“Delaney will generally allow interference up to a point,” I said. “We do our best not to go beyond that point.”
When George made his farewells and departed for Bradmore’s lodgings, I suggested that Aunt Hetty and I check Miss Teskey’s room.
“But wouldn’t the police have locked the door?”
“Oh, good thinking. I’ll get the key from Mrs. Thompson first.”
“Don’t you suppose Delaney locked the door to keep us out?”
“I’m certain of it, but if you want to investigate a crime, you can’t allow such trifling matters to stop you. Need I remind you we are all suspects?”
As I drifted past her for the bellpull, I noted the look of surprise on her face and was rather proud of myself for having put it there. When Aunt Hetty had first come to London, I believe she considered me quite the little mouse. No, that wasn’t fair. She thought me the dutiful daughter, wife, and mother—prepared to do what was expected of me and not much else. And so I was, but that was before George entered my life and I learned how much one could accomplish when one took a risk and did the unexpected.
Once I had the key from Mrs. Thompson, Hetty and I did our duty and searched Miss Teskey’s room. Since she had only the clothing and toiletry items George had brought, it took less than thirty minutes. As expected, he had missed nothing. He had set us to this task only to give me something to do and keep me out of trouble. There were no threatening letters, no marriage certificate with Bradmore’s name on it, nothing that would help prove our innocence or lead us to the murderer.
Then I checked a pocket of Miss Teskey’s coat. My fingers closed around a key. I held it up, letting it dangle from a narrow red ribbon, for Hetty’s inspection.
“She gave Hazelton the key to her hotel room,” she said.
“Yes, which makes me wonder what this one opens.” I handed the key to Hetty and reached into the other pocket, then pulled out a card. “It seems she had calling cards made since her arrival in London.” I flipped the card over. “Ah, this is a good find.”
She took it from me with a frown and inspected it. “Hmm, apparently, she really was an actress, at least so her card says.” She lifted her gaze to my face, and her frown deepened. “Why are you so pleased about this?”
“Because the name and address of the theater are on the reverse side.”
She flipped the card over and took a look. “I’m afraid I still don’t understand. What does this mean?”
With an arm about her shoulders, I led her from the room. “It means we must change our clothes, Aunt, and quickly. We are going to the theater tonight.”
Chapter Nine
A cab had set us down outside the Hanover Theater in Piccadilly at precisely nine o’clock. We just had time to leave our coats with a checker before an attendant showed us to our seats in a private box that was as yet unclaimed. Aunt Hetty looked utterly breathtaking in a gown of deep red silk shot with velvet that molded itself to her statuesque figure. It made me miss the days when I could buy a gown without any thought for its price.
I was wearing blue velvet embroidered with silver throughout. The gown was two years old but had been brought up to date by the very skilled modiste Madame Celeste. It was flattering and suitable for the occasion, so what was I pining for? Returning to the old days meant returning to the days with Reggie, and I’d never wish for that. As for spending money without thought, I sincerely doubted I could do that anymore, even if I had it to spend. I pushed the idea of extravagant clothing from my mind as the attendant pushed aside the curtain to our box.
Hetty swept in beside me. “How did you know we’d be able to purchase tickets on such short notice?”
“This theater opened only two weeks ago, after having been closed for several years. New owners refurbished the whole theater, and news of the opening was in all the papers. Unfortunately, so were the reviews of their debut performance.”
Hetty quirked a brow. “I take it they were not favorable.”
“Dismal. The theater was praised, but the performance . . . Well, let’s just say I suspected there’d be a box or two available.”
As I spoke the words, I took the opportunity to look around ours. “It appears the new owners spared no expense.” In fact, the box was a study in luxury. The seats were deeply cushioned and upholstered in crimson velveteen. The curtains behind us were heavy and sure to block any noise from the hallway. I took my seat and glanced around the theater, noting that every surface that could be gilded was. “Quite showy, don’t you think?”
Hetty settled in next to me. “I haven’t yet taken the time to absorb everything, as I’m still trying to determine why we’re here.”
“We’re looking for Miss Teskey’s threatening letters.”
“Why do you suppose they’d be here?”
“Because they weren’t in her rooms at the hotel. She was an actress here, so one assumes she had a dressing room. There must be someplace for her to store her belongings.” I’d have continued my explanation, but Hetty was staring at me in amazement. “What is it?”
“Just how do you propose we gain access to her dressing room? And if that is the point, why sit through a play that is reportedly terrible?”
“Because we need something to do until the performance is over. Then we’ll go backstage, speak to the manager, and ask him for access. People rarely say no to a countess.”
Whatever Hetty was about to say was silenced by the overture. We turned our attention to the stage as the curtain rose and the performance began.
* * *
Whoever had called this play dismal had to be the crankiest of cranks ever to review a play. It might have dragged a bit toward the end of the first act, but it was terribly amusing, and the cast was wonderful. There was just no accounting for taste, but I was glad we managed to see the show early, as the theater was certain to be sold out once a proper review was written.
