Death in the Stars

by Frances Brody

  He returned to his seat between Charles de Beauvoir and Pip Potter who led the applause.

  Babs Powolski jumped to her feet. ‘It’s back to the circus for Adam and me. And don’t look for Jake and his pony. Little Mr Pinto Pony does not like that rake stage. Jake now gives rides to children in the park. Sixpence.’

  Charles glanced suavely to Selina. ‘I too honour the Yorkshire commitments after which time I shall dance and sing my passage across the Atlantic, though open to offers.’

  Trotter Brockett came to his feet, looking at his watch. ‘Well. Well, well, well. Don’t forget who makes up the wage packets.’ He smiled at his dancers. ‘I’m looking forward to visiting Blackpool and seeing my lovely Daisy Chain dancers, and good luck to Pip Potter as he takes up residence at the end of the pier in Bournemouth.’

  I interrupted him. ‘Please don’t rush the proceedings. No one will be late for the matinée, Mr Brockett. And I’m pleased to say that you have a new generation of performers up and coming. May I present Miss Lorna Lloyd and her little chum, Manny Piccolo.’

  Mrs Sugden led the child to a spot where she had her back to the French windows. She sat on a chair that Jim Sykes had placed there earlier. Now Sykes came forward, providing a footstool so that her little legs did not dangle.

  She spoke in a clear voice, showing just the slightest nervousness. ‘You all know Manny Piccolo, and you all knew my granddad, Floyd Lloyd. Well Manny Piccolo came to me and he thinks you might have questions for him. What do you say, Manny Piccolo?’

  The doll straightened up and tilted its head. ‘Happy to be here, Miss Lloyd. I have a nice girlfriend you know. Give us a kiss.’

  ‘Not if you have a nice girlfriend, Manny, that wouldn’t be right.’

  ‘Lots of things isn’t right, Miss Lloyd. If things was right, Mr Floyd Lloyd would be sitting where you are now.’

  ‘Then why isn’t he?’

  ‘Murder, bloody murder!’

  After a gasp of surprise, the quiet room became so utterly silent that I could hear the sound of the wind blowing through a beech tree beyond the veranda.

  ‘What do you mean, murder?’ Mrs Sugden had stayed close to the child’s chair.

  ‘Manny told me, didn’t you, Manny?’ The dummy nodded his head. Lorna spoke to everyone in the room, looking round at each of them, taking her time like a seasoned performer. It was the dummy who spoke. ‘Do you have any questions for me? I give advice to the lovelorn. I tell you what to do when a bill comes through the door.’

  ‘What do you do when a bill comes through the door?’ Lorna asked.

  ‘Chuck it on top of cupboard till you’ve coal enough to light fire.’

  There was an uneasy laugh from Maurice and from Pip Potter.

  ‘Who was murdered?’ Mrs Sugden asked.

  The dummy looked up at Lorna. When his arm was raised in Lorna’s direction, she operated him so smoothly that he appeared to act of his own accord. ‘Granddad Floyd was murdered, and he pleads to accuse.’ The dummy’s hand moved around the room. ‘He is here.’

  ‘This is preposterous.’ Brockett spoke quietly but everyone heard him. He came towards Lorna. ‘This is in the worst of taste, Miss Lloyd.’

  Beryl stood between them. ‘Give the child a chance on her first public outing.’ She looked down at Lorna and the dummy. ‘Mr Manny Piccolo, are you able to tell us who is the murderer?’

  The dummy had for the moment lost his voice. Its arm pointed towards Brockett.

  ‘How do you know it is that gentleman?’ Mrs Sugden asked.

  The dummy’s voice was high and clear. ‘My Floyd Lloyd, he knew too much. Look at what he said, look at what he wrote. Read the note that is tucked in my shirt.’

  Lorna brought out a sheet of paper from the dummy’s breast.

  Trotter stepped forward as if to bring an end to proceedings. He snatched at the piece of paper and began to tear it.

  I spoke loudly, to make myself heard above the din of sudden conversation and alarmed comments. ‘Silence, everyone! Mr Brockett. Please stay where you are. We are here for a reason.’ I took the original note from my satchel.

  Mrs Sugden had merged into the background. Following the example of Manny Piccolo, I pointed at her. ‘My good friend Mrs Sugden paid a visit to Mrs Lloyd and Lorna this week. Mrs Sugden was startled to hear the dummy that Lorna cherishes made an accusation of murder. We agreed that for all his qualities, Manny Piccolo is not a sentient being. Unless Lorna had an extraordinary and macabre imagination, she could not have come up with such a patter for Manny Piccolo.

  ‘I went back with Mrs Sugden and found that Manny had a secret tucked to his breast. Let me read to you. Here’s what Floyd Lloyd wrote, perhaps having sensed danger to come.

  ‘He writes, “I saw Mr Brockett follow Dougie out of the theatre. Mr Brockett told the police he was in my company when Douglas Dougan died. It is true that he was nearby when I was at the box office arranging a complimentary ticket for a friend. After that I did not see him. I cannot prove anything but if something happens to me, it will be because he knows I know. I should have said this to the police at the time: Mr Trotter Brockett was not with me or near me when the three dogs howled at the moment of Douglas Dougan’s death.”’

