by Rhys Bowen
“Oh, Miss Murphy. I’m so glad you’ve come. Do join me. I decided the time for secrecy was passed, so I called a meeting of the gentlemen of the press.”
I took her hand and she pulled me beside her.
“As I was saying, gentlemen, it was perhaps naïve and foolish of me to think that I could ever keep this strange phenomenon a secret from the world at large. You see I feared, again wrongly, it seems, that word of a phantom haunting this theater would drive away our potential audience and spell ruin for our show. But you heard about it anyway. You always manage to, don’t you? You are so clever that way. So I called this conference today to bring things into the open and let the world know what we’ve been going through these past weeks.”
Her voice cracked at the end of the sentence.
“So there really is a ghost, is there, Miss Lovejoy?” a voice shouted from the blackness.
Blanche glanced around her, as if fearful that the ghost might overhear.
“I can come up with no other explanation,” she said. “Strange things have been happening since we started rehearsing here. A jug of liquid hurled over me. The wind machine suddenly came on at full strength in the middle of a scene. A strange face at a window when I looked out.”
“You don’t suspect that someone is playing tricks on you? Someone wants you to lose your nerve and close down the play?”
“That did cross my mind,” she said. “That is why I hired this young woman. Gentlemen, may I present to you Miss Molly Murphy? Miss Murphy runs a private detective agency. I had friends who spoke highly of her skills. So I hired her to do some snooping around and to find out who might be behind these strange events. She has now been with me for two weeks, taking part in every performance, and I regret to say that she is as perplexed as the rest of us.”
“So you don’t think these acts were carried out by a normal human hand, Miss Murphy?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” I said. It felt strange to be speaking out to invisible people lurking in the blackness. “But as yet I haven’t found anybody who would have had the opportunity to be in the right place to carry them out.”
“She was on the spot instantly when they happened,” Blanche said, before I had finished. “She rushed off to search, and nobody was there each time. How do you explain that? Believe me, gentlemen, I wish I could explain it. I wish it could all be linked to a jealous actress who wished me harm. But I know Miss Murphy has done all she can and she still can’t give me a plausible answer. Which leads me to only one conclusion: this theater is haunted.”
“Is the ghost likely to make an appearance any time now, do you think?” one of the men asked, with a chuckle.
“It is no laughing matter, let me assure you of that,” Blanche said, glancing over her shoulder. “Were you here when the pillar toppled over? It is a huge piece of scenery, almost too heavy for one person to move alone, and yet it toppled during the middle of a scene and just missed me. Had I been a few inches to my right, I should not be here talking to you now, gentlemen.”
“So what do you plan to do now, Miss Lovejoy?”
Blanche paused. “I am at a loss for what to do. I can’t continue to endanger the lives of my cast, can I? I have tried a private detective and she has failed to come up with any plausible answer. My next step should be, I suppose, to call in the police, to call in bodyguards, and station them around the backstage area. But how will we manage to put on a lighthearted comedy with so much gloom around us? And if it is indeed a specter that is causing all this mischief, what good will they do? I don’t want to shut down the play, gentlemen, but I may have no option.”
“Oh no. Surely not,” were muttered comments from the darkened auditorium.
“How can we continue to act when we live constantly in fear?” she asked. “When our nerves are on edge and we fear an attack at any moment?”
“But the public loves the show,” someone said. “You saw them outside, clamoring for tickets. I understand that it’s sold out for weeks.”
“I’m well aware of that,” Blanche said. “And you know how I hate to disappoint my public. I have been a trooper all my life. I have always believed that the show must go on, but at what cost, gentlemen? At what cost? So I am taking one last desperate step to find out what malevolent being haunts this theater and why it wants our destruction. I have been in touch with the famous spiritualists, the Sorensen Sisters. They have graciously agreed to come and hold a séance in this theater, to see if they can make contact with the spirit and maybe persuade it to leave us in peace.”
There was a rumble of excitement from the audience but Miss Lovejoy held up her hand. “You will have to excuse us now, gentlemen. I have to dress for curtain-up in forty-five minutes. The show must go on. Thank you so much for coming. God bless you all.”
She blew them a kiss. The curtain came down and she turned to make a grand exit, leaving me standing there.
I hurried after Miss Lovejoy and caught up with her as she mounted the stairs.
“You can’t call in the Sorensen Sisters, Miss Lovejoy,” I said. “I know. I investigated them last year. I am sure they are frauds. They can’t contact spirits any more than you or I can.”
I faltered at the end of this sentence as just a small doubt crept into my voice. During their so-called séances they had shown me something that later proved to be true. Could that just have been coincidence? They had certainly fled quickly enough when I threatened to expose them.
“But they are wonderful, Miss Murphy. Everybody says so. I have friends who swear by them. And you have not managed to prove or disprove our ghost, have you?”
“No, but I am still convinced that you are dealing with a malicious person, not a spirit.”
“Then tell me how these things were done. You saw that wind machine. The whole cast was onstage. Nobody could have sneaked past the backstage crew without being spotted. And what about that jug? You saw it. It flew into the air by itself.”
