I carried the key to Pearl’s flat in my purse so I didn’t need to return to the hotel to retrieve it. Her flat was exactly the same, with all her things in the same place, as if Pearl had just stepped out. It made my task easier.
I went straight to the table with all the photographs and bent to study them. In the one I wanted, Pearl stood in the center, dressed in the sleeveless and belted stola of a Roman noblewoman, a gold band in her hair and another around her upper arm. On one side of her, with a hand resting on her shoulder, was a man dressed in a Roman gladiator’s costume. I recognized him from the posters in the Playhouse’s foyer as the lead actor in Cat and Mouse. On Pearl’s other side stood another man, his hand also resting on her shoulder. He was not in costume but wore a pinstripe suit. On his smallest finger he wore a ring with a dark square gem.
I took the framed photograph with me and returned to the Playhouse, just a short walk away. The side door was still open and I slipped inside and made my way along the corridor that led to the offices and dressing rooms.
I stopped at Mr. Culpepper’s door and knocked quietly before I changed my mind.
“A moment!” His voice sounded thick, muffled.
I waited and several moments later, the door opened. I think I was as shocked to see Mr. Culpepper as he was to see me. While I’d certainly expected him to open the door, I hadn’t expected him to have swollen red eyes. He’d been crying.
It took the wind out of my sails. I was no longer sure how to begin.
“What are you still doing here?” he asked.
At least he didn’t invite me in. I didn’t want to enter his office. If I was going to confront him with what I knew, I preferred to do it in the corridor. I glanced along it, left and right, but there was no one about.
“I have some questions to ask you,” I said.
He clutched the edge of the door and leaned into it, as if it were the only thing holding him up. “Are you still trying to suggest Pearl was murdered?”
“Why are you so sure she wasn’t?”
He sighed. “Because I believe Rumford drove her to take her own life. It’s obvious. Something happened between them, they fought, he was going to give her up…something like that.”
“You don’t really believe that, Mr. Culpepper.”
He looked down at the carpet.
“You don’t believe that because you know she wouldn’t kill herself because of Rumford. She wasn’t in love with him.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed with his hard swallow. “What makes you say that?”
“She was in love with you.”
He looked up. His eyes brimmed with sorrow and something else. Remorse?
“Mr. Alcott showed me the letter Pearl wrote expressing her love to the unnamed recipient. She never got a chance to give it to him, which is a tragic shame.”
He swallowed again. “I just read it myself. It was very moving. Why do you think I am the man she was writing to?”
“The ring wrapped up with the letter is your ring, isn’t it?” I showed him the photograph. “Did you give it to her as a token of your love?”
He closed his eyes and tipped his head back. He expelled a shuddery breath before looking at me again. “All these years of hiding our relationship, and a complete stranger uncovers it.” He huffed a humorless laugh. “Pearl would have found that amusing.”
“You loved her, and that’s why you can’t bring yourself to clear out her dressing room or change the posters.”
He pressed his lips together, but it didn’t stop them trembling.
“Tell me about your relationship. When did it begin?”
He stepped aside, inviting me into his office.
“Let’s talk out here.”
His frown deepened before clearing in understanding. “You think I killed her and will kill you too for discovering our secret?” He shook his head. “Pearl really would find that amusing. I didn’t kill her, Miss Fox. I loved her. You even said so yourself just now.”
“You must have been jealous of her relationship with Lord Rumford.” When he didn’t respond, I forged on. “I imagine this is painful for you, but if you want me to believe you didn’t hurt her, you have to talk. But I’ll be staying right here.”
He stroked his thumb and forefinger over his thin moustache. “I wasn’t jealous of Rumford. I had no reason to be. I knew she didn’t love him. That letter proves it.”
“But you never received the letter.”
“I didn’t need to read it to know. Look. Pearl and I had been together for a few years. When she left Wrexham, I thought we’d finally be together. I’d hoped it would be just the two of us, and I even asked her to marry me. She said she would, but not yet. She was at the height of her career and didn’t want to give it all up. Then shortly after Wrexham, she took up with Rumford. She said she missed the gifts and attention. He paid for a nice flat, took her to expensive restaurants, and they attended balls and parties together. She met princes and dukes because of Wrexham and then Rumford.” He sounded as though he was in awe of the life she was able to lead, not jealous that he couldn’t give her those things.
