Read Online Murder Offstage by L. B. Hathaway - Free Book Online Page A

So I thought, let’s try
London. What about you? Did you always want to be a Wardrobe Mistress in a
theatre?’
    Dolly hooted with such a high shriek of laughter that
virtually the whole café turned around.
    ‘Jeepers, no. Not on your nelly,’ she said, shaking her head
and blowing a well-aimed smoke ring ceilingwards.
    ‘I always wanted to be a nurse. Trained up for it too, but I
couldn’t get a job for love nor money before the war. The only reason they took
me on in the Field Hospital in Flanders was because they were desperate; not
many would put up with the sights and smells and sounds we had to in the
trenches. And I spoke French too, my mum was French, from Paris, and it came in
handy. I’m proud of what I did there. And I’m equally as proud of what I did before the Great War, too.’ Dolly sounded defiant, as if challenging Posie on
something.
    ‘Sorry?’ Posie was bemused. ‘ What did you do before
the war?’
    ‘I was a suffragette. Chained myself up with the best of
them. I was in jail for more than six months. That’s why no self-respecting
hospital in London would have me; no doctor either. You can’t get far with a
criminal conviction on your CV.’
    Posie nodded sympathetically. She had not joined the Women’s
Movement herself, but she had admired them from afar.
    ‘After the Great War I came back to London to find myself in
exactly the same situation as before: no job, no money, no family, same
stinking bed-sit and the blight that will never go away; the spell in jail as a
women’s rights activist. They were dark days for me, I’m tellin’ you.’
    ‘But you got the job at the Athenaeum Theatre anyway?’
    Dolly chortled.
    ‘That was a rum thing!’ She took a drag on a newly lit
cigarette.
    ‘About a year ago everythin’ changed at the theatre: a new
owner, a whole new cast and show. Mr Blake too, he was new; came with his
cousin Reggie, the programme-seller. He needed a Wardrobe Mistress quickly and
he wasn’t asking any questions. He was willin’ to pay more than I could have
hoped for, and after two years without a job it seemed like a god-send. I don’t
think he even looked at my CV once! No-one had a clue whether or not I could
actually sew, even myself…but I convinced myself I was so good at stitchin’ men
and bandages together that a few sequins and feathers couldn’t be too hard!’
    Posie laughed. She felt brighter than before, cheered by
Dolly’s optimism. She waved at a passing waitress for the bill.
    ‘You’ll let me know if you hear anything, or see anything of Lucky Lucy, won’t you? Or if you remember anything you think may be
helpful. Even about Mr Blake; I’m sure he’s hiding something. The police are
worse than useless, they won’t be questioning anyone at the theatre, so I’m on
my own here. My friend Rufus is very badly in need of help.’
    Dolly nodded, packing her things together. Posie noticed she
handled her cigarette case very carefully.
    ‘It was my young man’s,’ she whispered, following Posie’s
gaze. ‘It was his “lucky” case. He was an old romantic: said it would protect
him from stray bullets if he wore it by his heart, poor blighter. It couldn’t
protect him from drowning in a flooded trench, though, could it? I keep it out
of fondness.’ Dolly tucked it away, smiling sadly.
    ‘You got a fella?’
    Posie shook her head. It was all too much to explain.
    She took the borrowed fake fur coat from a brown paper
carrier bag and checked its pockets before handing it over to Dolly for
returning to the theatre wardrobe. Posie pulled out a few hair-grips, her
travel coupon and the strange packet of matches from the night before.
    As the morning light caught the silver moon on the packet
Posie had a vivid flashback of Caspian della Rosa from the night before, and
she thought the nocturnal image was somehow appropriate for him: in her mind’s
eye he had become the stuff of nightmares, vampire-ish, deadly.
    ‘Jeepers!’ Dolly shrieked