by C. J. Archer
The more he spoke, the more he threw cold water over my theory. “So there were no times you thought she seemed sad? As if she regretted giving the child away?”
“Pearl was never sad. She was always happy. She had everything she could ever want, as far as I knew—men who adored her, a generous benefactor who lavished her with gifts. If she regretted anything, she never showed that side to me, and I was her best friend.”
A best friend who hadn’t known about Pearl’s relationship with Mr. Culpepper. So perhaps he hadn’t known Pearl’s true feelings about the baby, either.
But everything in the picture he painted of her was the same that others painted. Pearl was happy. She enjoyed her life. She didn’t act like a woman who missed her child and wanted her back. Surely if she had, her lover and friend would have known, or at least seen some small sign.
But Pearl seemed to have no regrets, no sorrows. She had not showered her little girl with gifts, and when she did buy her a Christmas gift, it wasn’t what a girl her age would want. Indeed, according to the Larsens’ neighbor, Pearl only visited once a year, at Christmastime. That wasn’t a woman who missed her child and wanted her back. If Millie was Pearl’s daughter, Pearl’s heart was cold indeed.
Perhaps Mrs. Larsen was telling the truth and Millie was indeed her child, not Pearl’s. If so, my theory that she’d killed Pearl to stop her taking Millie lay in tatters.
I headed back to the hotel with a heavy heart. It seemed like the more I learned, the further away from the truth I got.
The Piccadilly Playhouse looked different at night. With all lights blazing in the foyer and audience members dressed in their evening finery, it became a glamorous wonderland, much like the Mayfair Hotel. Mr. Alcott had given me five tickets, one for each of the Bainbridges and myself. Uncle Ronald had initially declined, but after discovering the seats were in the box on the second tier, he changed his mind. Mr. Alcott was right when he said they were the best seats, and my uncle wasn’t going to give up an opportunity to be seen.
The show was a little dull, the story lacking something that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. The performances were excellent, however, although Floyd didn’t think so.
“Pearl Westwood was better.” Seated between Flossy and me, thought he’d been enjoying the show, until he yawned.
Flossy nudged him with her elbow. “You’re only saying that because she was more beautiful than Dotty Clare.”
Aunt Lilian rapped Flossy on the shoulder. “If you’re going to talk, be more subtle. People are watching.”
Flossy pouted. “He started it.”
“That’s enough, Florence. You’re a lady; act like one.”
Floyd snorted, earning himself another jab from Flossy’s elbow.
Uncle Ronald leaned forward. “I expect better from you, Floyd.”
“I know,” Floyd muttered in hushed tones so his parents couldn’t hear. “I’m never good enough.”
Flossy squeezed her brother’s arm and gave him a sympathetic smile.
We received callers in our box during intermission as if we were royalty receiving courtiers. One couple remarked on our good fortune for securing a box. No one mentioned that I’d been given the tickets.
I was introduced to yet more friends. My family seemed to know everyone and I was surprised there were still people in London they hadn’t introduced me to before now. They had a very wide circle. Everyone was so nice to me, too, inviting me to afternoon tea along with Aunt Lilian and Flossy.
“My word, look who it is,” said one of my aunt’s friends, peering over the balcony. “Come and look, Lilian. Isn’t that Lady Rumford? The woman with the teal gown and feather in her hair.”
I followed her gaze to the lady dressed in teal, seated in the stalls below.
Aunt Lilian gasped. “So it is. So she is in London. How odd that she’s not staying with us.”
Her friend eyed her sideways. “Come, Lilian. Is it really so strange considering who is staying there?”
Aunt Lilian fluttered her fan at her face as she continued to stare into the audience. “Who is she with?”
The woman appeared to be alone. She didn’t speak to anyone else.
The bell to end intermission sounded and our guests departed except for a friend of Floyd’s, whom I’d met at the hotel’s New Year’s Eve ball. Jonathon sat on the seat beside me and settled in for the second act.