“It must have stung that she promised to be with you but took up with Rumford instead.” I recalled something Mr. Alcott had said. “You argued about it, didn’t you?”
“We fought about that and other things. We had a volatile relationship.” He gave a hollow laugh. “There was never a dull moment.” He must have realized how that sounded, because he quickly shook his head. “I never wanted her dead. Our fights only showed how much we loved one another. If we didn’t fight it would have meant we were indifferent, and indifference is the end of a relationship.”
I believed him when he said he loved her and didn’t wish her dead, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t done it in the heat of the moment, perhaps accidentally causing her to fall to her death. “Where were you when she died?”
“Here at the theater.”
“I mean where precisely. You must have been nearby if you got to the body first.”
He frowned. “I didn’t. Perry Alcott was already there when I reached her.”
If that were true, why hadn’t Mr. Alcott corrected Dotty when she claimed Mr. Culpepper was first on the scene? “Can you show me where?”
“I don’t have time.”
“Please, Mr. Culpepper. This is for Pearl. If she was killed, she deserves justice.”
His eyes filled with tears. He nodded. “Follow me.”
He led the way along the corridor, past the dressing rooms and a store room where a staff member was polishing a candlestick. He pushed open a door and we emerged into the ground floor seating area. Four actors on the stage looked up from their scripts.
“Miss Fox?” said Mr. Alcott. “You’ve returned.”
“I had some questions for Mr. Culpepper,” I said without stopping. Mr. Culpepper’s strides weren’t long but they were purposeful and quick.
Mr. Alcott and Dotty Clare exchanged glances then Mr. Alcott jumped off the stage. He assisted Dotty down then they both followed us up the aisle.
Mr. Culpepper stopped eight rows back. “Here.” He pointed along the row. “Seats seven to ten.” He swallowed and looked away.
“What time did it happen?”
“Three-thirty?” He looked to the others and they nodded.
Dotty took his hand. “Is this necessary, Miss Fox?”
“Can you all point out where you were when you heard Pearl’s scream?”
Mr. Alcott clutched his throat but was the first to answer. “I was behind the stage curtain. When I heard her, I came out here and looked around. When I didn’t see anything, I jumped off the stage and started checking the rows.”
“You were the first one to reach the body,” I said, watching him closely.
“Was I?” He shrugged. “I can’t recall. It was all so chaotic. So horrible.”
“Was anyone backstage with you?”
“No.”
“Did you see anyone out here?”
He nodded at Mr. Culpepper. “He came out of that door.” He nodded at a side door further back. There was a matching one on the other side of the theater. The words FIRE EXIT were painted on both.
“I was in the actress’s privy,” Dotty said. “I think I’d just come out when I heard Pearl’s scream. I tried to follow where I thought it had come from and emerged through that door.” She indicated the door at the back of the theater through which the audience would come and go. “I saw Perry and Mr. Culpepper standing here. I didn’t realize what had happened until I came over to see.” She pressed the back of her hand to her trembling lips.
“Thank you,” I said. “I know how difficult this is for you, but I’m sure it will help.”
Mr. Culpepper excused himself and hurried off, but not before I saw his eyes fill with tears.
One of the actresses on the stage called Dotty’s name. “I need help with this scene.”
Dotty sighed. “She’ll never do.” Hands on hips, she headed towards the stage.
Mr. Alcott watched her go. “The girl is Dotty’s understudy. She’s quite good, but Dotty hates admitting it. I think she’s worried.”
“Thank you for your help today,” I said. “Finding that letter was a revelation.”
“I thought it would be important. I wish I knew who it was meant for.”
“You have no inkling?”
He shook his head. “I’d best be off too. Good day, Miss Fox.”
I tipped my head back to look up at the balcony of the dress circle. It seemed unlikely that anyone could fall by accident, but I wanted to see the balcony’s height for myself.
I continued up the aisle but instead of going all the way to the back of the stall seating and exiting through the door Dotty said she’d used, I glanced to the stage to see if anyone was watching, then pushed open the fire exit. Just as I assumed, there were stairs.
