Beyond the Grave (4 page)

"Do you know why Lord Harcourt would be meeting his future wife at The Alhambra?"

His slight hesitation had me sitting forward. "No."

"Do you know how they met?"

"No. He was a staid, steady gentleman. I wouldn't have thought The Alhambra was his sort of thing."

"But how did they meet? It's not as if schoolmasters' daughters socialize within the same circles as lords. Harcourt has only sons, so she wasn't a governess for him."

"She's never told me the story of their introduction."

"You never asked?"

"No."

I frowned. "Why not?"

"It never came up."

"But you were…" I swallowed the rest of my sentence. Saying it aloud might betray my jealousy.
She
had at least shared his bed, and it was becoming more and more obvious that I never would. "I would have thought you'd like to the know everything there was to know about your…paramours."

"Is that what you think?"

"Investigating her seems like something you would do before you…became involved with a woman. Checking on their situations, their families, interests and so forth." I cleared my throat and shifted my weight in the chair. Sitting for so long was becoming tiresome. I needed to get up and move about. I needed to get away from Lincoln and my growing humiliation.

"My liaison with Lady Harcourt was fleeting, and over almost as soon as it had begun. I never bothered to ask her about her private life, and she never offered up the information." It was considerably more than I expected him to give. Indeed, I'd expected avoidance altogether. His words shocked me into looking at him once again.

He met my gaze with his level one. "Does that explanation suffice?"

Was he mocking me? Teasing me over my jealousy? I doubted it, since he was trying to cut off my feelings for him before they blossomed. I lifted my chin. "It will have to do. So what's next? How will you find Buchanan?"

"I'll make inquiries at the places he frequents. I've already begun, but there are several more on my list."

"And you'll search for this Estelle Pearson?"

"I'll see what I can find in the public records, but it'll be a painstaking process unless she lives in the same house in which she was born."

"It's likely she's in the same parish."

"True. Or Lady Harcourt may know something."

"And what of The Alhambra?" I asked.

"I have no intention of going there."

"Why not?"

"Those entries appear to be a private matter between Lord and Lady Harcourt, nothing to do with the disappearance of Buchanan."

"But you can't know that for certain," I said.

"Instinct tells me otherwise."

"Instinct?"

"It rarely fails me."

I hobbled away on my crutches. "How fortunate for you."

"Charlie."

His quiet command set my nerves jangling again. I stopped. "Yes?"

He approached, but did not come too close, and stood with his hands behind his back. The distance was more of an indication of how he felt than his closed face and hooded eyes. "I need to apologize for my earlier behavior. I should never have allowed anger to rule me. If I scared you then I'm sorry. If I offended or wounded you, then I'm doubly sorry. I'm usually not in the habit of allowing my temper to get the better of me, but lately…" He shook his head, as if he couldn't quite understand how it had happened.

"It seems I bring out your temper," I mumbled.

"The fault is entirely mine, not yours. Forgive me." He offered a brief bow then moved past me and strode away.

I stared at his back, grateful that he had broken the ice and apologized, yet uncertain how we could ever be comfortable around one another again.

With a sigh, I headed into the kitchen. By the time I reached it, I'd decided to find something to do to keep my mind off Lincoln. Housework wasn't enough. It allowed far too much thinking time. What I needed was a puzzle. Aside from searching for Andrew Buchanan, the biggest puzzle I knew was finding out what Lord Harcourt had been up to at The Alhambra, and how Miss D.D. had been replaced by the future Lady Harcourt.

I
t was
another three days until the doctor returned and declared I could dispense with the crutches, as long as I didn't put too much weight on my cut foot. He suggested using a walking stick, and Gus went to fetch one from the attic. It had been left by the previous owner of Lichfield Towers, a gentleman of advanced years, and sported the carved wooden head of a mastiff. It was quite ugly and not at all feminine. It went against Seth's fashionable sensibilities to allow me to leave the house with it until I told him I'd leave the house anyway, with or without the stick.

