Death at the Theatre: Miss Hart and Miss Hunter Investigate: Book 2 (11 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Despite being a smaller theatre than the Connault, the Fulham Broadway had a bigger backstage area. It was, however, just as chaotic as it had been when Verity and I had been backstage at the Connault – more so, in fact, because so many of the actors and actresses had had visitors in the audience that night who had come backstage to see them.

As we struggled through the crowd, looking for Tommy, I glanced around, wondering whether Caroline Carpenter would be there. I wasn’t surprised when I couldn’t see her; she hadn’t been in the pantomime and she was getting married in less than a fortnight, if I remembered correctly. Perhaps Verity and I had been one of the last people to ever actually see her act on stage. That made me feel sad, to reflect on how so much talent could just be thrown away.

“Verity, Verity—“ Tommy was calling to us from the back of the room. “Over here.” We forged our way through the crowds and up to him. He was still wearing his Buttons costume and was sweating quite heavily in the warmth of the room, which made his greeting kiss on the cheek slightly less pleasant than usual. I was still pleased to see him though, although I could see what Verity meant when she said he had changed. Some of the vitality that used to be so apparent had dimmed. I hoped it hadn’t gone forever.

We chatted – or rather shouted at each other above the din – discussing the pantomime and the audience and the theatre gossip. In the noise and confusion, my revelation of earlier had paled a little. I now wasn’t sure whether I’d remembered correctly or not. Had my mind just thrown up an image that wasn’t actually a real memory? Had I actually remembered falsely? I couldn’t wait to get back to the relative peace and quiet of our room so I could look at the play and work out whether my suspicions were correct.

“Hullo, Miss Hart,” said a familiar voice at my shoulder. I turned to find Gwen Deeds smiling at me. I smiled back and shook hands.

“Do call me Joan, Miss Deeds.”

She laughed. “Well then, do call me Gwen.”

We chatted pleasantly for a bit. If I’d remembered Gwen, it had been the bitterness in her voice that had stuck with me when she was talking about Caroline and about some women have all the luck. But I’d forgotten that she could also be good company, warm and funny as well. Even so, after ten minutes or so, the conversation began to drift once more into the slightly malicious. Even though it was guiltily amusing, I could tell that Gwen was the sort of person that you don’t entrust with your secrets.

In the end, it was I who brought Caroline into the conversation. “So, Miss Carpenter is getting married next week, is that right?”

Gwen’s eyes lit up with spiteful glee. “Oh, yes. It’s going to be an enormous do, apparently. Saint Paul’s, no less. Well, you can’t imagine her going for the little local church, can you? Not our Caroline.”

I smiled inwardly. “Will there be many people from the theatre there?”

Gwen sniffed. “Not likely. I suppose
Tommy
may get an invitation. I can’t imagine she’ll want many of this motley crew there. Doesn’t quite send the right message, does it? Not for the new role she’ll be playing.”

“New role?” For a moment I felt glad that perhaps Caroline Carpenter wouldn’t be giving up her acting career after all.

Gwen soon put me right. “Lady of the manor, that’ll be
her
new role.” She sniffed again and added, cattily “I’m sure she’ll be just
marvellous
at it.”

I was growing tired of the malevolence. It was briefly amusing but after a while, you just felt a bit dirty. I opened my mouth to change the subject when Gwen added, “I can’t imagine Caroline will be getting too flustered about being married. It’s not like she hasn’t done it before.”

“Really?” I asked, fascinated. “Caroline – I mean, Miss Carpenter – she’s been married before?”

Gwen looked both gleeful and sly. “Oh yes, she has. A long time ago now.”

“How do you know? Did she tell you?”

Gwen giggled. “I was helping her unpack at her lodgings this one time. Years ago, now. I saw her marriage certificate – well, just a glimpse of it before she snatched it away. ‘Goodness,’ I said, ‘are you married, Caroline? Whoever to?’ and she looked cross as a cat and said she had been once but no longer, thank goodness.”

“Who was she married to?”

Gwen looked regretful. “I don’t know. I didn’t see the name and she got it away from me too quickly. She wouldn’t tell me.”

“No?”

“No. I got the impression she was a bit ashamed of it, to be honest. Probably something rather hasty, if you see what I mean.” She raised her eyebrows at me as if I should know what she meant, which I did, a little, without knowing her exact meaning.

“Joan!” I looked up to see Verity waving at me. “It’s nearly eleven o’clock. We have to go or Mrs Anstells will have our hides.”

“Golly, I’d hate to be a servant,” Gwen said, and this time she didn’t sound catty, she merely sounded sincere.

“It’s not that bad,” I said, wondering who I was trying to fool. I was happy to go, anyway; I’d had my fill of gossip and slander, and I really wanted to get home to see if my previous suspicions were correct. That reminded me of something. “Gwen, do you remember you lost a costume? Not that long ago? You thought somebody had stolen it?”

