When the next day came, Arthur had doubts about the visit between a group of sheltered young ladies and the theater opera dancers. There seemed to be many ways it could go wrong. It seemed that Tom must know this, as he must have noticed that Señora Alvarez hadn’t been pleased to be named chaperone for the outing. Her face had shown that she was being drawn into a position she disliked.
Arthur had thought of trying to cancel the outing, but he didn’t think the young ladies would listen. Tom had known just what to say to rouse their interest. They would simply go anyway. In the end, Arthur could only send his roomiest carriage to make the rounds and fetch the feminine contingent while he and Compton walked together to the theater where Tom awaited them all.
At least the expedition was not unprecedented, Arthur thought as they strode through the London streets. The theater offered daytime tours, on formal application, to those interested in its inner workings. People were shown the wardrobe, the machinery above and below the stage, provisions for preventing and extinguishing fire. This would not be quite like that, of course, but it could be made to sound so if questions arose.
“Do you think this is a good idea?” asked the young man at his side as if he had read Arthur’s thoughts.
“I’m not certain,” he replied.
“Ada doesn’t really understand about opera dancers.”
“They are not thought a fit subject for young ladies.” Although Miss Julia Grandison’s attitude must have given even a stupid girl a strong hint. And these four were far from stupid.
“No.” The young duke frowned as they strode along. “Do you think I should have forbidden it?”
“Could you have?”
Compton considered. “If I really insisted on the point, I think Ada would do as I asked. Though she would want to know why, of course.” He hesitated. “Some say a husband should command his wife?”
This was more than half a question. “Some,” agreed Arthur. “And have you noticed that the men who declare that the loudest fail to see how little they actually do?”
The younger man looked confused. “So you don’t think it’s true?”
“I was drawn to my wife, Celia, by her beauty at first,” Arthur said. “But my interest was fixed when I discovered in her an intelligent, tender, sensible person. Why then would I ignore her opinions?”
“Ah. I like that. Why indeed?” They walked through a brief silence. “But doesn’t a man know more of the world?” Compton asked then.
“Parts of it. And of others, nothing.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Childbirth, for example. It is not thought ‘a fit subject’ for men, but it is surely one of the most important events of our lives.”
His companion looked even more bewildered.
“I think husbands and wives should consult each other and decide matters together,” Arthur added, hoping he didn’t sound pompous. “And there is this. What would you do if someone tried to command your every move?”
“Send them packing.”
“Precisely. And if you could not, because you had no power to do so, you might turn to deception. I’ve seen women pretend deference and behave outrageously on the sly.”
The young duke seemed shocked. The remainder of their walk passed in silence.
They reached the theater a few minutes before Arthur’s carriage pulled up in front of it. The ladies descended. Señora Alvarez looked…concentrated, as if the ride had not been entirely easy. Arthur had no doubt that she’d managed whatever had occurred, however. The sense of deep presence she possessed was unshaken and so much more than simple beauty. Today, she wore a somber gown and bonnet, the dress of a staid chaperone. He offered his arm. She took it. Her fingers seemed to warm his skin, even though this was impossible through the cloth of his coat. He looked down at her, but her gaze was directed at the theater door. They all went inside together and found Tom waiting like a thoughtful host.
“The place looks so different with no audience,” said Miss Moran as they walked into the vast interior. “Even emptier than it should be somehow.” They had some hours until the evening performance at seven.
“And without all the lights,” said Miss Ada Grandison. The powerful oil lamp that illuminated the premises for a performance was unlit, as were the central chandelier and the row of footlights. Only a few candles in covered sconces burned, leaving the place dim and cavernous.
Tom escorted them to a room in the back where they found the opera dancers he’d gathered during a break from rehearsal. They were clustered around a table that held an array of confections from Gunter’s. Tom had suggested, powerfully, that Arthur should order the sorts of things served at a society ball, and he had complied. Watching the dancers revel in the food, Arthur didn’t begrudge the sum.
