Act of Murder Read Online Free PDF Page A

her by the arm ( this time she came willingly ) into the small tea bar across the
way, where he displayed his most solicitous and paternal charms, listening to her woeful tale with benevolent concern.
    Within an hour, the chick had been plucked.
    *
    The full dress rehearsal had done nothing to calm Benjamin’s nerves. Susan Coupe, his leading actress and one on whom he had pinned the greatest hopes, was lethargic and
lacked the melancholy spark that fired the selfless devotion so necessary in the role of Nelly Denver. She had moved around the stage like, as he put it, ‘an elephant with child’, and
his words had brought forth not just a display of histrionics from Miss Coupe, but an outraged demonstration of chivalry from Mr James Shorton, who momentarily stopped being a drunken Will Denver
– Nelly’s husband – and strode to the edge of the apron, demanding an instant apology.
    Ever since they had arrived in Wigan, she had been out of sorts. Why, the very first thing she did as they walked from the railway station was throw a faint, collapsing in a heap and only barely
rescued from the hooves of a passing horse by Shorton’s quick thinking.
    That she was delicate in some ways, Benjamin had no doubt. But one of the reasons he had asked her to tour with them was the amazing transformation that usually took place once she stepped onto
the stage. Gone was the vulnerable frailty of a young woman hesitant and nervous in the company of others, to be replaced by a consummate artiste capable of the most powerful and evocative tragic
roles (her Desdemona had brought warm praise from Ellen Terry herself) and the lightest of romantic heroines. Yet her performances in rehearsals, including this most crucial one, had been frankly
disappointing. He only hoped that, with the spur of an audience and an opening night in a new venture, the soaring spirit would once more take over and she would do justice to the role of the
lovelorn Nelly.
    ‘I feel I am to blame,’ Benjamin lamented later, in the seclusion of his dressing-room. Herbert was standing behind him, massaging the very tense muscles in his neck. It felt so
good. The boy had such a firm, tender touch.
    Herbert gazed at his reflection through the looking-glass. ‘How so?’
    ‘The whole cast has been out of sorts. Perhaps I ought to have arranged some special dinner last night. A social gathering. As we did in Manchester. What do you think?’
    Herbert slowly shook his head. ‘They would have got drunk again. And then all the petty resentments, all their little huffs, would have come pouring out.’
    Benjamin closed his eyes. ‘You’re right. What a depressing scene that would have made!’ He gave a sigh and reached up, holding the boy’s hand and caressing its smooth
contours. ‘You have a wisdom beyond your years, Bertie.’
    ‘Then it’s as well I’m here, Benjie.’
    Suddenly the actor-manager’s eyes widened with alarm. ‘Did you hear that?’
    ‘What?’
    Quickly, brushing away the hands around his neck, he rose from his chair and crossed the room. He unlocked the door and flung it open with a display of bravado.
    The small, narrow corridor was empty.
    He sensed Herbert standing behind him. Slowly he closed the door.
    ‘Benjie,’ said the boy, with an expression of concern on his face and in his voice, ‘this is verging on madness, you understand? Every little noise. Besides, the door was
locked.’
    Benjamin nodded. But he had so much to lose if they were ever compromised.
    ‘You are imagining these things.’
    ‘I thought I heard someone breathing beyond this door.’
    ‘The wind, perhaps?’
    He gave a resigned sigh. A rational explanation, to be sure. But the longer this tour had gone on – and they were now into their ninth week away from London – the more he had become
smitten with the young man. Of course, he felt sure none of the others knew of his true feelings – feelings which were not unheard of in their profession –