Her Majesty’s Theatre:
Truth and Beauty
Christina Britton Conroy
© Christina Britton Conroy 2017
Christina Britton Conroy has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published by Endeavour Press Ltd in 2017.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
About the Author
Chapter One
London, England - Wednesday, January 6, 1904
Elly Fielding’s terrified scream echoed down the narrow alley. A foul smelling cloth smothered her face. The chloroform was strong. She was unconscious in a second. Mick, the butcher’s assistant, hoisted her over his shoulder and ran. Jake, the gallery worker, stuck a cork into the chloroform bottle, pulled off his loose yellow wig, and chased Mick around the corner to a covered farm cart. The street was deserted. He prayed no one had heard the scream.
Two huge horses shook their harnesses and snorted white mists into the freezing morning air. The shivering driver pulled his scarf half-way over his face, and watched Jake open the heavy back flap. He laughed as Mick tossed Elly inside, like a side of pork. She landed shoulder first on hard wood.
The excruciating pain woke Elly from her drugged sleep. Her pounding head felt huge and her eyes refused to focus. Bile flooded her mouth. She spit out bitter liquid as her empty stomach heaved, cramping painfully against itself.
Jake shouted to the driver, “Get going, Gus!”
Gus cracked his whip, and Elly felt the cart lurch. The horses’ hooves fell into a graceful, hypnotic pattern. She surrendered to the strong opiate, closed her eyes, and sank into a deep sleep.
*
Jake and Mick rocked with the wagon’s swaying motion. Crouched on filthy floorboards, they braced themselves against the taut canvas cover. Their breathing slowed as their eyes adjusted to the dark.
Mick chuckled. “We done it, just like you said. It were easy.”
Jake clutched the bottle of chloroform between his legs. “We’re far from ‘done.’ Today was easy, but I spent two days slaving in that stinking art gallery. At least we’ve got the girl. When we get her father’s money, then we’ll be done.”
He held his nose with his left hand. With his right hand, he carefully peeled off hard glue around the edges. His skin stung, as he slowly pulled off a hard-rubber nose. He used a fingernail to scrape off the last of the dried paste. “God, I hate this thing.” He started to toss the nose from the wagon, remembered that he might need it again, and tucked it into his pocket.
“You know, Mick, for almost two weeks I’ve been walking right past coppers. Stupid buggers! They’re all on the lookout for Tommy Quinn and not a one noticed me.”
Chapter Two
Town of Settle in Yorkshire, England, January 5, 1904
In frigid dawn air, investigative reporter Sam Smelling, “The Man With The Nose For News,” shivered on top of an open milk wagon. Unlike the tall stout milkman, Sam was rather short and very slender. He had no natural padding to keep out the cold. He pulled his coat collar as high as it would go, and his hat low, over his thick brown hair. The two men chatted amiably on their way into Settle, Elly Fielding’s home town. The milkman dropped Sam at the police station and continued down the cobbled Main Street.
Constable Wright was out of uniform. “So sorry, sir.” Embarrassed, he jumped to attention and buttoned his jacket. “Not used to gettin’ early calls at t’ station, sir. What can I do fer y’?”
Sam smiled cordially. “Please, don’t worry about it. I’m trying to find Anthony Roundtree.”
The constable grinned and nodded proudly. “Aye, number one citizen in t’ town o’ Settle ‘e is, sir.”
“Really? What makes him so special?”
The constable yawned and stretched. “ ‘scuse me again, sir. Join me fer a cuppa, and I’ll tell thee all tha’ wishes t’ know.”
He put water on to boil, lumbered across the street to the bake shop, and disappeared into the rear kitchen. Sam quickly noted everything on Main Street: a butcher shop, a grocery store / post office, a chemist, a cobbler, a blacksmith / harness shop, a bakery/tea shop, and a pub. The kettle whistled and Constable Wright returned with hot buttered scones and jam.
As the food appeared, so did a large Alsatian. It held one ear up, the other down, and had an ugly scar across its head. Its brownish coat was matted and full of burrs. The dog tottered over to the constable, panting bad breath.
