A faint stirring of dismay prompted her tongue. “And you, mon colonel? You have been in the theatre, is it not? Have you also an admiration for the beautiful Dulcibella?”
His expression softened and a look positively tender entered his eyes.
“I hardly noticed her for hunting instead for a dark-haired beauty with speaking eyes who made no appearance upon the stage, much to my disappointment.”
Heat flooded her face and she uttered a strangled laugh. George smiled, picked up her hand and dropped a kiss on her fingers. Then he turned for the door and was gone, leaving her trembling and alight with anticipation to match Dulcie’s on the night she was killed.
Chapter Six
Listening to Hemp’s report with interest, Ottilia began to feel anxious to know how George had fared. He had caught the party upon the point of setting out for the theatre last evening and Ottilia had delayed their departure to give him an account of her conversation with his émigré. He had fastened upon the question of the purse with alacrity, vowing to find it if it took all day and formulating a plan to take the players by surprise in the morning.
It was odd to hear what Hemp had to say of their carousals in the tavern after the performance, knowing the poor things must have been routed out at an ungodly hour. Ottilia had herself risen late, finding the exertions of the previous day had tired her more than somewhat. She was glad to acquiesce in Francis’s decree that she rest at home today, leaving Sybilla to begin the hunt for Dulcie’s named followers at the Assembly Rooms. He had escorted her thither after breakfast, with a promise to return once his mother was settled.
Ottilia, feeling buoyed by an increase of appetite which enabled her to do justice to the fresh fish, prepared with excellence by the new cook, seized the opportunity to send Joanie for Hemp.
“Did you manage to engage any of them in conversation?”
Hemp’s curled lip was answer enough, though he amplified it readily. “Easily, milady. That young spark will speak with anyone, I think.” A wry look entered the light brown features. “He took me for a pugilist and would keep challenging me to a bout, no matter how many times I said I had no interest in or experience of the ring.”
Ottilia laughed. “Poor Hemp. What did I let you in for?”
A rare smile came. “He is an amusing scamp for all that, milady. I think there is no harm in him, for all he likes to pester and drink and womanise.”
“A rebellious scapegrace, is that it?”
He nodded, leaning in a negligent fashion against the edge of a chair, his arms folded. A casual pose, which he would never have allowed himself to adopt if Francis were in the room. Although he certainly would not sit in her presence and Ottilia wished, not for the first time, she could persuade him to drop the pose of servant. It was not as if he was not a man of means in his own right, even if the dilatory legal settlements had not yet delivered up the whole of his patrimony. She set the fleeting thought aside and returned to the matter at hand.
“Did you have any luck with the others?”
“Jasper introduced me, but not all were forthcoming. I spoke a little with Lewis Payne. He is the fellow with the paunch, milady, who played the disappointed suitor last night.”
Startled, Ottilia blinked at him. “You saw the play?”
“I thought it wise, milady. I took a ticket when I secured your box.”
“You could have taken a seat with us, Hemp. There was plenty of room.”
His face closed in the stern way he had. “It would not be fitting, milady.”
“But what could you see in the gods, Hemp?”
He grinned. “I was not in the gods, milady. I was in the pit.”
“Oh.” Ottilia eyed him. For all his insistence on the dictates of propriety and position, he was decidedly independent. She abandoned the argument. “This Lewis then portrayed the coxcomb Cimberton? What had he to say for himself?”
“Not much. He was more inclined to worry over Jasper and try to keep him in line. The boy was loud and slapping the posterior of every barmaid who came near.”
Ottilia’s insides curled with distaste. “I see. Too indiscriminate then to have been Dulcie’s secret lover.”
“But he spoke of her, milady, a great deal. Not, I regret, from a sense of grief at her passing, no. But for the loss of her beauty on the stage. He says — and the others agree — they will lose custom without her.”
“Yes, that’s what Cecile said too, if you remember. She attributed it to the impresario Ferdinand. Was he there?”