A babble of chatter trailed off into silence when they entered, though chewing continued. Some of the girls gathered more treats as if they feared this largesse would be snatched away by the newcomers. They were all very thin, Arthur saw. One didn’t notice so much when they were dancing. The ballets strove for an ethereal impression. But close up they looked too fragile, their eyes large in delicate faces. Most had wrapped shawls over their gowns as if they were cold, though the room didn’t seem so to him. He was glad that he’d provided sustenance for these waifish creatures.
Tom was the only person present who was acquainted with everybody, and he naturally took charge. He chose to begin with group introductions. “These are my friends the dancers,” he said to one side of the room. “And these are my friends the young ladies who solve mysteries,” he told the other.
This brought a hoot of derision. Arthur didn’t see which of the dancers had made it, but none of them looked impressed.
“They do and all,” Tom responded. “I seen them find a treasure out in the country.”
“I could use a treasure,” replied a wan, yellow-haired girl.
“What about the gentlemen?” asked another dancer. “Are they looking for treasures as well?” She rolled her eyes at Arthur.
“I got a treasure I could show them.” A girl with brown curls shook her hips. “Right popular it is with the gentlemen too.”
“I’m surprised it ain’t worn out with looking,” said the first girl.
“Now, Bella,” said Tom.
The innuendo didn’t seem to unsettle him. Compton looked embarrassed, and the young ladies exhibited varying degrees of uneasiness. Arthur wondered again if this had been a good idea. The dancers were not welcoming. He glanced at Señora Alvarez. She stood to one side, observing.
“So we want to try and figure out what happened to Odile and Sonia and Maria,” Tom added.
“Those cows,” commented a voice from the back of the dancers’ group.
“Going off and leaving us to fill in their parts,” said another.
“Foreigners,” declared a dancer with a London accent. “I say, let ’em go back where they came from. And good riddance.”
From the glares exchanged, Arthur concluded there were two camps among the dancers—the English and the others.
“And if there is nothing to go back to, after the war?” asked Señora Alvarez. Her clear voice cut through the muttering. Her dark eyes were steady on those who had complained.
The dancers fell silent, though some heads were tossed. They obviously respected the señora, Arthur thought. No one wanted to argue with her.
“We’re all the same in one way,” said the yellow-haired Bella. “Nobody cares what happens to the likes of us.”
“I do,” said Tom. “I want to be certain Odile and Sonia and Maria are all right.” He repeated the names as if reciting an incantation. “That’s why I brought help. And I’d do the same for any of you who was gone with no word.”
“Would you?” asked several of the dancers at the same time. The girls exchanged glances.
“’Course I would.” Tom smiled. Most of the girls smiled back. They liked him as they might a younger brother, Arthur decided with a brush of relief. “So what d’you reckon?” the lad added. “Anybody know where they went? Did they say anything just before?”
The group arranged itself. Dancers settled cross-legged on the floor or leaned against a wall, fortified with more of Gunter’s confections. Miss Moran opened a small notebook and poised a pencil over it. The other young ladies ranged themselves around her, while Compton adopted them as a shield and hovered behind. Tom escorted Señora Alvarez to the lone chair as if she was royalty, and Arthur posted himself beside her.
Tom returned to the middle of the room. “All right then,” the lad said. “What do we know about Odile and Sonia and Maria?”
Several dancers threw out answers. The missing girls came from France and Spain, it appeared, and none had been here more than a few months. They had gone missing over the last six weeks, at irregular intervals. Their skill with English was among the least in the ballet company. Señora Alvarez discussed this with two girls in their native languages. “They were trying to learn, but having difficulties,” she translated for the others. “Why didn’t they come to me? I would have helped.”
“We don’t have time to be schooled, do we?” replied Bella. “There’s hardly a minute in the day.”
“And we have to sleep sometime,” said another dancer. “We can’t be looking worn and tired. That’s not what’s wanted. They’ll show a girl the door right quick if she droops.” This provoked nods of agreement.
