A Disappearance in Drury Lane (16 page)

“Good Lord. Mr. Perry.” I had to rise and pace. “There cannot be two such men. But why would he pay Mrs. Collins’ rent? Did he come here to find her and then needed an excuse for asking at her rooms of her? Rather expensive excuse, I’d think. Or perhaps he wanted to maintain the fiction that she is living here, when she is, in fact, dead? Or instead of being a villain, perhaps
he
is hiding her, paying the rent for her to keep everything seeming as usual.” I shook my head, still pacing. “No, he must be a villain in this. He exploited Felicity and had me beaten. I refuse to look upon Mr. Perry as any sort of benefactor.”

“Not to mention he lost you your walking stick,” Bartholomew said.

“And for that, of course, I shall never forgive him.”

Bartholomew peered at me to see whether I was joking. I wasn’t, really—my fury at Perry had not abated.

“Would you like me to go back and ask more questions, sir?”

“No.” My leg began to twinge, and I sat down again. “I do not want Spendlove’s man or anyone else getting wind of our inquiries. Thank you, Bartholomew. You have been most helpful.”

Bartholomew looked much more cheerful than he had this morning. “You’re welcome, sir. Now then, her ladyship instructed me to have you take a light luncheon and a bath before your afternoon. She said she had a long day and evening planned.”

I tried not to grimace as I went upstairs, but truth to be told, I enjoyed bathing. Hot water on a cold day felt good to my limbs. I remembered the days, not so long ago, when I’d go for weeks to months without immersing myself. Such a thing was not practical in the army. But while I’d been sweating in India and again on the Peninsula, Mr. George Brummell and Mr. Lucius Grenville had made cleanliness fashionable. All gentlemen must now separate themselves from the great unwashed with large quantities of soap and water.

Bartholomew prepared my bath in the dressing room near the fireplace there, and by the time I was as clean as could be, Donata was out of bed and dressed, ready to begin the social whirl of Bath. We’d begin in the Upper Assembly Rooms, she informed me.

“We aren’t likely to find many we know here,” she said as Bartholomew put the finishing touches on my toilette. “Bath is hopelessly outdated these days, though my set does make its way down here for the quiet. But not usually until later in the Season. Never mind, we shall walk about and be stared at.”

An activity not to my taste. But it would look odd, Donata said, if we kept ourselves to ourselves and never went out. People would remark upon it. In order to attract the least amount of attention, it seemed, we must proceed to show ourselves as much as possible.

Grenville joined us for the outing. We all rode together to the assembly rooms in Donata’s hired landau, and all and sundry did indeed stare when we descended. Donata took it in stride, used to being watched, as did Grenville. Gabriella was too interested to notice the scrutiny, but I was painfully aware of heads turning when we passed, the murmurs that began behind hands.

I especially did not like how they stared at Gabriella. Donata declared that because Gabriella was not out yet, she would not attend any of the grand balls in the evening, though taking tea with us and visiting the sights of Bath would be fine. However, I disliked the curious stares turned her way, some of which bore rude speculation.

“Best we let everyone know she is under my wing,” Donata said in her practical manner. “I adore quashing gossip. Leave it to me.” Donata sailed off with Gabriella to the tea room, Gabriella giving me a rueful look behind her.

“Do you regret your rush to the altar now?” Grenville asked as he and I moved through the Octagon Room toward the card room.

“Not a rush. Took too long for my liking.”

“You could have remained as lovers in plenty of comfort, you know.” He gave me an amused look. “No need at all for matrimony.”

“I disagree. My rooms were devilish
un
comfortable, and I didn’t wish to embarrass Donata any longer trying to discreetly leave her house in the early hours of the morning.”

Grenville shook his head. “Your attitude is deplorable, Lacey. All gentlemen are supposed to bewail putting their head in the noose. You will make the rest of us look shabby.”

I chose not to answer his teasing. Waking up next to Donata this morning had been a fine experience. I’d let myself be surrounded by her warmth, thinking of nothing else, a thing I hadn’t been able to do in a long time.

“Other gentlemen should choose their wives more carefully then,” I said. As we strolled, I told him in a low voice what Bartholomew had discovered at Mrs. Collins’ rooms this morning.

