Drury Lane Darling (20 page)

Her next thought was to notify Breslau. As he had not bothered to visit her in his box during intermission, this meant finding her way backstage. Unfortunately, going backstage would cause her to lose sight of Mr. Halton. She stood, undecided, looking around for Nigel. Where was the pest of a boy when she needed him? As she stood uncertainly, Mr. Halton turned on his heel and left the corridor. He didn’t head toward any of the boxes, but to the staircase that would take him out of the theater. Panic seized her. He was getting away, and she was helpless to prevent him. The bell clanged, calling the theatergoers back to their seats. Crowds thronged around her, and when she looked toward the staircase again, Mr. Halton was gone.

Without another thought, she ran down the stairs after him. The door was just closing. She waited a moment before opening it and going out into the cold night. The winter wind tore through her light jacket and whistled up her spine. Lucky Mr. Halton was putting his coat on before striking out into the street. He turned and glanced at her. She looked off into the distance, hoping to give the idea she was awaiting a carriage.

Mr. Halton turned again and said, “Would you happen to have a light?” She saw he held a cheroot in his fingers.

She consciously lowered her voice. “Afraid not.”

Halton nodded and turned away. She went after him and fell into step. “A chilly night, eh?” she said conversationally.

“Dammed cold. There’s never a cab when you want one.”

“I’m looking for one myself. Perhaps we could share. Ryder’s the name.”

Mr. Halton appeared not uninterested. “Which way are you going, Mr. Ryder?”

“I don’t mind—just out of the cold. Where are you off to then, Mr.—?”

“Halton,” he said briefly. “I don’t know. Perhaps I’ll just go home.”

It wasn’t necessary to ask where home was. It immediately occurred to her that if he was going to Wild Street, he would hardly require a cab it was so close. She continued walking with him. In a moment Mr. Halton said, “There’s a cab coming now. I shan’t be joining you. Good night.”

He gave a salute and continued on at a faster pace. Pamela hailed the cab, but instead of hiring it, she just asked the driver where Convent Gardens was. When she saw Mr. Halton turn into Wild Street, she thanked the driver and hurried after Halton. Wild Street proved to be a veritable slum. The only light was the dim reflection from a few windows shining on the broken cobblestone underfoot. Curiosity urged her to follow her quarry, but caution pulled her back toward the relative safety of Drury Lane.

Mr. Halton was no longer visible in the dark tunnel-like laneway. Suspicious noises issued from the alleys between houses, sounding at times like a menacing whisper, at others like the rustle of scurrying cats or rodents. Her brow moistened in fear, and her heart thumped like a motor. At the entrance to the second alley, Pamela’s courage deserted her. She stopped and turned to leave. Before she had retreated two steps, there was a sudden movement of air behind her. A heavy hand fell on her shoulder and Mr. Halton said, “Are you following me, Mr. Ryder?” in an extremely menacing voice.

* * * *

Now where the deuce had Pam got herself off to? Nigel glanced occasionally toward the rear of the box as the second act began. The flat likely didn’t know the bell meant it was time to return to your box. Where did she think all the patrons were going? He wasn’t in the least surprised that she had left, but when ten minutes passed and still she didn’t return, he began to worry. Might be best just to slip around backstage and see if she was pestering Wes. Nowhere else she could be, really.

He ran Breslau to ground in his office on the second story at the rear of the building. Every elegance and convenience had been added to the spacious chamber at his lordship’s own expense. Breslau didn’t like to be disturbed here, but on this occasion he peered over Nigel’s shoulder with more pleasure than chagrin. When he saw that Nigel was alone, his smile faded.

“I hope you haven’t abandoned Miss Comstock in the box,” he said.

“She ain’t in the box, Wes. That’s why I’m here. She left. I was sure she would be with you.”

A frown seized Breslau’s austere features. “What do you mean, she isn’t in the box? She was there during the first act.”

“How’d you know that?”

“Never mind. When did she leave, and why didn’t you go with her?”

“I told her to stay there when I left at the intermission. She must have slipped out while my back was turned.”

Breslau was on his feet, hastening toward the greenroom. Even while the play was in progress, this famous meeting spot was busy. A quick glance around showed him she wasn’t there. A dash to various dressing rooms and a few barked questions told him she hadn’t been seen in any of the likely places.

