[Berkeley Brigade 10] - Shadow of Murder (2 page)

“She wasn’t wearing a ring.”

“Well, she could have a steady fellow.”

“Right, I’ll have Corrie sniff out if she’s available. So what are you up to today, Reg?”

“Working on the play. The play’s the thing, Coffen.”

“All work and no play — No, that don’t work when the work is play, or the play is work. Anyhow it makes Jack a dull boy.”

“Or in some cases, not mentioning any names, all play and no work makes someone a dull boy.”

“True, but we don’t mind if you’re a bit dull at present. I’ll toddle along home and see what Black’s up to.”

“Please do,” Reg said, rolling his eyes in frustration.

Black was Coffen’s major domo and friend. Coffen had inherited him from Lady deCoventry, who used to live across the street from Luten before her marriage to him. Her house was now standing empty while she looked for a good tenant. As Luten already had an excellent butler, Black was at liberty to join Pattle. Black had been so active in the various cases of the Berkeley Brigade that Luten had recently made him a member.

Since joining Mr. Pattle, Black had undertaken the large job of bringing Coffen’s chaotic household to order. It was shameful what Mr. Pattle’s servants had been allowed to be up to. They had run the house for their own convenience entirely. He had harangued and threatened the various servants into performing the duties for which they were handsomely paid, even before their pilfering. He had taken over the household accounts and was in the process of teaching his groom, Fitz, to drive and read a map.

He was so efficient that he also had time to assist the Berkeley Brigade in their cases and be available when Mr. Pattle wanted company for some outing. Mr. Pattle, he knew, was after a curricle and team of grays. He couldn’t let him make such a major purchase on his own or he’d come home with the wrong team at the wrong price. Probably that high stepping, unmanageable team of grays Alvanley was trying to unload. Looking out for Mr. Pattle’s welfare kept Black hopping, and he loved every minute of it.

That evening Sir Reginald went to the Green Room at Drury Lane to begin the search for a likely set of actors for his rehearsals. What he required was one heroine, one hero and one villain. He asked Coffen to accompany him as Pattle was quite a favorite there.

 Coffen had already pointed out what he considered two likely candidates for heroine. As soon as Reg clapped an eye on them he knew neither of the brassy, big-bosomed girls with bouncing bottoms and wretched accents would do for his lovely Lady Lorraine. Lorraine was a modest, retiring beauty, a lady who did not drop her aitches or use her fingers for a napkin or leer so knowingly at all the men.

Word of what he was about soon spread through the room, for Prance was not one who could keep his mouth shut. He was soon under siege by dozens of hopeful out-of-work actors of both sexes, and while he rather enjoyed it, he could see no one here suited his purpose.

He was about to leave for Covent Garden when his idea of a proper Lady Lorraine walked through the door. A delicate creature with raven hair like Lorraine, a sweet, innocent face and a shy manner. She reminded him of a former pet of his, a sweet little white kitten he called Petruchio, who unfortunately shed on his jacket and clawed at his furniture and had to be condemned to the kitchen. The lovely newcomer didn’t approach him but hung back from the crowd, just smiling shyly at him. She followed a few steps behind as he and Coffen escaped from the Green Room.

When Reg stopped and looked back at her, she stopped uncertainly, then stepped forward. “I’m sorry to pester you, Sir Reginald,” she said in a well-modulated voice. She held out a well-thumbed copy
of Shadows on the Wall
and continued, “I was hoping you would sign this for me. I enjoyed it so much. I had my copy with me and rushed straight to the Green Room when I heard you were here, though I don’t like to go to the Green Room.”

Reg always enjoyed giving his autograph. He carried a patent pen with him for the purpose. “A pleasure, my dear,” he said, drawing out the pen. “To whom shall I address it?”

“My name’s Chloe,” she said, “Chloe Chalmers. I work here.”

“I don’t recall seeing you on the stage. I can’t believe I would have forgotten you. What is the nature of your work here?” he asked, flourishing the pen and dashing off a dedication “To charming Miss Chalmers.” He handed her the book, she looked at it and gave him a soft smile.

“I’m just a seamstress,” she said. “They call me when they need repairs on costumes. My hope, of course, is to be an actress.”

