Chapter Eleven
After such a long day and my late-night activities, I’d asked Bridget to let me sleep a bit longer the following morning. It still felt far too early when I heard her open the draperies. The heavy brocade had kept the room beautifully dark, and the stark light breaking through told me it must be later than my usual time.
I stretched and rolled my head in a circle to ease the stiffness in my neck. “Is it still morning, Bridget?”
“Nearly ten, my lady.” She retrieved a tray she’d left by the door, and placed it on the bedside table. The aroma of coffee wafting toward me was the perfect inducement to open my eyes.
“I hesitated to let you sleep any longer. Lady Fiona already called once and said she’d be back soon.”
“Fiona, so early? Did she say what she wanted?”
“No, ma’am. Only that she was going next door for breakfast with her brother, and as it’s Lady Fiona, you know that won’t take long.”
Actually, we had much more time than Bridget suggested. It was a well-known secret that Fiona was always reducing. Not that she was prone to putting on weight. She had a fine figure, but of course, that might be due to her endless reducing plans. But one thing known only to a select few, myself included, was that when she breakfasted at her brother’s table, she made the cook proud. George would be lucky to get a scrap for himself.
As it turned out, I had time to bathe, dress, eat a light breakfast, and see Hetty off for her tour of the theater and Gilliam’s accounts. I was to allow no more than two hours before calling for her, just in case the manager became too pushy.
I assumed Fiona had arrived when the bell rang, but it was followed by my housemaid, Jenny, with a telegram. As it was from my mother, I opened it with more than a little anxiety. She and Rose had been in Paris for less than two full days. What could have happened to warrant a telegram? As I unfolded it, I found the telegraph company’s form appended to a second page of close writing. Though my eyes boggled at the preponderance of words, my heartbeat slowed as I read the opening.
Don’t be alarmed, dear. Rose and I are perfectly well. We’re comfortably established at the hotel and have already begun our shopping.
I stopped reading and slumped against the chair. Well, that settled it. Mother had lost her mind. While I was relieved the purpose of this message wasn’t to inform me of some tragedy or accident, didn’t she realize that was what telegrams were for? At least they ought to convey information of some urgency or import. But this—I continued reading—this entire message, which must have cost her a pretty penny or, more accurately, many francs, consisted of detailed descriptions of two fabrics, both of which she adored. She planned to have one of them made up as a gown for me. How lovely! She couldn’t decide which, so I should reply with my choice. Or I could allow Rose to choose.
As both fabrics sounded beautiful, I was perfectly content to let Rose decide. I’d just put the telegram aside when Mrs. Thompson led George and Fiona into the dining room.
It wasn’t until Fiona kissed my cheek and I turned to George that I realized they both looked somewhat unsettled. I urged them to join me at the table. “What is wrong?”
Fiona slipped into a chair. George pulled one next to mine and seated himself facing me, his knees touching my legs. “Why didn’t you tell me there’s been talk about Irena and me?”
Flustered, I threw a glance at Fiona. “Isn’t it just your maid and her brother?” I turned back to George. “The brother is a constable from Delaney’s division. I told Delaney about it, and I trust he will make sure the young man doesn’t mention it again.”
“The story’s spread farther,” Fiona said. “You left the luncheon before I did yesterday. Somebody asked me if it was true Irena was George’s wife.” She made a painful grimace. “A Mrs. Chiswick. Rather a nobody, if you ask me, but George tells me she lives across the street.”
“She’s Colonel Perkins’s sister, and yes, she’s staying in his home while he’s away.” I drummed my fingers on the table. “She’s a terrible gossip, and if she was invited to luncheon with the Princess of Wales, she is not a nobody.”
“True, but I don’t think anyone else heard her. I told her in no uncertain terms she’d been misinformed.”
George scowled at his sister. “Why didn’t you tell Frances?”
Fiona gaped. “This was my first opportunity. For heaven’s sake, it happened less than twenty-four hours ago.”
“Frances’s reputation could be ruined by this rumor.”
