Murder at the Piccadilly Playhouse
Page 23
“And your wife did not want the financial burden to fall on you both, so she asked Pearl to fund your move. When Pearl didn’t pay straight away, Mrs. Larsen sought her out at the theater and they argued. Perhaps Pearl told her then that she was trying to get the money. But your wife ran out of patience and returned the next day. Do you know if it was an accident? Or did Mrs. Larsen push her over the balcony on purpose?”
Mr. Larsen dragged a hand over his face. When it came away, his skin was ashen. “She’s my wife. The mother of my child. I can’t tell you what happened. I won’t.”
I stepped closer, but Mr. Armitage put his arm out, blocking me. He shook his head in warning. “Is that the woman you want raising Millie?” I asked. “A woman capable of murdering her own sister and showing no remorse?”
He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in his hands.
“Tell me what happened on the day Pearl died,” I said gently.
Footsteps pounded on the cobbles behind me. I swung around to see Mrs. Larsen wielding a glass bottle above her head. I stumbled back, arms up to protect myself, as she brought it down.
Mr. Armitage caught her wrist, the bottle just inches from my head.
She screamed in frustration, like a starving hawk denied her prey. “Stop talking to them!”
Mr. Larsen stood in front of Millie, his hands at the ready to capture his wife if she got free of Mr. Armitage. But Mr. Armitage held her firmly. He wrenched the bottle from her and gave it to me then forced both her hands behind her back. She spat and snarled, cursing us and her sister.
A neighbor must have heard the commotion and emerged from her house. Mr. Armitage asked her to fetch a constable. She raced out through the arch, past the basket Mrs. Larsen had set down on the ground.
“Nellie deserved to die!” Mrs. Larsen shouted. “She was the most selfish, inconsiderate person you’d ever meet. She didn’t care about her daughter. She’d forget to pay us for her upkeep some months.”
“We didn’t need the money,” Mr. Larsen said. He sounded exhausted, but not surprised or angry. He’d known all along that his wife killed Pearl.
“You lost your job! It was left to me to bake pies just to make enough to put food on the table. We would have starved if it weren’t for me. Nellie didn’t care. And then you went and mentioned that bloody school to Millie. Once she got the idea into her head, it was all she spoke about, when the idiot of a girl did speak. Over and over, every day. It was driving me mad!”
“She’s not an idiot.”
She scoffed. “I wish Nellie had wanted her back. I’d have gladly got rid of her.”
“You don’t mean that.” He picked up Millie and cuddled her, but the girl seemed unaware of the events unfolding around her.
“You admit you did it?” Mr. Armitage asked. “You pushed her over the balcony?”
Mrs. Larsen tried to wrench free of his grip, but it was useless. She growled in frustration and kicked out at me, standing directly in front of her. I dodged her foot and kicked back, hitting her in the shin with the toe of my boot. She howled in pain. It was the only way to stop her from doing it again.
“I don’t regret it,” she snarled. “Nellie got every advantage in life. It all came so easily to her. From the time she was born, our parents doted on her, their beautiful little girl. They gave her whatever she wanted, let her do what she wanted. And she repaid them by bringing shame to them when she took to the stage. The world is better off without her, and I will not apologize for that.”
Two sisters, both so different, yet one was wildly jealous of the other to the point where it consumed her, and turned her into something unrecognizable. Was that how my mother and Aunt Lilian were before my mother left to marry my father? Aunt Lilian told me she’d been jealous of my mother’s easy, friendly nature, her natural poise and intelligence. If she thought my mother had been given every advantage, could she too have become consumed by hatred if my mother had never left?
But my aunt wasn’t like Mrs. Larsen. She had a good heart and she admitted that she regretted her jealousy. Nor was my mother as selfish as Pearl. The two sets of sisters couldn’t be compared.
The neighbor returned, bringing two constables with her. Mr. Armitage gave them a brief account as he handed Mrs. Larsen over to them. They handcuffed her and wrote down our details then took her away.
