Murder at the Piccadilly Playhouse

by C. J. Archer

  He frowned. “Why?”

  “It’s just a question.”

  “An unnecessary one, in my view. She killed herself. What has that got to do with my whereabouts?”

  “Even so, can you tell me where you were?”

  He sniffed. “I can’t recall.”

  I pointed at the open diary on his desk. “Why don’t you check?”

  He slammed it shut and placed his hand on the cover. “Which newspaper do you work for?” The ice-cold edge of his tone made me shiver.

  I glanced at the piece of paper I’d signed. “We have an agreement.”

  “I asked you a question.”

  “And I asked you—"

  He smacked his hand down on the diary.

  I stood abruptly to hide my flinch. It was time to go anyway. I wasn’t getting anywhere.

  I turned to leave, but Lord Wrexham was surprisingly fast and reached the door before me. He blocked it.

  “Who do you work for, Miss Fox?”

  “Let me out,” I said with a calmness I didn’t feel.

  He smashed his fist against the door. “Answer me, or by God you’ll regret coming here.”

  Chapter 9

  I gritted my teeth. “Let me out or I’ll scream.”

  His lips curled with his cruel smile. “I’m the master of this house. Do you think the servants will dare go against me?”

  “They might not, but your wife will. I doubt she’d like to deal with the repercussions if any harm came to Sir Ronald Bainbridge’s niece in this house.”

  The mention of my uncle’s name had him staring at me. It would seem the butler hadn’t informed him who I was.

  “Step aside, please,” I said sweetly.

  His chest rose and fell with his deep breaths. “Why is Sir Ronald’s niece writing salacious articles for the papers?”

  Someone knocked on the door. “Is everything all right, sir?” called the butler.

  “Does Sir Ronald even know you’re here?” Lord Wrexham asked me.

  I swallowed.

  The knocking continued. “Sir?”

  Lord Wrexham’s smile stretched. He stepped aside and opened the door. “See that Miss Fox finds her way out.”

  I swept past him and found myself between the butler and Mr. Adams as I descended the stairs. The door to Lord Wrexham’s office slammed shut, the sound reverberating around the house.

  On the second floor landing, movement in an adjoining room caught my eye. A woman stood in the drawing room, her skirts swishing as if she’d just risen from the sofa.

  “Wait,” she said.

  I halted, as did my escorts. The butler looked caught, unsure what to do. Obey his master or his mistress?

  “We were just seeing Miss Fox out,” he said.

  The woman moved to the door but didn’t leave the room. She wore dark purple with white bows on the sleeves and a large sapphire ring on her finger. She was a plain looking woman and much younger than her husband. From what Mr. Adams had told us about her reclusiveness, I’d expected to see a similar disfigurement on her face as her husband, or signs of illness, but she looked perfectly well to me. “And who are you, Miss Fox?”

  The lie about the newspapers had ultimately failed with Lord Wrexham and, although I thought about using it again, I didn’t want to. “I’m investigating Pearl Westwood’s death. It may not have been suicide.”

  “A woman detective? You don’t work for the police then.”

  “I do not. Did you ever meet Miss Westwood?”

  Her hand began to shake. When she saw I’d noticed, she tucked it behind her. “Why would I have cause to meet an actress?”

  I glanced at the butler standing stiffly beside me. “May I talk to you in private, my lady?”

  Lady Wrexham’s eyelashes fluttered. She gave a small nod.

  I joined her in the drawing room and she closed the door. The furnishings reminded me of those in my hotel sitting room—elegant, expensive and all matching, as if all the pieces had been purchased together rather than over time. She moved the embroidery hoop she’d set aside on the sofa cushion and signaled for me to sit.

  “I have some very personal questions to ask you, and I want to apologize in advance for asking them,” I said. “But they are necessary to find out who killed Miss Westwood.”