I placed a calming hand on his arm. “Don’t scold her. She addressed the matter with Mrs. Chiswick, and I’m grateful she’s telling me now. Once Delaney speaks with Bradmore, the story will come out that he was her husband. My reputation will be fine.”
“That’s assuming Delaney can find Bradmore. I’m not feeling very confident about that.”
I was struck with an idea. “What if Delaney has already arrested Bradmore? Perhaps that’s why you couldn’t find him at the clubs.”
He settled back into his chair with an expression of relief. “I hadn’t considered that possibility, but we’ll find out soon enough. I plan to call on the inspector this morning.” He consulted his pocket watch. “Right now, in fact. If he hasn’t arrested Bradmore, I’d like to see if he knows where the man has got to. And if he isn’t aware of Irena’s involvement with the Hanover Theater, I’ll make sure he becomes aware.” He raised his brows. “Plenty of suspects right there.”
“There, you see? Things are not so bleak.”
George came to his feet. “Meanwhile, it might be best if you stay close to home, or at least avoid any social gatherings.”
I released a sigh of suffering patience, and he took my hand. “Please take this seriously. We’ve announced our engagement. If people start putting it about that I’m not free to marry, and you haven’t denounced me, it won’t go well for either of us. You have never been shunned by society, and I don’t want to be the reason it happens now.”
“How could I hold you responsible when you are as much a victim as I?”
“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t even matter what Delaney learns about Bradmore. Until he finds Irena’s killer, this is too titillating a story for people to ignore. If he doesn’t find the culprit soon, society will condemn us both.”
Though I felt he was taking this a bit too much to heart, I could see he was in earnest. “My only engagement is to collect Aunt Hetty from the theater in a little over an hour. Is it possible for you to take a cab to the police precinct so I might use your carriage?”
He frowned. “Why is she there again?”
“Actually, I’m surprised she didn’t cancel. I’d asked her to go along with Mr. Gilliam’s obvious interest in her as a partner, so I could search Miss Teskey’s desk while he checked his schedule. Who knew she’d go through with it? Perhaps she’s interested in investing in the theater, after all.”
“Certainly you may use the carriage, but try not to linger very long. I wouldn’t want Delaney to find you there and become even more suspicious. And remember, the owner is a suspect.”
“I’ll attempt to be quick, but I would like to pry just a bit into those arguments between Mr. Gilliam, Miss Cooper, and Miss Teskey—” I cut myself off when he glared at me. “Fine. Only if time permits and the opportunity arises.”
With an unintelligible grumble, he bid us goodbye.
Fiona visibly relaxed. As I poured each of us a cup of coffee, concern clouded her expression once more. “He’s right, you know,” she said. “About your reputation, that is. Only half of society will condemn George, while the other half will call him a dashing devil of a man. You, on the other hand, they will tear to shreds.” Which was precisely what she proceeded to do to a slice of toast.
“Didn’t you breakfast with George?”
She pulled a face. “No. He became upset when I told him about Mrs. Chiswick, and I couldn’t eat with him railing at me.”
My plate held only a few scraps fr
om my own breakfast. “I’m sorry, dear. Would you like me to ring for something?”
She brushed off my concern with a flick of her fingers. I blinked as crumbs flew my way. “No, no. It’s no matter. I’ll just have this toast. I do hope Bradmore owns up to his responsibilities and takes you and George out of the fire.”
“We don’t know that he murdered her.”
“I’m not worried about that. I just want him to proclaim himself as her husband.” She cut her gaze toward me. “Do you consider the people at the theater more likely suspects?”
I told her about Gilliam and Sally Cooper, as well as the arguments the cleaning woman said she’d overheard. Fiona looked unimpressed. “The insurance policy might raise a few questions, but otherwise they sound like any group of people working together. My staff likely has as much motive to murder one another as these players.”
“Neither of them struck me as dangerous.” I paused as the truth of my words hit home. I wasn’t even worried about Hetty being alone with Gilliam. “But then, I’m not interfering with their flow of income. Miss Teskey gave them both motives for murder.”
