Death at the Emerald Page 8

  So her reputation had preceded her. Frances looked at her closely. Yes, there was merriment in those eyes, and then she laughed, and Frances laughed with her.

  “You’d be more than welcome, Lady Freemantle. You and your mother can share a hansom cab to the meeting.”

  Lady Freemantle laughed again. “I don’t know what my husband would say,” she said, but her tone indicated she didn’t much care, and Frances wondered again if Louisa had been the only rebel in the family.

  “I do confess to wanting to meet you for friendship’s sake, but seriously, do think on our club. For now, I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed meeting your mother. So lively and intelligent. She must’ve been a great asset to your father’s career as a diplomat.”

  Lady Freemantle was pleased at the compliment. She responded with a couple of anecdotes, and Frances matched her with stories of her own while planning to lead the discussion to the theatre.

  “Although I see the advantages living abroad, I think I would miss much about London, especially the plays.”

  “I agree entirely,” said Lady Freemantle. “I am fortunate in that my husband likes the theatre as well, and we go often—and to the opera as well. We used to make family parties, when my boys were younger. They’re grown now, one an officer in the Royal Engineers and the other still at Oxford.”

  “You must be very proud of them. And it is so pleasant when a wholesome interest like theatre can unite a whole family.” Then she spoke the next sentence very clearly, watching Lady Freemantle closely. “How fortunate, then, that your husband has seen fit to purchase the Emerald Theatre and its resident company, the Green Players. I assume that ensures you always get the best seats.”

  That got a reaction out of Lady Freemantle. The amused look disappeared, and Frances felt herself appraised, as if Lady Freemantle was seeing her for the first time.

  “Yes,” she finally said, a little tonelessly, “that’s certainly an advantage.”

  Frances knew it was time to leave. A call on a woman she barely knew shouldn’t last any longer than this, and she had done what she had come to do—let her know that the secret was out. She would tell her husband, and Frances hoped she would hear from him soon.

  A maid came in to see if they needed more tea.

  “Is his lordship in?” Lady Freemantle inquired.

  “Yes, my lady, just a few minutes ago. He is in his study.”

  “Tell him to please join us here.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  The maid left, and Lady Freemantle turned back to Frances. “My husband often comes back at this hour but finishes work in his study. I think you would like to meet him.” And she smiled again, briefly, before both women lapsed into silence. This was going to be interesting, thought Frances. But no one said the life of a consulting detective was always easy.

  Lord Freemantle entered the room. He was a striking figure, tall and lean, with a sharp-featured face and shrewd eyes that Frances thought would not be out of place on a police detective. He was about a decade older than his wife, Frances judged, an age difference exaggerated by a beautifully tailored but old-fashioned suit.

  “Dear, this is Lady Frances Ffolkes. Her late father, the Marquess of Seaforth, worked in the Foreign Office with my father. Lady Frances was at a dinner with my mother and thought she’d call on us.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Frances. I have never met your brother, but he enjoys the same fine reputation that your late father did.” His manners were impeccable, but Frances saw he was unclear about why his routine was interrupted to meet her.

  “We were discussing the theatre,” said Lady Freemantle. “Lady Frances likes the theatre very much. And she just remarked how wonderful it is that we can get the best seats because you purchased the Emerald Theatre.”

  Lord Freemantle’s eyes got bigger, and he looked at Frances, but she looked right back at him. He didn’t say anything but sat next to his wife, poured a cup of tea, and took a sip.

  “May I ask how you heard about the purchase of the Emerald Theatre?” he asked. “It was kept deliberately quiet.” His wife looked on curiously, wanting to see Frances’s answer.

  “You know, my lord, women are often accused of being gossips, but in my brief foray into financial affairs, I’ve found that City gentlemen are worse gossips than scullery maids.” In the following long moment of silence, Frances helped herself to another cucumber sandwich from the plate.

  Lady Freemantle burst out laughing. “Oh, you are so right, Lady Frances. Isn’t she right, dear? Good lord, all the secrets spilled over good claret and roast meats in this house.”