“Have you any acting experience?” he asked.

“Only with a touring company in the provinces. I’ve played Juliet, and also Bianca in
The Taming of the Shrew.
We got excellent reviews in Bath, but it doesn’t seem to count for much in London.”

Reg made his decision on the spot. Here was the perfect Lady Lorraine. “Tragedy and comedy! Very good. And are you employed at the moment, Miss Chalmers?”

“I’m giving the wardrobe mistress a hand, sewing spangles on gowns for a new play.”

“I might be able to put an interesting role at your disposal. Not professionally, you understand.”

She looked at him, her expression caught between interest and disapproval. Then she pokered up and said, “I’m not interested in any role but acting, thank you. Perhaps you misunderstood as I was at the Green Room. I never go there in the ordinary way. I just wanted to meet you, to get your autograph. I’m not looking for a —
a patron.
”
She spat out the last word as though it were poison.

Coffen understood her meaning before she said it. “That ain’t what he’s after,” he assured her. “It
is
acting, it just ain’t in a theatre. Tell her, Reg.”

Reg told her, in great detail, and as he spoke, her eyes grew wide and her soft, shy smile beamed. “It sounds marvelous,” she breathed.

“I wouldn’t want to give the idea you will automatically step into the role when it goes to Drury Lane,” Prance said. “They will very likely want an experienced actress, a name, for the part. Producers will see you perform, however, and something might come of it. Are you game?”

“Oh I should love to do it,” she cried. “I — I’ll have to tell — that is, discuss it with my fiancé. I’m sure he will be as thrilled as I am. Sean knows how hard it is to get work.”

The gents who had made their selection from the actresses began leaving the Green Room, jostling them as they stood talking. “We can’t discuss it properly here,” Reg said. “Come to my house tomorrow morning.” Again that doubtful little frown flitted across her lovely face. “Bring Sean with you,” he said, to quiet her fears that he might molest her.

“Oh thank you, Sir Reginald! Sean will be so excited. What time should we come?”

“Say, tennish?” He gave her the address and they parted.

Reg was thrilled with his find. “Lovely, is she not?” he said in wonder. “I could hardly believe my eyes when she walked in, and then when she said she was an actress ...”

“Very pretty girl. Even ladylike.”

“And innocent. Exactly what I was hoping for, and she wasn’t even trying for the part. Luck is like love, Coffen. You find it when you aren’t looking.”

“You
were
looking. That’s why we were there.”

“I’m speaking of Miss Chalmers!’

“So am I, but I don’t think she loves you, Reg. She mentioned a fiancé.”

“I don’t love her. That’s not what I meant at all. My meaning is simply that Miss Chalmers found a role when she wasn’t looking. Why must you always confuse things? Let us go. I still have to find a hero and a villain.”

He didn’t find either at Covent Garden, but he wasn’t long in finding his hero. Chloe’s fiancé, Sean Everett, might have been created for the role. Tall, dark haired, broad-shouldered, fairly well-spoken, and with some acting experience. His face, perhaps, did not bear close inspection. A hero ought to have a finely chiseled face, like Luten. Sean’s face was rather a common face with a roundish, blunt nose. But such details were permissible when he had the all-important air of rectitude of the stage actor down to a tee. In real life he also had a kindly way of looking after his Chloe.

Chloe told him she and Sean had met during that
Romeo and Juliet
tour. He had played not Romeo but Mercutio. When the tour was over, they had both decided to try their luck in London. Chloe managed to make clear that while they lived in the same building, they were not sharing living quarters.

“It’s a rough sort of place,” Sean explained. “I worried about Chloe being there alone. There’s noise, drinking and so on, especially on a Saturday night. She has only to tap on the wall if anyone bothers her and I’ll be there.”

The financial terms were accepted so eagerly that Reg felt he might have offered less, but then he liked his actors, and that was important. They knew of a fellow they thought would do for the villain and would speak to him.

Prance was impatient to get on with the rehearsals and went that afternoon to put his request to a friend at Drury Lane who had just the fellow for the job.

