by Jayne Davis
“So why did Fletcher leave?” Bella asked again.
Bella felt the woman’s hands still as she replied. “Madame said she’d been stealing.” The pinning resumed. “Madame said Fletcher should be grateful that she hadn’t called the constable.”
Bella resisted the impulse to turn again, to see if Nokes was lying to her. But why would she lie?
“Fletcher didn’t seem the type of person who’d steal,” Bella said. She’d been thinking out loud, but Nokes answered.
“It didn’t seem right to us, either, my lady. Sarah was good at her job, and kind when she could be.”
“Will she get another position?”
“I dunno, my lady,” Nokes replied, mumbling through a mouthful of pins. “It’ll be difficult without a reference.”
It sounded strange to Bella—could it just be coincidence that Fletcher had been accused of stealing after she’d been at Marstone House for fittings?
“What was she supposed to have taken?” If it was items from this house, Bella could refute that accusation.
“Money, my lady. Madame said Fletcher kept money meant for her.”
The coins Bella had given Fletcher for helping with her hair? She opened her mouth to explain but thought better of it. Telling Nokes would make no difference.
“Where does she live, do you know?” She twisted her head around again when the seamstress did not answer. “I mean her no harm, I assure you.”
“I don’t know, my lady,” the seamstress said, her tone doubtful. “She kept herself to herself, mostly.”
Bella waited, but no more information was forthcoming. When the gown was adjusted to Nokes’ satisfaction, Molly helped her remove it, working carefully to avoid dislodging any of the pins.
“I’ll take this gown to be sewn up tomorrow, my lady,” Nokes said, folding it. “If you will put the ball gown on now, it needs only a few adjustments.”
This would look good, Bella thought, running a hand over the ivory silk with a delicate pattern in pink. She wished she’d had the forethought to place the mirror better, but Fletcher was still on her mind.
“What about Dawkins?” she asked. “Would she know where Fletcher lives?”
“I don’t know, my lady. They seemed friendly enough when they were at work. You would have to ask her.”
Bella said nothing more while the woman finished her work, and gave her a shilling as she left.
“It looks lovely on you, my lady,” Molly said, starting the process of removing the ball gown.
“It does,” Bella agreed. “Molly, what can I do about Fletcher? If I hadn’t asked her to do extra, she would still have her job.”
“It wasn’t your fault, my lady. Fletcher didn’t have to stay.”
“I could explain to Madame Donnard.”
“Wouldn’t help, my lady,” Molly said. “Folks like her won’t admit to being wrong. I’ll bet she gets that shilling off Nokes tomorrow, as well.”
That wasn’t fair, not at all.
“You can’t do nothing about it, my lady, not if you don’t know where she lives.”
“But we do! Molly, ask Langton if he can remember where he took the message the other night.” A message to Billy. If Billy wasn’t Fletcher’s husband, he might know where to find her.
“I can ask, my lady. But I doubt it’ll be a place you should go. You’d be robbed, like as not. Or worse.”
“I’ll take precautions,” Bella said. Langton would have to go with her to show the way, and she should also take Molly for propriety’s sake. It would be safer still if she had someone else with her. Mr Carterton, perhaps, or even Senhor da Gama.
Luis tried his best to keep his eyes on his partner’s face as the final dance drew to a close. Lady Sudbury was certainly well-endowed and, judging by the low cut of her bodice, not shy about displaying her assets. He had to bite his lip and look above her head as he imagined partnering her for one of the more energetic country dances.
“Is something wrong, Senhor da Gama?” Lady Sudbury asked, and he looked into her eyes, a muddy shade of green. She was not pretty in the way the little Stanlake girl was, but what her features lacked in form they made up in vivacity and a definite look of invitation. This target would not be too difficult to seduce—his main difficulty might be fighting his way past others wanting to sample what she appeared to be offering.
“I was merely overcome by your plenteous charms, Lady Sudbury,” he said. He wondered if he was overdoing the compliment, but she giggled.
