Death of a Dancer

by Anthony Litton

  She nodded and, her rounded voice and measured diction, unconsciously or otherwise, lending added drama, she began. ‘Gerald and I had married too young, much too young and had the children much too quickly. We were estranged years before Ariana came onto the scene. Oh, of course, we kept up appearances, partly for the children’s sake, though I know they suffered,’ she added regretfully, ‘but also because that’s what one did. To the outside world we appeared a couple who, if not still in the rapturous honeymoon stage of our relationship, were certainly deeply affectionate and still in harmony with each other,’ she added, her gaze difficult to read as she looked back on her lost youth.

  ‘Was there any particular event that triggered your estrangement?’ Calderwood asked, as the old lady paused.

  ‘No,’ she replied sadly, ‘just a rather long string of them, many small and unimportant in themselves, but which, cumulatively, eroded our relationship. The girl was the catalyst for the break-up, not its cause,’ she added.

  ‘One of the things we’re trying to discover, is why, and exactly when, Ariana appeared in Estwich.’

  ‘As to why, I’m unsure. There was, even then, a bit of a mystery about her, but the when I can pinpoint exactly,’ she replied, leaning over to a small side-table; beautifully carved and inlaid with ivory, the connoisseur in Calderwood noted. ‘Even when our relationship became, in effect, non-existent, Gerald and I still worked closely on anything to do with the theatre,’ she added, picking up and opening an old cardboard file with a faded silhouette of a leaping dolphin on its cover, its silvery sheen cloudy with age.

  ‘That’s the one thing I could never forgive him for, you know, taking the theatre from us. In one sense, today, we’ve already regained more than we could ever have hoped for, now that The Dolphin’s back with us, after all these years,’ she added softly.

  ‘Anyway, I digress,’ she murmured, pulling herself back sharply. ‘In the late summer of the previous year, we planned our usual pantomime, but Gerald wanted it to be even more of a spectacle than ever. Receipts, though still enough to keep us profitable, were falling, and he thought a really spectacular pantomime season would give us more of a cushion should the following season continue to prove difficult financially.’

  Calderwood nodded. He knew from his theatrical friends that many smaller theatres ran at, or near, a loss for most of the year and relied on a bumper pantomime run to plug any financial gaps.

  ‘So,’ Marian continued, her voice remaining strong, but her dark eyes increasingly distant as old memories flooded back, almost overwhelming her. ‘We decided, or rather Gerald did, whatever his faults, he was a superb showman,’ she added, ‘that no expense would be spared, either on sets or on the cast. We advertised far more widely than usual for a whole range of performers. We spent a fortune on the London trade papers and Ariana applied as a result of seeing our advertisement in one of those. This one, I think,’ she added as she handed over a yellowing newspaper cutting.

  Underneath the listing of various character roles needed for the pantomime, came the requirements for the dancers:

  Particularly needed are strong dancers for both the chorus and to perform numerous solos.

  ‘Ariana later told me that it was the opportunity for performing solos that made her apply,’ the old lady said.

  Calderwood wondered if that was the only reason that the young girl had chosen such an out of the way place, but said nothing, as she continued.

  ‘Knowing that many of the applicants couldn’t afford a journey up here, we selected a dozen or so who seemed the most interesting and travelled down to London and interviewed them in the hotel. The family usually stayed at the Savoy and, despite my concern that it would over-awe some of the young dancers, unbalance them, Gerald insisted we stay there as usual. I remember, one of the young interviewees was so overcome by the hotel that she trembled at the thought of walking through it on her own, so Reception called me and I collected her at the desk and then walked her back after the audition. It was then that I first set eyes on Ariana,’ she continued. ‘She’d just entered the hotel and was walking across the foyer.’ Marian DeLancy shook her head at the memory. ‘I say “walking”, but it was more than that; she seemed almost to float across the floor. Though obviously very young and dressed simply, she still drew many eyes. You must remember, the clientele of that hotel was an extremely sophisticated one, well used to seeing the unusual; even so, she still stopped many conversations and made many heads turn.’

