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He certainly did. His last mistress had been an opera singer. They’d ended their affair on the night of the hotel’s restaurant opening. I wasn’t sure whether he’d taken up with another woman since then.
“Do you continue to know these things, Floyd?”
“Not lately. In fact, I find I’m free as a bird. I rather like it. It’s liberating.”
“Thenyoushould be the one courting American guests, not me.”
“Did you not hear me say I like being free?”
“I’ve said the same thing dozens of times, yet I was still placed next to Mr. Miller last night.”
He flashed an impish grin. “And look how well that turned out.”
I gave him a withering glare. “You’re infuriating.”
“So I’ve been told.” He stood and chucked me under the chin. “But you adore me, nevertheless.” He strode towards the front door. “Send my sandwich to my room when it arrives.”
When his sandwich arrived ten minutes later, Harmony ate one half and I ate the other.
Flossy spottedMr. Miller several rows behind us at the Royal Albert Hall. “He’s looking this way.” With a fan covering her mouth, the words came out muffled. “Smile, Cleo.” She lowered the fan and smiled at him.
I gave him a brief wave and turned away. I didn’t want to encourage him or my cousins. They were insufferable enough when it came to my love life, or lack of it.
The music was lovely, but I found I couldn’t enjoy it as much as I usually would. A single thought tapped constantly throughout the entire first session until I could ignore it no longer.
I simplyhadto sneak into Rosa Rivera’s dressing room. If I couldn’t talk to her tonight, looking through her belongings was the next best way to learn about her. There was no better opportunity to do so than when she was on stage.
The singer was part of an ensemble of vocalists who were scheduled to perform immediately after the interval. Flossy and I stretched our legs during the break, joining the throng taking refreshments and chatting to friends in the foyer. I almost got caught by Mr. Miller, but spotted him before crossing his path. I told Flossy I was returning to our seats, then slipped away, disappearing into the crowd.
Finally, the gong sounded and the audience left to enjoy the second half. I waited until no one was looking before heading through the door that led backstage.
The corridor smelled musty with an undercurrent of sweat. Electric lights were placed too far apart to illuminate the whole way brightly, but it was enough to see by. The floor was covered with carpet to muffle the sound of footsteps as backstage hands traveled to and fro.
Only two men asked who I was and what I was doing there. I informed them I’d been sent backstage by the manager. I’d always found that speaking with confidence went a long way towards convincing people. Referencing a higher authority did the rest.
I found Rosa Rivera’s dressing room just as the muted sounds of the orchestra resumed. Her name was on the door along with another woman’s from her vocal ensemble. Both would currently be on stage. Hopefully no one would have the same idea as me and try to rifle through the dressing room in their absence.
I entered and closed the door. At least it smelled better than the corridor. Jasmine and lily of the valley with a hint of rose. The room was small. Between the two dressing tables, two trunks, and racks of ball gowns and costumes, the space was tight. I read the names on the cards accompanying the bouquets of flowers to determine which dressing table belonged to Rosa. The two women were popular with gentlemen, although Rosa had two more bouquets than her co-star. Word had probably spread that she was available after the death of her lover.
There wasn’t a single photograph of Vernon Rigg-Lyon in the room, but that didn’t strike me as unusual. This was her place of work, after all. The dressing table was cluttered with hairpieces, combs and pins, costume jewelry, face creams and makeup. I lightly stroked the feathers attached to a headband. They’d been dyed a coral color. There was also a scarf hanging from the edge of the mirror in a similar shade.
I opened the top drawer and my breath hitched. Several lengths of ribbon were laid out in strips.
They were all exactly the same shade as the one I’d pulled from Vernon Rigg-Lyon’s pocket.
Chapter5
Finding the ribbons that matched the one I’d discovered in Vernon Rigg-Lyon’s pocket was a breakthrough that had my mind whirling with more questions. Had Rosa Rivera given it to him before she murdered him? Or did he snatch it off her during an argument that had been the catalyst for his murder?
Most intriguing of all—why had the major removed it from the scene of the crime?
My preoccupation with the dressing room discovery meant I didn’t see the gentleman striding across the foyer towards me until it was too late.
“Miss Fox? Why are you coming from there?” Mr. Miller must have been outside for some fresh air and was returning late to the performance.
“I was lost,” I said.
His gaze rose to the sign above the door with STAFF ONLY written in block letters. “May I escort you back to your seat?”
