Death Plays a Part

Book 0: The Alexandrian Series

by Lesley Cookman

Genres: Historical Fiction; Cozy Mystery; Historical Mysteries; Traditional Mysteries

Synopsis

Death Plays a Part is the first in a series of historical mysteries by best-selling author Lesley Cookman, set in the changing world of the Edwardian era. Dorinda Alexander is a former governess who now owns the Alexandria Theatre in the seaside town of Nethergate. Her troupe is rehearsing for a season of music hall performances, a new experience for the theatre ? and when mysterious young singer Velda Turner arrives looking for employment Dorinda, impressed by her talent, hires her. Soon, though, optimism turns to tragedy when a body is found after an apparently motiveless break-in at the theatre. With the local police convinced that the answer to the mystery lies in Dorinda?s own past ? a cause of much distress to her ? the murder seems an impossible task to solve, until an enigmatic Scotland Yard detective shows up?

Release date: December 26, 2015

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 123

Sample

Chapter One

May 1907

‘That,’ said Dorinda Alexander, ‘is not what a fairy looks like.’

The fairy drooped. Dorinda – Dolly to her friends – stood with hands on hips considering her.

‘Maude,’ she said to the comfortable- looking woman standing next to her, ‘what can we do about this?’

Maude crossed her arms under her ample bosom and frowned.

‘I don’t rightly know, Dolly. There wasn’t no call for fairy costumes when we was The Wanderers.’

Dorinda stifled an impatient sigh. ‘Of course not, Maudie. The Wanderers were Pierrots. But remember that you made me a costume overnight? When I needed it?’

Maude shrugged and smiled. ‘Pierrots was easy. I’m not such a hand at anything else.’

Dorinda nodded. ‘I know. I’m just grateful you’ve helped me as much as you have.’ She turned to the fairy. ‘Go and take it off, dear, and tell the others I won’t need them until after lunch.’

‘Couldn’t you,’ said Maude, as she followed Dorinda to the back of the sparkling new pavilion, ‘just carry on with the Serenaders for a while? Until you’ve had a chance to sort of – look around a bit?’

Dorinda turned and looked back at the stage where men up ladders were painting large backcloths.

‘That’s just it, Maude. The Silver Serenaders have been great for me – for all of us – after all they got me this pitch and now the pavilion.’

‘With Sir Fred’s help,’ said Maude.

‘Well, of course with his help.’ Dorinda looked uncomfortable for a moment. ‘But I want something different now. Look at all the shows that are going on in other places. Pierrots are on the way out. It’s concert parties now, Maude.’

‘Yes, Dolly,’ said Maude, sighing.

Dorinda made her way back to her office thinking hard. The fairy number was not going to work if her chorus girls didn’t look ethereal and sparkly. When she’d seen it performed in London the girls had drifted across the stage – almost appearing to float. Of course, the Gaiety Girls were the best in the business and the money spent on staging and costuming were out of her league, but she was determined to bring something of the London sophistication to Nethergate.

Ted and Algy fitted in well as the company comedians, and Will Beddowes, Maude’s husband and founder of Nethergate’s original Pierrots, Will’s Wanderers. Will was still a good performer, but the girls were a different matter.

The Silver Serenaders had been formed by Dorinda from Will’s Wanderers when Will himself had been seduced away by one of the big companies in the north-east. He had come back at the end of the season full of stories of the concert parties, and Dorinda, the first woman to run a company of Pierrots in a seaside town, had begun to think. The Serenaders were so successful after their first two seasons, largely due to Dorinda’s decision to bring in girls as well as men that she was able to purchase her pitch under the cliff rather than pay the increased rent the council was demanding. From there it was a short step to deciding to build a pavilion, her beloved new Alexandria. After all, she reasoned, Will Caitlin in Scarborough had built his Arcadia, and other pavilions and theatres were appearing in seaside resorts up and down the country, on beaches, promenades and piers.

Dorinda had gone up to London to see some of the new Musical Comedies and come back inspired. This is what seaside entertainment should be, she thought, something new for the new century. There was a new King on the throne – why not new entertainment for the holiday makers?

Will, Ted and Algy had not been keen. Partly, she thought, because there were limited opportunities for them in this new format, but also because the seaside audiences loved what they were used to – comedy routines and Music Hall songs with which they could sing along. Yes, said Ted, put it undercover – they always lost several audiences to the weather – but keep it the same.

‘When they start singing songs from the musicals on the streets, girl,’ said Will, ‘then you can bring them to the beach.’

So it was a compromise that Dorinda was rehearsing now. Sketches – some familiar, some new – a couple of solos and some set pieces. Besides, she thought, she didn’t have an orchestra, only herself playing the piano, and the big musical comedy numbers wouldn’t work so well with only piano accompaniment.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

‘Come in.’

A woman entered, tall, dark and fashionably, if quietly, dressed.

‘Can I help you?’ asked Dorinda, rising from her chair behind her desk.

‘Er – I’m not sure.’ The voice was pleasant, but hesitant. ‘I think this is rather a cheek.’

Dorinda smiled and sat down. ‘Take a seat,’ she said. ‘What can I do for you?’