  She shook her head sadly. ‘I should have stopped her right there, sent her home, sent her to her next audition, anywhere, anything but what I did, which was to take her to the room where we were auditioning and introduce her to my husband.’

  Chapter 12

  ‘The moment the pianist we’d hired started playing, and Ariana started dancing, we knew that we had stumbled onto something rather marvellous, even genius. I don’t use that word lightly, I assure you,’ she added, re-focusing her gaze onto the two officers. ‘Young as she was, she brought fire and ice, shadow and sunlight into what was, in reality, a fairly simple routine she’d chosen to perform. Unlike some of the other interviewees, we offered her a job immediately. We knew that if we delayed, she could well receive another offer and we’d lose her. She accepted and travelled up a day or two afterwards.’

  ‘She was, very obviously, under-age, so she’d have needed her parent or guardian’s permission for any contract with her to be legal, would she not?’

  The old woman nodded. ‘Yes, she would, but she was so unworldly that she hadn’t realised that. We didn’t have a contract with us, rather stupidly. So, as both she and we were keen for her to join us, it was agreed that she should travel up and we’d then provide a contract for her to see and her parent or guardian to sign on her behalf.’

  ‘And did that happen?’

  ‘Gerald, who took care of that side of things with all our performers, told me that it had. But,’ she shook her head, sombrely, ‘I discovered, afterwards, that he hadn’t done so in fact, either for Ariana or one or two of the other younger ones.’

  Calderwood nodded, moving on, ‘Being so young and, as you say, unworldly and perhaps not long away from home, did she settle in easily? Were there any signs of homesickness?’ Calderwood asked.

  ‘Yes, she was young, very young, as you say, and, away from her dancing, she was rather shy, so we took care she was lodged with a woman we’d used previously. She was a very reliable person and we knew she’d look after Ariana, help her settle in; which she did, and Ariana seemed content.’

  ‘Were there other new girls who’d be lodging with her?’

  ‘There were other new girls, and boys also, but they were all slightly older, so, although we ensured they were all also lodged with people we’d used before, it was only Ariana we put with that particular family.’

  ‘How did she get along with the others in the cast?’

  ‘Very well, in general; surprisingly so, in fact.’

  ‘Why was that surprising?’

  ‘There was a lot of jealousy, once people saw her dance. She was so far and away better than any of the others, and there were some very talented youngsters in that year; but her complete lack of any arrogance, any airs and graces, eventually captivated virtually all of them.’

  ‘But not all?’

  ‘There are always one or two, Inspector,’ she responded drily, ‘but Ariana was so overwhelmingly popular with everyone else that they had to keep their jealousies very much to themselves.’

  ‘She retained that popularity, even when – and I apologise for my bluntness – it became obvious that she was, what? A favourite of your husband’s?’

  ‘Even then,’ she replied coolly, after a moment’s hesitation. ‘It helped, of course, that, though it was obvious that Gerald was smitten, she herself, was remarkably discreet. No one, and that included myself, had any idea that something serious was actually going on between them, until days before the actual elopement and the theat
re’s closure. Indeed, it was only after they’d actually gone, that I discovered the extent of his infatuation, when I found a sheaf of receipts for quite a few expensive gifts.’ she added.

  ‘No one suspected anything? Yet you were all part of a very small, almost cloistered world, the sort that’s usually the last place to keep any secrets in, surely?’

  She nodded her head. ‘I agree entirely, Inspector; but I’d already lived through a number of occasions where my husband’s deviousness had hidden things from me for considerable periods, so I was not surprised about him, but Ariana, yes. She surprised us all, I think. She obviously had unsuspected potential to be a great actress, as well as a gifted dancer!’

  ‘Could you tell me the exact circumstances of the elopement, as you recall them?’

