Death at the Pantomime Page 3
“You are losing to them?” Clara said in astonishment, she had never thought she would hear such a thing. Brilliant Chang seemed at the top of his game.
“I am, but in part that is because I am scared to act. Yes, Miss Fitzgerald, I admit I am scared. For I no longer know who I can trust among my subordinates and I feel lost. I have been betrayed by someone close to me, and I feel impotent to react.”
“That’s why you came to me?” Clara asked.
Chang briefly smiled.
“You are honest. It might sound odd, but I am a criminal who values honesty. I think I can trust you, as long as we have a cause in common.”
Clara knew that to be true. He had picked up on her own weakness – that she wanted to take down this gang and not simply leave it to others to deal with. She had her own pride wrapped up in all this.
“Who betrayed you?”
Chang folded his fingers together. He suddenly seemed shy to speak. It took him several moments to find his voice.
“Her name is Jao Leong,” he said. “She is my half-sister.”
And finally the last piece fell into the puzzle. This was why Chang had felt it impossible to act. The traitor was family and the usual tactics he would employ against any other associate who betrayed him could not be used against her. Chang was right, he did have a conscience.
“Your sister?”
“Half-sister. Same mother,” Chang explained quickly, as if it pained him to speak too much about the situation. “She is a year or two younger than me. We left Hong Kong together and we have been working as a partnership ever since. No one ever saw Jao, she is private. Barely anyone knows she exists. I doubt the police are aware of her. She is like a shadow and she is ruthless.”
A notion came into Clara’s mind.
“She has been the driving force behind your criminal activities,” she said.
“No!” Chang spluttered, then he relented. “She is very clever, maybe some of the ideas were hers, but we were a team. The thought that she wanted to usurp me never crossed my mind.”
“What happened? What triggered this all?” Clara queried.
Chang simply shook his head.
“I do not know. I wish I did.”
It was the first time Clara had ever seen Brilliant Chang looking defeated and it sent a chill down her spine. To think there was someone out there who would trouble him, leave him feeling useless, was disturbing.
“How dangerous is she?”
“Jao is very dangerous,” Chang groaned. “She is not tempered by my own ethics. For her, there are no rules, no lines that cannot be crossed. Sometimes I think that is why she betrayed me, because I would not consent to her utter ruthlessness and disregard for anyone. I don’t know. Since this all occurred I have doubted myself, felt I am no longer the man I thought I was. I seem crippled by indecision in this affair. I don’t know how to stop her.
“But I do know this. My sister will destroy anyone who opposes her, and she will ruin this town gladly. She has no qualms, no sense of right or wrong. I have always known this, but I thought I could keep her in check. Now… now she is loose and acting as she pleases. She is a monster, Miss Fitzgerald, but she is also my sister.”
There was pain in Chang’s voice. Clara actually felt sympathy for him.
“I don’t want her to die,” Chang continued. “I have looked after her since we were children, taken care of her. Even after what she has done, she is my kin. I need to stop her, but I cannot go about this in my usual way. She needs to go to prison. Her gang must be destroyed. Do you see? I must rely on the police to help me, yet I doubt they have any clue about my sister, and even if they did, they would be useless in capturing her.”
Clara didn’t argue with him. She suspected he had a point. Jao Leong had been working with her brother all these years and the police had never been able to touch them, why would that change now she was working alone?
“You make me feel a little hopeless,” Clara said. “If you can do nothing, what good am I?”
“The police must arrest her, to do that they need information about her and evidence. I can provide that,” Chang insisted. “I need you as a go-between.”
Clara was uneasy about the arrangement. She would still be working with a wanted criminal.
“She has a route through Brighton for her smuggled drugs,” Chang continued, aiming to convince her. “This route will be kept clear of witnesses, so that when the goods are smuggled there is no one to see them or interfere. She will rule by fear and remove any who threaten her.”
