The two young men ambled arm-in-arm through the city crowds. Adam waited to hear what his friend’s news was but Jardine seemed in no hurry to impart it. Instead, he launched himself into a denunciation of the Prince Albert’s manager. ‘The man is impossible. No sooner have I finished my Herculean labours on a dozen flats for the next production than he asks, nay, demands, that I should create another for a scene he has inserted at the last minute. I wouldn’t mind, but it is only what we call a carpenter scene.’
‘Which is . . .?’
‘One which exists solely so that the carpenters and stagehands can put up the sets for the next act. Why does he need an artist for such work? Any Tom, Dick or Harry could do it.’
Jardine was full of mock indignation but Adam was not listening to him very closely. ‘I don’t suppose you know a chap named Wyndham, do you?’ he asked, as the painter paused briefly to take breath.
Jardine looked puzzled.
‘Some stage-door Lothario who pesters the girls,’ his friend went on. ‘Who pestered Dolly.’
‘Ah, that Wyndham.’ The artist took a step to one side to allow a smartly dressed woman with a pug dog on a lead to pass him. ‘I thought for one horrid moment you meant Ben Wyndham of Lincoln’s Inn.’
‘And who might Ben Wyndham be?’
‘A lawyer to whom I owe a trifling sum. I have no desire to talk of him.’
‘What of this other Wyndham?’
‘What is there to say? Perfectly ordinary fellow. Comes from a highly respectable Berkshire family.’
‘This highly respectable family in Berkshire—?’
‘Place near Newbury, I believe.’
‘This highly respectable family with a place near Newbury. Would they be delighted to hear of their son and heir making eyes at a Drury Lane dancer?’
‘Probably not. As I say, far too respectable.’
‘Might they pay the Drury Lane dancer to vanish from the scene?’
‘It is possible, I suppose,’ Jardine said slowly. ‘But it is not very likely, is it? And why should Dolly accept the money? She would see more long-term advantage in keeping her talons firmly in the flesh of young Wyndham – that is, always assuming that she wished to marry into respectability. Truth to tell, Dolly never seemed to me the mercenary kind. Her friend Hetty perhaps, but not Dolly. No, I think you are barking up the wrong tree there, old man.’
‘I have met Hetty.’
‘Quite the harpy, is she not?’
‘She seemed a young lady of strong opinions, certainly.’
‘Has she no notion where her friend has gone?’
‘I had little chance to speak to her. I shall question her again when McIlwraith is not with her.’
‘It may not be necessary. After you left yesterday, I made my own enquiries about the absent Dolly.’
‘That was kind of you, Cosmo.’ Adam was surprised. It was unusual for his friend to go much out of his way to assist others.
‘No trouble, my dear chap,’ the painter said airily, as they made their way into Long Acre. ‘Always happy to oblige if I can.’
‘Did your enquiries prove fruitful?’
‘In a manner of speaking. I asked questions of another young lady in the chorus. Lottie Granger.’
‘And Lottie had something to tell you?’
‘She was not initially forthcoming. No woman wishes to hear a man talk too frequently of another. Particularly not in the intimate circumstances in which our conversation took place.’
‘She was in your bed,’ Adam guessed.
Jardine inclined his head slightly. ‘You put it with uncustomary bluntness, Adam, but yes, she was. Lottie is a young lady whose company I have been enjoying for some weeks past.’
‘And what did Lottie have to say? When you were not whispering sweet nothings into her shell-like ears?’
‘That ours was not the only theatre to be benefiting from Dolly’s beauty. She was also working from time to time at some cheap leg shop in the East End.’
‘A penny gaff? What on earth was she doing there?’
‘According to the lovely Lottie, she was very badly in need of money. It is not easy to find one job, leave alone two, in the West End, but a girl with Dolly’s charms would be welcomed with open arms further east.’
‘She would be paid little enough there.’
Jardine shrugged. ‘True,’ he said, ‘but Lottie was adamant. Dolly was desperate and was willing to work wherever she could.’
