Death at the Theatre: Miss Hart and Miss Hunter Investigate: Book 2 Page 6

  We retired to the Ladies’ Room to powder our noses, renew our lipstick and repair our hairstyles. Fighting to get mine back into its rapidly drooping pin curls, I made a vow that I would cut my hair, cut it really short. Just think how much cooler it would be in the kitchen, I thought to myself, thrusting in the last errant hairpin with a vengeance.

  I hadn’t been backstage at this theatre before. The backstage door was at the back of the ground floor, around behind a partition. Verity knocked and the door was opened by a young woman who I didn’t know but Verity did, judging by the warm welcome she received.

  “Verity! You’re here. Come through and I’ll hunt out Tommy for you.”

  Verity introduced me. “This is my friend, Miss Joan Hart. Joan, this is Gwen Deeds. She’s the wardrobe mistress here.”

  I shook hands with Gwen. She had a round, cheerful face and was about my height, so fairly tall for a woman. She wasn’t pretty but she had nice, kind, brown eyes, as placid as a cow’s. She greeted me with warmth and bade us to come backstage again.

  As always, I was slightly unprepared for the change in tempo. Out in the auditorium, there was the subdued buzz of excitement and anticipation. Here, backstage, it was bedlam. Stage hands clomped past with bits of the scenery, props girls rushed back and forth with chairs and candlesticks and potted plants, various musicians carried their instruments (Verity murmured that they would soon be out from under our feet and off to the pub) and of course, there were the actors. It was a small cast for this particular play but actors have a way of filling up the space, no matter how many of them there are.

  We came out into the main room at the back and spotted Tommy, his dyed hair gleaming under the lights. He was talking to Aldous, who was looking rather flushed, something that made him even more attractive. Both of them had cloths in their hands and were occupied in cleaning the greasepaint from their faces, even as they were talking nineteen to the dozen.

  We struggled across the crowded floor (I had to avert my eyes a couple of times from several men who were still dressing) and Tommy spotted us as we got closer. He swept Verity into a hug and planted a kiss on my cheek. I tried not to blush and also tried not to raise my hand to see if he’d smeared greasepaint all over my face.

  “Well, my darlings, what did you think?”

  Of course we said, quite honestly, that the play had been marvellous, and he had been marvellous and so, of course, had Aldous and Miss Carpenter. Aldous smiled when we mentioned his name. He seemed a little more relaxed than when we had last met, a little less strange and awkward. Looking at both Tommy and he, I could see they were both experiencing the euphoria I’d seen before in actors who’d just come off the stage. A sort of mixture of relief, giddiness, and perhaps a tinge of melancholy that it was all over. For a moment, I felt envious. When did I ever get to feel like that in my job?

  A door at the back of the room opened, a door with a golden star painted on the front of it. Caroline Carpenter appeared in the doorway’s empty frame, a languid vision in a cream silk dressing gown, an ebony cigarette holder in one hand. I saw her gaze move about the room until it rested on Tommy and Aldous.

  Aldous looked up at the same time, as if his gaze was subtly attuned to Caroline’s. Caroline made a beckoning gesture, and as Aldous moved forward, she called out, “Tommy, darling, I need you in here.” The way Aldous’ face fell was almost amusing. Caroline must have relented because she said “Oh, and you too, Aldous. And, Verity Hunter, is that you? Why don’t you bring your little friend in for champagne?”

  Verity and I looked at one another and moved as one towards Caroline’s dressing room. Champagne! I had never tasted it before, and the chance to drink some with a famous actress – fairly famous, at least – was not one to be passed up lightly.

  Chapter Nine

  If I could have described the inside of Caroline Carpenter’s dressing room in one word, I think I would have chosen ‘exotic’. I mentioned this to Verity on the way home and she’d chuckled in a dirty manner and said, “I think mine would have been ‘bordello’,” which made both of us laugh very loudly. Anyway, it was very plush, with lots of red velvet and gilt and with a chaise-longue in crimson silk, a chandelier hanging from the ceiling that was a tiny baby of the one in the main auditorium. An enormous dressing table was filled from side to side with boxes and pots and bags, and electric lightbulbs framed around the edge of the enormous mirror. It was like being in something from Arabian Nights.