  Frances had expected Lord Freemantle to be angry, or at least annoyed, and she was surprised at how coolly he reacted to the surprise. Indeed, he accepted the revelation in good grace, and Frances liked him for that. He gave Frances a small smile.

  “I offer you my congratulations then. Yes, your information is correct. I lead the syndicate that now owns the Emerald Theatre and its resident company. I am being honest with you. Will you return the favor and tell me why this information is important to you?”

  A fair question. “I have become friendly with your mother-in-law, Lady Torrence. She told me she was looking for clues to her older daughter’s disappearance but that she was shut out after you purchased it. I confess that I’m astounded you would spend thousands of pounds just to prevent her from what would likely be a wild goose chase.”

  Lady Freemantle chuckled. “My wonderful mother. I told you, dear, that if we cut off that avenue, she’d find another one, and now she’s set suffrage leader Lady Frances onto us.”

  “So it seems,” said his lordship dryly. “Yes, your conclusions are right, Lady Frances. Although stopping my mother-in-law was a goal in fact, it also makes sense as an investment. As you can see, we’re improving the theatre and moving into motion pictures.”

  “My maid will be so glad to hear that. She absolutely adores motion pictures. But why did you want to stop her so badly?”

  Lord Freemantle looked at his wife. She shrugged. “You might as well,” she said. “I daresay she’s heard worse, and I’m sure she’ll be discreet. Lady Frances, I don’t see anything gained by telling my mother we thwarted her. It would just start a family argument. In exchange for your agreement not to tell her, we’ll tell you why.”

  Frances nodded, and Lady Freemantle turned to her husband. He sighed. “If I really thought there was a chance of finding Louisa, I wouldn’t have stopped her.” He looked at his wife. “Unfortunately, I can’t imagine that she’s still alive. I’m sure she would’ve revealed herself again at some point. And not everything in the past needs to be dragged up. All I can say, Lady Frances, is that Sir Arnold Torrence was a man of sterling reputation in his public life and was devoted to his duty, but there were aspects of his private life that don’t bear close scrutiny.” He looked very reluctant to admit it. Frances glanced at Lady Freemantle, and she was nodding sadly, agreeing with the analysis of her father.

  “Can you give me more detail? Again, I will be discreet. I’m merely assisting Lady Torrence in finding out what happened to Louisa.”

  But Lord Freemantle shook his head. “I don’t want to say more. It has no bearing on Louisa’s disappearance and can only besmirch a dead man and embarrass his family. And I can also tell you that I personally looked through the old records, and there’s nothing there that could help you. They were as careless and incomplete as you might expect from actors. As long as you avoid embarrassing the family, I wish you success in your task. My only concern is getting Lady Torrence’s hopes up.”

  Before Frances could respond, Lady Freemantle jumped in. “I think, dear husband, that my mother is stronger and more clear-eyed on this than you give her credit for. If she wants to make a final search for Louisa, that’s her decision.” There was a hint of steel there, and his lordship smiled and nodded to his wife.

  “Of course. I stand corrected. Lady Frances, again, best of luck. I share m
y wife’s view that it’s Lady Torrence’s right to look for Louisa. And finding her would be wonderful. I am not optimistic you will find out anything after all these years, but”—he gave a wry smile—“as you have my wife’s and mother-in-law’s blessing, you have mine too.”

  After a few more pleasantries, Frances excused herself, and Lord Freemantle said, “I will show you out, Lady Frances.” It was an unnecessary courtesy at a house that had plenty of servants, and Frances suspected it was an excuse for Lord Freemantle to have a quick private word with her. She was proved right at the front door.

  “Lady Frances, I meant what I said about wishing you success. My wife deeply misses her sister. I know the Seaforths are a great family and an old one, long involved in diplomacy, so I hope I can trust you to be discreet about anything you find to my father-in-law’s discredit.”

  His tone and look were pleading, not threatening. Frances knew he had the family name and business interests to protect.

