April Clare’s lodgings were on a dank street behind the market, on the top floor of a dismal house. The upper window frames in the overhanging eaves were rotten, and dark streaks of grime ran down the walls from the broken guttering above. The elderly landlady who answered his knock at the door said, ‘No gentleman callers!’ and tried to slam it in his face. Lavender pulled out his badge of office for her to examine in the dim light. She glared at his tipstaff for a long time with her rheumy eyes before she finally shuffled aside and let him in.
‘You said she’s dead?’ The old crone leant heavily on the bannister at the bottom of the staircase as climbed up the steps.
‘Yes, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news,’ he called down over his shoulder before he turned a bend in the stairwell and disappeared from sight.
‘Who’ll pay me the rent she owes?’ she wailed after him.
As he approached the door of April Clare’s attic chamber, Lavender realised that it was ajar and had been forced open. Cautiously, he pushed the door and entered the freezing garret. The room had been ransacked. The mattress had been lifted off the bed and rested on its narrow edge against the window. Clothing from the open closet was strewn across the floor and the drawers of the dresser had been pulled out and upturned. Hundreds of sheets of paper were scattered across the debris like confetti. When he examined them closer he realised that they were the loose sheets from the actress’s play scripts. Someone had been here before him and they had been looking for something.
Lavender sifted through the wreckage of April Clare’s life, searching for clues to her intruders. What had been so special about the young actress that led others to imprison her and ransack her room? What was she involved in?
He decided to send Woods, or another constable, back later. They could ask the other tenants in the house if they had heard the door lock shatter and when. They may have also seen someone climbing up to the top floor. But he doubted these inquiries would yield much information. Despite the fact that the old crone downstairs with her red eyes and bristly chin looked a bit like Cerberus, the canine guard to the gates of Hades, Lavender suspected that she was useless as a gatekeeper and probably a bit deaf as well. The building seemed to be deserted and the door to the chamber was rotten and warped. It would have yielded quickly.
He straightened up and resolved to return to Bow Street, find his constable and then go on to Lincoln’s Inn Fields. He had put off his visit to Lady Caroline Clare for long enough.
However, Lavender was in for a shock when he walked back into Bow Street Magistrates’ Court, looking for Ned Woods.
‘’E’s out the back in the courtyard,’ said one of the clerks at the desk. ‘’E’s in trouble with one of those ’ell-cats from ’Art Street.’ The man grinned from ear to ear but refused to enlighten him any further.
There was a large crowd of cheering grooms, patrol officers and other constables gathered in a circle at the rear of the police office. In the centre of the cobbled courtyard was a furious middle-aged, red-faced whore, screaming abuse at Woods.
‘You dirty smut!’ she yelled as she tried to pummel him. ‘You’re sick, you! Sick in the ’ead! You should be in bleedin’ Bedlam!’
Woods grinned from ear to ear across his broad face and did his best to dodge and parry her blows.
‘Desist, madam!’ Lavender shouted as he pushed his way through the crowd. ‘What is the problem here?’
‘Are you ’is guvnor?’ demanded the woman.
‘Yes.’
She pointed furiously at Woods. ‘Well ’e needs lockin’ up – the depraved bugger! Sick! Sick ’e is!’
‘What’s happened?’
‘’E brought me back ’ere for a quick strum of his fiddle.’
‘What?’ The question came out as more of a splutter. Fighting back laughter and incredulity he struggled to formulate his next question. ‘Constable Woods did what?’
‘Come wi’ me, ’e says,’ the woman continued. ‘Come with me. I know a quiet room at the back of Bow Street. Nice and quiet it is. No geezer will disturb us . . .’ The grooms were in hysterics. Her voice rose to a furious crescendo.
‘What happened?
‘’E took me into the bleedin’ morgue!’ she screamed. ‘Full of stiffs it is – and stinkin’! Great dead eyes staring up at me!’ The other men in the yard were now bent double with laughter. Tears streamed down their cheeks.
Somehow Lavender kept his face straight. ‘When you said he “took you” in the morgue, madam, exactly what do you mean?’ One of the grooms started choking.
