Beauty's Doom: The final instalment of the romantic Victorian mystery (His Majesty's Theatre Book 4)

by Christina Britton Conroy

  The matron grabbed Elly’s arm. “She ain’t eatin’ nothin’. I swear it.”

  “And I swear I have.” Elly pulled away, but was unable to break the matron’s powerful grip. “Ouch! You’re hurting me.”

  The doctor hesitated, so the matron drove on. “Are y’ goin’ to examine ’er? At least that?”

  He moaned, “I’ve no time for frivolous examinations,” then sighed resignedly. “Oh, very well, since you’re so sure.” He waved his hand. “Miss Roundtree, please lower your frock.”

  Elly froze.

  Setting down the lamp, the matron chortled. “I’ll ’elp y’ then.”

  “No!” Elly pulled off her cardigan and awkwardly reached behind her. Her hands shook as she loosened the buttons at her neck. The small of her back was hard to reach, so the matron quickly stepped in to unbutton the rest. The doctor yawned and closed his eyes. Bored attendants waited in the corridor. When all the buttons were undone, the matron pulled the frock and camisole off Elly’s shoulders and down to her waist, exposing her breasts. Shivering with cold and humiliation, Elly bit her lip to keep back tears.

  As the doctor woke from his doze, he saw a lovely, fit, half-naked young woman. A slight smile crossed his face. “Raise your arms above your head, please.”

  Elly did as she was told. Tears ran down her cheeks.

  The other women watched, sniggering.

  “Turn around, slowly.”

  The matron feigned a gasp of shock. “I can see ’er every rib.”

  The doctor’s eyes were glued. “So can I, but it looks like youthful thinness, not starvation. You may get dressed, miss.”

  Elly scrambled to pull up her camisole and frock.

  “We don’t need to do anything tonight, matron.” He pointed a finger at Elly. “Young lady, make sure you eat everything matron brings you.”

  “Yes sir, I promise.” Gasping with relief, she reached shivering fingers to the buttons behind her.

  One of the attendants called, “Number 77, matron?”

  The doctor’s eyes went wide. “Dear God! Not Mrs Conner again. The woman won’t live through another. Isn’t she ever going to trial?”

  The matron shook her head. “Soon as she does, she’ll ’ang. Five witnesses saw ’er smash her husband’s skull with a coal shovel. Some say ’e broke ’er arm and killed her kid, but none ‘ll testify for ’er.”

  “She stopped eating, again?” The doctor wiped his brow. “This will be her third force-feeding. She has a weak heart.” Shaking his head, he followed the attendants down the hall.

  Elly struggled with her back buttons. The matron reached rough fingers onto the bare skin of her back, viciously pinching her pale flesh. Elly cried out as the matron grabbed her, whispering, “One sound and you’ll get more o’ the same.”

  Terrified, Elly froze. She could feel the matron’s hot breath against her cheek.

  “You think you got away … m’ lady.” She clinched her teeth. “Just … you … wait.” Smiling as an ugly welt rose on Elly’s skin, the matron took her lamp and left the cell. She started to slam the door, then smirked and left it open. “You’ll want to ’ear this.”

  A blood-curdling scream sent the matron running. Elly froze as anguished cries exploded down the corridor. “No! … For the love of Jesus! … Not again! … I’ll die!” More screams were accompanied by the sounds of a scuffle and the curses from the women restraining the prisoner. Elly stood spellbound as sounds of choking accompanied the doctor’s pleas. “Mrs Conner, it’ll be easier if you don’t fight so.”

  The matron cursed. “Get ’er damn leg, Bess.” The sounds became fainter. Elly’s legs shook as she sat down, a hand over her mouth. Tears flooded her cheeks. After a few minutes, horrendous sounds of gagging and choking echoed through the stone corridor, sending Elly to her feet again. The doctor yelled, “Get that tube out! Quickly!”

  Shouting voices were followed by a crash of metal, uncontrolled vomiting, more shouting, then silence. Elly held her breath. After what seemed an eternity, curiosity overcame fear, making her look out of her opened door. The doctor leaned against the corridor wall, his eyes closed. The two attendants walked out carrying a body wrapped in a blanket like the one on Elly’s cot.

  The matron followed. “She’ll be needin’ a death certificate, doctor.”