I lifted my skirts and headed up, pushing open the door on the second tier. I emerged into the dress circle seats. I peered over the balcony. It reached my waist, and from what I could gather from Pearl’s clothes in her wardrobe, she was about my height. No one could accidentally trip and fall over. Pearl was either pushed or she jumped to her death.
I headed back to the hotel, my mind awhirl as I went through what I’d learned. There were holes in all three stories I’d just heard. Any one of them could have been upstairs in the dress circle, pushed Pearl over the balcony, and come back downstairs without anyone seeing. Mr. Alcott was alone backstage but no one had seen him so he couldn’t prove it. He’d also been the first to reach the body, although had apparently forgotten that fact when Dotty initially mentioned it. Was that because he hadn’t wanted me to know that he was closest and so assume he was the killer?
In Dotty’s case, she hadn’t used the nearest door to the ladies privy. We’d passed the actress’s privy in the corridor and it was nowhere near the entrance she said she’d used. That entrance conveniently gave access to the dress circle and upper circle.
And I’d just proved the emergency fire exit also gave access to the upper levels. It would have been very easy for Mr. Culpepper to push Pearl over the balcony and race downstairs upon hearing her scream. Not only that, of the three of them, he had the strongest motive: jealousy. It was hard to believe his claim that he wasn’t jealous of Pearl and Rumford. No man liked to share his lover, and it must have galled him that Rumford could give her what she wanted when he couldn’t—a luxurious lifestyle mingling with the cream of society.
Instead of heading back to the hotel, I caught an omnibus to the Natural History Museum, partly so I wouldn’t have to lie to Flossy about how I spent my day and partly because I found museums both inspiring and soothing. Walking around the exhibits gave me time to think. It also filled in the rest of the day until it was time to meet Mr. Adams at The Nag’s Head.
“Don’t bother taking a seat,” he said as I approached his booth. “This won’t take long.”
I slid onto the seat anyway. From the look on his face, I guessed he’d been unsuccessful. “If you weren’t able to get into his office, I’d like my money back.”
“I got in.” He squared his shoulders, thrusting out his chest. “There’s not a lock in London that can keep Thomas Adams out.”
“Did you find the diary?”
“I did.” He sat forward, elbows on the table, and removed the cigarette dangling from his lips with his thumb and forefinger. Smoke billowed from his mouth as he spoke. “But the relevant page was missing.”
“Missing?”
“Torn out. Only a jagged edge remained. It wasn’t in the waste basket, drawers, nowhere.” He shrugged. “Sorry, but you’re not getting your money back. I did what you asked, at great risk to myself, and found nothing.”
“Thank you,” I muttered.
I left, but my despondency didn’t last all the way home. If nothing else, that missing diary page told me Lord Wrexham didn’t want me to find out where he was on the day Pearl died.
I tossed and turned for much of the night, unable to sleep. All the clues I’d gathered so far jumbled together in my head until they began to make no sense. At three, I gave up and threw on a dressing gown and headed downstairs. The library would be unlocked, as would the sitting room through which one had to cross to access it.
I turned down the gas on my lamp so that the light wasn’t too bright, but bright enough for me to traverse the stairs safely. The hotel was quiet, my footsteps sounding disembodied within the stairwell. When I reached the third floor landing, I realized my footsteps weren’t the only ones on the stairs. It sounded like several sets moving rapidly below me and going down.
“We want what we’re owed,” came a woman’s voice in a Cockney accent.
“We know you’ve got our money, you thieving prick, so give it,” said another woman.
“Let’s get out of here first,” a man said. “I ain’t hanging ‘round. Last time, we nearly got caught by the owner’s niece.”
I stopped and turned off the lamp. My heart hammered in my chest and I hardly dared move. Moments later, the footsteps receded altogether and I found the courage to continue, albeit in the dark.
When I reached the ground floor, I peered around the corner. The light was dim in the foyer, but I could discern three men. The one closing the door was the night porter, James, who did all the duties of the front-of-house staff overnight. He must have just let someone out of the hotel. The women?
The second man was Mr. Hirst. He accepted what appeared to be paper money from a third man whose face I couldn’t see. That man touched the brim of his cap and moved away. He also handed something to James before exiting the hotel. James had not held the door open for him.