Clara thought of the alleyway where Peterson had been stabbed. That was part of the route, kept purposefully clear and witness-free. Peterson had been a potential witness and they had dealt with him brutally.
“What do you propose we do?” Clara said carefully.
Chang smiled at her use of the word ‘we’. It was not a snide or satisfied smile, it was a genuine look of relief.
“Now I am in town I shall begin collecting information. I have not done so before because I had to know you would help, if you would not, then I would be exposing myself to dangers unnecessarily.”
Clara was brought up sharp by his words.
“Your sister is a danger to you?”
Chang winced.
“She would kill me if she felt I was in the way. I am her weak brother,” he lowered his head. “I have failed her.”
“I don’t see how you have failed her,” Clara said pointedly.
“That is because we walk in different worlds, Miss Fitzgerald,” Chang said softly. “I have failed her because I have been unable to teach her that ruthlessness is not a strength. That cruelty and intimidation is a short-term solution. She rules by fear, no one is truly loyal to her. This I am sure of. Eventually, she will push someone too far and they will kill her.”
Chang paused thoughtfully.
“I have not been the leader of a criminal organisation all these years without knowing how to handle people, how to ensure my own safety. I don’t fear the police, but I do fear my rivals and my subordinates. I am not even English, yet many of my followers are. I have been clever to keep myself at the top and safe,” Chang gave a weak smile at this statement. “Jao does not appreciate all this, does not appreciate that when I am merciful, when I am restrained, it is as tactical as when I am fierce.”
Clara could offer him nothing, no response felt suitable. He was right, they walked in different worlds.
“How will you get this information and evidence to me?” Clara changed the subject, as Chang became solemn.
“I am renting a house,” Chang took a piece of paper from his pocket with an address. “When I have news, I shall send you a message and I would appreciate it if you would come to me. I do not think it wise I come to you. I would prefer if Jao has no idea we are associates, for you own safety.”
“I am grateful for the consideration,” Clara said, thinking that she would not fancy Jao’s thugs on her doorstep. “I shan’t let on to anyone we are working together.”
“Hopefully the arrangement will not be for long,” Chang nodded. “Jao is careless because she is cocky, that shall be her weakness.”
He rose from his chair, glancing once more at the portrait of Clara’s father on the wall.
“You do not know how much you are aiding me, Miss Fitzgerald, or how grateful I am for your assistance.”
He turned around and left the office, Clara heard the door downstairs open and close. She sat still at her desk, wondering what she had agreed to. Had she just made a very foolish decision?
Chapter Four
Saturday arrived and they were dressed for the pantomime. Clara wore her favourite green dress, the one with a pretty pattern of sequins. Captain O’Harris looked devilishly handsome in a smart black dress suit, with a white scarf tossed about his neck and a top hat on his head.
O’Harris had been a pilot during the war and had found settling down to normal life after 1918 challenging. The only thing that really kep
t him grounded was Clara, who he adored. They had met when she was investigating the mysterious death of his uncle and had remained friends ever since. He was hopeful one day they would be more than friends, but they were in no rush.
O’Harris ran a convalescence home for former servicemen who had suffered, (and were still suffering) mental trauma during the war. There were far more men out there with problems than there was space in his home for them, but he helped those he could. Private Peterson was one of his tougher cases, and things had seemed to go from bad to worse when the young man was nearly fatally stabbed, and then accused of murder. Clara had been Peterson’s saviour, and O’Harris could never fully express how grateful he was to her.
As for Tommy and Annie; he looked charming in a new suit he had bought for the occasion, including a dark red bowtie, which he kept tweaking. Annie was wearing a cream dress, with silver edging, slightly more flashy that she would normally pick, but she had been persuaded to try the outfit by Clara who didn’t want Annie to appear at odds with the others. Annie might be inclined to dress humbly, still clinging to her notions of station – she considered herself of a lower station to Clara – but Clara would not hear of it. Annie was an equal to them, she just had to start believing that.
