Herald of Death (17 page)

Giggles erupted on the stage, interrupting the singing. One by one the voices faded into blissful silence.

Struggling to straighten her hat, Phoebe’s voice cut across the room like ice. “If any of you want to appear in this prestigious event, I suggest you pay attention and obey instructions. I should hate to have to dismiss you for insubordination.”

The women looked at one another, whispering and shrugging.

Phoebe walked to the front of the stage. “The word means
disobedience
!” she yelled.

“Oh,” said one of the performers, a hefty woman with ginger hair and a double chin. “Why the flipping heck didn’t you say so, then? I thought it meant not being able to sing.”

“If I were going to dismiss any of you for that,” Phoebe shrilly declared, “none of you would be
in . . . this . . . pantomime
!”

She’d shouted the last three words, making Pansy wince. Deciding that to prolong the wait would only make matters worse, she crept forward until she was within three feet of the woman.

Phoebe raised a hand, obviously about to deliver another scathing remark.

Pansy coughed. “Er . . . Mrs. F-Fortescue?”

Slowly lowering her hand, Phoebe turned.
“Yes?”

Pansy swallowed. There was more venom in that one word than in a dozen vipers. “I . . . er . . . I have a message for you, m’m.” She hurriedly curtsied, hoping that would earn her points.

Phoebe seemed unmoved. “What is it, child? Speak up!”

“It’s Gertie . . . I mean, Mrs. McBride. She says to tell you the twins can’t come to rehearsal this afternoon.”

Phoebe’s eyes seemed to glow with hostility. “And why not, pray? Are they ill?”

“No, m’m.” Pansy curtsied again for good measure. “Mrs. McBride had an urgent appointment, and she took the twins with her.”

“An urgent appointment.” Now Phoebe’s voice was full of disdain. “What appointment could possibly be more urgent than this rehearsal?” She advanced on Pansy, her hand raised. “Does she not realize that we have less than a week to present this pantomime? How am I supposed to put on my best achievement if my performers are not here to rehearse? Tell me that!”

Pansy backed up a few steps. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Fortescue. “I don’t know—”

“It’s not her fault!”

The voice had come from backstage and everyone turned to look as Doris appeared. She walked out to the center of the stage and looked down at Phoebe. “This young lady is simply bringing you a message. It isn’t fair of you to rant and rave at her for something that is none of her fault.”

Pansy drew a sharp breath. Doris, the woman she’d feared and despised, had come to her rescue. Tears pricked her eyes as she gazed up at her. How could she hate her now?

Phoebe seemed at a loss for words for once. She blinked a couple of times, coughed, then turned her steely gaze on Pansy again. “Thank you,” she muttered, too low for anyone else to hear. “You may go.”

“Yes, m’m.” Pansy dropped one last curtsey and turned to flee.

Once more Doris’s clear voice rang out. “Just a moment, Pansy!”

Pansy halted, wondering what was coming. Should she have thanked her? Was Doris offended? She turned to face the stage but the songstress had disappeared.

Phoebe, meanwhile, was tapping the piano with her baton. “From the beginning, if you please.” She whisked around to face the stage. “Ladies, in time, if you please. All together now . . . and one and two and one and two . . .” She pumped her baton up and down, while a few voices started the first notes of the song. After a few nudges from their companions, the rest hastily caught up, and the ragged chorus limped painfully along.

Pansy resisted the urge to put her hands over her ears. Just then Doris appeared from the backstage door and walked over to her.

Up close the songstress was even prettier than Pansy had thought. She’d seen Doris only once before, and that was from the back of the ballroom the last time she had visited the Pennyfoot.

Doris was the image of her sister, Daisy, but there was something about her that made her seem different. More worldly, with a sort of glowing confidence and poise that Daisy had never had.

