Murder in the Limelight Read Online Free PDF

Moreover, he had expected some tribute himself. For the first two years of their marriage each first night had been marked with a small gift from his adoring wife: cufflinks engraved with the name of the play, a silver tie pin, a gold pocket watch.
    Florence was studying her face in the mirror.
    ‘As you are obviously not interested in listening to me, I shall return to my own room.’
    She smiled to herself. That had put him in his place. But she still felt on edge. Thomas had not been as thoughtful as usual when they returned home last night. She had had to attend to Nanki-poo herself, or the poor little dog would have starved. And then Thomas had been ungentlemanly enough to protest when she felt too tired to let him . . . Really, after a dress rehearsal! Men were quite unreasonable. It was in this frame of mind that she recalled that other unreasonable man and set out to find Percy Brian. If one side would not budge, the other might.
    ‘Mr Brian, about the marionette song—’
    ‘Ah, yes.’ He tinkled a few notes on the piano. ‘Themarionette song.’ He smiled at her, and tinkled a few more.
    ‘Please, Mr Brian, not
so
fast.’ She tried hard to keep the edge out of her voice.
    ‘But I have to take my tempo from Mr Hargreaves, Miss Lytton.’ He continued playing and she was forced to shout at his back.
    ‘Then tell him to slow down. It ruins the whole effect.’
    ‘I can’t tell Mr Hargreaves what to do, Miss Lytton.’
    Unusually, almost uniquely, Florence lost her temper, tired of facing that elegant, unresponsive back. ‘Of course you can. I know you’re his molly.’
    There was an abrupt silence as his fingers came crashing down in a final chord and he spun round on the stool to stare at her, aghast. Miss Lytton – even to know about such things, much less to say them out loud! For once Percy Brian was shocked. And goodness knew what Edward would say. But he was looking forward to finding out.
    Ashen-faced, Edward Hargreaves stared back at him. ‘She knows, you think?’ His voice shook.
    ‘That’s what she said, Edward.’
    ‘But . . . do you think she knows we – live together?’
    Percy shrugged. ‘Who cares?’ He flashed a brilliant smile, a perfect advertisement for Jewsbury & Brown’s Oriental Toothpaste.
    ‘Don’t be foolish, Percy. We’re in danger. Do you want to spend time in prison? To say nothing of our jobs here.’
    ‘No one cares nowadays. Look at Mr Wilde and Lord Alfred. The police aren’t interested.’
    ‘
I
care,’ said Edward Hargreaves vehemently. ‘I care, and I shall make sure nothing,
nothing
ruins our lives.’
    ‘You wouldn’t leave me?’ said Percy in sudden alarm. Boring though old Edward was, he was very fond of him.
    Edward looked at him, a peculiar expression on his face. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Oh no, I’ll never leave you.’
    Herbert Sykes, listening to this absorbing conversationoutside the door, was disturbed as well as riveted. There was a tone in Hargreaves’ voice he hadn’t heard before, and it boded no good for his Florence, as he always thought of her. But he, Herbert, would protect her.
    On the other side of the curtain, anticipation was high. A stream of hansoms was arriving, depositing the theatre-going middle classes, and the pit and gallery queues were in good-humour; at the Catherine Street entrance a warbling baritone, formerly of the Royal Opera House (supposedly), was entertaining them with a song that the august portals of his former home – if it was – would never have recognised. At the Royal Entrance in Exeter Street a discreet carriage, unmarked by a regal crest, deposited a portly but immaculately attired gentleman, with a beautiful lady and an equerry hovering in attendance. The beautiful lady was not the Princess of Wales; the Galaxy had risen to dizzy heights but had not yet received that final seal of royal approval.
    It was at the Strand entrance that the excitement reached its peak. The linkman was in his element. A