  “Yes, of course.” He wiped his face with a soiled handkerchief.

  The matron leaned on the wall across from him. “She’d ’ave starved to death if we hadn’t tried.”

  “Perhaps.” He sighed deeply, dragged his feet, and followed the women.

  The matron turned and saw Elly. Terrified, the girl flew back into her cell, curling into a ball on her cot. When she looked back, the matron loomed menacingly in the doorway. “Now you’re good and afraid. That’s the way it should be.”

  Elly shivered uncontrollably.

  The matron walked slowly towards her. “Mrs Conner were a good woman, worth three o’ you. You should be the one dead. Not ’er.”

  “Why?” Elly sat up, defiant. “Why should I die? Because other people were cruel to you, years ago? I’ve never been cruel to anyone. Not ever.”

  The matron loomed closer, enjoying the girl’s misery. Elly tried to be strong, but tears streamed down her cheeks. Explosive sobs wrenched her body, and the matron nodded in approval. She sauntered out of the cell and locked the door behind her.

  ****

  The next morning, Sir Douglas, Andrew Milligan, Frederick Brown and Rory Cookingham spread their papers over the two consulting room tables and waited for their client. The matron escorted her in.

  Milligan’s eyes opened wide. “Are you ill, Miss Roundtree? It appears you have not slept.” The girl’s skin was waxen. Dark shadows framed her red eyes.

  “I am not ill, sir. I have been sleeping very well, until last night.” He helped her to a chair. “There’s little to do but sleep.”

  “What happened last night?” After spending years campaigning for penal reform, every torment inflicted on a helpless prisoner affected him personally. When she silently stared at the floor, he whispered gently. “Miss Roundtree, please, tell me what happened.”

  She swallowed. Her voice was soft and raspy. “I was examined by a doctor.”

  His eyes budged and stomach lurched. “Why?”

  Clutching her hands, she tried to speak calmly. “Matron said I had not been eating.”

  Rory twisted his mouth. “She saw the lunch I brought yesterday.”

  Elly closed her eyes. “She knows I eat every crumb of every horrid meal, every day. She lied. She hates me.”

  Milligan’s temper flared. “What did the doctor do?” She hesitated so he ploughed on. “Did he force-feed you?”

  “No.” She caught her breath. “He made me undress and he examined me.” She swallowed. “There was another woman. A few cells down.” Gulping air, she forced a whisper. “She was force-fed. She died.”

  “She died?” Milligan was on his feet, pacing like a panther. “I’d like to tear this place apart stone by stone.” All eyes were on him as he turned his back, stomped to the end of the room and leaned heavily on a windowsill. “Forgive me. My outrage for some other poor unfortunate will not amend your current situation.” He turned back. “Miss Roundtree. We are scheduled to go before the jury on Tuesday, the day after tomorrow. Can you be brave that much longer?”

  She nodded, then remembered to say, “Yes, sir.”

  “Good girl.” His reassuring smile hid the panic in his heart. “Needless to say, you must continue to eat everything matron places in front of you, no matter how vile.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’ve arranged for your maid to come early Tuesday morning with a fresh frock. You’ll be allowed a proper wash.”

  “Oh, thank you.” She smiled, and he was relieved to see a shadow of her former radiance. “Will there be a looking glass? I’ve not properly seen myself since I arrived.”

  “I’ll see that there is. Is your
maid clever with rouge and other … ?” he rubbed his fingers together, searching for the word.

  “No, sir. She knows nothing.”

  Rory moved next to her. “I’ll ask Katherine Stewart to come, she’s brilliant.”

  “She’s so busy.” Elly shook her head. “Please, don’t bother her.”

  “She asks about you every day. She wants to help.” He turned to Milligan. “Miss Stewart will make Elly look her old self.” He touched her hand. “She’ll dress your hair as well.”

  Elly smiled appreciatively. “I wish I could wash it, first.” She tentatively smoothed the unruly mass, greasy from two weeks of sleeping on soiled bedclothes.

  “You should do that tomorrow.” Rory glanced out the door. “I’ll see the porter before we go. He’ll find you a basin of clean water.”

  Milligan nodded in approval. “I interviewed Miss Stewart and Mr O’Connell last night after a charming production of The Magistrate.”

  Rory spoke proudly of his mentors. “You were lucky to see it. They’re brilliant, and the production’s being retired in June.”