  “My only interest is Louisa Torrence, I assure you.” He seemed relieved at that. As Frances left, though, she wondered, just what had Sir Arnold Torrence done?

  CHAPTER 9

  Back in her rooms, Frances thought over the exchange while she and Mallow sat over cups of tea. Whatever the late Sir Arnold had done, it must’ve been something pretty scandalous if it inspired Lord Freemantle to buy the theatre. He wouldn’t tell Frances what it was, but she had a clue: It was something to do with the theatre, since that was where his mother-in-law had been looking. That was where she might find something. No—Frances corrected herself—Lady Torrence probably had an idea of what her husband was like, but did some horrible piece of proof exist among the records of the Green Players? Lord Freemantle had looked through them himself.

  “Mallow, I think it’s time we visited the Emerald Theatre again,” said Frances.

  “Very good, my lady.”

  “I’d like you to come too. There are a lot of people who work in the theatre, and I thought you might like to talk with some of them, collect gossip and so forth. Mention Sir Arnold Torrence, Lady Torrence’s late husband. I want to know if his name is familiar to any of the older theatre folks. I’ll tell them that, as a talented seamstress, you’d like to see where they create the costumes.”

  “I am glad to help in any way I can, my lady. It is my understanding that theatre people tend to be a little free with their gossip.” Mallow’s voice was full of disapproval. But then she thought of the upside of this assignment. “I suppose, my lady, I’ll be seeing the suits and dresses the actors and actresses wear. I wonder, though . . .” She paused while she was trying to decide what to say. “It’s just that actors aren’t really lords. They just pretend onstage. I wonder if their clothes aren’t really a lord’s clothes either.”

  “A wise observation, Mallow. I don’t think anything in the theatre is real. We must remember that. And we should also remember that a man was killed and we are not the only ones seeking what he hid in his room.”

  They went downstairs, and Frances nodded to Mrs. Beasley at the front desk.

  “Lady Frances—”

  Inwardly, Frances groaned. What had she done now?

  “Yes, Mrs. Beasley?”

  “One of the maids noticed a man loitering outside, looking a little unsavory and dressed in remnants of an old army uniform. He keeps looking at our front door. I was wondering if he was one of your . . . acquaintances? If so, may I suggest you meet him somewhere appropriate? I was about to send one of the waiters to fetch a constable.”

  Frances met with a wide variety of people, so the accusation wasn’t entirely unfair.

  “I am not expecting any such visitors, but I will see for myself. And Mallow and I will take care of seeing him on his way, if necessary, with a reference to the Soldier and Sailor’s Club.”

  She headed toward the front entrance, then stopped and turned.

  “Mallow, we’re going to outflank our spy, if that’s what he is.” She turned and headed instead toward the back stairs that led to the servants’ hall. She imagined, rather than saw, Mrs. Beasley shaking her head.

  The few hotel servants shot quick looks at Frances and Mallow as they strode out the service entrance in the side alley. The general consensus downstairs was that her ladyship was more than a little odd and that she was very fortunate that the excellent Mallow remained in her employ.

  From the alley, Frances and Mallow walked around to the front of the building. A shabby-looking soldier was in fact loitering in front of Miss Plimsoll’s. His collar was up, and between that and a slouch hat, it was hard to see his face. He kept glancing at the front door, though, as if waiting for someone to come out.

  “Excuse me,” said Frances. “Are you looking for me? I’m Lady Frances Ffolkes, and I may be able to help.”

  The soldier didn’t expect the approach from the side and turned sharply, still hiding his face under the wide brim of the hat. Then he rapidly spun and practically ran along the street, disappearing around a corner.

  “My goodness,” said Mallow. “That was hardly gracious of him.”

  “Gracious is the least of it,” said Frances. “Waiting for me because he didn’t dare enter Miss Plimsoll’s is one thing, but he likely wanted to follow us. That’s why he bolted so quickly.”

  “Do you think he was the man who searched Mr. Mattins’s room while we were in the closet, my lady?”