She sniffed. “My money’s on Bradmore, though it’s odd the man she had working for her has vanished.”
“Isn’t it? Igor, I believe she called him. He was hired by her father as a sort of bodyguard, so you’d almost expect him to be searching for her and asking questions around the theater. He should at least have checked with the police.”
Fiona gave me a pointed look. “Unless he already knows what happened to her. Perhaps Alexei has had enough of a daughter who won’t stay quietly in the country and do as she’s bid.”
I contemplated the theory of her father as the culprit. “It didn’t sound as though he bid her to do anything. Of course, I gained that impression from Irena.” I paused, wondering when I’d begun thinking of her as Irena.
“Not a particularly reliable source. It sounds as though her life was a fairy tale woven from her own imagination.”
“That’s what the Countess de Torby implied. I don’t think she has much use for Miss Teskey. She and the prince are of the opinion that Alexei should just marry her off to someone.” Both of us rolled our eyes at the idea. “But as far as fabricating stories, I must admit, most of what she told me, however implausible it sounded at the time, has turned out to be true.”
“I refuse to believe she and my brother were married.”
“Of course not. She did marry someone who rescued her. It just wasn’t George. Mr. Gilliam confirmed she was both an actress and a partner in the theater. And the fact that Alexei takes care of her indicates he is her father.”
She looked doubtful. “He takes care of her?”
I shrugged. “Financially. She has quite a plump bank balance.”
“Do you suppose Bradmore knew that?”
“That’s difficult to say. He was worried about her father disapproving of their marriage. To me, that sounds as though he was afraid of Alexei cutting them off financially. If he knew she had independent means, why worry?”
“Will he inherit her fortune?”
“He is her husband.”
Fiona raised her brows. “One hates to make a hasty judgment, but that man looks as guilty as sin.”
* * *
Fiona stayed another half hour, at which time I had to excuse myself to meet Hetty at the theater. As my travels went smoothly, I arrived twenty minutes ahead of schedule. No one stopped me, so I made my way right into the theater, where the players were rehearsing. I saw no sign of Hetty or Gilliam, but as luck would have it, Sally Cooper was seated in the third row, watching the actors on the stage. She glanced up, then scowled as I slipped in next to her.
“You again.”
“With all that grumbling, Miss Cooper, you’re leading me to believe you don’t care for my company.”
She made a rude noise. “Perish the thought.”
“My aunt is in some business discussions with Mr. Gilliam. I’m here to collect her.” I kept my voice low so as not to disturb the performers on the stage. It was odd watching them from this angle after becoming accustomed to sitting above the stage in a box.
“They took their tour and should be in his office by now.” She raised her brows. “I’m sure you know where it is.”
“Left you in charge, has he?”
“Yes, and I’m afraid I’m far too occupied to chat right now. This is an audition for my previous role, and I ought to be paying attention. So, if you don’t mind?”
“Of course not. I find this fascinating. I’d love to find out who will fill your shoes now that you have Miss Teskey’s role.” I settled into my seat. “You’ll never even know I’m here.”
She made that unpleasant noise again—half sigh, half growl—and came to her feet. “That will do, Caro. The rest of you, take a break.” The players left the stage, except for the woman I assumed was Caro, the blond actress I’d met last night. She hovered uncertainly, but Miss Cooper paid her no heed and turned to me. “Just what do you want from me? I didn’t kill Irena. I had no reason to.”
“I understand the two of you had some rather loud arguments. What did you disagree about?”
She gave me a smug smile. “Her talent. She thought she could act. I disagreed. Any more questions?”
“Just one. Where were you yesterday, at about noon?”
Her eyes widened. “Are you accusing me?”
“Of course not. I’m certain you’ll be able to account for your whereabouts. Won’t you?” There was absolutely no reason for her to answer me. I had no authority in this matter. But the way her color heightened when she glanced around, as if seeking help, I was sure she’d attempt to come up with something.
