“Stop poking me with your scepter,” Aphrodite said, chasing Cook around a chair. “Those prongs are sharp, I’ll have you know.”
“Enough!” a voice boomed from the middle balcony, and everyone in the house looked up in awe at Zeus—because from a distance, the coachman, with his curly white hair and beard, a gold-edged sheet tossed over his brawny shoulder, looked convincingly fed up with the goddesses squabbling below Olympus.
But where had Kate gone?
Colin scanned the stage only to jump out of his skin as Zeus flung up his arm and bellowed out his next lines with enough force to loosen tiny bits of plaster from the ceiling. “Paris of Troy, the goddesses await your judgment! Put an end to this bickering and decide!” Behind him the scullions banged together frying pans in an unearthly din.
“Where is Paris?” one guest in the back asked as Zeus stormed from the balcony, his hands clamped over his ears.
“It was still in France the last time I visited,” the bookseller’s wife said to a general swell of laughter, which died down only when a slim figure sauntered onto the stage.
Complete silence gripped the salon. Every pair of eyes in the room trailed the beguiling narrator to the table.
“Fight no more, goddesses
But convince Paris to decide
For what reason he should take your side.”
* * *
Colin didn’t give a damn who won the beauty contest. He was more engrossed in the “handsome Prince of Troy” strutting across the stage in a belted tunic and leather sandals that laced across her bare legs. The pewter helmet that hid her hair didn’t disguise her femininity at all. Nor did the kettle lid she carried as a shield.
“Let’s award the apple to Paris,” somebody suggested. “He’s pretty enough to compete himself!”
Kate pivoted, bowed to acknowledge the compliment paid, and knelt before the three goddesses.
“What do you offer as my prize
To make it easier to decide?”
Colin glanced around at the guests. Every male present appeared more interested in stealing a look under Kate’s tunic or at her legs than in the answer to her challenge. His burning stare followed her across the stage. If anyone made a lewd remark or improper proposal to her—well, it was none of his business. He wasn’t supposed to be caught up in the play. He edged across the back wall and slipped through the door to the garden. If he wasn’t mistaken, the footman had admitted a man through the gates. That was Colin’s cue to make a quiet exit.
* * *
Athena had just offered Paris wisdom. Hera’s bribe was one of military power. But it was Georgette—Aphrodite—whose promise ultimately won the prince’s vote.
“Choose me, goddess of love and beauty,” Georgette said, staring with her luminous eyes into the rows of guests, who without her spectacles must all look the same. “The apple should—should—oh, just give it to me, and stop tossing it back and forth.”
“Aphrodite,” Paris prompted when Georgette’s mind seem to have gone missing, “repeat what it is that you have promised in return.”
Aphrodite looked uncertainly at Paris. “I promise to give you—look, I don’t remember. I asked you to keep it to a few lines.”
“You promise to give him the most beautiful mortal woman in the world,” Etta whispered to her mother from under the wedding table.
“Do I? Just for an apple? Well, that’s generous of me. Let’s get on with it, then.” Raising one white arm in a graceful arc, she slipped back into character. “I, Aphrodite, do promise to give you the most beautiful mortal woman in the world. She is known as—a hell of a toy.”
“The Helen of Troy?” Paris asked in a loud voice. “The Greek queen of legend?”
Aphrodite sent the audience a come-hither smile. “How many legendary Greek queens do you think I have to give away?”
Paris raised his shield as if he expected a blow from the balcony. “But Helen is married.”
“So I’ve heard,” Aphrodite said, tugging up her golden girdle. “But we can’t hold that against her any more than we can blame her for being mortal. It wouldn’t be fair to offer you her immortal equivalent because that would be me, and quite frankly I’m spread a little thin these days.”
Paris sighed, vowing that this would be the last part Georgette improvised. For better or worse, the first act was over. The curtains closed to enthusiastic applause. The audience had been invited to the anteroom for coffee trifle and champagne.
