Her expression said that if I did not, Lady Aline would come after me any way she could.
“I am doing my best to make her happy,” I said. “And I like her very much.”
“Took you a bit, didn’t it?” She gave me a grin, which animated her large face. “Donata is not your usual wilting female. She is robust, and not all gentlemen appreciate that in a lady.”
“I do,” I said.
“I know. That is why I did not kick up a fuss when you proposed to her, even in your straightened circumstances. Donata has plenty, but she needs a good companion to see her through the rest of life. Bless you, my boy.”
Lady Aline’s praise was hard-won, and I warmed under it.
We reached her townhouse not long later. I stayed in the coach until it rolled to the mews behind it, then I took the horse already prepared for me and rode west out of London. At Cranford I gave up the horse for the chaise Donata had caused to be hired for me. We had decided that if Spendlove did see me leaving London and followed, I’d turn back at this milepost and let him wonder.
I was confident I had not been followed. Spendlove and his patrollers would have been watching the area around South Audley Street, not looking for a lone horseman riding away from a lane near Oxford Street. In Cranford saw no one furtive, and none paid much attention to me as I gave up the horse, had a quick bite of bread with ale at the coaching inn, and left for Berkshire.
*** *** ***
I decided to go past Hungerford, all the way to Great Bedwyn, where I wasn’t known, to break my journey and put up at an inn there. It was dawn when the chaise pulled into the town, with bells tolling in churches in Great Bedwyn and up and down the canal. I slept a few hours of the early morning, ate a small breakfast, and set off on a hired horse north toward Froxfield.
The house where Marianne kept David looked quiet. The door was closed, and though smoke rose from the chimney, no little boy played in the snow in front of or behind the house.
Marianne might not be here at all. I’d have wasted a journey and risked being followed to Marianne’s secret refuge.
Banishing these cheerful thoughts, I dismounted the horse, left it to paw for grass beneath the snow, and rapped on the door. It opened a crack, and Maddie, David’s caretaker peered out.
Her expression softened to relief, and she pulled the door wide. “It’s all right,” she called over her shoulder. “It’s that captain.”
David was playing on the floor in front of the settle. He looked up when I came in, his eyes narrowing in puzzlement as he struggled to remember who I was.
Marianne came down the stairs in the corner, heels clicking on the stone steps. “I meant to send word to you,” she said without greeting. “But it was damn difficult to get away from Bath undetected. I finally managed it, thanks to the help of a few friends. We might stay here forever; we haven’t decided.”
I thought by “we” she meant herself and David, and perhaps Maddie, until another woman came down the stairs behind her. This woman was a few years older than Marianne, though her exhausted look and the stoop to her shoulders made her seem almost elderly. She wore a white mobcap and a dress not much different from Maddie’s—likely borrowed from her.
I thought I did not know the woman, until I looked again. And then I stared in astonishment.
“Cease gawping, Lacey,” Marianne said. Her eyes held triumph behind her tiredness. “May I introduce you to Mrs. Collins? Abby, this is my neighbor, Captain Lacey, who has been tramping about England hunting for you. I found her,” Marianne said to me. “No thanks to you.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
I could not cease my staring. I had to plant my stick and lean heavily on it. “Good God.”
Mrs. Collins reached the foot of the stairs and stepped off, becoming the poised, graceful lady I’d watched take so many bows at Drury Lane.
Marianne almost smirked at me. “It seems I had no need to engage you after all, Lacey. Sorry for your trouble.”
“Marianne.” I clutched my walking stick so that I would not stride across the room and shake her. “You must explain what has happened.”
Marianne lapsed into a true smile. “I am sorry; it was too much to resist teasing you. To be fair, Abby found me. She heard I was performing at the theatre in Bath, and she managed to get covertly into my rooms and wait for me. Frightened the life out of me, she did, but then I was overjoyed. Abby disguised herself well—I would not have known her if I’d passed her in the street.”
“Then we likely did, several times.” I gave Mrs. Collins an admiring nod.