When the houselights came up, everyone applauded loud and long. The attendant arrived with our coats, but before we donned them, I asked if he could take us to the manager. He suggested we wait there, but after a bit of back-and-forth, my insistence won out, and he escorted us to the office of one Herbert Gilliam. If I remembered correctly, Miss Teskey had mentioned his name as one of the owners.
Our guide suffered a moment’s confusion when Mr. Gilliam was not in his office. Hetty and I agreed to wait in the busy corridor until he could be located. Unfortunately, that was all too soon. I had barely turned the handle of his office door when the man stepped out of a room down the hallway. The attendant pointed to us and led him our way. Bother. No chance for snooping.
Herbert Gilliam was about forty, with dark, closely cropped hair. He was tall, with a sturdy build, which showed to advantage in his formal attire. When he spoke to the attendant, his voice carried down the hall, making me wonder if he was a former actor who had turned his hand to business. His waxed and curled mustache tweaked upward when he smiled at us, giving him a jovial countenance. He approached and greeted us. I made our introductions.
“I understand you have some business to discuss.” He gestured to the door. “Would you care to step into my office?”
We agreed it would be best to hold our conversation in private, and Hetty stepped aside, allowing the manager to open the door and usher us inside. His office was small, simple, and utilitarian, a stark contrast to the flamboyance of the theater itself. But it was tidy and comfortable. I gave the man credit for having the good sense to know where to spend his capital. He rounded the desk and we all took a seat.
“I hope you enjoyed the performance this evening?” He smiled and rested his gaze on both of us in turn. “Perhaps you’re interested in a subscription?”
“We did enjoy the performance, and now that you mention it, a subscription might be in order. We can discuss that another time. At the moment, we have a less congenial purpose for speaking with you.”
He rested his elbows on the desk, then clasped his hands and le
aned forward. Only a slight narrowing of his eyes countered his calm composure. “Indeed?”
“I believe you’re familiar with Irena Teskey?”
Both his shoulders and mustache sagged as his former good spirits seemed to drain from his face. “I’m very familiar with Miss Teskey and have been wondering what’s happened to her. She’s missed two performances now, with nary a word to explain her absence.” He glanced between the two of us. “I wasn’t aware she had any acquaintance in town. Is she in some sort of trouble?”
Well, this was awkward. I’d assumed Delaney would have been here already to deliver the news of Miss Teskey’s death. I debated what to do with my advantage. This definitely crossed the line of interfering with his investigation, but I could hardly walk away now.
“We’ve only recently become acquainted with Miss Teskey, but before I go into that, you should prepare yourself for some distressing news.”
“What has she done?”
“I’m afraid she’s died.”
He bounced back in his chair as if he’d been struck. His eyes widened. “How? What happened?”
“She was murdered,” I said.
“Good Lord!”
“I’m sure this comes as a shock,” Hetty said.
“A shock and something of a disaster.” He shoved himself away from the desk, scraping the chair across the floor. “Are you sure she was murdered?”
“I’m afraid so,” I said.
“How? Who? Why? I can easily believe she could aggravate someone enough to want to murder her, but my brain is having a hard time taking in the fact that someone actually did it.”
“I hesitate to say more, sir, as the inspector in charge of her case will want to discuss those questions with you. I may already have brought some trouble upon myself by informing you of her death, but I’d assumed the police would have been here by now. Perhaps they didn’t know where Miss Teskey worked. I’m sorry to be the bearer of such bad news and terribly sorry for your loss.”
Hetty murmured her condolences. “I’m sure she was a friend as well as a colleague.”
The mustache drooped as he frowned. “She was a pain in the backside is what she was. But I don’t know how I’m to make a go of this place without her.”
“Was she one of your best performers?” Hetty asked.
“Irena? She was a terrible actress. Couldn’t learn her lines to save her life. Never here on time. Always in a dispute with the other actors. The woman was nothing but trouble.” He sighed. “Sometimes I wish I’d never met her.”
It seemed Miss Teskey evoked the same sentiment from all her acquaintances. “Why didn’t you just dismiss her?”
He gave me an incredulous stare. “Dismiss her? She was my partner. I would have had to buy her out, and I don’t have that sort of money at hand.”
Well, for heaven’s sake. Miss Teskey was telling the truth about that, as well. She did own this theater, at least in part. “How did you come to meet her?”
His eyes grew wary as he drew his chair back to the desk and drummed his fingers on its polished surface. “Not to be rude, ma’am, but just what is your interest in all this? How do the two of you know Irena, and why are you here asking questions, instead of the police?”
“There’s an interesting story to that.” He raised his brows, and I continued, hoping Hetty wouldn’t correct me. “Miss Teskey was at my home when she was murdered. She claimed to have received some threatening letters and asked my fiancé to help her. Under the circumstances, she didn’t want to return to her hotel room, so she stayed with me. Though I’m sure the police will pay you a visit in the coming days, Miss Teskey herself authorized Mr. Hazelton to investigate on her behalf.” I couldn’t help preening a bit. “Right now, he is speaking to a witness, so I offered to come and search for the letters here, perhaps in her dressing room.”
“With all due respect, ma’am, that sounds like a lot of humbug.”