The constable scowled, pointing to the open door. “Get out o’ ‘ere, Rex!”
The dog stared at the scones and Sam laughed. Recognizing an ally, Rex hurried to Sam, gazed with adoring eyes, licked his hand, and leaned against him. Sam chuckled and crossed his arms. “SIT! Rex.”
The dog sat, still staring at the scones.
Surprised, Sam said, “Rex, DOWN!” The dog lay down.
“Rex, CRAWL!”
The dog crawled forward about two feet and looked back with a bored face. “Rex, HEEL!” The dog hurried to sit at Sam’s left. He patted Rex’s head, “Good dog!” Rex banged his tail against the floor, panted happily, and stared at the scones. “Constable, did you train this dog?”
The constable shook his head. “I never saw t’ dog before last week. Wandered in starvin’ e’ did. We all been feedin’ ‘im. Don’t know who ‘e b’longs t’. Didn’ know ‘e did tricks. Everyone started callin’ ‘im Rex. Don’t know ‘is real name.”
“Smart dog to learn a new name that fast.” Sam leaned over to examine the dog’s scarred head. “Looks like he was shot, a long time ago.” He scratched Rex behind the ear. “I used to train dogs.” He examined Rex’s bony frame. “Sure don’t like to see one looking like this. He looks like a police dog.” Rex raised his long nose, slurping a wet tongue over Sam’s face.
When the men started on their scones, Rex won a large portion of Sam’s.
The men made small talk, and Sam had to force the conversation back to Anthony Roundtree. Constable Wright’s version of Elly’s betrothal sounded like a fairy tale. Two great families, the Roundtrees and the Garinghams, were to be blissfully joined through holy matrimony.
Sam scratched Rex’s head. “That’s great. I heard that the girl ran away.”
The constable laughed. “Aye, she were always a funny sort a’ girl, raight wild tha’ knows. She ran off for a bit of adventure, that’s all, but she’s cumin’ ‘ome today. There’re ‘avin’ a quiet wedding, then the ‘appy couple’s catchin’ the train fer Hull, and a boat fer Europe, fer an ‘oneymoon. Tomorrow, Roundtree’s throwin’ a raight big party for t’ whole district. Been waitin’ a long time fer this. Lucky if you’re still in these parts. It’ll be better than t’ county fair.” The constable was so excited he did not notice the blood drain from Sam’s face.
Sam tried to sound nonchalant. “So, how do they know she’ll be home, today?”
“Oh, aye, well y’ see, Miss Roundtree - that’s Miss Lillian Roundtree, Mr. Roundtree’s sister, she was in t’ millinery t’ other day, buying white sat
in ribbon fer a weddin’ bouquet. Said ‘er brother would be fetchin’ Miss Elisa from Skipton, and the weddin’ would be today.”
Sam nervously pushed his hair from his dark blue eyes. There was a telephone on the wall. “I have some friends to contact. I wonder if I may use your telephone.” He reached into his pocket and dropped heavy coins on the constable’s desk.
The constable sat to attention, scooping up the coins. “Well, sir, ‘tis the duty and privilege of t’ Settle constabulary to assist travelers. Please, ‘elp yourself.”
“Where is the Roundtree estate?”
Constable Wright proudly put on his helmet. “Straigh’ up t’ road, ‘bout a mile.” Politely moving out of earshot, he stood in his open doorway, inspecting Main Street.
By 11:30 a bright sun warmed the air. Sam was a bundle of nerves. He had telephoned Father Tim and Dr. Vickers. Neither had received a call from London. He tried telephoning Isabelle, and the operator told him the lines to London were all busy. He told her he was a doctor and this was a matter of life and death. The operator said she would do her best. If he will please hang up, she will try to rush the call through. He sat by the telephone, drumming his fingers and petting Rex.