“But it’s always you it is aimed at, Miss Lovejoy. Why should a spirit take such a dislike to you? Much more likely to be a disgruntled person, someone who feels that you tricked them or let them down at one time.”
She shook her head violently. “I can think of nobody in my cast to whom I could have possibly behaved badly.” Then she patted my hand. “I know you’ve done your best, Molly dear. You’ve tried hard. But this is something outside your sphere. I had hoped with all my heart that you would find a human culprit and we could all breathe easier. But you haven’t, have you? I am terminating your services as of now.”
“Now?” I asked. “As of this minute? You don’t even want me in the show tonight?”
“Frankly, I don’t see any point in it,” she said. “Why don’t you go home and have a free evening for a change? And spare a thought for us here, never knowing when that thing will strike again.”
I took a deep breath. “If you no longer need my services, Miss Lovejoy, then I require my fee.”
“Send me the bill, my dear girl. I’ll be delighted to pay whatever you ask.”
She waved me away as if I were a bird that had flown too near her.
THIRTY-FOUR
I stomped out of the theater in a black mood. I wondered whether I should say goodbye to my fellow young ladies in the chorus, but I didn’t want to go up there and admit I was being given the boot. I’m not one that takes failure gracefully. I was really angry as I passed Henry and stepped out into the night. I couldn’t tell if I was more angry at Miss Lovejoy or at myself. I had been given an opportunity and I had failed.
I started to walk blindly down Broadway, pushing my way through the crowd. Newsboys were shouting out the latest headlines. Something to do with the ghost and the theater, from what I could hear. By tomorrow they would include the news about the spiritualists. Fine, I thought. Let her pay good money to hire those old quacks. A lot of good they’d do her.
Then I stopped dead in my tracks. Something wasn’t right here. The way I had been brought onstag
e at the perfect moment. The grand announcement to the press. It had all been staged for the maximum effect. Blanche hadn’t needed me there to make that announcement, in fact she had already told me that my services would no longer be needed. Then it dawned on me: Blanche was putting on another play. She had cast me in the role of ineffective detective, as often happens in these little melodramas. She hadn’t expected me to come up with anything because there was nothing to uncover.
I stood there, unmoving, while the crowd surged around me. Then I made my way out of the main stream of people and found a little café, where I sat with a cup of strong coffee, trying to put my thoughts in order. I was tempted to walk to Daniel’s place and talk the thing through with him. But after all my talk of being an independent woman and able to handle my own business life—very well, thank you—I could hardly go running to him when a perplexing problem turned up.
I sipped the coffee and tried to make sense of what had just happened. I thought through each of the incidents onstage—the face at the window that nobody else but Blanche saw, the wind machine, the jug of liquid flying all over her, and then the pillar falling, missing her by inches. Was it possible that Blanche had somehow orchestrated these things herself? It was, after all, her play. Maybe she and Bobby Barker had thought this up between them—even rigged it up between them. But why? The jug of lemonade was just annoying, but the pillar could have cost her her life.
Unless—unless she knew it would miss her because she had carefully moved her own mark a foot to the left. She was a veteran actress. She knew that timing was everything. She had timed the events to perfection.
The words veteran actress played over and over in my brain. I toyed with my spoon and gazed at the crowds surging past the window. Everyone had commented that Blanche was getting long in the tooth, too old really to play the ingenue, especially at a time when the Florodora girls had set the standard of beauty at a sweet sixteen.
So Blanche wanted to make a big comeback on Broadway. She had the play. It was good. She would shine in it, but . . . But she had to get people into the theater. And what better way than a mystery? Poor brave Blanche. The show must go on. What a trooper, continuing with a play even when her own life was in danger. And even a real detective couldn’t find any human explanation for the shocking events that had happened.
I saw it all now. When I had been brought in Blanche had seemed desperate to keep any news of the phantom out of the press, knowing full well that one of her cast would be bound to spill the beans, thus creating that delightful atmosphere of secrecy. She had built the tension perfectly and had achieved the desired result. The show was sold out for weeks. And I had played my part and was no longer needed.
I was really angry now. I suppose I was still too much the naïve little country bumpkin, but I had been used too many times recently. I wondered if Oona Sheehan was in on Blanche’s little scheme from the beginning and had calmly enlisted me for a second time to be made a fool of. I was about to go and confront her here and now, and let her know exactly what I thought of her. Oh, and to collect the money she still owed me.
Then I decided no, I’d go and confront Blanche instead and let her know exactly what I had discovered. I wasn’t such a bad detective after all, was I? I was sure that she had hired me because she knew I would fail, but I hadn’t failed. I’d come up with the truth, all on my own. And I’d make sure Blanche paid me well for my services, or I’d let the word out about what she was doing.
That stopped me in my tracks, of course. Threatening her like that was pretty close to blackmail and I wasn’t about to sink to that level. This would need more thought. I wasn’t sure how to handle this situation. Part of me thought that the sensible solution should be to take my fee, walk away, and say nothing. After all, what harm had she really done, apart from ruining a costume or two? Except for that one costume that caught fire and could have resulted in harm to a chorus girl, the accidents had all been aimed at herself and heaven knows that people have done even more outlandish things to try to gain the public’s attention. Mr. Houdini had supposedly had himself locked into a box and been dropped over a bridge in London to gain notoriety. Probably all was fair on the stage as well as in love and war.
