A Disappearance in Drury Lane (17 page)

I was about ten feet behind her when I halted. I prayed she and her daughter would walk on and never notice me, but it was not to be. When the lady turned all the way around to answer another greeting, she saw me.

Words died on her lips, and her eyes widened, but she quickly mastered herself. She finished the greeting, kissing a woman on the cheek, shaking a gentleman’s hand, smiling all the while. Then her acquaintances moved off, and Lydia Westin faced me again.

I had not seen her in a year and a half, not since the hot summer when I’d helped her discover who had murdered her husband, a colonel in a cavalry regiment. She’d left London as the year cooled, heading for the Continent with her daughter. I had assumed she’d remain there.

Lydia couldn’t look away from me, nor I from her. The younger woman with her glanced at me then Lydia, her brows coming together in puzzlement.

Lydia, who’d always been attuned to social niceties, seemed to realize she couldn’t cut me dead in the middle of the Lower Assembly Rooms, not without causing an enormous ripple of gossip. She pasted on a smile and closed the few steps between us.

“Captain Lacey, is it? A surprise to see you in Bath.”

“Mrs. Westin.” I took her hand, barely applying pressure to her fingers, and bowed. “A surprise indeed.”

I released her immediately, and she took her hand back quickly but without snatching. “My daughter, Miss Westin,” Lydia said, indicating the young woman at her side. Miss Westin curtsied prettily, and I gave her a polite bow. Chloe Westin had dark hair and blue eyes as Lydia did, though her face had a somewhat different shape from her mother’s, the influence of her now-dead father. I hadn’t met Chloe ere this, she having been sent to the country before I’d begun my investigation into her father’s death. But I’d heard much about her from Lydia.

Lydia’s assessing gaze took in my new suit and well-polished boots, and concluded, rightly so, that my circumstances had changed. She did not ask, however, because this would be both impolite and imply that our relations were still close. We’d shared an intimacy—we’d been lovers, not to mince words—but that had come to an abrupt end.

“My daughter is to be married,” Lydia said. She caught my eye, both of us knowing how things had ended with Chloe’s previous fiancé. “To Mr. Fuller, a charming and very respectable young man. Are you acquainted with him?”

“No, I am afraid not.” I bowed again to Chloe. “My felicitations, Miss Westin.”

She smiled, her happiness genuine, I was pleased to see. “Thank you, sir.”

The gentleman I remembered eyeing me so sharply in the Upper Rooms a few afternoons ago appeared at Lydia’s side. I doubted he was Chloe’s fiancé, he being closer to my age than hers, but then, one never knew with society marriages.

“Pardon my manners,” Lydia said, though she’d been nothing but scrupulously polite. “May I introduce Mr. Harmon? This is Captain Lacey, who was helpful . . . in discovering what happened to Colonel Westin.” She stumbled a little over the words, as though deciding exactly what to say as she spoke. Then she lifted her head, becoming once more the elegant and proud woman I’d first met on a half-constructed bridge in darkness and rain. “Mr. Harmon is my husband.”

I could not stop my gaze flashing to the man again. He looked back at me in defiance, attempting but failing to mask his anger with neutral politeness.

He held out a rigid hand. “Well met, Captain.” From the look in Mr. Harmon’s eyes, he knew the full tale of how I’d helped Lydia, or at least most of it. I wondered how much Lydia had left out. But Mr. Harmon seemed to understand what my relations with her had been, because his eyes held both wariness and a warning.

“And you, sir,” I said. Our handshake was as brief as possible.

The only one oblivious to the tension was Chloe, who gave me another smile. “What brings you to Bath, Captain?”

“Honeymoon,” I said, and wondered a second later why that had come out of my mouth. “I married very recently.”

“Ah.” This announcement pleased Mr. Harmon very much, though Lydia’s eyes flickered. “Then you have my congratulations, sir.”

“And mine,” Lydia said, her words bumping into her husband’s.

“Is your wife here?” Chloe craned to look around, trying to decide which of the ladies around us belonged to me.

“Indeed she is, but I’ve already—”

My quip that I’d already lost her in the crowd cut off as Donata stepped to my side, touching her fingers to my arm. She gave Lydia a cool look that held the smallest required politeness.

“Mrs. Westin,” Donata said. “And Miss Westin. I’d supposed you’d left us for the Continent for good.”