“How nice of you to say so, but do call me Amalie.” Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and her lips parted slightly.
He stepped back as the final chords sounded, and made his bow.
“It has been my pleasure dancing with you, my lady,” he said. “I hope we meet again.” He inclined his head and then turned and walked away, ignoring her moue of disappointment. Whatever Don Felipe wanted with the woman should be easier if she did not think she’d made an immediate conquest of him.
He pushed through the people waiting for their carriages and walked down the street, breathing deeply. The air outside had the stink of coal smoke, but it was cooler—welcome after the stuffy air inside the ballroom.
As he turned out of Portman Square a closed carriage pulled up beside him, and Don Felipe spoke. “I will take you home, da Gama.”
“No, thank you.” It was not far to his lodgings, and he’d arranged for Mrs Hathersage to have a bottle of decent claret awaiting him. The need to keep his wits about him in company was becoming tedious.
“Get in.”
Luis did so, suppressing his irritation at the peremptory tone and wondering why Don Felipe’s manner had changed from the amicable tone in his letters. As the coach set off again. Don Felipe was a dark shape on the opposite seat, his face lit only briefly as the carriage passed link boys carrying flambeaux.
“I danced with Lady Sudbury this evening,” Luis started, assuming Don Felipe wanted a report on his progress. “And talked to Lady Milton this morning.” On yet another round of tedious calls.
“I know about Lady Milton,” Don Felipe said. “She was also at the exhibition yesterday, but you made no attempt to be introduced to her there. Instead, you wasted your time talking to that child in the orange dress.”
Child? Lady Isabella was young, certainly—but equally certainly not a child, not with her figure.
“What does that matter? And how do you know who I talked to?” He just wanted to get back to his lodgings and have a drink.
“You are being watched, of course.”
“Of course? Why ‘of course’?” Luis took a deep breath, and managed to get his next words out in a more controlled tone. “Can you not trust—?”
“I need to know that I can trust you—and to do that, I need to have you watched.” Don Felipe’s voice held ice and contempt in equal measure.
“I am the son of Don Pedro de—”
“Here, you are the second son of a minor Portuguese noble. Do not forget it.”
“There’s no-one here,” Luis protested. “I would not say that in public.”
“Do not even think it, or you will let the truth out inadvertently. Now, that girl, who is she?”
“Lady Isabella Stanlake,” Luis said, scowling into the darkness. “I know I have to concentrate on the women you tell me to, but will it not appear suspicious if they are the only ones? What is special about them anyway?”
“You will be told when you have befriended them properly.” Don Felipe banged with his stick on the roof of the coach, and it began to slow. “You do have a point,” Don Felipe added. “But make sure you spend more time with the essential ones.”
Luis descended into a wide street lined with large houses. Where was he? He turned back to protest, but the coach was already pulling away.
Muttering curses under his breath, he started to walk, hoping he would recognise somewhere he knew without having to ask for directions. Then he wondered how many bottles of claret Mrs Hathersage had i
n her cellar.
Chapter 8
Bella gazed in awe at the interior of the theatre, and the number of people packed into it. The Tregarths’ box on the second tier was spacious enough, as Bella and her aunt were the only guests yet present.
“Do sit at the front, Isabella,” Lady Tregarth said. “You won’t see much from that chair at the back.”
“The idea is to be seen,” Aunt Aurelia added. “And your new gown becomes you well.”
Bella sighed as she took the seat indicated, wondering if her aunt ever had any other reason for doing things.
“I come to enjoy the play,” Sir John said. Bella glanced up, and smiled as she caught a wink. She hadn’t met Sir John before, but he seemed as friendly as his wife. He pulled an enamelled tube out of his pocket, and handed it to Bella. “You might enjoy using this until the performance starts.”
It had glass at each end—a spyglass? Bella looked through it, but all was a blur.
“Pull the end out until you can see clearly,” Sir John added.