“Bad, that,” Grenville said when I’d finished. “We must find this Mr. Perry and have a few words with him.”

“Yes, indeed.” I touched my temple, where the bruises Perry’s ruffians had given me were still healing.

“You should put Felicity to the question. She knows more than she is telling.”

“Perhaps.”

Grenville’s eyes narrowed at my abrupt answer. “You are too soft on her, Lacey. You have sympathy for her, as do I, but Felicity is a hard and ruthless young woman.”

“Not her fault. Her life has made her so.”

“True, but that does not make her less ruthless. Be careful of her.”

I knew Grenville was correct. He was also correct that my soft heart for waifs and strays could lead me to trouble, and had more than once in the past.

We left the Octagon Room for the wide card room, which was located at the very end of the building. Quite a few gentlemen had already gathered here to play whist and other games. Some players focused with vast concentration on their cards; others merely held them while they talked to other gentlemen.

Grenville and I joined a game of whist. The gentlemen at the table were a bit taken aback to have such a famous personage as Grenville sit down with them, but when Grenville wished, he could put others much at their ease. He had little difficulty introducing the topic of the theatre. He and the other two gentlemen discussed favorite plays, then actors and actresses, while I played cards in silence and listened.

Kean was much admired at this table, and so was Mrs. Collins. “My wife loves the woman,” the gentleman on my right said. “We must see all her plays. She’s quite comely still. Mrs. Collins, that is.” He guffawed. “And my wife, I should hasten to add, since she is in the next room and liable to hear of it.”

Grenville gave his joke an appreciative smile. “Does Mrs. Collins come to Bath?” he asked. “Or has she grown too lofty for anything but London?”

“She played here last year, early in the spring, a few performances only,” the same gentleman answered. “But I haven’t seen her name advertised anywhere this year. My lady wife would inform me, I assure you.”

The other gentleman at the table wasn’t as interested in the theatre, but he too agreed that Mrs. Collins had appeared in no production here since the previous year.

We played whist with other gentlemen after the first two, and then Grenville and I split to play piquet, a one-on-one game, with others, but we’d learned nothing further by the end of the afternoon.

“Conclusion,” Grenville said, disgruntled. “She isn’t here. We made the trip for nothing.”

“Finding nothing is part of an answer,” I said. “And Gabriella and Marianne are enjoying themselves.”

Grenville shot me a look. “Married life has positively cheered you, Lacey. Do not let it ruin that fine pessimism you’ve cultivated.”

“I have plenty of pessimism, my friend. I am becoming more and more convinced that Abigail Collins is dead.”

I broke off, rather rudely, but I’d spied a gentleman staring at me—one who’d been watching me all afternoon in the card room and pretending not to. He looked too respectable to be connected with Spendlove or Bow Street, or even Denis. He was the epitome of respectability, in fact.

Not as tall as I, the gentleman was thin but not spare and wore finely tailored clothes. His hands were well kept, his hair dark, his voice moderated. He’d played quietly and counted out coins when he’d lost without making a show of it. Not a gentleman to stand out in a crowd; I’d hardly have noticed him if he hadn’t been trying so determinedly to study me.

He was watching me now. I decided to confront him, but when I started toward him, he abruptly turned and exited into a courtyard.

I chose not to chase him. If society in Bath at this time was as sparse as Donata claimed, I’d no doubt see him again.

Grenville looked puzzled, but I decided not to enlighten him. I might be mistaken—the man hadn’t the look of a patroller, who would likely not have been admitted into the assembly rooms anyway. I’d keep my eye out.

We walked back to the foyer at the time we’d agreed upon to meet Donata and Gabriella. Gabriella had been quite delighted by the tea and the company, and she chattered about it as we strolled together to gather our things.

As we neared the front doors, I saw my gentleman again. He touched the arm of a woman whose back was to me, her figure hidden by a long pelisse, her high-crowned bonnet keeping me from seeing her face.

But her stance and manner were familiar. When she turned her head slightly to listen to her gentleman, the curve of her cheek was more familiar still.

I missed a step, catching myself on the walking stick before I stumbled. Donata put her hand on my arm in concern, then she saw me staring and turned her head to see what held my attention. But several people had moved between us and the couple by then, and when the crowd cleared, they were gone.

“Gabriel?” Donata asked. “Are you well?”

