Death At Epsom Downs

“How on earth could I pose as a mother with a grown-up daughter? I have never admitted that I am more than twenty-nine, or thirty at the most. Twenty-nine when there are pink shades, thirty when there are not.”

Mrs. Erlynne in Lady Windemere’s Fan by Oscar Wilde

When Charles had gone, Kate sat very still, trying to collect her thoughts. The man who had been in this room-stern-faced, so severe as to be almost abusive-was not her husband, but some other person, a stranger she had never seen before and hoped never to see again.

But at the same time that her heart felt wounded by the harshness of his words and the coldness of his expression, her mind understood that he had been playing a part, and that he had done so in an effort to force Lillie Langtry to tell the truth. Kate knew, too, that he had left Regal Lodge unconvinced of Lillie’s innocence, and for that she was sorry. For she herself was sure that Lillie had told the truth, about the murder, at least, and also about the gun. The actress might well be hiding something else-indeed, Kate knew that she almost certainly was-but she had not been aware of the bookmaker’s death until that morning at breakfast, and she had fully expected to find her gun when she opened that drawer.

When at last Lillie spoke, her voice was ironic. “Beryl, I must say you are right on one count. Lord Sheridan is certainly a ‘rare’ man-although not, I think, in the way you meant.”

“I’m sorry,” Kate said sincerely. “He was unpardonably rude. But he was only trying-”

Lillie began to pace across the room. “I know what he was trying to do,” she said bitterly. “He was trying to wring the truth out of me-or at least, the truth he wanted to hear.” She turned and held out her hands with a look of pure appeal. “I swear to you, Beryl. I learned of Alfred Day’s death from you, this morning. And I had no idea that the gun was gone. Everything I said to Lord Charles was the truth.”

“I know,” Kate said simply. Whatever the reasons Charles had for coming here, she trusted that they must be important. Perhaps she could help him by finding out what he could not. Perhaps she could persuade Lillie to tell her-

“Well, thank God for that,” Lillie exclaimed, casting her eyes upward. “But you must convince your husband, Beryl. You must! Imagine the scandal if I am accused in court of murdering a bookmaker, on top of all my other sins!” She closed her eyes and clasped her hands to her breast. “Even if I were acquitted, the Prince could never again be able to give me any notice. And if it came out that-” She stopped. “I would be ruined,” she said, almost in a whisper. “Utterly and eternally ruined.”

“If I am to convince Charles of your innocence,” Kate said in a practical tone, “I must know all the truth. For instance, I must know who might have taken your gun-besides the servants, that is.”

“It was a servant,” Lillie snapped. “I’ve never trusted them, none of them. They steal and gossip and-” She threw up her hands. “Why, the person who is serving as my temporary lady’s maid here cannot even dress hair! One is such a victim of one’s servants.”

“You saw the gun yesterday, you said. Who besides the servants has been in this room since yesterday morning?”

“Well…” Lillie frowned. “You, of course. And Dick Doyle and Tod Sloan, whom you met here. But I can’t think why either of them would want to take my little pistol. It makes no sense.”

Kate thought about the enormously fat man and the slender young jockey. Both of them were involved with racing, and Alfred Day had been a bookmaker. Surely they had known the dead man, and might have had a more sinister connection with him. But there was something else.

“I was in the garden yesterday afternoon,” she said, “and saw a gentleman leaving the house. Was he in this room alone? Would he have had an opportunity to take the gun?”

The change in Lillie’s face was so subtle that if Kate hadn’t been watching closely, she would have missed the tension in the mouth, the almost imperceptible narrowing of the eyes. But when Lillie spoke, her voice was light and easy.

“Oh, that was just Spider,” she said, with a careless toss of her head. “And he wasn’t in this room at all-we met and talked in the library.”

For the moment, Kate did not challenge Lillie’s lie. She remarked, instead: “Spider-an odd nickname.”

“I give nicknames to all my male friends,” Lillie replied. She frowned. “It had to be one of the servants, I’m sure of it. It wouldn’t be the first thing they’ve stolen. Jewelry, silver, pieces of valuable lace. One never knows what will go missing next.” She returned to the sofa and sat down, an irritated look on her face. But there was something else, too. Was it apprehension? Fear? Had Lillie realized that her afternoon visitor had taken the gun?

“Well, then,” Kate said, “let’s try a different angle. You’ve known Mr. Day for some time, I think you said. Do you have any idea who might have wanted to kill him?”

“Who didn’t want to kill the man?” Lillie retorted, arranging her skirts around her. “He had enemies everywhere, not just in Newmarket.” She became scornful. “In London, he was nothing more than a common thief, dealing in stolen goods.”

“A fence, you mean?” Kate asked, wondering how Lillie had come by this information about Mr. Day, and whether Charles knew it as well. “Like Harold Knight in ‘The Duchess’s Dilemma’?”

Lillie sat suddenly very still, pinching a fold of silk between her fingers. “Yes,” she said slowly, “now that you mention it. He was a fence, like Harold Knight.” She lifted her chin, regarding Kate with a guarded expression. “In fact, I must confess that when I read your story, Beryl, I was sure that you had known someone like Alfred Day, perhaps even Day himself. After all, the names Knight and Day-” She shrugged expressively.