“Only for a few moments, milady, and that was before I managed to edge in to speak with Jasper. I heard him enjoin Lewis to see the boy did not disgrace them all.”
Ottilia’s mind was still on the notion of Dulcie’s demise losing the company its customary audience. “The theatre was full last evening, though I dare say the sensation of the murder is responsible for that.”
Hemp’s wry look appeared. “I think that is so, milady, for the players drew interest from all in the tavern. Jasper enjoys the attention, I think. But not Rob. Robert Collins, milady, the tall one who depicted the friend of the hero; the one with whom he quarrels and fights the duel, if you remember?”
“Ah, yes. Cecile thought he was grieving a little for Dulcie, if I remember rightly.”
“That is so, milady, and I remarked him particularly therefore.”
“Did you manage to snatch a word with him?”
Hemp shook his head. “He is not communicative. He kept his eyes in his tankard and gave me no more than a nod. Morose he was, milady.”
“Did he not join with the general agreement about losing audiences?”
Hemp lifted his chin as if he thought back. “I do not think so, milady. I heard it from Jasper and Lewis. Also Wat and Aisling. They are the lesser players, milady. Those who came and went in many guises on the stage.”
“Oh, you mean the little fellow and the giant? Yes, I noticed both and I cannot think this Dulcie creature would have been in an excited frame of mind at the prospect of marriage to either.”
“You discount both?”
“I think we must. Dulcie was young and extraordinarily lovely by all accounts. And according to Cecile, she was incandescent that night. I think we must look for a prepossessing male, don’t you?”
“Then you will look at Robert Collins, milady.” Hemp straightened, unfolding his arms to gesture. “He is tall, with those devil looks females seem to find irresistible.”
Ottilia laughed. “You know the sex, Hemp. Or are you thinking of Miss Ingleby and young Simeon Roy?”
The two had been of particular consequence in the debacle in which Hemp had been involved. But he frowned at the notion. “Not them, milady. I do not think Simeon had this kind of devil look. He was more like Jasper perhaps. No, I have seen the type in Barbados, the women, black and white both, sighing over them as if the sun picks them out.”
Ottilia could not but wonder at a faintly bitter note. Had he lost a sweetheart to some passing wolf? But the matter was scarcely germane.
“You think Robert Collins is a candidate for the murderer?”
“I do, milady. Jasper rallied him on missing Dulcie because he did not speak. But Lewis shushed him. And then Jasper whispered to me that Rob would have taken her if he could, only that he has a shrewish wife who would beat him with a cooking pan for it.”
“Interesting, Hemp. Then he could not have married Dulcie had he been the one to get her with child.”
“That is my thought, milady. More, he must be doubly anxious to be rid of her for he cannot avoid being found out as her pregnancy progresses.”
Ottilia gave it some thought and found a flaw. “But Dulcie must have known he was married, Hemp. Cecile was certain she thought she was going to her wedding that night.”
His brows drew together. “That is so, milady. But it is not certain she thought of a wedding. Perhaps he deceived her to think they would run away together.”
“And leave a wife and childr
en behind? Not to mention losing both their employments. No, I cannot credit it.”
The rise of disappointment in Hemp’s face amused and touched her. She put up a finger.
“One should never jump to conclusions, Hemp, before considering all the options. I do not say this Robert is not the man, but if he is, Cecile must have read her friend incorrectly.”
“And you do not think she did, milady?” He gave a reluctant sigh. “No, me neither. It is a pity. I did not like the man.”
She had to laugh. “Well, we cannot, unfortunately, condemn the people we do not happen to like merely because it suits us to do so.”
His rare laugh rang out. “Very true, milady, though it would be a convenience if it were possible.”
“Yes, our murderer took the convenience to its conclusion too. Poor Dulcie. Bad enough to be murdered, but the deception rankles, Hemp.”
He nodded but said no more. “Do you wish me to pursue these players?”