Kate had a hundred things to do before the next act or she might take a glass of champagne herself and discretely ask if anyone knew where Mr. Castle had gone.
Chapter 30
Colin had enough temptation to overcome without witnessing the effect Kate had on other men. The more he thought about what had happened to her in London, the less certain he was about how to approach her. Could he help her forget? Or was he only proving that he was no different from any other man who wanted to bed her? She had hidden her true self behind rules, behind serving others and putting on plays. He had trusted her with his motives. But he wasn’t sure he’d given her any reason to trust him. He had lured her to the lodge and taken advantage. But then she’d come to warn him in the loft.
There was still hope. Should he wait for her again? Could he wait? He wasn’t the wild boy he had been thirteen years ago. He had a son who was being raised by the woman he was trying to impress.
He wanted to explain that he desired her all the more for knowing who she really was.
He walked deeper into the garden, pausing at the crunch of receding steps on a hidden path. The senior footman stood sentry at the gates, nodding to him in recognition.
“A late-arriving guest?” he asked the footman.
“Yes, sir. That was Mr. Ramsey Hay, Mr. Earling’s solicitor. He manages every halfpenny that falls into the master’s hands. I daresay he would manage every move Mr. Earling makes if it were possible.”
“Would he?” Colin said, staring back at the brightly lit windows. “How trustworthy he must be.”
* * *
Trustworthy was not the word that came to mind when Colin found Mr. Hay pretending to examine the piano that stood in the chamber that served as a greenroom behind the salon. It was obvious when Colin entered through a side door that the solicitor would rather examine the Prince of Troy’s nicely shaped posterior.
Not that Kate held still long enough to satisfy either man’s curiosity. She flitted about the room like a warrior fairy, buckling on Charlie’s armor and reminding him he couldn’t stab his older brother after Brian had been officially killed. She stared right past Colin to the servants who had become a Spartan army, inspecting their white knobby knees and friendly faces with a sigh.
“Please,” she said, “one of you, make certain the sheets are secured to the steps below the stage. I don’t want Nan to slip into the Aegean Sea. Her balance isn’t what it used to be. And try to look intimidating.”
She turned, walking right into Colin. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he said, putting his hand out briefly to steady her. He had a feeling she barely noticed or cared whom she had stumbled into.
“Find our hammer and keep it in sight. Our props are already collapsing. Athena was supposed to calm the seas, but it didn’t work.”
“Perhaps these productions are not worth the time or the expense,” Mr. Hay muttered. “I hear that the theatre is only half-full. For what purpose do we serve trifle and champagne to the local gentry while the master is away?”
Colin lowered his voice. “Does he always come and go as if he owns the place?”
“Yes,” she whispered back. “And so do you. Where have you been, anyway?”
“On the prowl for intruders.”
“Well, don’t tell me until after the play whether you found any. I have to keep my mind on what I’m doing. Do you have any idea how badly Georgette butchered her lines?”
“No one will remember a few days from now.”
“But all t
hat hard work, and she doesn’t even bother. I should look for new position.”
“No, you shouldn’t. I couldn’t stop looking at you. That costume is scandalous. I don’t care for it at all.”
She looked a little insulted. “Don’t you?”
He stared at her. “I want you to stay away from Hay.”
She tilted her head back to frown at him. “I thought you were the one who was supposed to avoid recognition.”
“He’s up to something, and I’m not standing in a corner until I know what it is.”
She glanced in the solicitor’s direction. “He’s upset that Mason bought a piano for Georgette and the children,” she whispered.
“Why?”
“Well, it’s a costly piece.”
“It’s not his money. Musical skill is invaluable.”
She sighed. “Except that no one in the house can play a single note. Mason bought it because he thought the children should have lessons.”
Mr. Hay walked toward them, his hat and cane in hand. “I’m surprised to find the new groom inside the master’s music room. Are you playing for us tonight as part of the performance?”
