“Dreams?”
“Despite our wild, experimental ways, we both wanted a family—adoring husband, healthy children, beautiful home, and, perhaps, a kitten or two.” Her right thumb worried the skin over the knuckle of her left thumb. “In two months’ time, we had destroyed our reputations and any chance of marrying respectable gentlemen.”
“If you wanted to marry, why jeopardize your future with all those other things?”
She sent him a rueful smile. “We didn’t mean to catch the matrons’ notice. Being all of eighteen years old, we thought ourselves clever and discreet. And, yes, we were more than a little headstrong in those days and might have ignored the early warning signs.”
“Though I find your history with Lady Winthrop fascinating, I’m not sure what relevance it has to my murder investigation.”
“Bear with me, Mr. Adair. I shall get there in a moment.” She smoothed her hands over her skirts. “Susan became more than a little obsessed with repairing the damage to her reputation. She set out to find a respectable, unblemished husband, even if her father had to buy her one.”
“And did he?”
“Yes.”
“Earlier, you mentioned Granston left the earl’s household. I take it Lady Winthrop was the daughter of a rich earl?”
“Yes, quite wealthy.”
“Let me guess. Lord Winthrop had the requisite standing in society and his coffers were in need of replenishing.”
“You are correct, Mr. Adair.”
“What did you do to repair your reputation?” The idle question came out of nowhere. Normally, Adair avoided such personal inquiries. He found most people were prone to providing far more detail than he cared to hear. But something about this woman tweaked at his curiosity.
“Who said I had?”
“I doubt you would be able to volunteer your time at this fine establishment if you hadn’t.”
“To some degree, you are correct. Unlike Susan, I would have rather lived my life as a spinster than to have tied myself to a man who married me only for my father’s money. So I escaped the ton’s scorn by disappearing from the continent for several years.” Her blue eyes took on a faraway look. “I disappeared to finish what Susan and I had started.”
“Which was?”
“Living, breathing, feeling life.”
In that one brief moment, he envied her. Envied her courage, envied her freedom. Envied her acceptance of her scandalous past. After Charley left him to go to Scotland, he had considered escaping the memories and the pain by going abroad. But the notion had passed, and Adair had soon learned that the very emotions he’d wanted to escape were the ones that fed his ambition and drive.
Lady Bentondorf continued. “From the time we’re no longer little girls until the time gray strands have overtaken our heads, we are confined, restricted, and trivialized. Susan and I, we wanted to experience a gentleman’s freedom before we allowed one to lock it away.”
“Both of you were courageous in different ways. Lady Winthrop sought and obtained the secured future she desired, and you fought for your freedom and reveled in the moment.”
“Neither one of us felt so at the time. Determined, yes. Courageous, no.” Her mouth kicked up in a self-deprecating smile. “But you were right. Later, I would never have been accepted back into society had I not married a wonderfully wealthy and influential gentleman. Quite frequently, he indulges my love of ancient civilizations, most especially Egypt. The British Museum is often the beneficiary of his generosity.” Her smile grew broader. “My time away from England combined with my husband’s money has helped many in society to push my youthful sins back into the far recesses of their minds.”
Adair believed himself to be an intelligent man. But he had only the faintest inkling of where her ladyship was leading this conversation. “I take it something went wrong after her ladyship’s marriage?”
She nodded. “Despite their less-than-romantic arrangement, Susan entered her marriage determined to make it a love match. The two appeared extraordinarily happy for the first year or so, then something went wrong.”
“In what way?”
“All of a sudden, they weren’t. Happy, I mean. It was as if they’d become strangers overnight, and that’s how they stayed for several years.” Lowering her gaze, she fidgeted with one long nail on her left forefinger.
“There’s more?”
“It is…delicate.”
“Any information you share with me will be treated with care. You have my word.”
When she lifted her eyes to his, they were aflame with anger. “Susan’s husband had not touched her in a long time, Mr. Adair. He finds the business too messy. Can you imagine such a thing?” She shook her head as if trying to release an unpleasant thought. “If he’d left it at that, Susan could have coped with her situation. But, after she miscarried twice, the bastard picked at her like a broken scab, leaving her bleeding after each encounter.”
Coming to the end of his patience, he jumped to what he now believed was the grand finale. “You might think me cold, Lady Bentondorf,” he said in a low voice. “But I’m not concerned with why your friend took a lover, only if she had. Had she?”
Her eyes widened. “I believe so.”
“You’re not certain, though.”
“No.” Her lips curled into a faint smile. “Susan and I have shared many confidences over the years, some quite sensitive. For the past three or four weeks, she’s been exceedingly secretive and nauseatingly happy.”
Disappointment smothered the excitement of uncovering a possible lead. “From this, you believe your friend was having an affair?”
The smile playing along her mouth became draped in sadness. “My old friend had returned. The one who flirted and danced and gallivanted about town with me before she got married. I might not have solid evidence to prove Susan was having an affair. But I knew my friend well—she’d found someone who’d made her happy.”
“And she didn’t exhibit any uneasiness or discuss any odd encounters in the last few weeks?”
“No, quite the opposite, I’m afraid.”
