To Dance until Dawn (Girls Who Dare Book 12)

by Emma V. Leech

  “Mais, Vicomtesse Kline,” a man protested, waving a piece of paper and running after her. “We kept your luggage until you could come and retrieve it as you asked, but now you must pay your bill, maintenant, s'il vous plaît!”

  That luxuriant wicked laugh came again, fading as the woman disappeared around the corner.

  “Oh, but my husband will deal with it when he arrives,” the lady said, as the last flash of pink silk left the courtyard feeling a great deal duller with its absence.

  Lady Kline!

  Phoebe sprang to her feet and looked around for Max. He was nowhere to be seen and… and… she did not have time to look for him. She had discovered Lady Kline and she would solve this mystery by herself, at least. She would not be made to sit in a corner like a good little girl while Max did everything for her. Phoebe grabbed hold of one of the grooms, who was walking a tired, sweaty horse back to the stables.

  “Monsieur, please find my husband, Monseigneur Ellisborough, and tell him I have found Lady Kline and that I will meet him back at the hotel later.”

  She pressed a coin into the fellow’s hand and he tipped his hat in acknowledgement. Picking her skirts up out of the dirt, Phoebe hurried out of the courtyard and after Lady Kline.

  Chapter 14

  Eliza,

  If a knight was on a quest, he would not be so bottle-headed as to get distracted by a stupid girl. The story was going along at a cracking pace until she turned up. Can’t you kill her off? And I can well believe that you would be mad enough to go hunting a dragon by yourself, but any sensible girl would know she’d be burnt to a crisp if she did something so idiotic. At the very least she ought to have gone with the Knight, not run away from him to do it all by herself. She’s a silly widgeon, if you ask me.

  I enclose a drawing of the dragon as requested.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from The Right Hon’ble Cassius Cadogan, Viscount Oakley (Aged 11) to The Lady Elizabeth Adolphus (Aged 11).

  10th April 1827. Abbeville, Sommes, France

  Though it could only have taken a matter of minutes to have given her message to the groom, by the time Phoebe left the courtyard, Lady Kline—for Phoebe had no other name to call her at the moment—was at the far end of the street and turned a corner, out of sight.

  “Oh, drat it.”

  With one hand keeping her skirts from the mud and the other holding on to her monstrous hat, Phoebe ran. She finally turned the corner where Lady Kline had disappeared and saw… no one. Gasping—for running in heeled shoes and a tightly laced corset were not to be recommended—she paused to catch her breath. Furious with herself for having lost her quarry, Phoebe hurried down the road, keeping a sharp look out. Ah ha! Ahead, she glimpsed one of the poor devils carrying the lady’s luggage, and set off again. Further and further into the ancient, winding streets of Abbeville she followed the procession of luggage, slipping on the shiny cobbles in places and hurrying in and out of people going about their business, following the vibrant pink gown as it marched through the ancient streets of the town. Sometimes she got close enough to call after the fellows with the luggage, but they did not turn, too concerned with following their lady and keeping her luggage intact and away from thieves. Finally, after Phoebe had cursed the lady with every wicked word she knew, and begun to believe she meant to lead her all the way to Paris, they turned into a wide street and the men stopped.

  At last, Phoebe could catch up with them. She did, just in time to see the lady had entered a theatre.

  Phoebe crossed the street, dodging carriages, and hurried towards the building. She blinked a little against the gloom of the interior after the brightness of the day outside as she stepped through the door and heard rather than saw that Lady Kline had headed through a side door. It was marked ‘Private’ and Phoebe followed, suspecting it led to the dressing rooms. She moved quietly, keeping her distance as she travelled along the narrow corridor, watching as the woman ahead of her turned into a room with a star on the door.

  Phoebe moved closer, noting the door was ajar. She held her breath, listening.

  “Well, you’re here. I admit I did not count on it,” she heard the lady say. “So, you had best have the money you owe me after forcing me to leave London when I was doing so splendidly well, and for this… shabby hole in the ground. You cannot possibly expect me to perform in such a place?”

