Mallow did compliment the actress who played the nurse, pleasing her with the praise. Seeing her up close, Mallow realized she was much younger than she had seemed onstage. Makeup had tricked the audience. London was full of maids working to make their aged mistresses look younger, but here the opposite happened. It was a different world.
Before she could engage the actress in further conversation, however, an actor came by and gave the nurse a kiss, and with laughter they ran off. Things didn’t happen like this in the drawing rooms of good houses, that was certain.
But Mallow wasn’t alone long. A few moments later, she saw Mrs. Mancini, the costume supervisor she had helped earlier.
“Miss Mallow, I’m so pleased you and your mistress could come. And fancy that, the king and Mrs. Keppel showing up again. It’s always exciting when royalty attends. Did you enjoy the play?”
“Very much so,” said Mallow, “and so did her ladyship.”
“I’m so pleased. His Majesty seemed entertained as well.” She sighed. “It was hard to pull it off, I don’t mind saying, without Mr. Mattins. He was so good at organizing everything, and also there was a lot of sadness about his passing. But Mr. Rusk said the production would be a tribute to him so we’d all pull together. And everyone did. Even the actors, and let me tell you, getting actors to behave is something.”
“Yes, that was very sad about Mr. Mattins. Have the police made any arrests?”
“No. We’re all guessing it was just a chance robbery. But Mr. Rusk has been powerfully affected by it. He even hired extra porters to watch the doors—said he was afraid of criminals pushing into the theatre. I thought it was a little strange. No one is going to do anything when the place is packed with people. But men get cautious as they get older.”
“It does sound strange,” said Mallow. “Did Mr. Prescott also get nervous? I know he is also older, and he seemed to be a particular friend of Mr. Rusk’s.”
“Funny you should mention it, Miss Mallow. He wasn’t worried about that, but he has been very nervy too, of late. The young man you saw play Romeo tonight? Well, I’m sure you noted that there’s a fair amount of swordplay, and there was some frustration that young Romeo wasn’t as convincing as he might’ve been. So quietly after rehearsal, just yesterday, he asked Mr. Prescott if he’d show him some pointers with the sword—apparently because he was good with weaponry. Well, Mr. Prescott screamed that he was insulted—who was spreading the word that he knew anything about blades?—and that he wasn’t a damned fighting instructor, if you’ll pardon my language. He said he didn’t want to hear any more about blades. He was so loud, people came running. Poor Romeo slunk off, and Mr. Rusk had to take him aside to soothe him.”
Mallow wrinkled her nose. “But why get so upset? It sounds like Romeo was complimenting Mr. Prescott by asking for his advice. The late marquess, her ladyship’s father, took great pride in his shooting during hunts, they say, and was tickled when young men spoke with him about improving their skills.”
Mrs. Mancini shrugged. “I agree. Maybe Mr. Prescott was feeling old and saw an insult where there wasn’t one. He is no longer young enough to play the active roles as the young men do. Actors don’t like getting old.”
“Neither do gentlemen,” said Mallow.
Mrs. Mancini shook her head. “It’s different in the theatre, dearie. The gentlemen you know, running their estates and serving in Parliament—well, they can still do that when they get old. But there are things actors, no matter how good, can’t do any more once they get old, and they feel that.”
That made sense to Mallow, but she was thinking about weapons, Mr. Rusk suddenly posting guards in the theatre, and Mr. Prescott getting so upset because he was seen to be knowledgeable about swordsmanship. Her ladyship would find that very interesting, Mallow was sure.
“Ah, well,” said Mrs. Mancini. “There’s always a lot of fuss when you’re working with actors. It’s hard to tell when they’re acting and when they’re just behaving like children. Anyway, I only came to catch a look at the king. There are seams to fix before tomorrow’s show—”
As she said that, Susan Lockton appeared. She seemed surprised and a little dismayed to see Mallow, but she didn’t admit to knowing her in front of Mrs. Mancini.
“I was just looking for you, Mrs. Mancini. Did you want me to start on those hems?”
“Yes, please. And I’ll probably have more.” She turned back to Mallow. “A pleasure to see you again. Although I know you have a good position, if you ever want a job at the theatre, just come by.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Mancini.” But she would never consider it. Lady Frances may be unusual, but the theatre was a madhouse.
Mrs. Mancini left, but Susan hung back, saying she wanted to see if she could grab a peek at the king. When they were alone, she said to Mallow, “Please don’t tell my mother I was working here again. She thinks I’m visiting some cousins, who support me in this.”
Mallow didn’t approve of lying, especially to mothers, but lord knew she had helped her ladyship evade her mother many times . . .
