The Bargain (6 page)

“A sad, sad thing,” Padgett intoned. “Poor lovely Bess. We shall not see her like again.” He put a hand over his heart and bowed his head.

After a moment, Ariel said, “Did you notice any difference in her? Had anything happened to make her… despondent?”

The older man shook his head slowly. “Our lives outside the theater were quite separate, of course. But she seemed the same as ever. There may have been a bit of wrangling now and then.” He made an eloquent gesture. “But that is the nature of our profession.” He looked at Lord Alan. “We pour out our souls, you know, on the stage. It taxes the nerves and makes it difficult to tolerate the… quirks and foibles of others.”

“How difficult?” inquired Alan.

Padgett smiled at him in a kindly way. “We murder one another only on the stage, my dear sir. Naturally, we have our jealousies and romantic mishaps and irritations.” He put his hand over his heart again. “We are but human, after all. However, our work gives us a splendid outlet for our humors.”

“Not always, apparently,” Alan pointed out.

There was a horrified silence.

“There has to be a
reason
she did it,” Ariel burst out.

Padgett looked grave. “Dear child, I don't think you will find it here. Bess was admired by most everyone, and even those who had… less cordial feelings knew she filled the seats.” He looked suddenly shrewd. “Actors don't risk their livelihood.”

This was the most honest thing he had said so far, Alan thought.

Ariel was looking at the small patch of floor under her feet. “There must have been some sign,” she insisted.

“Bess was simply Bess,” Padgett said. “Well, except…”

Ariel's head came up. “What?”

The actor shrugged. “This can't have anything to do with her death. It is too long ago.”

“Please tell me.”

“A year or so ago,” he began, then paused. “No, I suppose it's more like two years; I noticed that Bess seemed… distracted—as if she had something important on her mind. Our work here at the theater had always been her life, you know. She thought of little else.” He frowned. “It's hard to explain, really. It was an impression, a vague feeling. Before that time, one could feel Bess present in every fiber. Afterward, she wasn't entirely here any longer. She still performed brilliantly, of course. Yet something was missing.” He waved a hand in the air. “Perhaps you noticed it yourself, Ariel.”

“I saw her only for short visits,” she answered quietly. “She had Miss Ames arrange special instruction or expeditions for most of my long holidays. I didn't really have the chance to notice.”

Watching her, Alan saw a flicker of hurt in the depths of her hazel eyes.

“Probably, it was nothing,” said Padgett cheeringly. “People do change, after all. And I may have been mistaken.”

In silent agreement, Alan shifted slightly in the doorway. “Tell me,” he said. “If you wished to make it appear—onstage—that an actor was floating above the ground, could it be done?”

The older man swiveled around to look at him.

“Being behind the scenes here, I find myself becoming interested in stagecraft,” Alan added.

“Ah.” Padgett brightened. “You're thinking of something like the ghost in
Hamlet
, perhaps?”

“A perfect example,” he agreed.

The actor was nodding. “It's very hard to place the ghost high off the stage,” he declared. “If you use a platform or a harness, they're almost always visible. But you can achieve a fine effect near the ground. You shorten the costume, you see, so that it doesn't reach the floor. Then you put on dead black stockings and make sure the lighting is all upward. The feet just disappear into the shadows and voilà”—he made a dramatic gesture—“the ghost is floating.” He beamed.

“Fascinating,” replied Alan. “Do you know anything about this supposed haunting at Carlton House?”

Padgett looked startled. “I've heard of it,” he replied cautiously.

“No more than that?”

He shook his head, his gaze seemingly riveted on Lord Alan's face.

“Such a trick with the lighting would come in very handy for creating Bess Harding's ‘ghost,'” Alan pointed out.

“I haven't been near Carlton House for three months,” stated Padgett. He ran a hand through his mane of white hair. “I've never been one of that set. Prinny don't like my politics.”

“Can you prove that?” asked Alan.

“Are you calling me a liar, sir?” The actor stood, throwing out his massive chest. “I may not have been born to the nobility, but my word is good.”