“If you don’t object to it. I am unlikely to find means to talk to the men myself. See if you can find out any more about whom Dulcie might have been seeing outside the theatre. I cannot think she was able to keep her assignations entirely unremarked.”
“Then I must cultivate Jasper of the loose tongue.”
Ottilia made a moue of distaste. “Loose living too, by the sound of it.”
“Loose everything, milady,” said Hemp, preparing to leave the room. “He trades upon his looks and his talent and behaves like a boy who has been let out of school. He would be the better for a sharp lesson. Perhaps I will give him a bout after all.”
“No, don’t, pray.” The last thing Ottilia wanted was a damaged actor complaining of Hemp to Francis. “Besides, we need him garrulous and he can’t talk if you knock him about.”
A wry laugh came. “True. I will curb the urge, milady.” He bowed briefly and opened the door. Muffled voices came to Ottilia’s ears and she was gratified when he looked back. “It is the colonel, milady.”
He withdrew and moments later George walked in unannounced.
“Forgive me, Ottilia, but your steward fellow suggested I should come in directly.”
“Quite right,” she said, waving him to a chair. She was herself comfortably ensconced, with her feet up, on the chaise longue which she had caused to be moved and set to catch the heat from the fireplace where the small fire that had warmed the room in the early hours now merely smouldered. “How did you fare? Any success?”
George dropped into the chair opposite which Hemp had been leaning against. “None. The only thing we discovered is the rest of the girl’s money hoard among her things. Properly speaking, it is Cecile’s and I forgot to say she ought to repossess it.”
Ottilia disregarded this for the moment. “The purse was not there?”
“No, and before you ask, it was not in any of the villager’s houses either. Puckeridge searched three in the end, but no luck.”
“How disappointing.” She regarded him with a good deal of sympathy. “You look decidedly grumpy, George, and I am not surprised.”
“It’s not the purse.” A faint colour stole into his cheeks and his amendment came with haste. “At least, of course it is, but…”
“You talked with Cecile?”
His cheek darkened the more and his tone was defensive. “I had to see if she had any notion of her friend’s having been with Edgcott, Charlton or Paglesham. Or any other, come to that.”
“Did she have any such notion?”
“She recalls the fellow Edgcott, but says Dulcie had no interest there. Charlton was kind, as she phrases it, and she knew nothing of the other fellow.”
Ottilia digested this for a moment, but with half her mind on George’s evident dissatisfaction. She liked the colonel and knew how much Francis valued his friendship. She did not care to see him thus. She ventured a probe.
“What is it, George? Did it go ill with your émigré?”
He shot a frowning look at her. “No! Or rather, yes, but briefly. What do you mean, Ottilia?”
She smiled at him. “You’re not a happy man, dear George.”
A conscious laugh escaped him. “Under these circumstances? How could I be?”
“Ah. Does she not favour you?”
“Ottilia!”
She spread her hands in a deprecating fashion. “Well, there must be something to put you in this unaccustomed mood.”
He sighed. “I suspect she does, that’s the trouble. Only as things stand…”
“You cannot pursue it, is that it?”
He gave her a wry look. “I swear you are a witch, Ottilia. And if you dare speak of this to Fan —!”
She threw up her hands. “Idiot man! Do you think I would betray you?”
He winced. “I wish you won’t use that word. Cecile keeps on saying it and I can’t say I blame her. She was wild with me for using her information in such a way.”
“Yes, I can see why. You persuaded her of the necessity, I am sure.”
He shrugged. “I think she forgave it in the end.” He looked pensive. “She’s an odd mix, that girl.”
“How so?”
“She’s fiercely loyal, both to Dulcie and the players. But their general conduct goes against the grain with her. I suspect she is strictly strait-laced. She says the matriarch — Mrs Ferdinand that is — has kept her close in the hope of restoring her to a member of her family in due course. But Cecile believes they are all dead.” He looked up. “It’s tragic, Ottilia. But she’s unbelievably courageous although it’s also clear she has been badly affected.”
