Murder At The Music Hall: (Auguste Didier Mystery 8) (30 page)

Egbert’s face was black with anger.

‘I can see you are annoyed, Egbert, and rightly so,’ she continued anxiously, ‘but consider His Majesty’s position. You could not be told, or you might not play your part correctly.’

‘That’s all that’s important, is it?’ snarled Egbert.

‘No. There is the future peace of Europe to consider.’

Reluctantly, Egbert’s feathers were persuaded to be soothed. ‘What went wrong?’

‘His Majesty does not know, except that he had been told there is a fake in circulation. He is very anxious
about it, for if the fake reaches Portugal, even greater damage could be done to international relations.’

Egbert found sympathy hard. ‘Tell him he’ll be getting good news from his beloved Special Branch.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘As far as the CID knows,
yes.
And I’ll have another of those pies, Auguste.’

‘There aren’t any more.’ Auguste was still smarting.

‘Eaten them all, have you? You’d better brush up your ordering skills.’ It was rare for Egbert to be in such ill-humour.

‘
Oh
!’ Tatiana, who from her seat had a view into the corridor where the audience was still flooding through from the auditorium, had suddenly cried out.

‘It’s only the Shadwell Mob,’ Auguste said soothingly. ‘Do not be alarmed.’

‘No – yes. Auguste, for a moment I thought I recognised someone.’

‘Who?’

‘Gregorin,’ she answered soberly.

In a flash, Auguste had rushed into the corridor to join the crowd, and was swept along with them on to St George’s Street. Could that slim figure disappearing into the darkness be Gregorin? It was impossible to tell, yet a certain shiver in his spine that had nothing to do with the chilly autumnal air told him it was all too possible. There was no hope of catching him, even if there were any point, and he returned slowly to the table.

Egbert looked up anxiously. ‘I told Special Branch to keep an eye on him.’

‘I think one eye is not sufficient where Gregorin is concerned,’ Auguste replied quietly, and tried to
concentrate on crosses, or pies, or anything but Gregorin. It was difficult until another familiar figure pushed its way through the crowd into the eating-room. It was Lizzie’s long-lost love (for two days at least), Joe. He made his way behind the counter, and watched belligerently as Charlie cuddled Lizzie by the fried herrings.

‘Oy,’ he yelled grimly.

Lizzie turned, and screamed. Charlie cast an indifferent eye, and then resumed his occupation. Joe tore his rival’s arm away from Lizzie, and spun him round, with some difficulty owing to his girth.

‘My
girl,’ he said meaningly.

‘Miss Eliza can choose.’ Charlie was unperturbed.

‘She chose me.’

‘You went orf,’ sobbed Lizzie.

‘I had to. A man has to work. Same as you. Ma had a fishing job for me.’

‘You never said.’

‘I did.’

‘You never.’

‘I’m back.’

‘Too late,’ said Charlie, grinning.

He was ignored. ‘You loved me, Lizzie.’

‘She loves me now.’

‘Which one of us, Liz?’ Joe asked heavily. ‘You’ve got to choose.’

A large dirty hand was thrust over the counter and between them. ‘Do I ’ave to get me own bleedin’ chop, then?’

Charlie put a hot chop in the hand without the benefit of plate. The man’s yell was outdone by Lizzie’s, who burst into tears. ‘I dunno, do I?’

She ran down the steps to the basement, howling. Joe and Charlie looked at each other, and with one accord walked outside to settle the issue, purposefully followed by the aggrieved chop purchaser.

Charlie shrugged, and grinned at Auguste. ‘Women,’ he said as they passed.

Tatiana tapped Auguste on the arm. ‘Don’t you think, Auguste, for the good of the Old King Cole, you should sacrifice your scruples and become their very temporary cook?’

By Tuesday morning, his guilt over his illicit cooking had almost entirely vanished. The power of a sunny morning was great. After all, he pointed out to Tatiana, the King had not been entirely without fault himself.

‘Does he know you are involved in this murder case?’

‘No.’

‘I thought not.’