But I did not like being duped in this way. I did see that if I confronted Miss Lovejoy, she could play the wronged innocent and demand proof of how I came up with these slanderous sayings, and of course I could give her none. I hadn’t managed to discover how any of the accidents had been caused.
It was then that a devious idea came into my mind. Blanche might well have something spectacular planned for tonight and not want my observant eyes around at the time. Well, I would show her. I’d slip back into the theater—after all, only Blanche knew that I’d been dismissed—and take up a good position where I could observe without being observed. I marched right back to the stage door and went back inside.
Henry looked perplexed. “Didn’t you already sign in once tonight?”
“I had to slip out to buy some more face cream,” I said, smiling sweetly, and then hurried past him. I made as if to climb the stairs, but instead I went into the backstage area. All was quiet and dark there. The set was ready for curtain-up and the stagehands were probably taking a well-deserved smoke outside. I looked around to see where I might hide and not be noticed. Then the idea came to me that I could climb up one of those ladders into the flies. I could then perch on one of the crosswalks and have a perfect view of the stage. If anything happened tonight, I’d let Miss Lovejoy know that I was prepared to talk to the press should she try any more of her tricks.
I looked around once more and then found a ladder and began to climb. It is not easy to climb ladders in tight skirts and pointed shoes, trust me. I took it slowly and carefully and came out to a little platform, high above the stage. I don’t usually have a fear of heights but I have to confess that it did look an awfully long way down. I stood on the platform, holding onto the ladder that disappeared into darkness as it continued up to an even higher level. At eye level with me a walkway spanned the stage and behind it various backdrops hung, waiting to be lowered into place. It was a remarkably small space I was standing on and I didn’t want to let go of the ladder.
I had no idea what time it was and how long I would have to wait up here before curtain-up. It also occurred to me that I would be well and truly stuck after the performance started. Too bad for me if I needed a visit to the unmentionable. I wondered if I dared hitch my skirts up and sit, with my legs dangling over the edge. I was just considering how I might accomplish this when I felt the ladder vibrating in my hands. Someone was climbing up toward me. I was well and truly trapped, unless I dared to brave the walkway across to the other side. It was only about a foot wide, with thin railings on either side, and looked about as appealing as walking a tightrope.
It would surely only be one of the stagehands, I told myself, as I peered down to make out the top of a head coming toward me. He’d get a fright when he saw me, but I’d explain how I’d been instructed to keep a secret watch on Miss Lovejoy from up here and all would be well. I stood back against the wall and waited. A face appeared as a white blob in the blackness. I gasped as Desmond Haynes hauled himself up beside me with one fluid movement.
“So?” he said. “May one ask what you are doing up here? Taking up an aerial act, are we?”
“May one ask what you are doing up here?” I answered, sounding braver than I felt. He was a slim and elegant young man but he stood a good deal taller than me.
“As for that, I often study my choreography from above,” he said. “The patterns emerge, you know.”
“May I point out that nobody is onstage yet.”
“How true,” he said. “So would you care to answer my question, or should I summon the police right away and have you arrested as an intruder?”
“Have me arrested? I like that,” I retorted.
“Blanche told me she had fired you. So I ask you once again, what do you think you are d
oing up here?”
I tried to come up with a clever answer but my brain wouldn’t work in the rarified atmosphere of this great height. All I could think about was holding onto that rail for dear life in case he tried to push me down.
“Whatever it was,” I said, “I now have the answer to my problem. It was you all along, wasn’t it? I saw how alarmed you were when I joined the company.”
“Oh, you’re right,” he said. “I have been keeping an eye on you, and I can’t tell you how relieved I am that you won’t be allowed into this theater again.”
“I bet,” I said.
“I told Blanche from the beginning she was a fool to hire you. Anyone could tell instantly that you’d never been an actress, never even been onstage. So now that I’ve got you here, I’m going to find out the truth. Who sent you? Who is behind this?”
“Behind what?” I stared at him defiantly, eye to eye.
“Do you want me to spell it out?”
“Finding out the truth about you, Mr. Haynes? Is that what you mean? Finding out that you were the one behind all those so-called accidents?”
I knew I was taking a huge risk. I kept telling myself to shut up but somehow I couldn’t. It’s always been a failing of mine.
I saw his eyes narrow. He was frowning at me. “Nice try,” he said, “but you won’t get away with it.”
“What do you plan to do? Try and hurl me to the stage? Oh, believe me, I’m no delicate little flower. I can deliver a nasty kick when I have to. And I’ve got a good set of lungs on me. One scream from me and everyone will come running.”
He was still frowning.
“How can you live with yourself, that’s what I’d like to know,” I went on, having now got my steam up. “Miss Lovejoy thinks you are her friend. She hired you. She gave you a job.”
“I am her friend.”
“Then why try to wreck her play?”
“Wait a minute,” he said. “Are you trying to say that you were not planted here to cause the accidents?”