An Act of Villainy

by Ashley Weaver

  “I thought I heard your voice, Mrs. Ames. I hurried to get ready so I didn’t miss you. I’m sure I must look a fright.”

  She was perfectly aware that she looked magnificent, but somehow even this insincerity was charming.

  “You were wonderful, Miss Bell,” I said.

  “Oh, do you really think so?” she said, clasping her hands together in apparent delight at my compliment. “I’m so glad. I did so want to do Gerry’s play justice.”

  “I’m sorry to rush off,” Christopher Landon said abruptly, “but I’ve somewhere to be. Good evening.”

  I happened to be looking at Flora Bell as he said this, and a strange expression crossed her face. Almost as soon as it was there, it was gone, and I wondered if I had imagined it. I didn’t quite know what to make of it, and I tucked the impression away to think about later.

  I had noticed that Miss Bell and Mr. Landon possessed an exceptional chemistry in their climactic farewell scene together. I had watched, spellbound, as Victoire and Armand had said their final good-byes, and now I wondered if there was a reason they were able to convey longing so convincingly.

  “Gerard, aren’t you going to introduce me to this beautiful creature?” said a deep, rich voice behind us. I recognized it at once as that of the man who had played the supporting role of Durant, the diabolical nobleman who would stop at nothing to win Victoire’s hand.

  We turned to see him approach from the dressing room at the end of the hallway. He was a tall, broad-shouldered gentleman, a bit on the heavy side, with flashing dark eyes in a handsome, ruddy face, and thick black hair going gray at the temples.

  Though there was a group of us standing there, he came directly to me and he took my hand and bent low over it. “Balthazar Lebeau, at your service.”

  “How do you, Mr. Lebeau,” I said, a bit awed to be speaking to so famous a gentleman. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve long heard of your talents and was happy to witness them tonight.”

  He straightened but didn’t release my hand. Instead, his grip on it tightened, and he stepped closer. “I thought the brightest days of my life were behind me, but you have given me reason to hope.”

  “Steady on, old boy,” Mr. Holloway said with a laugh. “You mustn’t allow him to alarm you, Mrs. Ames. Lebeau has rather a reputation, but he’s harmless enough.”

  Mr. Lebeau flashed a wolfish smile. “I’m not altogether harmless,” he said.

  I laughed, extracting my hand from his grip. “Then I shall certainly be on my guard, Mr. Lebeau.”

  “No need to worry. I’m nothing like Durant.”

  “And this is Mr. Ames,” Gerard Holloway said somewhat pointedly.

  Balthazar Lebeau turned to Milo with a bow. “I am pleased to meet you, sir. I congratulate you on your excellent taste.”

  “Thank you,” Milo said with a hint of amusement.

  Mr. Lebeau turned his eyes to Miss Bell.

  “There’s just one thing I wanted to speak with you about, my dear. When you’re saying that final line as Victoire, perhaps you could do it with just a bit more ambiguity in your tone.”

  “I didn’t think there was anything wrong with the way I said it,” she replied sweetly. “Victoire despises Durant. I don’t believe for a moment she would choose to marry him.”

  Mr. Lebeau smiled indulgently, but there was irritation in his eyes. “That’s not for you to decide. There should also be the possibility of acceptance in her words. Trust me, my dear. I have been doing this for much longer than you have.”

  “Yes, I know,” she replied. “Perhaps we aren’t doing things the way you’re used to any longer.”

  Mr. Holloway seemed to sense, as I did, that things were potentially headed in the direction of an outright argument, and he stepped in. “We’ll discuss this later, shall we?”

  Mr. Lebeau looked as though he wanted to say something more, but instead inclined his head. “I wish you all a good evening.”

  With that, he turned and left. I glanced at Flora Bell and saw the unfiltered annoyance in her expression before it was cleared away. She obviously did not care for his criticism of her performance. Then she turned her attention back to us, the aura of sweetness once again suffusing her face.

  “Gerry and I would love for you to come to dinner with us, Mr. and Mrs. Ames,” she said brightly. “Wouldn’t we, Gerry?”

