Someone had hit me. That much I knew. I had heard or felt someone nearby and was about to turn when I was struck on the head. This crossed my mind in the space of a moment, but none of the words would seem to form on my lips.
“My head hurts,” I said. It was all I could manage.
“Yes, I know,” he said, “but you must try to stay awake.”
“I’m … so dizzy.”
He took my hand in his, squeezing it gently.
“The doctor’s on his way, but we must try to keep you conscious.”
He was speaking in a perfectly calm voice, but I was surprised to detect an undertone of concern. Normally it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. Perhaps I was more gravely injured than I thought.
“Am I bleeding?” I asked.
“Not anymore. There’s a little cut, it seems, but it’s not bad. You’ll have a lovely bruise, though.”
“I feel wretched.”
“I know, darling.”
“How is she? Conscious?” I looked up and, even in the haziness of my thoughts, I was surprised to see that it was Freddy Bell.
“Yes, she’s waking up,” Milo said. “Any sign of the doctor?”
“Not yet.”
I shifted slightly and Milo turned back to me. “Don’t try to get up.”
“There’s no danger of that,” I said. I was balancing very precariously on the precipice of unconsciousness, and I felt as though the slightest of movements would send me over the edge.
“Can I get you anything, Mrs. Ames?” Mr. Bell asked, looking down at me.
“No, thank you.” I felt quite conspicuous lying on the floor, but someone had put a cushion from the little settee under my head. The floor beneath me felt cool and it was welcoming, for I was strangely hot. Milo was still holding my hand. It was very sweet of him to remain at my side.
My head throbbed mercilessly. Whoever had hit me had got me right on the temple, just as I was preparing to turn around.
Who might have done it? More to the point, why? I didn’t think I had done anything that was worthy of being bashed over the head. Then again, my thoughts were somewhat fuzzy at the moment.
I suddenly remembered the drawer. I had been about to open it when I was hit. I needed to know if anything was in it.
“I think I can get up now,” I said.
“No, you will not,” Milo replied. “Not until the doctor arrives.”
I wanted to argue with him, but I felt too tired. I had never felt anything like the blow that someone had dealt me. My ears still practically rang with it. I hoped that my skull wasn’t fractured or some such thing. The way I felt, I wouldn’t be surprised if it had been split in two. I supposed the very fact that I was lucid enough to be concerned about it was a good sign.
“I’ll go and look again for the doctor,” Mr. Bell said.
He left, and I suddenly realized this would likely be the only time Milo and I were alone in the room before the doctor arrived.
“The dressing table drawer…”
“Don’t talk,” Milo told me. “Just rest until he gets here.”
“The bottom drawer on the left,” I said. “Is it open?”
Milo glanced in that direction. “Yes.”
Had I pulled it open before I was struck? I couldn’t remember.
“Go and see if there’s anything in it,” I said.
“Amory…”
“Go and look, Milo.”
With a sigh, he released my hand and rose to walk to the dressing table. I turned my head ever so slightly to watch his progress from the corner of my eye.
He looked down into the drawer, then over at me. “It’s empty,” he said.
“Well, what have we here?” A voice sounded in the doorway; the doctor, I assumed. I didn’t dare turn my head again to look.
“Good afternoon, Doctor,” Milo said pleasantly. “Inspector Jones.” So someone had called the police as well as the doctor. I was glad.
“What’s happened?” the doctor asked, coming over to me.
“I’m afraid someone’s bashed Mrs. Ames in the head,” Milo said.
I hadn’t told him as much, but apparently it was obvious.
The doctor knelt beside me and gently took my head in his hands, his fingers moving across my face. I winced as they brushed my temple.
“It’s bled a bit,” he said, “but not badly. You’re going to have a nasty bump, and the bruising’s already begun. Now, follow my finger with your eyes, if you please.”
He gave my head a thorough going-over and peered into my eyes, asking me a series of questions that were designed, I assumed, to ascertain that my brain was still intact.
At last, it appeared I had passed the test. He sat back. “You’ll survive, Mrs. Ames,” he said. “Though you’ll need to take things easy for a few days.”
“May I get up?” I asked. I felt rather ridiculous lying there on the floor with all these people hovering over me.
“I think that would be all right,” the doctor said. “But move slowly.”
He and Milo helped me to a sitting position. My head swam for just a moment, darkness dancing at the periphery of my vision, but then it cleared and I felt that I could focus.
That was when Inspector Jones stepped forward. “I’m not going to trouble you long, Mrs. Ames. I just want you to tell me very briefly what happened.”
“Someone hit me,” I said. “I was going to open the dressing table drawer when I saw a shadow out of the corner of my eye. Before I could turn around, something hit me on the side of the head. Very hard.”
“No doubt with this,” Milo said, nodding toward something on the floor. “It’s a little statue, one of the stage props, no doubt.”
“It’s a part of the drawing room set,” I said. “I saw it onstage earlier.” I was pleased with myself for remembering, more for the fact that I could remember after that blow to the head than for the memory’s potential relevance as a clue. After all, anyone might have picked it up and followed me backstage.
