“It never varied and he was right strict about it, too. First of all, he always left the house at exactly the same time, half past six. We was under instructionsthat once he was gone, we was to carry on, have our dinner and then go to bed. He didn’t want no one waiting up for him. Right before we locked up for the night, Rather was to unlock the side door and make sure the boiler was fired so there’d be plenty of hot water for his bath.”
“Is that it then?” Betsy was disappointed. “He took a bath when he came home from the theatre?”
Lilly giggled. “He took a bath all right, but he made sure he had someone there to scrub his back. That’s why he insisted the side door be kept unlocked. He wanted his friend to be able to slip in without anyone seeing.”
Betsy steeled herself to keep asking questions. But she had a fair idea where this was leading and it made her half sick to her stomach. She knew from her days in the poverty-stricken East End the kind of sick, ugly games the rich could buy for themselves. The fact that a side door was kept unlocked and the servants instructed to go to bed told her one thing. Whoever came to Hinchley’s house wasn’t a real friend; it was someone who was being paid. Probably someone who hated it and probably hated Hinchley as well.
Lilly gave Betsy a sharp look when she kept silent. “I’m not makin’ this up, you know. I seen it with my own eyes. One night I had to get up and go do my business, you see, and there right in the hallway was this young man. ’Course I knew if Mr. Hinchley knew I’d spotted the fellow I’d get sacked, so I flattened meself against the shadows at the top of the stairs. A few minutes later I heard Mr. Hinchley call out that he was through writing the review and the lad could come in and help him get in the bath.” Lilly broke off and stared in the distance, her giggling brightness suddenly gone. “Upset me, it did. The idea of someone being about to buy anotherperson like that. Don’t know why. God knows, us poor people don’t have much choice—it’s either sell your labor if you can or sell your body.”
“Are you absolutely sure it was Mr. Hinchley you saw getting in the hansom?” Witherspoon asked the man. “You couldn’t have been mistaken, Mr. Packard?”
“Know his face as well as I know me own,” Packard replied. “Everyone that works in the business knew Hinchley. That man had closed more shows than a smallpox epidemic.”
“Really?” Witherspoon found that quite odd. He could understand that actors and playwrights might know the critic, but he was quite amazed to find a limelighter who did. “Everyone?”
Packard grinned, revealing several tobacco-blackened teeth. “Hinchley had a lot of influence, Inspector. But even if he didn’t, we would have known who he was. Mr. Swinton made sure we all knew who he was. We was under orders to make sure Hinchley didn’t get backstage.”
“Goodness, Mr. Swinton gave you those instructions Saturday night?”
“Nah,” Packard replied. “He give us those instructions months ago. Different play here then, but that didn’t make any difference to Mr. Swinton. Hated Hinchley. Didn’t want him nosing about the place.”
“Did he say why?”
“Didn’t say and none of us asked,” Packard said with a casual shrug.
“But surely you’ve some idea?”
Packard glanced over his shoulder toward the stage. It was empty. “Well, my guess is he didn’t want Hinchleyhaving a close look at the scenery or the props. We cut a few corners here and there, you know. Got to make ends meet.”
“The theatre is in financial difficulties?”
Packard laughed. “That’s a polite way of puttin’ it. There hasn’t been a money-makin’ production here in five years. Part of that’s due to Hinchley’s bad reviews. Part of it’s due to the fact that this theatre ain’t what she used to be. Don’t attract the top drawer anymore, the cream, so to speak.”
“That’s
“Is that it then?” Betsy was disappointed. “He took a bath when he came home from the theatre?”
Lilly giggled. “He took a bath all right, but he made sure he had someone there to scrub his back. That’s why he insisted the side door be kept unlocked. He wanted his friend to be able to slip in without anyone seeing.”
Betsy steeled herself to keep asking questions. But she had a fair idea where this was leading and it made her half sick to her stomach. She knew from her days in the poverty-stricken East End the kind of sick, ugly games the rich could buy for themselves. The fact that a side door was kept unlocked and the servants instructed to go to bed told her one thing. Whoever came to Hinchley’s house wasn’t a real friend; it was someone who was being paid. Probably someone who hated it and probably hated Hinchley as well.
Lilly gave Betsy a sharp look when she kept silent. “I’m not makin’ this up, you know. I seen it with my own eyes. One night I had to get up and go do my business, you see, and there right in the hallway was this young man. ’Course I knew if Mr. Hinchley knew I’d spotted the fellow I’d get sacked, so I flattened meself against the shadows at the top of the stairs. A few minutes later I heard Mr. Hinchley call out that he was through writing the review and the lad could come in and help him get in the bath.” Lilly broke off and stared in the distance, her giggling brightness suddenly gone. “Upset me, it did. The idea of someone being about to buy anotherperson like that. Don’t know why. God knows, us poor people don’t have much choice—it’s either sell your labor if you can or sell your body.”
“Are you absolutely sure it was Mr. Hinchley you saw getting in the hansom?” Witherspoon asked the man. “You couldn’t have been mistaken, Mr. Packard?”
“Know his face as well as I know me own,” Packard replied. “Everyone that works in the business knew Hinchley. That man had closed more shows than a smallpox epidemic.”
“Really?” Witherspoon found that quite odd. He could understand that actors and playwrights might know the critic, but he was quite amazed to find a limelighter who did. “Everyone?”
Packard grinned, revealing several tobacco-blackened teeth. “Hinchley had a lot of influence, Inspector. But even if he didn’t, we would have known who he was. Mr. Swinton made sure we all knew who he was. We was under orders to make sure Hinchley didn’t get backstage.”
“Goodness, Mr. Swinton gave you those instructions Saturday night?”
“Nah,” Packard replied. “He give us those instructions months ago. Different play here then, but that didn’t make any difference to Mr. Swinton. Hated Hinchley. Didn’t want him nosing about the place.”
“Did he say why?”
“Didn’t say and none of us asked,” Packard said with a casual shrug.
“But surely you’ve some idea?”
Packard glanced over his shoulder toward the stage. It was empty. “Well, my guess is he didn’t want Hinchleyhaving a close look at the scenery or the props. We cut a few corners here and there, you know. Got to make ends meet.”
“The theatre is in financial difficulties?”
Packard laughed. “That’s a polite way of puttin’ it. There hasn’t been a money-makin’ production here in five years. Part of that’s due to Hinchley’s bad reviews. Part of it’s due to the fact that this theatre ain’t what she used to be. Don’t attract the top drawer anymore, the cream, so to speak.”
“That’s
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