  She settled her clasped hands on her lap. One of them still shook slightly. “I read about the actress’s death. It was a tragedy, but I can’t say I’m sorry for her. I know why you’re here, Miss Fox. I know you’re trying to find out if my husband killed her.” She lifted her gaze to mine. “Or if I did.”

  Her directness was more unsettling than Lord Wrexham’s fury. Ice ran through her veins, where fire heated his blood. “You say you never met her. But you knew of your husband’s relationship with her.”

  She inclined her head in a nod.

  “Miss Westwood called here between Christmas and New Year.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered again and I realized it was a tic, but whether it was a nervous one or not, I couldn’t tell. “I believe so, but I didn’t see her. She spoke to my husband in private. I don’t know what they discussed.”

  “Was that the first time they’d seen one another since their relationship ended?”

  “As far as I am aware, yes.”

  “What did you think of her coming here that day?”

  She gave me a wry look. “What do you think, Miss Fox?”

  “I think you hated her.”

  “Ah. So you are accusing me of her murder. If you think I did it out of jealousy then you’re wrong. Their affair ended years ago. Why would I kill her now?”

  “Because they were going to resume it.”

  She barked a laugh. “Were they? I doubt it. From what I can glean, Miss Westwood was getting more out of Lord Rumford than she did from my husband.”

  “You’re well informed about her life.”

  Lady Wrexham stiffened. “Is there anything else, Miss Fox?”

  “Where were you on the afternoon of Monday the fifteenth?”

  “The day she died?” She frowned in thought. “I was shopping at Harrod’s. I’m afraid no one can vouch for me, however. I didn’t purchase anything and I caught a cab there and back as my husband had the carriage. If you’re a very good investigator you could probably track down the driver.”

  I thanked her and rose.

  She reached for the bellpull beside the armchair but hesitated. “Despite what you may think, I don’t blame Miss Westwood for her liaison with my husband. I sincerely hope you find her killer.”

  She tugged on the tasseled cord and the door opened immediately. The butler glared at me until I exited, and I felt his glare all the way down the stairs and out the front door. It slammed behind me.

  I hurried home, mulling over what I’d learned. It amounted to very little. My two suspects had proved evasive, which in itself was suspicious. But perhaps most suspicious of all was that Lady Wrexham had not once looked surprised when I said Pearl was murdered when the police ruled it was suicide.

  I went in search of Harmony after eating lunch alone in my suite and found her on the third floor, cleaning one of the rooms. I slipped past her cart, parked near the door, and entered. “There you are.”

  She spun around with a gasp which quickly turned into a look of relief when she realized it was me. She might have been facing away from me, but I’d seen her tuck something into the large pocket on the front of her apron. “You scared me.”

  “Did you think I was Mrs. Short?”

  She scowled and resumed dusting the desk. “How did it go with the Wrexhams?”

  “As well as can be expected.”

  “That bad?”

  I sidled up to her and peered into her apron pocket. I smiled. “What’s the book about?”

  Her scowl deepened. “You shouldn’t snoop.”

  “I can’t help it now. It seems to have become something of a habit.”

  She pulled out the book and handed it to me. It wa
s a gothic novel with a creased spine and well-thumbed pages. “I bought it from a used bookseller at the Leather Lane Market.”

  I read the description. “It looks interesting. Can I borrow it when you’re finished?”

  She plucked it out of my hand and returned it to her pocket. “You won’t like it.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s not written for people like you.”

  I bristled. “What do you mean ‘people like me?’”

  She returned to the cart and hung the duster on the hook on the end. “Smart people.”

  “That’s ridiculous. For one thing, you’re smart and you’re reading it.” I was rather pleased with my retort. She couldn’t possibly argue with it.

  “Educated people,” she shot back.

  I crossed my arms. “Why can’t educated people read it?”

  “They’d find it too silly.”

  “Can I not be the judge of whether I’d like it or not?”

  She removed folded white sheets from the cart and marched back into the room. “What did Lord and Lady Wrexham say?” she asked as she unfurled the bottom sheet.

  I gathered the other side and began spreading it over the unmade bed.