There was such a contrast between the young ladies and the dancers, Arthur noted. They were around the same age, and female, but one group was sleek and calm while the other was spiky and wary. The former exhibited a bone-deep assurance that they had a place in the world and could count on its support. The other had none of that—with good reason, Arthur supposed. The dancers were obviously scraping to survive, and they had the suspicious air of alley cats poised to evade a kick. Señora Alvarez had mentioned helping opera dancers, he remembered. He understood better now what she’d meant.
Tom presided over the chorus of voices like a concertmaster, and it emerged that the missing girls had no family or connections in England. After a long speech from one girl in Spanish, Señora Alvarez relayed the opinion that they were all a bit prickly and had made few friends. Odile had a running dispute with her landlady, whose son had been killed by Napoleon’s army. Sonia had a quick temper. She’d accused another girl of stealing an earring and hadn’t really apologized when the jewelry turned up in a hidden corner. Maria was quiet and standoffish; many thought she was above herself.
“They weren’t liked then,” said Miss Moran. The recitation seemed to have made her melancholy.
“So there was no one to inquire very closely where they’d gone,” said Miss Deeping.
“If one wanted to choose dancers least likely to be missed—” began Miss Grandison.
“It would be these,” finished Miss Finch.
“Choose,” repeated Señora Alvarez. She looked from one young lady to another. “And who would be doing this choosing? If in fact it took place.”
“We don’t know yet,” answered Miss Deeping. “We have to gather more information.”
Arthur wondered how they would propose to do that. Miss Julia Grandison had been quite firm. He didn’t think the young ladies would be allowed more than this one visit to the opera dancers.
Miss Deeping’s thoughts appeared to have followed his own. She turned to the dancers. “You could help,” she said.
“Us?”
“What could we do?”
“Why would we?” asked the brown-haired girl who’d wiggled her hips.
“Well, if someone is abducting opera dancers, you might be at risk,” replied Miss Deeping.
“Abducting?” The word seemed unfamiliar to some.
“Stealing them away.”
“Stealing,” scoffed Bella. “Why steal what you can buy for pocket change?”
“What do you mean?” asked Miss Moran.
“Never mind, Sarah,” said Miss Finch. “I’ll tell you later.” She frowned. “Or not.”
“You could keep an eye out,” said Miss Deeping to the dancers, refusing to be diverted. “Watch for suspicious characters hanging about the theater.”
This earned her incredulous looks and harsh laughter.
“Come,” said Tom. “Some are dodgier than others. Base reeky varlets. You know what I mean.”
The theater was not the lad’s first encounter with the seamier side of things, Arthur thought. Tom had spent his life deciding who to trust from among a motley group of persons.
The opera dancers shrugged and frowned as Tom looked from one to another. But in the end most nodded. Bella looked skeptical. “What’s it going to matter if we do?”
“You can note down their names, and we will…” Here, Miss Deeping’s ingenuity failed her. Indeed, Arthur couldn’t see what the young ladies could do with that information.
“I’ll follow them about,” said Tom. “Or have ’em followed. I got friends who can help. We’ll see where they go and what they do. Something might turn up.”
After some further discussion, and no better ideas, this was decided as the plan. The gathering began to break up, though the young ladies were clearly not satisfied with their minor role.
Several of the opera dancers moved toward Compton as they dispersed. They saw him as a potential source of support, Arthur thought. That was the only sort of meeting they were familiar with. The young duke planted himself next to his fiancée and took her arm as if it was a lifeline.
Arthur had begun to smile when he noticed that dancers were converging on him from all sides. Their narrowed eyes reminded him of a group of stockmen appraising a prize animal. Here, he was a value to calculate.
“I ’spect you’re a lord,” one said to him. “You’ve got that look about you.”
“Oh, looks,” said another dancer. “I’d say he looks ripe and ready for a bit of fun.” She squeezed his arm. The dancers clustered closer.
He could be rid of them, of course. But he didn’t wish to humiliate anyone. Arthur encountered Compton’s sympathetic gaze.
