The Theatre Royal on Grey Street, Newcastle, was the architectural and cultural jewel in the north-east city’s crown. Granted a royal licence by King George III in 1788, the Newcastle theatre became the second one in the region – after York – to hold a royal patent. There were other theatres in Newcastle in 1929 that had not yet been turned into moving picture houses, but only the Theatre Royal could rival London theatres for its prestige. Clara was surprised then that it was hosting a vulgar pantomime, to quote her mother, but as Juju and Jonny had told her, audiences were increasingly choosing to go to the cinema not the theatre, and the cultural icon was not managing to pay its bills with the usual fare of classical drama, ballet and opera. The panto was a money spinner. And tonight was its final night.
Clara, Laura and the excited children queued with the rest of the theatre-going folk of Newcastle to collect tickets from the box office. Laura noted that in London she never queued. Clara’s sister, who was married to a viscount, and known as Lady Laura Simpkins, was part of a social set that had their own theatre boxes and were ushered to the front of queues or given access through private entrances. Clara, who was merely a miss, pointed out to her sister that she was lucky to even be in the queue.
Eventually the two women and three children were settled in their seats in the stalls. Clara noted with relief that Laura hadn’t had time to change into anything too fancy, so they blended in nicely. As long as Laura didn’t announce that she was actually a viscountess, no one would even know that a member of the trumped-up aristocracy was in their midst. Clara had not been raised in an aristocratic family. Her father had only recently been bestowed with an honorary peerage and her sister had married ‘up’, finally achieving the social standing their mother – the now Lady Vanessa Vale, who up until last year had only ever been a Mrs – had always wanted for the family. Clara, with her failure to make a desirable marital match, was an ongoing disappointment.
So as Clara watched the pantomime and laughed along with the rest of the audience at the comic antics and clever references to contemporary politics and news events, she couldn’t help thinking that she had a lot in common with downtrodden Cinderella, shunned by her social-climbing family. But Clara had no intention of catching herself a Prince Charming. For her, the prize she had already won was her freedom – to work and to live her life on her own terms. One of the comedians made a joke about the women who had been allowed to vote for the first time in the May 1929 general election, and the Labour Prime Minister Ramsay MacDonald appointing the very first woman to the cabinet – Margaret Bondfield as Minister for Labour. ‘One day, if we’re not careful, they’ll have a woman prime minister,’ declared the comic, ‘and her husband will be the housekeeper!’ This brought uproarious laughter from the men and women in the audience.
Little Rosalind whispered to her aunt: ‘Is that true, Aunt Clara? Could a woman ever be the prime minister?’
Clara lowered her head to her niece: ‘Of course. One day, Rosalind, perhaps it might be you.’
The show was coming to a close. The fairy godmother in her beautiful white ball gown waved her wand and bestowed her blessing on the lovers, proclaiming that they would live happily ever after. A pang of sadness struck Clara as she remembered that the previous actress in this role had not lived happily ever after, and as the final curtain fell, Clara readied herself to start work. Laura and the children needed some persuading to go home without her, but with them finally in a taxi – although it was not a long walk – Clara returned to the theatre and made her way – with directions – to the cast and crew bar. The Grand Circle Bar, open to paying audience members, did not serve women, although Juju had told her there was pressure to change this. For now though, a smaller, private bar was available for both male and female actors and employees.
Juju and Jonny were seated at a table with Tubby Brown and another man with a bucket of champagne between them.
‘Clara!’ said Jonny, jumping up and pulling out a chair.
The other two men stood and waited for her to be seated. ‘Good evening, Mr Brown, Mr— I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve been introduced.’
‘Jackson,’ said the other gentleman. ‘I’m the props manager.’
‘Miss Vale is the private detective I’ve been telling you about,’ said Tubby. Clara noted that the tinge of sarcasm with which he’d addressed her when they first met was gone.
‘Would you like some champagne, Miss Vale?’ asked Jackson.
‘Please,’ said Clara.
With the drink poured and the other glasses replenished, Tubby offered a toast. ‘To Miss Vale. Seems you were right and I was wrong. Sybil had disappeared, and now she’s been found. To Miss Vale.’
Glasses clinked around the table. Clara took a sip of her champagne then said: ‘Thank you, but congratulations aren’t in order yet. We may have discovered Sybil’s whereabouts, but we still haven’t found out what happened to her and why. Is my client available to talk?’ she asked Juju.
Tubby rolled his eyes. ‘Crikey, Clara, enough of the cloak and dagger. It’s common knowledge now. Peggy Rose and Juju here were overheard talking about it – none too quietly – and so we all know who your client is.’
‘I – well – I didn’t mean to, Clara. I’m sorry.’
Clara gave her friend an exasperated glance but then softened it when Juju bit her lip. She knew Juju well enough to know that she couldn’t be trusted with a secret. But it wasn’t her secret, it was Peggy Rose’s. She was the one who didn’t want it to be known.
