Page 5

Chapter Three

A Death

The man who had entered their office had a cleft chin, a roguishly charming smile, and auburn hair tied back with a dark green ribbon. He held himself with poise, and Beatrice could tell that he was the kind of person who was accustomed to having everyone’s eyes upon him.

But Beatrice also sensed concern beneath the man’s confident facade. He kept glancing out the window as if afraid he had been followed. There were beads of sweat upon his brow. And though his clothes were elegant and well tailored, he had misbuttoned his jacket.

“Please, sit,” Beatrice told him, ushering the man toward the office chaise. He obliged, while Beatrice and Drake took seats in armchairs across from him. Drake opened his yellow notebook, quill poised to take notes.

DS Investigations had never had a client walk through their doors with something truly terrible to report. Beatrice hoped this case would be good.

Or, rather, she hoped it would be nasty.

“My name is Percival Nash,” the man began.

Drake gasped. Beatrice turned, startled, having never heard him utter such a noise. His eye was wide in shock, and his quill fell from his hand.

“Mr. Nash,” Drake repeated, his tone reverent, “forgive us for not recognizing you at once. I have only seen you upon the stage, of course….” He turned to Beatrice. “This man is a renowned opera star,” he whispered, as if Percival were not within (very close) earshot.

“I have heard tell,” Beatrice assured him. It was true; Percival Nash was a local celebrity. Miss Bolton spoke of him with the same admiration, but Beatrice would have never expected this of Inspector Drake. Normally he was so stoic; she had not imagined he could be starstruck.

“We should offer him something,” Drake continued to whisper, flustered. “Coffee? Port? Shall I make a trifle? I don’t know how, but I am a quick study….”

“Your continued devotion, as well as coffee, would be enough,” Percival cutin.

“Of course,” Drake said, shutting his notebook. He scrambled to procure the beverage, while Beatrice turned back to Percival Nash.

“Forgive my partner. Evidently he is…a fan,” she explained.

“And you are not?” Percival inquired, raising one perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“I have heard of your talents,” Beatrice said, “but as I have only recently come to town, I have not yet been to the opera. Of course,” she added hastily, “I shall remedy that at once.”

“If you assist me, you shall have free admittance for life,” Percival assured her as Drake returned with a tray of coffee and almond cake. He nearly dropped the entire thing at Percival’s words, and Beatrice had to rush to assist.

“Please, Mr. Nash,” Beatrice said, passing out the coffee before Drake ruined the carpet, “tell us about the murder.”

Percival took a sip of coffee, holding eye contact through a dramatic pause. Drake looked rapt, but Beatrice felt a spark of annoyance.

Dramatic pauses belonged onstage. When it came to crime, she wanted no delay.

People’s lives could depend uponit.

“Sweetbriar was once a beacon of artistic achievement,” Percival said finally, setting his coffee cup on its saucer with a small clink .

“Painters, poets, singers, and actors flocked to its streets to offer their expression. The Sweet Majestic was built, our grand opera theater, and we enjoyed the patronage of the upper classes.”

“And…there was a murder at the theater?” Beatrice prompted. She had waited long enough for a case. Was she really to wait even longer ?

“Madam,” Percival Nash said, pressing a hand to his heart, “never interrupt an actor in the middle of a monologue.”

“Yes, Beatrice, show some respect for the performance,” Drake scolded.

“Pardon me. I thought this was a dialogue, ” Beatrice grumbled, but fell silent.

“Now, where was I…” Percival affected a formal air once more.

“This neighborhood was once a haven for artists. It shall be no more: Some members of the upper class do not appreciate our ideals. Those in power consider us a threat to the status quo. Which is why I believe that I am being framed…for murder.” He rose to his feet and struck a pose.

“No!” Drake gasped.

“ Whose murder?” Beatrice pressed, unmoved by the tableau, which had still given her little information. Drake glared at her. “It’s rather important,” she insisted.

“You are right. And I am glad you asked,” Percival replied. “The setting is the Rose.” He swept a hand across the office as if he were onstage, a curtain about to rise. “Sweetbriar’s most exclusive social club.”

“There is no need to act everything out—” Beatrice began, but Drake shushed her, and she sighed.

Percival Nash lifted the table from in front of Beatrice and Drake and placed it in the center of the office.