“I will be discreet, and so will her ladyship,” said Mallow.
“Oh, thank you, Miss Mallow. Every shilling I earn will go to buying a dress shop.”
Or provide a dowry to marry a vicar, thought Mallow. She watched Susan turn and stride back to the workroom. Meanwhile, Mallow headed toward the stage, where she had last seen Lady Frances, but her mistress was already rapidly approaching her.
“Mallow, come with me. We have had a bit of luck. If I played my cards right, we will be able to eavesdrop on Mr. Rusk and Mr. Prescott.”
“Eavesdropping again, my lady?” She hadn’t forgotten hiding in the closet in Mr. Mattins’s room.
“It’s the wonderful thing about theatres, Mallow. There are lots of places to hide.”
“Very good, my lady. I found out some interesting things.”
“Good. Tell me while we walk.” Mallow quickly summarized her talk with Mrs. Mancini.
“Very good. So they’re frightened and on edge. Mr. Rusk is worried about security, apparently for no reason. And Mr. Prescott is unaccountably nervous when blades come into conversation.” She frowned. “Did Mrs. Mancini say exactly when Mr. Prescott got so upset about swordplay?”
“Just yesterday, my lady.”
“Ah. So after we foiled the attack at Mr. Wheaton’s house. That is very telling.”
“Oh, and Susan Lockton is here, my lady, sneaking around her mother to work on the costumes. I told her we’d keep her secret.”
“You told her you’d tell an untruth?” teased Frances.
“In Proverbs, my lady, the Bible talks about the virtuous woman, saying, ‘She seeketh wool, and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands.’ We’re just helping Miss Lockton live a virtuous life.”
“I don’t think there’s a theologian alive who could dispute your reasoning,” said Frances.
She led them to a staircase, but not the one that led up to the storage rooms. This one went down to the basement.
“What’s down here, my lady?”
“Every theatre has a space below the stage. It helps move scenery and allows actors to appear suddenly through hidden doors in the floor. Now it’s going to be dim in here, and we risk being overheard, so let’s walk carefully.”
The room reminded Mallow of the basement at the Seaforth country manor, where she had occasionally had to go to fetch something when she had been a housemaid. It was low ceilinged and dusty, filled with boxes of what seemed to be carpentry tools and some old furniture no one knew what to do with. A stab of light at the far end provided the only illumination. It took Mallow a few moments to get her bearings. The light was coming from a hooded box she saw at the front of the stage. There were a few rickety stairs that led to it.
“It’s called the prompter box,” whispered Frances, following her gaze. “It’s for the director to help the actors with their lines without the audience knowing. If I worked things out right, Mr. Rusk and Mr. Prescott are talking just above us, and we can overhear them. We’ll sit on those steps. With two pairs of ears, we should be able to catch everything.”
It was clear “Lady Capulet” was still talking with Mr. Rusk and Mr. Prescott, and Frances was hoping she’d leave so the two men could talk about what was no doubt on their minds. There were a few minutes of catty gossip about who had missed a line or stumbled over an entrance, and then they heard her laugh and say, “I’m going to find some of that awful wine you bought.” Her footsteps faded away overhead.
It didn’t take too long for the men to get to the heart of the matter.
“What the hell was that about you playing Romeo? You damn well know you played Mercutio,” said Rusk. “Did that have to do with the tantrum you threw over the fencing lessons?”
“The boy was an idiot. I’m not his assistant.”
“Don’t play games with me of all people,” said Rusk, and Frances heard real menace in his voice. “You and I were boys together in this theatre, but that doesn’t give you carte blanche.” She didn’t hear anything immediate from Prescott. Perhaps he had shrugged.
“It’s just nerves,” he eventually said. “Mattins is dead, and Lady Frances keeps asking questions, poking around. I thought she was just bored, making excuses to visit a theatre, but she keeps coming back.”
“I noticed,” said Rusk dryly. “I gave her tickets and an invitation but never thought she’d stay after the performance. And she wasn’t bluffing about her connections. Her brother is a powerful government minister, and she’s close enough to the king and Mrs. Keppel to feel comfortable joking with them. Worse, she knows something. She was taunting us.”
“Just showing off some gossip she picked up backstage. You know what those toffs are like.”
Frances heard Mallow tense up. Insults, even overheard, were not to be borne.
There was a long pause, and Frances was afraid they were leaving, but then Rusk continued, “Do you think he came back?”
“Who?”
“Braceley, of course. We never had proof he died, and he was mad on his best day. Can you imagine what he’d be like after the Sudan campaign if he managed to find his way back to England?”