There was no doubting his intensity of feeling as he spoke about his émigré. Ottilia was both touched and concerned for him. A happy outcome was by no means certain, for the shoals in his way were plentiful. Better not to dwell upon it. But he had touched on something that made her think.
“If she is so strait-laced, perhaps Dulcie did not confide in her as readily as she might to someone a little more of her own milieu.”
George frowned across. “What are you getting at?”
Ottilia put up a finger. “Cecile shared a bed with Dulcie, yes. But with whom did Dulcie share a dressing-room?”
Ottilia saw George’s attention snap in. “There are only three other actresses, so it should not be difficult to find out.”
“Who are they?”
“Mrs Ferdinand, the eldest. Then there’s the woman Hilde, who is of middle age. The youngest is Kate, who, according to Cecile, has a tendre for young Jasper. By her reasoning, Dulcie would thus not have succumbed to him at least.”
Ottilia was eager. “Kate must be our target, I think, George. If she is young enough to be a confidante, she may know a deal more than Cecile.”
“You think I should question her?”
“No, I think I ought rather to do it.” She gave him a deprecating smile. “That is, if you don’t object.”
“Object? Do you think I have the slightest desire to engage in such a discussion? Besides, you’ll do it much better than I ever could. I can see myself!”
“You asked Cecile.”
“That’s a very different matter.”
She was amused. “Yes, it would be.”
“Ottilia, desist!”
She laughed, but was prevented from saying anything more by the entrance into the room of her husband, who hardly paused to greet his friend before breaking into an impassioned complaint against his mother.
“No notion of subtlety at all. She’s even more ruthless than you, Tillie, except that she goes at it like a bull in a china shop.”
“Well, you would scarcely expect Sybilla to employ subterfuge,” Ottilia said, rather amused than otherwise. “It is not in her nature.”
“Subterfuge? Lord above, she might as well have shouted her intention to the whole room. I would not mind but that she dragged me into the business, calling on Rodber to find those fellows and present them to me on the instant.”
“And did he?”
Franci
s did not answer at once, instead eyeing his friend with disfavour. “Either you stop grinning, George, or I remove Ottilia back to Flitteris and leave you to your own devices.”
George was impenitent. “After what I’ve been through this morning, I need a diversion.”
“Divert yourself on this then: Sir Peregrine Paglesham is a bumptious upstart who looks like one of these Greek statues. You may as well arrest him at once for any young female in her right mind is bound to prefer him to either Charlton or the bluff idiot calling himself a captain.”
“Edgcott? A Captain Sharp, if anything,” said George on a contemptuous note.
“More like, I should think. Not that I exchanged words with the fellow, but I heard him and that was quite enough. If he’s seen active service, I’m a Dutchman.”
“There we are at one. Tell me about Paglesham.”
Francis threw up exasperated hands. “How should I? I’d barely blinked at sight of the fellow when Mama edged in, introduced herself and bore him off. Lord knows what she’s saying to the man, but I wouldn’t put it past her to be subjecting him to a fearsome interrogation.”
A gurgle escaped Ottilia. “Then we may safely assume Sybilla will know everything there is to know about him. What of Lord Charlton?”
Francis shrugged. “Nothing. Do you suppose I asked him if he’d done away with this wretched actress?”
Ottilia tutted. “Don’t be facetious, Fan.”
“Well, for pity’s sake!” He threw up his eyes and gave out a resigned sigh. “Coffee!” Crossing to pick up the hand bell, he shook it with vigour.
Perceiving her husband was seriously discomposed, Ottilia set herself to soothe, holding out an inviting hand. “My poor darling, you must have had a wretched time of it.”
He crossed at once to the sofa and perched beside her, taking her hand and drawing her towards him. “What I need is a comforting hug from the woman of my dreams.”
Ottilia set her hands against his chest, holding him off as her cheeks warmed a little. “We are not alone, Fan.”
“Don’t fret, it’s only George.”
The Candlelit Coffin (Lady Fan Mystery Book 4) Page 13