knew she didn’t love him. That letter proves it.”
“But you never received the letter.”
“I didn’t need to read it to know. Look. Pearl and I had been together for a few years. When she left Wrexham, I thought we’d finally be together. I’d hoped it would be just the two of us, and I even asked her to marry me. She said she would, but not yet. She was at the height of her career and didn’t want to give it all up. Then shortly after Wrexham, she took up with Rumford. She said she missed the gifts and attention. He paid for a nice flat, took her to expensive restaurants, and they attended balls and parties together. She met princes and dukes because of Wrexham and then Rumford.” He sounded as though he was in awe of the life she was able to lead, not jealous that he
couldn’t give her those things.
“It must have stung that she promised to be with you but took up with Rumford instead.” I recalled something Mr. Alcott had said. “You argued about it, didn’t you?”
“We fought about that and other things. We had a volatile relationship.” He gave a hollow laugh. “There was never a dull moment.” He must have realized how that sounded, because he quickly shook his head. “I never wanted her dead. Our fights only showed how much we loved one another. If we didn’t fight it would have meant we were indifferent, and indifference is the end of a relationship.”
I believed him when he said he loved her and didn’t wish her dead, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t done it in the heat of the moment, perhaps accidentally causing her to fall to her death. “Where were you when she died?”
“Here at the theater.”
“I mean where precisely. You must have been nearby if you got to the body first.”
He frowned. “I didn’t. Perry Alcott was already there when I reached her.”
If that were true, why hadn’t Mr. Alcott corrected Dotty when she claimed Mr. Culpepper was first on the scene? “Can you show me where?”
“I don’t have time.”
“Please, Mr. Culpepper. This is for Pearl. If she was killed, she deserves justice.”
His eyes filled with tears. He nodded. “Follow me.”
He led the way along the corridor, past the dressing rooms and a store room where a staff member was polishing a candlestick. He pushed open a door and we emerged into the ground floor seating area. Four actors on the stage looked up from their scripts.
“Miss Fox?” said Mr. Alcott. “You’ve returned.”
“I had some questions for Mr. Culpepper,” I said without stopping. Mr. Culpepper’s strides weren’t long but they were purposeful and quick.
Mr. Alcott and Dotty Clare exchanged glances then Mr. Alcott jumped off the stage. He assisted Dotty down then they both followed us up the aisle.
Mr. Culpepper stopped eight rows back. “Here.” He pointed along the row. “Seats seven to ten.” He swallowed and looked away.