“I’ve been hoping to bump into you again, Miss Fox.”
I doubted that. He could have come to the hotel many times and seen me there. According to Flossy, the blue-eyed, blond-haired gentleman was something of a ne’er-do-well. He and Floyd both had a reputation with women and for attending parties hosted by a fast set. There was a charm about him, however, and I suspected there might be some substance behind his easy manner and flirtatious smile.
“It seems you succeeded,” I said, not taking my gaze off Lady Rumford.
“Are you enjoying the show?”
“Yes. You?”
“Not particularly. This is my second time. I wanted to compare the performances of Miss Clare and Miss Westwood. So far, I have to say I’m disappointed.”
“Why? Because she’s not as pretty as Miss Westwood?”
He leaned closer. “You would think I was going to say that, but actually, she just isn’t as good. She struggles to hit the high notes and her voice doesn’t carry as well. Miss Westwood was an excellent singer. You could hear her clear as a bell, no matter where you sat.”
“You sound like an admirer.”
“I was.” He spoke so softly that I turned to him.
“Did you know her? On a personal level, I mean.”
“Of course not.” His blustery tone told me otherwise. It would seem Dotty Clare was right, and Pearl had several lovers.
The lights dimmed and I could no longer see Lady Rumford. I watched the rest of the show and when the applause finished and the curtains came down and the lights came on, I immediately sought her out. She didn’t speak to anyone as she left.
“I wonder if Rumford knows she’s here,” Floyd said, following my gaze.
“Does he care?” Jonathon asked.
Floyd flashed a grin. “I hear he’s scouting for a replacement for Miss Westwood. Perhaps he should ask Miss Clare.”
Flossy wrinkled her nose. “Honestly, Floyd, do you have to be so vulgar?”
“You sound like Mother.” He got the attention of his friend. “What say you, Jonathon? Should Rumford cast Miss Clare in the role of his next mistress?”
Jonathon stood and put out his hand to me. “We shouldn’t discuss such things in front of ladies.”
Floyd looked to his sister then to his friend and followed Jonathon’s warm gaze to me. He chuckled. “Come on, Flossy, we’ll meet them downstairs.”
My heart sank as Flossy followed her brother out of the box, knowing full well why he wanted to leave me in Jonathon’s presence. Even my aunt and uncle left after seeing Jonathon put out his arm for me. My uncle looked pleased.
I took Jonathon’s arm and allowed him to escort me out of the box and down the stairs. We joined the audience exodus heading for the foyer. I’d completely lost my family.
Jonathon noticed me craning my neck. “Don’t worry, we’ll find them.” He patted my hand, resting on his arm. “And if not, I’ll walk you back to the hotel. It’s not far.”
“What about your family? Didn’t you come with them?”
“I did, but I’ll let you in on a secret.” He bent his head to mine. “I’m old enough to find my own way home.”
“Very amusing.”
“In fact, I’m even old enough to escort young ladies home.”
“People will talk.”
His eyes gleamed with humor. “Let them.”
I didn’t like the warmth in his voice. It was much too familiar, too hopeful. Our path joined with those coming out of the auditorium from the ground floor stalls. I searched the sea of heads, hoping to spot my family or even Lady
Rumford.
“The layout of this theater is appalling,” Jonathon said as we shuffled forward. “Do you have a ticket for your coat?”
I handed him my cloakroom ticket and he left me standing near the refreshment counter with a cluster of other ladies, also waiting. I stood on my toes but could not see my family. I resigned myself to a walk home with Jonathon; I was going to have a word with Flossy in the morning about not abandoning me in future when Jonathon was circling.
A familiar figure in the midst suddenly looked up and scanned the faces of the crowd. Mr. Armitage was so tall that he soon spotted me. He nodded in greeting and bobbed his head to speak to someone at his side. A moment later, he headed my way.
“Good evening, Miss Fox. Did you enjoy the show?”
“Yes, thank you. We had a good view of the stage.”
“I know. I saw you up in the box like the royal family.”
