The Campbell Curse

by Olivier Bosman

  “Is it true what she said about Miss LeFevre’s daughter?”

  “Well, it’s true that Miss LeFevre took Kitty with her to Europe against her husband’s wishes, but Mary makes it sound as though she’s stolen her. Kitty is her daughter, after all. And she’s receiving a wonderful education here in Europe. Whenever Miss LeFevre gets the chance, she takes her to see all the sights. It’s a wonderful opportunity. Miss LeFevre would have been a fool not to take her.”

  “Why is Kitty staying in Miss Wesley’s room?”

  “It is Mary’s duty as understudy to look after Kitty when Miss LeFevre is indisposed. It’s really the only reason why she came along. As I said, Miss LeFevre never misses a performance. She has no need for an understudy."

  “Why does Miss LeFevre’s husband object to her taking Kitty to Europe?”

  “Oh, well, Randolph has always been a stick-in-the-mud.”

  “Randolph?”

  “That’s her husband’s name. He has no interest in culture. Miss LeFevre is an artist. A bohemian. They are completely incompatible. That marriage was always doomed to fail.”

  “And you, I suppose, are her… um…”

  “Her lover?” Westbrook laughed. “Well, that is what everybody assumes, but it is not so. I’m her friend. I’ve known her for years.”

  “And you are also an actor?”

  “I wish I was, but I have no talent. I’m just here as her companion. At Miss LeFevre’s own expense. She’s a very generous woman.”

  Suddenly Billings and Westbrook heard someone coming up the stairs. They looked towards the stairwell. Police Constable Grant appeared in the corridor and approached them.

  Billings took his watch out of his jacket pocket and checked the time. It was five o’clock. “Good lord, Grant, you’re very punctual.”

  “I am, sir,” Grant replied, nodding a greeting at both gentlemen. “I got up at four. I had a knocker-upper tap on my window.”

  “Haven’t you got a watch?”

  “No, sir.” Grant looked at the room number on the door before which they stood. "Has Miss LeFevre changed rooms?” he asked.

  Billings now realised he wasn’t standing at his post and frowned. “No, she’s still in her own room.”

  “Did anything out of the ordinary happen last night?”

  Billings paused before answering and looked at Westbrook. Westbrook put his hand to his mouth, coughed and looked away. It was clear from this gesture that he didn’t want last night’s misadventures to become public knowledge. “No,” Billings replied. “Nothing at all.”

  “I’ll assume my post, then,” Grant said.

  “You do that.” They both watched Grant walk towards Miss LeFevre’s room and guard the entrance.

  “Well,” Westbrook said, turning back to face Billings. “I suppose the two of us had better get some sleep.”

  “Yes.”

  Westbrook reached his hand out to him. “Good night,” he said.

  Billings took his hand, but as he shook it, Westbrook quite unexpectedly pulled him towards him and gave him a big hug. Billings was completely taken aback, and his whole body stiffened. Did all Americans bid goodnight like this, he wondered.

  “I’ll see you this evening, then,” Westbrook said, letting go of the hug and winking at him as he made his way to his room next to LeFevre’s.

  Billings straightened his collar and, a little flustered, looked towards Grant to check if he had seen anything. Grant had been watching them from the corner of his eye but didn’t say anything. Billings turned his back on the constable and, without saying goodbye, headed out of the hotel.

  Billings came home at a little past six. The first thing he did, before even taking off his hat and coat, was to go to the backyard to see his dog. Tilly had been locked out all night and was ecstatic to see her owner reappear. She jumped against him and barked and wagged her tail. She followed him back into the house and up the stairs to his bedroom. She jumped onto his bed while Billings began to undress.

