by Joan Smith
Brown seemed shocked at the idea. “No, no. Nothing to worry about there. He makes enough for his needs, but he’s a demon for trying to take over any play he’s in. He even argues with Shakespeare, says some of his lines aren’t playable. I ask you!”
Brown produced a bottle and they chatted a little longer. Brown had no idea where any of Prance’s actors came from. It was commonly said they came out of the woodwork when a play was being cast. When Coffen decided it was time to meet Black he took his leave. He felt he hadn’t learned much, and hoped Black had done better.
* * *
Chapter 6
Coffen’s carriage was waiting when he left the theatre. Fitz, no doubt at Black’s urging, even had the door open and the step let down. Coffen knew by Black’s dour expression that he hadn’t had much luck either. “No luck then?” he said, when he was settled in the carriage and they were on their way home.
“Nothing so far. It’s too early, but I’ve had a word with Nappy. Just the usual crew on the ken lay. He don’t think Jenkins would tackle a lord’s house. He specializes in doing shops. The Podey gang have moved to Brighton for the summer. The only one he figures would tackle a job like this is Father Maccles, and he’s doing fifteen years for his last job.”
“Why do they call him father? Dresses up like a priest, does he?”
“No, that’s Reverend Smiley you’re thinking of. He’s a paper hanger.”
“Eh?” This was Coffen’s regular comment when he didn’t know what someone was talking about.
“Bad cheques, Mr. Pattle. You wouldn’t have come across Smiley. Father Maccles runs a family operation. He works with his sons and even his wife, Mother Maccles, on his bigger jobs. You don’t want to take any cake or ale she offers you.”
“A bad cook, is she?”
“Not bad tasting, it’s the little extra something she puts in her cakes that’ll lay you out for a week, if it don’t kill you. Father’s a devil for planning but not so strong on execution. He did the Russian job last year. You remember Russia sent a bunch of jewels and paintings and what not to an exhibit at Somerset House? As soon as ever he read about it, Father got a bunch of his sons hired to do odd jobs for the show, menial work for the exhibit. Setting up displays, selling tickets and even working as guards. Talk about the fox guarding the hen house! Father waited till the show was over and the goods all boxed up to send home, then he struck. You can imagine the hullabaloo Prinney would have raised if it happened before the show, or during it. Like I said, a demon for planning. I’m glad he’s not on the loose, or this is just the sort of job he’d go after.”
“They caught him though. I remember reading about them Russian pictures. Eye cons, Prance called them. He has a fancy word for everything arty.”
“I could give you a fancy word for him, but I won’t. Anyhow, it was in the execution of his scheme that they caught Father Maccles. The wagon he hired to haul away the loot broke down. ‘Twas a broken axle that did him in. If he’d checked that wagon out before using it he’d be a free man today, and rich along with it. The wagon tipped, a box busted open, the loot began falling out on the road, and before they could get the goods picked up they were discovered. Saved us a fight with the Russians. Father was lucky to get away with fifteen years. Mother herded the lads away to safety, each with a treasure or two in his pocket I warrant. Let on they were just part of the crowd that had gathered. I made sure Father would be dancing on the end of a rope but as they got the goods back he got off light. Did you learn anything at the Green Room?”
“I’m pretty sure Vance is all right, and the other two as well. She’s a climber and Sean hopes to rise on her skirt tails. I expect you’ll be going over to Luten’s place now,” Coffen said with an air of injury as the carriage drew into Berkeley Square.
“We promised her ladyship, Mr. Pattle.”
Seeing lights in Prance’s windows, Coffen went to call on him to tell him what they had learned at the Green Room. Prance was not impressed.
“It sounds as though your friend Cherie is jealous of Chloe. All pretty actresses make up to the gents,” he said. “Chloe is not half so bad as most. As to Vance – I don’t have to be told he wants stepping on. If he weren’t such a good performer I’d be rid of him. I shouldn’t be surprised if he ends up playing Maldive when we open at Drury Lane.”
In the house next door, Black strutted about like a general, seeing that his orders had been carried out. He checked the footmen’s pistols to see they were charged, instructed them what to look for and what to do if they noticed anything amiss.