Doris wore her hair fluffed up in the front with little tendrils curling at her cheeks, not scraped back like Daisy’s, and she’d done something to her eyes to make them shine. Her cheeks were a delicate shade of pink and her mouth was painted red. When she smiled, she showed a row of perfectly even teeth. She was so gorgeous, Pansy couldn’t help staring at her. No wonder Samuel had fallen in love with her.

Doris seemed uncomfortable with the scrutiny. She took Pansy’s arm with gentle fingers and led her to the rear of the ballroom. “I have a huge favor to ask of you,” she said, raising her voice to be heard above the racket going on onstage.

Overwhelmed by this dazzling creature’s presence, Pansy could only nod.

Doris rolled her eyes as the caterwauling got louder. “I know you have duties that keep you busy, and believe me, I know how hard you work. I was a maid here once myself.”

Wondering what all this was leading up to, again Pansy nodded.

“What I need is someone to assist me with the costume changes.” Doris waved a hand at the stage. “Phoebe won’t have time to do it, and I don’t trust anyone else. I was wondering if you’d have time to help me.”

Pansy swallowed. To be asked to assist a real-life music hall star onstage was an honor that would make her the envy of the Pennyfoot staff.

On the other hand, this was
Doris
. The love of Samuel’s life. Did she really want to spend time with her, perhaps throwing her into Samuel’s path again?

Doris looked uncertain. “If it would interfere with your duties I quite understand.”

Pansy made a quick, if rather rash, decision. “I’m sure madam will allow me time to assist you, since it’s for the benefit of the guests. I’ll be happy to do it.”

Doris smiled, showing her perfect teeth again. “Well, I don’t know how much benefit it will be”—she nodded at the stage—“but we’ll do our best, and thank you. Perhaps, if you’re not too busy, you could manage to attend the two dress rehearsals?”

“I’ll try to be at all the rehearsals from now on. That’s if Mrs. Chubb can do without me.”

“I’ll have a word with her and Mrs. Baxter. I’m sure we can arrange something to everyone’s satisfaction. Thank you, Pansy.”

“Thank you, m’m.” Pansy dipped a curtsey. “I’d better get back to the kitchen now and ask Mrs. Chubb about it.” She turned and fled before Doris could change her mind.

She still wasn’t sure how she felt about it all, but one thing she did know. All the maids were going to wish they were her, being an assistant to a famous West End performer. She couldn’t wait to tell them all.

Mrs. Chubb looked up in surprise as Pansy burst into the kitchen a few minutes later. “Goodness, child, what’s got into you? You’re not usually in such a hurry.”

“Doris has asked me to assist her with her costumes!” Pansy got the words out between gasps for breath. “Can I have time off to go to rehearsals? She said she’d ask you herself, but I thought I’d ask you first so you won’t be surprised.”

Mrs. Chubb laid her rolling pin down on the pastry board and wiped her hands on her apron. “We’re getting ready for the Christmas guests, Pansy. You know it’s a busy time for all of us.”

Now that it seemed there could be obstacles to her big chance, Pansy wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything before. “I know, Mrs. Chubb, but I’ll try to make up for it, I really will.”

“Well, we’ll see.” Mrs. Chubb picked up her rolling pin again and began pushing it back and forth across the slab of pastry.

“There’s a rehearsal tomorrow,” Pansy said hopefully.

“I said, we’ll see.” Mrs. Chubb raised her chin. “Now go and get those tables ready for supper. With Gertie gone we’re getting behind again.”

“Yes, Mrs. Chubb.” Pansy trailed out of the kitchen, all the excitement draining out of her. Maybe it was just as well. She didn’t want to like Doris, and she had the feeling that if she was around her long enough, she’d end up liking her a lot.

Arriving at the Bellevue mansion, Cecily had to use all her powers of persuasion before the butler would allow her to enter.

At first the portly gentleman insisted that Lady Marion was indisposed and unable to rise from her bed. Lord Bellevue was tending to her and did not wish to be disturbed.