‘You dirty bugger!’ screeched the harridan. ‘I ’ave my standards! I’m not layin’ in a room with dustmen nor plasterin’ my warm guts to a corpse!’
Lavender’s lips twitched. ‘Is that what my constable asked you to do, madam? Lie with the corpse?’
‘No, I didn’t.’ Woods grinned and nimbly dodged another blow to the head. ‘I have me standards as well. I simply asked Peg, here, if she recognised that corpse we dragged out of the river the other day – and she does. Come on, gal. You’ve had your fun and you’ve been well paid for a few minutes’ work.’ His voice rose with authority. ‘Off back to Hart Street with you now.’
For a moment it looked like the furious woman would refuse to leave but then she spat onto the ground and strode away. ‘You’re debauched – the bleedin’ lot of you!’ she yelled over her shoulder. ‘Rot in ’ell!’
Disappointed that the fun was over, the other officers and grooms drifted reluctantly back to their duties. Most of them were still laughing.
Lavender relaxed and allowed himself the luxury of a grin. ‘You tricked her here to identify a corpse?’ he said. Woods nodded. ‘Did she know the dead man we pulled out of the Thames?’ Woods nodded again. ‘And you brought her back here to identify him with the promise of some business?’
‘Well, she wouldn’t have come to identify him if I’d asked her straight, would she?’ Woods grinned. ‘Those gals don’t go out of their way to help the law.’
‘What made you think she might know the dead man?’
‘There’s a missin’ pimp on Hart Street,’ Woods said. ‘And we’ve got an unidentified body in the morgue. I just had a hunch it were him.’ Woods was still grinning. He rubbed his red forehead. ‘Gawd’s teeth! Peg doesn’t half pack a good punch, when she’s riled.’ He nodded towards Lavender’s swollen eye. ‘By the look of that shiner, you’ve been on the wrong end of someone’s fist as well.’
Instinctively, Lavender’s hand went up to his bruised eye socket. ‘I had a spot of trouble with a silk-snatcher at the theatre last night,’ he said. ‘So, who is the dead man?’
‘He’s called Darius Jones; he’s that pimp from Hart Street.’
‘And how did he end up in the river?’
‘I don’t know, but I think there’s a connection with our dead actress.’
‘Oh? That sounds intriguing. We have to go and visit the stepmother of the dead girl now. You can tell me the details on the way.’
Lady Caroline leased rooms in the basement of an imposing house in one of Lincoln’s Inn Fields’ leafiest streets. The area was out of fashion since the burgeoning developments in the West End and the house had a jaded grandeur to it. The cracked limewash and peeling paintwork on the exterior of the building added to the aura of faded glamour and dwindling fortune. A cold wind swirled up the winter debris that littered the weed-strewn cobbled street.
However, the inside of the apartment was warm and beautifully furnished. Exquisite oil paintings of landscapes and framed gilt lithographs jostled with each other for space on the walls of the hallway, interspersed with tiny cameo portraits suspended on brass chains from the picture rail. The maid led them through to the back of the house where a large glass orangery had been attached to the house.
Sunlight streamed down through the vaulted glass ceiling. Half-finished canvases were stacked, row on row, against the lower walls of the hothouse. A great easel stood in the centre, ring
ed by assorted furniture. There were tables littered with discarded paintbrushes, tubes of oil paints, rags and glasses of water. Flowers and platters of fruit were scattered about the tiled floor.
Lady Caroline was cleaning brushes in front of the easel when they entered the orangery. A plain, green turban held back her unruly red hair and a simple, paint-splattered, dun-coloured pinafore protected her white muslin dress.
‘Detective Lavender!’ she exclaimed, graciously. ‘What a pleasure to see you again so soon – and your charming constable.’
Two young men sat on the mismatched daybeds and chaises longues amongst discarded fans and ostrich feathers. They glanced up when the maid announced Lavender and Woods’ arrival. Lavender recognised the foppish Henry Duddles but the other young man, who wore a black velvet yarmulke on his dark head, was unknown to him.