If only I’d seen his face. While he’d dressed like the beak-nosed man I’d seen a few days ago, and had a similar build, it was impossible to know if they were one and the same. I was quite sure it wasn’t Mr. Clitheroe, the guest Mr. Hirst had claimed I’d seen that time and who also had a prominent nose. For one thing, he’d checked out, and for another, I’d never heard a hotel guest speak with a Cockney accent.
Mr. Hirst disappeared into the senior staff corridor and James roamed the foyer. I thought about asking him who’d just left but decided against it. The stranger had given him something, and if it was money in exchange for turning the other cheek, James wouldn’t tell me.
I abandoned my plan to get a book and headed back up the stairs, feeling my way with a hand on the rail. The women and man had emerged onto the stairwell on the second floor so I walked along that corridor. All was silent. If they’d been in one or more of the rooms, those occupants were most likely asleep now.
Unless the rooms had been empty.
I managed to finally get a few hours sleep, only to be awoken by Harmony holding my breakfast tray at eight. I let her in and crawled back into bed.
She followed me into the bedroom. “This was waiting for you in the corridor.” She set the tray down on the dressing table. “Why haven’t you eaten yet?”
“Because I couldn’t sleep and now I’m tired.”
“You won’t solve the case by lying in bed all day.”
“I don’t want to lie in bed all day, just for another hour.”
“I have to do your hair before I get on with my chores.”
“I’ll do it myself today.”
She stood with a hand on her hip. “I’ve got something interesting to tell you.”
“Write me a letter and leave it on the desk. I’ll read it later.”
With a shake of her head, she reached for the curtains.
“Don’t!”
She wrenched the curtains back letting in the dull light of a wintry London morning. It could have been the sunniest day as far as I was concerned. I pulled the bed covers over my head.
Harmony jerked them down. “Come on, Miss Fox. You’ll feel better once you eat and splash water on your face.”
“If you throw water over me I’ll never share my breakfast with you ever again.”
She smiled. “I know it’s hard to get up when you haven’t slept much. Believe me, I do. But you really need to hear the gossip I have to tell you. It will wake you up.”
I sighed and sat up. “You know there’s no better way to get my attention than the promise of juicy gossip. So what have you heard?”
She picked up the breakfast tray and positioned it across my lap then sat near my legs and helped herself to a cold slice of toast. “Goliath told me that his friend at the Savoy Hotel said he’d overheard a guest gossiping about seeing Lady Rumford at the theater.”
“That’s a rather tangled grapevine. Should we trust the information?”
“The woman claimed to be a friend to Lady Rumford. You would think she’d know what her own friend looked like. It’s worth following up, which is why I told Goliath to tell his friend to find out more.”
“Excellent idea. That leaves me free to follow up other clues.”
“Such as?”
I sighed as I peeled the shell off a boiled egg. “I don’t know yet. Perhaps inspiration will strike by the time I finish breakfast.”
Inspiration did indeed strike, and I left the hotel feeling buoyed. This investigation might prove complicated, with so many suspects compared to the last one, but it was better to have too many than none at all. That’s what I told myself, anyway.
The events of the previous night also occupied my thoughts. Indeed, they were getting in the way of the murder investigation. There was only one way to stop that—pass the information onto someone else. It was fortunate that the person I planned to see could help me with that as well as give advice on what to do about the sightings of Lady Rumford who, according to her husband, should not be in London.
I poked my head into the Roma Café and smiled at Luigi and his two regular customers.
“He’s not here,” Luigi told me.
I headed up the stairs next door and knocked on Mr. Armitage’s office door. He beckoned me in, looking somewhat disappointed to see me and not a potential customer.
“How is business coming along?” I asked cheerfully as I took a seat.
“I’m run off my feet.”
A newspaper was spread out in front of him but his desk was otherwise neat. His jacket hung alongside his coat and hat on the stand by the door, which meant he wasn’t expecting anyone. “Quite,” I said, trying not to let him see that I knew he was lying.
He folded the newspaper and set it to one side. “Do you require my services to accompany you to The Nag’s Head again?”
“No, thank you. I’ve already spoken to Mr. Adams twice since we last met.” I spread out my arms. “As you can see, I came to no harm.”