Mr. Larsen watched them go, his gaze unblinking. He looked pale and his hands shook as he set Millie down on the ground.
She started humming, rousing him from his stupor. “What happens now?” he muttered.
“A Scotland Yard detective will come and talk to you,” Mr. Armitage said. “Be honest with him and you’ll have nothing to worry about.”
“Yes, but…what happens now?” He looked down at Millie, holding his hand and humming quietly to herself. “I have no work and Nellie is no longer alive to give us money every month. And the school…I can’t afford to move closer.”
“What about the things your wife took from Pearl’s flat?”
“Already sold to pay off debts.”
I clasped his arm, but nothing I could say would help. He was in shock. He’d lost his wife today. I felt sorry for him yet all I could give was empty assurances that all would be well, somehow.
I left with Mr. Armitage, happy that he offered to escort me to the hotel. I was also in shock. I hadn’t liked Mrs. Larsen, but I’d not thought her capable of murdering her own sister.
Mr. Armitage helped me up the step into the hansom, one hand at the small of my back, the other cradling my elbow. “Thank you,” I said as he joined me on the seat. “I’m glad I brought you along.”
He opened the hatch above our heads to give the driver instructions then closed it again. “You did it all, Miss Fox. You worked it out.”
“But you stopped Mrs. Larsen from braining me with that bottle of cordial.”
“It would have made quite a mess.”
I laughed softly, despite my heavy heart.
I settled in for the journey home, our arms touching in the close proximity of the small hansom. His presence was a comfort, but I could never admit that to him.
Once I was back at the hotel, and Mr. Armitage went on his way, I told Frank, Goliath and Peter that I wanted to see them in the staff parlor during their afternoon break. One of them sent word to Harmony and Victor, so that we all met in the parlor at three-thirty.
Over cups of tea, I told them how the investigation had ended. “Thanks to your help, Pearl’s murderer has been arrested.”
“We didn’t do anything,” Peter said. “It was all you, Miss Fox.”
“It was a little bit us,” Goliath admitted.
“Quite a lot actually.” Harmony gave Victor a sideways glance. “Some contributed more than others, however.”
Victor stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. “That we did.”
She opened her mouth to retort, so I cut in before she could rise to his bait. “Does anyone know if Lord Rumford is in his suite? I ought to give him the news.”
“He checked out this morning,” Peter said.
“I thought he was staying until tomorrow.”
Peter shrugged. “He checked out at around ten.”
I slumped into the chair. There went any possibility of getting paid for all our hard work.
Chapter 15
With the investigation and its conclusion still playing on my mind, I had difficulty sleeping. I ordered a cup of hot chocolate through the speaking tube at three AM, but when it didn’t arrive, I put on my dressing gown and headed down to the kitchen.
My candle flickered in the drafts swirling through the stairwell, creating dancing shadows on the wall. I clutched the dressing gown tightly at my throat, but it did little to block out the cold. I should have stayed in bed.
As my foot stepped onto the second floor landing, a figure emerged from the corridor. We both stopped and stared at the other. By the light of her candle, I could see her ruby red lips, her pink c
heeks and painted eyes. Her shawl hung loosely around her bare shoulders, revealing an extremely low-cut dress and ample cleavage.
She wasn’t one of the elegant mistresses I’d seen on the arms of gentlemen guests, treated as though she were his wife. This woman was not of the same quality, and her benefactor was treating her like a whore, making her leave in the middle of the night. She wasn’t the sort of woman my uncle would want coming and going from the hotel.
She pressed a finger to her lips and giggled, then passed me and rushed down the stairs. I followed at a distance and waited at the base of the stairwell as she crossed the foyer. There was no beak-nosed man there tonight, no Mr. Hirst, only James, the night porter. He opened the door for the woman and she left without a backward glance.
I checked the vicinity then approached him. He swallowed heavily upon seeing me then he too, glanced around. I suspected he was looking for an escape, or someone to come to his rescue.
“Good evening, Miss Fox,” he said, a nervous hitch in his voice.