Bella gasped as the people in the box opposite jumped into sharp focus. She lowered the tube—it seemed rather rude to spy on people like that.
“It’s intended to get a better view of the actors,” Sir John explained with a chuckle. “But many people use it as you were.”
Looking more carefully, Bella could see several other spyglasses in use, most by young men training them at the crowd on the main floor of the theatre. She raised the glass again, sweeping it along the boxes opposite.
“I don’t know why we came so early,” Aunt Aurelia complained. “I’ve seen School for Scandal before, several times.”
“Isabella hasn’t,” Lady Tregarth said. “Do stop complaining, Aurelia. Leave, if you wish. We will take Isabella home afterwards.”
Bella bit her lips as her aunt settled back in her chair and waved her fan. Continuing her scan, she spied Lord Barnton in a box with a much older woman—his mother, perhaps. There were others she recognised, although she could not recall their names. She thought she saw Senhor da Gama in the upper tier, his dark red coat blending into the shadowed background, but a voice rang out from the stage and she turned her attention to the play. The chatter from the audience quietened a little, but she had to strain to hear the actor’s words. Then a partition was moved, revealing two women drinking chocolate in a dressing room, and she became lost in the story.
Nick entered the box as quietly as he could. He’d intended to arrive before the performance started, but his meeting with Talbot had taken longer than expected. Lady Tregarth and Sir John nodded in greeting, but Lady Isabella and her aunt didn’t notice his entrance. Lady Cerney was busy inspecting the occupants of the other boxes; Lady Isabella was leaning forward in her chair, absorbed in the happenings on the stage, where Sir Peter Teazel was complaining about the behaviour of the women in his family.
Knowing the plot well, he took a chair towards the back of the box, scanning the audience opposite. Gilbert was here—that was good, he could have a word in the interval about the analysis he was doing for him. The Ropers were in their box on the tier below—he’d had to turn down their invitation to join them when he called on Miss Roper this afternoon, as he was already promised to the Tregarths. That Portuguese was in a box on the upper tier.
As da Gama was newly arrived in England, no-one he knew had heard of him. Nick had resorted to asking Talbot this afternoon after he’d finished looking through new information Wingrave had sent back. The spymaster hadn’t heard of him either, but had promised to make enquires. He’d also said that Wingrave’s investigation might take some time, so it seemed Nick would be looking out for Lady Isabella for a few more weeks yet.
Lady Isabella sat back and turned towards Sir John when the curtain came down at the end of Act One. She seemed surprised to see Nick, but greeted him with a happy smile.
“Ah, Carterton,” Lady Cerney said. “Have my seat. I’m going to speak to Lady Pamington.” She rose as she spoke. Nick caught Lady Tregarth’s amusement as he sat down—Lady Cerney’s attempt at pairing him off with Lady Isabella was rather blatant.
“How are you enjoying the play, Lady Isabella?”
“Oh, very much. It isn’t easy to follow, sometimes, with the audience making so much noise. Is it always like this?”
“Usually, I’m afraid.”
She gave a little pout, then smiled again. “I can always ask you or the Tregarths if I lose the plot.” She lifted a spyglass resting in her lap. “Before the play started, I was looking at the other people—it seems it is permissible to spy on others here.”
“Impolite, perhaps, but many people do it.”
Her smile dimmed, but although she dropped the glass back in her lap she still turned towards the boxes opposite. He tried to see who she was looking at.
Da Gama again—and the Portuguese appeared to be returning her gaze.
“No-one seems to know anything about Senhor da Gama,” he said, keeping his voice low so that only Lady Isabella could hear. “You had better not have too much to do with him until I can check his background.”
She stiffened as he spoke. “I enjoyed a conversation with him at the Royal Academy, Mr Carterton. That is all.”
“Your brother would—”
“Will is not here. My aunt asked Lady Brigham about Senhor da Gama, and she vouches for him. Is that not—?” She broke off, and when she spoke again it was in more measured tones. “I am in my aunt’s charge, Mr Carterton. But thank you for your concern.”