“No,” said Señora Alvarez.
The entire group of opera dancers turned to gaze at her. They were clearly intrigued as well as surprised. “Is he yours then, señora?” asked one.
They turned back to him. Arthur was suddenly the focus of a battery of female eyes. He ought to have been embarrassed. In fact, he could only feel amazement that all his senses were focused on the fervent wish that she would say yes.
“If he is, we’ll keep hands off,” added the dancer. “A course.” The others nodded, their expressions intensely curious.
Teresa was speechless. She wondered where that no had come from. And why? Lord Macklin was well able to take care of himself. No man more so. He didn’t need her aid. But the sight of Nancy hanging on him and the others closing in had goaded her somehow. She couldn’t bear the thought of Macklin taking one of the girls as his mistress, here where she would see and know. The idea filled her with fury. It was protective anger, she decided. She wouldn’t see these girls used by a man when she might have prevented it.
“Fair’s fair,” said another dancer. Nancy ran her hand provocatively down Macklin’s arm.
“Yes,” said Teresa.
A ripple of reaction went through the room. The dancers looked both disappointed and gratified, their eyes full of speculation. The young ladies and their escort appeared startled and then fascinated. Tom looked…smug. Was that right? The lad certainly seemed pleased with himself, though she didn’t see why he should be.
The dancers retreated a bit, leaving Lord Macklin standing alone. He was gazing at Teresa. Who would have thought that those blue-gray eyes could hold such heat? It threatened to melt the barriers she’d set up to guard her new life. What was she doing? Had she gone mad? He was not hers, of course. She didn’t want him, even if it had been possible.
Teresa’s thoughts tumbled and whirled. Macklin hadn’t meant to accept Nancy’s invitation. His expression had made that obvious. No one had required protection. She could have—certainly should have—kept quiet, and he would have extricated himself. Why hadn’t she? It could not be because she was drawn to him. She refused to be.
The room felt suddenly far too warm. The cool self-possession she’d cultivated for years was crumbling. Lord Macklin was moving toward her. He was going to speak, right here, before all these people. Why would he do that? And what might this earl expect from her now that she’d made such a foolish claim? This brought a flare of anger, and Teresa welcomed it. He had no right to expect anything. That must be made exceedingly clear. She let that determination show in her expression.
The earl stopped. Did it perhaps occur to him—too slowly—that there was nothing they could say or do with everyone looking on? They might as well be onstage here, blundering about like the hapless victims of a farce.
That was it. She’d claim her hasty word was a joke. He should think nothing of it. The English laughed about the most idiotic things. He might even believe that.
But she couldn’t tell him now, with everyone looking on. “We should go,” Teresa said. She turned toward the doorway, filled with a longing for the peace of her own home, and nearly bumped into Miss Ada Grandison.
“Shouldn’t we make arrangements to…” began the latter.
“We have all the arrangements we need, Miss Grandison,” interrupted Teresa. This drew looks from the dancers that made her flush. They had only one definition of an arrangement. Everything she said seemed to make things worse today. She felt quite unlike herself.
“Grandison, is it?” asked Nancy. “Ain’t that the name of your ‘special friend,’ Bella? Mr. John Grandison.”
The young duke goggled. Lord Macklin raised his eyebrows.
Nancy was getting a bit of her own back, Teresa thought, having been thwarted over Macklin. She enjoyed stirring up trouble.
Miss Grandison turned to the dancer. “What? Mr. John Grandison is my father.”
Well, this was an effective diversion from her own unfortunate remark. But Teresa couldn’t be grateful. Miss Grandison looked distressed. Her fiancé seemed ready to spring into action and help her if only he knew how. Miss Finch’s expression suggested that all her doubts about this meeting had been fulfilled.
“Is he now?” said Nancy. “Fancy that.” She gave Bella a sly sidelong glance. “Course he’s not near as grand as my viscount.”