  I handed the note to Inspector Wallis.

  Brockett was angry now. ‘This is ridiculous. Who put you up to this, child?’

  Mrs Sugden squared up to him. ‘I think you should sit down.’

  Sandy Sechrest came to her feet. ‘Mr Brockett, you gave a cigar to Maurice on the night of the party.’

  ‘So I did. What of it? Have you all gone mad?’

  Maurice snorted angrily. ‘I am mad. You intended that for me. You wanted my musical instruments, and you wanted rid of a person you think belongs in the ark. It’s all Selina with you now, Selina and Billy it was to have been. Well I had no grudge against Billy. I liked him. I gave him the cigar that killed him because I thought he might want to be cheered up if the possibility of cloud forecast turned out to be wrong.’

  Before Brockett had time to respond, Selina said calmly, ‘It was to have been me and Billy in your show, Trotter, but not now. I’m bound for California with my husband, to make a moving picture.’

  Even the charge of murder had not shocked Trotter Brockett as much as this announcement.

  ‘You can’t. That’s not possible. It’s all arranged. If you go to America, the British public will turn its back on you.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be back, to do a show, only not your show, ever…’

  ‘Don’t say that!’

  ‘… and perhaps a home-grown moving picture. We shall have to keep up with our American cousins and our German friends. Jarrod and I have a lot to learn about the picture business.’

  As she spoke his name, Jarrod entered. Everyone turned to see the tall figure in black, with his scarred face and the white silk muffler draped around his neck.

  Brockett shouted. ‘Call the police. Isn’t he the one who gave you the cup of tea, Beryl?’

  Jarrod spoke calmly. ‘What makes you say that, Trotter? Ah, of course, you know because you handed it to me.’

  I glanced at Inspector Wallis. He began to walk slowly across the room, Sergeant Ashworth beside him. Somewhere in the distance, I heard the whirr of an aeroplane.

  Selina looked around the room. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, it was so good of you to come, but none of us want to be late for our matinée.’

  ‘You will never work again, any of you!’ Brockett was taking steps backward towards the window. He pointed a finger at me. ‘Viper! You will not work for me!’

  ‘True, Mr Brockett. I wonder who will.’

  A uniformed policeman put a hand on Brockett’s shoulder, preventing him from turning round and running.

  Brockett stared at us all in disbelief. ‘This slander can be cleared up. Anyone will see through this amateur performance.’

  He took a cigar from his pocket. The defeat in his eyes turned to triumph as he lit the
cigar and inhaled deeply.

  Nothing happened. He took the cigar out of his mouth, looked at it, returned it to his lips and inhaled again.

  Sergeant Ashworth appeared beside him. ‘Come along, Mr Brockett.’

  Mrs Sugden came up close to Brockett. ‘Wrong cigar, Mr Trotter Brockett. That smoke won’t deliver you from the justice of a trial.’ She waved a cigar. ‘I think this is the one you’re looking for. I worked for a magician once. He was a bit of a pest, but he taught me the art of prestidigitation. The cigar you have just lit was an uncontaminated one, given to me by Inspector Wallis.’

  *

  All the company walked to Soldiers Field to wave Jarrod off on the plane. Marco held his arm and perhaps Jarrod needed that support because the effort of the last few hours had been great. Selina kissed him goodbye. ‘I’ll come and see you tomorrow. I’m having a mass said at the Cathedral. You, me and Reggie, we’ll be all right, Jarrod. You’ll come through. Have faith.’

  Thirty-Eight

  Another Visitor

  The de Havilland became a tiny speck on the horizon, taking Jarrod Compton to London, to meet the doctors who may be able to help him go on living without needing to hide underground or fasten himself in a garden shed.

  Mrs Compton had arrived at Soldiers Field to wave her son goodbye. She and Selina walked back to the house together.

  I drove Mrs Lloyd, Lorna and little Manny Piccolo home to Back Barrack Street. Mrs Lloyd let Lorna go into the house first. We exchanged a few words.

  ‘Lorna did very well, Mrs Lloyd.’

  ‘She’s a good girl with the dummy and I’m glad of that because she doesn’t quite fit in with the normal ways of the world.’

  ‘I’m sure she will, given time.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not. There’s too much of her granddad in her. And it’s been recognised.’

  ‘Recognised?’

  ‘I went to the broadcasting building, and I got the chap there to listen to Lorna and Manny Piccolo. He’s going to give her a little spot of her own on a radio programme for children.’

  ‘That’s wonderful. Let me know when she is on. I’ll urge everyone I know who has a wireless to listen, and those who don’t I’ll invite round. We can all write letters saying how good she is.’

  By the time I reached home, Mrs Sugden had been dropped off by Mr Sykes.

  She still wore her coat. ‘I’m off round to see how Miss Merton is managing her garden party and how young Harriet is coping as a server.’