‘What is the name of this low theatre where she found employment?’
‘Sadly, Lottie could not remember. It is in Whitechapel. That was all she could recall.’
‘She said nothing more?’
‘Our discussions took a different direction. We left Dolly behind. But there cannot be very many theatrical establishments in Whitechapel, can there?’
‘I think you might be surprised, Cosmo.’ Adam knew little more of the East End than his friend, but he suspected that the area was home to at least as many places of entertainment as the West End. They would just be smaller, cheaper and dirtier. It would not be as easy to find the one in which Dolly was moonlighting as Cosmo thought.
The two men walked a little further, turning left out of Long Acre and into Bow Street. They stopped opposite the Magistrates’ Court and gazed idly across at the policeman who stood outside it, beneath the gas lamp and the carving of the royal arms.
‘So a young lady called Lottie has been warming the cockles of your heart of late,’ Adam said. He felt almost envious of his friend; he had enjoyed little female company himself in recent months. ‘I did not know you had developed a taste for dancing girls.’
‘What are men such as ourselves to do, Adam?’ Jardine asked. ‘We are young and full of animal spirits. Abstinence is out of the question. And the kind of woman one might think of marrying would not dream of indulging our male needs before the ring is on her finger and the honeymoon in Venice has begun. What, I repeat, are we to do? Are we to become pale, unhealthy celibates? To whom are we to turn?’
‘Your questions, I am assuming, are rhetorical ones?’
‘They are, old man, but I will take it upon myself to answer them even so. The last one, at least. Ladies of the chorus. They provide the solution to our problems. They are long of leg, lovely of feature and untroubled by the constraints that make their sisters in society such dull company. I am surprised it has not struck you before now.’
‘I shall bear your words of wisdom in mind in the future,’ Adam said.
‘I would certainly advise you to do so. Here’s your man.’ Jardine nodded in the direction of Quint, who had just emerged from the door of a pub and was crossing the road towards them. ‘I am due at the theatre. I shall leave you to ponder what I have said.’ Cosmo waved his hand briefly and was gone.
Quint approached, breathing beery fumes. ‘I done what you asked,’ he said. ‘Been standing drinks in there’ – he jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the pub he had just left – ‘like Lord Muck on election day.’
‘With successful consequences, I hope.’
Quint took off the battered hat he was wearing and ran his hand through what little remained of his hair. ‘Mebbe,’ he said, replacing his hat. ‘Better’n yesterday, anyways.’
The two men began to make their way through the Covent Garden market. It was approaching noon and much of the business of the place had been done hours earlier, but the piazza was still thronged with people and the mingled scents of flowers and fruits hung in the air. The noise was such that Adam had to bow his head slightly to catch what his manservant, though never the quietest of conversationalists, was saying to him.
‘Place is called the Admiral Rodney,’ Quint went on. ‘I’m standing at the bar, rinsing
my ivories with a pint of half-and-half. Got myself talking to two coves next to me. Blow me down, if they ain’t both manservants like me, looking after gents like you. Now, one of ’em ain’t no use at all. ’Is bloke’s some kind of old lawyer, rooms in the Temple, never been to the theatre since Joey Grimaldi was alive.’
‘An ancient indeed, then.’
Quint nodded but, intent on continuing his story, wasn’t really listening to his master. ‘The other one, though – ’is name’s Dobson. Red-faced, lazy eye, ugly as a bear. ’E’s swallering the beers I buy him like his insides is on fire.’
‘But he has a tale to tell.’
‘Turns out ’is bloke’s at the Prince Albert most nights in the week. Idlin’ around the stage door and lookin’ goats and monkeys at the dancing girls as they come out. Dobson reckons ’e’s got a partickler fancy for a blonde. Sounds like our mort.’
‘Let me hazard a guess,’ Adam said. ‘The name of Dobson’s master is Wyndham.’
‘’Ow the ’ell d’you know that?’ Quint said indignantly.