“Imagine a dinner party taking place inside the Rose,” he told them.

He knelt in front of the table and mimed eating and drinking.

“The room would have been alight with merriment and laughter as members discussed the upcoming Season.” He laughed, as if someone at the table had told a hilarious joke, but then his face immediately turned serious.

“Until one man peeled away from the group: Mr. Walter Shrewsbury.”

Though Beatrice was irritated, she had to admit Percival had it, whatever it was. She could not tear her eyes away from him as he acted out the scene.

“Mr. Shrewsbury retired to the lounge. Perhaps for a cigar.” Percival mimed smoking. “Perhaps for a tipple.” He picked up his coffee cup and downed the dregs. “He never knew that this was his final drink, before he would shuffle off this mortal coil.”

“No!” Drake gasped again.

“Yes,” Percival replied dramatically. “Someone crept into the lounge of the Rose Club….” He began to tiptoe, then pantomimed lifting a knife.

“They beat Walter Shrewsbury and then stabbed him to death.” He jumped to the spot where Walter Shrewsbury would have been, mimed being stabbed in the chest, and then crumpled to the floor.

“Bravo!” Drake yelled, rising to his feet.

Percival Nash stood and sank into a bow. Beatrice clapped along.

“Thank you,” Percival said graciously. “It all just comes naturally to me, really….”

“Encore!” Drake said, then quickly amended: “I mean…we do not want an encore to murder, of course—”

“What I would like to know,” Beatrice cut in, “is how does the murder of this man—Walter Shrewsbury—concern you, Mr. Nash?”

Percival stopped bowing and sank back into the seat across from Beatrice and Drake.

Now that he was “offstage,” his concerned countenance returned.

“As this case regards a member of the gentility, the usual inspector was brought in,” he explained.

“That detective with the enviably handsome mustache.”

Drake and Beatrice exchanged a look of displeasure. They could guess who this was.

“Sir Lawrence Huxley,” Percival confirmed.

“He came to question me about the case. He suspects that I had something to do with it. Can you even imagine? Someone like me, a killer?” He took a fan from inside his jacket, unfurled it, and began to fan himself vigorously, as if overcome by the very idea.

Truly, though Percival could possibly play any part, Beatrice could not imagine him as a killer. He wanted to be praised and adored; murdering someone might put a damper on his fans’ reverence.

“Huxley is quick to jump to conclusions,” Drake said darkly. “If he has fingered you for this crime—”

“That charming detective can finger me all he wants, but I could not bear it if I were arrested!” Percival cried.

“I need someone to prove my innocence and find the true killer. It is about more than just my good name,” he added, pressing a hand to his chest. “The fate of all artists in Sweetbriar is at risk.”

“How so?” Beatrice asked, hoping Percival was not about to launch into another reenactment. He had been captivating, yes, but she wanted answers —and she feared that if he got going again, he might actually break out into song.

“If I am arrested, it won’t be long before ladies and gentlemen will consider all artists dangerous,” Percival explained. “I represent the artistic ideal. If I am tarnished, we are all tarnished.”

“Who would ever attack the opera?” Drake said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Everyone loves opera!”

Beatrice chuckled, and Percival and Drake both turned to look at her.

“I beg your pardon,” she said, trying to regain a straight face.

“Of course you are correct.” She cleared her throat and went on.

“Mr. Nash, I wonder, why did Sir Huxley suspect you in the first place? And do you have an alibi for the evening of the murder? We might easily prove your innocence, if anyone can confirm your whereabouts.”

“I know not why Huxley thinks I have anything to do with this death,” Percival insisted. “But you must find out the real killer, before he puts me away… forever .”

“He has not arrested you yet,” Beatrice pointed out.

“Only because there is no sufficient evidence to do so,” Percival replied. “But it is only a matter of time. Huxley will finish his questioning and then make an arrest, whether or not he comes up with proof. You must clear my name before this occurs.”

He rose to his feet once more, clearly meaning to leave the office.

“Wait,” Beatrice said, also standing. “There is the question of payment.”

There was also the question of his alibi, which Beatrice noted that he had not given.

“If you solve such a crime, your reviews shall be raves,” Percival assured her. “Rave reviews lead to compensation.”

“Well yes, but we must—” Beatrice began, but Drake interrupted her.

“We will take the case.”