  Gerard Holloway looked extremely uncomfortable at the suggestion, but he managed to smile gamely. “I would love to, but I’m afraid I have a business matter that’s come up. Another night, perhaps?”

  “Yes, that would be nice,” I said. Inwardly, I heaved a sigh of relief. I had not relished the prospect of being seen in public with Gerard Holloway and Flora Bell.

  Flora Bell, however, was clearly displeased at Mr. Holloway’s excuse. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly and her posture stiffened. I wondered if she realized Holloway was embarrassed of their relationship, at least when it came to exhibiting it in my presence.

  It seemed that, if he had asked us here to discuss the threatening letters, he had changed his mind. At least for the time being.

  5

  “WELL, WHAT DID you make of the evening?” Milo asked me when we were back in our car, riding toward home.

  “I’m not sure what to make of it,” I said absently. I felt unsettled about the entire affair. Though I had enjoyed the play, the underlying atmosphere at the Penworth Theatre had been filled with tension. None of the principal actors much cared for one another; that much had been evident.

  That wasn’t the only thing that concerned me, however. I was thinking of how disheartening it had been to watch the interactions between Gerard Holloway and Flora Bell, for, despite Mr. Holloway’s evident discomfort, he clearly had strong feelings for her. I had hoped to find Flora Bell a woman of good looks and little talent. Instead, she had been possessed of a rare gift, just the sort of thing that was sure to keep Mr. Holloway enraptured. I sighed heavily.

  “What’s wrong?” Milo asked.

  I debated on whether to reveal what was on my mind and decided to tell him the truth. It was, after all, terribly difficult to hide anything from him. “I’m concerned. Mr. Holloway is clearly besotted with Flora Bell. It’s worse than I thought.”

  “A passing fancy, nothing more.”

  “I’m not so certain.”

  “Georgina Holloway is a woman of substance. Holloway is sure to realize that eventually.”

  “Eventually might be too late,” I said. Marriages had crumbled under lesser strains.

  Milo didn’t reply to this. I could only assume that he had wisely decided to steer clear of the topic.

  “Did you see anyone amongst that illustrious group who you think might be sending the notes?” he asked.

  I considered. We hadn’t learned much, after all, about the players in this particular drama, and I was uncertain who might be the best fit for the role of villain.

  “Mr. Holloway didn’t seem eager to discuss the matter this evening.”

  “No, I suppose he thought we’d got a good look at the potential culprits and could discuss it later. There is also an ambitious understudy who has yet to make her appearance.”

  So far as we knew, it could be any of them or none of them. There was also the possibility that things were simpler than they seemed.

  “I wonder if she might have written the letters herself,” I mused.

  “That’s rather cynical of you, darling.”

  “Perhaps. It would be a good way to secure Gerard Holloway’s attentions for the duration of the play.”

  “She seems to have done a fine enough job of securing them already,” Milo pointed out.

  “I did have the impression there was a great deal of tension in theatre,” I said. “There are clearly jealousies and rivalries at work there. But it is possible that she is working on Mr. Holloway’s sympathies. She isn’t my first suspect, but I wouldn’t rule her out.”

  “Who is your first suspect?” he asked.r />
  I considered. “It’s plain that Miss Bell and Mr. Lebeau don’t like each other,” I said.

  “No,” Milo replied. “Though he seemed to like you immensely.”

  “He was very charming.”

  Milo gave a dry laugh. “That fellow’s played the aging lothario for so long he’s forgotten how to behave as anything else. I expect you’d do well to steer clear of him.”

  “I know how to manage a lothario,” I said. “I’ve had six years of practice, after all.”

  This barb gained me only a mild grunt as he lit his cigarette.

  “It doesn’t seem outside the realm of possibility that Mr. Lebeau might be behind the notes,” I went on. “After all, he’s a dramatic sort of person, and there is a certain melodrama to the notes. Perhaps he has only sent them to upset her, as a sort of malicious prank.”