‘I have my own sources of information.’ The young man smiled benignly at his servant, who continued to look disgruntled. ‘If we did but know where to find this Wyndham, we might call the morning a success.’
‘Ah, well, then that’s where I’m one up on you,’ Quint said, with a sudden note of triumph in his voice.
‘You have an address for him?’
‘The name of ’is club. Accordin’ to Dobson, if Wyndham ain’t round the theatre with his tongue ’anging down to his chest, ’e’s at the C’rinthian losing his tin at billiards.’
‘The Corinthian?’
‘I ain’t ’eard of it neither,’ Quint said. ‘Somewhere the other side of Piccadilly, far as I can tell from what the man said.’
By now the two men had passed through the market. As the church bells began to strike for midday, they turned north towards Doughty Street and home.
CHAPTER FOUR
The room was dark and shadowy. It was early evening and the spring sunshine had faded. The gas lights had not been lit and only the flickering flames of the fire provided any additional illumination.
‘This is Harry Vernon, Carver.’ Sunman gestured towards the man standing by the fire. ‘He is the gentleman of whom I spoke. The gentleman is as interested as we are in locating the whereabouts of Miss Delaney. Harry, may I introduce you to my old friend Adam Carver, who has been kind enough to undertake the task of finding her.’
Vernon was in early middle age. Plump and round-faced, he looked like an overgrown baby improbably stuffed into evening dress. When they shook hands, Adam could feel the softness and slight clamminess of Vernon’s skin. The man was trying to maintain his sangfroid but he was clearly nervous and embarrassed.
All three of them were in a private room at Adam’s club, the Marco Polo. To the young man’s immense surprise, Sunman had told him that he was also a member of the club, which was located in a large Italianate building in Pall Mall. One of the requirements for membership of the Marco Polo was extensive travel in some far-flung region of the world. Adam had not been aware that Sunman had fulfilled this requirement; nor had he ever seen him in the building. As diplomatically as he could, he had said as much to his friend. The young aristocrat had merely shrugged – there was much, the slight raising of Sunman’s shoulders unmistakably said, which Adam did not know.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Carver,’ Vernon said, looking as if it was anything but. ‘I have heard much about you. I am hoping – we are all hoping – that you will soon be able to let us know where Dolly is. There is no word of her as yet, I presume?’
‘It seems likely that she is working in a theatre in the East End, Mr Vernon.’
‘The East End?’ Vernon sounded baffled. ‘Why would she be in the East End?’
‘Because she no longer wishes to be seen in the West End?’ Adam suggested.
‘You must track her down there,’ Vernon said hurriedly. ‘The girl must be found.’
‘The girl will be found, Harry.’ Another voice entered the conversation. Adam turned in surprise to see a gaunt man with dark hair and beard rise from an armchair facing the fireplace and move towards him. The man was probably in his late thirties but looked older. He held out his hand. ‘The name is Waterton. Gilbert Waterton. I am a friend of poor Harry here.’
Adam, who had had no notion that anyone else was in the room, took Waterton’s hand. In contrast to Vernon’s, it was as dry and rough as sandpaper.
‘She has deserted Drury Lane in favour of Whitechapel High Street, has she?’ the newcomer to the conversation remarked. ‘Can you be certain of that fact?’
Adam glanced briefly in the direction of Sunman, who nodded, almost imperceptibly.
‘Not certain, no,’ Adam replied, ‘but it looks to be a strong possibility. I spoke to people in the theatre where she was working. Most of them had no idea where she had gone, but one of her fellow members of the chorus thought that she had a second job in a penny gaff out east.’
‘A penny gaff?’ Vernon sounded horrified. ‘What in God’s name would she be doing in a penny gaff?’
‘Much the same as she was doing in the West End theatre, I would guess,’ Waterton said drily. ‘Displaying her legs for the delectation of the audience.’
Vernon began to pace restlessly around the room. The others watched him. Adam noticed Sunman and Waterton exchange a glance, and he wondered how to interpret it. Were they sympathetic to the plump man’s plight? Or were they irritated, even angry, with him for his imprudence? Probably both.