  Harmony straightened. “What are you doing?”

  “Helping you. Or can’t educated people make beds properly either?”

  “I’ll reserve my judgement until the end.”

  We made the bed together then Harmony fixed my side, tucking the sheets in tighter and making sure there was not a wrinkle in sight before laying the bedspread over the top. By the time she’d finished, I’d told her everything that had transpired at the Wrexhams’ house.

  “I have no idea what to do next,” I finished.

  Harmony perched on the edge of the dressing table and rested her hands either side of her. “Could you speak to the coachman again? You can offer him more money to tell you where he took his lordship that afternoon.”

  I shook my head. “He values his job too much. The same with the butler.” I clicked my fingers. “I could offer Victor’s friend money to look at his lordship’s diary. It’s better than my other idea.”

  “Which is?”

  “Something that carried too much risk.” I’d considered breaking into the townhouse and getting my hands on that diary, but it was far too dangerous. I might be able to weather the risk if I got caught, but Victor couldn’t and I needed his lock picking skills to get in.

  His friend, Mr. Adams, worked there and had proved he could be bought, however.

  “Miss Fox!”

  I swung around to see Mrs. Short standing in the doorway, a thunderous look on her face. Built like her name, she stood at less than five feet and was as round as a barrel. Her gray hair was drawn back into a tight bun, pulling her eyes into a squint. Her mouth pinched with disapproval.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I was just talking to Harmony. I wasn’t distracting her. She continued to work the whole time.”

  Her brow creased. “Why are you talking to Harmony?”

  “For company.”

  “Miss Fox, I’d appreciate it if you did not distract my maids while they’re working.”

  “But—”

  “Do I need to speak to Sir Ronald about this inappropriate behavior?”

  “We were just talking.”

  “She needed a clean sheet,” Harmony blurted out.

  Mrs. Short and I looked at her.

  “She just came in to ask me if I had a spare. I was about to check.” She cleared her throat and waited for Mrs. Short to move aside to let her through to the cart.

  I followed, squeezing past the scowling Mrs. Short.

  Harmony bent to check the contents of her cart. “I can spare one. No need to go to the linen cupboard.” She straightened. “I’ll be up in a moment to change the bed, Miss Fox.”

  Mrs. Short put out her hand for the sheet. “I’ll do it.”

  Harmony hesitated then went to pass her the sheet. I snatched it off her before she could.

  Mrs. Short’s brows arched so steeply they almost joined her hairline. “What are you doing?”

  “Changing my bed, and if you ask me why, I’ll need to speak to my uncle about your inappropriate interest in my personal affairs. Good day, Mrs. Short.”

  It was immensely satisfying to see the housekeeper’s jaw slacken and eyes widen. My satisfaction dissolved after hearing her scold Harmony for fraternizing with a member of the Bainbridge family.

  After leaving the clean sheet on my dressing table, I spent some time browsing the library. The small room off the main sitting room was packed full of tomes the discerning guest would like, but there wasn’t a single medical text among them. It didn’t really matter anyway, as I doubted I’d find what was wrong with Lord Wrexham’s face by searching for the symptom. It would be a near-impossible task.

  I was careful when leaving the library to check the sitting room and make sure my aunt and cousin weren’t present. I didn’t want to be invited to afternoon tea. Not when I had somewhere to be by five.

  Fortunately I didn’t recognize anyone, and was able to leave without being stopped. With hat, gloves and coat already in hand, I headed for the front door, only to change my mind and divert to Peter. The front desk was quiet at this time. New arrivals had already checked in for the day and most guests were either taking tea or out.

  He smiled upon seeing me. “Any advances in the investigation today?”

  Goliath entered the hotel and loped over. “Frank’s in a mood.”

  “When is he not?” Peter muttered.

  “True enough. How’s the investigation coming along, Miss Fox?”

  “Slowly, but I’m glad you’re both here. Do either of you know someone who can follow Lady Wrexham for a few days? I’d pay all travel expenses and a small daily wage.”