He found Elly’s green hair ribbon in his jacket pocket and twirled it around his finger. Rex nosed the ribbon and Sam’s eyes lit up. “I’ll bet you remember everything you were ever taught.” Glancing out the open door, he could see the constable chatting with another man. He held the ribbon to Rex’s nose, whispering, “Find Elly, old boy. Find Elly.” The phone rang and he grabbed it. “Isabelle?”
It was only the operator, apologizing that the lines to London were still busy. Sam thanked her and told her not to bother trying again. He petted the dog. “It’s just you and me, Rex. We’ve got to save Elly. You’re a member of the force, boy.” Rex barked and licked Sam’s face.
The dog had no collar, so Sam asked the constable for a length of rope. Delighted to be rid of the smelly beast, the constable went into his back room, returning with several ropes. Sam fashioned a collar and leash, bid the constable, “good bye,” and “thanks.” Delighted with his new master, Rex barked happily and wagged his entire back end. Together, man and dog left the police station, trotting toward the Roundtree estate.
A strong wind pushed them along the pleasant country road. Threatening clouds gathered overhead. They passed a row of workers’ cottages, came to a gatehouse, and a long, tree-lined drive. In the distance stood the big house. As Constable Wright predicted, the grounds looked like a county fair. Colourful pavilions covered the lawn and workers moved between wagons, tents, and entrances to the house. Sam smiled to himself. With this many people about, he could mingle and do some serious snooping. Rex started sniffing and barking. Was he picking up Elly’s scent? Was she here already? “REX! HEEL!” He patted Rex’s head and shortened the rope lead. “Good dog.”
Sam remembered Elly’s diagram of the house and grounds. Her room was at the back, facing into the woods. He led Rex behind the house, away from the workers. True to her drawing, a trellis clung along the back, all the way up to her second-story windows. Twisted around the thin fencing were thick, thorny canes of climbing roses. Sam looked up into her dark room. A doll slumped on the windowsill. He shook his head, imagining Elly in its place.
Rex found a stream behind the house and happily sloshed in the icy water. Sam took a drink and washed his face. He tied Rex to a tree, opened his case, took out locksmith’s tools and fishing line. He checked his penknife and put everything in his pockets. He left his case, coat, and hat, and crept to the entrance of a long neglected root cellar.
Elly’s directions were perfect. He was quickly at one of two back staircases, on his way up to her bedroom. Voices echoed through long passageways, but none were near enough to worry him.
Her bedroom door was locked, but he used his tools and quickly lifted the latch. He locked himself in and looked around. The space was large and bare. The floorboards were unpolished and the window curtains faded. There were a few old toys, a doll’s house, a lame rocking-horse, a school desk, and shelves of books. A narrow cot was covered with old quilts. No wonder Elly hated this room.
In the center, a bed sheet covered a tall pointy object. He pulled off the sheet and jumped back. A dressmaker’s dummy wore a wedding gown, Elly’s size. Beside it was a small table with a wedding veil, shoes, and gloves. His palms were moist as he nervously replaced the sheet, and hurried to the two large windows.
Elly had told him she used to run away by climbing down the trellis. Desperate to keep her prisoner, her father had nailed the windows shut. That was years ago, but Sam feared she might need that escape route again. He used his pocketknife to pry a dozen nails from each window frame. The old wood was rotten, the glass was loose, and the windows rattled in the wind. He scooped the loose nails into his pocket, opened one of the windows, and leaned out. He wound fishing line around the rotting wood trellis and chunky rose canes. If Elly did climb down, it should be strong enough to hold her.
By the time he got back to Rex, it was mid-afternoon. The sun had gone and a light rain started falling. He shivered, buttoned his coat, and pulled on his hat. He untied Rex and walked toward the pavilions. A feeding station for the workers had been set up under one of the tents. Servants carried vats of food from the kitchen. A small group of dogs devoured food from a trough. Sam let Rex go and he happily joined the other dogs, sniffing and slurping.
A young woman in a maid’s uniform swished her skirt at Sam. “Tha’s not from around ‘ere.”
Laughing, he slipped his arm around her all-too-willing waist. “You’re a pretty girl. What’s your name?” He led her toward the food. In her company, he was less likely to be noticed as an outsider, and he was hungry.
