A Disappearance in Drury Lane (31 page)

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 and 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?”

Bartholomew was becoming quite the snob, the perfect valet in the making. I was in a foul temper, so to dismay him, I said, “Yes, I’ll go up,” and walked to the theatre’s front entrance before he could answer.

By the time I reached the Breckenridge box, the play was well underway. Donata’s box in this theatre was not as large as the one at Covent Garden, but still plenty opulent. The box’s small foyer contained two gilded chairs with soft seats and an ebony table holding a decanter of wine and glasses. Double doors with panels picked out in gold led to the box itself.

Donata was already in her seat, Lady Aline next to her, Grenville beyond. I breathed a sigh of relief. Friends only, no cold glances of ladies and gentlemen I barely knew.

Donata rose to meet me, the bandeau in her hair glittering with diamonds. She touched my unshaved chin. “Did you find her?”

No pleasantries, no asking how my journey was, or if I were well. Donata was a woman who went straight to the point.

“I did,” I said.

The three looked at me expectantly as Donata sat me down and resumed her seat, but exhaustion overcame me. Mr. Kean stepped onstage to loud applause, covering any conversation I might make. By the time he launched into his first speech, I was drooping on Donata’s shoulder, and then I snored through the better part of Kean’s brilliant performance as Othello.

*** *** ***

I slept through my usual early rising time and did not wake until Donata herself was up. I had spent the night in my own chamber, not wanting to go to Donata in my road-stained state, and too tired to wait for Bartholomew to bring a bath.

Barnstable had ordered one drawn by the time I rolled, groaning, out of bed in the afternoon, and Bartholomew hovered near to shave and dress me. I was ashamed of my assessment of Bartholomew as a snob last night; he was a godsend, and I was lucky he’d agreed to work for me.

Both he and Barnstable looked over my bruises from my fight with Coleman, but I said nothing, and they seemed to sense they should not ask, not at the moment.

Washed, shaved, and dressed in clean clothing, I entered Donata’s boudoir. She looked up at me from where she sat at a small table, a newspaper open in her hands. Silver trays bearing plenty of food waited for us.

“You will take breakfast with me, will you not?” Donata asked returning to her newspaper. “You have had a long journey, and it is already two. The others will not mind if you do not go down yet.”

“And you wish me to tell you everything,” I said, taking the seat Bartholomew drew out for me.

“Exactly,” my wife said, the paper still in front of her. “You were insensible last night, and I was kind and let you sleep. Grenville was most worried, but I told him that if something had gone amiss, you’d have said at least that before you nodded off.”

“I would have attempted it.” I let Bartholomew pile my plate high with meat, eggs, and toast. The long journey had made me hungry, and I only now realized I’d eaten very little during it.

“Still, it was most maddening of you to sleep through the entire play.” Donata lowered her paper long enough to give me a severe look over it. “And the entertainment after it, and the short play after that.”

None of which I remembered. How I’d come to be in her carriage on the way home, I had no idea.

I could have gone on teasing her, taking my breakfast in silence until I’d eaten my fill, but I decided to take pity on her. I gave her the tale, beginning with my arrival at the cottage outside Froxfield, my astonishment to find Mrs. Collins there, then my realization that made me rush back to London to question Mrs. Wolff and Coleman.

“I thought I had the answer,” I said, running a finger around the rim of a thin porcelain coffee cup. “But they seemed truly bewildered by my questions. Still, Mrs. Wolff is the only one I can see to benefit the most from Mrs. Collins’ departure. If Mrs. Collins is gone for good, or is so rattled she decides not to invest in the theatre, Mrs. Wolff’s position is safe for the moment. At least, she and Coleman believe so.”

“What about Mr. Kean?” Donata asked and took a sip from her cup of chocolate. The chocolate left a dark smear on her upper lip. I wanted nothing more than to taste it, but she licked it away and continued. “He might have been angry that Mrs. Collins wanted to come into the running of the theatre, perhaps for the same reasons Mrs. Wolff feared. Mr. Kean has the reputation for liking his drink a little too much, and for being difficult.”

I shook my head. “I cannot see the theatre’s committee readily letting Mr. Kean leave. He fills seats, and they know it.”

“Perhaps,” Donata conceded. She laid aside her newspaper and took up the first letter of her pile of post, lifting her knife to slit the seal. “Then it must be another actress, as you suspected before, for reasons of her own.”

I sighed and sat back. “I believe I know nothing anymore. All my ideas have gone wrong. Perhaps marriage has muddled me.”

She did not look up from her letter. “Do not be daft. If you are muddled, it is because so much is unclear. You have found Mrs. Collins, and she is well, which is the best thing.”

“But not safe until I run her detractor to ground,” I said, unhappy. I took a sip of coffee, allowing myself to enjoy it.

I could sit in this room forever, I decided. Drinking fine coffee, bathing in Donata’s light scent, and watching her sleek head bend as she read her letters. She was a lovely woman, with a loveliness that went all the way through her. I thought of my encounter with Lydia Westin in Bath. Lydia had dazzled me two summers ago, making me believe I’d lost my heart to her, thoroughly and forever. My dear friend Louisa Brandon had told me that, in time, my heart would heal. I had not believed her.

I believed her now. Donata had eased her way into my life, and now I could not imagine myself without her.

She had a pile of correspondence to go through, my wife ever popular, which Barnstable had piled on a little table behind her. Quite a stack of letters, and one box.

I froze, my coffee slopping as my cup jerked. “Donata,” I said. “What is the package?”

“Hmm?” Donata glanced at it. “Tea cakes from Gunter’s. I ordered them as a little treat for when you returned. Do not worry so, Gabriel.”

Perfectly reasonable. I ought to laugh shakily in relief and say that my fears were getting the better of me. But I remembered Ridgley and the evil of him.

“Would you like one now?” Donata asked. She took up her knife again and inserted it under the seal, ready to pull the paper free.

“No!”
I was up and over the table before the shout left my mouth. I grabbed Donata by the shoulders and jerked her to the floor.

I heard a scratch, smelled the foul odor of burning and gunpowder, and then a loud
bam
ricocheted through the room. Heat touched me, sparks, and fire. I rolled with Donata, pinning her beneath me, coughing from the smoke.