“We’ll have it checked for fingerprints, though I suppose countless people will have touched it,” Inspector Jones said, before turning back to me. “Did you see anyone?”
“No. Just the shadow or a flicker of movement from the corner of my vision and then the pain in my head.”
He looked up at Milo. “And you found her?”
“No, Frederick Bell did. I had just arrived when he came hurrying in my direction and told me he’d found Amory unconscious.”
“Indeed? What was he doing here?”
“He said he’d come to get a box of his sister’s things that Miss Dearborn had collected.”
I looked for the box I had noticed when I had visited here with Miss Dearborn. It was still on the floor by the settee.
“And where is Mr. Bell now?” Inspector Jones asked.
“Didn’t he show you and the doctor in?”
“No,” the doctor said. “We didn’t see anyone. I’ve tended actors here before, however. I knew where the dressing rooms were located.”
So Frederick Bell had evaded the police once again.
“What were you looking for in the dressing table drawer, Mrs. Ames?” Inspector Jones asked.
I hesitated. “Well, I’m not entirely sure. It was locked, you see. It was just as I opened it that I was hit. But I think it may have contained some compromising letters between Mr. Holloway and Miss Bell. I wanted to retrieve them for Mr. Holloway before they could get out and do any more harm.”
“You oughtn’t to have put yourself in danger like that,” Inspector Jones said, not unkindly. “You see, we already opened that drawer.”
“What?” I asked, half hoping that I had heard him wrong.
“I’m afraid so,” he said. “We located a key in one of the other drawers and removed the contents, mostly jewelry, some money, and banking receipts. A few strongly worded letters from her brother’s creditors. We locked the drawer back as we had found it and gave the key to Mr. Holloway. You
must have a duplicate.”
They had already been in the drawer. I had been hit on the head for nothing. Somehow this seemed to make the pain worse.
“There were no letters in it?” I asked, unable to let go of the idea.
“Not that we found, though that doesn’t mean there aren’t letters elsewhere. Or that the killer didn’t believe them to be in the drawer. You see, we told no one but Mr. Holloway that we had opened it. If it was well known that Miss Bell kept things locked there, someone might have had reason to think you would discover something. Who do you suppose might have wanted the letters enough to harm you to get to them?”
“I don’t know … Someone who wants to hurt Mr. Holloway’s or Miss Bell’s reputations, I suppose.” There was something else, some memory that wanted to come to the surface, but I couldn’t remember what it was. I rubbed a hand across my eyes, but it seemed that the harder I focused, the more my head began to ache. Milo realized I was struggling.
“I think that’s enough for now,” he said. “I’m going to take you home, and you can get some rest.”
“Yes, I think that would be a good idea,” Inspector Jones said.
“Make sure you don’t do anything strenuous for a few days,” the doctor said. “And if any of your symptoms get worse, be sure to notify me.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” I said.
Milo helped me to my feet, and slid a supporting arm around my waist.
“Do you want me to carry you?”
“No, no. I can walk.”
We began to make our way toward the door. I glanced at Inspector Jones, who seemed to be deep in thought, and he looked up.
“One more thing, Mrs. Ames,” he said. “Who all knew you were here today?”
“I don’t know. Mr. Lebeau was the only one I saw, but he left before I came toward the dressing rooms.”
“You’re sure?”
“I saw him leave,” I said. “I can’t be certain, but I don’t think he would have had time to follow me back.”
“And you saw no one else?”
“No.”
He turned his gaze to Milo. “What about you, Mr. Ames?”
“I saw only Mr. Bell.”
“You said he was coming, as if to get help, when you entered the theatre?”
Milo nodded. “Mrs. Ames left a message at the flat saying she was coming to the theatre, so I came to meet her. I found the building unlocked and just as I was coming in, Mr. Bell was coming from backstage.”
“Did he have anything in his hand?”
I realized suddenly that Inspector Jones was wondering if Mr. Bell had struck me and taken whatever was in the drawer.
“No,” Milo said. “His hands were empty.”
“Very well. I won’t trouble you anymore. Get some rest, Mrs. Ames.” He paused and then added, “And be careful.”
24
I AWOKE THE next morning with a splitting headache. Milo had taken me home from the theatre and put me straight to bed, refusing to discuss any aspect of the case. I had fallen promptly asleep and awakened only briefly to eat a bit of supper with Winnelda fussing over me and to take some pills the doctor had sent over.
My head had really not stopped hurting all night, and the dull ache had woven itself into an assortment of unpleasant dreams, the facts of the case twisting themselves into outlandish improbabilities that plagued me as I drifted fitfully in and out of sleep.
It was a relief when morning finally came. The sun was streaming through the window, and I closed my eyes at the brightness of it. I felt vaguely ill, but the feeling passed after a moment. I didn’t dare try to move, however. I was certain that if I did, the pain in my head would become worse. I fought the urge to feel the bump on my temple to see how big it was.
I heard the door open and then Milo’s voice.
“How are you feeling this morning, my love?”
“Awful,” I replied, not opening my eyes.
“Yes, I was afraid of that. It’s time to take some more of these pills. I’ve brought you some water.”
“Thank you,” I said, still not looking at him.