  Verity and I sat down rather self-consciously on two low stools. Caroline lay back on the chaise-longue, modestly arranging the cream silk of her dressing gown to cover her legs. She had a pair of the most elegant, gold, high-heeled shoes on and her toenails were painted bright scarlet. Dorothy would have been green with envy. The engagement ring on Caroline’s finger caught the light from the chandelier and flashed like fire.

  “So, my darlings, weren’t we just wonderful? Aldous, do the honours, will you?” Caroline gestured to the silver ice bucket that stood on a small table behind the chaise-longue.

  She and Tommy began a spirited discussion about their respective performances. I listened to them whilst watching Aldous open the champagne, which he did fairly dextrously. There was still a loud bang and Caroline shrieked as the cork ricocheted off the ceiling, narrowly missing the chandelier.

  “My God, darling, mind the glass. That’s all we need, to be killed by a plummeting chandelier.”

  “That’s right,” Tommy said, gaily. “We’ve only just seen the last of the police as it is.”

  Verity and I exchanged glances. “They’d been questioning you all, then?” Verity asked.

  Caroline put a hand to her chest and rolled her beautiful green eyes. “Every day they’ve been here, asking their questions and poking about in corners. It was a real distraction, wasn’t it, Aldous?” She bestowed him with a dazzling smile as he handed her a glass of champagne, beaded with condensation.

  He didn’t reply as such but muttered something with his head down, suddenly returning to the rather sulky young man we’d met before. He remembered his manners though and fetched a glass for Verity and myself which we took with eager gratitude.

  As Caroline went on to elaborate the myriad annoyances of the police presence, I took a tentative sip of champagne. The bubbles went straight up my nose and I had to quickly stop myself from sneezing. What an unsophisticated idiot. Luckily, nobody had seen my faux-pas. They were still listening to Caroline and Tommy, who was chipping in with his own experiences.

  “Of course, I told them I’d never seen this mysterious woman, I was on stage for half the first act. In fact, it was just before we were due to go back on stage for Act Two that David came running in, white as a ghost – you remember, Caroline – and said the show has to stop—“

  “I was just astonished,” said Caroline. I got the feeling that they had discussed this many times before and that their respective parts of the conversation had solidified from subjective observation to fact. “Just astonished. It was—“

  “Come on, darling, you were more than astonished. You were virtually prostrated, once they told us about the murder.”

  Caroline fluttered her left hand and the ring winked and flashed in the light from above. “I was still caught up in the play, darling, that’s all. I was in a highly vulnerable emotional state. Mind you, it did give us all a turn, didn’t it? There was David, practically having a fit, the poor man, and the scene hands all for turning out and hunting down the killer—“

  “Until the police turned up and told them not to,” chipped in Tommy.

  “And the musicians completely oblivious until they were told they couldn’t go and get drunk, and the backstage girls screaming and fainting – oh, my goodness, it was a circus.” I noticed Caroline had already drained her glass and at that moment she held it out wordlessly to Aldous. He took it and refilled it without comment. I’d barely drunk any of mine – for something I’d looked forward to for so long, it was a bit of a disappoint
ment, actually. I preferred half an ale.

  Caroline was still speaking. Even off stage, she had a way of keeping her audience spellbound. I wasn’t sure if it was her beauty or the intonation in her voice that kept us riveted. “Anyway, I saw in the paper today, they’ve finally identified the body. Aldous, be a darling—“ She clicked her fingers and pointed towards the dressing table. “Bring me the paper, would you? Oh, thank you so much. Look, look here. He was Italian, apparently. Guido Bonsignore was his name.”

  “Italian?” I exclaimed, and everybody looked at me. It was the first time I’d spoken. I fought not to blush and cleared my throat. “I’m sorry, it’s just that that’s interesting in the light of how he was killed, don’t you think?”

  Everyone was still staring at me, Verity and Tommy in a receptive way, Caroline in a sort of amazement at somebody like me having a voice and Aldous with a blank, vacant stare. I cleared my throat again and mumbled something about the fact that he’d been killed in a way that the police thought might have been a professional murder.