“Of course it is,” soothed Ariel, also rising. “Lord Alan wasn't doubting you. He is merely looking for information.”

“Well, I haven't any,” answered Padgett truculently.

Ariel moved toward the door of the tiny room. “We must catch Maria before she goes. You will let me know if you remember anything further about Bess?”

The older man took a visible breath. “Anything for you, my dear child,” he replied finally. His tone clearly implied that the same did not go for others who might be present.

Ariel gave him a brilliant smile. “Thank you,” she said and urged Lord Alan out into the corridor once again.

“We will never get anywhere if you continually undermine my lines of questioning,” Alan protested.

“We will never get anywhere if you antagonize everyone we speak to,” she retorted.

“We are not here to engage in amiable chitchat or to hear useless reminiscences. We must get to the heart of the matter and adhere to the facts.”

“But what he said about my mother being different the last two—”

“Moonshine,” snapped Alan. “A waste of time.”

Ariel gave him an exasperated look. She started to speak, but they had reached a closed door near the end of the hall, and instead she raised her hand and knocked on it.

“Yes?” replied a resonant female voice. The door opened to reveal a tall, statuesque woman with lustrous black hair and a striking, hawk-like face. Her dark eyes showed a sharp intelligence as she looked from one to the other of them. She was dressed in street clothes, clearly ready to depart. “Yes?” she said again.

“It's Ariel Harding.” She looked more hesitant than before. “How are you?”

“Ariel?” The woman looked her up and down.

“This is Lord Alan Gresham. Lord Alan, this is Maria Edgecombe, the chief actress at the theater here.”

Maria gave her a piercing look. “Since your mother died,” she amplified. She subjected Lord Alan to a thorough examination. “One of Langford's sons?” she asked.

Alan nodded. This was a woman who knew every man's lineage and his fortune to the penny, he thought.

“Ah.” She glanced at Ariel. “You haven't wasted any time. Very sensible, of course, to find yourself a protector at once. However did you manage it? I thought you were immured at some school in the wilds of the country.”

“The prince regent has asked Lord Alan to investigate the incidents at Carlton House. I met him when I went there to see… what was going on. He is helping me look into Bess's death.”

Alan looked at Ariel with some surprise. Her tone was subdued—not deferential, but certainly cautious—quite different from the one she had used with the two actors.

“I see,” Maria was saying. “Clever of you.”

“Miss Harding is not—” Alan began.

“I wanted to ask you if you had noticed anything that might explain what happened to Bess,” Ariel interrupted.

Maria frowned.

“I thought she might have said something, or behaved unusually.”

“She was her customary scintillating self,” was the acid reply.

“You and she were rivals?” asked Alan.

The actress's dark eyebrows arched as she gave him a thin smile. “Bess Harding and I set each other's backs up the moment we met—which was more years ago than I intend to admit to you. We sparred continually, but it was little more than a habit by this time.”

“With her gone, your position at the theater apparently improves,” Alan observed.

“My ‘position' is as precarious as ever, my lord. Walk out of this room and down to the other end of the corridor, and you will find a line of lovely young women vying to take my place. Already, I'm relegated to playing the queen, the sorceress, even the fortune-teller.” She gestured at the pile of false hair that lay on her neat dressing table. “Actually, Bess and I were finding that pursuit by ‘time's wingèd chariot' was making us into allies. Grudging allies, I admit. But still…” She spread her well-cared-for hands.

“Did you see anything, or hear anything that might explain what… what she did?” put in Ariel.

Maria turned to her. “No. But afterward, I saw Clarisse.”

“Where has she gone?” Ariel cried.

“I don't know. I gave her a bit of money.”

“Who is Clarisse?” asked Alan.

“My mother's dresser and personal attendant,” said Ariel.

“Ah.” He paused, then added, “This business at Carlton House—can you tell me anything about that?”

Maria gave him a broad, malicious smile. “Can I? Or will I?”

“You know something.”

“Know?” She shook her head. “I might have suspicions.”