“I fancy the likeliest way of getting in is via an outer library door, so you lads in the garden must look extra sharp. I see you’ve moved the stone pots in front of the gate as I told you. I’m a little worried about them bushes. Use your lantern and take a peek behind them every so often. And the hedges between the neighbouring houses on either side — a small man could squeeze into the yard that way if he didn’t mind losing a few inches of skin. Try to take them without shooting, for there’ll be more than one and you might just alert the others to trouble. Shoot if you have to, but don’t shoot to kill.”
Black left them in a state of terror, imagining hordes of assassins creeping up on them through the dark. He figured that was the way to keep them from falling asleep. He also ordered the kitchen to keep coffee supplied at regular intervals. He didn’t have to be told the providing of coffee was not a job for Luten’s toplofty chef. He commandeered a kitchen maid for the job.
When Luten and Lady Luten came to have a word with him before retiring, he was able to tell them all was in order. “Evans tells me Miss Lipman has returned and has retired, so the front door is locked.”
“What about yourself, Black? When will you get some sleep?” Luten asked.
“I’ll catch a few winks in here after daylight. Three chairs and a bolster will do for me. I’ve slept on worse. I doubt very much we need worry once the sun is up. And we have our men instructed what to do in any case. I’ve put a few feelers out and haven’t heard of any big gang operating in London at the moment. Mind you that don’t mean some new gang won’t see the opportunity and take it. I’ll keep my ears open.”
“We’re very grateful to you, Black,” Corinne said. It was all the reward he wanted.
“My pleasure, Madam.”
No one came to steal the donations that night. Prance and the players returned the next morning and the rehearsals resumed. Miss Lipman found a moment to slip in and watch them. Vance objected to Chloe’s overacting when he had to menace her in one scene.
“She shouldn’t throw up her hands and scream,” he said. “All Maldive has done is suggest she might want to consider him as a suitor. She reacts as if he had tried to rape her.”
Sean bristled up in her defence. “Don’t use that kind of language to my fiancée!”
“I was not speaking of your fiancée, Everett, I was speaking of Lady Lorraine.”
“What do you think, Sir Reginald?” Chloe asked. “After all, you are the director.”
“Perhaps a little less emotion, Chloe, and a little milder language from you, Corbett.”
Corbett turned to Miss Lipman and shook his head at such foolishness.
When a set of Waterford crystal wine glasses arrived from Mrs. Middleton, Evans notified Lady Luten.
“You were to ask Miss Lipman to handle the arrivals,” she reminded him.
“I couldn’t find her, Madam. She isn’t in the library or in her room.”
“Has she gone out?”
“No, madam. That is, I was in my office talking to the head footman for a while. Some rearrangement of duties was necessary due to the footmen being up all night to guard the library. She might have slipped out then.”
“But where can she be?”
With a memory of yesterday’s lapse in betraying that the auction items were in the library, Corinne headed to the gold salon. Sure enough, there she was, rolling her eyes at the villain, Vance Corbett. And he,
for once, wasn’t scowling but looking pleased. Really, the girl was worse than useless.
“Miss Lipman, may I have a word?” she said, and Miss Lipman came running to the doorway. “Isn’t it exciting!” she said. “That artistic temperament, so volatile. Such fun, watching them perform.”
“No doubt, but we have work to do. Evans has a parcel for you to take to the library and look after the paperwork.”
“Certainly, milady. I had a free moment, and didn’t think you would mind.”
“It would be better if you not interrupt when Sir Reginald is trying to work,” she said. Miss Lipman scuttled out with just one smile over her shoulder at Vance.
Reg joined Corinne. “I would appreciate if you could keep Miss Lipman out of here,” he said. “When she’s not badgering me, she’s throwing her hankie at Corbett. And he is not averse, I might add.”
“I spoke to her, but perhaps you should lock the door when you have all your crew assembled.”
“I can’t lock them in! Wouldn’t Vance have something to say about that! But I’ll keep it closed and get rid of her if she returns.”
“How is it going, Reg?”
He jiggled his hand, “Comme-ci, comme-ça. It’s early days yet.”
