Once Kane had sent Eliza home in a cab, he called Ralph into his study and explained the circumstances which had driven Sophy to call on him.
The big man’s face was sombre when Kane finished speaking. ‘Don’t like the sound of it, boss,’ he said gruffly. Kane was normally ‘boss’ when they were alone, other times he was ‘sir’ or ‘Mr Gregory’, but always he had Ralph’s absolute loyalty. ‘Usually means only one thing when a young woman disappears.’
The two men stared at each other, each knowing what the other was thinking. They had met through a similar situation twenty-two years before, when Kane had been a young man of twenty-three, still grieving from the loss of his brothers and mother, and bitter by what he’d seen as rejection by his father. He had been wild in those days and dissolute, spending his inheritance on wine, women and song. Ralph’s sister had been a music-hall actress and Kane had taken up with her. Lily had come to live with him at the rooms he rented, and when one day a few weeks later her brother had turned up on the doorstep demanding to know his intentions, he’d laughed in Ralph’s face. The subsequent fight had put him in hospital for forty-eight hours, and when he had returned to the rooms it had been to a scene of unspeakable horror. Lily had been
brutally murdered, and the police – who were still hunting for Ralph with regard to the attack on Kane – had decided Ralph was guilty when they’d cornered him a little while later.
Kane had gone to visit Ralph in prison to tell Lily’s brother he would personally see to it that he hanged for the crime. Instead he’d left convinced of the man’s innocence. Lily had been raped before being bludgeoned to death, and whatever else Ralph was, he wasn’t a pervert. Moreover, as Kane had talked with him, he’d understood that Ralph’s attack on himself had been the desire of a brother to rescue a beloved sister from what he saw as an immoral life which would lead to ruin.
He had contacted various acquaintances of Ralph – most of whom lived outside the confines of the law – and paid them handsomely to prove Lily’s brother innocent and bring the real perpetrator to justice. He had also hired top lawyers to fight Ralph’s case, and all against the background of the police being convinced they had got their man. Kane had got to know Ralph well over the subsequent weeks, and the two men had become friends, something which had surprised both of them. Kane learned that Ralph had virtually brought Lily up when their parents had died of the fever when Lily was ten years old, and although Ralph didn’t deny being a member of the criminal fraternity, he’d sacrificed much to enable his sister to become a respectable woman, only to have Lily herself rebel against his constrictions when she was old enough to leave home.
The horror of what he’d witnessed in the rooms when he’d returned from the infirmary, the vision of which would be with him to his dying day and which haunted his dreams, and not least his part in encouraging Lily to defy her brother, was a turning-point in Kane’s life. He fought hard for Ralph – the first time he had fought for anything – with a tenaciousness of which he wouldn’t have thought himself capable. He was still fighting when the case came to court and, in spite of the lawyers, Ralph was found guilty and sentenced to be hanged. It was at the ninety-ninth hour before the execution that the hundreds of pounds he’d spent buying information brought results. Lily’s real murderer – an ‘admirer’ of
hers from the music halls – was arrested after Kane provided sufficient proof to have the man questioned. He had confessed soon afterwards as though pleased to relieve himself of the secret he’d been hiding. He had apparently followed Lily home from the music hall and when she’d fought him he’d raped and killed her.
Kane’s inheritance was severely depleted by the time Ralph was released, and when he announced his intention to try his luck abroad – having bought a piece of land in the west of America, which was gold country, with the last of his wealth – Ralph pleaded to accompany him. Two hard years followed, years in which Kane often thought he’d die destitute in the dust of foreign soil, but then they hit the seam which lifted him out of the dirt and on to a ship bound for England as a relatively wealthy man once more. And this time he
was
a man, not a spoiled youth in search of aimless pleasure.
Looking at Ralph now, Kane said quietly, ‘Make enquiries, but discreetly. Any leads, no matter how small, follow. Money’s not a consideration. She might have gone away for a few days with one of the Hooray-Henrys who’ve got more money than sense, but I doubt it. Cat’s not that sort of woman. I don’t like this, Ralph. I don’t like it at all. She left Sophy saying she was going straight to the theatre and then she vanished. Check all the hospitals and the morgues, every one. No stone unturned, all right?’