“What happened? Did she see someone in the audience… Fleur or Halton or Spiedel?”

Nigel shook his head. “She didn’t say so if she did. Well she couldn’t have, for I scoured the place very thoroughly looking for Papa, and didn’t spot any of them.”

“It must have happened during intermission. She saw Halton or Spiedel and the greenhead decided to follow him.”

Breslau was aware of a gnawing anxiety that threatened to cause nausea. Awful visions reared up in his mind of Pamela at the mercy of some street ruffian. It didn’t even occur to him that she was destroying his well-orchestrated evening’s entertainment. His face paled and his eyes stared into the distance, while a fierce frown of concentration pulled his brows together.

“Are you all right?” Nigel asked.

“If anything’s happened to her, I’ll see you in Newgate,” he replied, and strode rapidly for the closest exit, with Nigel in hot pursuit.

“Nothing’s happened to her. She’s dressed like a man, if you’re worried some fop has attacked her. None of your business in any case. I can look after my own fiancée.”

“She’s not marrying you, you cretin,” he said grimly over his shoulder.

“Is she not? It might interest you to know we’ve set the date and chosen St. George’s for the wedding.”

“Excellent. All we have to do is change the bridegroom.”

Breslau made curt enquiries of the minions of Drury Lane. One of them had noticed the young gentleman in breeches and silk stockings dart out without a coat just as the second-act bell was ringing. He wondered that the gentleman hadn’t returned. Outside, there were two grooms in charge of traffic. Both of them had noticed two young gents having a word. They’d strolled off together, one of them without a jacket, too. He’d take his death. No, they hadn’t got into a carriage.

Breslau, also without a jacket, flew down Russell Street, around the corner to Drury Lane, trying to think. He had spoken to Spiedel before the play and could conceive of no reason why he should harm Pamela. The unknown quantity was Mr. Halton. His steps turned toward Wild Street. Of course it would be the most depraved street in London that the hoyden chose for her investigation. Obviously Halton had decided to visit the theater. He should have warned Nigel to keep a closer eye on the girl. Better, he should have stayed with her himself.

“I’ll tell you flat, Pam ain’t here,” Nigel decided when the shadows grew impenetrable and rustling sounds from the alleys convinced him no one but a lunatic would venture unprotected into such an area.

“Go back to the theater if you’re afraid.”

“I ain’t, but Pam would be. She ain’t a complete idiot.”

“She let herself get engaged to you, didn’t she?”

“Now see here, Breslau!”

“Go to hell,” Breslau growled, and pounced two at a time up the stairs of a particularly dilapidated hovel at the corner of Wild Court.

“What would she be doing here?” Nigel demanded, looking with aversion at the dust-grimed hallway. His nostrils pinched at the stench. It smelled for the world like the barn at home when the ewes were in heat.

Breslau didn’t bother knocking at Mr. Halton’s door. He threw it open, his fingers already curling into fists and his eyes shooting fire. His expression froze when he saw Pamela and Mr. Halton sitting side by side on the sofa with their feet on a table, having a glass of wine and a cheroot, as comfortable as mice in a hole.

“Ah, evening, Breslau, Raleigh,” Pamela said, still using Mr. Ryder’s voice. “How the deuce did you find me? Allow me to present Mr. Halton.”

“Gentlemen.” Mr. Halton smiled, but soon turned a questioning eye on Mr. Ryder. “How
did
they find you, Mr. Ryder?” he asked.

Pamela gave a throaty chuckle. “Breslau’s my guardian, you must know. A regular Argus. He has me followed. All right, Breslau, I’m coming. You caught me dead to rights this time. No harm in it after all. Just blowing a cloud and having a few wets with Mr. Halton.”

Nigel opened his lips to protest. “Stifle it,” Breslau said with a glare that would cut steel. “We must leave now, Mr. Ryder,” he said to Pamela.

She removed her feet from the table, set down her cheroot and emptied her wineglass in one gulp. “I suppose we must. Thanks awfully, Halton. I appreciate your hospitality. You must call on me at Breslau House one of these days. I am putting up with my guardian. I look forward to that cock fight.”

Breslau directed a daunting look at Mr. Halton. “Mr. Ryder will be returning to the country tomorrow morning. Good night, Mr. Halton.”

