“But anger and jealousy are not necessarily rational. Perhaps whoever it is has grown tired of seeing Mrs. Collins succeed again and again. She decided to put an end to Mrs. Collins’ career, whether that end benefited her or not.”
“True. But I am no longer close to the theatre, am I? There might be a new actress I know nothing about who is doing these things. When I was there I didn’t pay much attention to the rivalries, I must admit. I did my job, collected my pay, and tried to find a gent who would give me more. Acting can be a tedious chore, if you must know. Exhausting. Why so many wish to take it up is beyond my understanding.”
“Then why did you take it up?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“I told you before, to make a bob or two. And people in strolling players don’t ask nosy questions. Well . . . they do, but if you don’t want to answer, they make something up about you and leave you be.”
“Did you join them because of David?”
Marianne looked surprised. “No. David came along after that. If you must poke your nose into my affairs, I will tell you it is because of David that I say Abby was a friend to me when others wouldn’t be. She stood by me when I had David, and she helped me take care of him—helped me set him up with Maddie, in fact. Others wanted me out of the players, wanted Abby to say I should be left by the side of the road, but she never did. She was why I survived, why David is alive and well today. I can never, never repay her for that.”
Tears filled Marianne’s eyes as she looked at the house in the clearing, smoke drifting from its neat chimney.
“Why did Mrs. Collins, in particular, stand by you?” I asked. “What is she to you?”
Marianne laughed a little as she turned back to me. “A friend. A dear, dear friend. You will probably never understand, Lacey, with your overblown sense of honor, so I will tell you that what she did for me was extraordinary. Her own husband fathered my child. Yes, you heard me aright. Mr. Collins came to me for comfort when Abby was too busy being an actress for him. David was the result. And Abby, instead of condemning me as she ought, remained my friend and helped me through it all, especially when David turned out . . . as he is. She loved me better than she loved her husband, you see, which enraged Mr. Collins to no end. Not in a hermaphroditic sort of way, I am sorry to disappoint you, but a love like that of sisters, or even a mother for a daughter. She’s an astonishing woman, is Abby.”
I listened in silence, my respect for both women rising as she spoke. Marianne regarded me with a defiant look, as though waiting for me to condemn her for the adultery, but I could not. She had done what she had done for reasons only she and Mrs. Collins understood. My own past was not blameless, so I had no business judging her. The affairs I’d conducted after my first wife had left me, as I sought solace for my torn-out heart, had not always been well-done.
Also, as she told me the tale, an idea began to stir through my morass of emotions. I touched the thought, waiting for it to wriggle away, but it did not.
“Rivals,” I said. “Some never leave it behind, my wife tells me.”
“Is that all you have to say?” Marianne wiped her eyes with her fingers. “And me spilling all to you.”
I drew a long breath, the fog clearing from my brain. “I believe you, Marianne,” I said. “You had nothing to do with the persecution of Mrs. Collins. Nothing at all.”
“Thank you very much. I am pleased you have listened at last.”
“Some women are obsessed with rivalry, Donata tells me,” I said, remembering my wife’s voice ringing with conviction. I repeated her words. “Ladies of the ton wake in the morning planning how they will best their enemies that day.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” Marianne said. “Perhaps they ought to take a brisk walk and feel better.”
Rivals. Actresses, someone pretending to be Marianne, Coleman on hand to render the parcel harmless.
What result had come about with Abigail in hiding? The theatre company not only had to replace her with another actress, but her scheme of investing in the theatre went away. If Mrs. Collins bought into the theatre, she would have a stronger say on who came in, and also who went out.
I opened my eyes, realizing I’d closed them. Marianne was staring at me, her face pink from the cold. My hands were growing numb despite my gloves, the horse prodding me gently with his warm nose. “I must leave for London,” I said abruptly. “Tell Mrs. Collins good-bye, and that I will do my best to restore her to London.”
Marianne raised her brows. “If you say so. I see the fire in your eyes, Lacey. What the devil are you about to do?”