"Why won't you tell us where you're going?" he asked, as I put on my warmest cloak, the one Lincoln had given me only a few weeks before. His question made me wonder if his reluctance to let me go had more to do with his concern for my safety than the stick's ugliness.

"Because you won't approve."

"Better go with her," Gus said with a grim set to his mouth.

"You can't," I said. "Neither of you can. You're about to head out yourselves." They were going with Lincoln to a gambling den in the east end that gossip suggested Andrew Buchanan liked to frequent. So far, their search had not produced anything more substantial than rumor and innuendo. Several of Buchanan's acquaintances had suggested he was being held prisoner by someone he owed money to, had offended, or ruined. Apparently they'd laughed themselves into fits at the prospect.

"At least tell us what you're up to," Seth said as he slid a dagger up his sleeve. "It'll ease my conscience if I know where you are."

I sighed. "It's like having two overbearing big brothers."

"Three," Cook chimed in with a wave of his vegetable knife.

I smiled. In truth, I quite liked the idea of having brothers. They weren't yet stifling me, but I did wonder if the novelty would wear off if I had to report on my whereabouts every day. "The Alhambra."

All three stopped what they were doing to stare at me.

"It's broad daylight, there will be no disreputable gentlemen about, and not a chance that I'll be mistaken for a doxy in my maid's uniform or this cloak." Hand on hip, I dared them to gainsay me.

"Does he know you're going out?" was all Seth asked.

There was no need to mention names. We all knew who he meant. "I was just about to inform him." Right on cue, Lincoln strolled in, looking magnificent in full-length coachman's cape and leather gloves, his hair neatly tied back, and his black boots gleaming. He would cut quite an imposing figure on the driver's seat, particularly if he drove at his usual breakneck speed through the city wearing that scowl.

"Tell me what?"

"I'm going to The Alhambra Theater. Hear me out," I said before he could order me to stay at home. "I know you don't think Lord Harcourt's meetings with Lady Harcourt are of importance to the investigation, but it seems to me you've come up empty handed so far. It can't hurt to at least cross it off as a possible reason for Buchanan's disappearance."

He considered me in silence for a moment then inclined his head in a nod. "I'll drive you. Be sure to take the walking stick and hire a hackney for the journey home." He fished some coins out of his pocket and handed them to me. "And take an umbrella. Dark clouds are approaching."

I accepted the coins in silence, too dumbfounded by how easily he'd acquiesced. Gus fetched an umbrella from the hallstand and I decided to use it instead of a walking stick. Taking both was too cumbersome.

We took the brougham. Gus kept me company in the cabin while Lincoln and Seth occupied the driver's box seat. He grumbled much of the way to Leicester Square, complaining how he was "no toff" and shouldn't be sitting inside like a lady.

"At least it's warmer in here," I reassured him.

He slouched into the seat. Honestly, there was no pleasing some people.

I waved them off from the pavement outside The Alhambra. The theater was Moorish in design, as befitted its name, with arches and columns in abundance, and domes topping the crenelated roof. The main doors were locked, and I was about to knock when someone strode up to the smaller door at the side and pushed it open.

"Excuse me." I hurried over to him as fast as my hobbling gait allowed. "Do you work here?"

"The theater is closed," he tossed back at me. "There is no matinee today."

"My name is Miss Charlotte Holloway."

"Holloway?" The gentleman finally looked at me. He took in my umbrella and cloak then removed his bowler and bowed. "Pleased to meet you. Mr. Jonathon Golightly, at your service."

"I wish to speak to someone who works at this establishment. Preferably someone who has been employed here for some years."

"I work here." The smile he gave me as he straightened was rather dashing, particularly coupled with his pencil-thin moustache and sharp beard. I pegged him to be about fifty or so, but he was unlike any man of that age that I'd met. For one thing, his waistcoat was the brightest fuchsia and he wore a cravat, not a tie. "I'm the stage manager at The Alhambra and have been so for some eight years. Prior to that, I was an actor, also here. Would you like to come inside?"

"Thank you. You're very kind."