Colin gave a sheepish smile. “Aw. No one’d pay to hear the racket I make.”
“Then perhaps you should return to your duty. Whichever it is, I doubt it requires you to be here. When the master returns, I shall suggest he consider hiring a smaller and more efficient staff.”
Colin stiffened. “Yes, sir.” He flashed Kate a glance, muttering, “Avoid him.”
“There’s only one place I will be in the next two hours, and that is onstage,” she whispered. “Aren’t you going to watch?”
“Watch what?” he asked morosely. “Other men watching you?”
“Lift up your mind, sir. The Abduction of Helen is a classic tale.”
“Not if it gives other men ideas of abducting you. Go on. I’ll be there in a moment, and, Kate—”
“Yes?”
“I remember enough of ancient history to know that Paris plays an active role in the next act. But does he have to bend with his backside facing the audience so often?”
* * *
Colin had no intention of leaving Ramsey Hay alone in the house until he discovered what the man intended. He hadn’t recognized Colin. He hadn’t come to the house to watch a play. What did he want?
He waited a minute before he went outside, then walked through the rhododendrons until he reached the library window, behind which a candle flickered. He leaned against the wall. Mr. Hay had reached into the long bookshelf closest to the window. Colin frowned.
It was deuced hard to figure out what the man had in mind. Hay hadn’t even glanced at the decanter of port on the sideboard. Perhaps he was borrowing a book to take home—or perhaps he wasn’t looking for good literature at all.
Hay took off one glove to pull out a book and reach into the space on the shelf. What did he want that was hidden behind a book? But then Hay’s hand emerged empty, and an entire shelf swung open to reveal a dark hole furnished with a small desk.
Colin edged nearer the window. He could see Hay slip inside the space, withdrawing several documents from the drawers of the desk.
“Dammit,” Colin muttered. “Someone needs to clean these windows.”
It looked as if Hay had placed these papers and several other bundles of what appeared to be receipts or invoices inside his heavy woolen coat.
A loud cheer from the salon immobilized both men for a moment. Colin flattened himself to the wall as Hay closed the hidden panel, looked briefly around the room, and left.
Whatever Hay had taken from the desk had to be valuable if it was hidden in the wall. However, Colin would have to wait to investigate.
If Nan slipped into the Aegean Sea because Colin hadn’t secured the sheets, the old girl might injure herself. Strange, he thought as he reentered the house. All the good female parts had been taken, except, of course, for Helen of Troy. Perhaps Nan was playing her handmaiden. God forbid that she appeared onstage as a Spartan soldier.
“Mr. Castle,” a breathless voice said behind him.
He swore under his breath and pivoted outside the door to the salon. He recognized the comely widow from the village and sighed. “Yes, ma’am? May I escort you back to your seat?”
She smiled ruefully. “I left my seat because you left the theatre and I wanted—”
He put his finger to his lips, opening the door with his other hand. He knew what she wanted, but she wasn’t getting it from him. “The act has started,” he said somberly. “You don’t want to miss a minute of it.”
She gripped the cuff of his jacket. “I didn’t come here to see a play. I came to see you. My name is Rachel Pleasance, don’t you remember?”
“No. I’ve a terrible memory. That’s why I’m an usher tonight, not an actor.”
A burst of laughter from the theatre gave Colin the opportunity to whisk her through the door before she could object or wriggle back into the hall to continue the conversation.
“Mr. Castle,” she whispered in chagrin, “why is there a hammer protruding from your pocket?”
“A hammer?”
“Well, I assume that’s what it is,” she said coyly. “When are you going to put it to use?”
He glanced at the stage in astonishment. The upper balcony had been transformed into the palace of ancient Troy; the tapestries that draped from the railings depicted the town’s plains.