“I haven’t been to a pantomime in years,” O’Harris grinned at Clara, looking boyish in that moment, the strain of the war falling from him briefly. “I have been practicing my hiss.”
“Hiss?” Annie asked in surprise.
“For when the evil villain comes upon the stage and we must all hiss at him,” O’Harris laughed.
“I forgot that part,” Annie looked bemused. “Oh, I won’t have to shout out things, will I?”
“Only if you want,” Clara promised her. “I am sure there will be plenty in the audience to do the shouting for you.”
“You’ll soon get in the spirit once you are there,” Tommy took Annie’s hand and squeezed it.
Annie looked a little mollified. O’Harris offered Clara his arm and she took it gladly. They stepped outside towards the waiting car, with Jones behind the wheel. He glanced at them and there might have been a look of surprise at the sight of everyone dressed so smartly, but he was too professional to comment.
The drive to the theatre was not far, they were soon on the steps leading up to the doors and sweeping inside. There were a lot of people crowding the foyer, keeping out of the cold night air. Clara pointed out a poster for the panto, a garish blue and purple affair, with an illustration of a young man and woman in Persian costume (or at least the sort of Persian costume pantomime writers envisioned) sailing through the air on a magic carpet. Behind them loomed a hunched and evil looking vizier and the hulking bulk of a green skinned genie. Blazoned in big black letters at the bottom of the poster was the sentence – Stanley Hutson as the Dame! There was no illustration of Mr Hutson, but as he happened to be the only performer named on the poster, he probably was unconcerned that he lacked a picture.
“Let’s buy some sweets,” O’Harris said, waving to a girl going around with a tray of boxed sweets.
They were soon each supplied with their favourite confectionary; Annie had pear drops, Tommy aniseed balls, O’Harris had a packet of liquorice and Clara had strawberry bon-bons. Now all they needed was to find their seats and they would be settled for the evening.
Rupert Maddock had been generous with his tickets, not only in how many he had given Clara, but in their position in the theatre. They found they were in the front row of the balcony, right in the middle, providing them with a brilliant view of the stage. Clara leaned on the railing and gazed down at the people filling the seats below. The theatre looked packed, a good sign for Mr Maddock and his company.
“This year’s Aladdin shall be the most spectacular performance since 1914,” O’Harris read aloud from a programme he had bought. “Technical wizardry will dazzle you and the performances of Miss Audrey Burns and Miss Grace Allen, as Aladdin and Princess Zara respectively, will whisk you away to a land of fantasy and illusion like you have never seen before.”
“Big claims,” Tommy said, slightly sceptical about the panto living up to the programme.
“What does it say about the actor playing Buttons?” Clara asked, thinking of the lucky costume that every actor in the role had to wear.
O’Harris flicked through the programme.
“Ah, Mr Mervyn Baldry,” he read out. “’Many of the audience shall recall Mr Baldry for his performances at the Theatre Royal before the war, where he was best remembered for playing the spectre in Oscar Wilde’s The Canterville Ghost. More recently he has appeared on radio programmes, supplying the voices for numerous entertaining characters. 1922 shall see a welcome return to the stage for Mr Baldry.’”
“I always feel sad for Buttons, he never gets to marry the principal girl, though he never fails to be undyingly devoted to her,” Annie said with a small sigh.
“It’s just a panto,” Tommy reminded her gently.
The lights then dimmed, and the talking of the audience settled down to the quiet expectation of the curtain rising. Clara felt an unexpected sense of anticipation running through her as she gazed down upon the stage. There was a long pause, that seemed to drag on and on, then the red curtains rolled back and a spotlight fixed a point in the middle of the stage.
Stood before a scene of Arabian houses and with suitably Eastern props all around ‘him’ was Aladdin.
“Why, I am so hungry!” Declared Aladdin. “I have not eaten in days, what is a poor boy to do?”