I laughed. “The tickets were free. Someone must have pulled out at the last moment and I was at the theater at the right time.”
Mr. Armitage’s parents appeared out of the crowd but remained a little distance away. I nodded and smiled at them both, and I received a smile from Detective Inspector Hobart in return and a curt nod from his wife. She still hadn’t forgiven me for costing her son his job at the hotel.
“How nice of you to come with your parents,” I said.
“It was my Christmas gift to them.” Mr. Armitage stretched his neck to get a better view of the crowd. “Are you looking for the Bainbridges? Because they just left.”
I sighed. “Tell your father there’s going to be another homicide.”
“What?”
“I’m going to kill Flossy when I see her.”
He laughed softly. “I hadn’t pegged you as being so dramatic.” He thought about it then shrugged. “Actually, I take that back. The way you stormed out of my office this morning was a performance fit for the Playhouse.”
I tilted my chin up at him. “I did not storm out. You were making fun of me so I thought it best to leave before our friendship crumbled any further.”
“I wasn’t making fun of you.” His low, melodic voice held no hint of humor. It rumbled like the sound of distant drums, vibrating through me. “And our friendship is alive and well—if you want it to be.”
I opened my mouth to retort, but it died on my lips. I didn’t want to utter a trivial quip. I wanted him to gaze at me like that all night. Like there was no one else in the room.
“Your coat, Cleo.” Jonathon’s words burst the bubble surrounding us like a pin in a balloon.
I accepted the coat and cleared my throat. Since Mr. Armitage didn’t immediately move off, I had to introduce them. Indeed, Mr. Armitage looked somewhat taken aback by the arrival of a stranger bearing my coat.
As it turned out, they weren’t strangers to each other.
“You look familiar,” Jonathon said. “Are you an acquaintance of the Bainbridges?”
“Something like that.” Mr. Armitage bade us goodnight and rejoined his parents.
Jonathon helped me into my coat. “He’s not a friend of Floyd’s, or I’d know. Armitage, Armitage…” He shook his head. “Who is he?”
“He was assistant manager at the hotel until recently.”
His hand paused at my collar. “I see.” It was spoken darkly, as if Mr. Armitage were an ominous cloud one had to keep an eye on at a picnic.
Jonathon led me outside. There was no sign of Mr. Armitage but the Bainbridge carriage waited for me. It would seem I wouldn’t have to murder Flossy after all.
There was only one thing to do at this juncture of the case, only one course of action. Just because I didn’t want to take it didn’t mean I wouldn’t. I steeled my nerves and forged ahead to Belgravia to call on Lord and Lady Wrexham.
I was so nervous that I couldn’t eat breakfast. I managed to escape Harmony’s ire for not finishing everything and headed out to Belgravia mid-morning. A lad had set up a shoe-shine stand across the way and was polishing the shoe of a gentleman who sat on the stool, newspaper in hand and cigar in his mouth as if he were in the hotel’s smoking room. The lad must be Peter’s brother.
Instead of trying my luck and knocking at the Wrexham’s townhouse, I waited not far away. I’d brought a newspaper with me as a disguise, of sorts, and pretended to read it, all the while watching the house. I decided not to declare myself to Peter’s brother when his customer departed. If I were seen by the household, I didn’t want to the boy to be chased off as well.
Thankfully the rain stayed away. I waited for hours, but my patience was finally rewarded when the carriage with the green doors pulled up outside the house. I waited for the townhouse door to open and Lord Wrexham to emerge then crossed the road. He swore upon seeing me.
“A word before you leave, please, my lord.”
“I don’t have time for this.”
“I think you will when you hear what I have to say.”
He thrust his walking stick into my chest, stopping me. “Get out of my way.”
The door opened again and the butler emerged. “You! Leave or I’ll summon the constables.”
“Do it,” I said to Lord Wrexham. “Call the police. I’d be happy to inform them that you are the father of Pearl Westwood’s child.”