“I have had much practice,” Mrs. Collins said. Her voice hinted of the musical quality she used on the stage, but I heard true tiredness in it. “Please do not give me away, Captain Lacey. Marianne has told me much about you, and she claims you are a man of honor.”
“Indeed, I will tell no one where you are,” I said. “Until you wish me to. But you are well? You were not hurt?”
Mrs. Collins drifted across the room to the settle. David gazed up at her without fear. A smile crossed Mrs. Collins’ face, and the look in her eyes was . . . I was not certain. I saw pain there, and resignation, but also fondness.
David stared at her, distracted from playing with his ball. Mrs. Collins sat on the settle, took up the ball and bounced it to him. David laughed and tried to catch it, hurrying after it when he missed.
“I left London of my own accord,” Mrs. Collins said to me. “After the incident with the package, I knew I had to leave. It was not worth my life to stay. I will retire gracefully until the danger is over, then make a return if I feel I can, if anyone will have me.”
“And how can you be certain when the danger has passed?” I asked. “Mr. Perry is dead; is it not safe for you to return to London now?”
Mrs. Collins shook her head. “Mr. Perry was never the danger. At least, not to me. In this instance, he was trying to help me, though I did not like his motives for doing so.”
“And someone killed him.”
“Not I,” Mrs. Collins said quickly. “I did not know of his death until Marianne told me as we traveled here.”
I pulled a kitchen chair from the table and sat down on it near the settle. There was room next to Mrs. Collins, but I, still the admirer, could not bring myself to sit myself down beside her, as though we were friends.
“Please begin from the beginning,” I said. David, watching me, lifted the ball he’d retrieved and put it to his mouth. “What led up to you receiving the device and deciding to go into hiding? You stating you will retire and try to return later are not the words of a woman devoted to the theatre.”
Mrs. Collins gave me a weary smile. “It is difficult for me to stay away, but I was terrified. It began with small things meant to trip me up on stage or be late for my entrances. One of my costumes was found cut to ribbons the day of a performance. Mrs. Wolff had to hurriedly substitute another for me, which tried her sorely, but she finished it, bless her. Letters, unsigned, telling me I had gotten above myself, and needed to watch out. Small things that one can shrug away most of the time, but when they started to come thick and fast, night after night, it was unnerving. I would forget my lines or give a listless performance. The other actors were not happy with me, I can tell you. When the package came, and Coleman said it might have killed me, I knew I had to leave. Someone in that theatre hated me. It made me cold, that hatred.”
Marianne sat herself next to Mrs. Collins. She showed nothing but sympathy, no guilt at all as Mrs. Collins listed the deeds against her.
“You’ve been at Drury Lane how long?” I asked Mrs. Collins. “Six years, is it?”
“About that, yes, when Marianne and I came in from the country. What rubes we were!” She laughed a little. “It was a struggle to find places, but we did.”
“And fortune smiled upon you.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Collins said. “I have been very lucky, I know that.”
Marianne gave a snort. “Much more than luck, Abby. You?
??ve always been a fine actress. I knew that the moment I met you. Why do you think I hung on you so?”
“We helped each other,” Mrs. Collins said. “Marianne has always been good to me. That is why I revealed myself to her when I learned she was in Bath. I’d been growing worried about my safety, hearing Bow Street Runners had come to town. I wanted no one finding me. No one.”
“In this case, the Runners were looking for me,” I said. “They frequently are.”
Mrs. Collins flashed a smile that made her somewhat plain and round face blossom into astonishing beauty. I was reminded of how Mr. Kean could look aged and stooped one moment, tall and robust the next.
“Are you so very dangerous?” Mrs. Collins asked me.
“They believe so, but I assure you, I mean you no harm.”
“I know.” Her eyes were brown . . . or perhaps hazel . . . or gray. I could not tell in this light, and the color seemed to change with her mood. “Marianne says you are to be trusted, and so you are.”
“High praise from Marianne,” I said dryly. “She bestows it on so few. I asked how long you’d been at Drury Lane, because I wondered when the pranks to frighten you began. It was fairly recent, was it not?”