‘You know Duddles, of course?’ she continued. ‘This is Solomon Rothschild, my nephew. Will you take tea with us? You can tell me how you came across that black eye. I’m sure that you weren’t so colourful when we met last night at the theatre.’
Lavender nodded to the other men and swallowed hard before he began. ‘Unfortunately, Lady Caroline, I’m the bearer of terrible news.’
The smile faded from her face. ‘Oh?’
‘I think you need to sit down.’
‘What has happened?’ She remained standing by the easel, her eyes narrowed with concern and her back rigid. He had no alternative but to continue.
‘We have recovered the dead body of a young woman and I’m sad to tell you that we believe it to be your stepdaughter, April Clare.’
For a split second there was absolute silence in the studio. Lady Caroline took a sharp breath and Lavender saw her eyes widen with horror. A second later, she staggered and fell against the easel in front of her, which crashed to the ground. He leapt forward and managed to catch her before she fell on top of the shattered easel and canvas. Both young men jumped to their feet but it was Rothschild who helped him lead the half-conscious woman towards a pale yellow chaise longue. Duddles hopped from one foot to the other wailing. ‘Caro? Caro!’ he shrieked. ‘Help! Someone! She’s dying!’
‘Find some smelling salts,’ Lavender instructed him sharply.
‘Stay calm, fellah,’ said Woods.
Lady Caroline raised her head. ‘No. No smelling salts. I’m fine,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, what a terrible thing to happen! Poor April!’
Solomon sat down beside her on the silk daybed and put his arm around her shoulders. Lavender handed Lady Caroline his own handkerchief and sent Woods to find the maid and organise some sweet tea.
After a few minutes, Lady Caroline made a determined effort to stop crying. She turned her pale face towards Lavender and demanded to know what had happened to her stepdaughter.
‘Perhaps you should lie down for a while,’ suggested Duddles.
‘Do stop fussing, Henry,’ she snapped. ‘I need to know about poor April.’
Briefly, Lavender told her the facts. Unfortunately, there was no way to soften the horror of how they had discovered April Clare’s body. Caroline recoiled, sank back into her seat and sobbed again. But when the tea arrived, sipping the beverage seemed to calm her.
Lavender took her hand in his. ‘You have to believe me, Lady Caroline,’ he said. ‘I had no idea April Divine, the actress, was connected to you when I met you last night at the theatre.’
‘I do believe you,’ she said, and sighed. ‘I was the one who insisted she used a stage name.’
‘Can you tell me more about her?’ he asked.
Lady Caroline dabbed her eyes. Lavender saw the pain in them. ‘April always was a wild girl, charming – but wild,’ she said eventually. ‘She dreamed of a theatrical career from a young age. Of course, while her father was alive this was impossible; the daughters of barons do not become actresses. But there was nothing I could do to stop her going onstage after he died. I had a premonition that this would end badly.’ She raised both her hands in a gesture of resignation. ‘But who am I, Detective, to stop a young girl from following her heart?’
Lavender knew she was thinking about her elopement with Victor Rothschild. ‘I’m sure you were an excellent stepmother,’ he said, softly. ‘She was lucky to have such a tolerant guardian.’
Lady Caroline gave a short strangled laugh. ‘I was far too tolerant,’ she said. ‘Both girls were out of control when I married their father. April was the worst. Harriet has had poor health since she was a child and was the more malleable of the pair.’
‘Do they have any other family?’
‘No. I am all they have – apart from each other, of course. Anyway, when Baron Clare died, April cultivated a friendship with Mrs Jordan—’
‘Dorothy Jordan, the actress?’
‘Yes. Mrs Jordan must have seen some talent in April because she became her patron and introduced her to the manager of Drury Lane Theatre. At that point I withdrew any opposition I had to her ambition, but I did insist that she use a stage name to protect her sister from malicious tongues. Harriet has made a respectable marriage to Captain Nesbit Willoughby and lives quietly in Wandsworth. I was quite surprised that April agreed to my request. She wasn’t always that agreeable.’
‘Did you hope to see her at the theatre last night?’
