She followed my gaze to the carpet bag. “I took a dress and pair of shoes as well as some personal items as keepsakes. The funeral director asked me to find her something to wear and my sister had a pretty blue dress that will look lovely.”
“When is the funeral?”
“Tomorrow morning at ten. That man is doing something, at least, and paying for the service and burial at Kensal Green cemetery.”
“That man?” I asked.
Her lips pursed. “Rumford. He wrote to me and said he’ll arrange it.”
“That’s very generous of him. He must have loved her very much.”
She picked up her teacup and took a long sip.
“As I said when I arrived, Lord Rumford asked me to look into your sister’s death as he doesn’t believe it was suicide.” I whispered the word so that the girl couldn’t hear. “But I’d like your opinion.”
Mrs. Larsen sipped again then, frowning, placed the teacup back in the saucer. “To be honest, I didn’t know Nellie very well.”
“Her real name is Nellie?”
She nodded. “There was already a famous Nellie on stage—Melba—so she was advised to change it. Westwood is also made up. It’s been six years since she began calling herself Pearl Westwood. The change of name also coincided with a change of character.”
“Oh?”
“She was always an outgoing girl, and very confident. Excessive beauty can do that to a woman. People told her she was beautiful her entire life and some put her on a pedestal because of it. Not just men, either, although they were the worst. It was only natural she became too confident. I don’t blame her for it.” She stared down at her cup. “As her star rose, her life changed. She went to parties, drankto excess and became one of those women you read about in the papers in the company of scoundrels.” Her mouth turned down in distaste. “We grew apart. Her world was very different to mine, and neither of us wanted much to do with the other. She saw me as dull, and I saw her as someone of loose moral character. Being apart was better for us both—fewer arguments, you see.” She nodded at the girl. “I also didn’t want her to be a bad influence on Millie. Do you understand why I can’t really answer your question, Miss Fox?”
“I do. What about Christmas? Did you see her then?”
“Christmas Day was the only time we really saw each other in the last few years. She dined with us at our home.”
“How did she seem?”
She shrugged. “The same as always. She talked about her shows, the parties, and the latest gift that man had given her. She mentioned that he wanted to take her on a holiday to Switzerland next autumn. She was very excited about it.”
That didn’t sound like someone who would commit suicide. “Did she seem troubled?”
“No.”
“Did she mention she needed money?”
Mrs. Larsen seemed surprised. “Money? No, she didn’t.” She indicated the room with its gilded frames, the marble statue of a Greek goddess reclining on a rock, and ostrich feathers shooting from a black marble vase. “My sister wasn’t poor.”
“All of this would have been paid for by Lord Rumford. If she lived a fast life, she could have spent quite a sum of her own to keep up. Perhaps she had debts.”
“If she needed money, she could have sold some of the jewels he gave her. Or she could have just asked him for it.”
“She did. He never got around to giving it to her before she died.”
“Oh,” she murmured. “I see. Do you think the reason she needed money is linked to her murder?”
“I don’t know yet.”
She sipped her coffee thoughtfully. “The last time I saw her was Christmas Day, but I can tell you she seemed quite her usual self. If she had financial problems, she didn’t confide in me or my husband.”
“Do you know anyone she might have confided in? A close friend, perhaps?”
She shook her head. “Nellie didn’t keep her childhood friends. She shed them along with her real name. And I’m afraid I didn’t see her enough lately to know her new friends.”
“You never met any when you visited her at the theater?”
