A Disappearance in Drury Lane (26 page)

I made my way down the hall, ignored by others intent on whatever task they needed to complete. No one stopped me; no one questioned me. Coleman was nowhere in sight.

The room where I’d spoken to Hannah Wolff while she sewed costumes lay at the end of the hall. Making my way to it was much slower today as I navigated around hurrying people and other obstacles. I was nearly knocked into by a man swiftly emerging from a room that looked like a comfortable parlor.

“Coleman, I asked for hock about a hundred years ago . . . ah.” The man stopped and peered up at me, and I recognized the actor, Edmond Kean. “You are that army captain, are you not? Have you found Mrs. Collins yet?”

I had to shake my head. “I am afraid I have not.”

“What the devil does the woman mean leaving me in the lurch at the season’s start? We’ve had to give her parts away—didn’t want to, but there it is. Not to mention she promised us all that money. Well, I suppose that’s gone now. Do tell Coleman to bring me the hock. I am devilish thirsty.”

Chapter Nineteen

Kean turned abruptly and walked back into his room, but I pushed in before he could close the door. “Money?” I asked. “What money?”

Kean shrugged, not bothered that I’d accompanied him. He wandered away from me to a dressing table containing a mirrored stand with a drawer. “For the theatre. She was going to invest in it. The committee was very happy, and had made plans for new and enormous sets. I suppose that’s a wash now. A pity; she was very interested, and she has the blunt.”

My thoughts spun rapidly. “Would her investing in Drury Lane unnerve someone enough that they’d frighten her off or even try to kill her?”

Kean looked blank. “My good fellow, I have no idea. I can think of no reason why anyone would
stop
her. If they wanted to see her ruined, they’d let her go ahead and invest. Running a theatre is not for the faint of heart. You lose money faster than pouring it down a well. The committee would never discourage someone from giving us funds, and neither would I.” He looked me up and down, as though seeing me for the first time. “Did I not hear you’ve recently married a wealthy widow? And are friends to Mr. Grenville?”

I made a bow. “I married at New Year’s. And, yes, I have the honor of being Mr. Grenville’s acquaintance.”

“Any chance either would be interested in funding plays? Lady Breckenridge is a patron of the arts, and so is Mr. Grenville. I wish to give my King Lear, even if audiences insist on the version with the happy ending. Philistines.”

The disgust in his voice was unmistakable, but I happened to like the happy ending. Life was sad enough; no need to rush to the theatre to witness more tragedy. “People want to feel uplifted when they leave a play,” I suggested. “To know that all ended well.”

Kean gave me a deprecating look. “You are teasing me, Captain. If you want happy endings, watch comedies. But do not be deceived by them. As I always say, dying is easy; comedy is difficult.”

Kean turned away from me then and made for the sofa at the end of the room. As he’d done when I’d talked to him on the stage, he seemed to lose all interest in our conversation, or even remember I was there. He sank down and took up a newspaper from the stack strewn on the couch. “Now, where the devil is that hock?”

*** *** ***

I left Kean’s room and again made my way down the hall toward the room at the end. This time I reached it, tapped, and heard a woman’s voice bidding me to come in.

I opened the door and stepped inside, and immediately averted my eyes. A young woman with red-blond hair stood in front of Hannah in nothing but a thin muslin skirt and a strip of cloth wrapped around her breasts. Hannah was pinning the skirt, her blind eyes closed while her hands moved competently.

“Who is it?” Hannah asked.

The young woman sent me a cocky smile over her shoulder. “A handsome man come to beguile us.”

“If you mean Mr. Kean, tell him to go. I am not ready for him yet.”

“It isn’t Mr. Kean,” the young woman said. “
He
ain’t handsome. Who are you, sir?”

“Captain Lacey,” I said. “The friend to Miss Simmons.”

“Ah,” the young lady said. “I hear our Marianne landed on her feet. Catch her speaking to the likes of us anymore. Too high and mighty now. I wager she’ll get that Mr. Grenville to marry her.”

I thought it best not to answer this. “May I speak to you, Mrs. Wolff?”

Hannah let her hands fall from the actress. “Of course, Captain. Do run along, girl. I’ll finish with you later.”

“Right you are.” The actress winked at me. “Tired of being a pincushion anyway.”

