There was a morose atmosphere at the boarding house. As if … well, as if someone had just died. Boxing Day dinner had just finished and the landlady, her daughter and the housemaid were clearing the table of the remains of the Christmas Day cold cuts. Various cast members lounged around, smoking, reading, listening to the wireless or just staring into space. One or two of the chorus girls were painting their toenails but beyond that, no one was primping. Inspector Hawkes had sent a couple of his officers to the other two boarding houses that were hosting the Starlight Players and they were arriving in dribs and drabs. A burly bobby on the door let them in.
Hawkes had called in one of his force’s fingerprinting experts from their Boxing Day holiday and he and Clara set themselves up at opposite ends of the dining room table. Two by two – like animals boarding the ark – the members of the Starlight Players were brought into the dining room to have their fingerprints taken, then afterwards were interviewed by Inspector Hawkes and Dr Malone in the parlour. Clara took each set of prints and compared them to the ones she already had from the teacup and the two jars of cream. One by one the Starlight Players were eliminated from the suspect list.
Half an hour later and Clara had almost run out of fingerprint cards. The other forensic officer – who introduced himself as Inspector Nanton – was also low, so said he’d send someone back to the station to get more supplies. Clara took the opportunity to visit the lavatory. As she got to the first landing and rounded the bend she bumped into someone coming down the stairs: it was Jack Danskin. ‘Jack! What are you doing here?’
Jack stopped in surprise. ‘Well, well, well, merry Christmas, Clara.’ He looked up and gave one of his rakish grins. She followed his gaze to see a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the light fitting.
‘Don’t you dare,’ she said, and took a step back.
‘Oh come, come, Clara. You’re not still holding a flame for that accountant, are you? I won’t tell if you won’t.’
She wanted to slap the smile right off his face, but she restrained herself. Instead, she folded her arms across her chest, realising as she did so how defensive it looked. ‘So why are you here?’ she asked again.
‘The same reason you are. I’m on a case.’
Clara gave him a quizzical look. ‘Who hired you?’
‘Tubby Brown.’
‘Did he now? And when did he hire you?’
‘This morning. Wally Ransom referred me. We’re old pals, Wally and me.’
Now that didn’t surprise her. The waspish actor and the rakish agent had a similar hard edge. But it did surprise her that Tubby had hired another detective. Didn’t he trust her to do the job properly? Was he replacing her? And how dare he do that without speaking to her first. ‘Well, I’ll have to speak to Tubby about that. But in the meantime, does Inspector Hawkes down there know there’s a second detective investigating Isobel’s death? He doesn’t take too well to private investigators, you know.’
‘Oh, I know. Hawkes and me go back a long way. But I’m not actually investigating the death. I’ve been hired as security.’
‘For?’
‘For Bessy Jones. She has to take over as the fairy godmother now – for the run in Leeds. And she’s terrified. There’s already two been killed; she doesn’t want to be the third. So Tubby has asked me to stick with her until the killer’s found.’ He grinned again. ‘So take your time, Clara. This is a well-paid gig. I don’t want it to end too soon. But seeing you’re in way out of your depth, I don’t think that will be a problem. And speaking of out of your depth, how is the Fenwick investigation going? Tackled anyone with your jiu-jitsu moves yet? I could give you some private lessons …’ He raised his eyes to the mistletoe once more.
Clara refused to rise to the bait. ‘Well, Jack, good luck with your new job. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to visit the facilities.’
‘Be my guest,’ said Jack, stepping aside just enough that she could get past, but not enough that their bodies didn’t brush as she did.
Unperturbed, she continued up the stairs as Bessy Jones was coming down. The actress – dressed in a red and black silk kimono as though she’d just come out of a boudoir – took in the scene, staring daggers at Clara, Jack and then the mistletoe. Goodness me, does she really think …? Ridiculous! thought Clara. ‘Hello, Miss Jones,’ said Clara, keeping her voice calm and professional. ‘I’ll be down in a minute to take your prints.’
Five minutes later Clara returned to the dining room. Nanton, the forensic officer, had already returned and Bessy Jones was seated at his side of the table. Jack Danskin stood nonchalantly in the corner, one leg crossed over the other at the ankles, casually smoking a cigarette. He must practise those poses, thought Clara.
‘Why do you need to take our prints?’ asked Bessy.
‘We need to eliminate you from our investigation,’ answered Inspector Nanton.