  Billings stared at his morphine kit on the dresser while he unbuttoned his shirt and wondered whether he should take another dose before going to sleep. The effects of the previous dose hadn’t worn off yet – they had probably been boosted by the fumes that had wafted out of the opium den while he stood guard outside it. So another dose wasn’t strictly necessary. But then he turned towards the window and saw that daylight was beginning to seep through the gap between the thick curtains. This might prevent him from falling asleep, and he needed a good day’s sleep before returning to the theatre. He turned back towards the dresser and counted the morphine ampoules that were scattered all over it. There were about twenty of them. Some full, some empty (he should really make a point of throwing the empty ones away.) He counted thirteen usable ones. That should definitely see him through the next week, and with a bit of willpower, maybe even the next fortnight, by which time he would have been paid and he could go to the chemist and stock up on some more. He could easily take one now, he concluded, so he took his syringe out of its case and started attaching the needle. But then he started doubting again. Images of those pallid, feeble-looking people lying on the hard benches of the opium den as he walked through it kept popping into his mind. They looked so vulnerable, lying there with a blanket over them, their eyes half shut and their heads dazed and vacant, while shifty-looking Chinamen kept lighting the customers’ pipes. There was something so desperate and degenerate about them. Surely he wasn’t like them? He was never completely dazed when he took his morphine (at least not with the usual dose). Although admittedly it was very humiliating how he would sometimes lock himself in a lavatory cubicle at work to inject himself when stress caused his heart to beat faster and his hand to tremble. He was an addict, just like those wretches in the opium den, and all addicts were vulnerable. So he made up his mind. He unscrewed the needle, placed the syringe back in its case, took off his shirt and trousers, slipped on his pyjamas and curled up in bed next to his dog.

  As usual, scenes of the previous day rushed through his head as he tried to doze off: the play; Clarkson’s head resting on his shoulder; the look on Susan’s face when she saw her husband sleeping against him; the haughty Miss LeFevre and her anxious daughter; the wasted gentlemen in the opium den. All these memories flashed through his brain, but there was one memory that kept recurring. That of Hal Westbrook. He could still smell the sweet odour of his cologne, which had somehow rubbed off on his own skin. And he thought about Westbrook’s arm around him as they sat in the hansom cab on the way to Limehouse, and the mysterious hug he had given him at the hotel only a few hours ago.

  Billings frowned. He flung the bed sheets away from him, stepped out of his bed and walked towards the dresser. “Every blessed time,” he thought to himself as he picked up his syringe and screwed the needle back on it. “Every time I meet someone who’s nice to me.” He picked up an ampoule, sucked up the morphine, then injected it into his arm, before returning to bed. “I can’t have this,” he thought to himself as he closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep. It was bad enough that he had fallen in love with Clarkson. He couldn’t be falling in love with Westbrook as well!

  3. The Incident at King’s Cross Station

  “Good evening, Grant.” Billings walked down the corridor towards Police Constable Grant, who stood guard outside Miss LeFevre’s dressing room. “Anything to report?”

  “No, sir. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except…” He hesitated.

  “Except what?”

  “She’s in a foul mood today, sir. It appears she fluffed her lines several times. Blames it on us. Says we’re distracting her.”

  Billings frowned. He wasn’t in the mood for another of Miss LeFevre’s tantrums. “I’ll take it from here, Grant.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Nodding his goodbye, Grant wandered out into the foyer.

  Billings took a long breath before knocking on Miss LeFevre’s door. “Ma’am, it’s Detective Sergeant Billings here. Are you decent?”
<
br />   “Wonderful! That’s just what I need! Detective Sergeant Billings!”

  “May I come in?”

  “If you must!”

  Billings opened the door and popped his head into the room. LeFevre was sitting at her dressing table, cleaning her face. She had her back turned towards the door.

  “How did the show go tonight, Miss LeFevre?”

  “Do me a favour, will you, Mr Billings? Spare me the polite chit chat!”

  Billings entered the room and looked towards the sofa against the wall. Westbrook wasn’t there. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

  “Is Mr Westbrook not keeping you company tonight?” he asked.

  LeFevre turned in her chair and looked him up and down. “Hal? Why on earth are you inquiring about Hal?”

  There was a trace of a smile on LeFevre’s face as she said this, and Billings became embarrassed. Had she seen right through him? “No reason,” he said.

  “Hal had some very nice things to say about you this morning.”

  “Did he?”

  “Said you were very gallant last night. And discreet. He even recommended you be the one to accompany us to Edinburgh.”