“Caro,” she said at last, latching on to the name like a lifeline, and causing the actress on the stage to jump. “We had rehearsal in the morning, and then Caro and I took a meal together during our break.” She gave me a firm nod. “Then costume fittings in the afternoon.”
“You see? I was sure you had nothing to do with this horrible crime. You were with Caro.” I eyed the other woman. “And where was that?”
Her glance flitted from me to Miss Cooper and back. “The pub around the corner?”
“I see. Would you recommend the fare?”
“Too plain for your taste, I’d reckon,” Miss Cooper said, just as the other actors returned to the stage. “If you’re through here, we need to get back to work.”
“And I should find my aunt. Thank you, Miss Cooper, Miss . . . Caro.” I nodded at them in turn. “You’ve been very helpful.” I slipped out of the row and made my way for the exit, certain of two things—Sally Cooper was lying, and Caro would definitely get the part.
I took a few wrong turnings but found my way to the right hallway. I passed the ladies’ dressing room and heard a hearty laugh from the manager’s office. When I rounded the door and popped my head inside, Hetty, wearing an enormous smile, blotted a tear with her handkerchief. At the same time, Gilliam released one of those long sighs one heaves after a bout of laughter.
Well, well. Hetty needed no rescue, after all. I tapped on the open door. “It sounds as though the two of you are getting along swimmingly,” I said. “I almost hate to interrupt.”
Gilliam jumped to his feet. “Lady Harleigh. Though I’m delighted to see you, I fear this means Mrs. Chesney is about to leave me.” He rounded the desk and extended a hand to Hetty, who allowed him to assist her to her feet.
She looked at me, slightly bemused, as she tucked the handkerchief into her bag. “My goodness, is it time already? I apologize for running off, Mr. Gilliam, but we have that”—she rolled her hand—“thing.”
“Appointment,” I said at the same time. For some reason, Hetty found this amusing and smothered another laugh with a hand over her lips.
“I completely understand. You have a busy schedule, and I will simply have to content myself with seeing you again on Thursday.” He delivered her to the door, where I waited, and bid us bot
h good day.
“I look forward to it,” Hetty replied.
After threading my arm through hers, I gave her a tug, and we made our way to the side exit, where the carriage awaited. “That was a friendly tête-à-tête,” I said while Jack, George’s driver, jumped down from his perch and lowered the steps.
“He’s a friendly man.” Hetty threw the words over her shoulder as she climbed inside. “And amusing, too.” I seated myself next to her, then gaped as she reached for the newspaper.
“No, no, no.” I pushed her hands and the paper to her lap. “I must insist on knowing what happened to the woman who reminded me three times this morning to rescue her from what would certainly be a tedious meeting and an attempt to part you from your purse.”
She folded the newspaper and tucked it away, smiling, as if she had a secret. Finally, she faced me. “It turned out rather differently.”
I leaned closer. “In what way?”
“Well, I found him to be an honest, intelligent businessman, with a pleasant disposition and a sharp sense of humor.”
“But is he attempting to take possession of your purse?”
“I’m sure he’d like to, but I explained I’m not one for partnerships. The stock market is more in my line.”
“He didn’t look like a man who’s given up hope.”
“I gave him no reason to pin that hope on me.” She shrugged. “He may not even need a partner, after all. Depending on how the investigation turns out, he may receive a payment on his insurance policy.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What is to happen Thursday?”
“Thursday?”
“You both said you were looking forward to Thursday.”
Hetty fussed with her gloves. “He is taking me to the Savoy for dinner.”
Dinner? That complicated matters. Hetty was nobody’s fool, but I’d recently had some experience with a confidence man, and it struck me that Gilliam might be playing that game. He was younger than my aunt by ten years or so. Did he plan to flatter her and woo her into a financial partnership? She’d never succumb to such tactics. But there was that smile on her face. He’d worn a rather sappy grin, as well. Perhaps this was truly a budding romance. Interesting. Of course, one could not forget he was a suspect in a murder investigation.
A Fiancée's Guide to First Wives and Murder Page 13