He leaned back, elbow resting on the chair arm, and stroked his top lip with his finger. “You’ve made progress. Well done. I knew you would.”
“I haven’t solved it yet, but I do need your help.”
“I ought to start charging you.”
“Or you could just agree to make me your partner and we can halve the fee.”
He laughed. “You don’t give up, do you?”
“It’s an annoying habit, so I’ve been told.” I opened my purse. “Since you won’t agree to become my partner, yet, I’m happy to pay you for your time.”
He shook his head when I tried to hand him some money. “Put it away, Miss Fox. That was a joke. I don’t want payment for accompanying you when you speak to dubious characters. What kind of man do you take me for?”
“One who thinks I’m attacking his pride.” I dropped the money back into my purse. “I don’t want you to accompany me anywhere, this time. I want your opinion.”
My retort about his pride had stung him into silence and I wished I could take it back. Sometimes I needed to check myself before saying whatever came into my head.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “But I really do want your opinion on something. Two things, actually. As someone who worked in a luxury hotel for many years, I think you can offer a unique and valuable perspective.”
“Apology accepted. There’s no need to lay it on too thickly.”
I gave him a withering glare. “I wasn’t.” I adjusted my position in the chair, suddenly feeling uncomfortable as he stared back at me. “It’s about Lady Rumford. Two separate people have now mentioned seeing her, one at the opera, the other at the theater. But she isn’t staying at any of the premier hotels. Lord Rumford doesn’t have a London residence, so she must be staying somewhere.”
“With a friend?”
“But wouldn’t Lord Rumford have been informed by that friend?”
“A friend to her, but not to him, perhaps.”
That was certainly a possibility, although it seemed odd that no one seemed to know where to find her. “If she was staying with a friend, wouldn’t she have caught up with other friends while in London? So far, we only have the occasional secretive sighting, which is causing everyone to gossip.”
He steepled his fingers and tapped his thumbs together. “There’s one other possibility. Something that, if true, means she doesn’t want her friends to know she’s here.”
“Because she came to London to commit murder.” I sat forward. “Go on.”
“She could be staying at a hotel under an assumed name.”
“I suppose she could. If she came here with the intention of killing Pearl, she wouldn’t check in using her own name. That’s a brilliant deduction, Mr. Armitage.”
“For what it’s worth, I think you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
I looked up. “Why?”
“If she killed Pearl, she’d be foolish not to leave London immediately. But even more importantly, what does she gain by killing her?”
“The removal of her rival for her husband’s love, of course.”
He humphed.
“What’s so amusing?” I asked, defensive.
“You. I hadn’t pegged you as a romantic.”
I wasn’t sure if he meant it as an offense or not, so I remained silent.
“You said there were two things you wanted to discuss with me,” he went on. “What’s the second?”
I told him what I’d seen and heard on the stairs and in the hotel foyer last night. He listened attentively, a small crease forming across his forehead. But not for the reason I suspected.
“Why are you here, Miss Fox?” he asked when I finished.
I blinked. “To tell you about the man who appeared to be paying Mr. Hirst and the night porter.”
“You have no evidence of any wrongdoing, just suspicions and speculation. Added to which, you could have taken your suspicions and speculation to my uncle.”
I bristled. “Next time, I will. I just thought you would be interested in investigating it further. I see I’m wrong. And anyway, my other reason for coming was to ask your opinion about Lady Rumford. You were actually quite helpful in that regard.”
“You would have worked that out yourself. Or, again, talked it through with my uncle. He has more experience when it comes to hotel guests than me.” He sat forward and crossed his arms on the desk. His smile was positively wicked.
Something inside me flipped. He’d managed to unnerve me with one little smile. I wasn’t sure I liked it.
“So why did you come here, Miss Fox?”
“I’m no longer sure.”
He laughed softly.
“Are you making fun of me?”
He put up his hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t dare.”
I stood. “Good day, Mr. Armitage. Thank you for your assistance.” I turned and walked out.
How had that meeting deteriorated so quickly? Mr. Armitage was being deliberately provocative and I couldn’t fathom why. We’d been getting along well, and I’d hoped we could become friends. Clearly he had no interest in doing so if he was going to sabotage our fledgling friendship like that.