Lady Caroline shook her head. Several red curls were now plastered to the side of her face with wet tears. ‘I knew she wasn’t in Mary: Maid of the Inn.’
‘We had heard good reviews of the show,’ Duddles explained. ‘Caro wanted to see it.’
‘Lady Caroline, when did you last see Miss Clare?’ Lavender asked.
She blew her nose on her lawn handkerchief and stared thoughtfully ahead. ‘It must have been a few weeks ago,’ she said. ‘Both she and Harriet were invited to my soirée last Friday night – but neither of them turned up.’
Lavender felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. The surgeon had said that April Clare had possibly died on Friday night.
‘Where is Mrs Willoughby now?’ he asked. ‘Did either of your stepdaughters send an apology or an explanation for their absence? Have you seen Mrs Willoughby since Friday?’
Caroline Clare’s forehead creased and her lower lip trembled. ‘Such a lot of questions, Detective!’ she exclaimed in distress.
‘I’m sorry, Lady Caroline.’ He softened his voice. ‘I appreciate that this must be very difficult for you. I can always come back later, when you feel more composed.’
‘No, no,’ she said. ‘I want to help you in any way I can. We must find out who is responsible for this – this – this atrocity.’
He waited a moment for her to clear her throat and her thoughts. ‘Are you aware if Miss Clare had any enemies, Lady Caroline? Or a beau?’
‘No, neither,’ she said. ‘Although I would have been the last to know: the girls were always close and secretive. Neither of them let me know that they weren’t coming to my gathering.’
‘Have they been in contact with you since then?’
She sighed and leant back against the daybed. ‘No, they haven’t. An apology or an explanation would never have crossed their minds. You have to understand, Lavender, that when I was married off to Baron Clare, the girls had been motherless for quite a few years. At first, they hated me. But I gave them a lot of freedom and put up with their mean little pranks and eventually we settled into a mutual understanding. I didn’t interfere with their lives; and they kept out of mine.’
‘I see,’ Lavender said.
‘This arrangement has worked quite well for some years now,’ Lady Caroline told him. ‘I don’t see much of them but I always add the girls to my guest list when I throw a soirée. There were a lot of people here. To be quite frank, I didn’t notice they were missing until the next morning when Solomon commented on their absence.’
‘Thomas Lawrence, the outstanding British portrait painter was amongst the guests,’ Duddles volunteered, his voice rising with excitement. ‘Along with various pe
ers and their wives and that new chap who does interesting things with glazes – John Constable, I think he’s called.’
‘Same name as me then,’ Constable Woods said suddenly.
The other men glanced up at Woods curiously but Lady Caroline didn’t notice the awkward pause.
‘It was odd though,’ she said. ‘The girls sent a note that said they would arrive together in Harriet’s carriage; their invitations had definitely been accepted.’
‘And you have not heard from Mrs Willoughby since Friday night?’
‘No. Oh, my goodness!’ Suddenly she reached out and grabbed his arm. Her watery eyes widened with shock. ‘You don’t think that anything has happened to Harriet, do you? She’s not also lying murdered in an abandoned building, is she?’ He heard the panic in her voice.
‘No,’ he soothed. This thought had crossed his mind. ‘I’m quite sure that Mrs Willoughby is safe. But Constable Woods and I will go straight to see her and we will send you word that she’s well.’
‘Yes, yes – please do. And please be gentle when you tell Harriet about April. They were close. Harriet has never had a robust constitution and is very delicate. Tell her that I will be along as soon as I can.’ Large tears rolled down her pale cheeks.
Lavender picked up his gloves and rose to leave. ‘Again, please accept my condolences, Lady Caroline, and if there is anything we can do to help, don’t hesitate to ask.’
‘Just find the evil fiend who did this, Detective Lavender,’ she said. Her voice cracked with anger. ‘And make sure he swings for it at the next assizes.’
Chapter Ten
‘Are you thinkin’ that we may have two murdered women on our hands?’ Woods asked as they walked back onto the chilly, crowded streets of Covent Garden.
The Sans Pareil Mystery (The Detective Lavender Mysteries Book 2) Page 8