Sick of Shadows Part 14

Rose pushed open the door and went in. "I heard you singing. I a.s.sume that means you are still happy with us, Miss Friendly?"

"So very happy, Lady Rose. Funnily enough, I was just remembering when Roger, the blacksmith's son, used to sing that song. It was originally a Longfellow poem. He had such a lovely voice."

"I wish I knew where this Roger is now," said Rose. "What are you working at?"

Miss Friendly flushed slightly. "I regret to say that I am working for myself just now. I have put on weight and I am letting out a gown."

Rose laughed. "You needed to put on weight." Then she said, "Did you ever do any charity work?"

"When Papa was alive I used to call on the unfortunate of the village. There were so many. I would give them what food we could spare."

"Miss Levine has suggested that I might do some work in the soup kitchens of the East End. Perhaps you might care to accompany me?"

"Gladly. Charity work is very rewarding."

"Then I shall let you know when we are setting out."

Rose went back down the stairs and told Daisy they would be taking Miss Friendly with them when they set out on charity work. To Daisy, a trip to the East End of London was a journey back into her past that she was reluctant to make.

She asked, "Did Miss Friendly remember anything more about Dolly that might be important?"

"No, she was just saying, however, that this Roger Dallow had an excellent singing voice."

Daisy's green eyes gleamed. "If I were a blacksmith's lad and had a good voice and had endured enough hard labour to last me a lifetime, I'd try to get a job in the music hall."

"I never thought of that. But there are so many theatres in London."

"I could go out and buy a copy of The Stage Directory. The Stage Directory. The offices are in Covent Garden opposite the Theatre Royal." The offices are in Covent Garden opposite the Theatre Royal."

"And you think he might be in there?"

"Perhaps."

"Good. Let us go now. I do not have an engagement until this evening."

They took one of the earl's carriages to Covent Garden. Rose waited until Daisy went in and bought a copy of the paper. She emerged pleased with herself. "It only costs a penny now."

"Let's go to Swan and Edgar for tea. We can look at it there and quiz the ladies' hats."

The department store of Swan and Edgar at Piccadilly Circus was famous for its teas. They also had an orchestra to entertain the customers.

"Now," said Daisy, "let's see if he's in here."

Rose leaned back in her chair and listened to the sugary strains of the orchestra playing "Poor Wandering One" from The Pirates of Penzance. The Pirates of Penzance. Did Harry ever think of her? she wondered. Did Harry ever think of her? she wondered.

"There's something here," said Daisy. "It doesn't say Roger Dallow, but it says there's someone called Sam Duval and he's billed at the Fulham Palace Music Hall as The Singing Blacksmith."

"I wish we could go this evening but we are invited to the Pocingtons for dinner."

"You could have a headache."

Rose smiled. "So I could. My parents are so pleased with my engagement that they will not mind me having one night off. The minute they leave, we can take a hansom to Fulham Palace."

Daisy was excited. If they found out anything, surely Rose would want to tell Harry and Kerridge.

When they climbed into the hansom that evening, Daisy twisted around and peered out of the back window.

"What's the matter?" asked Rose.

"Funny," said Daisy, turning back. "I thought I saw two men standing under the trees opposite the house."

"That is odd. Some time ago I looked down into the square and saw Cyril Banks and Lord Berrow standing there."

"I wish you were still engaged to the captain," fretted Daisy. "He would have come round and lain in wait for them and demanded to know what they were doing."

"I'm sure Sir Peter will do the same thing should I ask him."

"He's not frightening enough," said Daisy. "The captain is."

"Oh, do stop talking about Captain Cathcart. That part of my life is finished."

"So you say," muttered Daisy sulkily.

They had to pay for a box at the Fulham Palace Music Hall as all the seats had already been booked.

There was to be a guest appearance of George Chevalier, famous for his song "My Old Dutch."

Rose fidgeted restlessly while Daisy heaved a sentimental sigh as Chevalier sang: "We've been together now for forty years, An' it don't seem a day too much; There ain't a lady livin' in the land As I'd swop for my dear old Dutch."

Then came the comedians, the jugglers, and a conjurer, all followed by a ma.s.sive corseted lady who sang, "I Dreamt that I Dwelt in Marble Halls." The first half was over.

Rose saw various members of the audience staring up at the box and lowered her veil. But to Daisy, who had been on the halls herself, it was all fascinating.

The second half opened with a man with his performing dogs. Rose stifled a yawn. And then Sam Duval came on. He was an exceptionally good-looking man with dark curly hair and a strong figure. He was dressed in a blacksmith's costume and standing by a "forge" and looking at an empty birdcage on a table in front of the footlights. He sang in a clear tenor voice: "She's only a bird In a gilded cage, A beautiful sight to see, You may think she's happy And free from care, She's not Tho' she seems to be.

'Tis sad when you think Of her wasted life, For youth cannot mate with age, And her beauty was sold For an old man's gold, She's a bird in a gilded cage."

There was a throb in his voice while he sang. There was a brief silence when he finished and then there was a roar of applause. Daisy clapped until her hands were sore. Then she nudged Rose. "Come on. I'm sure that's him. Let's get round to the stage door."

Frost glittered on the pavement outside the theatre, s.h.i.+ning under the stuttering gaslights, as they made their way round to the side of the building.