“As did I,” Lydia said, her voice as controlled as Donata’s. “My husband persuaded me to return to England.”

“Best thing,” Donata said. “Chloe will want her fellow countrymen.” The warm look she turned on Chloe was genuine. “I heard of your engagement, my dear. My felicitations.”

“Thank you,” Chloe said. She did see the tension between the four of us now but was perplexed by it.

“And to you,” Donata went on to Lydia. “It seems matrimony is in the air all around. Are you living in Bath now?”

“For the Season,” Lydia said. “And then we’ll go to our home in Devon. I find I prefer life in the provinces.”

“A very sensible arrangement.” Donata moved her hand in her indifferent manner. “London is not for the faint of heart. I do hope you enjoy Bath. The orchestra at the Pump Rooms is quite fine this year.”

How Donata would know this, I could not say, because she’d not visited the Pump Rooms yet.

“Thank you,” Lydia said. “I imagine we will. Good evening.”

We all said our good-byes, each of us as polite as could be. In the group, only Chloe was innocent. Lydia turned away stiffly, and the hand that stole to her husband’s arm trembled.

“Married, has she?” Donata said as soon as the trio was out of earshot. “I am not terribly surprised. She was never one who could bear to be alone for long. Do you remember what I said about her when I first met you, Gabriel?”

“I do.”

Donata had remarked, cigarillo smoke curling around her, that gentlemen had dashed themselves to pieces on the rocks of Lydia Westin before. Donata had been warning me, and I’d ignored her, to my peril.

“I see no reason to change my opinion.” Donata gave a decided, feather-waving nod toward Lydia’s back, squeezed my arm, and flowed back into the crowd.

*** *** ***

We learned nothing new that night. Grenville, Donata, and I encouraged gossip but the inhabitants of Bath had no information for us.

I had to conclude that Mrs. Collins had not come here as per usual. “So we move on to Brighton,” I said to my assembled friends as we dined at home the next day.

Grenville had come to share our meal. He looked fresh and rested, though he’d stayed out with us until the wee hours then had gone to visit Marianne. If everyone could be as awake and lively as Grenville after a night of wine, gambling, and debauchery, doctors would prescribe it as a health cure.

“If we rush away, it will be remarked upon,” Donata said. She’d had her usual lie-in, and she looked as bright as Grenville. I, who’d risen at my early hour to hire a horse and ride, wanted a nap.

“True,” Grenville said. “Most people linger in Bath a month or more before turning to other pleasures.”

“I will not cease looking for Mrs. Collins because the society in Bath will chatter if we leave before a month is out.” The words were snappish, but I was frustrated.

“I did not expect you to,” my wife said. “But we haven’t even gone to the Pump Rooms.”

“Yes, may we at least visit those, Father?” Gabriella asked. “Perhaps tomorrow morning, and we can leave for Brighton the next day.”

Both Donata and Grenville looked amused at her eagerness. “We should stay at least a week,” Donata said. “Remember, no one here is supposed to know you’re searching for Mrs. Collins.”

“And while we’re placating the local populace, someone might do her harm,” I growled. I took a drink of coffee, trying to still my temper. “I promised Marianne I would look into the matter, and so far, I’ve done damn all.”

“Not entirely.” Grenville calmly went on cutting his sausages. “You’ve discovered Mr. Perry, who has a strange interest in Mrs. Collins. He married Mrs. Wolff, a great actress who is now blind. Why did he marry her? Because he admires great actresses? Or to make her do something for him? And what? We have established from David’s Maddie that Mrs. Collins has a few hiding places—one here, where she has not been, though Mr. Perry arrived there and paid her rent. Why did he? Motive sinister, or motive benevolent? Did Mrs. Collins get wind of Mr. Perry coming to her rooms and took others, perhaps under an assumed name? She is an actress, as Marianne has pointed out. Marianne has been out on her own looking for her, talking to people at the theatres, though she’s found nothing so far.”

“Miss Simmons has even taken a part in a play here,” Gabriella said.

Grenville ceased talking and stared at her. So did I and Donata. “How did you know that?” Grenville asked, keeping his voice even.

“She told me. She came to the door while you were out last evening to leave a message for you, Father. I thought it silly I shouldn’t speak to her myself, so I did. We had a nice chat in the sitting room. Miss Simmons told me that she’d asked if the local theatres had any parts for her while she was in town, for verisimilitude, she said. One company did give her a part, and in fact, she’s on tonight. I assumed she’d tell Mr. Grenville when he visited her. I do like Miss Simmons. I wish I did not have to pretend not to know her. It’s ridiculous.”