Civil bows were exchanged, and the company left. Pamela knew instinctively that attack was her best defense. “What wretched timing,” she scolded. “I could have got the truth out of him if you hadn’t interrupted. A few glasses of wine would have loosened his tongue.”

“Just how many glasses did you have?” Nigel demanded.

“One. I dumped the first one behind the sofa when Halton went to get the cheroots. I hadn’t time to work the conversation around to Fleur. I had to calm his suspicions when he caught me following him.”

“How, pray, did you manage to do that?” Nigel asked.

She hunched her shoulders. “I managed to scrape an acquaintance in front of the theater. I told him I had no friends in town. I had slipped away from my guardian, and followed him in the hope he might accompany me to a tavern. He suggested I go to his place instead.”

“And you
went!”
Nigel howled.

As they hurried toward the theater, she became aware that Breslau hadn’t said a word since leaving. She had expected a few flesh wounds to show his concern, but all he did was glare. The merciless pace he set left her winded. Were it not for his hand on her elbow, dragging her along, she could not have kept up with him. His lips were set in a grim line, and his jaw was clenched.

“I’ll tell you, Pam,” Nigel said in a sneering manner, “I’m not at all happy with tonight’s work. What would Mama say if she found out what you were up to? Dressing up in my clothes is bad enough. I won’t have my fiancée smoking.”

A nerve in Breslau’s jaw jumped and his hold on her elbow tightened painfully. Pam deemed it a good time to change the subject. “Did anything happen at the theater?” she asked Breslau.

His patience broke just as they turned the corner to Drury Lane. “Never mind trying to divert me. You have behaved outrageously, Miss Comstock, and are very well aware of it. We shall discuss this when we get home.”

Nigel chose that inauspicious moment to reassert his claims on Miss Comstock. “Now I think of it, I’m not sure I want Pam staying with you. I’ll take you around to Fosters’, Pam.”

“We can’t possibly go to Fosters’ at this hour of the night.”

“Well, first thing tomorrow morning. If you want to go anywhere, you can call your brother Harley. I shall be busy polishing off the memoirs.”

Pam glanced at Breslau. His clenched jaw told her nothing. When they entered the theater, Breslau accompanied them to his box and sat like a statue throughout the remainder of the performance. As the last applause died away, he turned to Pamela.

“I’ll call my carriage to take you home,” he said in a voice like ice.

“I’m taking Pam to the greenroom,” Nigel announced. “Why else do you think she’s wearing that monkey suit?”

Pam bit her lip and stared at Breslau. Rather than detract from her appearance, the masculine attire enhanced her femininity. The pale oval of her face was highlighted by the severe hairdo. While she feigned a look of pleading, he knew she would attend the greenroom, with or without his approval. Why should he play the ogre?

His face first thawed, then a soft smile invaded his eyes. In the shadows, he reached for her fingers and squeezed them.

“Very well, but there will be a price to pay,” he warned. “And you disobeyed an express order in my note.” His eyes slid to Nigel. “You were to divest yourself of a puppy, not acquire yet another.”

“Be forewarned, milord. I have a great aversion to following orders. Try a request next time.”

“Or perhaps—a proposal?”

In the darkness, his hand moved to grasp her fingers.

Breslau led the way through the milling throng after the play was finished. Pamela and Nigel followed him along corridors and around corners, down a flight of stairs till they reached the infamous greenroom. At first glance the scene resembled any polite party. The gentlemen were of the first stare, the ladies well-gowned, and the room elegant. The first indication that it was not an ordinary party was the rush of newspapermen who ran to greet Breslau. They each carried a pencil and a notepad, and they flung questions at his head so violently that he automatically fell back.

“Any word on the Flawless Fleur?”

“What is the name of your new production?”

“Is Rose Flanders to play the lead?”

“Is it true Fleur was murdered by French spies?”

Breslau listened politely and smiled. When the reporters fell silent, he said, “No one has offered you a glass of wine, gentlemen. Pray, allow me.” He lifted his arm and snapped his fingers. “I shall be making my announcement at midnight.”

This only brought forth another volley of questions. “Here is Miss Flanders,” Breslau said, and the crowd of black jackets went off in pursuit of Rose.

Pamela pulled at Breslau’s elbow and said, “Did you learn anything about Fleur?”