Daisy’s green eyes gleamed. “If I were a blacksmith’s lad and had a good voice and had endured enough hard labour to last me a lifetime, I’d try to get a job in the music hall.”
“I never thought of that. But there are so many theatres in London.”
“I could go out and buy a copy of The Stage Directory. The offices are in Covent Garden opposite the Theatre Royal.”
“And you think he might be in there?”
“Perhaps.”
“Good. Let us go now. I do not have an engagement until this evening.”
They took one of the earl’s carriages to Covent Garden. Rose waited until Daisy went in and bought a copy of the paper. She emerged pleased with herself. “It only costs a penny now.”
“Let’s go to Swan and Edgar for tea. We can look at it there and quiz the ladies’ hats.”
The department store of Swan and Edgar at Piccadilly Circus was famous for its teas. They also had an orchestra to entertain the customers.
“Now,” said Daisy, “let’s see if he’s in here.”
Rose leaned back in her chair and listened to the sugary strains of the orchestra playing “Poor Wandering One” from The Pirates of Penzance. Did Harry ever think of her? she wondered.
“There’s something here,” said Daisy. “It doesn’t say Roger Dallow, but it says there’s someone called Sam Duval and he’s billed at the Fulham Palace Music Hall as The Singing Blacksmith.”
“I wish we could go this evening but we are invited to the Pocingtons for dinner.”
“You could have a headache.”
Rose smiled. “So I could. My parents are so pleased with my engagement that they will not mind me having one night off. The minute they leave, we can take a hansom to Fulham Palace.”
Daisy was excited. If they found out anything, surely Rose would want to tell Harry and Kerridge.
When they climbed into the hansom that evening, Daisy twisted around and peered out of the back window.
“What’s the matter?” asked Rose.
“Funny,” said Daisy, turning back. “I thought I saw two men standing under the trees opposite the house.”
“That is odd. Some time ago I looked down into the square and saw Cyril Banks and Lord Berrow standing there.”
“I wish you were still engaged to the captain,” fretted Daisy. “He would have come round and lain in wait for them and demanded to know what they were doing.”
“I’m sure Sir Peter will do the same thing should I ask him.”
“He’s not frightening enough,” said Daisy. “The captain is.”
“Oh, do stop talking about Captain Cathcart. That part of my life is finished.”
“So you say,” muttered Daisy sulkily.
♦
They had to pay for a box at the Fulham Palace Music Hall as all the seats had already been booked.
There was to be a guest appearance of George Chevalier, famous for his song “My Old Dutch.”
Rose fidgeted restlessly while Daisy heaved a sentimental sigh as Chevalier sang:
“We’ve been together now for forty years,
An’ it don’t seem a day too much;
There ain’t a lady livin’ in the land
As I’d swop for my dear old Dutch.”
Then came the comedians, the jugglers, and a conjurer, all followed by a massive corseted lady who sang, “I Dreamt that I Dwelt in Marble Halls.” The first half was over.
Rose saw various members of the audience staring up at the box and lowered her veil. But to Daisy, who had been on the halls herself, it was all fascinating.
The second half opened with a man with his performing dogs. Rose stifled a yawn. And then Sam Duval came on. He was an exceptionally good-looking man with dark curly hair and a strong figure. He was dressed in a blacksmith’s costume and standing by a “forge” and looking at an empty birdcage on a table in front of the footlights. He sang in a clear tenor voice:
“She’s only a bird
In a gilded cage,
A beautiful sight to see,
You may think she’s happy
And free from care,
She’s not
Tho’ she seems to be.
‘Tis sad when you think
Of her wasted life,
For youth cannot mate with age,
And her beauty was sold
For an old man’s gold,
She’s a bird in a gilded cage.”
There was a throb in his voice while he sang. There was a brief silence when he finished and then there was a roar of applause. Daisy clapped until her hands were sore. Then she nudged Rose. “Come on. I’m sure that’s him. Let’s get round to the stage door.”
Frost glittered on the pavement outside the theatre, shining under the stuttering gaslights, as they made their way round to the side of the building.
Rose presented her card to the stage-door keeper. “Follow me,” he said, and winked at her. Oh dear, thought Rose. He thinks I’m the female equivalent of a stage-door Johnny.
They followed the stage-door keeper up narrow stairs and along a passage. “That’s him,” he said, jerking his hand at a door. He turned and left them.
“Here we go,” said Daisy. She rapped at the door and a voice called, “Come in.”
They entered a small dressing-room which smelled strongly of dog. The Singing Blacksmith was sitting in front of a mirror.
He stared in the mirror at them. “Who are you?”
Rose stepped forward. “I am Lady Rose Summer and this is Mrs. Levine. Are you really Roger Dallow?”
“So what’s it to you?”
“I was briefly a friend of Miss Dolly Tremaine. I am trying to find out what happened to her.”
He swung round. “I remember your name now. It was in the newspapers.”
“Was Miss Tremaine going to join you?”
“Yes. I stood outside the house and she dropped a note out of the window. She said she would join me. She said she couldn’t bear it any longer because they were forcing her to marry some old man. She said I was to meet her the following day at the Shaftsbury Monument in Piccadilly at four in the afternoon. The following day, I waited and waited, but she didn’t come. Then I heard the newsboys calling out about some murder. I bought a paper. I can’t read very well but enough to know she had been murdered.”
“Did she ever tell you she was frightened of anyone?” asked Rose.
“I wasn’t allowed to go near her in the village after someone reported we’d been seen together. I got a whipping from my dad. I wouldn’t have run away but then I heard Dolly had been taken off to London. I don’t earn much here but it would have been enough for us to live simply.” He buried his head in his hands. “I loved her.”
“The police have been looking for you,” said Rose. “May I tell them we found you?”
“No!” he cried. “I’d nothing to do with it, but if the police come round here and take me away for questioning, innocent or not, I won’t have a job when I get back.”
“What’s the awful smell in here?” asked Daisy, wrinkling her nose.
“I’ve got to share with the dog act. He’s taken them out for a walk.”
“So you have no idea at all who might have killed her?” asked Rose.
“Who would want to kill Dolly except that Lord Berrow? Maybe he got mad when she told him she wouldn’t marry him.”
“I do not think she would be allowed to do anything other than accept his proposal,” said Rose.
“Someone tried to kill you, didn’t they?” asked Roger.
“Yes, the police now think it was some hired assassin. I will not tell the police about you.”