Ralph nodded. He was fully aware that it wasn’t just demons from the past prompting Kane’s fear. He had been in the company of this man for more than two decades and he had never seen a woman affect him like Sophy Shawe had. On the day of her marriage to that wastrel Toby Shawe, Kane had got blind drunk and remained so for twenty-four hours. He’d never spoken about how he felt about her, but Ralph knew. And what might have happened to this friend of Sophy’s could so easily happen to any of the actresses.
Ralph’s grisly tour of London’s hospitals and morgues over the next forty-eight hours brought the result Kane had been dreading. A woman’s body had been discovered dumped in a filthy alley deep in the heart of the East End’s dockland. It was an area rife
with brothels and slum tenements, where disease and death haunted young and old alike, and it wasn’t uncommon for bodies to be pulled from the water or found in the gutters and back alleys. This one was slightly unusual in that it was naked and devoid of any means of identification.
When Ralph informed him about his find, Kane went straight along to the police morgue, hoping against hope it wasn’t Cat. The identification didn’t take long. It was early evening when he entered the building, and when he left he welcomed the bite of the cold March air on his face. He’d heard it said that death smoothed out the evidence of pain and suffering. It hadn’t with Lily, neither had it with Cat.
Ralph had accompanied him to the morgue and to the public house where Kane had two stiff whiskies. Then Kane sent Ralph home. He had to see Sophy alone, and now the identification had been made he didn’t want her hearing about Cat from the police. He knew she would be at the theatre preparing for the evening performance but it couldn’t be helped. Her understudy would have to take over.
When he reached the theatre he found the manager and explained he was the bearer of bad news and that Sophy would be unable to go on stage that night. Then he found her dressing room and paused outside. How was he going to tell her? He raked his hand through his hair. How the hell was he going to say it?
In the event, he didn’t have to. Sophy was sitting at her dressing-table putting the finishing touches to her stage make-up when he entered the room, and as she looked at him in the mirror she froze.
‘Sophy—’
‘No.’ Childishly, she put her hands over her ears as she shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Sophy, I’m sorry.’
She swung to face him then, her eyes filled with tears. She still shook her head as she whispered, ‘Are you sure?’
He nodded. ‘There – there’s no doubt.’
‘Oh, Cat, Cat.’
It was a moan and nothing could have prevented him from
crossing the space between them and taking her into his arms. She fell against him, her head bowed and resting on his chest and it was all he could do not to crush her to him. He could never have imagined or wished for these circumstances, but, terrible as they were, they were the means by which he was holding his beloved in his arms for the one and only time.
The funeral was well attended. Sophy held the reception at her home, and on top of the tensions of the day and the harrowing facts she had learned about the manner of Cat’s last hours, which were at the forefront of her mind day and night, she was on tenterhooks lest Toby would do or say something to smear Cat’s name and dishonour her friend. By the time friends and acquaintances had left she felt like a limp rag, but although Toby had been surly, he’d behaved himself.
Arranging Cat’s funeral and dealing with the hundred and one matters appertaining to her friend’s death, along with her performances at the theatre, had meant that Sophy was flying from pillar to post every day, but even so she hadn’t been able to sleep much at night. She didn’t think she would until the person who had done those wicked things to Cat was caught and brought to justice. Kane had been so against her seeing Cat before the funeral that she hadn’t persisted in her wish to visit the undertakers once the police had released Cat’s body, but now, with the funeral over, she regretted this. She didn’t feel as though she had said goodbye. She felt she’d let Cat down.
Cat’s family had had no such qualms about not paying their respects, however. Sophy’s soft full mouth pulled tight. She had written to the Ardington-Tatlers after the family had made it clear to the police that they did not wish Cat’s body to be returned home and did not intend to give her a decent burial. A short terse letter from Cat’s father had arrived by return, stating that as far as the family was concerned, Christabel had been dead to them from the minute she had left to take up a degrading life on the stage, and they would thank Mrs Shawe not to communicate with them again in any form.