Gwen’s face, which had been frowning through the first part of my speech, cleared. “Oh yes, that. I remember. I found it right at the back of a cupboard.”

“What kind of costume was it?”

Gwen gave me a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what was it? What role?” I held my breath. If it had been a lion suit, for example, or a suit of armour, then perhaps my theory was utterly wrong.

“Oh, I see. Oh, it wasn’t anything special, actually. That’s why I couldn’t understand someone pinching it. It was just a female outfit for one of the chorus, that’s all. Just a coat and hat and a bit of jewellery.”

I closed my eyes briefly, breathing out. I had been right, then. Why did I never trust my own judgement? “Thank you, Gwen.”

I must have sounded oddly heartfelt because she gave me a strange look and muttered “That’s all right.”

I shook myself mentally and said goodbye properly. Then I went over to say goodbye to Tommy.

“You were brilliant, Tommy. Thanks so much for the tickets.”

Tommy smiled. “You’re welcome, my dear. Oh, by the way, you two, are you free next Wednesday night?”

Verity and I looked at each other and shrugged, ruefully. “Unlikely,” I said.

“Possibly,” Verity said

“Well, do be free if you can be. We’re having farewell drinks for Caroline at the Connault. Just a few backstage, to say goodbye.” Tommy looked downcast for a moment. “It’ll be a bit of a wake for Aldous as well.”

I hesitated. “I’d love to come, Tommy, but I’m not sure if I can. I will try.”

Verity nodded her agreement.

“Oh, by the way,” I asked, more out of curiosity than anything else. “Did Caroline send you an invitation for her wedding?”

Tommy half-smiled. “She did, actually. Kind of her, although I’m not sure I’ll go. I’ll be a complete fish out of water there amongst all those highborn folk.” He got up and fished about in the pocket of a jacket hanging up on the wall. “Here you are. The very thing itself.”

I took it, looking at it curiously. It was very much as I expected, heavy cream card and lots of twirly gilt lettering but on turning it over I could see Caroline had written in a flowing hand
Do come, Tommy darling. Love, C.

“It was kind of her,” Tommy said again, sounding as though he was trying to convince himself. I handed the invitation back to him.

“Come along, Joan,” said Verity.  “Mrs Anstells will have our hides if we’re late. Sorry, Tommy, but we
must
go.”

“Very well, my darlings. I’ll hope to see you there on Wednesday. Have a safe trip home.” There were kisses all round and then Verity and I took our leave.

I must have been uncharacteristically silent on the way home because, as we rounded the corner into our street, Verity drove a sharp elbow into my ribs.

“Ow!”

“Well, honestly, Joan. You’ve been like a deaf-mute all the way home. What is wrong with you this evening?”

I rubbed my side, slightly annoyed. “I’ve just been thinking, that’s all. You should try it sometime.”

Verity gave me a look but didn’t rise to my bait. “What have you been thinking about?”

“Lots of things.” We had reached the basement railings by now and began to descend the steep steps carefully. Whenever you got back late, there was always a slight nerve-wracking moment where you wondered whether Mr Fenwick had already locked the kitchen door. He never had, so far, but what would I do if he had?

As it happened, he hadn’t locked the kitchen door, of course. We slipped inside and made our way upstairs as quietly as we could. Once we were safely in our room, I divested myself of my coat and hat and sat down on the bed.

“I know who killed the man at the Connault Theatre.”

Verity stopped dead, her hands to her hat. She took them off slowly and lowered them to her sides. “Guido Bonsignore? You know who killed him?”

“Gideon Bonnacker,” I corrected her. “And yes, I think I do.”

Verity’s eyes were wide. She asked the obvious question. “Well, who, for goodness’ sake?”

I shook my head. I felt a bit mean keeping it back but I still didn’t know why. “Sorry, V, I can’t tell you. Not yet.”

Verity snorted. “What?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know enough myself yet. I can’t tell anyone yet, not even Inspector Marks.”

“For goodness’ sake, Joan. You can’t even give me a hint?”

I shook my head regretfully. “Actually, I’m sorry I mentioned it. Sorry.”

Verity looked daggers. “You are impossible, Joan,” she said coldly and stalked from the room, her shoulders rigid.

I felt bad but what could I do? As yet, I only had the theory and one tiny bit of evidence. I wasn’t going to make a fool of myself by making a big announcement that could well turn out to be wrong. Thinking of that, and as late as it was, I turned to the copy of
Voyage of the Heart
on my bedside table and opened it, quickly turning to the part of the play that I needed. I tried to think back to what Inspector Marks had told me about the time of death. I read on, nodding to myself. Yes, that tallied. Just about. That was possible.