‘Just as I forgot to mention that I was cooking,’ he added blithely. ‘Which I am now doing with
your
agreement – though only to keep an eye on Lizzie’s progress.’

‘In romance?’

‘She is only sixteen, a child.’

‘Her problem seemed quite an adult one to me.’

Auguste had a brainwave. ‘You look after the affairs of Miss Emmeline, I will protect Miss Lizzie.’

Miss Lizzie, however, had to come second to Egbert’s demands, and by the time their hansom arrived at Max Hill’s Bethnal Green lodgings, he had forgotten all about her.

Mrs Bistle leaned on her broom and eyed them suspiciously. ‘Mr ’Ill?’

‘Is he in?’ Egbert asked.

‘I don’t hold with folk always having visitors. I never said I’d be a parlourmaid when I took ’im in.’

Just as well, Auguste thought, averting his eyes from her dirty apron and, more importantly, face and hair.

‘You’d better follow me,’ she said grudgingly.

In silence, they followed her aggrieved rear up four flights of steps, until she rapped on a door. ‘Mr ’Ill?’ Her raucous shout received no reply.

With little ceremony, she flung the unlocked door open to reveal a room crowded with photographs, clothes, old newspapers, and ill-assorted china.

‘Have you seen him go out this morning?’

‘Nah.’

‘Yesterday?’

‘Might have.’

‘Endeavour to remember, please,’ Egbert said mildly, but she heard the undertones, and no doubt thinking it was imprudent to get on the wrong side of the law without cause, became remarkably voluble.

‘Now I comes to think of it, yes, I did see ’im.’ She waited for congratulation, but none came. ‘He went out in the morning. Came back and went out in the afternoon.’

‘Did he say where to?’

‘He was in a hurry.’

‘No idea where he went?’

‘He said he wouldn’t be back for a few days, but to keep his room and he’d send money. I wish I’d a sovereign for every one of them as says that,’ she
remarked scathingly. ‘Uncle Sam pawnbroker sees more of me than the old man.’ She shrugged. ‘Not much here for Uncle Sam. Still, it ain’t my business where he goes, is it?’

‘Did he have a suitcase with him?’

She thought about this. ‘Yes. Not a big one, mind, or I’d have wondered what he was up to. He often takes one – for his – what d’yer call it? – impersonations.’

‘You’ve seen him perform?’

‘Poor old chap. He were past it, but not bad. I done all the halls, so I know.’

‘And you’ve no idea where he went?’ Egbert ploughed on relentlessly.

‘Oh yes, why didn’t yer ask? He tells me to tell Mr Bishop he could find him at the old Canterbury.’

‘Why, if he wishes to vanish, does he tell his landlady where he’s going?’ Auguste asked, as they left. ‘Perhaps there’s some innocent explanation for his disappearance after all.’

‘The Canterbury’s more a place for swells and mashers now, not for Max’s usual audience. More likely he threw that in to keep us off the scent. Still, it’s worth sending Twitch to watch the place, in case it’s a double bluff.’

‘And what do you wish me to do now, Egbert?’

‘You can come with me to see the lovely Mariella. I don’t want her taking a fancy to me.’

Mariella, smartly dressed in deepest black for Will’s funeral that afternoon, had obviously been spending in advance of her legacy. Auguste wondered irreverently whether she had ordered a black spangly mermaid’s costume, but decided he was being unfair. Her eye for
an attractive man, he told himself modestly, did not mean she had not been sincerely fond of her husband. And even if her eye for money were stronger than for men, it did not mean she did not sincerely grieve for Miguel – or for Will Lamb, if he were being generous. Perhaps generosity did not stretch as far as that.

‘I have been writing,’ she said in a low voice, ‘to Miguel’s family in Portugal. I have told them I will do all I can to help them. Miguel would wish me to.’

‘Very good of you, ma’am. Of course, with your fees from the Palace, you’ll be able to help a great deal sooner even than that. If you get them, that is.’ Egbert sat on the edge of an armchair, with his hands firmly on his knees.