“Good evening, James. Who was that?”
“What?”
“The woman who just left. Who was she?”
“A, er, a guest.”
“A guest leaving on her own at this hour? Come now, James, I’m not a fool. I saw her in the stairwell. She is not a guest.”
He blinked rapidly, his mouth working, but no sound coming out.
“I know what she is and why she’s here,” I went on. “She and the other women have not been discreet, and I suspect that will bother my uncle more than their actual presence in the hotel.”
“You’re going to tell him?” he squeaked.
“I have to. I can’t turn the other cheek to something that affects the hotel’s reputation. Uncle Ronald would never forgive me if he found out that I knew and never said a word. But I can spare you the worst, if you tell me who is orchestrating the comings and goings of those girls.”
Even in the dim light, I could see his face blanch. “I can’t. They’ll punish me if I tell.”
As much as James needed to take responsibility for his actions, I couldn’t think too harshly of him. It was likely he was given no choice. He would have been threatened if he didn’t do as ordered.
“Then we have to catch those responsible in the act so that you can’t be blamed for tattling. Do you know where Mr. Hirst and that other fellow are now?”
He sucked in his lower lip and nibbled it. He finally released it with a nod of his head. “His name is Tucket. The girls belong to him.”
“Belong?”
He shrugged. “That’s what he says. They’re in the hotel, upstairs. There was some trouble with one of the girls in room one-twenty-four and they went to appease the guest who ordered her company.”
I had to hope they’d be there a little longer. If this was to work, I had to catch them in the act. But I couldn’t do it alone.
I raced up the staircase so quickly my candle flame extinguished. I was out of breath by the time I knocked lightly on the door to my uncle and aunt’s suite. My tap was so soft that I worried Uncle Ronald wouldn’t hear it, but he opened the door a moment later, blinking blearily back at me.
“Cleo? Something wrong?”
“Get dressed, and hurry. We have to catch Mr. Hirst and a man known as Tucket in the act.”
“The act of what?”
“Of procuring whores and smuggling them into the hotel.”
If I were my uncle, I would have pressed for more details then and there, but thankfully he didn’t question me. He trusted me.
A few minutes later, he joined me in the corridor as he threw on a velvet smoking jacket over his shirt and trousers. We raced down the stairs to level one. Instead of knocking on the door to room one-twenty-four, we waited. I could just make out raised voice coming from inside, a higher pitched female one and lower male ones.
When the door suddenly opened and a woman stormed out, followed by Mr. Hirst and the beak-nosed man, Uncle Ronald and I remained in the shadows until the door closed behind them. As much as we needed to catch them in the act, we could not embarrass the guest. I expected Uncle Ronald would discreetly inform him in the morning that the Mayfair didn’t condone the presence of common whores. The hypocrisy of not allowing those sort of women yet turning the other cheek when a mistress arrived on the arm of her benefactor wasn’t lost on me, but it wasn’t my hotel or my rules.
When Mr. Hirst and Tucket passed us, Uncle Ronald stepped out of the shadows. “Come with me. Both of you.”
The man named Tucket darted off, his footsteps thundering down the stairs. I suspected we wouldn’t see him or his women again after tonight. Mr. Hirst, however, couldn’t disappear as easily.
“I’ll escort you to your room,” Uncle Ronald told the assistant manager. “You will gather your things and leave immediately.”
Mr. Hirst’s nostrils flared. “Will I receive a reference, sir?”
“You have the gall to ask me that? You’re lucky I’m not going to tell the police.”
Mr. Hirst’s eyes hardened in the light of his lantern. “You wouldn’t do that, sir. You don’t want the police here so soon after the murder. The hotel’s reputation is everything.” Haughty confidence dripped from every word. He knew he was right. He turned to me and I shivered beneath his ice-cold glare. “Speaking of reputations, do you know that Miss Fox is undertaking an investigation?”
“Yes, and what has that got to do with anything?” Uncle Ronald demanded.