Lord Wrexham slowly lowered the walking stick. His gaze did not leave mine, but his expression gave nothing away. I couldn’t tell if he was shocked by the news Pearl had a child or that I knew he was the father.
“Sir! Do you want me to summon a constable?” the butler asked.
Lord Wrexham shook his head. “Leave us.”
The butler seemed reluctant to go, but he didn’t need to be told twice.
Lord Wrexham waited for the door to close before speaking. “What do you want, Miss Fox?”
“The same thing I wanted last time. Answers.”
He stretched his neck out of his collar. “You seem to think I have them. I assure you, I don’t. For instance, I don’t even know if the child is mine.”
“Why would Pearl lie to you?”
“Money.” It was said without pause, but with a great deal of bitterness.
“Is that why she came to you that day after Christmas? She wanted money from you for Millie?”
He stamped the end of the walking stick on the pavement and folded both hands over the head. “Yes. It was the first I’d heard of a child. She said it was born almost four years ago. Her sister has been raising the child.”
“Did she say why she needed the money now?”
“No.”
“Was she intending to take the child back and raise her as her own?”
He picked up the walking stick. “I don’t know. She didn’t offer an explanation, and I didn’t ask. She told me the child was mine and I had an obligation to finance its upbringing. But she could bring no proof, so I refused.”
A rage swelled within me. It wasn’t for his arrogance, although that was certainly galling. It was for his callous disregard for a woman he’d once cared about and who needed his help. But I was even angrier on Millie’s behalf. She was his child, his responsibility. By refusing to believe Pearl, he was denying Millie the opportunity to live a comfortable life. He was pathetic and mean.
I gritted my teeth. “She’s a girl, my lord, not a thing. Please refer to her as she, not it.”
He climbed into the carriage and grabbed the door handle. “If you don’t mind, I have an appointment.”
I positioned myself so that he could not close the door. “Where were you on the afternoon Pearl died?”
“I was not at the theater. That answer will have to suffice.”
“It does not suffice. Where were you?”
He pulled on the door, but I didn’t move. “Drive on!”
The coachman peered around from the driver’s seat and saw me standing there. “But sir—”
“I said drive on!”
The coachman gave me an apologetic look then urged the horses forward. I ju
mped back to avoid the wheel, tripped over the gutter and landed on my backside. If the coach had started off at a faster clip, I would have been run over. The coachman had spared me that.
The door to the townhouse opened and the butler stood there. He peered down his nose at me. “Lady Wrexham wishes to see you.”
I glanced up at the second story window where I knew the drawing room to be. She must have been watching. I dusted off my skirts, picked up my umbrella and newspaper from where they’d fallen, and headed up the steps. I handed the butler my umbrella and newspaper with a smile.
He passed them on to Mr. Adams, the footman, as if they were dirty rags.
“Are you injured, Miss Fox?” Mr. Adams asked.
“Thank you, no. Very kind of you to ask.” Rather surprising too, admittedly. I didn’t think he liked me much, but it appeared he liked me somewhat more than the butler.
Going by the elderly fellow’s disdainful turn of his mouth, that wasn’t setting the bar very high.
He led the way up to the drawing room and announced me at the door before leaving us. Her ladyship did not ask him to bring tea, so I assumed this was not going to be treated as a social call. I prepared myself for a few rounds of parries and strikes.
But this time, I expected success. I’d come armed with information.
Chapter 12
Lady Wrexham sat like a statue on the sofa. Not even her chest moved with her breathing. It was as if she was holding herself together, trying to keep her composure from fracturing. Or perhaps moving caused her pain. If she were ill, it was possible.
She did not invite me to sit, but I sat anyway, and received a disdainful look for my impertinence.
“I see you spoke to my husband,” she said. “What about?”
I’d initially felt sympathy for this woman, for having a husband who kept mistresses, but the more I saw of her, the less sympathy I felt. That made it easier to be honest with her. “I told him I knew that he fathered Miss Westwood’s child.”