  “Yes, it’s possible. Holloway told me Lebeau wanted the lead and Flora Bell refused to have him as her leading man. No doubt he bears her a grudge.”

  “That would account for the tension between them. The role of Durant is not nearly as good as Christopher Landon’s role.”

  “There’s something unspoken going on between Christopher Landon and Flora Bell,” Milo observed as he leaned back against the seat.

  “You noticed that, too, did you?” I asked. “She looked strange when he said he had an appointment this evening. I wondered if she assumed it was a woman and had a flash of jealousy.”

  “He was very careful not to look at her. It’s the action of a man who doesn’t want to make his feelings known. I’ve seen the same expression countless times on the face of a gentleman with a very bad hand of cards.”

  “You mean you think he cares for her but can’t match the prestige of Gerard Holloway.”

  “Something like that,” Milo said. “Holloway may make her career for her. If I had to guess, I’d say that’s what’s keeping her attention. Holloway’s a decent fellow, but he isn’t exactly the type of man women go mad for.”

  Not women like Flora Bell, anyway. She was young and beautiful and could have any man she wanted. Gerard Holloway was gallant and handsome, but I did not imagine he was the sort of man who would make a young woman’s heart race.

  Then again, I could be wrong. In his younger days Gerard Holloway had been quite the adventurer. It could be that Flora Bell still saw the streak of thrilling recklessness in him. Perhaps he was looking for someone who could bring it out again.

  “It all comes back to the character of Miss Flora Bell,” I said. “What aspect of her life has caused someone to write these notes to her? Her role in the play? Her role as Mr. Holloway’s mistress? Or perhaps some other role of which we are unaware.”

  “She plays the part of the ingénue well enough,” Milo said, “but I’d wager she’s not as innocent as she seems.”

  I gave a dry laugh. “I think that may be an understatement.”

  “You don’t like her,” he observed.

  “I don’t know her,” I replied. “However, she certainly hasn’t given me any reason to view her sympathetically, breaking up the marriage of my good friend.”

  “The marriage isn’t broken up,” Milo said.

  “If not, this affair has done the sort of damage that’s very difficult to repair.”

  “I’m sure they’ll sort it out. Whatever this thing is with Flora Bell, Holloway still cares about Georgina.”

  “And you think that makes everything all right, do you?”

  He sighed. “All I’m saying is that the Holloway marriage is none of our concern.”

  I lapsed into silence. The cavalier way Milo referenced the relationship between Gerard Holloway and Flora Bell was beginning to grate. Perhaps he could accept it casually, but I could not.

  What was more, I knew Georgina Holloway was not the type of woman who would accept it for long. Whatever Milo said, I felt that I had a duty to my friend.

  Now that I knew what we were dealing with, I was looking forward to tea with Georgina tomorrow.

  * * *

  THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON found me at the Holloways’ Belgravia residence, their house all white pillars, gleaming windows, and tidy hedges.

  I was shown into the sitting room, decorated in shades of blue and gray, and Georgina Holloway came in a moment later to greet me. She looked much the same as when I had last seen her, perhaps a bit thinner. Her expression was pleasant, as always, but there was a shadow in her blue eyes that seemed accentuated by the colors of the room.

  “How are you, Georgina?” I asked.

  “Very well, Amory,” she replied. “How have you been? You look well.”

  We settled into our seats and talked for a few moments about the weather, my recent trip abroad with Milo, and the London Economic Conference that had just commenced.

  At last we came around to discussing the charity gala.

  “I’m so surprised I didn’t hear of it before now,” I said. “But we haven’t been back from Paris for very long.”

  “Well, I’m glad you will be able to attend. I think it will be a lovely event.” There was something unsaid in the words, and I knew she was avoiding mention of The Price of Victory. It seemed I would have to be the one to broach the subject.

  I moved forward carefully. “We encountered your husband in the West End Tuesday evening, and he invited us to see the dress rehearsal of the play.”

  “Did he?” she asked, refilling her teacup with perfect poise.

  “Yes, we went last night.”

