Anatomy of Murder (37 page)
There was movement, and to a stately march a large chorus of singers in an approximation of Roman costume gathered on stage. According to the little book in Harriet’s hand that gave both the Italian, and a rather free, she suspected, English translation of it, they were now launching into a rousing musical debate on the politics of their day. The audience turned away from their various discussions and conversations and began to pay attention to the performance. A minor God descended in clouds of fury to a call from the horn section and flew to a position at the front of the stage. The device earned some gasps and some applause of its own. The God seemed pleased.
Harriet let her attention wander to Rachel and Verity, sitting with their own libretto open between them. They made a charming study of young womanhood, and Harriet felt fond of them. They had both found men whom they could love and admire, and as far as it was possible to judge such things, Harriet thought they had as much chance of happiness as any pair of young couples. She remembered the pleasure and excitement of the time of her engagement to James and looked at her hands. She had the promissory ring on her finger again. Stephen had handed it over very gravely to her that evening, saying he thought it best she should have it back. She had forgotten she had left it with him, and felt guilty, so when Stephen asked, after taking a deep breath that seemed to lift his little body up like a balloon, if he might visit his father, she had agreed at once and told him they would go the following morning. A week had passed since her last visit – surely Trevelyan would be satisfied she had waited long enough?
Harriet watched Rachel’s pale heek as she followed the action on stage. She wished her happiness; she wished her comfort and patience and love. She wished she were a better and more generous elder sister to her. If anyone were formed to create domestic harmony, it was her Rachel. All that she could wish for herself was that she might not do too much damage, and from time to time manage to do some good.
The music had lost her. She leaned forward again to look down into the pit, then frowned and touched Crowther’s sleeve. He turned towards her and lifted his eyebrow. ‘Where is Bywater?’ she breathed.
He followed her gaze. The figure directing from the keyboard, though he had his back to them, was certainly not Bywater. This man’s girth was considerable and the little part they could see of his face was red and fleshy.
Crowther nodded, but not being one of those who thought the opera house a place for general conversation, did not reply.
On stage the panels of the Forum pulled back, and in time to the footfall of the music, others replaced them. The scene became pastoral, with a great mountain at the back rearing suddenly over the audience. At its summit, a slender figure dressed all in gold and crowned with great plumes appeared and opened its arms. Manzerotti. The orchestra ceased and he sang a single, simple phrase. The last note began strongly, then faded to a whisper that had each head in the audience craning forward, hardly breathing, then it swelled again to a power that could set the lamps fluttering, and pulling down his hand in a fist, Manzerotti brought the orchestra in again in a thundering restatement of the theme. He made his way down the mountainside to the hysterical approval of the crowd and the ringing of trumpets.
VI.7
‘
Y
OU SAW IT in a dream, Mrs Bligh?’
Y
OU SAW IT in a dream, Mrs Bligh?’
Jocasta and Sam were back in the shoemaker’s cellar. Her work for the night prepared for, Jocasta was more comfortable off the streets and quiet till the time came to meet Molloy. Sam and she spent their leisure looking over the cards and playing with Boyo in a corner while their host cursed and sweated at his leather and moulds and his wife cut shapes out of silk and hemmed them narrow and sweet. ‘I thought you must have asked the cards while I was sleeping.’
Jocasta bent forward to rest her chin in her hands. ‘Way I see it, boy, the stories and stuff the cards show us are only half the skill of it. Lots depends on opening up and hearing what people are telling you without them knowing they are telling, or even knowing that they’ve got something to tell. Sometimes a fat truth will jump up clear as day without them even twitching. Like Kate’s cards. They had an evil snap to them, but that’s not the usual way. Other times it’s more like the cards are a set of keys and they open up stuff you thought was all dusty and locked in your head, and show you it in a new light.’
Sam looked serious and put his own chin in his hands. ‘But the dream? Did God send you it?’
‘Ha! Don’t recall God ever sending me telling other than through the priest, lad.’
‘So how do you know where those writings are?’
‘I’m saying the dreams are like the cards. They shuffle stuff about. Reckon I must have seen something when I went to try and warn Kate. Something odd about that ugly furniture when I looked through the window, or maybe she looked at it funny as she went in, or touched it somehow. Then I had the dream.’