Vernon came to a halt by the fire, staring into it as if in search of comfort in its flames. ‘I have made the most terrible mistake of my life,’ he said flatly.
‘You must not blame yourself, Harry.’ Waterton stepped forward and placed his hand lightly on his friend’s shoulder.
‘There is no getting away from it, Gilbert. The fault is mine. I allowed myself to indulge in an affair with this wretched girl.’
‘A peccadillo, my dear Harry, a peccadillo. Many a man has allowed his passions to get the better of his discretion.’
‘But my sin – my sin, Gilbert, not my peccadillo – has not only put my soul in jeopardy’ – Waterton waved his hand dismissively and Adam could not be sure whether he was making light of Vernon’s sin or of his soul – ‘but has put the interests of the nation at risk,’ the plump man continued. The room was by no means warm, despite the fire in the hearth, but he was now sweating. ‘It may have done terrible damage to my queen and country.’
In his pacing, he had now come to a high-backed Queen Anne chair that was pushed against the wall. He sank into it and, leaning forward, rested his head in his hands.
‘You grow melodramatic, Harry,’ Waterton said. ‘Mr Carver does not wish to hear this. We will talk of your concerns later, if we must. For now, we should concentrate only on finding Miss Delaney.’
Vernon remained in the same position, face hidden. Adam was puzzled. Something in the man’s elaborate mea culpa did not quite ring true. Adam felt as if he was in the audience at a theatre, watching an actor perform the role of a penitent. And yet there was surely no reason to doubt that Vernon did regret what had happened. How could he not?
Sunman, whose presence in the room Adam had almost forgotten, now stepped out of the shadows into which he had retreated. ‘I hope that we can still place our trust in you, Adam,’ he said.
Adam briefly wondered what his further involvement might entail but he nodded his head to indicate that they could.
‘Good,’ Sunman said, rather peremptorily. ‘You must scour the dreary streets beyond Aldgate until you find this woman. It remains of paramount importance that we locate her.’
* * * * *
‘You are walking towards t
he Strand, perhaps?’ Gilbert Waterton was standing outside the Marco Polo when Adam emerged from the club, nearly an hour after the meeting in the private room had come to an end. Vernon’s friend had been staring up at the mosaic portrait of the old Venetian traveller above the building’s portico like a connoisseur about to offer a sum of money to take possession of it, but now he turned his attention to Adam.
The young man agreed that he was heading in that direction.
‘I have a dinner engagement in the Adelphi,’ Waterton said amiably. ‘We can walk together for a while.’
The air had grown chilly in the time they had spent in the club and Waterton, now wrapped in a black frock coat, was clapping his ungloved hands together to warm them. He looked like a bored habitué of the opera, half-heartedly applauding the debut of a new tenor. Adam stepped down into the street from the Marco Polo’s portico and they set off down Pall Mall towards Trafalgar Square. For a while, they walked in silence.
‘I am so pleased that you have agreed to help us with this unfortunate business,’ Waterton said eventually. ‘Sunman speaks very highly of you. He has told me several times of your exploits in Turkey in Europe.’
‘I am sure he exaggerates. In truth, I did little enough.’
The two men waited for a small procession of cabs to pass before crossing the road into the square.
‘No false modesty, Mr Carver, please,’ Waterton said as they made their way towards Landseer’s stone lions. ‘You faced a series of difficulties and dangers far from the comforts of home and civilization, and you overcame them all. You should be proud of what you did.’
Adam glanced at his companion. This flattery seemed sincere enough. Did Sunman truly speak so highly of him? he wondered. The young man from the Foreign Office had given Adam himself little indication that he did. They continued across the square. The vast bulk of Northumberland House loomed to the right as they came into the Strand.
‘I say this not to embarrass you,’ Waterton went on, ‘but as an indication of the trust Sunman and I are putting in you to find this Delaney girl.’
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