  “Quite possibly. We will be on our guard. We’ve upset someone. And we’re going to do it again.”

  They took a hansom to the Emerald Theatre, and the same porter was on duty.

  “Good day, my lady. Can I help you . . . ?”

  “We’re just here to see Mr. Rusk. Don’t bother; we know the way,” said Frances, and without waiting for any response, they breezed right by him, down the hall to Mr. Rusk’s office. Frances rapped sharply.

  “Come in!”

  When they entered, Mr. Rusk didn’t seem pleased to see them. “Lady Frances . . . why are you here?”

  “I’m still following up on my research, and I believe that you will find my task is connected with the tragic death of Mr. Mattins.” Rusk started to speak, but Frances rolled right over him. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. For now, I think you full well know who I was talking about when I visited you last.” She pulled the folder out of her bag and slapped the photograph down in front of him. “This is the woman who called herself Helen, isn’t it? She’s the woman I am looking for. Oh, don’t bother answering, the look on your face is proof enough.”

  Rusk was staring at the photograph as if he was looking at a ghost. No one said anything for a few moments, and then he looked up with a face full of exquisite melancholy. Frances knew that her last talk with Rusk and his colleagues was just a show, a pretense at helping her so she would leave and not come again.

  “Where did you get this?” he asked when he trusted himself to speak again. “Who had this portrait?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say. But I am looking for Helen. And I think it’s time you shared the truth with me.”

  He nodded automatically. He clearly was back in the past, some thirty years ago.

  There was a knock on the door, but Rusk didn’t seem to hear, and Quentin Prescott entered. He was dressed in rich robes of red and gold, clothes from another time period. Of course, they were presenting Romeo and Juliet, and from his clothes and age, Frances guessed this former Mercutio was now playing Lord Capulet, Juliet’s father.

  “Ah, the porter was saying how some lady came marching in, and I assumed it was you, Lady Frances,” said Prescott. “Still researching . . . I’m afraid I haven’t thought of who it might be—Gil, are you quite all right?” He finally noticed Rusk’s stricken look.

  “She knows,” he said. “Helen. Look, she has a photograph.” He held it up, and Prescott looked like he had been hit by a bolt of lightning. He snatched the photograph and just stared at it.

  “This is not a photograph of Helen. I mean—it is her, definite
ly, but it’s a portrait. Who painted this, and when?” Frances noted that they didn’t know or suspect that Helen came from a background where expensive portraits were traditional.

  “I cannot tell you that yet,” Frances replied, “but I can tell you that, although I am annoyed you were not completely honest with me when I first visited, I forgive you, because I am assuming the Oath of Tyndareus prevented you from revealing it to me.”

  She felt another shiver of delight as she further astonished the men. Mallow barely hid a smile, Frances noticed. Her maid always enjoyed it when Frances left men speechless.

  Rusk spoke first, his voice a mix of anger and surprise. “How do you know about that? No one outside the Green Players knew, and only the signatories knew the full details. Who told you? This happened before you were even born, my lady.”

  Frances just arched an eyebrow and let them stew for a moment before answering. “I won’t tell you that either. I have no wish to reveal your secret; I just want to know about Helen. If you’re honest with me, I see no reason to embarrass you by making this information public.”

  “And if we don’t want to tell you?” asked Prescott with a thin smile.

  Frances turned on him. “I have influential friends, Mr. Prescott. Powerful and wealthy people want to find Helen, and they also have influential friends. A suspicious death on your door just makes it all the easier. I have the ear of Sir Edward Henry, the commissioner of Scotland Yard, and I can have this place and every record here in the hands of a score of police detectives. And I know who your owners are—they wouldn’t thank you for that.”

  But Rusk was already motioning with his hands for everyone to calm down. He was a manager, and he knew how to pour oil on the water. “There is no need for this. Lady Frances; we will assume you are a woman of honor and that your mission is not one of vulgar curiosity. I don’t know how you found out about the oath, but”—he looked at Prescott, who seemed resigned—“we will tell you what we know.”