  “Splendidly well, darling? I think you exaggerate just a tad, but no, dear Nina, I do not expect you to lift a finger, nor to perform. Indeed I have performed so magnificently I believe I shall not only clear my debt to you but come out of it quite nicely too. I think we shall have a deal of fun, my sweet. Just think of all the places we can go now, the things we can see.”

  Phoebe stilled in horror as she realised she recognised the second speaker: a smug, male voice that made fury rise in her like throwing brandy on burning embers.

  Alvanly.

  “I don’t remember saying I would go anywhere with you, Richard, and why did I have to meet you here? Why did you leave London so suddenly?” Nina demanded—if that was indeed her real name.

  “Leaving London was… prudent… and as for this place, my friend is an investor in this poor excuse for a theatre, and it is out of the way. My business can be best concluded in Paris, but I thought it safer we meet here first. I did not believe anyone would think to look for me in such a place as this, should there be anyone looking.”

  “And is there anyone looking?”

  There was a pause, and Phoebe realised Alvanly might believe her papa would come after him. Papa would have come after him, if she had not already left with Max, but he would trust them both to arrange things as they felt best. He would trust her. She experienced a sudden longing for her papa, the kind she had not experienced since she was a girl. If only he were here. He would know what to do about Max, about Alvanly, about this entirely ridiculous situation in which she seemed to have embroiled them all, even poor Viscount Kline! Though how she could be held accountable for that she did not know.

  “I don’t know if anyone is looking,” Alvanly admitted. “But it is possible.”

  “Oh, Richard,” the woman said, and she sounded tired and exasperated. “What have you done?”

  “I have saved myself from the Marshalsea, and you from the drudgery of a second class career as an actress. You have many charms, my dear, but you are past the first flush of youth and the role of ingénue will never be yours. You began too late in life.”

  There was an amused bark of laughter. “As a romantic declaration that leaves something to be desired, and I assure you, I am well aware of both my charms and their limitations. I’m also aware that men like you are not to be relied upon. I’ll have my money back, Richard, and then we’ll see about the rest.”

  “Damn me, but you’re a cold bitch.”

  There was more frustration than malice in the words, and Nina did not seem to take offense for her reply was placid.

  “Yes, I suppose so, and it’s life that has taught me the lesson well, Richard, dear. You may rely on only yourself in this world or else you will be taken for a fool. If I went with you, we should have a fine time until the money ran out, or you grew bored and abandoned me for a younger, sweeter girl, one who was not so aware that all the pretty words you speak have no substance.”

  “I would not—”

  “Oh, stow it.” Her voice was sharper this time. “You’re a charming devil, Richard, and I’m fond of you, but don’t go pretending you love me any more than I do you. Or are you proposing to marry me?”

  There was a telling silence and Nina gave a low, mocking laugh.

  “Now, tell me what it is you’ve done.”

  Phoebe bit her lip, increasingly irritated by Alvanly as he told Nina of his daring theft, not mentioning her part in it once. She ought perhaps be thankful for that, as she wanted no one else to know, but for some reason it rankled now. She heard paper rustling and assumed he was unwrapping the painting to show it to Nina.

 
“That grubby little painting is worth a fortune?” Nina said, her tone incredulous. “Good heavens. I wouldn’t have it on my wall for anything, but then I never claimed to have any knowledge of art.”

  “Well, it is our ticket to freedom. It has been valued by an expert. The fellow I told you about that owns a part of this theatre said there’s a Monsieur Lemoine, runs a high class pawn shop in the heart of Paris, but he also buys and sells exclusive pieces, artwork, jewellery and the like,” Alvanly said, his words interrupted by that rich, vibrant laughter Phoebe had heard earlier.

  “And he—and those he sells to—ask no awkward questions about how one acquired such valuables, I take it, hmmm?”

  “Quite,” the baron replied, testy now. “Well, anyway. I have an appointment to meet with the fellow, so we’d best be on our way. I’ve booked us into Hôtel Saint Vincent. It’s not what I am used to, but it’s discreet and clean, according to my friend. I wrote in advance and booked us a room in the name of Mr and Mrs Babbage.”