  “Edinburgh?”

  “For our run there. They won’t let me go without an escort. I had the choice between you and P.C. Grant. Personally, I don’t give a hoot for either of you, but Hal insisted we take you. Your boss should be here any minute to discuss the details.”

  “My boss?”

  “Chief Inspector Flynt. Apparently, we’re to get our own private train carriage. Courtesy of Scotland Yard. It’s all perfectly ridiculous, of course, but it seems I have no say in the matter.” She turned back to face the mirror and continued cleaning her face.

  “How long is the run?”

  “Two weeks. We’re leaving tomorrow.”

  Billings took a deep breath and frowned. Why did Flynt always arrange these things without consulting him! What on earth was he to do about the dog now?

  There was a knock on the door. Before LeFevre got the chance to say anything, Mary Wesley stuck her face into the room.

  “Sorry I’m late, Carola, but we had a bit of an incident in our changing room. Margaret cut her head removing her wig.”

  She entered the room. With her was Kitty.

  A broad smile appeared on LeFevre’s face when she saw her daughter. “Well, come on, then.” She spread her arms. “Come over here and give your mother a big hug.”

  Kitty stayed put in the doorway. She lifted her head only slightly to look at Billings, then cast her eyes back down to the floor.

  “Go on,” Mary said, placing her hand on the girl’s shoulder and pushing her forward. “Say hello to your mother.” But Kitty refused to budge.

  “Let her be.” LeFevre turned back towards the mirror and resumed cleaning her face. “She’s clearly in a bad mood.”

  Billings could tell by the look in her eyes that she was hurt by her daughter’s rejection, although she was trying to hide it.

  “She’s just tired,” Mary said. “She didn’t sleep well last night. There was a lot of noise in the corridor.”

  LeFevre suddenly stopped scrubbing her face. She turned to face Mary and gave her strict look. “What are you insinuating?”

  Mary became flustered. “I’m not insinuating anything. I’m merely saying that we were woken up in the middle of the night by some noises in the corridor.”

  “Are you being impertinent?”

  “No, I’m not being impertinent. I’m only saying…”

  “You’re only saying what!”

  Mary took a deep breath of courage and gave the actress a defiant look. “I’m only saying that we were woken up by some noise in the corridor, and when I opened the door to see what was going on, I saw Hal dragging you towards your hotel room. You were half conscious.”

  LeFevre slammed her flannel against the table top. “How dare you judge me!”

  “I’m not judging you.”

  “I can still fire you, you know! I don’t need an understudy, and any of the other actresses can nanny my daughter! You’ll be stranded here if I do, and you’ll have to buy your own passage back!”

  “I’m sorry, Carola, I didn’t mean to…”

  “Take Kitty back to the hotel. I’ll be with you as soon as I’ve had my meeting with the police.”

  Chastened, Mary cast her eyes to the ground. “Yes, Carola,” she said and led Kitty out of the dressing room.

  After they had exited the room, LeFevre turned her eyes towards Billings. “Are you still here?”

  “I’ll let you get dressed,” Billings said and walked out of the room.

  A crowd of admirers had appeared outside the hotel to catch a glimpse of LeFevre as she and her entourage left for Edinburgh. Hardy had notified the papers about the departure date, and they in turn had urged the public to drop by and say goodbye. But nobody had notified the police, and now the swarm of admirers was flooding the steps of the hotel and blocking the way to the carriage. Billings was forced to beat off the admirers with a rolled-up newspaper and clear a path to the carriage.

  Kitty was petrified by the crowds and clung tightly to her mother’s skirt as they descended the stairs. Mary and Westbrook walked on either side of the actress, warding off the frenzied crowd members who kept approaching her, waving their theatre programmes in the air, hoping to obtain an autograph. When the four of them had finally mounted the carriage and Billings had taken his place next to the driver, they all breathed a sigh of relief. But the situation got worse when they approached King’s Cross Station. A much larger crowd was waiting for them there.

  “Bloomin’’eck!” the driver exclaimed upon spotting the army of admirers. “This crowd is bigger than the Queen’s!”