He let out a breath. All he’d done was to offer sensible advice, and she’d ripped up at him. Her final words were conciliatory, but the icy delivery was not.
“You’re welcome, Lady Isabella. If you will excuse me?” He might as well speak to Gilbert now, and hope she’d calm down without his presence. He could ask Lady Tregarth later what she knew of Lady Brigham; a recommendation was only as good as the reputation of the person making it.
Bella clenched her hands in her lap, but made an effort not to scowl—hundreds of people could see her, if they chose to look. She needed help to find Fletcher, and she’d thought to ask Mr Carterton. But if he was warning her against something as innocuous as merely talking to a man, he was bound to tell her she should not go. No, she would have to find someone else.
She turned her gaze to the boxes opposite. Senhor da Gama had returned her smile earlier, she was sure. Who was that with him? She raised the spyglass; the occupants of the box were talking to each other, so they would not notice her inspection. Lady Brigham was there, together with a younger woman. Lady Brigham looked bored, but the younger woman smiled up at Senhor da Gama and fluttered her fan. It was the woman she had seen him with in the park yesterday. Bella shut the spyglass with a snap. As she had told Mr Carterton, she and Senhor da Gama had only enjoyed a brief conversation. Just because he was the most amusing and attractive man she had met so far, it did not mean he thought the same about her.
Lady Tregarth sat down beside her with a rustle of skirts. “The next act will start soon, my dear. And I suspect you will have some visitors at the next interval. Your new gown has given you more confidence.”
Bella gave her a grateful smile. “I am enjoying myself, my lady. This is all so new.” She would be foolish not to make the most of it while her father was still at Marstone Park. Who knew what would happen when he recovered enough to come to London?
Lady Tregarth’s prediction proved correct. When the next interval came, Lord Barnton made his bows to Lady Tregarth and Aunt Aurelia, and asked Bella if she would care to take a turn in the corridor with him.
“She will be pleased to, my lord,” her aunt said, before Bella could answer.
Bella followed Lord Barnton out of the box, irritated by having the decision made for her. Lord Barnton was pleasant to look at, however, even if his conversation was rather tedious, and the clear admiration in his glance was welcome. Mr Carterton had not returned to the box after the last interval, but his permission was c
ertainly not required.
“Is the play entertaining you, my lady?” Lord Barnton asked as she took his arm and they joined the other people promenading up and down the wide corridor.
“Indeed it is, my lord. I am wondering how close a reflection it is of society.”
His brows drew together. “Undoubtedly it is too close for comfort. Gossip can cause all manner of harm.”
Surprised by the force in his words, Bella wondered if he had suffered from gossip himself. “Yet I have found that gossip appears to be the main topic of conversation,” she said. His frown deepened—a change of subject would be a good idea. “Did you view the paintings at the Royal Academy exhibition?”
“Indeed. There was much to be admired. I found the depictions of naval encounters particularly interesting…”
There may be more to the man than she’d thought.
“…intricate brushwork needed to show details of the rigging and foam on…”
Was he an artist?
“…watercolours cannot compete with the brilliancy of a work in oils…”
Oh well, he wouldn’t be interested in her artistic skills, then. Bella had always thought that a conversation involved both parties talking and listening. She was beginning to feel as if she were still in the schoolroom.
“Have you visited the north of England?” she asked, when he paused for breath. “There was a painting of mountains there, but I am told it makes the mountains look more dramatic than they are in reality.”
“Lady Isabella, there are conventions to be followed when depicting landscapes. The classical school, you know, always—”
“Lady Isabella, how fortunate!” Senhor da Gama spoke from behind them. Bella turned, releasing Lord Barnton’s arm. Any interruption would have been welcome, but she was particularly pleased to see him.
“May I join you?” he asked. He didn’t wait for a reply, but moved to stand next to Bella.
“I say, sir,” Lord Barnton spluttered. “I am—”