“Vance Corbett,” he said. “He’s not working at the moment and could use the blunt. I’d like to keep him around, which I won’t do if he don’t get some work soon. A dashed good actor. He’ll go far. He was born to play the villain. You’d swear he was one of Lucifer’s tribe, a fallen angel. A menacing face, yet handsome along with it. I’ll send him around for you to have a look at.”

Vance came to Berkeley Square later that same day, just before dinner, and was exactly as described. Tall and well built, dark hair, rather dark complexion. It was the slight beetle brow that gave him that menacing air. Along with the aquiline nose, the square jaw and deep voice, he was the very epitome of the stage villain. He agreed to present himself the next morning at ten. Notes were sent off to Chloe and Sean, and it was arranged that they would all meet at Prance’s at that time, then go next door and be introduced to Lady Luten before beginning rehearsals.

Reg’s valet, Villier, was busy all that day writing up four copies of the scenes they would be rehearsing. It was not a valet’s job to act as amanuensis, of course, but Villier was more than a valet. He and Reg might have been brothers, so close was the relationship. They even looked alike.

Both were thrilled with the notion of Prance having his novel dramatized. In fact, it was a foregone conclusion that Villier would attend as many of the rehearsals as his valeting duties allowed. He was on thorns to get a look at the actors.

“I’ll get into the attics tonight and see if I can find some costumes,” he said. “Costumes will give the proper air to the rehearsals, don’t you think?”

“Excellent idea, Villier. Something white and floaty for Lorraine, I think. Romantic, innocent. And for Maldive, the villain, that dark cape we had made up when I was writing my spy novel. I never wear it.”

“Perfect. I
adored
the dashing way you used to flip it over your shoulder. I’ll show Vance how to do it. Such fun! I can hardly wait.”

“Fun, and a deal of hard work, Villier. But then we’re used to that.”

“Don’t you think we’ve earned a glass of your excellent sherry, milord?” Villier said roguishly. He was allowed to call Reg milord when they were alone.

“No, Villier,” Prance said severely. Before Villier had formed his pout, Prance said, “We have earned champagne!”

“Oh you,” Villier said, and gave his master’s elbow a light tap.

Corinne greeted Prance and his group and he made the introductions. She led them to the gold salon, where she explained the house rules while the actors gazed all around. The rugs and any small, valuable trinkets had been removed. Covers had been placed over the upholstered sofas and chairs, leaving the art on the walls and the window hangings to give some indication of the room’s usual grandeur. They were also impressed by its dimensions, by the twin Adam fireplaces along one wall, the wheat silk wall covering, the plasterwork and the elegance of the furnishings that could be seen.

She told them politely but firmly that the furniture was valuable, and they must treat it with care. No cups or glasses placed on the side tables without a saucer beneath, no wet or muddied shoes on the parquet floor and please to be extra careful of the tapestry on the north wall as it was old and extremely valuable.

Prance assured her they would all behave like civilized people and she left them, closing the door behind her. Prance distributed the scenes Villier had written out for them. Villier was not present for this first rehearsal as he was busy in the attic finding costumes, then airing them out and pressing them.

The first job of the morning was to read through the lines for the scene in which Lorraine first met the hero, who bore the name James Sinclair until the climax, when he was revealed as the true lord. This first scene occurred in the drawing room at St. Justin’s Abbey, which was based on Newstead Abbey, where the gothic novel was first conceived during a Christmas visit to Lord Byron.

The initial read through went without incident. Chloe’s voice would require some work to strengthen it but Sean’s was acceptable and Vance performed like the professional he was. Prance realized from that first morning that he was made for the part. The scenes came alive when he was speaking. After the read through, Prance arose and paced about the room, explaining where the proscenium was to be imagined, and placing a chair and few small side tables to indicate where Lorraine would be sitting, and where Sinclair would enter. He made notes of all his ideas in a new notebook bound in blue leather, which he had purchased for the purpose.

Prance had hoped to foster a sense of camaraderie between his actors, but he sensed that the others did not care for Vance. Worse, Vance had a sad tendency to sneer at not only the amateurs, but even at Sir Reginald’s direction. His “Sir Reginald” soon deteriorated to Reg as he made various suggestions.

“As Lorraine is supposed to be poor, don’t you think it would be better if she were — say — doing some sewing when Sinclair enters, rather than reading a novel like a lady of leisure?”