I nodded. “Of course. I am still a bit clumsy on this new stick.” I made a show of adjusting it. “What is next on our exhaustive tour of Bath?”

Chapter Twelve

Several evenings into our Bath journey, having learned nothing at all, I started to feel my old melancholia creep in. Donata was receiving callers below, but I had excused myself to write letters in the nook of our bedchamber, or at least to pretend to write them.

Melancholia touched me whenever I felt ineffectual. I had started out looking for Mrs. Collins as a favor to Marianne, and I had learned nothing other than what Mrs. Wolff, Marianne, and Maddie had told me. I’d been beaten on the street and confined, followed about by a Bow Street Runner, and had traveled a hundred or so miles to Bath with little to show for it.

If Abigail Collins had come to Bath anytime since she’d left London, someone would have remarked upon it. I planned to ask again at the ball we attended tonight, but I was not optimistic. Three possibilities existed: Mrs. Collins was here and hiding very well; she was not here at all and never had come here this winter; or she was dead.

I wrote a letter to Sir Montague Harris, a London magistrate I knew and trusted. I asked him to look for one Mr. John Perry and described him, stating all he’d done. I now had the means to prosecute him for assault and abduction, if I could convince Felicity to be a witness for me.

There was a rub—Felicity. I had no way of knowing where she’d gone or even whether she’d stayed in London. Or perhaps she’d been in cahoots with Perry all along, though why she’d help me escape if so was beyond me. But Felicity was a complicated young woman, and I had no way of knowing what her motives were.

If Abigail Collins was alive, she was still in danger, and I couldn’t find her. I longed to stride through the town searching for her, but Spendlove’s man followed us everywhere, and I had to be cautious.

I finished my letter and sealed it then remained at the desk, staring in front of me. The daylight outside faded, until I sat in the dark, the flicker of fire on the hearth the only light.

A pair of arms came around me, and a clean scent enveloped me. I closed my eyes as my wife surrounded me with her warmth.

“The cook is having a light supper prepared,” she said. “Before the ball.”

I didn’t move. Having to dress to go out into the light and noise seemed too much effort.

Donata’s lips brushed my cheek. “We have a little time before then.”

I turned, put my arms around her, and pulled her down into my lap. My melancholia dissolved as we became man and woman, nothing more. The bed was not far, and the next hour was spent in much more pleasant contemplation.

*** *** ***

The subscription ball this night was in the Lower Assembly Rooms. We arrived in style in Donata’s landau, which pulled up near the end of the Parades to let us out. Donata’s overly high feathered headdress had nearly crushed against the coach’s roof and tossed about in the wind as she descended. But feathers must be worn, she’d said, and as we entered the rooms, I saw that most of the ladies of Bath agreed with her. We were in a sea of plumage so vast I pitied the peacocks and other birds that had been plucked to grace the ladies’ heads.

Donata’s acquaintances swept her away quickly, and I retreated to find the card rooms. Gentlemen and their wives, it seemed, spent almost no time together at these gatherings. The practice made me wonder why they bothered to marry at all, but I well knew that most society marriages were arranged to keep money and property intact. Gentlemen tolerated their wives, as Felicity had posited, taking mistresses if they wanted a woman’s company. When a gentleman was in love with his wife, it was remarked upon, and said gentleman teased. I’d grown up with these practices but always thought them daft.

The ballroom of the Lower Assembly Rooms was very long—nearly ninety feet, I’d read in the literature. It had a row of large windows, dark now, looking out toward the river, and enormous crystal chandeliers soaring overhead. The room glittered and glowed, light falling on the ladies’ jewels and the shimmering rainbow of their gowns.

I headed for the game rooms, where I could find cards, backgammon, or chess, as I liked. But I was already tiring of the fashionable life, where a man did little more than imbibe brandy and wager all his money at games, while his wife dressed in feathers and floated about out of his sight. Too dull for me, but I’d always preferred action to the sedentary life.

I had nearly reached the card room, when I glimpsed the lady I’d seen in the Upper Rooms on our first afternoon. Tonight she was in a silver gray ball gown that hung low on her shoulders and wore a waving feathered headdress similar to Donata’s. Again her back was to me, but when she turned her head to speak to the young woman next to her, I knew her.