By the time Verity came back from the bathroom, still in high dudgeon, I was undressed and in bed, my face turned to the wall. I heard her hesitation before getting into her own bed, even heard her take the start of a deep breath, and forestalled any more questions by saying clearly, “I’m sorry, V. Forget I mentioned it, please? I’ll tell you everything when I can.”

Verity’s only response to this could only be written as ‘humph’. Then she got into her bed and turned out the light without saying goodnight.

Chapter Twenty

Verity was still a little cool with me the next morning. I couldn’t let it worry me. For some reason, Dorothy had decided to have a lunchtime drinks soiree followed by a small dinner party of several of her close chums, and Mrs Watling and I were kept too busy to worry about Verity’s moods. I did feel a little guilty. Why had I even mentioned it? I should have just kept my mouth shut. As I made the mushroom and rabbit tartlets, I thought back to our team work at Merisham Lodge – how we’d both played a part in ensuring there was justice. This time around, I knew Verity had had too much on her mind, what with Tommy and Aldous and Dorothy, to be quite as invested in solving the case as I was.

I realised how quickly I’d changed my mind – from telling myself the case was nothing to do with me, to a fever of impatience to get the evidence that would back up my theory. But how was I going to do that? All I had was the a stolen costume and the timings of a part in a play. It sounded pretty thin to me. And the most glaring fact of all was that I didn’t know
why
. Where was the motive?

I tried to think it through once again as I worked but it was hopeless –the dishes I was constructing couldn’t be done mindlessly or thoughtlessly. I had to give them my full attention or risk both Mrs Watling’s and Dorothy’s displeasure. I thrust all thoughts of the Connault case to the back of my mind and turned my attention to the job in hand. It was hard not to feel resentful at the lack of time to think but I supposed I should have been used to it by now.

Verity was assisting Nancy and Margaret in serving the food at Dorothy’s afternoon party, and all three girls kept whisking in and out of the kitchen to carry up the trays of
amuse bouches
and
hors d’eouvres
. Mr Fenwick kept hurrying back and forth from the wine cellar, although it was bottles of brandy, vodka and whisky that he kept taking up. I supposed they were on the cocktails up there and wondered rather pruriently whether Dorothy was behaving herself or was getting sozzled again.

Finally, the last tray had been carried up, and Mrs Watling, Doris and I had a short moment of peace and quiet before the party ended and the washing up to be done began to come back down. Efficient woman that she was, Mrs Watling had already begun preparing the evening meal for the dinner party, so at least that was underway. Thankfully, I put the kettle on the hob and prepared us all a good cup of tea.

Sitting down on one of the chairs by the range, I sipped my tea and tried to think. If my memory of the face of the woman in the theatre was correct, and now I was convinced it was, then I had a theory – a good theory, given the two pieces of evidence I possessed. But for the life of me, I couldn’t work out the motive. Was there any point in going to Inspector Marks when I didn’t know why the murder had been committed? Was there any possible way to find out? But how could I go anywhere, or find out anything, when my next afternoon off wasn’t for another week? I wouldn’t even get to go to the farewell drinks for Caroline Carpenter. I drained the last dregs of my tea, feeling cross and frustrated, a mood not helped by the fact that our brief period of respite was over, and I had to get up and start work again.

Verity came clomping down an hour later with a tea tray in her hands, piled with dirty dishes. I waited until she carried it into the scullery and then darted in after her.

“How was it?”

For a moment I thought she was still sulky with me because she took a second or two to answer, but after a moment I could see she was just tired – tired and worried. “The food was fine, Joan. Thank you.”

“I didn’t mean that.” I took the tray out of her hands, worried she would drop it, she looked so exhausted. “I mean, how was Dorothy? Was she – did she—“

“Did she get completely drunk, you mean, don’t you Joan? Yes, of course she did. I’ve just put her to bed to try and get her to sleep it off before her guests start arriving for the evening.”

“Oh, Lord. Do you think she will?”

Verity rubbed her eyes. “I don’t know. What am I going to tell them if she won’t wake up in time?”

“Could you not say she’s unwell?”

“Well, that might work, except some of them coming tonight were here this afternoon. They’ll know she’s just mightily hungover. And if I don’t get it right, what’s Dorothy going to do when she finally comes round and all her friends are laughing at her?”

I could hear the helplessness in her voice and felt a surge of anger at Dorothy, for being so weak-willed and selfish. But what could Verity and I do?

“I’ll make up some really strong coffee,” I suggested. “Later on. And we’ll make sure there’s some lovely appetisers if people have to wait a little while. Surely we can get her up in time for her to just be a  bit fashionably late?”

Verity gave me a look that was half hopeful, half despairing. “Well, it’s all we can do, Joanie. I can’t think of anything else.”

I began to sort the dishes out in preparation for washing them. “Why don’t you sit through in the kitchen and have a cup of tea? Rest for five minutes?”