  ‘Let’s hope she isn’t practising jujitsu on the guests.’

  ‘Do you want to come?’

  ‘I’ll stay here. I’ll telephone my mother and make arrangements to see her tomorrow.’ Some time soon I would also call Mary Jane, but that would be at a moment when I had gathered some reserves of patience. My sister would be wanting Harriet back as soon as Barbara May decided to return to her husband.

  I made the call to my mother who was delighted that Harriet and I would come for Sunday dinner.

  There is always a great sense of release when a case is over. Inspector Wallis would have the responsibility now, and Selina would be able to pursue her life and career without the shadow of Trotter Brockett.

  I poured a glass of sherry and began to catch up with the newspapers. There was a piece quoting Charlie Chaplin’s opinion of the plans for talking pictures. They would not catch on. I had not got very far into my pile of newspapers when there was a knock on the door. The mad thought occurred that Trotter Brockett had escaped from custody and come to take revenge. My nerve endings told me to look through the window first but my head ordered courage. I went to the door.

  There stood Alex McGregor, giving me a big smile. ‘Hello! Bet you didn’t expect to see me.’

  ‘No I didn’t, Alex.’

  He was wearing khaki shorts, an open-neck shirt and a sweater tied by the sleeves around his waist. His bicycle was propped by the front gate.

  ‘You’ve cycled from Giggleswick?’

  ‘Yes, we’re let out on Saturdays for good behaviour.’

  ‘Then you better come in.’ I took him through to the kitchen.

  ‘I’ve brought lunch.’ He produced a packet of sandwiches. ‘It’s cheese. Would you like one?’

  Not having had the stomach for the fine spread Selina laid on, a doorstep-size cheese sandwich was just what I needed. I supplemented Alex’s offerings with fruitcake, and poured him a glass of Dandelion and Burdock.

  ‘I had to come, Mrs Shackleton. I’m burning with curiosity. What happened when you took the cigar to the chemist?’

  ‘Good question. My friendly chemist did not contact me. The police did.’

  ‘So I was right!’ In his excitement, he spluttered, and then put a hand to his mouth.

  ‘Don’t be too excited, Alex. The result was not confirmed or denied.’

  ‘How could that be? That is so wrong!’

  ‘Did you have any repercussions at school?’

  He chewed and swallowed before answering. ‘I was called into the head’s study.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘This is the extraordinary thing. I have no idea what he said, even though I was there for ten minutes saying yes, sir and no, sir. I expected to be hauled over the coals but it was something between a dressing down and a pep talk. It was all “the day’s events”, “reputation”, “prime minister’s standing”, “British values”, “need for discretion”, “doing the right thing”. There was no mention of the cigar, just “that chapter is closed”. I feel so annoyed with myself for not knowing what to say and for not having the spunk to ask him to speak plainly. Only I didn’t want to mention your name.’

  ‘Having cousins in government, I hear a lot of that kind of talk. If you ever become part of the establishment, I expect it will all make sense.’

  ‘Then I’m glad I have a place at Edinburgh to study medicine.’ He took a drink. ‘Of course the locksmiths came. My key to the lab doesn’t work now.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to come out more, in the fresh air on your bicycle. It’ll do you good.’

  ‘And what about justice for Mr Moffatt?’

  ‘There’ll be justice. Keep an eye on the newspapers. Before too long there will be a report of a trial of a certain person for the murder of at least one theatre performer and the attempted murder of a theatre dresser. I don’t believe we will ever see a whiff of suspicion attaching to Mr Moffatt’s death, but if those other charges are proven, he will have a quiet justice.’

  ‘There’s a moral to this story, Mrs Shackleton.’

  ‘Do tell.’

  ‘A chap should only ever smoke a pipe and be in charge of his own tobacco.’

  We talked for an hour or so before Harriet and Mrs Sugden returned, bearing leftovers from the garden party which were demolished in no time.

  That was when we decided to go see Buster Keaton in The General. Instead of cycling back, Alex would come with us, and afterwards take himself and his bicycle on the train back to Giggleswick.

  *

  We sat in the darkness of the Hyde Park Picture House, watching the action packed adventure. Buster Keaton as Johnnie Gray, railway engineer, pursued his train, ‘The General’, stolen by the Yankee army. His movements, his actions, those eyes of his, told us all we needed to know. His sweetheart’s expression, her moments of peril and her courage spoke volumes, without the need to hear her voice.

  When captions appeared, a child on the row behind read them to her granny. Across the picture house, whispers from fluent readers mingled with the sound of piano music.

  We all laughed at Buster Keaton’s antics and willed him to succeed, which of course he did.

  When we came out into the light, we felt so lifted and in good humour.

  ‘Who won that war between the north and south in America?’ Harriet asked.

  Alex was about to answer, but Mrs Sugden jumped in first. ‘Isn’t that obvious? It was Buster Keaton.’

  We discussed the promised arr
ival of pictures where actors might talk. It would help the people in the audience who couldn’t read, but what about those who were hard of hearing? Perhaps Charlie Chaplin was right and it would not catch on.