“There are always jealousies and tricks, but you are correct, Captain. These particular problems began last year—I’d say about April or May. We were well into the theatrical season. I did not pay them much mind at first, being far too busy worrying about performing, but as we wound down and started planning the next season they began to happen more often. I grew to dread going into my dressing room each night, wondering what new delight I would find waiting for me.”
“When did you decide to invest money in the theatre?”
I waited, watching her reaction. Mrs. Collins looked puzzled, then her eyes widened in amazement. “About the same time. But good heavens, if anyone was upset by that, why did they not say so? Why would they want to frighten me enough to make me cease acting?” She shook her head. “No, you must be mistaken. Me giving money to the theatre would help it remain open, letting actors keep their roles. With my investment, we would be able to hire more help, including someone for the costuming so Mrs. Wolff can retire. She is wearying as much as she protests, and I would like to see her settled to enjoy the rest of her life. Drury Lane theatre is always teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. Everyone knew I planned to put in my money, and I heard nothing but praise because of it.”
“But with you partly owning the theatre, perhaps you’d never become dislodged.”
“Nonsense. I love the stage, but it is tiring. I had been contemplating taking fewer roles to give myself a bit of rest, and I said so. But now I’m damned if I’ll step aside because someone is trying to frighten me.”
“Good for you, Abby,” Marianne said. “Captain Lacey will find the person out, and you will be safe.”
“You have much faith in me,” I answered. “I am still a long way in the dark.”
Maddie, who had listened to all this while forming a pie crust at her table, broke in. “Depend upon it, Captain, it is an angry rival. Sift through that theatre and you will find her.”
“It is one thing I do not miss,” Marianne said. “The petty anger, the false friendships, broken as soon as you are no longer useful or are seen as a threat. More drama backstage sometimes than on it.”
“Indeed,” Mrs. Collins said, laughing her light laugh. “But to go so far as to send me a box that would explode in my face.” She shivered. “That is a person with no conscience.”
She was right. I rose to my feet. David continued to stare at me over his ball.
“Thank you, Mrs. Collins. I will do my best to find this culprit, because I too am frightened by his audacity. Who knows what he might try next?” I looked at Marianne and made a little nod at the door. “I will not tire you with my presence. Thank you for answering my questions, and I am pleased to see you alive and well. Remain here until I give you word that all is safe.”
Mrs. Collins extended a plump hand to me, which I took, finding it warm and soft. “Well met, Captain. I will heed your advice and remain here, until I hear from you that all is well.”
Her faith in me both buoyed me and worried me. Mrs. Collins looked straight into my eyes, her smile all for me, until I felt I would do anything for her. Such was her power.
Marianne took my unspoken request and followed me outside. “I’ll be staying on with Abby,” she said. “I want to look after her. Tell his nibs.”
The horse had wandered a bit. I tramped after him, Marianne following, but this made certain we were out of earshot of the house. I caught the horse’s reins, trying to decide how to proceed.
“What did you want, Lacey?” Marianne asked. “It is cold out here, so you had better tell me quickly.”
I took my time folding the reins in my hand. Only a fool wrapped reins around his hand or wrist—if the horse bolted, it guaranteed a broken wrist at best, or for the fool to be dragged to death at worst. “We found the man who made the device delivered to Mrs. Collins,” I said. “Denis found him, I should say. His name is Ridgley. He claimed a woman hired him to fashion the parcel.” I at last looked up at her. “A woman who closely resembled you.”
Marianne’s eyes widened. “Resembled me? What on earth are you talking about?”
“He described you. Golden curls, blue eyes, pointed face that looked girlish, and he mentioned a gown, the one with the cloth Grenville brought from Constantinople.”
Marianne’s mouth had dropped open as I spoke, and now she drew a sharp breath. “Good Lord. But the woman he described is not me, despite the gown. I’d never dream of hurting Abby. Where is this Mr. Ridgley? Once he looks at me, he’ll know his mistake.”