He opened the door for me and I found myself in the promenade, an area that encircled the entire theater. It was eerily quiet. While I'd never been inside The Alhambra before, I'd often peeked through the windows as I lay in wait for a drunkard to stumble out. The handsomely dressed gentlemen, mingling alongside pretty barmaids and leggy dancers, had dazzled me as much as the richly colored carpet and the gilt-edged arches. But daylight and emptiness revealed the stains, the gaudiness, and the cobwebs hugging the corners.

"Come through to my office, Miss Holloway." He led the way along the promenade, past the bar and through a door. "Mind your step down this short flight." His voice was light, his steps short and quick. He had to stop frequently to wait for me.

Mr. Golightly led me through to a small office. A series of colorful posters were laid out on the desk, advertising a variety performance for the spring. Someone had written corrections across them in a large, looping hand.

"Please be seated, Miss Holloway." A piano struck up a tune deep inside the building and a clear female voice instructed, "Higher, higher!"

"Rehearsals for tonight's ballet," Mr. Golightly told me. "Miss Redding!"

A moment later, a tall, slender woman with a severe part through the center of her blonde curls glided into the office with a grace that reminded me of Lady Harcourt. She seemed to move without so much as a flutter of her skirt hem. Unlike Lady H, however, she wore a simple woolen dress striped in two shades of brown and a matching jacket in a style that showed off her tiny waist. She wore color on her lips and cheeks, perhaps hoping to detract from her pockmarked complexion. Unfortunately, it did not.

"Yes, Mr. Golightly?" It was difficult to tell how old she was. Her golden hair and slender figure suggested twenties, while the lines around her mouth and eyes made her seem at least mid-thirties.

"Tea, please, Miss Redding. I have a guest." He beamed at me and once again took in my rich velvet cloak with its intricate embroidery. "This is Miss Holloway."

Miss Redding wasn't quite so interested in my clothing. Her gaze remained on my face as she smiled a tentative greeting. "Right away, Mr. Golightly. The water has just boiled."

"Miss Redding is my assistant," he told me as she disappeared. "A most valuable asset to the theater."

"Has she been your assistant long?"

"Only a year or two, but she's been at The Alhambra for considerably longer. She used to dance here."

I made a mental note of the fact. "I have a rather strange series of questions to ask you, sir. At least, they may seem strange to you."

He leaned back in his chair behind the desk and rested his elbows on the chair arms. "How intriguing."

"Do you know anyone by the name of Estelle Mary Pearson?"

He shook his head. "The name is not familiar to me."

I didn't think there was a link, since the name hadn't been mentioned on the same pages as the theater, but asking couldn't hurt. "What about someone with the initials D.D?"

"That could refer to anyone."

"Only to someone with the initials D.D."

"Quite right," he said with a laugh. A nervous laugh, if I wasn't mistaken.

"This D.D. is a woman, and she would have worked here a few years ago."

He clasped his fingers together and pressed them to his lips as he thought. "No, I'm afraid I don't know any Miss D.Ds."

I had not said she was unmarried. "Not a single one?"

Another shake of his head. "I'm afraid not. Ah, here's Miss Redding with the tea."

Miss Redding backed into the room then turned gracefully and placed the tray on top of one of the posters. She poured and handed me a cup with a smile.

"I hope you'll stay a few moments more," Mr. Golightly said. "Perhaps I can give you a tour of the auditorium. We might even catch a few moments of the rehearsal." The piano player completed the tune with a flourish, but no applause followed, only a shouted direction to begin again.

"That's very kind of you," I said. "But I do have more questions, as it happens."

His face tightened, ever so slightly, but the friendly smile remained in place as if it were painted on. "Indeed. May I inquire something of you first, Miss Holloway?"

"Of course."

"What relation are you to Mr. Holloway of Belgravia? Cousin? Sister?"

"I'm afraid I don't know a Mr. Holloway from Belgravia."

His smile slipped off. He dropped his cup in the saucer with a loud clank, causing Miss Redding to pause on her way out. She narrowed her gaze first at her employer, then me.