Would the dancers now begin competing over all the society men who had been to the theater looking for mistresses? Nancy would enjoy that. So would some of the others. Teresa readied herself to put a stop to it, though part of her understood the impulse. The young ladies took so much for granted, had so much that the opera dancers would never possess. It would be satisfying to shock them out of their complacency.
“You know my father?” asked Miss Grandison.
“I have an appointment,” Teresa declared in a loud voice. “I must go.”
“Of course,” said Lord Macklin, lending his aid. He urged Compton toward the door. Miss Finch followed, drawing Miss Moran along with her.
Teresa took Miss Grandison’s arm to pull her along and herded Miss Deeping with a shooing motion. The latter seemed to be taking a satirical enjoyment in the scene, but she responded. The group began to move.
Miss Grandison was not ready to let go of the matter, however. She resisted Teresa’s tug. “They know my father?” she asked her.
“Does he like the theater?” replied Tom. Teresa frowned at him. Why wasn’t he helping?
“Yes, he’s quite fond of plays. He comes often.” Her voice wavered on the last word, as if she was seeing this situation in a new light. “That is…”
“They probably saw him here then.”
“But she said special…”
“Perhaps he came around to praise the ballet,” said Tom.
“Oh yes, the ballet,” jeered Nancy. She bobbed in a plié that implied quite a different sort of movement.
“I really must go,” Teresa said. Several of the dancers grinned at her, well aware of her dilemma.
“My carriage is waiting,” said Macklin. “Come along.”
The young people all took this as the voice of command, which annoyed Teresa even as she appreciated the result. They walked out through the empty theater and found the carriage approaching. The driver had walked the horses while they were inside. Teresa pulled Miss Grandison toward the slowing vehicle. Miss Finch brought along the other girls. Together, they chivvied the group into the vehicle.
Teresa threw Tom an admonitory glance as he said his goodbyes. The duke and the earl bowed and walked off like the cowards they were. And Teresa was left in the carriage with four investigative young ladies.
“One doesn’t become the ‘special friend’ of an opera dancer by just attending plays or praising the ballets,” said Miss Grandison as they started to move.
“Oh, Ada,” said Miss Finch.
Teresa watched understanding come to Miss Grandison, then finally to Miss Moran. Miss Deeping had clearly seen from the beginning.
“Papa wouldn’t,” began the former. “Oh no.”
Teresa knew nothing of Mr. Grandison, and cared less. But she understood that it was difficult to think of a parent, or a friend’s parent, in these terms. “Nancy likes to talk,” she said. “And not all she says is true.”
“But she knew Papa’s name.” Miss Grandison gazed at her with wide eyes. “How would she, if he hadn’t…”
“He visits the theater,” put in Miss Finch. “He might have accompanied a friend to meet the dancers. Many do.” This was setting aside the reason why, of course.
The other three young ladies looked at their friend. Miss Grandison wished to believe but doubted, Teresa thought. Miss Deeping expected the worst. Miss Moran was simply aghast.
A vivid memory shook Teresa. She knew what it was like to be tossed into a situation about which you knew nothing and make mistakes based on ignorance. She had begun her own disaster in that way. She wanted to help. But what could she say? It was not her responsibility to tell these young ladies what their mothers, and their society, didn’t wish them to know. Indeed, she would be resented if she did. Yes, a twist of history could toss them out of their safe world and into one where no one would care, and help would come in detestable forms that they couldn’t imagine now. But most likely that twist wouldn’t happen. They would never have to learn the hard lessons she could describe. “I expect Nancy used the wrong turn of phrase,” she said.
No one looked convinced. She didn’t blame them. It had been a feeble effort. “She tosses out shocking remarks to start a good argument,” Teresa added. Even Nancy would admit this was true. She loved a dispute, as did almost none of her cohorts.
“She wanted to argue with me?” asked Miss Grandison, looking bewildered.
As well she might.
“So you are a good friend of Lord Macklin?” put in Miss Finch.