‘You don’t seriously think I had anything to do with Isobel’s death, do you?’
The officer remained deadpan. ‘I don’t think anything, miss; I’m just taking your prints. Unless you’d prefer Miss Vale here to do it …’
Bessy’s eyes narrowed. ‘No. I don’t want her to do it.’
‘Oh, but I do,’ said Wally Ransom as he slipped into the chair next to Clara. The actor wore braces over a white shirt with his sleeves rolled up. Clara noticed an anchor tattoo on his forearm. He noticed her looking at it. ‘I was a sailor before I started treading the boards.’ He grinned. ‘With a lady in every port.’
‘Lucky them,’ said Clara, drily. ‘Now, if you’ll place your fingers on this ink pad please …’
Wally did as he was told and let her manipulate his hands and take his prints. She’d expected some further innuendo, but he didn’t deliver. Perhaps it was the presence of the police officer at the other end of the table.
‘You’ve been a busy girl,’ he said. ‘Down to York and back here again. A murder in every town! Any closer to finding out who dunnit?’
‘That’s what we’re working on here, Mr Ransom. And you’ve been pretty busy yourself, I believe. Searching Sybil’s room in York after she disappeared from the theatre. You didn’t tell me that when I last interviewed you. Can you tell me what you were looking for?’
Wally withdrew his hand and wiped at the ink with the handkerchief she offered. ‘You’ve been misinformed, Miss Vale.’
‘Have I now?’ she asked. ‘Well, you can tell Inspector Hawkes exactly how I have been misinformed when you speak to him now. He’s just through there. Follow Miss Jones and you’ll find him. And if you get lost the sergeant on the door will show you the way.’
The fingerprint officer nodded his approval. Jack Danskin laughed. ‘Don’t worry, Clara, I’ll keep them on the straight and narrow.’
Clara waited for Danskin, Ransom and Jones to leave then jumped up. ‘Let’s compare these prints.’
Inspector Nanton stood too. ‘You think they’ll be a match?’
‘I’m hoping they will. Ransom’s been acting very oddly, don’t you think? Both here and in York.’
‘I don’t think,’ said Nanton seriously. ‘Not until I’ve looked at the evidence.’
Clara was chastised. He was right. She was getting ahead of herself. Nonetheless she was still disappointed when Wally’s prints didn’t match those on the teacup and the face cream. And neither did Bessy’s.
Nanton gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘Back to the drawing board then.’
Next up was one of the dames who played the stepmother and young Peggy Rose, the chorus girl who had brought Clara onto the case in the first place. She looked utterly drained.
‘Oh, Miss Vale,’ she said, her voice hoarse with grief. ‘Who would have thought they’d both end up dead?’
‘I know, Peggy. It’s dreadful. And I’m sorry I couldn’t find Sybil before she died. And I wish people would have listened to your concerns earlier.’
Peggy’s blue eyes swam with tears. ‘I wish they had too, Miss Vale. But it’s not your fault. You’ve done more than anyone else. And I’m grateful. And I know Sybil would be grateful, too. Now, what do I have to do with this fingerprinting?’
‘Just give me your hand and I’ll do everything for you.’ A few minutes later Peggy was wiping the ink from her fingers and moving on to be interviewed by Inspector Hawkes. Clara watched her go with sadness. ‘Poor girl,’ she said.
‘Aye,’ said Nanton. ‘She’s clearly broken-hearted.’ Both Clara and Nanton stood to compare their latest prints with the samples, taking turns to use a magnifying glass.
Clara gasped. ‘Oh God, oh dear God, no. Inspector Nanton, can you check this please?’
Nanton took the glass from her and examined Peggy’s prints and those on the teacup and the face cream. After a few moments he looked up and said: ‘They’re a match.’
‘Now, Miss Rose, I have some very serious questions for you.’ Inspector Hawkes stood over the chorus girl who was slumped in a chair.
‘But I didn’t do it! I had nothing to do with it! Miss Vale! Tell him! Tell him I had nothing to do with it! I was the one who thought something had happened to Sybil. I was the one who hired you! Why would I do that if I’d killed her?’ She was verging on hysteria, taking great gulping breaths.
‘Then how do you explain your fingerprints on both jars of face cream belonging to the victims and the teacup that contained the poison that Miss Baxter drank before she died?’ asked Hawkes.
‘Poison? What’s he talking about, Miss Vale? Oh, Miss Vale! Help me!’