‘Well, I still can’t talk about it without my client’s permission,’ said Clara.
‘What if I were your client?’ asked Tubby.
‘But you’re not, Mr Brown.’
‘But I’d like to be.’ Brown leaned forward. ‘Peggy Rose hired you to find Sybil. You’ve found her. Your job for Peggy is done. Your desire to find out what happened to Sybil – how she died and who, if anyone, was responsible – will extend your time on the case, won’t it? And will cost more?’
Clara nodded. ‘It will. Which is why I need to speak to my client.’
‘Well, I can tell you now, Peggy won’t have the money. Oh, she’ll find it, if she has to, but you’ll be bleeding the girl dry. You don’t strike me as the kind of woman who would want to impoverish their client.’
‘I’m not,’ said Clara. ‘And I’ve already offered to do this for her at cost – and perhaps for free if she couldn’t afford any more.’
Tubby snorted. ‘You won’t be in business long with that attitude, Miss Vale. ‘Let me pay you. Not just at cost, at your full rate. I will take over as your client for the next phase of the investigation. I can afford it; Peggy can’t. And I need to know what happened to Sybil. I was angry with her, and we hadn’t been on good terms for a while, but I still respected the woman. She had worked with me for years. I owe her at least this much.’
Clara thought for a moment. She did have a business to run and Tubby’s offer to pay at her full rate, not just at cost, was certainly attractive. On top of that, it would be most useful to have the troupe manager as her client. She wouldn’t have to skulk around without permission. He could arrange access and compel co-operation. It could make her investigation far easier.
‘All right,’ she said, ‘I think that sounds reasonable. But I will still need to speak to Peggy to ensure she’s happy with it.’
‘Right you are,’ said Tubby. ‘Juju, can you go and get her?’
‘Will do,’ said Juju, ‘back in a tick.’
With Juju gone Clara looked around the bar. There were half a dozen people standing waiting for drinks, but no one she recognised. ‘When will the main players get here?’ she asked.
‘They should start coming in soon,’ said Jonny. ‘It takes them a while to get out of costume and make-up. Some of them like to relax a bit before they come.’
‘Do you want to speak to anyone in particular?’ asked Tubby.
She did, but she didn’t want to say who, not until Peggy had officially handed over to Tubby. ‘Yes,’ was all she said.
‘Oh come on, Clara – may I call you Clara? – a lot’s in the public domain already. I’ve spoken to old Frosty in York.’
‘Frosty?’
Tubby grinned. ‘Jeremy Iceton. The manager there. I call him Frosty. He rang me on Monday. He said the police said there was no evidence of foul play. Unless you believe otherwise …’ He looked pointedly at Clara.
‘I’m not saying anything until you are formally my client. Go on, I’m interested to hear what else you know.’
Tubby raised his glass to her. ‘Fair enough. I know that you wangled your way into the police medical examiner’s office, pretending to work for the police here in Newcastle, and viewed the body. And they’re furious at you for it.’
Clara shrugged. ‘That’s not how it happened. But never mind. I did view the body and I was in the company of the Newcastle police pathologist. Anything else?’
Tubby grinned. ‘Actually, yes. And this is where it starts to get interesting and why I want to pay you to continue with the case. Frosty said that when you were at the theatre on Monday they discovered that the props department had been broken into. That it had happened after Sybil’s body had been found and that – and this is where it gets very interesting – a box of wands had been stolen.’ He looked pointedly at Mr Jackson the props manager who nodded in reply.
‘Frosty says you didn’t tell him much but you didn’t deny that the break-in was connected to Sybil’s death. Now you don’t have to be a detective to figure out that it’s more than a coincidence that spare fairy godmother wands were stolen after she died, and suggests that whoever was responsible for the break-in might have had a hand in Sybil’s death. He also said that after you were sent packing by the police – after you had taken fingerprints – the police suggested to him that the accidental death enquiry might now become something else …’
‘Oh did he?’
‘Yes. But he didn’t get the impression they were as far along in their investigation as you. He said they hadn’t asked the same kind of questions you had. He was quite taken with you, Miss Vale, I must say!’ He laughed.
Clara didn’t. ‘Is that it? Did he say anything else?’
Tubby shrugged. ‘Only that the police told you to leave York. So, Miss Vale – Clara – do you think Sybil was murdered? And do you think it had anything to do with the missing wand? Because as you know, the wand she was using on the last night in York disappeared with her. Isn’t that right, Jackson?’
‘Aye, it is. We had to replace it for the Newcastle run.’
‘So,’ continued Tubby, ‘do you think there’s anything significant about the wand?’
Clara smiled politely. ‘All in good time, Mr Brown. As I said, I first need to speak to—’
She was interrupted by a blood-curdling scream from the auditorium. Followed by another and another. And then Peggy Rose, as white as a sheet, appeared in the doorway of the bar, with an ashen-faced Juju Levine behind her. ‘Oh, Miss Vale! Mr Brown! Come quick! There’s been a terrible accident!’