The stage filled with other people, milling around and pretending to go about their daily tasks, while Aladdin stood at the front of the stage looking miserable. From stage left emerged Mr Hutson as Dame Wishy-Washy, followed by Buttons. Hutson was dressed in an enormous patchwork gown with a staggering orange wig that must have been quite the feat to balance on his head. As he emerged onto the stage and began to speak his lines there was a loud, long booing from someone in the audience.
There was a slight hesitation on stage, Mr Hutson paused in his dialogue.
“Seems someone does not know their dames from their villains,” he said caustically. “For future reference, I get the cheers.”
The audience laughed at this interlude, and the event was brushed off as someone getting carried away. Hutson continued the scene, talking to Buttons about the arrival in town of Princess Zara, and then chasing Aladdin away.
There were no further unexpected outbursts from the audience. The story unfolded much as it always did. The evil Vizier talked in asides to the audience about his plans to overthrow the Sultan and was treated with the appropriate hisses and boos. Aladdin was sent down a rope ladder into a shimmering cave full of treasures and then found himself trapped inside. Stumbling across a magic lantern, he was able to unleash the genie who would help him to escape and save the day.
Dame Wishy-Washy made regular appearances on stage, always in a different but grandly elaborate dress. She was the comic interlude, especially at the darkest moments when anyone unaware of the story might have feared Aladdin was doomed. Buttons ran around the Dame, demonstrating his devoted love for Princess Zara and generally getting lots of sympathetic coos from the audience when it was plain he was unappreciated. He was never going to be the hero and he played up to this, with the audience firmly on his side.
The interval seemed to come around altogether too quickly. Aladdin had just escaped the cave and was wondering what to do next, the following scenes would allow the panto writer’s imagination to work overtime and there was no knowing what might occur. They would have to wait fifteen minutes to find out, however, for the stage sets needed to be changed while the curtain was down.
“Shall we go for a drink?” O’Harris suggested.
They headed to the upstairs bar where a crowd had already formed around a barman who was taking and preparing orders as fast as he could. Annie flapped a hand before her face, feeling flushed by the heat of so many people close together.
Annie smiled.
“Very much,” she said. “The Dame is stealing it, of course.”
“That’s what Dames do,” Clara chuckled.
O’Harris managed to push his way through to the bar and they were soon enjoying cold drinks of gin and tonic water. Clara pressed the cool glass to her cheek.
“It seems exceptionally warm tonight,” she remarked. “Considering outside it is freezing.”
“I rather wish I had not worn my thicker suit,” O’Harris concurred. “These places have no windows, that’s the problem, all the hot air gets trapped.”
There was a loud shout from the staircase, as if someone was angry about something. It reminded Clara of the sudden boo that had greeted Mr Hutson’s arrival on stage.
“Do you think the person who booed the Dame really did not know she was not the villain?” She said.
“Such things happen, old girl,” Tommy replied. “Not everything that occurs is sinister.”
There was another shout from the staircase and someone protested at being pushed. A man appeared in the bar and Clara recognised him as Rupert Maddock. He looked wild-eyed and slightly crazed.
“Fire!” He screamed at them all. “Get out! Get out!”
Panic immediately commenced as people fled for the staircase. Clara did not react at once, seeing that any attempt at flight would result in being crushed on the stairs. She glanced around her and noticed that the barman was exiting via a door behind him.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if there is another staircase that way, one for staff to use,” Clara pointed. “He has gone somewhere at least, and I doubt it is to wash up dirty glasses.”
They headed for the door behind the bar and pushed through to find themselves in a narrow corridor, with a staircase at the end. This was the domain of the theatre staff, rather like the servants’ stairs found in large country houses. Clara ran to the stairs, the others following, and could hear the distant footsteps of the barman clattering down. The steps were bare wood sandwiched between two walls. Clara raced down them and came to another door which opened when she pushed it. She found herself stepping out into the foyer, the people who had come down the main stairs were filing through the front doors to escape.