The Sans Pareil Mystery (The Detective Lavender Mysteries Book 2) (14 page)

‘Thank you, Magdalena,’ he said, his voice husky and his breathing erratic. One moment she was drowning in the pools of his dark, excited eyes, the next a draught of cold air swirled around her as his warm body moved away and he was gone.

Magdalena climbed back into the carriage in a trance. She neither knew nor cared if Teresa had just witnessed their kiss. Slumping back against the hard wooden seat of the cab, she raised her gloved hands to her still-tingling lips and smiled.

Chapter Seventeen

Lady Caroline was taking tea with Mrs Willoughby in her parlour when Lavender arrived. Both women were now dressed in black mourning gowns trimmed with velvet ribbons. Mrs Willoughby wore a see-through chiffon overgown atop her white silk dress. Lady Caroline had a fetching black lace cap, decorated with seed pearls, on top of her thick auburn hair. They made an elegant and sombre picture but Lavender wasn’t in the mood to appreciate it. Part of him was fuming at the deceptions they had practiced upon him. The women were leant forward, deep in discussion, when he entered the room. They sat back, unsmiling, and eyed him warily.

He waited until the maid had left and then bowed. ‘Good morning, Lady Caroline,’ he said, pleasantly. ‘And to you too, Mrs Willoughby.’

Then his voice hardened and sliced through the warm room like a knife: ‘Or should I say, good morning, Miss Clare?’

There was a stunned silence. The younger woman froze in her chair and said nothing. She stared silently up at Lavender, her dark eyes large and luminous. Was that fear that shone in their depths? He hoped so.

Lady Caroline slowly put down her teacup on the side table. Her hand shook and the cup rattled in the saucer. She cleared her throat. ‘Detective Lavender, how delightful to see you again. But what on earth do you mean?’

‘Please don’t try to continue the pretence, Lady Caroline,’ he snapped. ‘As you well know, the woman sitting opposite you is not Mrs Harriet Willoughby. Mrs Willoughby is dead. This is Miss April Clare, actress extraordinaire from the Sans Pareil Theatre.’ He took a few steps across the thick carpet and glared down into the pale face of the younger woman. ‘And what an excellent part you have played over the last few days, Miss Clare. Do you deny it?’

The young woman took a deep breath. ‘No,’ she said, quietly. ‘I’m April Clare.’

‘Why in God’s name did you pretend to be your twin sister?’ he shouted. ‘What are you hiding?’

‘Detective Lavender, take a seat, please,’ Lady Caroline pleaded. ‘Let us get you a cup of tea.’

He wasn’t in the mood to be distracted or placated. ‘Don’t you want us to track down those responsible for your sister’s death?’ he demanded. April Clare nodded. ‘Well, how on earth do you think we can help you if don’t tell us the truth? We have spent the last few days investigating the death of the wrong woman! How long did you intend to carry on with this charade? And for God’s sake, why do it in the first place?’

‘Detective,
please
!’ Lady Caroline sounded genuinely distressed. ‘Sit down, take some tea with us and we will try to explain.’

He turned to reply and was struck with a fresh flush of anger. ‘Did you know about this, Lady Caroline?’ he demanded. ‘Are you party to this deception, as well?’

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I arrived yesterday afternoon to offer my condolences to Harriet and quickly realised that this was April, not Harriet. I have spent the last two days trying to persuade her to tell you the truth and ask for your help.’ She reached out a bejewelled hand for the china teapot and poured out a fresh cup. ‘The girls have swapped clothes, mimicked each other’s hairstyles and pretended to be each other since they were little,’ she continued, ‘But I have always been able to tell them apart. Not that I let them know this, of course. They enjoyed their little game and I always went along with it.’

‘Well, I’m not enjoying this,’ Lavender snapped. He turned back to the actress. ‘I have a good mind to arrest you, Miss Clare, for wasting my time.’ The younger woman still said nothing but he thought he saw a glimmer of distress flash across her face. ‘You lied to us,’ he continued. ‘My constable and I have been seriously misled about the identity of a dead woman and have probably wasted valuable time trying to solve the case as a result. On top of that, a reporter from the newspaper has now told most of London that the actress, April Clare, is dead.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Lady Caroline. Fine frown lines appeared across her forehead and she paused, her hand resting lightly on the handle of the milk jug. ‘I read the article this morning at breakfast. This is most, most unfortunate . . .’