Clara was devastated. She had been so sure that her careful fingerprint work would lead to whomever had killed the two fairy godmothers. But she had not expected the evidence to point to Peggy. The girl was right: why on earth would she hire a private detective when she herself was the murderer? No one else was even looking for Sybil; why not let sleeping dogs lie?
Clara cleared her throat and softened her voice. ‘Calm down, Peggy, I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of this. If there’s been a mistake, we’ll clear it up. Won’t we, Inspector Hawkes?’ She gave him an imploring look.
He paused for a moment then nodded for her to continue.
‘All right,’ said Clara. ‘Let’s see if we can help you here and if you can help us. Can you explain how your fingerprints were on these items? Let’s start with the cream. Did you touch either of those jars of cream? Now think carefully.’
Peggy, still breathing heavily, tried her best to compose herself. ‘I – well – yes, I did touch them. I was asked to drop them off.’
‘And who asked you to do that?’
‘Mr Iceton did. In York. He asked me to give them both to Sybil. He said they had been delivered to the theatre with her name on the box. I took them both to her.’
‘Did he say who had sent them? Did you see any note?’ asked Hawkes.
Peggy shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t. And Sybil seemed surprised. Like she wasn’t expecting it. But she often received gifts. It was nothing unusual.’
‘You gave her both jars?’
‘I did, but she said she’d just take the one. She gave me the other one and said I could keep it.’
‘Did you keep it?’ interjected Clara.
Peggy shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t like the smell of it. It smelt like something an older lady would use. Like something my grandma would use. I didn’t like it. But I didn’t want to appear rude and ungrateful, so I pretended I’d take it.’
Clara nodded. Yes, the cream did have an old-fashioned scent and she wasn’t surprised that a bright young thing like Peggy would turn her nose up at it.
‘So you gave the second one to Isobel then?’ asked Clara.
‘No,’ said Peggy. ‘I left it in the chorus dressing room. I was going to return it to Mr Iceton and say Miss Langford only wanted the one, but then it disappeared.’
‘Disappeared?’
‘Yes. I left it on the communal dressing table and when I came back, it was gone. It was only when I was helping Miss Baxter here in Newcastle that I noticed she had it. She couldn’t have taken it in York as she wasn’t with us then. Someone else must have taken it and then given it to her.’
‘You say you were helping her. How?’ asked Hawkes.
At the sound of his voice, Peggy started shaking. ‘I – I—’
‘It’s all right, Peggy,’ said Clara. ‘Just try to relax. Inspector Hawkes and I are trying to get to the bottom of this. The more you can tell us, the better.’
Peggy nodded. ‘Yes, I’ll do my best. Sometimes the chorus girls have to help the leading ladies. With their costumes and running errands for them and things. I was helping Miss Baxter.’
‘And does helping them mean getting them tea?’ asked Hawkes.
Peggy started shaking again. ‘Y – yes, it does. But I know nothing about poison. I swear!’
‘Then why didn’t you tell us on Christmas Eve that you had taken Miss Baxter some tea? When we asked, no one said they had seen her after the performance and before she died. But you are now saying you did,’ said Hawkes, looming over her.
Clara caught his eye. ‘Perhaps we could all sit down and work this out. Peggy is trying to help us, aren’t you, Peggy?’
‘Y – yes I am, Miss Vale. It’s all I’ve wanted to do.’
Hawkes pursed his lips, stood still for a moment, then took a seat. Immediately the tension in the room dropped a notch. ‘All right. Can you explain to me, Miss Rose, why you didn’t tell us about the tea on Christmas Eve.’
‘I – I don’t know. I was upset. I don’t remember you asking.’
Clara thought for a moment and remembered that Peggy had been so distraught that she had been led out of the auditorium to compose herself. ‘Inspector Hawkes, I think Peggy might have been out of the room when you asked that question.’
‘Are you sure?’
Clara shook her head. ‘Not entirely, no, but let’s accept for now that either she didn’t hear the question or she was too upset to remember properly. She is admitting it now. So let’s find out what happened. Peggy, did Miss Baxter ask for tea?’
‘Yes, she did. She always has tea after a show. And since we’ve been here in Newcastle I’ve always got it for her.’
‘And where do you get the tea?’
‘From the green room. There’s a primus stove there to boil the water.’
‘And was anyone else in the green room when you got the tea?’