“I understand their distress over this terrible tragedy,” Cecily said, smiling at the stern face of the butler, “but I am here not only to offer condolences, but hopefully to shed some light on the matter. After all, it is in all of our best interests to find this evil killer and incarcerate him, is it not? We must stop him before he attacks again. Who knows who might be next.” She gave him a meaningful look, and saw a flash of alarm in his eyes.

He seemed to think it over, then abruptly pulled the door open wider. “Very well. If you will come this way, I will see if Lord Bellevue will speak with you.” He looked down his nose at Samuel. “You may wait in the kitchen until your mistress is ready to leave.”

Cecily opened her mouth to protest, but Samuel was too quick for her. “I prefer to wait in the carriage,” he said stiffly.

“Suit yourself.” The butler turned and headed across the wide entrance hall to a narrow passage beyond.

“Samuel, see if you can find a gardener to show you where the gamekeeper died,” Cecily whispered. “Take a good look around and see if you can see anything out of the ordinary.”

“Very well, m’m.” Samuel marched off, his head held high.

Glowering at the butler’s back, Cecily followed him to a small room off the library. Left alone, she studied the china figurines in the curio close by her chair. The delicate pieces were quite beautiful, and she was still staring at them when the butler opened the door.

“Lady Marion,” he announced, and stood aside to allow the woman to enter.

Surprised that the lord’s wife had come in the place of her husband, Cecily sprang to her feet. “Please forgive me for this intrusion, Lady Marion. If it were not for the dire circumstances I would not have disturbed you at this time.”

“I quite understand. My husband thought it better if I talk to you.” Lady Marion seemed a little pale but otherwise quite in control of her emotions. With her auburn hair and wide green eyes she was an attractive woman, regal in her stature and graceful in her movements.

“Please,” she said, taking a seat on the davenport, “tell me how I can help you. I’m told you are assisting in the investigation of this dreadful spate of crimes.”

“Yes, I am.” Cecily sat down and folded her hands in her lap. “I was hoping you could tell me more about what happened. I know it’s all terribly upsetting but—”

“It’s all right, my dear. I’ll do the best I can. I really don’t know that much, however. Harry . . .” Her voice broke and she took a moment to compose herself. “My gamekeeper was shooting pheasants for a dinner party I’d planned for this evening. Apparently one of the gardeners found him. . . .” Again she paused. “Please excuse me. The shock, you know.”

“Of course.” Cecily gave her a moment, then added, “I heard he was shot with his own gun.”

“Yes, I believe he was.”

“And the gardeners saw no one lurking around the grounds? No sign of a horse, or a carriage?”

“No one.” She shuddered. “This is all so terrifying.”

Cecily could see the conversation was causing the woman some pain and hurried to bring it to an end. “Do you know if Mr. Farnsworth was acquainted with a man named Thomas Willow?”

Lady Marion seemed startled. “Thomas? Yes, of course. He made Harry’s shoes as well as my husband’s.” She shook her head. “It’s hard to believe Thomas has gone as well. He’s been a mainstay in the High Street for so many years. I never liked the man, too caustic by far, but he had his reasons. I suppose anyone would be ill-tempered trying to keep a struggling business running.” She looked up. “I understand Lester Salt is taking over for him.”

“So I heard.”

“Such a capable man, though I feel sorry for him. The poor man has inherited nothing but debts. I must say, he seemed to be handling everything quite well when I spoke to him.”

Cecily raised her eyebrows. “When was that?”

“Just the other day. He brought my husband’s new shoes.” Lady Marion frowned. “He’s all right, isn’t he? I mean, he’s not . . .”

“No, no. Lester is quite well as far as I know.”

“Thank goodness.” Lady Marion patted her throat. “This is all such a terrible nightmare. With everything that’s been happening, one wonders if anyone is safe. My husband has been keeping one of Harry’s shotguns by his side ever since we heard the dreadful news.”

“Did Mr. Farnsworth know Colin Mackerbee, the pig farmer?”

Lady Marion looked confused. “I don’t understand. What does any of this have to do with Harry’s murder?”