‘… yet I must do what I can to protect my own life and the lives of my family, friends and servants.’
She reached into her handbag, and suddenly the sheathed dagger was in her hand.
The audience, though still completely silent, was finding it increasingly hard to sit still.
Charlotte Devaraux pulled the dagger from its sheath, and held it above her head for everyone to see.
‘With this knife, I will have my revenge for all the evil you have visited on me,’ she said.
This was what they’d all been waiting for, Blackstone thought. This was why they’d queued in the rain for over three hours without complaint.
Charlotte Devaraux swung the knife through an arc with such speed that it was almost a blur. And at the end of that arc — as everyone in the theatre knew — was Richmond Clay’s neck.
The knife struck its target. Richmond Clay screamed, released his grip on the basket, and plummeted to the stage.
Charlotte Devaraux held the knife aloft again, where the audience could see it gleaming it all its evilness, and from the stalls there were several screams equal to Clay’s.
The blade had failed to retract, Blackstone thought in horror. And for the second performance in a row, Charlotte Devaraux had killed a man!
But Charlotte Devaraux did not scream as she had done the previous evening. Instead, she put her free hand to her brow, and looked out into the audience.
‘God forgive me for killing him, but I did not have a choice!’ she said dramatically.
Then the curtain fell, and — with all agility of a trained athlete — Richmond Clay jumped to his feet.
* * *
There were two more scenes to be played out before the end of the melodrama, but even a normal audience would have regarded them as no more than a necessary tying-up of loose strands of the plot, and thus tolerated — rather than actively enjoyed — them. For this particular audience of ghouls, the scenes were an almost unbearable anti-climax, and when Richmond Clay appeared on stage to take his final bow, the applause he received was somewhat tinged with disappointment.
* * *
Blackstone was standing in the wings when Charlotte Devaraux came off-stage after taking her bows.
‘I thought you did that magnificently, especially considering all you’ve been through,’ he told her.
‘Why, thank you,’ the actress replied. ‘I won’t say that it was easy for me, but my dear father always taught me that when you’ve been thrown from a horse, the only thing to do is to mount it again immediately, and that is a lesson I have carried with me throughout my life.’
‘I really thought that you’d stabbed Richmond Clay,’ Blackstone said, realizing he must be sounding like a fumbling, bumbling stage door Johnny, but not being able to help himself. ‘I’ve been involved in knife fights myself —’
‘You have? How interesting for you,’ Charlotte Devaraux said, with a slight smile playing on her lips.
‘— so I know what it’s like. I know all the moves — the left-hand feint, the right-hand feint — and even with that knowledge, I still truly believed that you’d actually stabbed him!’
‘It is the essence of my art to make the highly artificial seem excessively real,’ Charlotte Devaraux replied. ‘And as I think I indicated to you last night, I pride myself on being a true professional.’
And there was no disputing that was just what she was, Blackstone thought.
Chapter Twelve
The King’s Head Tavern and Oyster Bar was full to over-flowing with those members of the audience who had seen the matinée from the cheaper seats, and, to a man, they were talking excitedly about the performance.
‘Do you know, Oswald, I’ve never actually been to what you might call the proper theatre before,’ said one young man at the bar, who — judging from his style of dress — was probably a junior clerk in a brokerage house, or else worked as a wharfinger’s assistant at one of the warehouses down by the river. ‘To tell you the truth, the music hall’s normally more my style of thing.’
‘Is that so, Reginald?’ asked his companion, who looked to be in a similar line of business. ‘Well, that is a surprise. I’ve always pictured you as being a well-known face Up West.’
‘But I have to say, it’s been an eye-opener,’ Reginald continued, missing the irony. ‘And well worth playing the “sick” card for and taking the afternoon off work. Do you know, when I saw that Pittstock fall from the balloon, I was convinced — really, truly convinced — that he’d been stabbed.’
‘Richmond Clay,’ Oswald corrected him superciliously.
‘What?’