  There was a heavy sigh. “Babbage? Mrs Babbage, what a come down! And I was so enjoying being a viscountess.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind, Richard. Very well, we had best be on our way, then. The sooner this debacle is over, the better.”

  Phoebe gasped as she realised they were leaving already. She looked around for somewhere to hide, or another door, but they were all on the far side of the one she stood by. There was no time. Deciding she must brazen it out, she turned away as the door opened and hurried back down the corridor, hoping Alvanly would just take her for an actress or someone involved in the theatre.

  “Miss Barrington?”

  Drat.

  Phoebe did not turn, just spoke in rapid French. “J'ai peur que vous ayez fait une erreur. Je suis Mademoiselle Dubarry.”

  “Oh, ho, no you’re not, you little cat. I’d know you anywhere.”

  Phoebe shrieked and picked up her skirts, running for the door she’d come through, but it was heavy and hard to pull open, and Alvanly was already upon her. He put one hand over her mouth to stop the scream she was about to make, the other fastening tight around her, imprisoning her arms. Determined he should not get the better of her this time, Phoebe bit down hard on the fleshy part of his hand and stamped on his foot.

  Alvanly bellowed with fury and snatched his hand away, but did not let her go.

  “Richard!” Nina shouted. “Leave that poor child alone. What the devil do you think you’re doing?”

  “This poor child is nothing of the sort,” Alvanly returned with a scalding look at Nina. “Don’t you see the wretch has followed me here from London?”

  “Why? What did you do to her?” Nina’s voice was cold and furious, and Phoebe looked at her with interest.

  “Nothing!” Alvanly retorted, his tone indignant, almost hurt.

  Phoebe gave a snort of disgust.

  “Oh, you call tricking me into helping you steal a painting and then leaving me tied up nothing, do you?” she demanded, struggling against his hold. “You’re a vile thief and blaggard. You ruined me, you devil!”

  “Oh, don’t tell me Ellisborough didn’t leap at the chance to play knight in shining armour,” Alvanly said, unimpressed by her words.

  “Of course he did,” she retorted, her voice growing thick as she remembered Max, and considered how worried he must be by now. She had caused him nothing but trouble. “Max is a good man and he’d never stand by and let someone suffer if he could do something about it, but I shan’t marry him. We… We do not suit,” she said, trying to steady the quaver in her voice. “And so I am ruined, and it’s all your fault.”

  “Let her go!”

  Phoebe looked around at Nina, her attention taken by the anger in her voice.

  “But, Nina….” Alvanly protested.

  “Let her go, Richard, or so help me—”

  “Fine!” Alvanly said in disgust, giving Phoebe a little push towards Nina. “You deal with her, but she knows what I did, and if she’s here, Ellisborough is not far behind, not to mention her darling Papa. Would you like to be on the wrong side of Montagu, darling? For that’s who he is, but you can deal with them all, if you wish. I have a painting to sell. I’ll see you in Paris, if you figure out whose side it is you’re on, but if you want to see your money again, I’d have a care who you choose.”

  Alvanly stalked off, leaving Phoebe and Nina alone together.

  Phoebe stared at the woman before her, wondering what she would do next, and not entirely surprised when she held out her hand out to shake like men did.

  “I’m Mrs Abercrombie,” she said with a smile. “Though such formality seems ridiculous in the circumstances, so you may call me Nina.”

  “Not Viscountess Kline?” Phoebe said with the lift of one eyebrow as she took the woman’s hand.

  Nina clasped her fingers tightly for a moment and then laughed. It was a good sound, that laugh, the confident sound of a woman who knew her own worth and would let no one else diminish her.

  “No, sadly,” she said with a sigh. “I hear he’s a handsome devil.”

  “He is,” Phoebe agreed, seeing the surprise in the woman’s eyes. “And he’s here, in Abbeville. We travelled down together.”

  “Oh.” Phoebe watched the woman’s hand move to her throat. “So soon? I… I believed he was farther behind me than that. You travelled with him?” she added, her gaze considering as she looked Phoebe over.