I led the horse to the large stump in the clearing I used as a mounting block and hauled myself onto his back. I looked down at Marianne who was watching me in bewilderment, the vestiges of her tears lingering.
“I need to ask a gentleman about a box.”
Marianne continued to look perplexed. I nudged the patient horse forward and rode for the track out of the clearing, leaving Marianne and the cozy cottage behind.
Chapter Twenty-Three
When I reached Drury Lane theatre late that evening, the company was between performances. A lighter drama had just finished, and Othello would commence next.
As before, the theatre was bustling—actors, dressers, scene builders, stage hands, and others whose function I had no idea of rushed through the corridors. I moved through them all the best I could, back to the room where Hannah Wolff did her sewing.
This chamber was no less chaotic, with piles of clothing rising around Hannah like islands from the sea. Two women sifted through the costumes, dropping clothing here and there. A man in a close-fitting tunic and hose, his Shakespearean garb incongruous on the modern sofa, lounged near Hannah to talk—mostly complaints, I heard as I walked in and observed the clutter.
The actor spied me and broke off his tirade about an actress treading on his lines, and the chatter dropped away. Hannah turned her face to the door, though her hands never ceased moving the needle through fabric. “What is the matter? Who has come?”
“Mrs. Wolff,” I said. “It is Captain Lacey. I must speak to Mr. Coleman.”
“He’s run off his feet, Captain. Poor man. Wait until after the performance. Enjoy it. Mr. Kean is brilliant.”
“I’m afraid this cannot wait. Tell me where he is, and I will fetch him.”
“I will,” the actor said. “Dull as church, waiting for Ma Wolff to finish my rags.”
He shot off the insult as he got lazily to his feet and brushed past without looking at me. In spite of his fine Elizabethan doublet, his face was pockmarked, his teeth crooked and broken. Fine feathers on insolent ugliness.
“He’s a pig,” one of the actresses said to Hannah, loud enough for the departing actor to hear. “Do not heed him.” She lifted what looked like a long piece of embroidered silk from a pile and walked uncaringly out of the room, the second lady drifting behind her.
I closed the door on them and came closer to Hannah. Her hands stilled as she tried to hear where I moved. “Do not tell me Mr. Coleman has done something dreadful,” she said.
“I am not certain yet. But I very much fear I have something unpleasant to say.”
“You leave her be,” Coleman said behind me.
He’d yanked open the door, and now the giant man walked in, his large fists held at his sides.
“Mr. Coleman . . .”
I got no further. He advanced on me, his face mottled with anger. “Leave her be. She told me you’d been coming around. She don’t know no more about Mrs. Collins. She’s tired and needs to be left alone.”
“Never mind, Mr. Coleman,” Hannah said quickly. “The captain said he needs to speak to you.”
“Why? What does he want?”
Hannah looked more worried. “I do not know. Let him speak.”
Coleman stood between me and the door. He was much larger than I was and whole where I was lame. Even with my stick, I doubted I’d best him in a fight. I doubted Perry would have, either.
I ought to have waited to bring Pomeroy with me, but I hadn’t been certain, and Pomeroy would have arrested them both before they could say a word.
I decided to plunge in. “Mr. Coleman, when the incendiary device arrived here for Mrs. Collins, you knew exactly what to do. You knew it was deadly dangerous.”
“I told you,” Coleman said, scowling. “I smelled the gunpowder. I knew it from the army.”
“I think you knew exactly what the box was,” I said. “And what it would do. You’d thought it over and decided it was too dangerous and might hurt others, Mrs. Wolff included. So when the parcel came, you took it away from Abigail, doused it in water, and tore it apart.”
Coleman stared at me, his lips parted as his face grew red.
“Coleman, what is the matter?” Hannah asked. Her mending slipped to the floor as her hands moved restlessly. “What are you accusing him of, Captain?”