Sam looked confused and opened his mouth, but Jocasta cut him off. ‘Sam, I think there are things the mind knows loud, and things the mind knows quiet. Times I think dreams are you working out what’s important or what’s not. Something in my blood wants me to go and look at that table and guess what’s in it. I’ve gotta listen to that. Maybe my blood’s wrong. But we’ll know.’
She was quiet a space, then put her hand on his shoulder.
‘You ain’t coming tonight, Sam.’
He started to speak, but she held his shoulder tight and lifted her other hand. ‘You ain’t coming.’
He was all white and his eyes looked wet. She could see him searching for words and finding nothing but fear. She narrowed her eyes. ‘Think, lad. I need you to look after Boyo.’ Fear began to change into confusion in his face. She pushed home. ‘You’re going to be here. Martha will feed you, then shut the lid on you. You’ve got the lock and you don’t open to anyone but me in the night. If in the morning I ain’t back, let Martha in and do as she says.’
Jocasta could tell the cobbler and his wife were paused in their work. ‘Sam,’ she added, ‘there’s no use fighting me. I’ll bind you to the chair all night, if needs be. You stay here and look after Boyo. Head down. I ain’t risking either of you on the streets.’
Sam pulled away from her and threw himself into the heap of blankets in the corner, face to the wall. Boyo looked up at Jocasta and sneezed. She shrugged at him, and he trotted over to Sam’s side and lay down next to him, crawling under his arm on his belly.
The roars of approval that kept Manzerotti and Marin on stage after the duet were enough to leave Harriet feeling rather deaf and stupid. She was eager to go and find Harwood at once to escape the noise, but as she began to move from her seat, the door to their box was opened and he entered.
He greeted them, then glanced at Verity and Rachel. Miss Chase got to her feet.
‘I would like some refreshment, I think. Rachel, will you come with me to the coffee room?’
Rachel was willing, and so with no more loss of time the ladies removed themselves and gave the others the privacy of the box. Mr Harwood did not waste words on unnecessary preamble.
‘Mrs Westerman, sir. I must ask you if you believe this business with Fitzraven might put any else in harm’s way?’
Crowther looked at him with a frown. ‘It is possible. Once a man has become desperate enough to take one life, he may be willing to try and hide the deed by killing others. Such was the case in Sussex last year.’
Harwood looked very serious. ‘Then I must tell you I am concerned for Richard Bywater.’
‘
For
Richard Bywater!’ Harriet repeated in surprise.
For
Richard Bywater!’ Harriet repeated in surprise.
Harwood nodded. ‘You mean . . . ? No matter. Yes, I am concerned for him. I have not seen him here all day. I sent to his house an hour before the performance to ask him what he was about, but my servant returned empty-handed. He had been seen in the morning in apparent health, and his landlady had thought he had returned to his room, but had had no view of him since then. His door was locked and there was no reply to my servant’s knocks.’
‘You think this is cause for concern?’ Crowther asked, and tented his fingers together.
Harwood put his hands to his eyes. ‘I fear so. Bywater may not be the most talented of men but I never doubted his commitment to this place. He has attended every performance of his own work, or that of others since I first employed him. He has never been late for a rehearsal, nor late delivering the material we have required of him. This is most unlike.’
Crowther continued to consider his fingernails. ‘I see.’
Harwood turned to Harriet. ‘But madam, am I to understand that Bywater is under some sort of suspicion himself? I cannot see the man as a murderer.’
Harriet replied seriously, ‘We have as yet no proof that he is. But we do know he is a plagiarist. The “Yellow Rose Duet” was composed by a gentleman called Leacroft who is confined in a madhouse in Kennington.’
Harwood looked genuinely shocked, then stood up angrily. ‘The fool! I thought it more than a touch beyond his talent, but to take such a risk! His reputation is destroyed. He will not find further employment here or in any other place in London.’
Crowther looked up at him. ‘Are not such accusations common? Would it destroy him so completely?’