“Mary,” she giggled, a blush spreading over her pale cheeks. “What’s yours?”
“Sam, and that’s Rex.” He pointed to the dog, head down in the trough.
She wrinkled her nose. “‘es not much t’ look at.”
“Maybe not, but it’s what’s up here that counts.” Sam pointed to his head.
“Are thee one of t’ entertainers then? Does yer dog do tricks?”
“Your guess, Mary. So what do you do in the big house?”
“Serving maid. We’re feedin’ five ‘undred tomorrow.”
“Five-hundred? That’s great! I’ll go home a rich man.”
She rubbed up against him. “Will tha take me wi’ thee? I’m dyin’ t’ get away.”
“Why? Don’t you like your job?”
Suddenly serious, she pulled away. “T’ job’s all right, it’s just…” She shrugged.
“Can you cook?”
“Aye, I’m learnin’.”
“Well, I’m hungry.” He queued with the workers and was handed a plate of hot, comforting stew. The dogs quickly devoured their supper, and chased each other around the field.
Mary batted her eyes at Sam. “I got t’ go back, or cook’ll be cross.”
“Mustn’t let cook get cross, but maybe I can see you later. What time do you get off?”
She wound a curl of fair hair around her finger, and pouted. “We’ll not get off tonight. We all ‘ave t’ be in early, on a count a t’ wedding.”
Sam’s stomach cramped. Forcing a smile, he leaned in close, his blue eyes looking deep into Mary’s. “Well, if you can’t come to me, I’m going to have to go to you.”
She blushed and giggled.
Gulping down his stew, he left his plate and spoon in a large tub of dirty dishes. “Where do I go?”
Making sure she was not watched, Mary led Sam around the side of the house to a small window. She pushed it open. “‘Ere’s t’ pantry. ‘Up those stairs i’ my room. They’ll be wantin’ us all inside when t’ young mistress arrives. Cum back after nine and give a knock on t’ window. If I can, I’ll cum out t’ thee.”
Sam’s jaw tensed, but he kept smiling. “The young mistress has been away?”
“Aye,
she should be ‘ere soon. T’ master went t’ fetch ‘er. She’s gettin’ married tonight, but they don’t want t’ make a big show of it. A private family weddin’. No one else’s invited. We won’t get t’ see it.” She pouted, then shook her head. “When I get married, I want everyone t’ see me.”
“MARY! Where is that girl? MARY!”
Mary jumped. “Blu’dy ‘ell! There’s cook. See tha later, Sam.” She jumped through the open window, closing it after her. In the distance he heard, “I been ‘ere all the time, Cook…”
Sam leaned against the building, breathing hard. “A private family wedding.” Of course - no one will see the bride married against her will. Maybe Isabelle got his message and Elly was safe. Maybe all his worry was for nothing. Maybe, at this very moment, Elly was having tea at Hamilton Place. Maybe… Everything he had seen and heard screamed that she was not safe. But, why a wedding gown for a secret wedding? Mary wanted everyone to see her wedding. Who would care except the bride?
Father Tim’s words flooded back. “If Lillian ever hoped to get herself married, her brother saw to it that she had no dowry to offer a husband.” A frustrated maiden aunt, who’d never had a wedding of her own, might care.
As quietly as he could, Sam opened the window and climbed into the hall. He silently closed the window behind him, then stood still and listened. Directly in front of him was the corridor leading to the kitchen. He could hear the cook scolding, as pots and pans banged a raucous symphony. Smells of fresh baked bread and roast meat were intoxicating. The stairs he had climbed to the nursery were down the hall on his left, so he curiously crept along the corridor to his right.
According to Elly’s diagram, he should run into a narrow staircase leading to the back of Lillian’s apartment. He followed the hallway, walking on the balls of his feet to keep the floorboards from creaking. At the end of the hall, a narrow door opened onto a rickety staircase. He stepped on the sides of the crooked steps, but the old wood still groaned.
Truth and Beauty Page 1