Chloe and Sean had been talking together. When their director happened to glance at them, Chloe came forward and spoke to Corinne. “It’s so kind of you to let us work in your beautiful house, Lady Luten. I never imagined anyone could have such a home.”
“Yes, it is nice,” Corinne said.
“You should have seen it before we removed the half the furniture and rolled up the carpet,” Prance said.
“I can just imagine,” Chloe said, gazing all around. “I mean one gets an idea from the entrance hall. It’s just how I always imagined a palace, with the big bouquet of flowers and everything so rich looking. I love that painting between the fireplaces. Sean and I think it looks like you, Lady Luten. Vance said it’s by someone called Andrea something.” She pointed to the painting.
“Andrea del Sarto,” Prance said. “The lady is the Virgin Mary. Now aren’t you flattered, Corrie?”
She just smiled. Luten had once mentioned it reminded him of her.
“I’ve never seen such painting outside of an art gallery,” Chloe said. “Sean and I go to all the shows we can afford. We hope one day we can have a nice house — oh nothing like this, of course, but a nice house with a garden and real paintings.” Her eyes strayed to the Gainsborough on the far wall.
“I hope you make it,” Corinne said, and took her leave. Chloe seemed like a sweet little girl. What she said reminded Corinne of her own feelings when she first married deCoventry. She, too, had been overwhelmed at the grandeur of his mansion. She had thought it must be a palace. And Luten’s house was much finer than deCoventry’s. She would like to give her a tour, but not while the donations were in the house. After it was over, perhaps.
Mrs. Ballard came shuffling forward apologetically. Her late husband had been a connection of Lord deCoventry’s. Mrs. Ballard had filled the role of companion to Corinne since her marriage to Lord deCoventry, and as she was a poor widow Corinne felt constrained to keep her on when she married Luten. Her duties now were largely imaginary, but she did like to make herself useful and helped as her ladyship’s dresser.
As the relict of a clergyman, she was addicted to her Bible and her Psalter. She was tiresomely timid, creeping about in black gowns of the plainest cut and seldom intruding into the life of the house. Despite her modesty she had recently had a bit of excitement when a member of her whist club had been murdered and the Berkeley Brigade had helped in catching the murderer. She was a little involved in that case and had developed what she considered a very low but powerful taste for excitement. Really it was extremely boring just sitting in one’s room all day, reading and sewing and knitting.
Corinne was surprised to see her belowstairs and asked her if anything was amiss.
“Oh no, milady. I just wondered if I could be of any help with all this business of the donations for the auction.”
“Kind of you, Mrs. Ballard. Actually Miss Lipman is helping me with that.”
Mrs. Ballard’s glance strayed to the closed door of the gold salon, which was where she was really eager to go. “Perhaps I could be of some use to Sir Reginald — make notes or do little errands for him.”
Corinne could hardly have been more surprised if she had announced she wanted to perform in the play. Mrs. Ballard had never shown any partiality for Reg; quite the opposite. What had come over her? Had she decided it was her duty to reform the actors? She hardly knew what to say, and decided to let her companion try her hand with Reg. He did like to have people to boss around, so perhaps he’d find something for her to do. The poor lady must be bored to distraction to have suggested it.
“Why don’t you ask him?” Corinne said, and left.
Mrs. Ballard arrived in the gold salon at an opportune moment. Reg decided Lorraine required a shawl for a scene where she was sitting, trembling with cold in St. Justin’s Abbey. Mrs. Ballard was sent off to procure one. No sooner was Chloe bundled into the shawl and told to shiver than Reg remembered she was supposed to be accompanied by her kitten, Minou, to provide someone to talk to. Mrs. Ballard could not pull a kitten out of thin air, but she offered to make one out of an old woolen scarf Corinne had thrown out and she had snapped up for donation to the poor.
“Could you do that, dear?” Reg said. She could. She brought her sewing down to the gold salon and enjoyed a morning of unparalleled interest.