  “They are a remarkable couple. I’m putting Mr O’Connell on the stand.”

  Elly sat up, alarmed. “Why? He has nothing to do with this.”

  “I’m calling him as a character witness. It seems you confided in him, before and after your abduction. He’s terribly fond of you, and he’ll be brilliant in front of the jury. If he’s a quarter as convincing in court as he was last night, half my work will be done for me.”

  The next day, Elly was brought down to see the barrister’s assistant, and sneaked into a supply closet. Mary stood waiting with a brush and comb, hair soap, lanoline, rose water and towels. Overjoyed to see each other, the girls chattered frantically while manoeuvring in the small, cluttered space. Elly combed through her mess of copper tangles, and Mary tried getting the hair into the basin. It was too small to do a proper wash. The girls finished with half the water in Elly’s hair and the rest on their clothes. Later, sitting in the consulting room, Elly could smell the soap they had not managed to rinse out. Chilled, but relieved, she leaned her head back so her long hair could hang free and dry.

  The rest of the legal team arrived, followed by Katherine, Jeremy, Sir William, and Elly’s biggest surprise, Isabelle. Wet hair forgotten, the girl lunged at her guardian, embracing her tightly. “Thank you for coming. I was worried you’d be too—”

  “I’m fine, darling.”

  When they pulled apart, Elly stared. Isabelle looked radiant. Her belly was huge, but her face had regained its chiseled beauty. Her lustrous chestnut hair was stylishly twisted high on top of her head. Her eyes gleamed electric blue. Elly’s mouth dropped opened as Isabelle reached into her bag and carefully unwrapped seven tiny liqueur glasses.

  Ned opened his greatcoat and produced two splits of champagne.

  “How lovely.” Elly looked to Milligan for approval. “Is this allowed?”

  He hesitated until the pop of a cork made him smile. “It is not strictly allowed, but I don’t see the harm. We’ll call it a toast to victory.”

  Champagne poured, everyone stood and raised their tiny glasses. “A toast to victory!” They all sipped and Elly proposed, “A toast to Sir Douglas and Mr Milligan.”

  Rory picked up her cue. “To Thompson and Milligan! London’s finest! Your health, gentlemen.” The two men bowed as the others drained their glasses. There was another silence.

  Katherine smiled at Isabelle. “You look marvellous darling, and you’re having twins, what a delight.”

  Sir William joined the conversation. “I hope they’re finally boys.”

  Repulsed by domestic chatter, Sir Douglas engaged Jeremy and Rory in an academic discussion about Macbeth.

  Ned had not been back to Oxford for years, so Brown caught him up on college happenings.

  Elly was thrilled to be among the people she loved, and drifted between conversations.

  Across the room Andrew Milligan’s face contorted in pain. He held his right side.

  She hurried to him. “Mr Milligan, are you ill?”

  “Something I ate, I fear. Perhaps a chill.” He collapsed into a chair, wiping sweat off his forehead. “My sweet wife will fix me a toddy, tonight.” He smiled up at her. “Tomorrow, I’ll be right as rain.”

  “You’re married, sir?”

  “For twenty years. I have five children.”

  Her mouth fell open as she sat beside him. “Forgive me, sir. I’d forgotten you must have a life outside this room.”

  He laughed. “That’s only natural, but I do indeed have a life. As a matter a fact, my eldest daughter is almost your age.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Elizabeth.” He smiled proudly. “Mary Anne is fifteen, Jason is twelve, William’s ten, and the baby, Jamie, is just four.”

  “How wonderful.” She smiled. “I can tell you love them by the way you say their names. They’re lucky to have such a father.”

  There was a deep sadness behind her sweet words and he resisted the urge to touch her. “I try to be a good father. I don’t always succeed.” Her smile dropped and he winked an eye. “Sometimes I’m too busy looking after other people.”

  “Thank you for defending me. I’m so very grateful. You’re a wonderful barrister, and a very kind man.”

  The enormity of her faith and gratitude made him uneasy. “I’m glad I was available. I’ll do my very best for you.”

  “There’s one more thing, sir.” She leaned in closer. “Something terribly important, I haven’t had the courage to mention before.” She glanced at the others, still deep in conversations. “I hope it’s not too late.”