I heard him cross the room and close the curtains. Even with my eyes closed, I could tell the room had dimmed. The bed shifted slightly as he sat down on the edge of it. “You’re going to have to sit up to take them, darling.”
That’s what I had been afraid of. I opened my eyes to look up at him, squinting even with the curtains drawn. He was looking down at me with a sympathetic expression I could not recall ever having seen before.
“You look terrible,” he said, erasing the affection I was feeling.
“Thank you,” I replied crossly. Very gingerly, I shifted my head on the pillow. The pain was steady, but did not seem to increase significantly. I moved to sit up, and Milo assisted me.
My head throbbed for a moment at the change in position and a wave of nausea passed over me, but I leaned back against the headboard and the throbbing subsided to the familiar dull ache and the nausea dissipated.
“Here you are,” Milo said, handing me the pills and a glass of water. I took the tablets, hoping they would quickly do the trick.
Milo was watching me carefully, his blue eyes flickering over my face. “You’re very pale.”
“I’ll be quite all right,” I said.
“You’re not to get up today.”
“Did the doctor say that?”
“No. I did. You’ve been injured, and I will not have you traipsing about, doing yourself further harm.”
It was sweet, if vaguely irritating. “I’ll be perfectly all right after I take this medicine and have some coffee,” I protested, though I was not at all sure that was the case. The way I felt right now, I was not even certain I would be able to make it across the room.
“You were lucky you weren’t killed,” he said, and there was no hint of exaggeration in his tone.
It was so seldom that he seemed really serious about anything that I couldn’t help but feel a bit touched at his concern.
“I don’t think it was as severe as all that,” I said.
“I thought we agreed we were going to do this together,” he said. “And yet you put yourself in harm’s way alone. Again.”
“I didn’t know it was dangerous,” I protested, though this was not, perhaps, entirely true. I was also still irked that it had all been for naught. Though I would never admit as much, this would teach me not to run off and do things rashly without first consulting Inspector Jones.
“Well, I’ve spoken to Inspector Jones and told him he’s not to come and question you any more until tomorrow at the earliest,” Milo said, bringing up the inspector even as my thoughts turned in his direction.
I couldn’t help but smile at the sternness of his tone. “How did he feel about that?”
“I don’t much care how he felt about it, but he didn’t protest.”
“Milo, I’m not an invalid. It’s just a bump on the head.”
He ignored me. “From now on, I don’t want you going anywhere alone. If you’re not with me or Inspector Jones, make sure you’re with at least two people. I don’t trust any of them at the theatre, not even Holloway, and I … What are you smiling at?”
“You’re turning into a mother hen.”
“Yes, well, you may as well get used to it. You know perfectly well how it annoys me when you put yourself in danger, and yet you’re always…”
There was a tap on the door.
“Yes?” I called, glad to be interrupted.
The door opened and Winnelda peeked inside. “I’ve brought some breakfast, madam.”
“Thank you, Winnelda,” I said.
She pushed the door the rest of the way and came into the room, a tray in her hands. While the thought of food was not at all appealing, I was glad to see that she had brought a coffeepot.
“Winnelda, I want you to take care of Mrs. Ames today,” Milo told her as she poured me a cup of coffee.
“Yes, sir,” she said.
&nb
sp; “I don’t want her to leave this room. If she tries, you are to come and find me.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, looking hesitantly at me. Though she was a bit in awe of Milo, I had no doubt that I could countermand his orders, if necessary.
“And don’t let her convince you otherwise,” he added.
“Yes, sir,” she said again before beating a hasty retreat.
I took a sip of the coffee, scalding my tongue. It was delicious, and it seemed that I felt a bit better already.
“Where do you intend to be all day, while I’m bedridden?” I asked.
“I’m going to look for Freddy Bell. I want to have a few words with him.”
“Do you think he’s the one who hit me?” I asked.
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”
I took another sip of coffee. In combination with the pills I had just taken, it was already helping my headache considerably.
For some reason, I didn’t think it had been Freddy Bell who had delivered the blow to my head. After all, why would he want his sister’s letters, if that was what he had believed to be in the drawer? The only reason I could think of was that he wanted to protect her reputation, and he needn’t have hit me on the head to accomplish that. The same was true of his sister’s valuables. They would come to him eventually, and he would have had no need to prevent me from finding them.
I remembered that Inspector Jones had also mentioned the drawer contained letters from Freddy’s creditors. I thought of his furtive manner when I had mentioned letters to him at the café. Had it been the written demands for money that brought him concern, or something else? Furthermore, were these the letters Dahlia Dearborn had seen Flora tuck away and had assumed to be from a secret lover, or had there been other notes that Flora was hiding? There was so much we didn’t know.
My thoughts returned to Mr. Lebeau.
“I learned something else,” I told Milo. “When I went to Miss Bell’s boardinghouse, the landlady told me that a gentleman had been coming to visit her, and do you know who it was? Mr. Lebeau.”
“And so you went to the theatre and put yourself directly in the path of danger,” Milo said, missing the point entirely.
“But why would Mr. Lebeau be visiting Miss Bell in her boardinghouse?” I asked.
An Act of Villainy Page 23