“Well, then.” He rose. “If you recall anything more, don’t hesitate to contact me.”
She peered down at his card, though Adair sensed her gaze focused on nothing.
With a nod, he said, “Lady Bentondorf.”
He’d barely taken three steps, when he heard her say, “There is something else you should know, thief-taker.”
So she had been reading his card. He turned. “And that is?”
“I don’t think her lover is a member of the ton. Whoever Susan had welcomed to share her bed was unconventional enough that she wouldn’t share a name with me, her most scandalous friend.”
# # #
“You want to do what?”
Charlotte kept her gaze steady on Piper, even while apprehension quaked along her spine. “I would like to return to the theater,” Charlotte said.
“But why? The theater manager made it quite clear we were unwelcome there.”
After Cameron had delivered his devastating reminder yesterday, Charlotte knew she had to find Felix’s costume and see if the mantle was missing a tie. Until she resolved this last bit of unfinished business, she wouldn’t be able to move ahead. “Yes. That’s why you’re going to help me sneak inside.”
Her assistant stared at her as if she’d announced the plague had returned. “How exactly am I supposed to accomplish that feat?”
“Peter seemed quite smitten with you. All you have to do is talk your way inside.”
“Where will you be?”
“Right behind you.”
Piper busied herself with wiping off the shop’s counter. “Are you going to tell me why I must play fast and loose with Peter’s feelings?”
“It would be best if I didn’t.” Charlotte hoped Piper would leave it at that. Her assistant knew her well enough to understand she wouldn’t make such a request unless she had a good reason.
“Doe
s this have something to do with Lady Winthrop’s murder?”
“Yes.”
“And Felix?”
A brief pause. “Yes.”
“You don’t know that Peter will answer the door.”
“I sent a note to him last evening, explaining we would be arriving around ten this morning.”
Unhooking the apron from around her neck and untying it at her waist, Piper said, “Looks like Felix won’t be the only actor in the Scott family.”
# # #
As it turned out, Piper had to employ few acting skills. With Mr. Riordan gone, Peter opened the door wide when she explained that she’d misplaced a favorite handkerchief and thought it might be on the landing where they’d sat to watch Felix’s audition.
Peter led the way to the spiral staircase where they assured him they could manage without him. Since Peter had other work to do, he was happy to leave them to search on their own. Once Peter was gone, they split up—Piper going up the stairs, and Charlotte in search of the wardrobe, with a promise to meet again in a quarter of an hour.
Luckily, it didn’t take Charlotte but a few seconds to find the long, rectangular room housing what looked to be hundreds of costumes from various eras. Dread sank deep into her stomach. How would she search them all? Mild panic gripped her until she noticed the garments appeared to be arranged by time period.
Picking up her pace, she performed a quick survey of the rows—and failed to find a Roman section. She rubbed the muscles at the base of her skull; where a tension knot began to form. Could he have borrowed the costume from someplace else? No, she was certain he’d mentioned getting the clothes back to Wardrobe.
Piper was right. Coming here had been a mistake. After her less-than-cordial exchange with Mr. Riordan yesterday, she had no doubt he would call for the authorities if he found her trespassing.
Focused on the three long rows in front of her, she had not checked the line of costumes hung against the far wall. Intermingled between browns, blacks, and whites, she noted several splotches of red.
She rushed to what had to be the missing Roman section. Sure enough, she found plain red military tunics amid coarse drab tunics more suited for peasants of the time, along with fine white togas and multicolored stolas likely worn by men and women who enjoyed more elevated circles. Voluminous cloaks hung to the floor. Some were a rich bloodred color, and some a brighter red shot through with intricate gold patterns.
Peering into the lavender reticule dangling from her wrist, she retrieved the pilfered red tie. She closed her eyes and brought Felix’s outfit to mind. Long flowing red cloak embellished with gold thread, sturdy arm guards, worn leather apron sectioned into strips that hung to his knees, short-sleeved red tunic beneath it all, and leather-strapped sandals.
When she opened her eyes again, she narrowed her search to red and gold clothing. From this vantage point she found only two pieces. Thank goodness. She could feel time slipping away and her fifteen minutes were almost up.
She dug out the first costume and decided to search the entire garment for any telltale signs that a piece had been torn off, just in case she had been wrong about the tie. Although it contained the requisite red and gold threading, she could see right away it wasn’t the one Felix wore for the audition. However, to be safe, she searched the woolen tunic and cloak, but found the item intact. Not wanting to give away her presence, she took the time to stuff the heavy garment back in place.
Excitement filled her veins when she held up the second costume for inspection. The exquisite gold filigree design on the cloak bespoke power and wealth. This must be the Marc Antony costume. Not taking any chances, she studied the entire costume more closely, matching detail for detail in her mind’s eye. By the time she finished, she had no doubt this was the costume Felix had been wearing the day before.
She fanned the cloak out, sifting through the thick folds with a careful eye. There was not a single rip, frayed edge, or blood splatter anywhere. A silent battle of relief and disappointment grappled inside her chest. Relief because her mind could now accept what her heart had known all along—Felix had had nothing to do with Lady Winthrop’s murder. But she also felt disappointment in herself for having taken an important item from a murder scene. An item the authorities could use to track down a murderer.