“Right now,” he said, and ran down the aisle toward the silk sheets that billowed over the semicircular steps from center stage. He banged a few nails into place and escaped as the ship carrying Paris and his stolen Helen plowed toward the waves. Actually, it was Kate commanding a legless settee with three broomsticks serving as masts.
And Helen was—good grief. Even in sleeveless gold-trimmed chiffon and a flowing blond wig, it challenged the imagination to believe that Nan’s face had launched a single settee, let alone a thousand ships. He grimaced as she sprang out of Kate’s grasp to bellow at the audience. “Save your beautiful queen! Odysseus! Achilles! Save me from this wicked prince! Who wants to ravish me!”
Colin smiled in admiration. He’d take on that wicked prince whenever she would agree to a private war. By the disgusted expression on her face as she glanced his way, she had noticed the widow and drawn the wrong conclusion.
He looked to his right.
Lovitt, in Grecian-soldier garb, was showing Mrs. Pleasance to her seat. Colin sensed a compatibility between them. That would be one problem solved.
The doors behind him banged against his elbow and swung open; he turned in annoyance to behold Brian mounted on his pony.
“I assume this is part of the play?”
Brian nodded gravely. “I’m Achilles, and this—”
“Don’t tell me. The Trojan horse.” Colin moved aside. “Do your worst.”
“I’ll be dead in a few minutes,” Brian said in disappointment.
Colin suppressed a smile. “My condolences.”
“It wouldn’t be so bad if Charlie weren’t the one to do me in.”
“That’s better than your sister, isn’t it?”
“I suppose.”
Colin stared at the sharp-boned face beneath a plumed pewter bowl. This was his son, and Kate had raised him. He would not be denied either of them.
“Sir?” Brian whispered.
“What?”
“I think you’d best make use of that hammer. The walls of Troy aren’t supposed to fall this soon.”
He looked up as a tapestry from the balcony collapsed on the prow of the settee from which Kate and Nan had by a hairsbreadth just disembarked. It was a tragedy, all right. Women and children struggling to survive without a single champion in sight.
He knew what his role would be after tonight. Let the curtains close on Kate as the hero for the last time.
* * *
He hadn’t even reached the bookshelf to open the secret panel Hay had accessed when a figure ap
peared behind him. The windows were all closed. No one had opened the door. He swung around, reaching inside his waistband for his pistol.
“God above, Kate! What are you doing here this time of night?”
“That’s what I was about to ask you.” She cast a suspicious look around the room. “Are you expecting company?”
“Company?” He pulled his hand back to his side, studying her in astonishment. Her long hair cascaded around the shoulders of the cream silk robe she was wearing over her night rail. She looked so soft and vulnerable that he felt his senses kindle, his gaze hungrily consuming the sight of her.
She frowned at him. “Yes, company. I noticed you and Mrs. Pleasance having a chat during the performance. If Nan and I had been knocked senseless by the fallen tapestry, I would have held you responsible.”
He laughed unwillingly. “I only spoke with Mrs. Pleasance for a few moments before Lovitt took her to her seat. She was persistent. I was polite.”
Kate shrugged. “You have the right to be a rake.”
“Well, you do not have the right to accuse me when you are wrong. I followed Mr. Hay after you and I parted. He came in here and—” He paused. “How did you enter this room?”
He stared past her and at once knew the answer when he noticed the gaping hole where another panel should have been. The marble fireplace that stood between the two bookshelves separated each hidden recess from the other. Kate must have emerged from an unseen passageway.
He nodded toward the opening. “What’s in there?”
She moved to block his way. “It’s a secret passageway.”
“To where?” he asked, intrigued.
“It wouldn’t be secret if I told you.”
“Who’ll stop me if I decide to investigate for myself?” he asked her in a determined voice.
She sighed in exasperation. “It leads up to my bedchamber.”
“It doesn’t. Do you lead a double life as a highwayman?”
“How did you guess? Did my robe give me away?” She sighed. “The house was built by a gentleman smuggler who—”
The Mistress Memoirs Page 17