‘Pittstock’s only the name of the character. The actor’s called Richmond Clay. If you’d been to the theatre as often as I have, you’d soon be able to tell the difference.’
‘Who are you trying to fool?’ Reginald asked, turning like a worm which has only just seen the gardener’s sharp spade.
‘Why should I be trying to fool anybody?’ Oswald asked, apparently mystified.
‘ “Been to the theatre as often as I have”,’ Reginald repeated, in a fair imitation of his friend’s voice. ‘It’s all as new to you as it is to me. You only went this time because you thought you might see somebody getting killed.’
‘That’s not true at all,’ Oswald protested. ‘I’ve always been very interested in the theatre, and if I haven’t been to it as often as I’d have liked to, that’s only because I couldn’t find the time.’
‘So coming to see this play today had nothing to do with what happened last night?’
‘I won’t deny that last night’s events might have added a little edge of excitement to the whole proceedings,’ Oswald said weakly.
‘Little edge of excitement!’ Reginald repeated, with a show of derision. ‘You thought you’d see Pittstock — or Richmond Clay, if you’d prefer it — get himself topped!’
‘And it’s a bloomin’ wonder that he didn’t,’ Oswald agreed, abandoning all attempt to appear to be above the baser curiosity of his companion. ‘Did you see that knife?’
‘I most certainly did.’
‘If Charlotte Devaraux had misjudged it by just an inch — or even half’ an inch… ’
‘And who’s to know if she’ll get it right next time? They say that when you play with fire, you’re almost bound to get burned eventually.’
‘So will you be going to see the show again?’
‘I should say so. And you?’
‘Definitely!’
The tall thin man standing next to them had placed an order for a pint of bitter and a glass of soda water, but so far said nothing. Now, he decided to speak.
‘The way I heard it,’ he told the two clerks in a confidential whisper, ‘you’re not even allowed to play the role of Pittstock unless you’re suffering from an incurable disease.’
‘Is that right?’ Reginald asked incredulously.
‘Absolutely,’ Blackstone confirmed. ‘Well, it makes sense, doesn’t it?’
‘Does it?’
‘Of course. They’re not going to risk having a healthy man involved in a dangerous stunt like that, now are they?’
The two young men nodded wisely. ‘No, of course they’re not,’ they agreed in unison.
* * *
Blackstone took the drinks over to the table in the corner, where Patterson was waiting for him.
‘The vultures are circling,’ he said.
‘Sorry, sir?’
‘Sebastian George had better pray the government doesn’t suddenly decide to bring back public execution, or he’ll lose half his new-found audience to it overnight.’
‘Yes, death must seem quite exciting — when you don’t come across it quite as often as we do,’ Patterson said, philosophically.
Blackstone took a sip of his pint of hitter and — in deference to poor Archibald Patterson’s suffering — tried to look as if he really wasn’t enjoying the experience too much.
‘How did your interview with Tam
ara Simmons go?’ he asked.
‘I might as well just have stayed at home and plucked my nose hairs,’ Patterson said.
‘Which, I take it, means that you didn’t actually find the interview very helpful at all.’
‘You’ve heard the saying that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, haven’t you, sir?’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, all I can say is that if Martin Swinburne and William Kirkpatrick both fell in love with Tamara Simmons, then they were both sorely in need of a pair of very thick spectacles.’
‘She’s not attractive?’
‘She’s attractive enough, I suppose. If you were running a matrimonial agency, and showed one of your clients three photographs, one of Tamara Simmons, one of my Rose and one of your Ellie —’
‘She’s not my Ellie,’ Blackstone interrupted.
‘— if you showed him a picture of all three of them, he’d probably choose Tamara. But there’s nothing to her, sir. She’s an empty shell. And talk about stupid — she makes a bucket of jellied ells look like a mastermind.’
‘Perhaps she was only pretending to be stupid,’ Blackstone suggested. ‘When all’s said and done, she is an actress.’