‘Oh yes, there were at least a dozen people. Perhaps more. Everyone was relaxing. Smoking. Getting tea. We’d all relax there a bit before going to the bar. Miss Baxter always wanted tea in her dressing room though. She wouldn’t come to the green room.’
‘And at any point might someone have slipped something into the teacup? Did you turn your back on the cup at any time?’ asked Clara.
Peggy thought for a moment and said: ‘I probably did. I was chatting to everyone. We were all excited. It had been a good show.’
‘Can you name some names? Who was in the green room?’ asked Hawkes.
‘Oh goodness, now you’re asking.’ Counting on her fingers, she named around a dozen members of the Starlight Players and other theatre crew. ‘And there might have been some others. Maybe someone else can remember.’
Hawkes jotted down all the names. ‘Thank you. We’ll talk to them all. So what happened when you took the tea to Miss Baxter? Did she say anything or do anything?’
Peggy nodded. ‘She was pacing up and down in the dressing room. And she was scratching her chest and her neck. She told me she’d started using the cream a few days ago and she thought it wasn’t agreeing with her. She asked me to get rid of it.’
‘And why didn’t you?’ asked Clara. ‘I found the cream in the dressing room when I searched it after she died. Why was it still there?’
Peggy, her eyes like a rabbit’s in a headlight, turned to Clara. ‘I – I – said I’d do it later. I wanted to get to the party in the bar. She said all right. And then she carried on pacing.’
‘Did she appear distressed?’ asked Clara.
‘No,’ said Peggy. ‘Not distressed. But maybe agitated. Like she had a whole lot of energy. She was twitchy, too. I said she should have some tea to help her calm down.’
‘And did you see her drink it?’ asked Hawkes.
Peggy shook her head. ‘She took a sip before I left. But I didn’t see her drink it all, no.’
Clara considered how long it would take for the dose of atropine she’d detected in the tea to take effect. ‘And what time was this?’ she asked. ‘How long before she was found dead did you take her the tea?’
Peggy thought for a moment then said, ‘About half an hour. Not more than that. Could have been a bit less.’
‘Thank you, Peggy,’ said Clara. ‘Inspector Hawkes, may I have a word with you outside?’
Hawkes nodded his agreement, instructing the sergeant to stay with Peggy.
As Hawkes and Clara slipped into the dining room they noticed a dozen or so members of the Starlight Players hanging around the hall and sitting up the stairs. All looked worried.
‘Word must have got around,’ murmured Hawkes.
‘Inspector! Inspector! What’s going on? Have you found something out?’ It was Tubby Brown, muscling his way to the front of the crowd.
‘I’ll speak to you in due course, Mr Brown,’ said Hawkes, then ushered Clara into the dining room and shut the door behind them, causing the crowd to erupt.
‘I know what you’re going to say,’ Hawkes said to Clara over the hullabaloo of the hysterical actors.
Clara folded her arms over her chest. ‘Then do you agree with me that the evidence against Peggy is not as conclusive as we might have thought?’
Hawkes nodded. ‘Yes, I do. However, it is still evidence. And so far the only concrete evidence we have linking anyone to either of the deaths. She may have given an explanation of why her fingerprints might have been on the items, but none of that clears her. I’m afraid she will need more than just “I didn’t do it, I swear” to get her off the hook.’
‘Do you really think she did it?’ asked Clara.
Hawkes ran his hand through his hair and sighed. ‘Honestly? Probably not. But my gut feel isn’t enough. We have the evidence to condemn her, but what we don’t have is the evidence to clear her.’
‘Or to implicate someone else?’ asked Clara.
‘Indeed. So I suggest we try to find it.’ Hawkes indicated that they should go back into the parlour. But as they were heading for the door, it opened to reveal Dr Charlie Malone and the forensic officer, Inspector Nanton, having run the gauntlet of the agitated actors. Nanton was holding an evidence envelope. He passed it to Hawkes. Hawkes ushered them all back into the dining room and again shut the door. ‘Is that what I think it is?’ asked the DCI, opening the envelope.
Charlie nodded. ‘We’ll have to formally analyse it in the laboratory, but it looks like powdered belladonna.’
‘And where did you find it?’ asked Clara, already suspecting the answer.
‘At the bottom of Peggy Rose’s suitcase,’ replied Nanton.
Hawkes turned to Clara. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Vale, but I now have no choice. I’ll have to arrest Peggy Rose on suspicion of murder.’