She glanced at Toby who was sitting in a chair by the fire, a glass of brandy at his side. He had been drinking steadily all day, and as soon as the last mourner had gone, had collapsed in the chair and promptly fallen asleep. Not for the first time she reflected how the life he had led for the last decade had changed the handsome man she’d married. His face was puffy, his skin blotched and the once athletic body unnaturally thin, but then he rarely ate properly. The opium he craved deadened his appetite and if, like today, he was forced to go without it for a time he drank excessively instead.
She had done nothing about the decision she had made regarding her marriage, telling herself she would think about that once the funeral was over. Due to the circumstances of Cat’s death and the police investigation, the necessary paperwork had been slow in coming. It was now the second week of April, and the police were no further forward in their inquiries than on the day when Cat’s body had been discovered. Inspector Bell, the nice middle-aged policeman who was leading the murder case and who had attended the funeral that afternoon, had told her it might be a lengthy process, so she couldn’t use that as an excuse to delay. She had to take the bull by the horns.
Sophy’s stomach turned over. In order to disentangle herself from this marriage she would have to go through the courts and she knew it would be a tortuous process. She had no doubt that Toby had committed adultery; she’d had her suspicions about Rosalind Robins but she had been sure about another actress he had worked with briefly after Rosalind, when this woman’s husband had warned Toby off. Proving this might be difficult, along with the charge of gross cruelty the law insisted on, but she had to try. If nothing else, she could live separately from him once proceedings were under way, even if it might be years before she was legally free.
A gust of rain splattered against the window and a few drops found their way down the chimney, causing the fire in the grate to hiss and spit. The weather had become wintry again in the last forty-eight hours after a prolonged mild spell, but Sophy had welcomed the icy wind and rain. She didn’t think she would have
been able to stand it if Cat had been buried on a sunny day with the birds singing.
Becoming aware she was wringing her hands together, she stood up and walked over to the window, staring blindly ahead. How could Cat and she have imagined it would end like this? Cat having fallen into the hands of some madman, and she with her marriage in tatters? She had married fully expecting to fulfil her role as a mother. Traditionally in the theatre an actress was not expected to give up her career when she had a child. She had thought she and Toby would do what other couples did and bring their babies with them to work. Even when an actress was touring, every theatre had the equivalent of a nursery in what was called the green room, where children could sleep or play during rehearsals and performances. Some actresses employed nannies and sent their offspring to boarding schools as soon as they were old enough, but she had always imagined she would keep her children with her and employ governesses and tutors when the time came to further their education.
She had wanted Toby’s babies once. Been entranced by the idea. Now it disgusted her. How could she have been so wrong?
Turning from the window, she was startled to find Toby’s slatey-blue eyes fixed on her. He sat up in the chair, his voice flat when he said, ‘Are you satisfied with how you played your part today, my talented little wife?’ before he drained the last of his brandy, smacking his lips as he finished.
She genuinely didn’t understand. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Lady Bountiful. Virtuous, grieving friend. Sweet, gentle, docile wife. Take your pick. You incorporated them all into the performance at various times, and I have to take off my hat to you. You’re a damn good actress.’
She had seen him like this many times when he was under the influence of drink or drugs, but tonight there was a viciousness in his face that frightened her. He was mad. He had to be. She said nothing, remaining perfectly still as she held his gaze.
‘But of course you’re used to playing to a packed house, albeit a smaller than normal one in this case.’ He threw his arms in an
expansive gesture, encompassing the room. ‘The great Sophy Shawe, the darling of the West End. Isn’t that right, my sweet?’
‘You’re drunk.’
It was not so much her words, more the look on her face which acted on him like an injection. He leaped up from the chair, his face infused with angry colour and all pretence of composure melting from him as he yelled, ‘Drunk, you say? And who wouldn’t have to be drunk to put up with what I do? Parading your conquests in front of my face and all the time looking down your saintly nose at me. But I know what you are, under the skin, don’t I? Oh yes. I know, I know. I’ve got more talent in one little finger than you’ve got in the whole of your body, but you’re clever with that body, aren’t you, sweetheart? You know how to use it to get what you want, same as your whore mother.’