Finished, Gabriella picked up a piece of buttered bread and munched it.

We all regarded her in surprise a moment. “Miss Simmons did not bother to mention this,” Grenville said in some irritation.

“May we go to the play, Father?” Gabriella asked. “A nice day out, I’d think—the Pump Rooms tomorrow morning, tea at the Upper Assembly Rooms, the theatre in the evening? If you and Mrs. Lacey haven’t already made our plans, of course.”

Polite, deferential, and still managed to tell me exactly what she wanted. She was certainly my daughter.

I ought to admonish Gabriella for not only allowing Marianne the house but speaking so frankly about Marianne’s arrangement with Grenville, but I felt a flush of pride instead. Gabriella had a clear-eyed view of the world, judging individuals in it by their own merits. I could not scold her for that.

“The Pump Rooms, of course,” Donata said before I could answer. “I had planned for the subscription ball at the Upper Assembly Rooms tomorrow, but a theatre jaunt would not be a bad idea. We can always wander into the ball later.”

“I’ll not be for the Pump Rooms,” Grenville said with a grimace. “Never could understand putting on an odd-looking suit to walk into a bath full of other people. Not to mention the waters taste of rotten eggs. I will take my exercise walking the city.”

“Hmm,” I said. “Perhaps I will forego the Pump Rooms as well.”

“Nonsense,” Donata said. “The waters are quite healing. They will be good for your injured leg.” She had a gleam in her eyes, a teasing one. She would herd me, half undressed in waistcoat and close-fitting drawers, into a pool full of water peopled with the denizens of the town, and she’d enjoy it.

“And I’ve never been to a spa,” Gabriella said. “I long to see a mineral bath.”

“But I have no wish to smell one,” Grenville said. He gave us a salute with his claret. “Enjoy yourselves, my friends.”

*** *** ***

The Pump Rooms caught my interest once we arrived, despite Grenville’s aversion and my misgivings. The building of golden stone stood on the site of Roman ruins, some of which had been unearthed when the place had been renovated some twenty or so years before. Grenville had obtained a few curios from that excavation, which I admitted interested me more than the parade of ladies and gentlemen we found there the next morning.

We entered a grand room with a sort of counter I’d find in a public house, behind which ladies were dispensing drinks straight from what was known as the King’s Pump. I’d been assured by Grenville that the pipes had been arranged so the water came directly from the fountain and did not pass through the pool in which bathers immersed themselves. Still, I understood his aversion when I lifted the glass of foul-looking water. It stank of a bog, and I had to hold my breath before I could drink it.

Gabriella made a face when she drank hers, but Donata emptied her glass without a qualm. “Excellent for the humors,” she said. “Come along, Gabriella. We’ll ready ourselves for a dip.”

Bathing in public had never appealed to me. As a boy, I’d stripped off my clothes and played in the sea in the summer, or in the waters of the Broads. Dangerous, but I’d known no fear. In the army, modesty had often vanished in the face of necessity, but today I felt a bit uneasy as I donned a linen waistcoat and pantaloons and went out to what was known as the Hot Bath.

I had to admit that the water, pleasantly warm, did bite into my limbs and start to soothe them at once. My knee became looser, more relaxed, and the lingering pain in my ribs flowed away. The water, though it came up only to my chest, made me buoyant enough that leaving my stick on shore did not cause me disquiet.

Both men and women filled the bath this morning, from gouty gentlemen lowered in chairs, to ladies still wearing their bonnets. Heads turned when my wife entered with Gabriella—a lofty dowager viscountess was a sensation.

Donata retained her elegance in the thin dress that soaked through quickly. Gabriella splashed in after her, looking happy. Gabriella swam rather than walked, which earned her disapproving stares, but Donata did not admonish her.

When Donata reached me, I could not stop looking my wife over, she wet and draped with soaked material, her face flushed, her hair curling in the damp. She saw my look and gave me an arch one in return.

The company was mixed, old and young, healthy and infirm, wealthy and middle class. Donata greeted her acquaintances as Gabriella paddled or walked about the bath, enjoying herself.

The odor of the waters curled in my nose, and I did not much like being in the same pool as a man with open sores. But I had to admit my body felt warm, loose, and rested.