Harwood’s voice was utterly cold. ‘Completely. Accusations
are
common, since it is only natural to borrow from your betters, but direct borrowings are acknowledged. It may be that if it were only some minor matter . . . but “
C’ è una rosa
” is the shining star in this work. Graves has sold two hundred copies already, and the street singers are warbling it after a single public performance. Are you certain?’
are
common, since it is only natural to borrow from your betters, but direct borrowings are acknowledged. It may be that if it were only some minor matter . . . but “
C’ è una rosa
” is the shining star in this work. Graves has sold two hundred copies already, and the street singers are warbling it after a single public performance. Are you certain?’
Crowther continued to observe him and simply nodded.
‘Fool! Damned fool! The scandal will taint his name for ever, and he has not talent enough to redeem himself. If that is
all
he is gty of, he is nevertheless condemned. He may eke out a life teaching piano to provincial gentry, but he’ll never be spoke to here again. If Marin continues in her affection for him now, she will condemn herself utterly as well. Fitzraven knew?’
all
he is gty of, he is nevertheless condemned. He may eke out a life teaching piano to provincial gentry, but he’ll never be spoke to here again. If Marin continues in her affection for him now, she will condemn herself utterly as well. Fitzraven knew?’
‘Yes,’ Harriet said quietly.
‘Yet he told me nothing! What is afoot here? Fitzraven knew he could ask me for a loan of twenty pounds for information such as that.’
Crowther spoke. ‘We suspect he wished to use the information to warn Bywater away from Miss Marin.’
Harriet noticed that while they had been talking, a ballet had begun on stage. She thought she could recognise the individual Susan had thought less competent than the rest.
Harwood spoke again, more calmly. ‘But perhaps then, there is no cause for great concern for his personal safety. If Bywater is guilty of what you accuse him of, even if he had no role in Fitzraven’s death, it is likely he may have fled the town.’ Then, frowning, he asked Harriet, ‘Might Bywater have known you had found out about this gentleman?’
‘He cannot know
we
have discovered his plagiarism,’ she replied, ‘but Mademoiselle Marin visited Leacroft yesterday.’
we
have discovered his plagiarism,’ she replied, ‘but Mademoiselle Marin visited Leacroft yesterday.’
The ballet was finishing, but it seemed the opera enthusiasts far outnumbered the lovers of dance that evening, and the applause was lukewarm. Harwood grimaced. ‘That reception will put Master Navarre and his troop in a rage. No matter. He must realise the crowd will have its favourites every season.’ He leaned against the wall of the box. ‘Mademoiselle Marin has visited this gentleman you say?’ Harriet drew breath to explain, but Harwood put up a hand to stop her. ‘No, Mrs Westerman. Say nothing more. I have heard revelations enough this evening.’
Crowther stood. ‘Give me Bywater’s address if you please, Mr Harwood. And the services of one of your men. If Bywater will not answer his door, I am afraid we must knock it down. If he is fled, he might have left some trace of the direction he has taken. If he is there, we shall speak to him.’
Harwood nodded. ‘Of course. He has a room in Charles Street, a moment away. He would have taken up residence in the theatre itself, if I had allowed it.’
Harriet looked up at Crowther’s thin, frowning face. ‘You wish me to remain here and speak to Isabella after the Third Act, sir?’
‘If that is acceptable, madam.’
Harriet managed to resist the temptation to roll her eyes. ‘Naturally. I will send the girls home, and you must come and collect me when you are done turning over Bywater’s rooms.’
Harwood opened the door to the box and bowed Crowther out, then bowed Miss Trench and Miss Chase back in, each with an orange in their hand and sparkling with good humour. They found Harriet hunched over, too busy with her thoughts to speak to m and her fingers rapping on her skirts.
Jocasta was almost spitting with impatience when Molloy reached her. He swaggered up and grinned at her mirthlessly.
‘Not got your familiars with you tonight, Mrs Bligh?’
‘Never mind that, Molloy. You got no mind to the hour? I’ve been waiting for you for longer than I like.’
He winked. ‘I’ve got a good mind for the time, never you worry. It’s just my little test like. If you ain’t willing to wait, you ain’t got a serious eye to the business, and if you ain’t got a serious eye, then I’m not about to risk sticking my head in a noose for you.’
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