The Sans Pareil Mystery (The Detective Lavender Mysteries Book 2) (6 page)

‘Was there anyone in particular with whom Miss Divine had a disagreement?’

The Scotts both shook their heads. ‘She had a cheerful disposition,’ said Jane. ‘And her roles were not big enough to attract jealousy. I’m not aware of a feud.’

‘We have our petty jealousies within the theatre, Detective,’ John Scott said. ‘The actors squabble and have occasionally fought over a lost hairpin or a mutual admirer. But I can’t see any of the cast taking their jealousy as far as murder.’

‘Did she have a sweetheart, or a lover?’ Lavender asked.

But before he could elicit an answer from the Scotts, the door flew open again. This time it was a heavy-set stagehand in an old hessian apron, stained with oil and filth. ‘Miss Scott? Mr Scott? Begging yer pardon fer the interruption but I think yer should know that there’s a problem with the ’oist for the scenery flats in the right wing.’

‘I’ll come in a moment,’ John Scott said, and the stagehand disappeared.

‘Did she have a sweetheart, or a lover?’ Lavender asked again.

Jane Scott shook her head once more. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know, Detective. Our actresses receive a lot of flowers and gifts from admirers and are regularly invited out to supper by ardent men. Some of them are the mistresses of lords. I can’t tell you about April. The other actors from Drury Lane may be able to tell you more about her private life. They knew her better.’

‘I will call back to speak to them tomorrow when they have recovered from the shock of her death,’ he said.

Jane Scott rose to her feet. Her face grimaced with pain. He suspected that it wasn’t just physical. ‘Yes, yes,’ she said. ‘Now I must inform the cast of April’s death; they will be devastated.’

‘We appreciate your discretion, Detective Lavender,’ said John Scott. He held out his hand. ‘Thank you. I’m glad you waited until after tonight’s performance before you brought us this sad news. It is always a special night for us when the Duke of Clarence and Mrs Jordan are in the audience.’

Lavender bowed his head and shook Scott’s hand. ‘If I can just have the address of Miss Divine’s lodgings and any information pertaining to her family, I would be grateful.’

‘I will get the porter to fetch you her address immediately,’ Jane said. ‘As for her family, I assume that you have realised that Divine wasn’t her real name?’

‘I had suspected as much,’ Lavender said.

‘Most of our actresses have a stage name,’ Jane Scott said. ‘Her real name is – was – April Clare. She was the daughter of Baron Clare of Rochdale, and is the stepdaughter of Lady Caroline Clare who resides at Lincoln’s Inn.’ Her hand shot over her mouth and her eyes widened with horror at a sudden realisation. ‘Poor Lady Clare! I do believe that she was in the house tonight!’

Chapter Seven

Lavender’s mind was still reeling when the porter brought him the address of April Clare’s lodgings. How the hell had the body of the daughter of an English aristocrat ended up shoved beneath the filthy floorboards of a condemned building?

He hated giving relatives the dreadful news about the death of their loved ones. It was the least favourite part of his job. Normally, he tried to approach this task with a certain degree of professional detachment. The fact that he liked and respected Lady Caroline Clare would make the grim job more difficult when he called on her tomorrow.

Lavender decided to use the rear stage door and walk around the outside of the theatre to meet Magdalena in the foyer. The smell of candlewax, unwashed costumes and body odour had become cloying and he wanted some fresh air to clear his head. As he climbed up the steps into the brightly lit foyer, he saw Magdalena and Teresa waiting for him at the bottom of a sweeping staircase that led up to the gallery and the boxes.

At that moment, the royal party, swathed in greatcoats, hats and fur-trimmed cloaks, descended the staircase. Several of the cast and audience were milling around. Many loitered, wide-eyed, on the landing, gawking at the prince and his guests. He raised an eyebrow when he saw the elderly Earl of Thornaby amongst them, raising the hand of Helena Bologna, the theatre’s Italian actress, to his lips. The woman simpered and giggled. Thornaby was a friend of Magistrate Read – and a married man.

Suddenly, a coarsely dressed ruffian with his hat pulled down over his face leapt down the stairs beside Mrs Jordan. He wrenched her reticule from her hand. The duke’s mistress screamed but everyone was too startled to move. Many, including the duke, didn’t see exactly what had occurred. The silk-snatcher leapt down the remaining stairs, two at a time, and belted towards the exit to the street.

Lavender moved swiftly to intercept him but Magdalena got there first. She hitched up her skirts, stuck out her boot and tripped the fellow up as he bounded passed. He landed on the foyer floor with a resounding crash. Magdalena pulled back her leg and cursed loudly in Spanish.

‘
El cerdo! Aii, mi rodilla! Esta torcida
!
’ She screamed as she hopped from one foot to another.

The thieving cove scrambled to his feet. Lavender raced forward. Magdalena looked furious and for one dreadful minute he thought she would to try to grapple with the man herself.