I let my voice gentle. I hated to say this, but it must be done. “I am accusing him of nothing. I believe that you, Mrs. Wolff, commissioned the device and had it delivered here, with the express purpose of hurting or even killing Mrs. Collins. Coleman knew, and knew it was wrong. But the device helped anyway—Mrs. Collins fled, taking her plans for investing in the theatre and her threat to you away.”
“No,” Coleman said wretchedly. “You leave her be.”
“What are you saying?” Hannah cried, her worry increasing. “I am a blind woman, Captain. How would I go about procuring such services, when I cannot even find my own way in the street?”
“You could have asked any number of people to help you. The theatre is full of actresses who could stand to make an extra coin. Was having a woman got up to look like Marianne your idea? You could easily have made the costume—you have much skill, as long as someone gives you pieces that go together. You told me so.”
Coleman advanced on me. “You leave her be.”
“Coleman, no!”
But Coleman had already begun. He came at me, his big hands reaching for me. I stumbled as I scrambled to get away from him, meeting a pile of clothing on one of the chairs, and I fell to one knee.
I was tired from my journey, my bad leg aching from the long ride in the chaise. I did not want to fight, not now, but Coleman didn’t care. He came after me, swinging one colossal fist at my face. I managed to block the blow and countered with one of my own.
Coleman’s fists were huge and heavy. His bad breath washed over me as I twisted away, bringing up my walking stick.
Coleman grabbed the stick in both hands. I fought to keep hold of it. Hannah was shouting at us, pleading for us to stop.
I wrenched the stick from Coleman’s grasp and brought it around. The stick struck Coleman in the side, and he grunted. He swung away, coming at me with fists again.
I rolled out of his way, using the seconds before he could change direction to haul myself to my feet. Coleman had strength and the might of a charging bull, but I had more agility, despite my injured knee. As he ran at me, I sidestepped and brought the stick down on his back.
Luck helped me then, because Coleman slipped on clothing I’d strewn over the floor. He went down on his knees, and I fell with him, pressing the brass handle of the walking stick to his throat. I was breathing hard, sweat running down my back in this warm room.
“Tell me the truth,” I said.
Coleman’s growl of anger faded to a pleading moan. “Leave her be. She never meant it.”
“Coleman?” Hannah’s gasp was loud behind me. “What are you saying?”
I saw Mrs. Wolff from the corner of my eye, on her feet in front of the sofa, but afraid to move from that spot.
“She didn’t know what she was doing,” Coleman said, tears in his voice. “Please don’t let the magistrates take her.”
“You think I had that device sent to Abby? Bleedin’ ’ell. Why the devil should I?”
I answered. “Because you stood to lose if Mrs. Collins invested in the theatre. It only occurred to me this morning that there could be a reason besides an actress ridding herself of a rival for a person wanting Mrs. Collins to go away. Marianne pointed out that even if Mrs. Collins departed, it did not necessarily mean the rival would acquire her roles. Mrs. Collins wanted you to retire, didn’t she? And you were afraid she’d drive you away from your beloved theatre. So she had to go.”
Hannah firmed her mouth, her helpless look vanishing. “You can never understand, Captain. Since my accident I have had nothing. Nothing. Only this piecemeal work of sewing costumes, the only way I am allowed to stay in this place that is my home. The theater was the only thing in my life, acting in my blood. I made Abigail Collins what she is, made the world see her greatness. And she thinks it’s a kindness to send me home, to retire me, as though I am a horse what needs to be sent out to pasture. My disgusting husband, Mr. Perry, was all for it. He’d make sure I had to go back to him once I was sent away from here. He wanted to go in with Abby to invest a large amount of money, so he could have a piece of the theatre, so he too could tell me where to go and what to do. I’d been able to elude him here, but he was going to take even this sanctuary from me.”
“And so you killed him,” I said.
“I did not. I am a blind old woman, as I said.”
I looked down at Coleman who knelt on the floor with his fists clenched, tears running down his face. I had traveled to London thinking this man had it in him to kill at Mrs. Wolff’s command, but now that the goliath was sobbing on the floor, I was not so certain.