"You are not here to discuss investing in The Alhambra at Mr. Icarus Holloway's request?"

"No, I'm here to make inquiries about Miss D.D. and a certain woman once known as Julia Templeton, before her marriage to Lord Harcourt."

Miss Redding's gasp was almost drowned out by the piano. She tried to cover it with a cough. And then she did the most extraordinary thing. She screwed up her face as if she'd tasted something sour, huffed out a miffed sound through her nose, and exited the office.

"I am sorry, Miss Holloway," said Mr. Golightly, rising. "I know no one by the name of Templeton, Harcourt or D.D. Allow me to assist you up the stairs." He extended his hand toward the door, his forced smile once more in place.

It would seem I wouldn't even be allowed a single sip of my tea. I followed him out of the office and up the stairs to the public part of the theater. This time he did not offer me a hand or friendly smile, and left me there alone, in the gaudily decorated promenade, to find my own way out. It was the most fortunate turn of events that I could have hoped for.

Once he was out of sight, I reopened the door and headed back the way we'd come, my ears alert for any sounds beyond those of the piano. Mr. Golightly's office door was closed, thank goodness, so I continued further into the bowels of the theater. The corridor was narrow and airless, its musty smell not at all pleasant. The housemaid in me saw dust and cobwebs at every turn, but not even a thorough clean could hide the peeling paint, scratched skirting and patches of mold.

I found Miss Redding in a small kitchenette near the end of the corridor. She just stood there, her fingertips pressed to the scratched surface of the small table, her head bowed as if she were praying or thinking. I cleared my throat, and she jerked in surprise.

"Miss Holloway!" She smiled and peered past me. "Is Mr. Golightly with you?"

"He was called away." I hoped he didn't suddenly appear behind me and order me off the premises. "Forgive me, but I couldn't help noticing your reaction when I mentioned Lady Harcourt. Did you know her?" There was no time for subtlety or veiled questions. I would have to be blunt if I wanted answers before Mr. Golightly discovered I had not immediately vacated the premises.

"I…" She shot a glance to the doorway and bit her lip.

"Perhaps a little privacy for such a delicate matter is required." I shut the door and gave her my sweetest smile.

"May I ask what this is about?"

"Of course you may, but I must press upon you the need for discretion. You see, there are rumors circulating that connect Lady Harcourt to The Alhambra, and her husband's family would like to have them confirmed or denied."

"His family?"

"Yes. He's dead, you see."

"I know that."

"The family hopes the rumors will prove false, which I'm sure they are. They're quite scandalous in nature."
And you, Charlie, are quite the liar.
I blamed my misspent youth and an insatiable curiosity regarding Lady Harcourt. It had become more and more obvious to me that she must be associated with The Alhambra. I also hoped that I'd read Miss Redding's reaction correctly. She did not like Lady H.

"Of course." Miss Redding tilted her chin and her eyes brightened with an unkind gleam. I wondered if she'd been waiting to impart gossip about Lady Harcourt for some time. "I'm not one to spread rumors, you understand," she began.

"I understand completely. A woman in your position must be the soul of discretion."

"Indeed. I detest gossips, and Lord knows this place is filled with loose lips. But I must make an exception in this case if, as you say, the gentleman's family wishes to know."

"They do. Most sincerely. You can be assured that your name will not be associated with any information I pass on. Anything you tell me will only be kept within the family too."

"Oh." She seemed quite put out by that. Was she hoping the gossip would reach the newspapers? If so, she could have skipped this interview and gone directly to the editors of the more low-brow weeklies. They would have fallen over themselves to print something scandalous about the late Baron of Harcourt's second wife. "You're right, Miss Holloway," she said, rallying. "That good family doesn't deserve to be duped any longer, do they?"

"Duped, Miss Redding?"

She stepped closer and dipped her head. Being quite a lot taller than me, she had to dip it further to whisper in my ear. "Lady Harcourt has a…a
past
." She said it as if the very word tasted foul.