‘No, Magdalena!’ he yelled.

The thief threw a couple of punches towards Lavender. The first missed its mark but the second caught him a glancing blow in his left eye. A sharp stab of pain sent an angry surge through Lavender’s body. He grabbed the rogue and, marshalling his strength, threw him face down to the floor. He pinned him to the ground and viciously yanked the silk-snatcher’s arm up behind his back.

‘Yer brekkin’ me arm, gov!’ howled his prisoner.

Lavender didn’t have to hold on for long. Within seconds, several burly theatre porters were by his side. They hauled him and his captive to their feet, grasped the still struggling villain and cuffed him several times around his head until he slumped motionless between them. As the porters dragged the thief away, an angry and indignant crowd gathered around Lavender and Magdalena. Sir Lawrence Forsyth swept Mrs Jordan’s reticule up off the floor where it had dropped in the scuffle.

Lavender glanced quickly at Magdalena. She leant heavily on Teresa’s arm. ‘Take that silk-snatcher round to Bow Street and get him locked up in the cells,’ he said to the porters. He brushed the dirt from his coat and tried to force open his left eye, which had begun to swell. ‘Tell the clerks that Detective Stephen Lavender arrested him. I’ll file the charges in the morning.’

To his intense embarrassment, the crowd suddenly burst out in applause.

‘Lavender! Good God, man – I thought I recognised you!’ The duke’s voice cut through the babbling crowd. The cheering and applause died away. Everyone fell silent and stepped back as the Duke of Clarence descended the remaining stairs and strode towards Lavender, his party trailing in his wake. The duke’s purposeful stride suggested that he was still an active man who hadn’t succumbed to the unhealthy, hedonistic lifestyle of his two elder brothers.

Blinking his damaged eye, Lavender bowed his head. ‘Your Royal Highness,’ he said.

‘Hells bells, man! Don’t stand on ceremony here – you’ve just saved m’lady Dora’s purse! We’re damned lucky you were here.’ He thumped Lavender on the shoulder in delight. The pain of the jolt shot through Lavender’s jaw and into his eye socket. ‘Our brother George often hires one of you detective fellahs to protect him from snivelling pickpockets – but I never thought I would see the day when I would need help from one of you.’

‘It is my pleasure to be of service, Your Grace.’

‘Is that where I’ve seen you before?’ the duke asked. ‘Protecting my brother?’

‘Maybe, Your Grace, but I’m off-duty tonight.’

‘Don’t give me that, man,’ said Prince William with a broad grin. ‘You fellahs from Bow Street are never off-duty! You’re England’s finest – and we’re damned proud of you.’ He gave Lavender another punch on the shoulder, threw back his head and laughed at his own wit. Everyone laughed with him.

The duke’s eyes now alighted on Magdalena and he emitted a low whistle. Lavender hid a smile. Clarence may be a prince but he still behaved like a midshipman on leave after a lengthy sea voyage. ‘And who is this gracious lady with the nimble footwork who felled the rogue?’ the duke asked.

Any injury Magdalena may have sustained in the incident was now ignored or forgotten. She turned and dropped down into the deepest and most graceful curtsey Lavender had ever seen. An appreciative hush fell over the crowd; everyone in that foyer was now aware that they were now in the presence of a lady of quality.

‘Your Grace, may I present Doña Magdalena Morales, widow of Don Antonio Garcia de Aviles who fell at the Battle of Talavera,’ he said. ‘Her husband and his men fought alongside Sir Arthur Wellesley.’

‘Wellesley, eh?’ said the duke. ‘Well, madam, we have cause to be grateful for our Spanish allies tonight. That was as nifty a piece of footwork as I have ever seen.’

‘Yes, William, dear,’ said a soft female voice, with an attractive Irish lilt. ‘Doña Magdalena has saved the day.’ Dorothy Jordan had now reached the duke’s side. She slid her hand into the crook of his arm. Sir Lawrence Forsyth handed back her reticule with a stiff bow.

‘I trust you have not hurt your ankle, my dear?’ said the duke.

‘No, Your Highness, my ankle is fine.’ Magdalena gave him a brilliant smile. ‘However, I fear that the rogue has scuffed and damaged my boots.’ At that point she lifted her skirts again, raised her right ankle and twisted it provocatively in the air for his inspection. The boot was indeed scuffed but if Lavender remembered correctly both this one and its partner had needed replacing for some time. He wondered what she was up to now.

Dorothy Jordan’s green eyes narrowed at the sight of Magdalena’s little trick. The duke, however, clearly appreciated the view.

‘Damnation!’ he cursed. ‘We can’t have that! We shall reward you with a new pair of boots, m’dear! Come, Dora. Be grateful – hand over the reward for saving your purse.’

‘A new pair of boots for rescuing a purse which contains but a few pennies?’ There was a sharp edge in Mrs Jordan’s question.

