Page 51 of Murder on the Brighton Express
She sighed again. “Not yet. The suppliers are upset and guess who receives the brunt of their frustration.”
I squeezed her arm. “I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but it will be a marvelous reception, I’m sure of it. Miss Hessing and Mr. Liddicoat will be thrilled.”
“I think they’d prefer an elopement and no fuss whatsoever. They just want to be together.” Harmony tipped her head back to rest on the sofa, a wistful smile touching her lips. “I’ve never seen Miss Hessing so happy, Cleo. She has made an excellent choice in Mr. Liddicoat. They are perfect together. It makes one wonder, doesn’t it?”
“Wonder about what?”
“Marriage, and if some couples really can be happy forever. I’ve not seen much evidence of it, myself.”
Nor had I. “Is this about you and Victor?”
She picked up the stack of newspapers and sifted through them. “Why do you only have editions ofThe Evening Bulletin?”
I took the top one and flipped to the gossip column. “Mrs. Scoop told me she never writes about Clement Beecroft’s affairs, and I wanted to see if that is true. But I only have a week’s worth here. I’d need to go further back to know for sure.”
“It is true. I read this paper most nights. The following morning, if the maids have any gossip about Beecroft, I can’t join in because I’ve not read about it. In fact, not only doesThe Evening Bulletinnot report about his relationships, it doesn’t mention a single thing about him. Not even his productions are reviewed, good or bad.”
Now that was curious, but it didn’t affect my theory or what I’d do next to prove it. “It’s a shame you’re not free this afternoon, Harmony. You could keep me company.”
“What about Harry? Isn’t he helping you?”
“Apparently he has another case now.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. How was Brighton?”
“We learned a lot.” I started to tell her what we’d discovered about Ruth’s movements, but Harmony interrupted me.
“I meant how was your time with Harry. Did you two…get along?”
Taking a leaf out of her book, instead of answering, I continued to tell her what we’d learned in Brighton.
I waitedwhere I could see the door used by cast and crew to enter and exit the Laneway Theater. After a long hour, my patience was rewarded with the appearance of Clement Beecroft. Fortunately, he was alone. If he’d left with Geraldine Lacroix, I probably would’ve had to abandon my plan to follow him. He would most likely have gone to her flat, whereas I needed him to go home to find out where he lived.
He didn’t get into one of the cabs that had been waiting since the matinee finished an hour ago, and instead he set off on foot. He walked quickly, and I had to trot to keep up and not lose sight of him. We’d almost reached Bloomsbury Square Garden when he removed a key from his pocket and unlocked the blue door of one of the handsome houses. It wasn’t as large as most townhouses in the more exclusive area near the Mayfair Hotel, but it wasn’t small either. Clement Beecroft was doing very well. As lead actor and impresario, he would benefit financially when his shows were successful, but I was still curious about how a man with a humble background got started in such a cutthroat business.
I didn’t knock on the blue door. If enough time passed and no one else arrived, I would, but I decided to wait. It turned out to be the right course of action, and my patience was once again rewarded.
A woman strode up to the blue door, her face obscured by a large hat that she’d drawn down low. She removed a key from her bag and inserted it into the lock. Although I couldn’t see her face, I was familiar with the thin frame and clawlike hand that turned the doorknob.
I stepped out from the shadows. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Blaine. May I have a word?”
Chapter11
Mrs. Scoop spun around. Her eyes flared wide upon seeing me and hearing me call her by her real name, but she quickly schooled her features. Her gaze turned cool. “Congratulations, Miss Fox. Or should that be Miss Ferret, since you have a knack for sniffing things out?”
The neighbor’s door opened, and a couple emerged. Mrs. Blaine quickly turned her face away from them. It would seem she didn’t even want her neighbors knowing she was married to Mr. Beecroft. Or, rather, Mr. Blaine.
I made a point of greeting the couple, even going so far as to mention the weather. I wanted them to remember me. I wanted Mrs. Scoop to realize they would remember me, too, just in case she or her husband posed a threat.
“Shall we discuss this inside, or do you want your neighbors to overhear?” I asked her. “But before we do, I should warn you that several friends know I am here, and one of them is even watching this house now.”
She glanced along the street then pushed open the front door.
I brushed past her and entered the dark entrance hall.
She stood at the base of the stairs. “Clem! Down here! Now!”
“Why?” he shouted back.