Teresa met her cool green eyes. Miss Finch was clever, as all these young ladies seemed to be. She’d chosen the one topic that might steer the conversation away from wandering fathers. Miss Finch would sacrifice Teresa’s comfort for her friends’ in an instant, Teresa noted. She was an interesting girl—an heiress who didn’t fit into society yet seemed to understand more about it than the others. Her question was also a challenge. Which Teresa was well able to meet. “Merely an acquaintance,” Teresa said.
Miss Finch’s amused expression made her look older than her years. “Yet you claim ownership?” she said. A murmur went around the carriage at her directness.
Despite everything Teresa felt a thrill at the idea. But of course the English earl did not belong to her. She gave Miss Finch a raised eyebrow. “A joke,” she replied, trying out her excuse.
“Really? How odd.”
Miss Finch certainly said whatever she pleased. Perhaps that was her difficulty in society. “Does it not fit the English sense of humor?” Teresa asked. “I do not always understand that, I admit.”
“Are the Spanish so different?” asked Miss Moran.
“Perhaps we are,” answered Teresa, recklessly consigning her countrymen to eccentricity.
“And you jest about owning gentlemen,” said Miss Deeping. Her dark eyes were lit with amusement.
Teresa thought again of a wolf pack, hunting as a team. “It will also save Lord Macklin from being besieged backstage at the theater.”
“Besieged?” asked Miss Grandison.
Which brought them back around to where they started. Why was this carriage ride taking so long? “Should we visit again about the disappearances,” she added. Perhaps this was a better reason for her slip? Even though there were to be no more visits.
“We must do that,” replied Miss Deeping.
“We need to know a great deal more,” said Miss Moran.
Teresa felt like an angler who’d hooked a fish. She looked out the window to gauge their progress.
“Lord Macklin deserves happiness,” said Miss Finch.
Really, this red-haired young lady was becoming irritating.
“He’s been so kind,” she added.
“Kind to you?” Teresa couldn’t help asking.
“To Ada,” replied Miss Moran. “She wouldn’t be engaged if he hadn’t helped matters along.”
Miss Grandison nodded, though she still looked distracted.
“And others. He’s been doing quite a bit of matchmaking,” said Miss Deeping.
“He doesn’t like to call it that,” replied Miss Moran.
Miss Deeping nodded. “I know.” There were giggles in the carriage. “He looks positively pained. But when you bring couples together…” She shrugged. “That is the word.”
“And yet he is alone,” said Miss Moran. “His wife died ten years ago.”
The young ladies nodded. Miss Finch gazed at Teresa. “I wonder what would make him happy?” she said.
More than irritating, Teresa thought. A positive menace. She endured their scrutiny—cataloging, evaluating—as if she was a puzzle they were determined to solve. She could have told them that she was not the one to make any man happy, but she did not. She owed no explanations.
“He likes being of use,” said Miss Moran.
Her three friends turned to gaze at her, clearly surprised.
Miss Moran seemed lost in thought. “But not all by himself,” she added. “He likes having…allies.” She noticed the stares. “Or so I observe.” She made the last word sound portentous.
After a moment, Miss Deeping nodded, and then Miss Finch. Teresa wondered what the girl meant by allies. And what about love? It seemed that Lord Macklin had spent time…promoting it for others. What an unusual sort of man. Not that his nature was any of her affair.
“I must talk to Tom,” said Miss Grandison, whose thoughts had clearly been taking their own course. “I think he knows more than he said about Papa.”
The faces of her friends suggested that they agreed with the sentiment and were worried about the plan.
“Your earrings are beautiful,” said Miss Moran to Teresa.
This one didn’t like conflict, Teresa thought.
“I’ve never seen anything quite like them,” she added. “Are they Spanish?”
“No, I design them myself.” Teresa launched into a discussion of the process, in great detail. She saw to it that the topic filled the short remainder of the drive, resisting all interruption. When the young ladies got down together at the Finch house, they appeared more than ready to escape further information on metallurgy. And they’d had no chance to question her further about Lord Macklin. Now she just had to find a way to divert herself, Teresa thought as the carriage took her home.