‘Fees from the Palace?’ she repeated innocently. ‘I don’t perform there.’

‘Come, come, ma’am. I’ve heard all about it from the one witness no one would question. His Majesty himself. So now you need not feel obliged, as you obviously did earlier, to keep me in the dark for reasons of national security.’

Mariella looked at him sharply. ‘Oh, I’m so glad you
know.
It has been a great burden. And what do you mean,’ she added, alarmed,
‘if
I get them?’

‘That’s the part you’re going to explain to me, ma’am. I know what Special Branch ordered your husband to do, and I’m sure you know it too. Now you’re going to tell me what
his
plan was. And I’m sure you know that too.’

‘No—’ She broke off suddenly.

‘I thought you’d manage to remember it was you gave
the cross to Will Lamb. That wasn’t in His Majesty’s plan, was it?’

‘No. We had to improvise after it all went wrong,’ she said sullenly.

‘And you’re British too, of course. That makes it treason, to betray the crown. Still, it’s not often we put people in the Tower now. Even Captain Blood managed to wangle a pardon after stealing the Crown Jewels. Not often we hang people down at Execution Dock either nowadays.’

Mariella took the point rapidly. She burst into tears. ‘Oh dear,’ she sobbed, ‘I only wanted to help Miguel. He was so upset when the plan went wrong, and he had to think what to do.’

‘Try again, ma’am. Begin with the Republican sympathisers in Windsor Castle, who got in touch with Miguel to ask him to do the job.’

She glared. ‘You’re sure you won’t think I was involved?’

‘Not
sure
, no. But there’s just a chance, if you can convince me you know nothing about a murder or two, as an accessory before the fact.’

‘Oh
no.
I could not have condoned murder. It would be far too dangerous for one thing. You police are so wonderful at finding murderers.’

The tops of Egbert’s ears went slightly pink, Auguste noticed with amusement.

‘Miguel had always planned to steal the cross back from Frederick Wolf, you see, so that he could pass it to his political contact.’

‘Why give it to Frederick in the first place?’

‘Because it would look very suspicious if he said he
was robbed himself. He was going to make sure there were witnesses to the attack – er – the theft of the cross from Frederick.’

‘But it went wrong because Frederick decided he’d hire someone else.’

‘Yes. Miguel was upset, and had to take this man to a quiet place to steal it back, so that the ship would sail without it. Miguel then got a fake made, so he would be paid by the Republicans for the real cross, and he could send the fake to Portugal when the ship next docked. He
made
me ask Will to keep it for me. I didn’t want to because—’

‘Will had left you a lot of money and you didn’t want to risk anything upsetting that.’

‘Because I
was fond
of Will,’ she retorted with dignity. ‘I tried to warn him, so you can tell that was so. I knew he was superstitious, so I sent letters to him to frighten him into keeping away. Miguel would have killed me—’ She stopped short and smiled brightly. ‘And I released that horrid dirty raven to scare him too, because I was afraid Will would get caught up by accident in their plans. Miguel had made me promise to tell a story to Will that I would run away with him at the end of the week, and the parcel with the cross was my auntie’s jewellery. He thought it was very funny when everyone in the theatre seemed to know about us running away, but then he began to be worried that I really
was going
to go.’

‘So you think he killed Will Lamb for that reason?’

‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘He could have done. He was a strange man.’ Like all the men in her life, she was thinking viciously. Miguel, Will, Fernando . . . Why
couldn’t she have a nice straightforward man like this Frenchman? She looked shyly at Auguste, and wondered whether she should have another try. Surely he could not resist twice?

‘And what happened to the cross? The real one. Did he give it to the Republicans?’

‘No. He was going to, but Will died first, and he couldn’t keep the appointment.’

‘Where is it?’

‘It was in my mermaid’s tail. There was room for it even with my legs in it, if I took my petticoats off.’ She managed to convey this latter was a thrilling experience.

Egbert sighed. ‘The blunt instrument, eh? The one that killed him. And only you knew about it.’