I put Mr. Armitage from my mind and considered my next step in the investigation. I needed to narrow down my suspects. There were too many. Jealousy and hurt over a possible rejection were looking like strong motives for a number of my suspects, both former and current lovers, their wives and even Pearl’s understudy, Dotty Clare. Both Lord and Lady Wrexham and Mr. Culpepper had known Pearl for several years, and someone who might be able to give me a better insight to those older relationships would be Pearl’s sister. She claimed she didn’t know Pearl all that well anymore, but she must have an opinion on the people from Pearl’s past.
I fished out the paper on which she’d written her address from my purse. I wasn’t sure of the area so I caught a hansom. Some fifteen minutes later, the driver deposited me at the entrance to a court surrounded on three sides by indistinguishable tenements. Small children played a chasing game and a woman hung out washing, although I couldn’t see how it would dry in this weather.
I nodded at her as I passed and felt her gaze on me as I approached Millie, sitting on a stoop. The little girl was humming to herself and staring straight ahead, her body rocking to the rhythm of her tune.
“Good morning, Millie,” I said.
She stopped humming and lifted her face, although she didn’t look directly at me.
“Do you remember me? I’m Miss Fox. I met you at your aunt’s home.”
She began humming again.
“Is you mother inside?”
“You won’t get no answers from her,” the woman said from the washing line. “She’s not deaf, she just don’t talk much. If it’s Mrs. Larsen you’re after, she’s inside.”
“Thank you.” I knocked and, as I waited, thought of a question for the neighbor. “Did you ever see Mrs. Larsen’s sister here?”
“The actress? Aye, I saw her at Christmas. She only ever came Christmastime.”
“How did she seem?”
The woman shrugged. “Fine to me, but I only caught a glimpse. She was real pretty, and so fancy looking with her fur coat and matching hat.”
The door opened and Mrs. Larsen smiled in greeting. “This is a surprise.”
“I want to ask you some questions about Pearl.”
“Come in.” She clicked her tongue at Millie, blocking the way. “Let Miss Fox past.”
Millie continued to hum and didn’t move.
“Millicent! Move!” She rapped Millie’s shoulder with the back of her hand and Millie shifted to the side.
I squeezed past her.
“Forgive me, but I’ll have to receive you in the kitchen. We’re having some work done in the parlor.” She led me along the corridor, past closed doors and the staircase, until we reached the warm kitchen. A pie baking in the oven filled the entire house with its delicious smell. “You remember my husband from the funeral?”
Mr. Larsen stood. He nodded at me before gathering up the boot he’d been fixing along with his tools, and left.
“He’s a man of few words,” Mrs. Larsen said, somewhat self-consciously. “Tea?”
“Thank you, that’s very kind.”
I sat and watched her fill teacups from the teapot warming on the stove. The kitchen was a sizable one with a large central table that Mrs. Larsen had been using as a place to knead dough. A large pie had been set aside, ready to be baked in the oven when the other one finished. It was too much food for the family of three. Perhaps Mrs. Larsen baked them for neighbors or sold them.
On the wall above the table was a shelf full of neatly labeled jars and above them hung a wooden cross. A pink glass vase stood empty by the window, as if waiting for the first signs of spring to fill it with flowers. It was a very pretty vase and looked out of place in the drab kitchen. It was more to Pearl’s taste than her sister’s.
Mrs. Larsen must have taken it from the flat that day I’d met her there. I wondered what else she’d removed, and how much of it she’d already sold.
She handed me a cup and saucer. “I’m so sorry, but I don’t have cake today.”
“It’s very good of you to receive me. I do apologize for calling on you without notice.”
“How may I help you?”
“What can you tell me about Pearl’s—Nellie’s—prior relationships? The ones before Lord Rumford came on the scene. And the ones during.”
Her lips pinched. This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have. “I know very little. As I told you, my sister and I weren’t close. She rarely confided in me.”
“What do you know?”
“She was with another lord before Rumford. I can’t recall his name. She didn’t like him much, and when I asked her why she would ruin her reputation over someone she didn’t like, she got angry with me. She told me she needed him if she was to get anywhere in life.” She stared down at the teacup, held in both her hands. “Nellie wasn’t satisfied with the life she had. She wanted more glamor, more amusement. She hated being bored so she’d make trouble, just to entertain herself.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“All kinds. Like seeing one man when she already had another.”