  “What did you think of it?” she asked, her eyes still on the teapot as she set it back on the table.

  “It was very good,” I said honestly.

  We both knew that we were skimming the surface of a topic, speaking carefully in the polite way women had of tiptoeing around the matter on our minds. Luckily, Georgina decided to dispense with the prevaricating.

  “You’ve heard, I suppose, about Gerard and Flora Bell,” she said, stirring a lump of sugar into her tea.

  Now that she had brought it up, I saw no need to dissemble. “I’ve heard rumors, yes,” I said.

  A hint of a humorless smile touched her lips as she at last looked up at me. “I’m sure almost everyone’s heard of it by now. What did you make of her?”

  I hesitated as I considered how best to answer the question.

  “I’d like your honest opinion,” she said.

  With any other woman, I might have felt extremely uncomfortable having this conversation. However, Georgina Holloway was not like most women. She was honest and direct, and she expected the same from other people.

  “She’s a talented actress,” I said.

  “And young and beautiful,” Georgina pressed.

  “Yes,” I agreed. “But youth and beauty are such fleeing qualities.”

  She gave a soft laugh. “If Gerard only agreed with you, my troubles would be over.”

  I didn’t point out to Georgina that she was also a beautiful woman. She was perhaps five years older than I and ten years older than Flora Bell, but she could easily have passed for much younger. Her complexion was flawless, smooth and unlined, and her honey-blond hair was styled in the latest fashion, which, in combination with her impeccable taste in clothes, made her appear chic and youthful.

  Of course, all of that would matter very little to someone whose husband was seeking the companionship of a younger woman. Flora Bell’s allure would likely run its course, but that wouldn’t erase the hurt.

  “I’d tell you it won’t last, that people will forget, but I know that’s poor consolation,” I said.

  She looked up, her blue eyes troubled. “You’re right, of course. These things do pass in time. At least, the public interest in them. Today’s gossip is tomorrow’s old news. That’s not what concerns me. I’m thinking of my marriage.”

  I nodded. “I’m sorry, Georgina,” I said. I meant it. I knew what it was like to open a gossip magazine and see my husband’s picture there.

  “I suppose he still loves m
e, in his way, but it’s more than a matter of love, isn’t it?” she said. “Loving someone who doesn’t truly love you isn’t enough. At least, it isn’t for me. Oh, I know women who have done it. Women who have turned a blind eye to their husband’s—”

  She stopped suddenly, and I realized that she was worried that I might think she meant me. It was true, in a way. For years, I had ignored most of what was printed about Milo. I knew that much of it was exaggeration and even outright lies, but that hadn’t meant that there was no truth to any of it or that it hadn’t hurt me deeply to see the careless way he threw away his reputation, and mine with it.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, acknowledging what she clearly viewed as a faux pas, when another woman would have attempted to move quickly past the subject.

  “There’s no need to apologize,” I assured her. “It’s true that Milo and I had more than our share of difficulties.”

  “You seem very happy now,” she said.

  “Yes, very happy,” I said. “We’ve managed to sort out our differences.”

  She looked up at me, her gaze suddenly intent. “How did you do it?”

  I felt the weight of the question, as though her actions might be guided by my next words.

  “There came a moment of crisis,” I answered at last. “When I decided that things must be addressed, one way or the other.”

  It had been one of the hardest things I had ever done, but it had been necessary. Luckily, the turning point had set us in a positive direction.

  “And that was the end of your troubles?” she asked.

  “It was, at least, the beginning of the end,” I said with a smile.

  “I’m glad,” she said. “I’ve always thought you and Milo were meant for each other.”

  “Thank you,” I said. Our relationship was in a better state than it had ever been, even at the beginning. The shallow foundation of infatuation and desire on which we had built our marriage had, thankfully, evolved into something deeper. I felt, more now than ever before, that our future together looked very bright.

  “So, you see,” I told her. “There is hope.”

  “Yes,” she answered. “I suppose only time will tell. Thank heaven the children are too young to be affected by this, at least in theory.”