“Are you saying you think he killed Mattins? That’s why you hired extra porters?” Frances heard doubt in Prescott’s voice, but also fear. A mad ex-actor with a soldier’s training was something to be frightened of.
Rusk didn’t answer him. “Do you know who visited me yesterday? The Reverend Samuel Halliday.”
“Halliday? You mean that group that keeps trying to drag us off to church? I knew they were still around, but I thought the Hallidays themselves were long gone.”
“It’s their son. He’s not involved directly in the mission, but he asked if I knew anything about Helen. Apparently, she was close to his parents. Said he’d heard some new information and was trying to locate her.”
That was interesting, thought Frances. She had inadvertently excited the Reverend Halliday’s curiosity. Or perhaps he was worried about damage to his family’s reputation just like Emma Lockton had been. Was the Helen connection the real reason she didn’t want her daughter at the Emerald?
“So what?” asked Prescott.
“He was discreet, but vicars have trouble lying. Just like actors have trouble telling the truth.” Rusk laughed without humor. “He kept talking about her in the past tense—like she was dead. Why would he think that if he didn’t know? She’d only be in her fifties. And why is anyone showing up at all?”
Of course, thought Frances. The actors still imagined Helen living abroad with her husband. Only the Reverend Halliday knew she was buried, or should have been buried, in Maidstone. And he wouldn’t give that away to the actors, having promised his parents he would be discreet.
The men shifted, and Frances heard a dramatic sigh from Prescott. “For a man who’s not an actor, you certainly have a lively imagination,” said Prescott.
“And even for an actor, you’re not being very bright. Some of us have more to do than read a few lines and chase girls young enough to be our daughters. Did you know who our new masters are?”
“Some city gents. Who cares?”
“I had to ask around a lot and call in some favors. It’s a syndicate led by a very wealthy peer, Lord Freemantle. And guess who he is? The son-in-law of the late Sir Arnold Torrence, who had half the actresses in the company.”
Prescott laughed. “That’s funny. I wonder if this Lord Torrence knows? For God’s sake, Gil, you know how many gents have worked their way through the female company here. It would be odd if our owners did not have a connection. You know how close and tight Society is. Mattins spooked you. And me too, I admit it. But that’s all.”
There was another moment of silence before Rusk said, “I searched his room, afterward. It was locked. You know he kept it locked. But I didn’t find anything.”
“You didn’t? I’d have thought he’d have saved something about Helen. He was very sentimental, despite his behavior. You can’t think Braceley killed him for some reason after all these years and then stole something from his room.”
“Killed him? Maybe he came back to avenge him.”
“Gil, do you know something you’re not telling me?”
“Me? I’m an honest man.” Rusk’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. “You’re the actor. What are you hiding? Would either of us even know what Braceley might look like after all these years?”
There was the sound of another pair of shoes on the floor, a light tread, probably belonging to a woman.
“Excuse me, Mr. Rusk.” It was Susan Lockton. “I do sewing for Mrs. Mancini, and she wanted me to tell you we’re almost done with the hemming and she’ll do those new sleeves tomorrow.”
“What? Oh, yes. Fine. Tell her thanks. Tomorrow is soon enough for the sleeves.”
“Very good, sir,” she said, and they heard her walk away.
“Who was that?” asked Prescott.
“You heard her—one of Mrs. Mancini’s seamstresses.”
“I mean, what is her name?”
“Sally? Susan? There’s always an army of them in and out. Why—? Oh, God, Quentin. It’s bad enough what you do with the actresses, but leave the respectable girls alone. I mean it. I don’t need any more problems, like Mrs. Mancini yelling at me that decent seamstresses won’t work here anymore.” The tone carried the full weight of the company manager.
“Don’t be ridiculous—although she is a lovely thing. That’s not what I meant. Didn’t she remind you of someone? Perhaps she’s some actress’s sister or niece or something?”
“And if she is? So what? Look—there’s the king’s equerry. His Majesty will probably be following. Change and go home, Quentin. And be careful.”
“You too, Gil.” There was no word or movement for a few moments. Frances imagined both men looking at each other, wondering what the other one knew. After a few seconds, footsteps departed in different directions, and then there was nothing.
Frances hadn’t realized how tense she was, concentrating so hard on the conversation. Mallow, now that they were alone, made herself busy brushing cobwebs off them both.
“We have a lot to think about,” said Frances, “but let’s do our thinking in our comfortable rooms instead of below the Emerald stage.” She giggled. “If some stagehand finds us here, I don’t think we’ll get away with claiming we got lost on our way to the front door.”