“Do you know she’s conducting that investigation with Harry Armitage? They’ve been seen together, looking very comfortable in one another’s company.” He strode off, a twisted smile on his lips.
My uncle shot me a speaking look that warned me we would be having words later, then he followed Mr. Hirst down the stairs. I headed up to my suite and didn’t sleep a wink for the rest of the night.
Despite my reassurances to James, he was dismissed too. In hindsight, it was inevitable his participation in the scheme would be discovered by my uncle. Without his agreement, it couldn’t have gone ahead. According to Harmony, who’d heard it from one of the footmen, James had at least been promised a reference by Mr. Hobart, who’d overseen his dismissal when he arrived for work in the morning.
I told her what had transpired overnight but asked her not to tell anyone else. The reason for the dismissals should remain a secret. “Did you hear how Mr. Hirst took it?” I asked as she sat across from me at breakfast. “Did he say something as he left?”
“He was gone before even the maids arrived. No one saw him go but Sir Ronald.”
It didn’t matter, I supposed. He’d already said enough to damage my reputation in my uncle’s eyes. Uncle Ronald didn’t like Mr. Armitage, and he’d already made it clear he didn’t want him here, let alone want me associating with him.
That was not his decision to make, however, and I was determined to tell him as much when he confronted me about it. I could be friends with whomever I pleased. I only hoped it would not cause a rift between us.
Later that morning, I spent some time with Detective Inspector Hobart and his sergeant in Mr. Hobart’s office. He had already spoken with Mr. Armitage but needed to hear my version of the events that unfolded at the Larsens’ house. When I finished, the detective rose.
“Harry tells me you were quite extraordinary, Miss Fox.”
“Hardly. I gave up the investigation more than once.”
“But resumed each time. You were determined, and determination and persistence are nine-tenths of detective work.”
“I couldn’t have done it without Mr. Armitage’s assistance.”
“You make a good team.”
“I’m only sorry I can’t compensate him for his trouble. Lord Rumford never promised to pay me, and he has checked out of the hotel anyway. I’ll write to him today to inform him of events, but I doubt I’ll hear back. We didn’t part on good terms when last we met. I’m afraid I was somewhat judgmental of his choice to keep a mistress.
”
He gave me a flat smile. “Harry wouldn’t accept compensation for helping you anyway.” He extended his hand and I shook it. “Good day, Miss Fox. I hope to see you again soon.”
I watched him go, feeling somewhat restless. It was disappointing that I couldn’t compensate Mr. Armitage for his time. He deserved something, but I had nothing to give. I was about to return upstairs, to write a letter to Lord Rumford, when Goliath signaled for me to join him by one of the large vases.
“I heard from my friend at the Savoy,” he said. “The one who overheard a guest mention seeing Lady Rumford at the opera.”
“It no longer matters now that the case is over. Lady Rumford’s reason for being in London has nothing to do with Pearl’s murder.”
“I know, but don’t you want to know why she didn’t tell anyone she was here?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “It’s a little scandalous.”
“Then I’m all ears.”
“According to that same lady that my friend overheard the first time, Lady Rumford has been seen with a man, several times.”
“She has a gentleman friend?”
“It seems so, but I don’t think he’s a gentleman. Apparently no one knows who he is. That’s what’s got all the ladies gossiping.”
“Meaning he isn’t from their set.” Perhaps Lady Rumford was doing the very same thing as her husband—paying a companion to be with her. I hoped so. If Lord Rumford could enjoy himself with women like Pearl, why couldn’t his wife find her own satisfaction along a similar path? I dearly hoped she could weather the gossip that was about to engulf her.
I wrote the letter to Lord Rumford and gave it to Terence at the post desk. Instead of heading back up to my suite, I instead walked to Pearl’s flat. I still had her key and I wanted to return the photograph I’d borrowed of her, Mr. Culpepper and the leading actor.
I inserted the key into the lock and my heart almost burst from my chest when the door suddenly opened. Upon seeing Lord Rumford, I pressed a hand to my stomach and breathed a sigh of relief.