  She shrugged. ‘There’s little enough to tell. I woke one morning and, when my maid brought my breakfast tray, there was a short – very short! – note from Gerald on it. It said simply,’ she continued with a thin smile, ‘that we’d grown apart and he was going to start a new life with Aria, as he’d taken to calling her,’ she added, with a little grimace. ‘He also told me that the theatre had now left the hands of the family and was closed as of the end of the show the previous evening. He attached documents showing the change of ownership, alongside a letter from his solicitor banning access to any and all of the family. And all before 8.30 in the morning, Inspector!’ she ended with a brittle little laugh.

  ‘So – what did you do then?’

  ‘Do? I contacted my brother-in-law, and went to the theatre, which was already hidden behind high hoardings and from where, sure enough, we were barred from entering,’ she replied, in a hard tone.

  ‘Was that the first thing that you did?

  ‘Yes,’ she replied simply.

  ‘Why was that your first call, instead of, say, looking for your husband, or visiting the house where Ariana had lodged?’

  ‘My husband was a lost cause to me and had been for many years. As for Ariana,’ she shrugged her shoulders, ‘she had chosen her path and I saw no reason to expend any effort in searching either for her or for clues as to where they’d gone.’

  ‘Have you seen or heard anything from either of them since that day?’

  ‘No, nothing.’

  ‘No news about them, even at second or third hand?’

  ‘Again, nothing,’ she replied with a shake of her head. ‘To answer what I suspect may be your next question, Inspector, neither I, nor any member of the families, tried to trace them; we simply didn’t care enough,’ she added with blunt coldness. ‘What time and energy, not to mention money, we had left after Gerald’s theft, we spent in trying to get the theatre back. But we couldn’t. The lawyers had done their work too well and, as I say, we weren’t even allowed access in the two days or so before it was, we thought, demolished.’

  Her voice, which had remained clear and firm, at last broke a little until, by sheer force of will, she got it back under control. ‘We then just got on with our lives,’ she added. ‘And we’ve been happy enough, even though the loss of the theatre almost broke our hearts. But, now,’ she continued, ‘we may have a chance of getting it back, though until it’s clear who now actually owns it, we can do little; but what little we can do, we shall. Its reappearance may even silence our ghosts,’ she added, with a humourless smile.

  ‘Ghosts?’

  ‘Oh, just foolish chatter about strange sounds and so on, starting the moment The Dolphin disappeared! Inevitable I think with any old building,’ she added, dismissively.

  Calderwood, waited a moment and then changed the focus a little. ‘I understand that the family were going through a difficult time, even before the apparent elopement,’ he said, ‘with your nephew, Daniel,’ he added, seeing her momentary puzzlement.

  ‘Ah! Daniel!’ she responded, her eyes softening. ‘A lovely boy, very talented, always full of ideas, but I don’t think he had any money sense at all, he was certainly always scratching around for the next penny to fund his latest creative brainwave!’

  ‘I understood, from your son, that he was very good with money,’ remarked Calderwood.

  ‘Edmund said that? How curious! It sounds an uncommonly positive thing for him to say. He couldn’t stand him; jealous of course, unlike Edgar, my younger son, and Alistair, my nephew, who were both close to Daniel. Besides which, it’s simply not true. Daniel had many skills, but money management was most definitely not one of them!’

  ‘Your nephew was what, eighteen or nineteen wasn’t he? It’s an age when many young men from his background would be at university,’ remarked Calderwood.

  ‘Indeed, and had his father, indeed, the whole of the extended family, I may add, had got their way, that’s where he would have been.’ She laughed gently, as she recalled the rows that had erupted when her headstrong young nephew had flatly refused to travel the path laid out for him. ‘He turned the families’ arguments around and back onto us!’ she laughed. ‘How could we, with our roots in the arts, dare try to stop him seeking his own path within them, was the gist of his argument. A fair point, but one he undermined somewhat by refusing to tell us what particular path he intended to pursue, or what his destination was. He said we’d know when he got there. In the meantime, he’d appreciate it if every one stopped interfering and left him alone!’