“Why did you think Hannah was the culprit?” I asked him.
“I don’t know,” Coleman said. “I was afraid. Mrs. Wolff was so angry at Mrs. Collins, I thought she were doing all the bad things to her. Mrs. Wolff knows this theatre like a mum would know her babe. She could have done the tricks, easy.”
“Oh, Coleman.” Hannah moved slowly to him. I let her come, watching her, though she still held a pair of shears. “Have you that little faith in me?”
“You have a temper. I’ve seen you.”
“I do. It is true.” Hannah stopped and smiled, her gaze remote. “When you saw me play Lady Mac and Gertrude, Captain, I was a haughty creature indeed. I was the highest actress in this company, and I wielded my power like a little empress. I made all dance to my bidding. I raged if I did not have my own way. I was awful. But God punished me. He sent Mr. Perry to me, took away my husband, and took away my sight. I had my comeuppance. Mr. Perry conspiring with Abigail to chuck me out was the final blow.”
I moved the walking stick’s handle from Coleman’s throat and took a step back. Coleman remained where he was, not moving to rise or do anything else. “I thought she’d gone too far,” he said. “So I doused the box, to make sure.”
“And Mr. Perry?” I asked.
“I never went nigh him.”
“I told you,” Hannah said. “He came home with me that night and stayed for supper. He never left.”
No, he hadn’t. Two witnesses had confirmed it.
I studied Coleman, then Hannah, then Coleman again. I’d been wrong. Or had I been? My explanation was correct; I knew it, but I did not have all the pieces.
“I did not want to believe what I feared,” I said to Hannah, who stood unmoving in the middle of the room. “I did not want to send a woman I admired so much to the gallows.”
“But you would do it,” Hannah said. “I hear that in your voice. I did not spend a lifetime learning how to imitate other people to not understand what sort of man you are.”
I gave her a bow, though I knew she could not see it. “I would have let it go if the prankster had stopped at trying to ruin Mrs. Collins’ performances. But then I met Mr. Ridgley. I cannot hold blameless anyone who would employ such a monster.”
Hannah looked mystified, and Coleman clearly did not know who I meant.
“Mr. Perry is dead,” Hannah said. “I admit I am glad of that, but I will say again that I never meant Abby any harm. I am put out with her, but I can argue with her an
d make her see my way. Mr. Perry was another matter. I still hope you discover who has tried to hurt Abby and bring her back again. Even if she doesn’t understand me.”
Hannah was half turned to me, the shears held loosely in her hand. Her face was troubled, her brows drawn.
Coleman crawled to her. He reached Hannah and wrapped his arms around her legs, burying his face in her skirts. It was a bizarre sight, watching the huge man weep on the small woman, but I knew who had the power in this room. It was not Coleman, and it was not me.
“My apologies,” I said, feeling awkward. “I did not mean to upset you.”
“Find Abby,” Hannah said, stroking Coleman’s shaking back. “And then you’ll understand.”
I had found her. But I would not betray her whereabouts to Mrs. Wolff and Coleman until I was certain Mrs. Collins was no longer in danger.
Without taking leave, I left the room. I closed the door on the tableau of Coleman kneeling at Hannah Wolff’s feet, she looking down on him like a sad Madonna.
I made my way out of the back of the theatre, bypassing the rushing actors, including Mr. Kean, who strode past me without ever noticing me. I walked through the back passage, cold and exhausted, to Russel Street.
“Sir?”
A familiar blond giant loomed out of the fog, his light hair beading with moisture. He’d been lounging next to a carriage and a coachman, which I recognized as belonging to Lady Breckenridge.
“You all right, sir?” Bartholomew asked me. “Didn’t know you was back.”
“I am,” I said. “I think.”
“Your lady wife is here,” Bartholomew said. “She’s up in her box. Shall you go in, sir?” He looked over my travel-rumpled clothes and mussed hair, raising one brow. “Or would you prefer to retire home?”