Kate gazed at her, and suddenly into her mind came the tale of Lillie’s missing jewels and the similarity she had already noted between that story and the “Duchess’s Dilemma.” Did Lillie Langtry fear that she might have some secret knowledge about those gems? Had the actress invited her to Regal Lodge, not to discuss the staging of her story, but rather to determine how much she knew about the theft of Lillie’s own jewels?

She gave an uncomfortable laugh. “I do assure you, Lillie, Harold Knight is not a real person. I’m afraid that my acquaintance is rather limited when it comes to criminals. I made him up.”

“But the two are so much alike,” Lillie persisted, an odd tension in her voice. She eyed Kate narrowly. “Even the manner of their deaths is similar. Don’t you see?”

The hair on the back of Kate’s neck prickled. She hadn’t thought of it until this moment, but what Lillie said was true. In the play, the man who had sold the duchess’s jewels had been shot to death when he and one of the other thieves had fallen out-a just reward for his many evil deeds.

She smiled a little. “Art and life frequently mirror each other. The events may be similar, but Harold Knight is an entirely fictitious character. I assure you, Lillie-there is no connection between him and Alfred Day. None at all.”

Lillie’s eyes held hers. “And the duchess? Did you make her up, too?”

“Not exactly,” Kate said, and saw the involuntary flare of Lillie’s nostrils, the pulling-in of her breath. She leaned forward. “The duchess is modeled after one of my neighbors, you see, and the theft in the story was based on a real event that occurred several years ago. The lady’s emeralds were taken and pawned by her son to buy some worthless stock, and were only thought to have been stolen. In real life, they were eventually redeemed and returned to their owner.” What she didn’t say was that the neighbor was Bradford Marsden’s mother, Lady Marsden, and that Charles had written a check for five thousand pounds to redeem the pawned emeralds and keep Lady Marsden from learning what her son had done.*

* The story of the missing Marsden emeralds is told in its entirety in Death at Gallows Green.

“I see,” Lillie said, relaxing almost imperceptibly. “So there was a real event behind your story, after all. Perhaps that’s what gave it the ring of truth.”

“Yes,” Kate said, with a rueful sigh. “In fact, I’ve often regretted having drawn the duchess so near to life. While it is tempting to take real people as the models for one’s characters, it may be dangerous to blur the line between fiction and reality. Someone who knows the facts might be misled by the fiction, or a reader of the fiction might be deceived by taking invention for the truth.” She took a deep breath. This discussion gave her the opportunity to make her intention clear-and an understandable excuse. “That is why I must tell you that I cannot allow you to stage the story,” Kate added. “If the owner of the emeralds were to see it or hear of it, she might feel betrayed.”

If she were disappointed, Lillie hid it rather well. In fact, she was clearly relieved.

“Now that you’ve put the matter in those terms,” she said brightly, “I understand completely. When one’s artistic work is important to one, one does not want it misinterpreted.”

“Thank you,” Kate said. “Now, might we go back to my question? Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to kill Mr. Day?”

Lillie pulled her brows together. “I really do not think-”

The drawing room door opened and the butler reluctantly stepped in. “Mrs. Langtry-”

Lillie turned, suddenly angry. “Oh, what now, Williams?” she cried. She seized a velvet cushion and fired it at him as hard as she could. “Can’t you leave us alone for an instant?”

Williams raised his arm to deflect the cushion that would otherwise have struck him squarely in the face. “Miss Jeanne Marie is here, ma’am,” he said, with infinite dignity.

He stepped back, opening the door wide. A brown-haired girl of seventeen or so, her face blotchy with tears, blouse rumpled, straw sailor askew, pushed past him. Hands on hips, she planted herself in front of Lillie and stared down at her.

“Jeanne!” Lillie gave a little gasp. “I thought you were staying with Lady Ragsdale.” She peered around the girl. “Have you run on ahead? Where is she?” She stopped and looked up at the girl. “And why are you crying?”

“I came down by myself,” the girl said, in a voice so low that Kate had to strain to hear. “On the train.”

“On the train?” Lillie exclaimed. “Alone? Has something happened, Jeanne?”

“I know the truth at last,” the girl said. “That’s what has happened. After all the years of make-believe, I finally know what’s real.”

“Ma petite chérie,” Lillie said, taking the girl’s small white hand. “Whatever are you talking about?”

Kate half-rose from her chair, thinking that she should not intrude on this private scene, but realized that Lillie had entirely forgotten her and that the girl, Jeanne-Marie, had never even noticed that she was there. She sat back as the girl took out a pocket handkerchief and mopped her streaming eyes.

“Lady Ragsdale says that you’re not my aunt, after all, Aunt Lillie. You’re my mother!”

Lillie stared at her for a moment in unfeigned consternation, her lips trembling, tears starting in her eyes. Then she pulled the girl onto the sofa beside her, took the handkerchief, and began tenderly to wipe away her tears.

“For once in her life, sweetheart,” she murmured, “Emily Ragsdale has told the truth. My darling Jeanne, I am your mother. And I love you more than life.”