“Yes, I will. I feel dead on my feet and the day’s not half over yet.” She smiled at me rather wanly and turned to leave. Then she turned back. “Listen, Joanie, sorry I was a bit crotchety with you earlier. I’ve had all these worries about Dorothy on my mind and I felt – oh, I don’t know – I felt a bit as if you were leaving me out.”

I smiled back, relieved. “Well, I’m sorry to have kept you in the dark. I won’t any longer because I need your help.”

Verity brightened. “Really?”

“Yes. Look, I know it’s going to be a late night tonight for both of us, but let’s see if we can stay awake long enough to talk at bedtime.”

“Very well.” Verity gave a small chuckle. “It might not be such a late one after all. If Dorothy overdoes it again, it could all be over by ten o’clock.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, although I felt a little cruel doing so at another woman’s misfortune. But I felt lighter, more cheerful, after Verity and I had worked out our little spat.

Verity waved to me and left the scullery. I set to the washing up with a will and it didn’t seem like such hard work all of a sudden.

As luck would have it, the evening didn’t finish at ten o’clock but it wasn’t so very late for an evening party. I was in bed by midnight, and Verity came in about ten minutes after that.

“Golly,” she said, flopping down on the bed. The bedsprings chimed musically beneath her. “I’m glad tomorrow’s going to be quiet.”

“It went much as expected then?”

Verity rolled her eyes. “I don’t think Dorothy had sobered up
at all
. She just topped herself up. Luckily everyone else was drinking quite heavily so perhaps it wasn’t very noticeable…” She trailed away, staring at the floor. “I don’t know how long she can go on like this.”

I didn’t know either. Looming up with grim inevitability was the time that Verity was going to have to ask for help from Mr Fenwick or Mrs Anstells, or both.

Verity sighed and got to her feet with difficulty. She began to undress with fumbling fingers. I wondered whether now was a good time to tell her my theory about the Connault Theatre killer after all. Would it ruin the night’s sleep for her when she so obviously needed it?

I pondered this in the time Verity went off to the bathroom to wash and brush her teeth. I was still thinking, unsure of what to do, when she came back.

It was she who actually asked me. “So, Joan, you were going to tell me?”

“Tell you?” I asked, as if I didn’t know what she was talking about. Cowardly of me.

“Yes, you noodle. Tell me about who you thought did the murder.”

I was silent for a moment. Then I said slowly “It’s only a theory. And I barely have any evidence. And I don’t know why they did it.”

Verity frowned. “You don’t know why they did it?”

“No. That’s just it. It doesn’t make sense to me at the moment. I’ve been wracking my brains to try and think of a motive.”

Now it was Verity’s turn to fall silent. She stared down at the tumbled counterpane on her lap for so long I wondered whether she’d actually fallen asleep with her eyes open. 

After about five minutes, I said tentatively, “V? Are you all right?”

Verity blinked and came back to life. She looked over at me with an expression I couldn’t decipher. Was it – was it
fear
?

“V?” I said again, uneasily.

“Joan—“ She stopped herself. It occurred to me then, why hadn’t she asked me outright who I thought it was? She cleared her throat and asked “What are your pieces of evidence?”

I pleated the blanket between my fingers. “Well, I hardly have any, to be honest. But I’ll tell you what I know.” I went on to detail the little that I did know; the stolen costume that Gwen had reported, the timings of particular scenes in the play. Without naming whoever it was that I believed was the killer, it sounded even thinner than I’d anticipated, and I started to stumble over my words, particularly when I saw the sceptical look on Verity’s face. The scepticism was mingled with something like relief. Why was she relieved?

“There is one other thing,” I added, almost mumbling.

“What’s that?”

“It’s just – well – I saw her. Her face.”

“Who’s face? The murderer’s?”

I nodded. Verity bit her lip.

“Why didn’t you tell the police that, then?” she asked, not unreasonably.

“Because I didn’t realise I
had
seen her face. It was almost as if I’d forgotten it and one night – the night at the pantomime, actually – it suddenly came back to me. Like a memory I’d forgotten.”

“At the pantomime?” The note of fear was back in Verity’s voice.

“Yes. It was like a sudden flash, as if my mind had brought back the memory I’d forgotten.”

There was silence as we stared at one another. I thought Verity was going to ask me something else but after a moment, she said, in quite an artificial voice. “Joan, do you mind if we talk about this another time? I’m just about all in.”

“That’s fine,” I said, slightly hurt and perhaps a bit disappointed. But what could I say?

Verity gave me a slight smile. Then she said, “Goodnight, then,” and turned and lay down in her bed, turning her head away from me and closing her eyes.

I stared at her for a moment, half wanting to take her up on whatever was bothering her. But after a moment, I too lay down in bed. I turned off the bedside light and lay there in the darkness, wide-eyed and wondering.