Demon of Mine (27 page)

Elsie nodded as she returned her attention to the article,
scanning it for any hints of the truth she might have missed. The
details were disturbing, if not particularly helpful in any way
that she could identify. The young couple had been murdered
together in bed, left tangled in each other’s arms in death. The
actress, on the other hand, had been left in an alleyway, slumped
alone in the shadows.
Amelia White, 27, had acted in over two dozen plays at the
Golden Theatre…
Elsie stared at the inked name as something clicked in her
mind; a realization accompanied by the remembered sound of a hiccup
resounding throughout a courtroom. “Lucinda, look here! Look at the
name of the actress that was killed.”

Lucinda’s ruby
lips formed an ‘o’ shape as she scanned the text. “That’s the name
of the tipsy prostitute who testified against Damon.”

“
Yes. But according to this she wasn’t a
prostitute.”

“
Well of course the paper put the best face on it they could –
Ms. White may have been a whore in life, but in death she’s a
tragic victim. They want the readership to feel as sorry for her as
possible. Tragedy sells papers.”

“
She must have really done some acting though, if the paper
gave the name and address of the theater,” Elsie mused. “It says
here she acted in over two dozen plays.”

“
She could have stopped acting ten years ago,” Lucinda pointed
out, “and turned to prostitution instead.”

“
Still, don’t you think it’s glaringly obvious that Griffith
hired an actress to play the role of a witness to his brother’s
murder?”

“
She did a poor job of it. I should say that Griffith’s money
was wasted.”

“
Perhaps that’s why she was killed.”

Lucinda arched
an eyebrow in the familiar Remington fashion. “You think Griffith
orchestrated the murders?”

Elsie
shrugged, trying to get a rein on the wild thoughts and half-formed
conclusions that were whirling through her mind. Hiring Ms. White
must have seemed perfect to Griffith – she’d possessed both acting
skills and, thanks to the fact that she was a prostitute, an excuse
for lingering in the street around Green’s at night. “I don’t know,
but it seems awfully suspicious. Perhaps we should stop at the
Golden Theater and see if she’d acted there recently. I don’t think
it’s far from here.”

Lucinda looked
bemused. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have a few facts to throw
in Griffith’s face if he tries to stir up trouble again,” she
eventually concluded. “So long as we’re still able to make it to
the shop before closing time, that is.”

“
I
only want to ask a few questions,” Elsie promised. “It won’t take
long.”

****

There had
perhaps never been a place less deserving of its name than the
Golden Theater. It was a grubby building fashioned of deteriorating
brick, sandwiched between a tailor’s shop and a narrow alley that
appeared to be home to a bevy of slat-ribbed cats. The sign that
hung above the entrance had obviously been gaudy a decade ago, but
had been weathered down to something barely legible. At three in
the afternoon, the windows were dark and the doors closed. “Are you
sure you want to go in?” Lucinda asked.

“
You can wait in the carriage if you’d rather not,” Elsie
replied. “I don’t mind the shabbiness.” The truth was that the
Golden Theater’s state of disrepair was nothing compared to the
squalor she’d spend the first twelve years of her life
in.

“
No, I’ll go inside with you.” Lucinda gave the building a
challenging look from beneath the brim of her bonnet, as if daring
it to soil her pristine dress.

Elsie stepped
forward and knocked solidly on the splintered wooden door. Several
moments passed.

“
Perhaps you’d better try again.”

Elsie nodded
at Lucinda and raised her fist. The door swung inward just before
her knuckles could make contact with the worn wood.

“
We’re not lookin’ for any new actresses currently,” said a
stout woman who filled the doorway completely, giving them a tired
look from beneath her cap, which failed to conceal more than a few
escaped iron-grey curls.

“
We’re not actresses,” Elsie said.