‘So, just how long did you intend to carry on with this charade?’ Lavender asked the actress. ‘You have obviously fooled the servants. They believe you are Mrs Willoughby. Was it your intention to steal the rest of her life? What about when Captain Willoughby finally returns from his latest sea voyage? Were you hoping that after such a lengthy absence he wouldn’t notice you had taken your sister’s place in his house and his bed?’

‘Detective Lavender!’ Lady Caroline let the silver teaspoon fall with a clatter onto the tray. ‘Please take a seat and let April explain.’

He paused. Perhaps he had gone too far remonstrating with the blasted woman but he wasn’t accustomed to people behaving in such a devious fashion while he tried to help them. He ignored Lady Caroline’s gesture to sit next to her and chose a low-slung armchair opposite the fireplace, which kept him apart from the women but gave him an excellent view of their faces. He flicked a piece of dust from his breeches and waited.

Finally, the actress spoke. ‘I had no plan,’ she said, simply. ‘I didn’t think ahead. I just knew it was safer if I pretended to be Harriet – for both her and me. I have never been so scared in my life, Detective; you have to believe me about that. I was terrified.’ She turned her large eyes up towards his face and he saw tears glistening on her long lashes. Despite his anger, he felt a stab of sympathy; there was no doubt in his mind that the two sisters had been through a harrowing ordeal. In that, at least, she was sincere.

‘It was—It was exactly as I told you and the constable yesterday morning,’ April Clare began. ‘Except, as you have already determined, my sister and I swapped clothes and were pretending to be each other in order to play a trick on Lady Caroline.’ Her hand went to the high ruffled neck of her sister’s gown and she pulled it away from her skin as if it irritated her. ‘I was wearing Harriet’s clothes, a sombre dress and a short veil, and Harriet had on my more – how shall I say it? – my more distinctive clothing beneath her cloak.’ She paused.

‘And you also swapped your shoes?’ he prompted.

‘Yes. The silver embroidery on my shoes complemented that on the dress I gave her. She didn’t want to wear them because she said they didn’t fit her properly, but I insisted.’ Her eyes clouded over with pain at the memory of the disagreement.

‘You always were more forceful than your sister.’ Lady Caroline sighed. ‘You could persuade her to do anything.’

‘What happened next?’ Lavender asked.

‘It was as I told you yesterday, Detective. On the way to Lady Caroline’s soirée the coach was attacked and a group of men threw open the door. “Get the actress!” they shouted. They pulled out my sister, threatened me and the coach driver and . . . and . . .’ She looked like she might dissolve into tears again at the memory.

‘And what did you do?’ he prompted.

‘I came back here. When I entered the house, I was distraught but I claimed to have a migraine. Ruby, the maid, immediately assumed I was Harriet and chivvied me up to her bedroom. I was too upset to protest and the next morning when she continued to address me as “Mrs Willoughby”, I just let her. I didn’t know what to do for the best. Those kidnappers wanted April Clare, the actress, and I didn’t want it known that they’d kidnapped the wrong woman. I thought that might endanger Harriet’s life. I just sat here and waited for them to get in touch with their demands so that I could get her back.’

‘There you are, Lavender,’ said Lady Caroline, as she passed him a cup of tea. ‘A perfectly reasonable explanation. Sugar, Detective?’

He glanced at her, looking for that twitch of the lips or a glint in her eye that would suggest that she was being ironic. There was none. Either these women were blithely unaware about what was normal and ‘reasonable’ behaviour in most families, or Lady Caroline was a better actress than her stepdaughter. And he hadn’t even touched on that other deception they had carried out yet – the one that was sleeping innocently upstairs in the nursery.

He picked up his cup, held up his hand to refuse Lady Caroline’s offer of sugar, sat back in his chair and regarded them both dispassionately. ‘So tell me, Miss Clare, what exactly do you propose to do now?’ he said.

The women exchanged startled glances.

‘I don’t know,’ April confessed.

‘What do you suggest, Detective?’ Lady Caroline asked. Neither of them had expected him to throw the problem back at them.

‘You never thought through the consequences of your actions, did you?’ he said, slowly.

‘No, I didn’t. I’m so sorry for all the problems I have caused.’ April Clare whispered and he was pleased to see that at least she had the grace to look embarrassed by her foolishness. ‘But you must believe me, Detective, when I said that I was motivated by fear for my life – and fear for poor Harriet.’ If this was another performance, then it was a good one. He almost believed her.

‘Did the kidnappers find out the truth that they had taken the wrong woman, do you think?’ she asked. Her body trembled and her voice rose to a crescendo. ‘Did she die because they realised she wasn’t me? Did they kill her because of that?’ She stared up at him, imploring him to answer in the negative.