Rose presented her card to the stage-door keeper. "Follow me," he said, and winked at her. Oh dear, thought Rose. He thinks I'm the female equivalent of a stage-door Johnny.

They followed the stage-door keeper up narrow stairs and along a pa.s.sage. "That's him," he said, jerking his hand at a door. He turned and left them.

"Here we go," said Daisy. She rapped at the door and a voice called, "Come in."

They entered a small dressing-room which smelled strongly of dog. The Singing Blacksmith was sitting in front of a mirror.

He stared in the mirror at them. "Who are you?"

Rose stepped forward. "I am Lady Rose Summer and this is Mrs. Levine. Are you really Roger Dallow?"

"So what's it to you?"

"I was briefly a friend of Miss Dolly Tremaine. I am trying to find out what happened to her."

He swung round. "I remember your name now. It was in the newspapers."

"Was Miss Tremaine going to join you?"

"Yes. I stood outside the house and she dropped a note out of the window. She said she would join me. She said she couldn't bear it any longer because they were forcing her to marry some old man. She said I was to meet her the following day at the Shaftsbury Monument in Piccadilly at four in the afternoon. The following day, I waited and waited, but she didn't come. Then I heard the newsboys calling out about some murder. I bought a paper. I can't read very well but enough to know she had been murdered."

"Did she ever tell you she was frightened of anyone?" asked Rose.

"I wasn't allowed to go near her in the village after someone reported we'd been seen together. I got a whipping from my dad. I wouldn't have run away but then I heard Dolly had been taken off to London. I don't earn much here but it would have been enough for us to live simply." He buried his head in his hands. "I loved her."

"The police have been looking for you," said Rose. "May I tell them we found you?"

"No!" he cried. "I'd nothing to do with it, but if the police come round here and take me away for questioning, innocent or not, I won't have a job when I get back."

"What's the awful smell in here?" asked Daisy, wrinkling her nose.

"I've got to share with the dog act. He's taken them out for a walk."

"So you have no idea at all who might have killed her?" asked Rose.

"Who would want to kill Dolly except that Lord Berrow? Maybe he got mad when she told him she wouldn't marry him."

"I do not think she would be allowed to do anything other than accept his proposal," said Rose.

"Someone tried to kill you, didn't they?" asked Roger.

"Yes, the police now think it was some hired a.s.sa.s.sin. I will not tell the police about you."

The dressing-room door opened and a pretty chorus girl came in. "Nearly time for the curtain call, darling." She perched on Roger's knee and gave him a hearty kiss. Roger threw a sheepish look at Rose.

"Who're they?" asked the chorus girl.

"n.o.body, really," said Roger.

Rose and Daisy left.

"So much for undying love," said Rose. "He seems to have found someone new pretty quickly."

"It's been months since the murder," said the ever-pragmatic Daisy. "Life goes on."

Rose brooded on Harry on the journey back. She had never thought until that moment that Harry might fall in love and get married. The idea depressed her.

Daisy broke into her thoughts. "Going to tell the captain about Roger?"

"No."

"He might have done it."

"He hasn't enough money to pay an a.s.sa.s.sin. Don't tell Becket anything."

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

Harry had been visiting a house a few doors away from the earl's town house to report that he had managed to quash a scandal.

As he left, he suddenly stopped on the front stairs. Two men were looking up at the earl's house. When they saw Harry, they moved away.

Berrow and Banks, thought Harry. Why are they spying on Rose? I don't like this at all.

They were walking away quickly, but he caught up with them. "Stop!" he shouted. "What were you doing watching Hadfield's house?"

Cyril stared at him insolently. "We stopped to have a cigar."

"You were not smoking."

"See here," said Berrow, shoving his fat and florid face at Harry, "you're a cheeky upstart. You've betrayed your cla.s.s. How dare you question me!"

"I'm warning you," said Harry, "if I catch you here again, I'll beat the living daylights out of you, and if either of you had anything to do with the murder of Dolly Tremaine, I'll find out."

They backed away from him, turned, and walked rapidly out of the square.

"Needs to be taught a lesson," growled Berrow. "Have you seen that motor of his? He's making a fortune out of his grubby business. I'd like to punish him. Are you sure Lady Rose really fancies you? I mean, she got engaged to Petrey."

"And we all know what Petrey is. I tell you, Lady Rose was all over me. Think of her fortune. Think of getting the Ice Queen into bed. But I've got to get rid of Petrey and I've thought of a way."

Sir Peter Petrey was leaving The Club two days later. London was in the grip of a particularly nasty thick yellow fog. It was one of those lung-searing fogs of winter blanketing London, blotting out landmarks. He knew if he could even get a hansom, it would take him ages to get home.

It was late afternoon and he realized he would need to walk home if he was to manage to change into his evening clothes and escort Rose to a dinner party.

He b.u.mped into someone in the fog. "I say, I am sorry," he said.

"It's all right. Beastly weather," said a young voice. "Do you know the way to Charles Street?"

"I'm going there myself. Come along."

They walked on together. As they pa.s.sed a lighted shop front, the fog swirled for a moment and thinned. Peter looked at his companion and caught his breath. He was looking at the face of an angel. Golden hair like guineas glinted under a silk hat, large deep eyes, a perfect skin, and a mouth like Cupid's bow.

"Are you visiting London?" he asked.