The actress snatched up a jacket and brought it to me, indicating I should help her with it. I set aside my walking stick and settled the thin and rather threadbare coat over her shoulders. I avoided touching her as much as I could, but she nestled back into me, giving me a cheeky smile, before she turned away.

“Thank you, sir. You are a gentleman. Tell Miss Simmons I wish her luck.”

I gave her a polite bow. “Mr. Kean is looking for Mr. Coleman. I believe he wants wine.”

“When doesn’t he?” the actress asked. “That and a bit of the other.” She laughed and spun out of the room, but at least she remembered to close the door.

Hannah put aside her pins, making sure all were safely on the table beside her before she rested her hands in her lap. “I have a knack for fitting costumes,” she said before I could comment. “My hands know where everything should go. Please, sit down, if you can find a chair in the mess. Have you come with any news?”

I picked up an empty chair from the other side of the room and carried it closer. I feared to move anything in the other chairs, in case she would have to find something on them after I’d gone. “I have not been able to lay hands on Mrs. Collins, I am sorry to say. We have found the man who made the incendiary device sent to her.”

“Well, that’s a mercy. Has he been arrested?”

“Not quite.” I wasn’t certain how to explain his interrogation by Denis, so I merely said, “He is being detained. He is reluctant to name who hired him, however.”

“Oh.” Her brows drew down in worry. “I heard you had a bit of bother over the death of Mr. Perry.”

“I did. But luckily, a magistrate believed me when I said I had nothing to do with it.” I leaned forward, resting my hands on my stick. “Why did you marry him, Mrs. Wolff? He was a dangerous man.”

Hannah shook her head and smiled a little. “Because I owed him money, dear. Much money. My late husband and I both did. We tried to pay, but we never had enough. When Mr. Wolff passed, Mr. Perry thought it would be a fine thing to take a famous actress as his wife. He’d forgive the debt, he said, if I did so. I knew I faced debtor’s prison and complete ruin, so I married him. He was never violent to me, though never respectful to me either. When I had my accident and lost my sight, he was no longer interested in me. Lately he’d begun to threaten me again, wanting his money. I am too old and feeble to be a good wife, which was what he’d paid for, wasn’t it?” Hannah shook her head, but she kept her wry smile. “So I left him. I took up lodgings with my sister and her husband, and Mr. Coleman collected me from their house and brought me here every day. Perry never went to the magistrates—he dared not. I could tell the magistrates an earful about
him
.” She sighed, her bravado deflating. “But I cannot lie to you. Mr. Perry’s death is a release, and nothing more.”

“Mr. Coleman is devoted to you. Do you think he is devoted enough to rid you of Mr. Perry?”

“Coleman?” Her tone turned incredulous. “Dear heavens. Coleman is not the violent sort. Very strong, yes, but gentle as a lamb. Besides, he was in here with me all the day they say Mr. Perry died. We were very busy, and he spent the day assisting me. He took me home in the evening and then stayed and supped with us. My sister will confirm that. I will vow Coleman went nowhere near Mr. Perry that day.”

“I dislike to be rude, Mrs. Wolff, but you are blind. Would you know if Coleman slipped out of the theatre that afternoon, made the short walk to Grimpen Lane, and came back again? He would not have been gone long.”

Hannah’s look turned pitying. “Well, of course I would have known. I can’t see him, dear, but I can hear him. Coleman is not a silent mouse, you must know. And people have a
presence
, Captain. As you do sitting there now.” She pointed straight at me. “A room is different with another person in it—people make noise when they breathe or fidget, and everyone has their own odor, you might have noticed. Coleman never left my side that day. I had a mountain of work making last-minute repairs, and he had to help me or I’d never have gotten it done. I will swear this to the magistrates if necessary. And others will swear it too. There were many people in and out, Coleman next to me all the time.”

She spoke calmly, confidently, with no fear. She either believed in Coleman absolutely, or she was lying herself blue for him. I had learned from experience that in the case of crime a person could speak quite convincingly and not say a word of truth.

But in this case, she was right that Coleman would have other witnesses—the actors and actresses going in and out of this room, her sister who’d served Coleman dinner.

“Where is Coleman today?” I asked. “He is not minding the door, and Mr. Kean was most put out he could not find him.”