‘Mrs Willoughby didn’t suffer for long,’ he said. ‘I have had the results of the autopsy from Sir Richard Allison this morning. Your sister’s weak heart gave way sometime on Friday night. She wasn’t murdered. The shock of the abduction killed her within a few hours. Continuing your deception only served to protect your own life; it didn’t help your sister.’

April Clare’s pretty face crumpled and she sobbed quietly. Lady Caroline leant forward, gave her a handkerchief and patted her knee affectionately. ‘We must take some comfort from that, April,’ she said. ‘At least Harriet’s terrible ordeal was short-lived.’ The strength in her voice seemed to help her stepdaughter, who sniffled and dried her eyes.

Lady Caroline now turned to face Lavender. ‘I have to confess that I’m at a loss about what to do now, Detective,’ she said. ‘Poor Harriet needs a funeral but the world thinks that she’s April. And if we announce that there has been a terrible mistake, and that it was Harriet who has died, then I’m concerned that this might place April’s life in great danger once again. Those scoundrels were clearly after her from what she has told me. It was April Clare the actress they intended to kidnap. Would they seek her out again, do you think?’

‘Yes, I think they would,’ he said, ‘because Miss Clare has something they desire.’ He sipped at his tea while they absorbed this latest revelation, grimacing slightly at the taste. Coffee was his preferred beverage.

Both women stared at him in surprise.

‘I don’t understand, Detective,’ Lady Caroline said.

He drained his cup and put it down. ‘This morning my constable tracked down your coach driver from the other night. His account of the events of that evening match your own. However, there is one thing he has told us which you have not.’

‘Which is?’ April Clare’s voice was emotionless.

‘That as they rode away, one of the kidnappers asked if “she had it on her”.’

‘What does that mean, Lavender?’ Lady Caroline asked.

‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘I hope that Miss Clare can tell us. What do you have in your possession, madam, which would prompt a group of scoundrels like that to kidnap you?’

The clock on the mantelpiece ticked loudly as he and Lady Caroline waited for the actress to answer.

‘I have absolutely no idea,’ the young woman said. ‘I never heard this conversation. I was cowering inside the carriage.’

‘No?’ Lavender was disappointed. ‘You definitely have something those kidnappers want, Miss Clare. I’m sorry to tell you this but someone has also broken into your lodgings and ransacked the place.’ She took a short sharp breath. ‘I’m not sure when this happened, or if it is a coincidence but someone appears to have been searching for something in your rooms.’

‘Good grief.’ Lady Caroline again leant towards her stepdaughter. Her voice became resolute and businesslike. ‘April, come on now. You must think and think hard.’

But the pale young woman just stared back at them.

‘Tell me about your friends and acquaintances – and your lovers,’ Lavender said. ‘And tell me the truth. Are any of them entangled in the criminal underworld of the city? What are they involved with? What are
you
involved with?’

‘Nothing!’ she protested. ‘I live quietly. I’m focusing on my career. Yes, I have friends at the theatre but they’re just normal people, silly at times, yes – but criminal? No.’

‘What do have in your possession that would lead to such a heinous crime?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘And your lover?’

‘I have no lover,’ she snapped. She dropped her gaze beneath his glare. ‘I, I was once close to another actor at Drury Lane.’

‘His name?’

‘Mr Seamus MacAuley. But the relationship came to nothing and he returned to work at the Theatre Royal in Cork after the Drury Lane fire. As you know, I moved to the Sans Pareil.’

Not immediately, you didn’t madam
, he thought. But he decided to leave the issue of Mr Seamus MacAuley alone at this point. It would be easy enough to find out if the man was still in Ireland. He softened his tone. ‘Think, Miss Clare, think carefully. Is there anything out of the ordinary that has happened over the last week or so? What have you acquired in that time which these scoundrels might desire?’

Suddenly, realisation flashed across her face. ‘Well, there is something . . .’

‘What?’

‘I didn’t think it was anything important.’

‘Everything is significant at the moment.’

‘Wait a minute.’ She rose gracefully to her feet and went across to a cabinet on the far wall of the room. She opened a drawer and removed a huge sheaf of papers. She carried it back to her seat and placed it on her lap. Lavender recognised the typescript from the papers he had seen scattered in her lodgings. It was a play script from the Sans Pareil.

She licked her finger and leafed her way through the rustling pages. Her hand shook. ‘This is my script for
The Necromancer
. I brought it with me last Friday to read it over the weekend. I needed to refresh my memory of the lyrics for some of the songs. When I picked it up on Friday afternoon I was surprised to find—’