Mrs. Ballard was always shy of men, but when Chloe was not required for a scene, she went to sit with the old lady. Chloe seemed like a lovely little girl, not clinging to her beau and shamelessly make up to him as one rather expected of an actress. Chloe seemed genuinely interested in the life of a clergyman and had exciting stories about her own life. Orphaned when she was fourteen and thrown out into the world to make her living. Mrs. Ballard tsk’d in sympathy. Chloe had been hired as nursemaid in the household of a local worthy, then when the family came to London for a season, she had met Sean at a church festival.
Sean was a page at Drury Lane at that time, hoping to become an actor. He encouraged her to try the stage. They had got roles in a touring company. When the tour was over, he had got her a position helping the seamstress at the theatre. They were both thrilled to have this opportunity with Sir Reginald. It was so lovely to be in a nice warm house all morning. And such a lovely house!
“Oh, how did you do that, Mrs. Ballard?” she cried when the kitten was done. “It’s really wonderful, with the little tail and everything. You should make more and sell them. I would love to have one. I used to have a kitten,” she said with a little sigh as she took up the toy and stroked it.
Mrs. Ballard decided on the spot she would make one for Chloe. Reg continued to find little chores for Mrs. Ballard. The items — he called them props — he required were endless. Cups and tea pot for a scene where they were having tea, a candelabrum for Chloe for a night scene, a cape for the villain. Mrs. Ballard had to scuttle next door for that. She came in so handy that she was soon a regular fixture in the gold salon. Over the days she and Chloe became friends, each finding in the other something that was lacking in her life. Mrs. Ballard brought her knitting.
When Chloe saw it, she said, “I wish I could do that. It’s like magic, turning wool into slippers. You are clever.”
“The devil finds work for idle hands,” Mrs. Ballard said, smiling.
“My mama used to say that,” Chloe said, fighting back a tear.
Mrs. Ballard was never blessed with a child and Chloe was motherless. It was almost like having a daughter. “I could teach you to knit, she said.
“Oh, could you really? I’ll bring some wool and needles tomorrow.”
Villier was no stranger in the gold salon and Miss Lipman also continued to find many excuses to intrude on the rehearsals. As Vance was better behaved when she was there, Prance didn�
�t object. When Coffen dropped in a few times he tried to talk to her but soon gave it up. It was pretty clear it was Corbett she had in her eye. Miss Lipman also exerted every effort to make herself pleasant to Reg. He recognized her as being on the lookout for a husband, but as her main interest appeared to be Vance, he felt safe.
* * *
Chapter 7
Lady deCourcy took advantage of the auction to rid her house of a shockingly ugly silver epergne she had inherited from an aunt. It stood a metre tall, consisting of a central vase surrounded by three tiers of little bowls, each held aloft by a cherub. A hardy footman staggered under the weight of it. When it was delivered to the door, Evans went to tell Miss Lipman. He had happened to see her slip into the gold salon and knew where to find her.
“It’s very heavy,” he informed her. “You couldn’t carry it. I’m afraid I couldn’t do it myself. I’d hate to drop it.”
Miss Lipman turned her sweetest smile on Reg. “Do you think you could spare one of your actors for a moment, Sir Reginald?” she said, with one of her coy smiles. “We require the services of a big, strong man.”
Caught between pique that she didn’t consider himself up to the job and relief that she hadn’t asked him, he said shortly, “I can spare one of them for a few moments.”
“Sean will be happy to do it,” Chloe said at once.
“I want to rehearse the love scene between you and Sean,” Prance said to her.
Vance stepped manfully forward and left with Miss Lipman. He struggled with the weight as she led him to the library and unlocked the door for him. The footman stood aside to watch. He knew Black didn’t like anyone but Miss Lipman and himself and of course Lady Luten going in there, but he didn’t like to call Miss Lipman to account. Obviously she couldn’t haul that huge, ugly thing by herself. He closed the door behind them, remaining on guard outside it. Black had been firm about always keeping the doors closed.
Vance set the epergne on the floor and heaved a sigh of relief. As he looked around the room at the collection of valuables his eyes widened. “It’s like a fancy shop!” he exclaimed, and began strolling around, lifting various objects to admire or denigrate. Miss Lipman accompanied him, giving a few details as to who had donated the items and what they were expected to bring at the auction.