“For example…?”
She regarded me over the teacup. “You said it yourself. You wanted to know about the man or men she saw while she was seeing Rumford.”
“Can you give me their names?”
She contemplated her tea. “I don’t like naming names. I’m not a gossip. But you should ask that theater manager. They were close.”
“Close enough to be jealous of her seeing other men?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
I let her mull that over for a few moments, but when she didn’t elaborate, I decided to change tack. “Did Nellie ever mention the wives of her benefactors?”
She snorted. “If Nellie cared about them, she never showed it.”
“You don’t think she considered their feelings?”
“No. It’s not all her fault, mind. The lords have to take some of the blame. Most of it, I suppose.” She sighed and put down the teacup. “Nellie just did what came naturally to her. She flirted and smiled her way through life, taking all she could while she could. I suppose one of her lovers ended her life out of jealousy.” She shook her head sadly. “So very, very selfish.”
I wasn’t sure if she was referring to Pearl or the murderer.
Silence weighed heavily on us, each of us lost in our thoughts. It was only broken by Millie’s humming.
The girl approached along the corridor, her hand running along the wall. She stopped when she reached the kitchen. “I’m hungry.”
“Not now, Millie, we have a guest.”
Millie seemed to consider this. “Will I eat at school?”
Mrs. Larsen clicked her tongue. “Enough! I’m tired of hearing about that place.” She took her daughter’s shoulders and turned her around to face the corridor. “Go back outside.” When Millie didn’t move, she gave her a little shove. “Go!”
Humming to herself, Millie headed off.
“She seems a content child,” I said.
“She’s simple.” Mrs. Larsen sat down again. “Simple children are often content.”
“Is that why she’s going to school at a young age? I hear that can be good for children who have difficulty learning, to give them the best start. How old is she?”
“Four this March.”
She didn’t answer my other question, and I wondered if she was sensitive about Millie being slower to develop compared to other children her age. But that wasn’t what intrigued me about the girl.
I put down my teacup and watched Mrs. Larsen very carefully. I wanted to see every flicker of her lashes, every flinch, when I said what was on my mind. “She looks like her mother.”
Mrs. Larsen’s gaze sharpened and a muscle in her cheek twitched. “We have the same shaped face, and I was blonde too, at her age.”
The twitch gave me enough of a hint that I was onto something with my line of questioning. I pushed forward, even though it was one of the most uncomfortable questions I’d ever asked anyone. “She’s Nellie’s daughter, isn’t she?”
She almost dropped the teacup. It clattered in the saucer. “She’s my child. If she weren’t, do you think I’d keep her? I’d give her back to her mother, even if that mother was my own fool of a sister.”
Her harsh words did not sound like a mother’s. Or, rather, they didn’t sound like a loving mother’s words. There was a ring of truth to them, however. I couldn’t imagine Mrs. Larsen taking in a simple child that was not her own. She didn’t seem to have a kind enough heart for it. That destroyed the theory brewing ever since seeing Millie walk down the corridor—that Pearl had asked for her daughter back and Mrs. Larsen had killed her to stop her taking Millie.
“I’m sorry for asking,” I said. “I must look at all possibilities.”
Mrs. Larsen’s lips pursed. “More tea, Miss Fox?”
“No. I must go.” I rose and saw myself out.
Mr. Larsen stood by a cart with Millie sitting on the back of it. He was teaching her a clapping game which required her to copy him then add something to the sequence, which he then repeated. He had a lot of patience and Millie quickly picked up the rhythm. A moment later, she’d changed it to something equally rhythmic yet different.
He smiled at her then caught sight of me. He nodded. I nodded back and left the court behind.
A few minutes ago, I’d had two potential candidates for Millie’s father, based on her age—Lord Wrexham and Mr. Culpepper. After watching Mr. Larsen with her, I now had a third.
Despite Mrs. Larsen’s protests, I was absolutely convinced that she didn’t give birth to Millie. Her sister had. But for some reason, Pearl—Nellie—couldn’t, or wouldn’t, raise her.