  ‘Impressively independent, but I understand that that independence didn’t stop him from taking – stealing – money from the family and on at least two, if not three, occasions,’ Calderwood commented, as she paused briefly.

  ‘Ah! I hear Edmund talking again! Am I correct? No matter,’ she continued, as they said nothing, ‘it has his stamp on it. Daniel certainly took money out of various of the family accounts, and on four, not two or three, occasions. The family certainly saw them as theft; as, indeed, would the legal authorities have done, had we chosen to involve them.’

  ‘And Daniel?’ queried Calderwood, intrigued at her choice of words.

  ‘Daniel saw it as an investment in his future, similar to that which the families had always done for our young people,’ replied the old lady, throwing him an appreciative glance. ‘And,’ she continued, ‘the four “withdrawals” were, despite being done with forged signatures, each immediately acknowledged by Daniel, who said they were merely loans against sums he would be one day be entitled to.’

  ‘Entitled how? By promised employment within the family business? An inheritance of some kind?’

  ‘The latter. Daniel, as with all the children, would come into a substantial sum, but only on his thirtieth birthday. Which is an eminently sensible age, but one unimaginably ancient at the age of nineteen!’ she ended, with another sad little smile.

  ‘Can you recall when he disappeared?’

  ‘Not exactly, no. It was, I think, about three weeks or so, before my husband, Ariana and the theatre disappeared overnight, so everything unconnected with it went rather – what’s that new phrase? – onto the back burner, as it were!’

  ‘What made you all so sure there was no connection, Mrs DeLancy?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ she queried, clearly surprised by the question.

  ‘Well, you say yourself there was only a comparatively short gap between the events, so did it never occur to you that they may be connected in some way?’

  ‘Well... no.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘But Daniel had suddenly taken off and disappeared on at least two previous occasions,’ she explained, looking for the first time, a little flustered, thought Bulmer.

  ‘For long periods?’

  ‘Oh no, a few weeks at most.’

  ‘And he usually turned up again?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘Have you seen him since the day he disappeared on that last occasion?’

  ‘No. No,’ she said, so quietly they had to strain to hear her; ‘none of us has. When we’d all got over the shock of Gerald and Ariana’s escapade and the theatre suddenly disappearing, we just expected hi
m to re-appear as always; but he never did. But we never saw any connection to what happened, never. Is there one?’ she asked suddenly, her voice back to its usual commanding tone.

  ‘As yet, we don’t know; but we’re looking at all events that occurred around the same time,’ Calderwood replied formally. ‘I understand that just prior to his disappearance, your husband, besides having the rest of the family sign over to him all rights in The Dolphin, got everyone to sign over other family funds. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes,’ she responded after a moment, with another rare flash of bitterness. ‘We were told it was all to set up a new company to protect both the theatre and the money of the extended family. The combined monies were sums which would, today, be many millions of pounds, the bulk of our combined fortunes. Stupidly, we all believed him and did as he asked. And no one has seen either him or any of the money since.’ She paused and drank some of her tea. ‘Because of various trusts, none of us was left actually destitute, as you can see,’ she added, gesturing round the room. ‘But they’re all now almost exhausted and there’s little left for the next generation,’ she ended with a sad little shrug.

  ‘And are they aware of this?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh yes. We told them all, once we knew the extent of Gerald’s betrayal.’

  Calderwood nodded. ‘We’ve interviewed your eldest son already, as you know, and will speak to your niece before we leave this morning. We’ve also now traced your daughter, Mrs Carradine, and made an appointment to see her, but we’ve not yet been able to contact Edgar, your younger son. Do you perhaps have an address where we can reach him?’

  ‘Ah! My little changeling,’ she murmured. ‘Yes, you would have a problem finding Edgar,’ she replied smiling sadly. ‘You see – he no longer wanted to be known as a DeLancy. He changed his name, almost fifty years ago.’