The duke gave his mistress a scathing look. ‘Such bravery and assistance towards the House of Hanover deserves a reward,’ he snapped. ‘Doña Magdalena will be the toast of the town by tomorrow morning when news of this unfortunate incident leaks out to those scoundrels in the press. We can’t appear to be ungrateful.’

Dorothy Jordan hastily changed tack. ‘Alas, my dear, I do not carry money of that value around with me. Perhaps Detective Lavender can call at Bushy House tomorrow and claim your reward.’

‘I would be delighted, ma’am,’ he said and bowed again. He wasn’t sure if Magdalena was aware of the friction her little trick had caused but he was left in no doubt that money was a source of conflict in the Clarence household.

‘Come now, William, it has been a long night. We need to return home.’

Reluctantly the duke tore his eyes away from the hem of Magdalena’s dress. He offered his arm to Mrs Jordan and everyone bowed low again as the royal party swept towards the theatre door.

When they reached the exit, Dorothy Jordan turned back to Magdalena. ‘When you go shopping to replace your boots,’ she said, ‘I would recommend the establishment of Mistress Evans on Long Acre.’

‘Many thanks, ma’am, for your recommendation,’ said Magdalena. ‘I shall be sure to pay Mistress Evans a visit.’

‘You do that,’ said the actress. There was a glint in her eyes that reminded Lavender of a cat.

‘Are you hurt?’ he asked Magdalena when the royal party had gone. ‘I heard you cursing about your knee.’ He offered his own arm to support her, which she took gratefully.

‘No, no. I twisted it when he ran into me but I will be fine.’ Her cheeks glowed and her eyes shone with excitement. ‘To meet a prince!’ she exclaimed. ‘Stephen! You never told me you knew the royal family!’

He smiled. ‘I don’t
know
them,’ he said, ‘but I have worked for the Prince of Wales on several occasions and Queen Charlotte. The principal officers are the only police officers allowed into Buckingham House. The heir to the throne has a particular attachment to a colleague of mine, John Townsend. On a few occasions when Prince George wanted additional security, Townsend was unavailable and I had to take his place. The Duke of Clarence has a remarkable memory if he remembers that.’

Suddenly, they were interrupted with a torrent of excited Spanish. With a flurry of black bombazine, the two women who had slighted Magdalena earlier now reappeared and surrounded her.

‘
Magdalena! Magdalena! Cuanto me alegro de verte
.’

Beaming, they embraced her and kissed her cheek. He stepped back, barely able to follow the excited babbling of the women. Magdalena looked pleased but he sensed her surprise at this dramatic volte-face in their attitude towards her.
It’s amazing
, he thought,
how a brief conversation with a prince can suddenly make one the most popular woman in London
.

He looked over the heads of the excited women and saw Felipe Menendez observing the group coldly. For a brief second, the Spaniard glanced in his direction and shot him a withering look of hatred from down his aquiline nose.

Lavender’s hackles rose but he said nothing. It wasn’t often that he formed an instant dislike towards someone, but every fibre of his body told him that this arrogant man wasn’t to be trusted.

Magdalena was animated and chatted non-stop all the way home. She plied Lavender with questions about the royal household and Lady Caroline Clare. As their cab neared her lodgings, Magdalena quietened for a moment and became serious. ‘Tonight has been a wonderful experience for me, Stephen,’ she said. ‘Thank you for escorting me to the theatre. It may also turn out to be a night which will change my life.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes. I have decided to do something about my poverty. After all, I can’t rely on the whims of passing dukes to keep replenishing my wardrobe, can I?’ She smiled. ‘I have decided to take a lesson from those women we saw tonight. I think I will seek employment.’

‘I’m not sure that you have the patience to be a governess,’ he said, smiling.

‘Oh, there are other ways to earn a living,’ she said mysteriously. ‘I have no idea how long I will have to remain in England before I can return to my estate in Spain and I have relied on the charity and generosity of my friends for support for too long. I also need to think about Sebastián’s school fees for next year.’

‘You could always marry again,’ he said suddenly.

She turned her head sharply and stared at him. ‘It is too soon, Stephen. I have to learn to become a widow before I can become a wife again.’

Silently, he berated himself for his insensitivity. ‘I apologise,’ he said. ‘I spoke out of turn.’

‘Not at all.’ She smiled. ‘You’re a dear friend. I will be forever in your debt for all the kindness you have shown to Teresa and I.’

The cab had now stopped at her lodgings and the driver dismounted to hold open the door. But Magdalena had not finished. ‘Earlier this evening you told me that the theatre would be a window to the world, without comparison. But you were wrong about that.’

‘Oh?’

‘It is not the theatre which is my window to the world. It is you, Stephen. Thank you for tonight.’ With that, she leant forward, kissed him gently on his cheek and climbed out of the cab.