  “Oh, a gang killing you mean?” Caroline said eventually, when the silence after my remark had stretched on into infinity. She sounded politely incredulous. “Because he was Italian? I suppose that’s possible.”

  “You mean he was a Mafioso, Joan?” asked Tommy. He smiled at me, kindly. “Have the police said that?”

  “No, no, I didn’t mean that,” I said, stuttering a little. I could see Caroline looking at me and thought I could read her mind. What on Earth would the police be doing talking to someone like me? “I just meant that it’s a possibility, that’s all. Like Miss Carpenter says.” I threw her a respectful smile, which was not returned.

  There was a moment of silence and then Caroline snapped her gaze away from me, dismissal evident in the movement. “Well,” she said, “I think—“ but we never got to find out what she thought because right then there was a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” Caroline called languidly. She’d finished the second glass of champagne. The door opened and a bunch of roses bigger than a small child entered. Hidden behind them, one of the stage hands said respectfully, “Sir Nicolas Holmes is here, Miss Carpenter.”

  Caroline sat up straighter and put the champagne flute down on the floor. “How wonderful. Put the flowers over there, John, thank you. You may go.”

  A man’s figure loomed in the doorway after John had left and a moment later was in the room. He was tall and portly, much older than I had imagined, fifty if he was a day. His grey hair matched his bushy grey moustache and he wore full evening dress. I saw his gaze flick around the room in astonishment before coming to rest on Caroline, which was when he smiled.

  “My dear,” he said, coming further forward and taking off his hat. “You were no doubt as superb as usual tonight. I’m so sorry I couldn’t be here to watch you – a late sitting in the House, you know.”

  “That’s perfectly all right, darling.” Caroline got up, smiling. The rest of us scrambled to our feet too. The room felt very crowded, and I wasn’t surprised when Caroline said to the air in general, “My fiancé, Sir Nicolas Holmes, Member of Parliament. You really must excuse us.” She didn’t bother to introduce the rest of us, and it was clear we were expected to go. Tommy and Aldous had a wintry smile bestowed upon them by Sir Nicolas, but Verity and I were completely ignored. As we filed out, just about tugging our forelocks in an attempt to convey respect, I was reminded irresistibly of Lord Cartwright. Was there a factory somewhere in England turning out these old, fat, moustached aristocrats?

  The door to Caroline’s room shut firmly behind us. Aldous muttered something to us – I suppose it could have been ‘goodbye’ – and sloped off. Tommy put his arm around Verity and gave her a squeeze.

  “Well, that was the big man himself. Bit of a cold fish, eh?”

  Verity rolled her eyes. “He was exactly as I pictured him.”

  “What does Caroline see in him?” I asked, honestly curious as to why someone with so much talent, vivacity and beauty would want to marry someone so devoid of all those qualities.

  Tommy and Verity laughed out loud. “What, apart from the fact he owns half of Northamptonshire?” said Tommy.

  “And he can trace his family name back to the Domesday Book?” said Verity.

  “All right, all right,” I said, half laughing, half annoyed. “But money and breeding isn’t everything.”

  Verity grew serious. “Money is everything – to some people.”

  Tommy glanced at his watch. “Now, can I take you lovely ladies out for dinner somewhere? Or do you have to get back?”

  Verity grinned with glee. “We’re free for the whole evening. Well, as long as we’re back at eleven o’clock.”

  “Good God, Verity, that gives me half an hour to feed you, if that’s the case. You still have to catch the train home.”

  I drooped a little. I would have so loved to have gone out to dinner with Tommy and Verity, my two favourite people in the world.

  Tommy must have noticed my dejection. He gave me a squeeze too. “Cheer up, Joan. I’m sure we can manage pie and mash somewhere.” He took another glance at his watch. “Lord, only if we hurry though. Come on, there’s a place just around the corner.”

  Verity and I didn’t need telling twice. We bundled ourselves into our coats and hats and hurried after Tommy as he led the way out of the theatre.