Was he calling me a liar? No one had ever called me a liar before, at least not to my face. How dare he? I opened my mouth to protest, but he spoke first.
“I’m willing to believe your man’s an investigator, but that he’d let you involve yourself in a murder investigation? A countess?” He narrowed his eyes. “Does he even know you’re here?”
“Whether you believe me or not is your choice, Mr. Gilliam. Whether or not Mr. Hazelton knows of my whereabouts is none of your business. But since this is your theater, I do need your permission to look for the letters.”
He studied me a moment. “If your story is true, you may be able to help me. Irena’s death presents a problem. I need the police to solve this case as soon as possible, and I don’t have much faith that they will.”
“Indeed?” Hetty leaned forward.
He sighed. “Irena was my partner. She was an atrocious actress and had no head for business, but what she did have was money. We had a contract, so she couldn’t just walk away, but if anything happened to her, I’d lose this theater.” His gaze shifted from Hetty to me and back. “So, I had her life insured. The insurance people won’t pay me until the police have a nice, tidy report and, hopefully, an arrest. However, the Metropolitan Police are a busy lot. I don’t see them caring much one way or the other about who murdered a Frenchwoman. I could be waiting a long time for my money, unless your investigation proves fruitful.”
“Insurance companies can be difficult.” Hetty blew out a breath. “You seem to have a good business sense, sir. I believe we can help you. As Lady Harleigh said, Mr. Hazelton is currently with a witness, but we could get the investigation started if you’ll allow us to search for the letters and perhaps speak with her associates. She may have mentioned these threats to one of them.”
Good work, Hetty. I forged ahead. “She never mentioned anything of this nature to you?”
He pursed his lips. “I fear this won’t paint me in a favorable light, but Irena had an endless array of complaints and grievances, which I simply didn’t have the time or inclination to address. She may have mentioned those letters among them, but I confess I stopped listening after a week or two.”
“I see. She also suspected someone was following her—someone unknown to her. Have you noticed anyone new around the theater?”
“Everyone’s new. Just a few hands came here with me from Paris. The rest we hired on over the past month.”
“Is Paris where you met her?”
“I own a theater there, as well. Irena had a small part in one of the productions. When she heard I was looking for a partner to renovate and reopen this place, she suggested herself for that office. I thought she’d simply provide funding. I didn’t expect her to show up here a few months later and demand a starring role in the production, but by that time, I’d used her capital. What was I to do?”
I could think of one thing—murder her and collect the insurance payment. Now I understood the horrible reviews I’d read of this play. Miss Teskey had been in the leading role. If she was as bad an actress as her partner claimed, I could see how the production would be ruined.
Hetty let out a tut-tut. “Partnerships can be so difficult to manage.”
“That they can,” he replied. “But if one wants to expand, partners are a necessary evil. I’m an ambitious man who loves the theater. I hope to own several before I end my career, but capital is tough to come by. Even when the production is small, the necessary crew is costly. Dressers, seamstresses, ticket sellers, attendants, gasmen . . . I could go on and on.”
Hetty nodded her agreement and launched into a discussion of board meetings she’d attended back in New York, presumably to provide him with the investors’ point of view. Or perhaps to bore me to tears.
Gilliam appeared fascinated. “Now, see, that’s too complicated for the likes of me. I know my business, and I don’t want a contingent of investors telling me what to do or an enterprise so large, I can’t have a hand in the day-to-day operations.”
“With one theater in Paris and another in London, you
can hardly be managing daily operations of the two you own now,” Hetty countered.
“True, not day to day, but I can travel back and forth easily and often enough.”
“You won’t likely be allowed to do so this week if we don’t begin our investigation immediately,” I said. “The police may ask you to stay in London.”
He gave me a sharp glance. “Where would you like to begin?”
“Her dressing room, perhaps?”
“She shares with the other actresses, and they’re likely still in there.”
“Perfect.” Hetty spoke up before I could even decide if this was wise. “Perhaps we can ask them a few questions?” She glanced at her velvet reticule and sighed. “That is, if you happen to have a pencil and paper.”
Gilliam gave her a smile, opened the desk drawer, and rooted around for the requested implements. “Good luck getting anything out of that lot.”
I wasn’t sure conducting interviews was a good idea now that I knew the police hadn’t been here yet. Delaney was bound to be angry that we had nosed around without his knowledge. I could just imagine his reaction once he learned we’d interviewed Miss Teskey’s colleagues, too. But who knew when we’d have this chance again? Just as well to be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, I supposed.
Gilliam rounded the desk and handed Hetty pencil and paper. “If you’ll follow me?” He opened the door for us to precede him and gave Hetty a warm smile as she passed. She blushed prettily. I’d have to remind her the man might be a killer. We followed him a few yards down the hallway before stopping at a room just before the turn that led backstage.
The manager banged on the open door, facing away from it. “Everyone in there decent?”
Several female voices made negative replies, including one that called, “As if we ever were.” I was sure my face burned as red as Hetty’s.
A Fiancée's Guide to First Wives and Murder Page 10