At this confession, the girl pulled away and began to weep again, even more stormily. Lillie held her tightly, trying to calm her without success. “Hush, Jeanne!” she commanded at last. “Do you want the servants to hear? You know how they talk.”

This admonition seemed to produce the desired result. When Jeanne was calm enough to speak, she managed to choke out, “If you loved me, why did you pretend? Why did I have to spend all those dreadful years with Gram on that hateful little island? Why couldn’t I have been with you?”

Lillie took her hand. “I had hoped to put off this discussion until you were older, my dear, but now that you know part of the story, you might as well know the whole. You were born after your father and I agreed to live separately and I was forced to make my own way in the world. I decided to become an actress. But the theater is no place for a child, and I knew that if I were to be successful, I should have to be away a great deal, traveling. Your grandmother and I felt it would be best for you to live with her on Jersey, where you could have friends and lessons and a stable life.”

Jeanne’s face twisted and she jerked her hand away. “But to tell me that my parents were dead-”

“I’m so sorry for that, darling Jeanne,” Lillie said. She leaned forward and pushed the disheveled hair off the girl’s forehead. “I know it seems cruel, but we all thought it was for the best. All through your life, you have had powerful friends and protectors. The Prince of Wales-”

“But what about my real father?” Jeanne demanded, her voice shaking. She pushed her mother’s hand away. “Uncle Ned was my father, wasn’t he?”

Lillie stiffened. “Of course he was your father. What makes you ask a question like that?”

“Because Lady Ragsdale said that the Prince of Wales-”

Lillie laughed merrily. “Oh, what utter nonsense! Do you think for a moment that if the Prince were your father he would openly sponsor you at court? Think of the scandal!”

Jeanne pouted. “Well, then, what about Uncle Ned? If he was my father, why couldn’t I have lived with him?”

Lillie pulled herself up and said, in a calm, chill voice, “Edward Langtry was not the kind of father a daughter deserves, Jeanne. Marrying him was a terrible mistake. I could not compound my folly by imposing it upon you.” Her voice softened. “Anyway, he was totally incapable of supporting himself, let alone a daughter. And he drank a very great deal. I could not even let him know that you were his daughter, for fear that he might insist on involving himself in your life.”

“But I should like to have been able to love him as my father,” Jeanne said fiercely. “And now he’s dead, and I shall never-” She looked up and caught a glimpse of Kate. Quickly, she turned back to Lillie. “Who is she?”

Color flared across Lillie’s face as she realized that there had been a witness to this intimate scene. “This is Lady Charles Sheridan, Jeanne. She is my houseguest. Lady Charles, may I present my… Jeanne-Marie.”

“I’m very glad to know you, Jeanne,” Kate said gravely. There was nothing more she could say.

The girl rose from the sofa and bobbed a little curtsy. “Yes, my lady,” she said, very low.

The mood had been broken and Lillie was once more in command. “Jeanne, dear, I suggest that you go to your room and wash. We have not yet had our luncheon, and I should like you to join us. You can tell us all about Lady Ragsdale’s plans for your presentation at court. Has your dress arrived? You must be very excited.”

The girl dropped her head. All the fire seemed to have gone out of her. “Yes, Aunt-” She looked up. “What should I call you?”

Lillie gave her a narrow smile. “Under the circumstances, my darling, I think it is best if you simply continue to call me Aunt Lillie. This will remain our little secret until you’ve been presented at court, and perhaps for a few months after. We don’t want to confuse our friends, do we?”

Jeanne gave her mother a long, dull look in which Kate read all her heartache. “Yes, Aunt,” she replied, and left the room.

There was a silence. At last, Lillie said, in a low voice, “Now you know my deepest, most closely held secret.”

Do I? Kate wondered. But she only inclined her head and said, “I’m sure you did what you thought was best for her. It must have been difficult.”

“There were rumors, of course, and endless sly innuendoes. That’s why Jeanne had to live on Jersey.” Lillie’s voice became acid. “If she had been with me, the newspapers would have made such a game of it, counting my age against hers and forever speculating about the identity of her father. Once she is safely married, perhaps I can tell her who-”

A strange, haunted look crossed her face and she stopped, clearly feeling that she was giving too much away. Kate, though, could complete the sentence: once Jeanne-Marie was safely married and living somewhere out of the public eye, Lillie could tell her who her real father was. Not Edward Langtry, obviously. Was it the Prince of Wales, or someone else? Who was Lillie protecting, besides herself?

“How difficult for the child,” Kate said quietly. “And for you.”

Lillie gave an elaborate sigh. “I must confess that I feel a little relieved that she has found it out at last. At least I will no longer have to pretend to her.” She slanted a glance at Kate, and her tone was cautionary. “I hope, however, that I may rely on you to keep my secret. You won’t include any of this in your article for The Strand?”

“Of course not,” Kate said without hesitation.

“Thank you,” Lillie replied, and added, reflectively, “I should not want your readers to know that I am old enough to have a daughter who is soon to be presented at court.” She sighed heavily. “And I simply cannot tell Suggie that he would be step-papa to a grown daughter, only a half-dozen years younger than he!”