He and Percival shook hands. Percival turned and held his hand out to Beatrice, but she did not offer hers so quickly.

“If Inspector Drake and I are to investigate this crime, we need access to the Rose,” Beatrice told him. “I doubt they will let two investigators waltz through their locked iron gates, especially since Huxley has already been hired.”

“Quite right,” Percival agreed. “I suggest you secure your place on the list before the Season officially begins. It’s one of the only ways inside such a fortress.

” He took her hand, kissed it gallantly, then crossed to the door.

Before leaving, he turned back once more.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, pressing a hand to his chest. “You have been a wonderful audience.”

With that, he whisked away.

Drake turned to Beatrice. “Can you believe it?” he said, evidently still in awe. “Percival Nash, star of the opera, came to us for assistance!”

“Vivek Drake,” Beatrice said, shaking her head, “a fan of the theater. I never would have suspected it.”

“Opera is not just theater. It is a musical experience,” Drake said immediately. “My mother took me regularly in my youth, and I have a deep appreciation for the art form.”

“That is all very well,” Beatrice allowed, “but because of this ‘deep appreciation,’ you have just accepted a case for no pay. And one which Sir Huxley has already claimed, at that. How are we to go about such an investigation?”

“We get on the list, as Percival suggested,” Drake told her. “By the way, what is ‘the list’?”

“The patroness of the Rose will have a register of eligible ladies and gentlemen selected to participate in the Season,” Beatrice explained. “One has to be invited in order to attend their events.”

“Wonderful. You are part of the Season, so you must be on the list,” Drake said, but Beatrice shook her head.

“I am on the list at the Carnation and the Tulip. The Rose is the most exclusive club in town. We will not find our way in quite so easily.”

Drake’s jaw tensed. “?‘We’?”

“The last time we investigated separately, you wrongly accused my sister of murder, and I almost married the killer,” Beatrice reminded him. “So I would recommend that we stick together this time to ensure none of that happens again.”

“?‘Almost married’ is putting it strongly,” Drake said tartly.

“He was perfect apart from his killer instincts,” she replied. “A lady doesn’t always have many options.”

“I am certain you will find a better option,” Drake said. An odd look came across his face, but it passed as quickly as it had come. “So,” he continued, brisk once more, “you will get on the list—”

“And so will you, and therefore we will both be able to investigate. Together.”

“In high society,” Drake grumbled.

“To clear the name of your favorite opera star,” Beatrice told him.

Drake’s dilemma was evident in his conflicted expression: He loved solving cases as much as he detested participating in social gatherings.

Still, Beatrice was certain that Drake’s desire for justice would prevail.

And though they would not be paid for this case, Percival was right—good press would help the office.

Not to mention that Beatrice would be able to please her mother by participating in the Season, while also doing what she loved most.

Hunting a killer.

She shivered with excitement. It would all be perfect—if they could figure out how to secure an invite into the most exclusive assembly hall in town. She hadn’t been motivated before to seek a place on the Rose’s list, but now it felt like a worthy goal….

The office clock chimed, interrupting her thoughts, and Beatrice jumped.

“The garden reception! I’ve been away too long!” she yelped. “Miss Bolton will be sending out a search party!” [*] Beatrice grabbed her bonnet and retied it haphazardly, then flung her muslin shawl over her shoulders.

“We just got hired to solve a murder. You’re going to leave, before we even have a plan in place?” Drake stared at her incredulously.

“If we are to somehow get on the list at the Rose, my reputation must be spotless,” Beatrice told him. “Unexplained disappearances tend to tarnish one’s good name.”

Drake looked irritated but held out his arm. “At least let me escort you back. You’ve already been robbed once today. Who knows what might happen if you go back out there alone.”

“I am fine,” Beatrice assured him, but she took his arm nonetheless. Truthfully, she could not handle dealing with any more performers today, and Drake had mastered the Londoner’s “stay away” stare.

Together, Drake and Beatrice stepped out into the busy street. The sounds and smells of the city immediately flooded her senses, but this time, Beatrice breathed it all in with relish.

They were officially, finally, on a case.

Skip Notes

* Miss Bolton was wont to create search parties; in Swampshire she had often started them to find Mary, who seemed to disappear exactly once a month. This always lined up with the full moon, which was helpful in illuminating the search party’s path.