  Milligan’s brow creased with concern. “Please, Miss Roundtree, anything I can do.”

  “It’s about Rory, sir.” Leaning close, she whispered. “He’s terribly clever, at so many things, but it will all be wasted if he doesn’t have money to promote himself. He’ll be of age in June, but only comes into three hundred a year. I’m sure he can be a success at whatever he chooses, the stage or the law, but without financial backing to start him off—” She stopped, cleared her throat and forced out the words, “Please, sir. I want to write a will, just in the event … I have no heirs … He’s not to know.”

  Milligan’s face showed no emotion. “Of course. I’ll have Brown draw up the papers. You and Sir William can sign them tomorrow.”

  “Will that be time enough?” A sob wrenched her body, but her eyes stayed dry.

  “Oh, yes. There will be at least two days of testimony, perhaps three. It will be at least another day before the jury comes to a decision.”

  “The jury only took an hour to convict my uncle.”

  “That was a very different situation. No one doubted your uncle’s guilt. And besides,” he smirked, “the prosecution was brilliant.”

  She was relieved to laugh at his joke. “Do you know who the prosecutor will be … tomorrow …?”

  “Yes. He’s a friend of mine, Henry Johnson. He’s a good chap, a bit pedantic.”

  “He’s your friend? How interesting.” She shook her head in disbelief. “I’m not used to you gentlemen changing roles so quickly.”

  “Actors do not only appear in the theatre, Miss Roundtree.” He smiled kindly. “And, fretting won’t help anything. Tonight, get as much beauty sleep as you can, and consider the other matter done.”

  “Thank you, for everything.”

  Early the next morning Elly was brought to a small, dark room. A rusty iron tub held three inches of tepid water. Mary waited with soap, towels, dusting powder and the same dark pink suit Elly had worn at her uncle’s trial. As soon as she was bathed and dressed, she was taken to the consulting room to wait for Katherine. The actress was ushered in, looking lovely but sleepy.

  Elly felt horribly guilty. “This is very early for you. Thank you so much for coming.”

  After exchanging hugs, Katherine yawned. “It’s all right. You’ll do me a favour someday.”


  Elly was thrilled. “Oh, I hope I may.”

  “Can you sit on the table? Then I won’t have to bend down.”

  Elly perched on the table and Katherine tucked a protective cloth over her collar. “Mr Milligan wants you to sparkle for the jury, and sparkle you will.”

  She took great pains applying the makeup and dressing Elly’s hair. When she was done, she held up a small mirror. Elly caught her breath. Appearing to wear no makeup at all, the girl’s fair features were vibrant. Her translucent brows and lashes were darkened only enough to bring out the almond shape of her large green eyes. Her cheeks and lips glowed as if from nature, and her copper hair was brushed off her face. As a reminder that she was barely more than a schoolgirl, a single thick curl lay over the shoulder that would face the jury.

  It was only a short time before a warder arrived to escort Elly to the wagon that would take her for trial at the Old Bailey. Katherine and Elly carefully kissed each other’s cheeks and the girl started to cry.

  Katherine grabbed her shoulders. “Stop it. You’ll ruin your makeup. Smile!”

  Elly forced a smile, then gave up. “I can’t.”

  “Think of something lovely.”

  Her thoughts raced, but she shook her head.

  “Think of Robert.”

  A sad smile crossed her lips and tears filled her eyes.

  “Think of Ned.”

  A real smile appeared. Her eyes dried.

  Katherine was surprised. “My, my. What’s been going on between you and Ned?”

  “Nothing … Really …” Elly tried to focus.

  Katherine smiled reassuringly. “Whatever it was, just keep thinking of Ned.” She picked up her case, nodded to the warder, and started down the hall.

  Elly watched her go. Milligan’s words rang in her memory. “Play the pretty woman for all it’s worth. Your freedom may depend on it.”

  Chapter Eleven

  While Elly was being transported to the Old Bailey, her legal team gathered in the barristers’ robing room. Soft light filtered through heavy drapes, complementing the sweet aroma of fine leather chairs and fresh flowers. A crystal water pitcher and glasses stood on a sideboard. Dressed in sombre suits and starched collars, solicitor Frederick Brown and assistant Rory Cookingham sat at a polished mahogany partner’s desk, triple-checking notes and documents.