  The pie and mash shop was hot and crowded and noisy. Tommy went off to battle his way to the counter to order our food, and Verity and I tried to find a table to sit at. As we struggled through the heaving mass of bodies in the shop, there was a call and an arm waving to us from a table at the back. It was Gwen Deeds, the wardrobe mistress from the theatre, perched up on one of the benches with a steaming plate of food in front of her.

  “Verity! Over here. Come on, quick, while these seats are free.”

  Verity shouted over to Tommy to tell him where we were going and then we forged a path as best we could through to Gwen.

  “Phew,” Verity gasped, finally making it to a seat. “This place is a mad house.”

  “I know,” Gwen said cheerfully. She made a space for us to put our coats, which we definitely did not need in there. I could feel the sweat beginning to trickle down my back. “Half the theatre folk around here come in here after the shows.”

  I curiously looked around me at my fellow diners. I recognised a couple of people from the Connault Theatre by sight and wondered if we’d see Aldous Smith, though I couldn’t spot him in the crowd.

  Tommy came through the press of people with a tray in his hands and the air of a man who had fought a long, hard battle. “Bloody hell, it gets worse every night. Here you go, ladies.” He handed around plates of pie and mash and a glass of ale for us all. “Chin-chin.”

  We clinked glasses and set to with a will, Verity and I conscious of the fact that we had very little time before we had to leave. Gwen, having started eating before us, had more time for talking, and she and Tommy began discussing Sir Nicolas Holmes with avidity.

  “Rich as Croesus, he is,” said Gwen. Her round red cheeks shone in the heat. “One of the most eligible bachelors in London and Miss Caroline managed to snag him.”

  “Well, good for her,” said Tommy, swilling his ale. “We’ve got to make our own luck in this world. Wish I had that option.” Verity and I exchanged glances and guiltily lowered our smiles to our plates.

  “Do you know when the wedding is?” Gwen asked.

  “Not for some time. You know what it’s going to be like; white silk to the rafters, orange blossom, gilded carriages, probably. White doves.”

  “Do you think she’ll carry on acting after she’s married?”

  “She’ll have to,” I exclaimed. “She couldn’t possibly stop acting, surely, just because she’s married. It would be criminal to waste that talent.”

  Gwen shrugged. “She may not have a choice. You know, once the babies come and all that.”

  She looked thoughtful
for a moment and then said “She’s lucky. She gets a choice.”

  There was bitterness in her tone. I wondered if it was because she’d like to get married herself and knew there was little chance of that. Well, I knew just how she felt.

  “Being wardrobe mistress must be very interesting,” I said, wanting to cheer her up a bit. I didn’t know her from Adam but she seemed a nice girl, and I didn’t like seeing her sad.

  It was the right thing to say. Gwen brightened and said, “Oh, it is! I love it. I love fashion and textiles, and it’s wonderful when you have a chance to really make a difference to a play, you know, in making sure the costumes are just right.”

  She went on in the same vein for a little while, her affection for her job quite apparent. Again, I felt envious. Just like the actors, Gwen was following a passion and being paid for it. Was I ever going to get the chance to do something similar? I loved writing, and the theatre, and I thought I had a little talent for it. But who was ever going to pay me to write stories and plays? I didn’t even know where to begin.

  That evening, over a plate of pie and mash, I made a resolution. I would begin to find out about writing professionally – if it was even possible for someone like me to do such a thing. You only live once, Joan.

  “It must have its downsides,” I said to Gwen, thinking that I had better be realistic about my ambitions.

  “Oh, yes, of course. The way some of the actors treat the costumes is just shocking. Rips and stains… I’m up half the night mending them, sometimes, so they’ll be ready for the show. And—“ she went on, in a darker tone, “sometimes things go missing, if you see what I mean.”

  “Stolen?” I asked in a suitably shocked tone.

  “Well, I wouldn’t like to use that word out loud, but yes, it does happen. Only a week ago or so I had a whole costume disappear. I thought I’d mislaid it, but perhaps someone came along and pinched it—“

  She was interrupted by Verity’s urgent summons. “Joan, it’s five and twenty past ten. We have to go.”