  Phoebe knew where her thoughts would take her. It was one thing for her to be dressed so dashingly when travelling with her husband, the Earl of Ellisborough, but for an unmarried young woman in company with a man….

  “I was also with my fiancé,” Phoebe said in a rush. “Lord Ellisborough.”

  Nina tilted her head to one side, the thick pink ribbon that fell from her lavish bonnet resting lightly upon her cheek for a moment. “I thought you said you would not marry him. You are not suited, I believe.”

  “N-No,” Phoebe said, a rush of misery filling her as she remembered. “We are not suited, but… I have not told him so yet.”

  “Ah,” Nina said, her eyes softening as though she understood perfectly, and perhaps she did. “You know, I am tired and dirty and hungry, and Richard is a pain in the… well, you know as well as I. I had no faith in him being here, so I took the precaution of booking rooms across the street. Come with me and we shall rest and decide what ought to be done next.”

  “The painting ought to be returned to its rightful owner,” Phoebe said, not willing to be persuaded on this point, despite the fact she rather liked Mrs Abercrombie.

  “Perhaps,” the lady said with a wide and dazzling smile. “But let us discuss it over cakes and champagne. Nothing can seem so terribly terrible when one has cake and champagne.”

  Despite everything, Phoebe laughed and nodded. “Very well then. Cake and champagne, it is.”

  ***

  Max stared up at the sky in despair. It would soon be dark, and Phoebe had been missing for hours. He couldn’t breathe, terrified as he considered just what trouble a beautiful young woman could get into all alone. Abbeville was not Paris, but it was a large place with plenty of wicked and desperate people, far too many who would not think twice before taking advantage. She was no fool, he assured himself. Phoebe had shown him she was both resourceful and brave, and clever too.

  Once again, he remembered the look in her eyes when he’d told her she would play no part in retrieving the painting from Baron Alvanly. It was like someone had snuffed out a candle, all the light and the excitement that had shone there extinguished with a few words. She had not needed to say anything for him to realise how disappointed she’d been. It had not been until it was too late, until he had returned from the booking office for the diligence, that he had realised she had been disappointed in him. He had let her down. He had wanted so badly to keep her safe he had done the one thing he had always known would be fatal with Phoebe: he’d tried to hold her back, tried to rein in her fierce spirit
.

  Now, she had somehow discovered Kline’s fraud of a wife, and she did not want him to stop her from what she had planned. Goodness only knew what trouble that discovery would lead her into alone, when he might have gone with her, and might have been at her side.

  He had gone back to the hotel they had booked for the night, hoping she might have returned there by now, but there was no sign of her, and no word left for him.

  His heart thudded dully as he looked down the street and recognised the carriage emblazoned with Montagu’s crest. Jack and Fred had caught up with them, the repairs done in good time, and now… now he had to explain to Flash Jack that his little princess had run away, and was all alone in this place, with the night closing in. He’d be lucky if Jack didn’t throttle him on the spot. It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t realise how thoroughly he deserved it.

  Jack pulled the carriage to a halt and eyed Max with uncertainty.

  “What you lookin’ so Friday-faced about, my lord? Is there aught amiss?”

  “Yes, Jack, there’s something amiss all right. I’m a blithering idiot and I’d not blame you if you want to break my neck, or anything else come to that, but there’s no time now. I need your help. Phoebe’s run off somewhere and I… I can’t find her,” he admitted, the words lodging in his throat, a weight in his heart so heavy he wanted to sink to the ground, but he would not.

  There would be time enough to regret his actions once he’d found Phoebe, for he had no doubt she would tell him to go to the devil now.

  God he was such a fool.

  “You can’t find her?” Jack replied, frowning at him.

  “That’s what I said!” Max said, throwing up his hands. Jack seemed far too calm. “We went to the booking office for the diligence, seeking word of Alvanly. I told her to wait for me and—”

  “You told her to sit and wait while you sorted things out?” Jack echoed, giving Max a penetrating look that made his ears feel hot.