by Jaima Fixsen
Betty allowed her to pass, albeit with a frown. Keeping her footsteps silent and slow, Laura drifted down the corridor, past timber castles and plastered mountain tops, edging into the grotto-like darkness behind the lighted stage. She could see Dan and Alice silhouetted against the backdrop canvas. Alice was doing well. Dan, a nit-picker if there ever was one, wouldn’t be satisfied, but so long as Alice learned to treat him as a partner and stopped trying to outshine him they probably would do quite well together. It hurt to see it happening, but then Laura had always known she was replaceable.
The stagehands moved, surefooted and soundless, preparing for the moment when they’d flip the world round and convert a fashionable parlor into a craggy forest. There had to be pieces from fifty shows cached back here: a throne with flaking gilt, a mechanical moon, the rippling lengths of silk they used for the sea. She was lucky to have had so many adventures.
Laura took a perch on the battered throne. Whether she gave it up now or next year, the adventures were still hers—no one could take her past triumphs away from her. The ones she might have yet simply weren’t worth the toll Saltash would exact. Yes, she loved being an actress, but she could exist without applause; she was pragmatic enough for that. Leaving the stage didn’t mean she’d have to shut herself in a box. Take Anna—she had interests. Safe, if unconventional, ones but Anna didn’t give two straws for any opinion but her own. In the matter of Alistair’s leg, she and her husband adapted to circumstance, finding happiness with what they had instead of pining for what used to be. Not a bad way to live, if one was wise enough to take it.
She could try new pursuits and not think of them as inadequate substitutes. Yes, gardening and reading and keeping house for Jack seemed vapid, but—
Laura rested her chin in her hands. Right now it would be the next thing to wonderful, being with Jack. If only she hadn’t handled things so badly. He blamed her and she deserved it, but it would be such a relief to reveal to someone the bruises on her battered heart. If she went to Jack surely they could mend the rift between him. She was sorry and it wouldn’t be hard to say the right things and own up to her foolish mistakes, now that she’d run herself to a standstill. Jack was a good sort. He’d forgive her.
If only Jasper didn’t live in Suffolk. They needn’t move in the same circles, Laura decided. It was the only way they could coexist. It was a problem, but not the most pressing one. Just now, she must tend to other matters.
Promising herself that if she had to, she could shed a few tears later, Laura returned to the dressing room. She smiled at Betty. “I think we’d better pack up my things.”
Thank goodness for Betty. Without her, Laura knew she’d have cried over the packets of letters from Gemma Holyrood’s admirers and the playbills she’d saved—here was the first one to ever bear her name. There was a box of trinkets, her lucky garters, Gemma’s gold chain and cross.
“It’s good of you, continually looking after me,” Laura said to Betty.
Betty grunted as she bent over to put another packet of letters in a box. “I don’t do it for you. Got to keep you and Mr. Rushford safe from each other, don’t I?”
“True.” Laura smiled. “I won’t cause him more trouble, Betty. You should know that.” Heavens, but she’d already given him plenty.
“Well, I will miss you,” Betty said. “You’re really done with the stage?”
Laura didn’t know how it happened, but she laughed. “Yes. Best do it now before it’s done with me. I’m not sure what Mr. Rushford has in mind for me just yet, but I think it’s best that I take myself to my brother. I can make arrangements tomorrow.”
She’d do it herself. It wouldn’t be hard to get passage on the mail coach. She could walk the rest of the way once she got to the village—a style of travel suited for penitents. She must take care to arrive suitably woebegone. Jack would forget his anger and they would both have a laugh about it.
They were to the fifth act now. Laura sent Kate to bring her another box and filled it with the remaining bits and pieces: Denmark lotion, rouge, silver-backed brushes, hair ribbons and pearl pins, a silk dressing gown patterned with butterflies. Gathered like this they looked insignificant.
She heard the curtain and the final applause swell as Sarah or Alice or Dan or all of them came out again for another bow. She found Rollins in the hustle afterward, as the stagehands hastened to put things away and the actors sponged their faces and blinked their way back to reality.