“Of whom?” he asked sharply.

“Whom.” She let the word roll on her tongue. “I believe I will let you discover that for yourself, my lord. You seem a man of… parts.”

“Clarisse gave you no hint of where she was going?” said Ariel.

Maria turned to look at her. The sardonic cast of her expression softened slightly. “If I were you, I would inquire among the émigrés. She would go to her own people.”

Ariel nodded. “I should have thought of that. We will get in touch with them right away.”

She seemed ready to set off at once, Alan noted. “I ask again,” he said. “Of whom are you suspicious?”

“Save your stern looks for the youngsters,” answered Maria airily. “I must go. I am expected for supper, and the gentleman must be kept waiting just the proper amount of time. And no longer.” She moved toward the door.

Alan blocked it.

“What will you do, beat me?” wondered Maria mockingly. “Talk to the youngsters, I tell you.”

“What youngsters? Who are you talking about?”

“The young actors,” responded Ariel rather absently. “We can catch some of them in the tiring room.” She also moved toward the open doorway.

Confronted by both women, Alan finally stepped aside. He could not, after all, shake the information out of Maria, he acknowledged with regret. “I'll call upon you again,” he assured her.

Maria clasped both hands to her splendid bosom. “Oh, my lord,” she cooed. Then, with a laugh, she slipped past him and away.

“Irritating woman,” muttered Alan.

“This way,” said Ariel, starting back along the corridor the way they had come.

“Where are we going now?” he demanded.

“To talk with the younger actors. I don't know them, but my connection to Bess should be a sufficient introduction.”

Still feeling disgruntled, he strode along beside her.

“You know, I have been thinking,” Ariel went on.

“Commendable,” he muttered under his breath.

“No matter what we do, everyone is going to assume I'm your mistress,” she said.

He paused in the middle of the corridor and looked down at her.

She shrugged. “They will. It can't be helped.”

“We will disabuse them of the notion,” he responded.

“Mmm. Well, I was thinking,” she repeated. “Since we have such a clear agreement between ourselves, and know that nothing of that sort can occur, perhaps we should just let them think so.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Then I could go about with you—to Carlton House and other places—quite freely. No one would question it or suspect our real purpose.” She gazed along the empty corridor.

“Out of the question,” he said.

She raised her eyes to his face. “Why?”

“You seem to be forgetting an important point.”

Ariel frowned a little and continued to look inquiring.

“Your future,” he explained impatiently. “Once this is over, your reputation would be ruined.”

“Oh.” She waved a hand. “I have no good name to preserve,” she informed him. “I am Bess Harding's daughter.”

Her tone seemed a mixture of resignation and pride and a certain forlorn stoicism. Unexpectedly, Alan felt protective. “What does that signify?” he objected.

She simply looked at him.

“I don't see that it need taint your life.”

Ariel's hazel eyes flared with indignation. “I didn't say tainted! I would never say that. I am simply… not like other people.”

He started to speak.

“We are wasting time,” said Ariel, starting to walk again. “My idea is a good one. We shall use it when necessary.”

He came up with her in one long stride. “No,” he said.

“Why must you always disagree with me?” she demanded. “I am very well able to—”

Alan caught her upper arm and spun her around to face him. She was lighter than he had allowed for, and the force of his grasp caused them to collide at the center of the hallway.

Ariel let out a startled, “Oh.”

He had meant simply to correct her muddled thinking once and for all, but as in their very first encounter, her breasts pressed softly, tantalizingly, against him. Light danced in the pools of her eyes, and her extraordinary lips were slightly parted. Before he could think, Alan bent his head and took those lips for his own.

They were like rose petals, only warm and possessed of a vitality that sent a charge like electricity through his whole body. He had to put his arms around her and pull her even closer. He let his mouth move on hers. She was stiff at first, but then he felt her lips soften and yield to his. Her body loosened and gave in to his embrace. Desire seared Alan's veins like lava, compelling, primal. There was nothing in the world he wanted but her.