The woman took
a couple moments to survey the visitors, her gaze sweeping from
their colorfully beribboned bonnets (Lucinda had insisted on
attaching a length of jonquil ribbon to Elsie’s before they’d left
the house) to their fine skirts and the rather delicate low-heeled
pumps that peeked from beneath their hems. “I suppose you’re not,”
she concluded. “Or at least if you were, you wouldn’t be lookin’
for work here.” She offered no invitation for them to explain why
they had come. “First show of the night starts at eight. Mid-Summer
Night’s Dream.”

Any curiosity
Elsie felt toward the play was sparked entirely by the undreaminess
of the venue. It was hard to imagine that even the most vivid
scenery could conjure images of summer meadows or faeries inside
the Golden Theater. “Begging your pardon, but we’re not here to see
a play, either.” Elsie seized her self-made opportunity to explain
herself before the woman could offer a reply. “I’d like to ask
someone a few questions about one of your actresses. Is the owner
in?”

The woman’s
face darkened. “My husband and I run the place, but I won’t be
answerin’ no questions. You two aren’t the first to come here
askin’ about Ms. White – though you are the first ladies.” She
tipped her head in their direction, as if acknowledging their
forwardness. “I’ve too much to do to prepare for tonight’s
performance to be standin’ around providin’ fodder for
gossip.”

“
Please,” Elsie stepped forward, placing a slippered foot in
the way of the door before her reluctant conversant could close it.
Hopefully she wouldn’t try – Elsie’s flimsy footwear wouldn’t offer
much protection against the tough old wood. “Mrs.…”

“
Barnes,” the woman conceded.

“
Mrs. Barnes, we’re here for more than idle chatter. I’m trying
to shed some light on the mystery of Ms. White’s
murder.”

The woman
chuckled. “A couple of lady detectives, eh? Well now, I’ve heard it
all today, I have.”

“
Not exactly,” Elsie replied, doing her best to seem as
unridiculous as possible. It wasn’t easy with the woman laughing in
her face.

“
Please, Mrs. Barnes.” Lucinda stepped in, somehow managing to
sound calm and in control – much like her mother always did. “We’re
only asking for a few moments of your time, and answering a couple
simple questions just might help Ms. White’s killer be brought to
justice.”

Mrs. Barnes
recovered slowly from her bout of hilarity. After a few last
wheezes, she became suddenly business-like. “I suppose I could
spare a few moments for someone lookin’ to buy a pair of tickets to
tonight’s show.” She smiled, revealing a mouth that was only
half-full of teeth.

“
Of
course,” Lucinda replied, opening her reticule as calmly as if
she’d come to the Golden Theatre intending to buy tickets all
along. She handed the woman the standard price for a pair of
box-seat tickets and then some.

“
Well, well,” Mrs. Barnes chortled, quickly stuffing the money
into a grubby purse and tucking it away on her person. “Come in for
a few moments, both of you.”

The inside of
the Golden Theater was hardly in better repair than the exterior.
Rows of uncomfortable-looking seats stretched a modest distance
beyond a small stage, the only alternative to a few boxes that
looked precariously unsturdy. Two dusty chandeliers hung overhead,
their half-burnt candles lightless, leaving the majority of the
building cloaked in a sort of melancholy darkness that added to the
facility’s air of neglect. Knowing that Lucinda would probably
object if asked to sit in one of the dust-covered seats, Elsie
began her bought interview before Mrs. Barnes could offer. “Is it
true that Ms. White acted here?”

Mrs. Barnes
nodded. “On occasion.”

“
Not regularly?”

Mrs. Barnes
shook her head, causing a few escaped curls to dance above her
brow. They were the same color as the dust that coated everything,
making the woman seem as much a part of the place as the
chandeliers and stage. “Used to, but then she took to drinkin’, oh,
five years ago or so.”

“
Was she a very good actress?”

“
When she wasn’t into her cups. Couldn’t act to save her life
when she was. Muddled half her lines with hiccups and forgot the
rest.”

That seemed
about on par with Ms. White’s behavior at the courthouse.
Apparently, Griffith hadn’t known about her alcoholism. “So you
stopped casting her in your plays because of her drinking
habits?”