‘And not a very good one, as far as I could tell,’ Patterson countered. ‘But if she was acting — which I don’t believe for a minute she was — then it was a truly brilliant performance.’
‘How do you think the case is going otherwise?’ Blackstone asked. ‘Do we have any suspects?’
‘I should say so. We stand amidst a veritable forest of suspects,’ Patterson replied.
Blackstone almost choked on his beer.
‘Less than a day of brushing shoulders with the bloody theatre folk, and you’re already starting to sound like one of them,’ he said, when he’d cleared the obstruction in his throat. ‘You’ll be wearing tights by the time this investigation is over.’
‘Maybe I will at that — if I can ever slim down enough to find a pair that will fit me.’
‘Be of good cheer — the fat’s positively melting off you, even as you speak,’ Blackstone said encouragingly. ‘Now, why don’t you tell me about this “veritable forest of suspects” of yours?’
‘Everyone in the company is a suspect, as far as I’m concerned — with the possible exception of Tamara Too-Stupid-To-Live Simmons — but I think a couple of them stand out above the rest.’
‘And they are’?’
‘Well, for a start, there’s Sebastian George himself.’
‘You think he’d kill off his own leading actor?’
‘If needs be. But according to what your mate Wilberforce told you, Kirkpatrick wasn’t much of a leading actor at all,’ Patterson pointed out. ‘Martin Swinburne was the real attraction of the George Theatre, and he was already dead. And as you’ve just seen for yourself, Kirkpatrick’s murder has been a real spur to ticket sales. I rang up earlier, just to see how they were going, and I was told the play’s booked up for weeks.’
‘Even so… ’ Blackstone began.
‘People kill to protect the things they love, sir,’ Patterson said earnestly. ‘And there’s no doubt that George loves his theatre — after all, he named it after himself.’
‘I don’t think you’re right on that particular point,’ Blackstone contradicted him.
‘So what are you saying’? That he named it after somebody else called George?’ Patterson asked sceptically.
‘As I recall, it was his father who first opened the theatre, about forty years ago. Sebastian wasn’t even born then, so the chances are that it was named after Mr George Senior, don’t you think?’
‘Good point,’ Patterson conceded. ‘And what happened to Mr George Senior?’
‘I should imagine what happened to him is the same as will happen to all of us, in the course of time.’
‘Do you mean that he’s dead?’
‘As far as I know, he is. And if he’s not, he must be a bloody old man by now. But let’s get back to Sebastian George, shall we’? Can you really see him committing murder?’
‘Why not’? We know he’s got the motive, and he’s got the means and the opportunity, as well,’ Patterson said. ‘You wondered who was where they shouldn’t have been at the time of the murder. Well, George had the right to be anywhere he damn-well pleased. He’s the boss. It’s his theatre. Nobody would question his right to be in the props room at any time of day or night.’
‘There’s some truth in what you say,’ Blackstone agreed. ‘But you mentioned two suspects. Who’s your second one?’
‘Richmond Clay.’
‘The understudy?’
‘Not any more, he isn’t, sir. As from today, his name is as prominently displayed on the marquee as Martin Swinburne’s once was.’
‘So, if I understand you correctly, you’re saying that he killed both Swinburne and Kirkpatrick?’
‘Maybe — but not necessarily. Swinburne’s death could have been an accident, but, even so, it could also have put the idea of killing Kirkpatrick into Clay’s head.’
‘He sees how Kirkpatrick benefits from Swinburne’s death, and realizes he’d benefit in the same way if Kirkpatrick died?’
‘Exactly. On the other hand, Clay could have seen that there were two men standing in the way of his fame, and decided to kill them both. There’s a saying in the theatre which goes something like, “I’d kill for that part,” and perhaps some people take it much more literally than you or I might.’
‘So why the delay’? Why were there several months between Swinburne’s death and Kirkpatrick’s?’
‘Well, Clay wouldn’t have wanted to make it too obvious, now would he?’ Patterson said.