Dear God, what had she been thinking to do such an outrageous, utterly irresponsible thing? She dropped the tie back into her reticule for safekeeping. What she would do with it at this point, she had no idea. Something would come to her—it always did. But, right now, she had to place the costume back where she’d found it and go and find Piper.
Charlotte pressed her face against the tunic and sent up a silent prayer of forgiveness, an action she hadn’t bothered with in years. Not since the last time she’d begged God to knock some sense into Cameron’s prideful head. The Almighty hadn’t answered her then, or the thousand times before. So she’d quit praying. Quit hoping. Quit yearning.
“What is it you’re doing there, Charley?”
Surprised, she jerked her head up to find Cameron Adair striding toward her, a feral look in his eyes. Everything happened so fast. One moment she was asking the good Lord for forgiveness, and the next, she was backing away from Cameron’s determined approach.
He plucked the tunic from her loose grip, inspected it, then tossed it onto a nearby chair. “Are you a secret admirer?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your nose. Buried in a man’s shirt. Unrequited love?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Flames licked up the sides of her face. She picked up the tunic and stowed it away. “What are you doing here?”
“Following a lead.” His gaze charted a detailed path around the room, scrutinizing every item, big and small, before settling on her. “Your turn.”
“My business here is none of your concern.”
In a rough whisper, he said, “Would you feel the same if I told you Lady Winthrop’s murderer might be someone roaming these corridors?”
“You’ve hinted at as much before.” Charlotte shook her head. “But I simply don’t see that being the case. Lady Winthrop is a benefactress of this theater. Why would anyone with an interest in the Augusta jeopardize such a lucrative arrangement?”
“An arrangement that was sure to end soon, despite her ladyship’s untimely death.”
“What do you mean?”
“I paid the husband a visit today.” He rubbed at his shoulder. “Winthrop’s home showed signs of financial decline, and I strongly suspect Lady Winthrop’s support of the Augusta was coming to a close.”
“If you keep digging at your wound, you’re going to ruin my stitches,” Charlotte said, trying to deflect attention away from her presence in the costume room.
“The damned thing is uncomfortable.”
“As in itchy? Or painful?”
“Yes.”
“Which is it?”
He waved her off. “Talking about it forces me to think more about it, which makes the feeling worse.”
A dozen questions clamored to the tip of Charlotte’s tongue, yet she said nothing. Neither of them did for a very long, very uncomfortable five seconds. She counted. Each second. One by one.
“I have to go. Good luck with your search.” She made to leave, but he held his ground. The only way she could escape was either to go through him or make her way around to the other aisle. The latter option held little interest for her. She would not give him the upper hand again. “Cameron, this is getting old. Move aside.”
“You haven’t told me why you’re poking your nose in the Augusta’s costume room.” He peered at Felix’s outfit before turning his keen regard to her.
She felt his gaze probing, searching for a weak point he could exploit. For a reckless moment, she considered giving him the piece of evidence burning a hole in her reticule. But he would demand to know how it came into her possession, and she was not prepared to share secrets with Cameron. “Nor do I intend to.�
�
“Not a good answer, Charley.”
“Well, it’s the only one you’re going to get.” She glanced at the door, lifting her brows meaningfully.
He shifted his position enough—barely enough—to allow her to slip by. Before she could take a step, he said, “It’s not a good answer, Charley, because I’m left with the sense you’re conducting your own investigation into the baroness’s murder.”
She pressed her lips together, waiting.
“If that’s not the case, you should tell me now and save yourself the aggravation of my constant company.”
“‘Constant company’?”
“I can’t have you mucking up my case,” he said. “So, now I’m going to have to keep an eye on you, as well.”
Blood drained from her face, leaving her cold, slightly numb…and angry. “You’ll do no such thing. I have no further interest in Lady Winthrop’s death.”
“An interesting choice of words.” His attention went back to Felix’s costume. “What did you find here to make you lose interest?”
“Go to hell, Cameron. Or back to wherever it was you were hiding.”
His confident, speculative gaze shifted into something far less sure. Perhaps even vulnerable. His unexpected reaction made her want to snatch the hateful words back. She opened her mouth to say—what? She didn’t know…would never know. For in that moment, Piper stuck her head into the chamber.
“Mrs. Fielding,” Piper whispered loudly. “Are you ready? Peter’s growing suspicious.” She inched deeper into the room before she noticed Cameron. “Oh, my apologies. I did not see you there, Mr. Adair.” Ever the keen young lady, she sensed tension between them. “Is everything all right?”
Charlotte produced what she hoped was a believable smile. “Of course. Mr. Adair happened by and stopped to say hello. I’ll be there in a moment.” When her assistant continued to eye Cameron, Charlotte reassured her, “Another minute more.”
Nodding, Piper backed out of the chamber, pulling the door closed, but not shut.
Cameron studied her for a long moment, and she waited for him to ask her about why Peter would be growing suspicious. Instead, he said, “It’s odd to hear others refer to you as Mrs. Fielding.”
Night Storm (Bones & Gemstones Book 1) Page 13