“
Whenever there was anyone else to take the role,” Mrs. Barnes
replied, sounding mildly defensive. “Would’ve gone bankrupt if we’d
casted her like we used to in the old days. Occasionally we’d get
desperate – an actress would fall ill or get too big with child for
her costume – and we’d call in Ms. White as a last resort. Usually
happened once a month or less.”

“
How did Ms. White earn a living, if her employment here was so
infrequent? Did she act at any other theaters?”

Mrs. Barnes
shook her head and shot Elsie a dark look. “She earned her living
the same way many a desperate woman or washed-up actress
does.”

Elsie nodded.
“And her living arrangements? Could you shed any light on
those?”

“
She lived right here. Rented a cot back in the storage room.
Nearly always paid the fee on time, too,” she said as if she felt
she needed to restore some honor to Ms. White’s memory.

“
I
see. Mrs. Barnes, do you have any idea who might have murdered Ms.
White?”

“
Who knows?” She grimaced. “A woman out on the streets at night
is a target for all sorts of evil. I’d wager t’was only that she
was unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong
time.”

Chapter 16

“
Jenny.” She stood slightly hunched, bent over a shelf in the
library, wiping away whatever dust had accumulated on the edge of
one of the many bookshelves. Elsie had noticed her when she’d gone
down the corridor several minutes before with Lucinda. After
depositing four ridiculously expensive bonnets and what must have
been half of London’s ribbon supply in her bedroom, she’d parted
company with her sister-in-law and returned for an overdue
conversation with her oldest friend.

Jenny turned
slowly, surely recognizing Elsie’s voice. Her face looked a shade
whiter than usual. Was it an illusion caused by Elsie’s enhanced
vision, or was Jenny frightened? Or perhaps angry? Her mouth was
motionless and unreadable, until a single word rushed out like a
confession. “Elsie.” She looked wary as soon as she said it, as if
afraid she’d said the wrong thing.

“
Yes?” Elsie asked in as friendly a tone as possible, doing her
best to let Jenny know, without sounding condescending, that it was
still all right for her to call her by her given name. The idea of
asking Jenny to call her ‘Mrs. Remington’ was even more ridiculous
than the shopping spree she’d just gone on.

“
I’m sorry.” Jenny dropped the dusting rag she’d been clutching
and took a tentative step forward.

“
Sorry? For what?” Elsie was still suffering from a guilty
conscience over the secret rage she’d harbored so recently toward
Jenny, convinced that she’d lied to her about Damon having a
fiancé. What on earth could Jenny have to be sorry for?

Jenny cast a
longing look at the dust rag on the floor, as if she wished she
still held it. Clutching fistfuls of her apron, she wrung it
instead. “I mean I’m sorry for trying to keep you from Damon.
You’re married now, and I see how stupid I’ve been.”

“
Don’t be sorry.” Jenny might have nagged, but she hadn’t lied.
Elsie was more than willing to forgive her sanctimonious lectures.
After all, it wasn’t as if they’d dissuaded her, even for half a
moment, from wanting Damon. “You haven’t done anything
wrong.”

Jenny frowned.
“I told you about Véronique Renard.”

Elsie fought
down the stab of irritation that accompanied any thought of
Véronique. “Would a true friend have kept it from me?”

“
I
knew you didn’t know and that the news would hurt you, yet I
pretended that it was a bit of innocent gossip. I meant for you to
be angry with Damon.”

Elsie willed
the tension to go out of her jaw. “It doesn’t matter
now.”

Jenny began to
explain, as if heartened by Elsie’s forgiveness. “I was only trying
to protect you. I didn’t mean to be cruel.”

“
Of
course you didn’t.” Jenny might be judgmental, but cruel? No. At
least, not intentionally.

“
I
promise not to begrudge you whatever happiness you find with your
new husband.”

Elsie couldn’t
help but smile, but doing so banished only a little of the
nervousness from Jenny’s face. “And I promise not to bring any of
this up again if you don’t.”

Finally, Jenny
returned Elsie’s smile. “Excellent.”