He is no longer a threat, Denis had said. “I’m afraid he’s dead. I would not have wanted you near him, in any case. Ridgley was very odd, almost inhuman. He might not have admitted one way or another whether you were the person who hired him, even if he saw you.”
“But you believed him. I see it in your face.” Marianne pointed a stiff finger at me. “That is why you rushed out here to Berkshire to find me, is it not? You had no idea Abby was here.”
I gave her a conceding nod. “I admit, I was worried when I first heard the explanation, but I was unwilling to take him at his word. Mr. Denis did not believe it either. He posited that another actress could have pretended to be you, and I am inclined to agree.”
“Well, that is a relief. I would have liked a little more confidence from you, but I know you have a suspicious nature. Believe me, I would never hurt Abby. She was a friend to me when others would not be.”
“I do believe you. I did not only come here to confront you with that news—I wanted to be sure you were safe. The Runners are still nosing about, and whoever is trying to hurt Mrs. Collins has not been found. Lying low here with her is best.”
“The Runners.” She made a derisive gesture. “The Runners never did a thing to find Abby or discover who wanted to hurt her. None cared but me.”
“And me,” I said. “Do not lump me in with Spendlove, I beg you.”
“What about him? I notice you have not mentioned my protector in all this. Did he believe I’d hired a man to make an incendiary device? I see in your face that he did. You are terrible at lying.” Marianne balled her fists, her eyes filling with anger and hurt. “Damn him.”
“He believed it only as long as I did. The news was a shock, Marianne. Especially when Ridgley described what you wore. The dress is distinctive and unique.”
“And a description of it was printed in all the newspapers at the time. Everyone knows every gown Mr. Grenville’s current courtesan wears. And fair hair and the childish look is all the fashion. Just see the artificial curls on your ladies of the ton.”
“Even so, you cannot blame him,” I said. “Even I hesitated at first, and I have known you a long time.”
Marianne paced agitatedly, her boots leaving prints in the thin snow. “He should have had no hesit
ation at all. Devil take him.” She swung to face me. “Please inform Mr. Grenville that I will not be returning to his house. I will leave all the jewelry and all the money, not to mention the lovely gowns, and I will find some way to repay him for what he has spent on my son. But I do not wish to see him again. I’ll stay here with David as long as I can and then return to other lodgings in London. Did you also take my old rooms at Ma Beltan’s? If so, I’ll let them from you, Lacey.”
“For God’s sake—”
“No, do not try to reason with me. I am not in the least reasonable at this moment. You may tell him from me that I have tired of him never trusting me. He either takes me as I am or not at all. I care nothing for how rich he is.”
I held up my hand as Marianne started pacing again. “I am not your go-between. If you wish to tell Grenville of your disappointment, you must tell him yourself. My interest is to clear up this problem and return Mrs. Collins safely to London.”
“But that is all I ever wanted. And now I am accused of hiring strange men to make dangerous packages, and the man who is supposed to be my protector believes it. I am the fool. I ought to have looked for Abby on my own and never mentioned anything to you gentlemen.”
“But you did ask me, and I am trying to help,” I said. “Please push your indignation aside for the moment, and let us solve this.”
“Do not bleat to me about pushing aside anger. That is rich, coming from you. Your temper has gotten you into more trouble than any of my piques ever did.”
“I know that, but it is only because you have large blue eyes and can make yourself appealing when you want to. Now, please think. What other woman could have pretended to be you to hire Mr. Ridgley? Who in the company could have done this?”
Marianne’s brows drew together. Wind began to stir the trees and the halo of curls around her face. “I do not know,” she said after a time. Her voice had lost its edge, and she spoke wearily. “I told you, even if Abby quits the theatre altogether, no one could guess who in the company would take her roles. She had no understudy yet for this year. Mrs. Carter, the other principal, already has plenty to do. The committee might choose a lady from the chorus, but more than likely, they’d hire someone from the provinces or a principal from another company. We can never be certain what decision the committee will make.”