  “My little brother would do it,” Peter said.

  “Shouldn’t he be in school?”

  “Try telling him that.”

  “I have a cousin who’d do it,” Goliath said. “Big strapping lad who can look after himself.”

  Peter rolled his eyes. “Well that’s no good, is it? He’ll stand out like a giraffe.” He turned to me. “You don’t want someone who’ll look out of place on a Belgravia street. My brother shines shoes when he’s not making trouble. He can set up a stand near the house.”

  “And if Lady Wrexham leaves when he’s got a customer?” Goliath asked.

  Peter shrugged. “He’s quick on his feet. He’ll think of something.”

  I gave Peter the address then headed out, waving at Frank as I passed him. I reached The Nag’s Head at five past five and spotted Mr. Adams seated alone at the same booth as last time. He looked up when I slid onto the seat opposite.

  “You’re here without your chaperone, Miss Fox. Is that wise?”

  “We’re in a popular pub filled with people. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  He drew on his cigarette and blew the smoke towards the ceiling. “You made my master very angry today. Perhaps he’ll set someone on you to teach you a lesson.”

  Was he threatening me? Warning me? Or simply toying with me? What would Harry Armitage say if he were here? I wasn’t sure, but I knew he wouldn’t be baited. I gathered up all my bravery and leveled my gaze with Mr. Adams’. “I have a task for you. Do you want to know what it is?”

  “It’ll cost you.”

  “I’m well aware that you do nothing unless there’s a reward.”

  He smiled around the cigarette before removing the short stub with his thumb and forefinger. “I can’t afford principles.” He blew out smoke, not bothering to direct it away from me. “So what task do you have for me?”

  “Lord Wrexham keeps an appointment diary in his office. I caught a glimpse of it today. I want you to look through it and see where he was on the afternoon of Monday the fifteenth.”

  He contemplated his cigarette before drawing on it again. “I don’t go into his office. The mai
ds clean it, and Wrexham sends the butler if he wants something fetched from there.”

  I gathered up my purse and rose. “Then I’ll ask one of the maids.”

  His hand shot out and grabbed my forearm. “Sit.”

  I sat.

  He let me go. “I can do it, but it’ll cost you more than last time.”

  I plucked a sovereign coin out of my purse and slid it across the table. “I’ll give you the same. If you don’t like my terms, I’ll ask a maid. I believe they get paid less than you and do more work, so I’m sure I’ll find a willing spy. Probably a friendlier one, too.”

  “You don’t want someone friendly. You want someone devious.” He pocketed the coin which I took to mean he accepted my terms.

  “Report back to me here at the same time tomorrow.” I rose. “I expect a good return on my investment.” I strode out of the pub, feeling much better about this encounter with Mr. Adams than the last one.

  The following morning, Harmony arrived to do my hair. She was not alone; Danny accompanied her.

  He hovered at the entrance to my bedroom, looking uncertain as to whether to proceed. It was understandable, considering I wore my dressing gown with my hair tumbling past my shoulders.

  Harmony had no such qualms. She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the bedroom. “Danny’s got something to tell you.”

  Danny studied the dressing table as if he’d never seen anything so interesting. “My friend, Perry Alcott from the Playhouse, wanted me to tell you he found something that might interest you.”

  “Oh? What is it?”

  He cleared his throat and his gaze quickly met mine before he looked away again. “He was cleaning out Miss Westwood’s dressing room at the theater and found a letter which he thinks proves she was with someone else.”

  “Someone other than Rumford? Now that is interesting. Thank you, Danny. Do you know if Mr. Alcott is at the theater this morning?”

  “He’ll get there late morning, I expect. Do you want me to send a message letting him know you’ll meet him there?”

  “Yes, please. Make it eleven.”

  I managed to fill in my time with Flossy until it was time to leave for the meeting. She wanted to know where I was going and if she could come. She changed her mind when I said I was off to the Natural History Museum.