“Rushford back for you yet?” Rollins asked.
“I’m expecting him soon,” she said. He’d been longer than she’d expected, but he wouldn’t leave her to sleep here. “Thanks for sheltering me one last time.” Laura put her hands on Rollins’ arm and rose up to kiss his cheek.
“Is this it then?” He gave her a level glance.
She opened her hands half-heartedly. “Better to concede now. I’d rather not be pummeled again. It wouldn’t be fair to the rest of you.”
“We’ll miss you,” he said.
“I’m sure you will. But you know the address of my banker. He’ll be waiting to know the tally of this week’s receipts.”
“Gemma—” he said, rolling his eyes.
“Just so you aren’t tempted to cheat me.” Rollins never would, but she couldn’t do this if they didn’t keep the conversation light. “I’ll miss you. And I’ll write.”
The corner of his mouth tugged up. “You’re really done?”
“I have to be. You know that.”
He sighed. “It’s been a good run. Visit when you can.”
Laura nodded and went back to packing while Rollins went back to work, putting his theatre to bed. It only took moments to hammer her boxes shut and put them next to her valise at the door. Then she broke the news to Sarah, who wept and hugged her.
“What are the boxes for?” Alice asked, arriving late and breathless to the dressing room.
“What’s kept you?” Sarah snapped. “Detained by admirers already?”
“Perhaps,” Alice said, sullen but blushing.
“I’m packing my things,” Laura explained, anxious to avert a quarrel.
“Oh. You’re leaving?” Alice looked skeptical.
“Yes,” said Laura. Alice made a noble effort to look disappointed.
“I’m off,” Sarah said. “Once you’re settled, let me know.”
Laura promised. “Will you find Dan and his wife for me?” she asked Betty. “I want to tell them goodbye.”
She wouldn’t mind a moment alone in the room, but Alice lingered, perhaps as stunned as she was by the naked room. It’s been a good run, Laura repeated to herself.
“Gemma?”
Laura started at the name. It didn’t seem to fit, now that everything was packed away.
“I meant to tell you,” Alice said. “Mr. Rushford’s here. He asked me to fetch you, but I forgot in all the excitement.”
Laura winced. “I hope he’s not been waiting long.”
“Not long,” Alice said. “Come on, I’ll bring you to him.”
“But Betty. And Dan—”
“I’ll send them after you.” Alice reached for the box.
“I can carry that,” Laura said. “If you wouldn’t mind bringing the valise?”
It was harder to thread a way through the backstage bustle with burdened arms, but they kept out of the stagehands’ way and didn’t knock anything over. “He’s out the back way,” Alice said. “Didn’t want to be conspicuous.”
She stopped Laura at the door. “Careful. Let me look first. Yes. It’s safe. You can go. I’ll run and fetch Betty.”
“Wait.” Laura fumbled in her reticule. She’d meant to give these to Kate, but she’d probably be happier with something new and pretty. Alice would appreciate these more. “Here,” Laura said. “I want you to have these.” She stuck out her hand and dropped a tangle of faded blue ribbons into Alice’s hesitant palm.
“Your lucky garters?” Alice asked.
“You should
have them.”
“You shouldn’t—I can’t—well, thank you,” Alice said. “And good luck.”
“Break a leg,” Laura wished her in reply. Hefting her bag, she stepped outside. It was dark. A hackney waited. She couldn’t see Jasper, but since he didn’t want to be seen, she supposed he’d be waiting inside the carriage. Ahead of her, outlined by the lights at the end of the alley, stood a pair of broad shoulders. Peter.
“I left a box upstairs,” Laura said, walking up to him. “Would you fetch it for me?” She might as well save Betty from carrying it down.