Blackstone nodded thoughtfully. ‘I’ve got one more name to toss into the ring myself,’ Blackstone said.
‘And who might that be?’
‘Lord Bixendale.’
‘Bixendale!’ Patterson exploded. ‘Why would you ever consider him a suspect?’
‘Well, for a start, it would be just about par for the bloody course, wouldn’t it?’ Blackstone asked.
‘Would it?’
‘Definitely. Haven’t you ever noticed how we seem destined to investigate crimes in which the guilty parties happen to have titles?’
‘And not just titles, but power,’ Patterson said gloomily. ‘Indeed,’ Blackstone agreed.
‘Power they’ve been prepared to use in an attempt to destroy us the second they felt we were getting close to feeling their collars.’
‘Well, exactly. It’s become almost a habit with us.’
‘A habit we could well do with breaking ourselves of, in my opinion,’ Patterson said. ‘Is it only the fact that it’d be just our luck to have to deal with another bloody aristocrat that makes you suspect Bixendale could be the murderer?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Thank heavens for that! So are you going to tell me what your main reason actually is?’
‘He’s in love with Charlotte Devaraux. I’ve been convinced of that ever since I saw the way he behaved in her presence this morning.’
‘So?’
‘I don’t think he likes her being involved in the theatre one little bit. But since he can’t offer to marry her —’
‘Can’t he? Why not?’
‘Because he’s married already, and anyway, lords don’t marry actresses if they put any value at all on their place in society. So, since marriage is out of the question, he didn’t think there was anything he could offer her which would persuade her to leave the life she’s currently leading. But then, possibly, he might have come up with a scheme which he thought might make her do just that.’
‘What kind of scheme, sir? Killing William Kirkpatrick? How could that help?’
‘You’re looking at it from the wrong angle, Archie,’ Blackstone said. ‘If I’m right, it’s not who was actually killed that’s important.’
‘Then what is?’
‘Who did the killing!’
‘So your the
ory is that he just wanted Charlotte to kill someone?’
‘No! What he wanted her to do was to kill someone on stage.’
‘But why?’
‘To turn her against the theatre for ever, of course! Imagine it. She goes on stage, and accidentally kills a man. That’s got to be a terrible shock to anyone’s system, hasn’t it?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘He thinks to himself that after such a terrible thing has happened, she’ll never be able to bring herself to perform again. But the flaw in his plan — and it’s a bloody big flaw — is that he’s underestimated Charlotte. She’s shaken — there’s no doubt about that — but she’s also determined to climb right back on the horse immediately.’
‘It’s a bit far-fetched, isn’t it?’ Patterson asked dubiously. ‘I mean, surely he would have to have considered the emotional and mental damage that it might well do to her?’
‘We always hurt the ones we love,’ Blackstone said. ‘Besides, you know yourself how capable people are of self-delusion when they really want something. He may well have persuaded himself that she’d get over the shock eventually and return to being her normal self — except that that normal self would no longer want to be an actress.’
‘I’m still not convinced,’ Patterson said.
‘My theory is the only one that comes anywhere near to fitting the facts,’ Blackstone told him. ‘If Richmond Clay had wanted to kill William Kirkpatrick, why would he have chosen that method’? Why not poison his food’? Or hire some thugs to waylay him in a dark alley, and make it look like a robbery gone wrong’? But as far as Bixendale is concerned, the death had to be connected with the stage, because the whole point of it would be its effect on Charlotte Devaraux.’
‘If I’d been Richmond Clay, and decided to kill Kirkpatrick, I’d have done it in exactly the way it was done,’ Patterson said.
‘Why?’
‘Because now that he’s the leading actor of the company, he’s just as interested in playing to packed houses as Sebastian George is in selling tickets for them.’
‘So?’
‘And as you said yourself, it’s because Kirkpatrick was killed on stage that the demand for tickets has suddenly shot through the roof.’
Blackstone and the Stage of Death (The Blackstone Detective series Book 5) Page 10