Colour rose quickly above the woman’s high collar. ‘I – I – I just wondered … ’

‘Wondered what?’

‘If you were looking for any singers.’ The words came out in a rush.

‘Oh!’ Dorinda was surprised. She herself had approached some girls in London, mostly from the Music Halls like Collins in Islington, but it was rare that anyone approached her, unless introduced by another member of the company.

‘I – er – heard you were taking on young ladies …’ The woman stumbled to a halt.

‘I am,’ said Dorinda, now amused. ‘Is that so unusual?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said the woman with certainty. ‘Oh – I’m sorry!’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Dorinda. ‘Where did you hear this?’

‘In London.’ The young woman’s dark eyes were now fixed on Dorinda like a mesmerised rabbit in front of a snake.

‘London, eh? Were you working there?’

‘I –’ The woman stopped. ‘Yes,’ she said finally.

Something wrong there, thought Dorinda. The girl could be no more than twenty-five. Was she in trouble? Dorinda allowed her glance to travel down in search of a tell-tale bump under the skirt. There was none. She decided to take a chance.

‘So you sing? What do you sing?’

‘Anything.’

‘“Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay?”’

The colour washed into the young woman’s face again. ‘Well, yes – I mean – I know it …’

‘Off you go then,’ said Dorinda, and sat back in her chair.

The woman stood up, pulled down the bottom of her little jacket and took a deep breath.

To Dorinda’s astonishment, out came a very passable imitation of Lottie Collins’ famous song that had captured London audiences a decade earlier. After two verses, Dorinda signalled that she should stop.

‘I’m not dressed for the dance, Miss Alexander, but I can actually perform that.’ The woman sat down again.

‘Well, well,’ said Dorinda. ‘And how about “A Bird In A Gilded Cage”?’

In total contrast to the previous song, the surprising woman began to sing the sentimental ballad perfectly.

‘Not bad at all. What’s your name?’ asked Dorinda when the song had finished.

‘Velda Turner.’

‘Unusual name. Good for the halls,’ said Dorinda. ‘If you’ve been working in London, are you prepared to move to Nethergate?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Velda. ‘I’d like to.’

‘Very well.’ Dorinda stood up. ‘You can start straight away. I’ll take you round the back to meet the others after lunch. Can you be back here for two o’clock?’

Velda looked lost for a moment. ‘Yes … yes, of course,’ she said, and stood up. Dorinda watched her go out of the office and felt guilty. The poor woman probably hadn’t got anywhere to go for the next hour, but Dorinda did not want to spend it babysitting the new recruit. She had fairies to dress.

An hour later, sitting on the edge of the stage in a sea of pink gauze, Dorinda had almost forgotten Velda, until the young woman appeared hesitantly at the back of the hall. Maude raised her eyebrows. Dorinda slid off the stage and went forward to lead the newcomer onto the stage.

As she introduced Velda to the other girls in the chorus she was aware of a slight feeling of hostility, especially from the bold and brash Aramantha Giles, the aspiring soubrette. Dorinda was pretty sure her real name was nothing like Aramantha, but if that’s what she chose to call herself, that was all right with Dorinda, who had changed her own name, albeit the other way round. Dolly was a far better name for a concert party performer than Dorinda, which had suited the prim and proper governess she had been before her transformation.

‘Where d’yer work, then?’ Aramantha was asking – a touch condescendingly.

‘The Britannia. Before, of course … ’

‘Before what?’ asked one of the youngest girls, as the others all gasped.

‘It burned down,’ someone informed her. They all looked with new respect at Velda Turner. It belatedly occurred to Dorinda that she’d taken the girl on trust – hadn’t asked where she’d worked, or even from whom in London she’d heard of Dorinda and the Alexandria. Mentally shaking herself, she broke into the conversation.

‘Do you need help finding digs?’

‘Ma Butcher’s got room, if you don’t mind sharing,’ volunteered shy Maisie Birchall. ‘If you need …’ surprised by the sound of her own voice she looked round wildly, and Dorinda patted her shoulder.

‘Well, yes, thank you, I do need!’ Velda smiled at Maisie. ‘Are you sure Mrs Butcher won’t mind?’

‘More money, innit?’ said Aramantha, looking slightly disgruntled. ‘Not sure I’d like to share, meself.’

The other girls exchanged knowing looks, and Dorinda laughed. ‘Come on, girls, little birds in their nests agree! Now shall we run through the fairy number again? Velda can watch to get the hang of it first. Do you want to start straight away, Velda?’

‘Yes, please.’ Velda sat down on one of the new seats in the auditorium and Dorinda went to the piano.

The fairy song, a popular one lifted from one of Mr Edwardes’ musical entertainments at The Gaiety in London didn’t quite go as well as Dorinda wanted.

‘Well,’ she said with a sigh, when the girls had come to a ragged halt in a parody of their finishing positions. ‘Perhaps the costumes will help. The pink tulle will be better than those peasant things.’

‘Excuse me.’ Velda appeared silently by Dorinda’s left shoulder. ‘Could a young lady perhaps take a solo in the song? I’ve seen it done like that, and the . . .