He turned. Laura realized with dry throat and widening eyes that these shoulders were too high and clad in lighter cloth. His face was masked in shadow, but the eyes weren’t kind, the mouth wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t sure if he was the tough from this morning—but he certainly wasn’t Peter.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
On the hunt
Jasper returned to the theatre in hopeful spirits. If his mother wasn’t going to object, Laura couldn’t refuse him on that score. Even if she didn’t love him, she liked him and plenty of marriages began with less. Once he explained how his life would be a colorless void without her…she would laugh, no doubt, but was too much of a friend to let him suffer. A break wouldn’t be easy for either of them. She would miss him too…wouldn’t she?
The theatre still hummed with the usual ruckus that always came after a show. Elbowing past the draymen crowding the back door, Jasper was negotiating the labyrinth backstage when Betty found him.
“I can’t find Miss Edwards—Miss Holyrood, I mean,” she whispered.
“What do you mean?” Jasper asked.
“What I said. She’s not here.”
“You must be mistaken,” Jasper said, talking over a ripple of unease. “She’s here somewhere.”
But she wasn’t. Not in her dressing room, not backstage, not with Rollins or that other actress. No one had seen her.
“She said she was finished,” Rollins said, worry spelled out in hieroglyphic creases on his forehead. “That it was time for her to go away. I thought she was going away with you.”
So did I, Jasper thought, anxiety fiddling above the increasingly ponderous bass of his heart. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—be running from him. “Her box is here,” he said to himself as much as Rollins.
“But her valise is gone,” Betty said. It hurt to look at the room stripped of her gimcracks. Laura’s replacement was already studying the walls and trying different places for the chair.
If Laura was hiding—ludicrous idea—it must be because of Saltash. Even if she couldn’t bring herself to accept his proposal, surely she knew he wouldn’t press his suit if it was painful to her. She wouldn’t run from him. He had obligations—to keep her safe, to protect her from shame and from Saltash’s louts. For crying out loud, how many times had he reminded her he’d given his word to Jack? That infernal, fettering promise ought to have driven him to bedlam long ago. Keeping it was nigh impossible and now she was missing.
All his life he’d been blessed with a glib tongue. To mishandle a marriage proposal so badly that the lady he loved actually fled from him—
Jasper felt a touch on his arm. He looked left, then down. It was the hare-lipped girl, the quiet one who flitted about the theatre fetching props and tidying dressing rooms, who’d been with Laura this morning. “What is it, Kate?” Jasper said, producing the name just in time as he crouched to his knees. She looked frightened enough without him looming over her.
“Will you come, sir?” she asked, taking his hand.
He followed her away from the dressing room. “What is it?” he asked again.
Kate threw a worried look behind him. “Miss Gemma. Miss Beaton knows.”
“Who’s Miss Beaton?” Jasper asked.
Wordlessly, Kate pointed at the dressing room door. Ah. She meant the understudy, Alice.
“I saw Miss Beaton come up and fetch Miss Gemma and take her out the back way.”
“You saw her leave the theatre?” Jasper asked.
Kate nodded. “But only Miss Beaton came back.”
Threats, shouts, and fists slammed against tables—both his and Rollins—soon extracted Alice’s tearful confession. “I don’t know who he is, but he’s got money. He wanted to know anything I could tell him about Gemma.”
“And you sold her out,” Jasper snapped.
“I have to fight for my own chances,” Alice whined, roused to defense.
“And you’ve had your last,” Rollins said. “How could you betray her?”
“He said he wasn’t going to harm her,” she muttered.
“And you believed that—after they tied her up and threw her in a carriage?”
“How was I to stop them?” Alice said sullenly.
“By shouting for us,” Rollins snapped. “Or summoning help. Just get out.”
“But my place,” Alice gasped. “I’ve got no—”
“I might be willing to help you,” Jasper cut in. “If you can tell me where they went.”
She looked up, face stricken. “I don’t know, sir. Honest, I don’t.” She fell to weeping while Jasper ground his teeth. He had no time to waste. His chances of tracking Laura dwindled the more time passed. He glanced at the sniveling understudy. She must have seen something that could help, but how to persuade her… She was a spiteful little fool, but a desperate one and the world was hard.