“Mr. Kean is put out about many things.” Again Hannah gave me her smile. “Coleman is helping repair the sets. Horses are fine beasts, but when someone has the grand idea of bringing them on the stage, they forget what havoc they can wreak. More than one of the sets must be rebuilt, and quickly.”

Her calm and sparkle of humor told me this was not the only or the largest disaster she’d witnessed in the theatre. I wished I could while away the winter’s day sitting here with the glass of hock Kean had asked for, and listen to her tell stories of the stage. She had been an amazing actress, charming the young Gabriel Lacey and most of the audience with me. I would have liked to remain here and hang on every word delivered in her low, melodious voice.

As it was, I had errands to run, and she had her own work. Her fingers twitched, anxious to return to it.

“Thank you, Mrs. Wolff.” I rose and restored the chair to its position. “I will let you know as soon as I have word of Mrs. Collins.”

Hannah gave me a grateful look. “Do. If my husband had been threatening poor Abby, she will be safe now.”

“I hope so,” I said, and took my leave.

*** *** ***

I looked for Coleman and saw him where Hannah said he’d be, standing on a ladder, pounding what looked like a giant trellis with a hammer. He was surrounded by other men who were also pounding things, the area behind the stage resembling a village after a severe windstorm or some other disaster.

I saw that I’d never get near Coleman today, and so I went out.

I met Grenville at the Rearing Pony, the tavern on Maiden Lane I frequented. Grenville was there before me, and the landlord’s wife, Mrs. Tolliver, who always had a warm, rather seductive smile for me, brought me a tankard of ale.

Grenville wanted to hear of my interviews at Drury Lane first. I recounted everything, from meeting Mr. Kean and his information that Mrs. Collins wanted to invest in the theatre, to Hannah’s revelation about her marriage.

“Interesting,” Grenville said when I’d finished. “She is adamant about Mr. Coleman. But he looks after her, and she is fond of him, and naturally she would wish to protect him.”

“If Mrs. Carfax
did
see a tall man going into my rooms that night, she might have mistaken Coleman for me.” I took a sip of ale, enjoying its thick flavor.

“I wager Mrs. Carfax saw nothing at all,” Grenville said. “I will tell you what I learned from Miss Winston, whom I managed to charm into speaking with me inside Mrs. Beltan’s bakeshop. She is most unhappy with Mrs. Carfax, but she says Spendlove has Mrs. Carfax very frightened, and Mrs. Carfax will obey him without question. Something to do with
Mr.
Carfax, but Miss Winston does not know what. Dear Henny, she says, refuses to tell her.”

“Mr. Carfax is dead and gone,” I said. “Ten years now, I think.”

“Perhaps, but who knows what scandals he got up to before he went? Perhaps he owed his tailor, and Mrs. Carfax is terrified of that getting out.” His lips twitched as he lifted his ale.

Most aristocrats owed large debts to tailors, bakers, and candlestick makers, and many never paid them. Grenville might find this worry amusing, but to Mrs. Carfax, a respectable widow of the middle class, such a thing might be anathema. Spendlove might have threatened her with debtor’s prison, the same thing Hannah Wolff had faced, or simply have threatened to shame Mrs. Carfax to her respectable friends. Being shunned was a lonely thing.

Grenville went on. “Miss Winston is inclined to agree with us that Mrs. Carfax’s claim to have seen you was not well-done. Miss Winston refuses to cow to Mr. Spendlove and promises to do her best to talk Mrs. Carfax out of it.”

“Well, that is something,” I said.

We finished our ale, continuing our speculations. I noticed we carefully avoided the topic of Ridgley and what Mr. Denis might discover.

Grenville drained the last from his tankard and dabbed his mouth with his handkerchief. “I believe grub is in order. Anton told me at breakfast that my abrupt comings and goings have thrown him into disarray. He cannot possibly create any dishes for me until next week—and only then on condition that I cease running about the country. I don’t much fancy sawing through the beefsteak here, so shall we adjourn to one of my clubs to dine?”

Anton was Grenville’s prized chef. If Grenville indulged the man a bit too much, I could not blame him. Anton was an artist with food.

However, the idea of a good meal cheered me, and I agreed we should go. Grenville chose Watier’s, and we enjoyed a dinner prepared by a chef of nearly Anton’s calibre.

Our meal, unfortunately, was ruined by the arrival of Lord Andrew Kenton Stubbins, otherwise known as Stubby.