He took the flask and looked at it, turning it over in his hands. It was very slim, very expensive, chased in silver and engraved with Samuel Stafford’s name and the date of its having been given to him, February 28, 1884; a recent gift, over five and a half years ago. It was a beautiful thing to be a vehicle of death. “I’ll have it examined, of course,” he went on. “In the meanwhile perhaps we had better find out what we can about Mr. Stafford’s evening and precisely what happened.”
“Of course,” Livesey agreed. “And arrange for the body to be taken away discreetly. I shall have to explain to Mrs. Stafford why it cannot go to his home until it has been examined for the cause of death. How very distressing for her! The whole business is most grieving. Is there any lock to this door?”
Pitt turned around and looked at it.
“No, only an ordinary latch. I’ll wait here until you can inform the management and have a constable sent. We cannot leave it open.”
“No, naturally not. I’ll go now.” And without waiting any further Livesey went out and disappeared, leaving Pitt alone just as the curtain fell to a long and enthusiastic round of applause.
When Charlotte left the box with Juniper Stafford she met Adolphus Pryce almost immediately, returning with a goblet of water held out in front of him. He looked extremely agitated and his dark eyes gazed at Juniper with something that, were it not ridiculous to think it, Charlotte would have taken for fear.
“My dear—Mrs. Stafford,” he said jerkily. “Is there anything at all I can do to be of service to you? Your coachman has been told and he will bring your carriage to the front the moment you wish it. How is Mr. Stafford?”
“I don’t know,” Juniper answered in a voice that caught in her throat. “He … looked … very ill! It was so—sudden!”
“I’m so sorry,” Adolphus said again. “I had no idea he was in poor health—none at all.” He held out the goblet of water.
Juniper’s eyes met his on a long, painful look. She took the goblet with both hands, the light catching on her rings. Her gorgeous dress now seemed ridiculously out of place. “No—of course not,” she said hastily. “Neither—neither had I! That is what is so absurd.” Her voice rose to a high, desperate pitch and broke off. She forced herself to drink a sip of the water.
Adolphus stared at her. Charlotte might not have been there at all for any awareness he showed of her. All his intense emotion was centered on Juniper, and yet he did not seem to know what else to say.
“The doctor will do all that can be done,” Charlotte said. “It would be best if we were to find a quiet place where we can await the outcome, don’t you think?”
“Yes—yes, of course,” Adolphus agreed. Again he looked at Juniper. “If … if there is anything, Mrs. Stafford? At least, please let me know … how he is.”
“Of course I will, Mr. Pryce. You are most kind.” Juniper looked at him with a sort of desperation. Then clinging to Charlotte’s arm she turned and walked away towards a small private room off the foyer where refreshments had been taken only an hour earlier. The manager stood in the doorway, wringing his hands and making inarticulate sounds of general anxiety.
It seemed an age to Charlotte that they sat there. Occasionally she took the goblet from Juniper, then handed it back, making small, meaningless remarks and trying to be of comfort without giving any foolish promises of a happy ending she believed could not possibly be.
Eventually Ignatius Livesey came. His face was very grave and Charlotte knew the instant she saw him that Stafford was dead. Indeed when Juniper looked up, the hope died out of her before she spoke. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, the tears brimming over and running down her cheeks.
“I am extremely sorry,” Livesey said quietly. “It pains me to have to tell you that he has gone. The only comfort I can offer you is that it was quite peaceful and he will have felt no pain or distress except momentarily, and that was so short as to be forgotten in an instant.” He filled the doorway, a figure of judicial calm, a stability in a dreadfully changing world. “He was a very fine man who served the law with great distinction for over forty years, and he will be remembered with honor and gratitude. England is a better place, and society wiser and more just because of his life. That must be of great comfort to you, when this time of grief has lessened, and it will lessen with time. It is a legacy not every woman may boast, and you may justly be proud.”
She stared at him. For a moment she tried to speak. It was painful to observe. Charlotte longed to help her.
“That is most generous of you,” she said to Livesey, gripping Juniper’s hand and holding it hard. “Thank you for coming on what must be a most difficult errand. Now perhaps if there is nothing more to do here, you would be kind enough to send a message so Mrs. Stafford’s carriage may be brought. I imagine the doctor will take care of—of arrangements here?”
“Indeed,” Livesey acknowledged. “But …” His face shadowed. “I regret the police may wish to ask a few questions, because it was so sudden.”
Juniper found her voice; perhaps surprise was momentarily greater than grief.
“The police? Whatever for? Who— I mean, why are they here? How do they even know? Did you …?”
“No—it is quite fortuitous,” Livesey said quickly. “It is Mr. Pitt, who came to your assistance.”
“What questions?” Juniper glanced at Charlotte, looking confused. “What is there to ask?”
“I imagine he will wish to know what Samuel ate or drank in the last few hours,” Livesey replied gently. “Perhaps what he had done during the day. If it is possible for you to compose yourself sufficiently to give him answers, it will help.”
Charlotte opened her mouth to say something, a protest of sorts, but no words came to her that were not futile. Stafford had died suddenly and without any cause that could be identified. It was unavoidable that there should be some formal investigation. Livesey was right; the sooner it could be settled, the sooner some sort of natural grief could begin, and then in time the start of healing.
The door opened and Pitt came in, closely followed by Adolphus Pryce.
Juniper looked up quickly, but at Pryce; then as if by an effort of will, away again.
“Mr. Pitt?” she said slowly. “I understand you are from the police. Mr. Livesey tells me you need to ask me some questions about … about Samuel’s death.” She took a deep breath. “I will tell you whatever I can, but I don’t know anything that could help you. I had no idea he was ill. He never gave me the slightest indication …”
“I understand that, Mrs. Stafford.” Pitt sat down without being asked, so that he was looking directly at her, instead of obliging her to stare up at him. “I am deeply sorry to have to trouble you at this most painful time, but if I were to leave it until later, you may by then have forgotten some small detail which would provide an answer.” He looked at her closely. She was very pale and her hands were shaking, but she seemed composed, and still suffering too much shock to have given way to weeping or the anger that so often follows bereavement.
“Mrs. Stafford, what did your husband eat for dinner before he came to the theater?”
She thought for a moment. “Saddle of mutton, horseradish sauce, vegetables. Not a heavy meal, Mr. Pitt, and not an overindulgence.”
“Did you have the same?”
“Yes—exactly. A great deal less, of course, but exactly the same.”
“And to drink?”
She drew her brows down in puzzlement. “He took a little claret, but it was opened at the table and poured straight from the bottle. It was in excellent condition. I had half a glass myself. He did not take too much, I assure you! And he always drank very moderately.”