“My sister may be able to find work for you,” Jasper said and passed her his card. Henrietta would make him pay for this, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do, pressed as he was for time. Though still weeping, Alice was grateful enough to give him details of the coach, driver, and the tough who’d mistreated Laura. It wasn’t a lot to go on, searching for a battered brown coach with mismatched horses, one chestnut and one black, driven by a man with broken teeth, but it was all he had. He must find her.
Summoning Betty and Peter, he dispatched them to his parents. “They’ll be at Rushford house. Tell them everything. Tell them Laura’s taken. I’ll send word once I find anything.” God send that he did.
*****
Keep your head. You’ve done this before, Laura told herself, quelling her clamoring heart. She’d been kidnapped by villains dozens of times. Unfortunately the real experience differed from the stage variety. It hurt, for starters.
Her hands and feet were tied, she had raw knuckles and a bashed knee, and probably a bruise to match the scraped cheek she’d gotten earlier. She had blood in her mouth and hair in her eyes and only the vise-like action of her teeth on her tongue kept her from gibbering—a humiliating and useless response. She wouldn’t do it. Someone would find her. Jasper and Mr. Rollins had to know she was missing by now. Jack would learn soon enough. They wouldn’t let her disappear.
But it was dark, the hour was late, and she was trapped in a carriage with a boulder of a man with punishing muscles. His accomplice, a broken-toothed coachman with a phlegmy cackle, wouldn’t help her—he’d held down her legs and tightened the knots. Neither man would say where they were going and she’d lost their direction after the first few turns. Unlike the heroines she played, she didn’t have a concealed knife or a loaded pistol. These weren’t trick bonds either. They held fast no matter how she twisted and the cords—
“Keep that up if you want to rub off your skin,” her captor said mildly. He didn’t speak like a lout and that scared her, almost as much as the flask in his hands that gleamed in the dark. The price of screaming, he’d told her, was to have it poured down her throat. If nothing else, she must keep her wits about her.
“I’m cold,” she said, hoping he’d throw his cloak over her, giving her a chance to pick unseen at her bonds.
“You’re welcome over here.” He gestured to the place beside him.
Laura retracted further into the seat on her side of the coach. Shivering wasn’t so bad.
No matter how she turned her head, she could see nothing outside. It was dark and the shade was d
own. The blind jolting made her queasy and every so often a tremor escaped her as she quailed against the forces of fear, shock, and cold.
He laid a stilling hand on her fingers. “Just a swallow,” he said, unstopping the flask. “It’ll settle you but not put out the lights.”
Laura jerked her head no.
“Please yourself.” He put it away with a shrug.
No turns or stops anymore. They were out of the city, Laura realized, glancing at the latch on the door. O’Trigger (she didn’t know what he was called, but he looked like an O’Trigger to her, with his smarmy manners and cheap finery) had taken his fingers off the handle, but they were close by, resting on his knee. At this speed even if she got through the door she’d only succeed in throwing herself under the wheels. If by some miracle they missed her, she was no better off out there, trussed like a game bird on the side of the road. O’Trigger would only stop the carriage, walk back, and haul her inside, taking the opportunity again to feel her breasts. He should be grateful she didn’t carry a knife because she’d have done her best to gut him.
Twice they slowed for tolls, but she didn’t know the roads well enough to guess their direction.
“There were shawls in my valise,” Laura said through clenched teeth. By now her bag must have been filched from the gutter—she’d swung it hard into O’Trigger, but that hadn’t stopped him, only made him stumble.
“There’s a rug under your seat,” he said.
Bastard. “May I have it please,” she said. If this kept up much longer, she’d grind her teeth to stubs.
“Since you ask so nicely.” He leaned across and made a show of tucking the rug about her. “Anything else I might do for your comfort?”
“Thank you but no.” Her chance for escape would come. Until then, she must wait.
*****
London had countless hackneys crawling like roaches through the streets, but not many had ventured beyond the metropolis. None had been seen at the posting inns on the westward roads, but an ostler at an inn on the Great North Road said he’d seen a brown coach with mismatched horses.