  LeFevre smiled at this comment, but the other passengers were less contented.

  “Why don’t Kitty and I get off here?” Mary proposed. Her voice was trembling. The large crowds must have unsettled her, thought Billings. “We’ll walk to the station from here and bypass these people. They’re scaring the poor girl.”

  The driver stopped the carriage and Mary and Kitty disembarked. Then he took a deep breath and urged the horses to trudge slowly towards the masses, carefully cutting a path through them to the terminal, all the while shushing and murmuring to keep the horses from panicking. He was able to get to the station’s entrance without incident, but when LeFevre stepped out of the carriage, an overenthusiastic autograph hunter accidentally pushed her down to the ground. Billings and Westbrook immediately came to her aid and helped her back to her feet. While LeFevre dusted herself off and mumbled repeatedly that she was all right, Billings and Westbrook turned towards the crowd, and with their arms outstretched, as if herding a flock of geese, the two men forced them to keep their distance. The crowd was shocked by the great actress’ tumble and began to disperse obediently. As the three passengers walked towards their train, Billings noticed that LeFevre was limping. She refused any help, insisting that she didn´t want to display any weakness in front of her admirers, and continued to stumble towards the train carriage, biting her lip all the way.

  It was only after they finally reached their carriage that LeFevre plunged herself down on the red velvet sofa, took off her shoe and started inspecting her sore ankle.

  “I think I’ve sprained it!” she cried. “Well, that’s just excellent! Wonderful! I’ll be limping all through the Edinburgh run! The limping Lady Macbeth; I can see the headlines now! This is a damned disaster!”

  “Now, now, Carola.” Westbrook sat down beside her and put his arm around her in an attempt to console her. “I’m sure it’s not all that bad. Just keep your leg rested until we get there. I’m sure it’ll be all right.”

  “How do you know, Hal! You’re not a doctor! You’re not anything! You’re just an idle dandy living off my reflected glory! Take your arm off me, you leech!” She threw his arm from around her shoulders and pushed him away.

  Westbrook looked embarrasse
d as he slid towards the other side of the bench.

  LeFevre then turned her wrath on Billings. “And as for you!” she screamed. “What an utter shambles! Never have I seen such incompetence! Is this the way the British police do their work? No wonder they haven’t caught the Whitechapel Ripper yet! This is the bad luck you brought us, Mr Billings, when you mentioned Macbeth in the theatre! So thank you! Thank you very much!”

  Billings wasn’t paying attention to the actress. A thought had occurred to him while she was ranting, and he was looking anxiously through the window at the platform.

  “Where are Kitty and Miss Wesley?” he asked.

  LeFevre and Westbrook looked up, surprised, and started looking around them for the missing passengers.

  Billings checked his pocket watch. “The train is due to leave soon.” Suddenly he remembered how Mary was trembling when she suggested that she and Kitty get off the carriage and walk the rest of the way. Why was she trembling? There were a lot of people in the crowd, but they weren’t at all menacing. Even Kitty didn’t seem that afraid. So why was she trembling?

  “I must go and look for them.” He jumped out of the train and ran down the platform towards the terminal. He hurried towards the terminal entrance, scanning the passing crowds as he did so. He looked out onto the busy street and passed his eyes over carriages being unloaded, people embracing their hellos or saying their teary goodbyes and costermongers advertising their wares with loud, gravelly voices, but there were no signs of Mary or Kitty. He glanced at the giant clock on the station tower. The train would be leaving in a few minutes. He slapped his thigh with frustration and shook his head. He now understood why Mary had been so nervous when she proposed getting off the carriage before anyone else. How could he have been so stupid!

  He turned around and was about to return to the train when suddenly he happened to glance at the station cafe. There, at a table by the window, he saw Mary and Kitty sitting opposite each other, drinking tea and eating cake. He rushed towards the cafe. Mary looked up as he approached. The look of horror on her face was unmistakable. She jumped up from her chair and looked around her for a back entrance through which she could flee. But there wasn’t any. When Billings entered the cafe, she had no choice but to confront him.