Chapter 12
After a night of fitful sleep, Evelyn woke late with the distinct odor of fish in her nostrils. Tossing back the covers, she immediately rang for Janet and ordered a bath.
Minutes later a brass tub and steaming buckets of water were delivered. As Evelyn lowered herself into the hot water, her thoughts drifted to last evening.
Thank goodness Jack had accompanied her to Billingsgate. She would have lost her nerve at the first glimpse of the crowded fish market, let alone the rough-and-tumble Cock and Bull Tavern.
Later, she had been fortunate to arrive home undetected. The first thing she had done was strip off her dress, tie it in a bundle, and toss it out the window. She planned on properly disposing of the ruined garment later today.
Resting her head against the rim of the tub, she let out a sigh. What was Randolph thinking to meet her at the Cock and Bull?
But the moment the thought crossed her mind, she felt a twist of guilt in her gut.
Randolph had been right. It was a safe choice for him. No one had recognized him or had questioned his presence. He had blended in with the sailors, fishermen, and fishmongers in a sea of anonymous, faceless bodies whose only intent was to drown themselves in ale and gin after a long workweek.
Evelyn rose from the bath and dried herself off with a thick, cotton towel. Donning a morning dress of soft blue alpaca, she hurried down the staircase, intent on meeting her father in the dining room for nuncheon.
Her foot had just touched the vestibule when a knock on the front door sounded. Looking about, she didn’t see Hodges and knew the chances of the elder butler hearing the door knocker were slim.
Striding to the door, she opened it, expecting to see an acquaintance of her father.
Jack Harding stood on the front steps instead.
“Good morning, Evie.”
“Jack! What are you doing here?”
His chestnut hair was ruffled by a breeze in the doorway, and the shifting emerald lights of his eyes in the bright morning sunlight made her breath catch.
“I’m to meet your father for nuncheon. He sent a message to my home last evening inviting me.”
“He did?” she asked incredulously. “He never mentioned it to me.”
“Perhaps he truly believed you were ill and did not seek to disturb you. May I come inside?”
She started, realizing that she stood stock-still staring at him. “Yes, of course.” Stepping back, she motioned for him to enter.
Jack strode inside and closed the door. “Will you be joining us?”
At the eagerness in his voice, she experienced a rush of pleasure. “I was on my way to meet Father.”
She led the way to the dining room, all the while acutely conscious of his large, well-muscled body beside hers. She stole a sideways glance, noting how striking he looked in his finely tailored clothes and gleaming Hessians. She thought of the mended corduroy jacket and greasy shirt of last evening, and her lips curved in a smile.
Her amusement waned, turning to irritation, as she recalled how attractive he looked then too.
“Good morning, Mr. Harding,” Lord Lyndale said, rising from his seat as they entered the room.
“Please call me Jack, my lord. There was never formality between us at Lincoln’s Inn.”
“That was before you became a barrister. But I am more comfortable calling you Jack. Please call me Emmanuel.”
“Not Lyndale?” Jack asked, using the man’s title.
“Not with you. I was Emmanuel Darlington for many years before my brother died, leaving me the title. I consider myself a teacher and barrister first, and I’m not much for the snobbish ways of the nobility.”
Evelyn smiled, immensely proud of her father. He had refused to give up his position at Oxford, even after inheriting her uncle’s earldom. He was a rare type of man, a true scholar at heart, dedicated to his pupils.
Jack and Evelyn sat, and Mrs. Smith entered and set plates of cold roast beef and rolls before them.
“Have you met with Randolph Sheldon yet?” Lyndale asked.
A shiver of apprehension ran down Evelyn’s spine. Her father didn’t know Randolph was in hiding at Bess Whitfield’s home in Shoreditch, and he was completely ignorant of their escapade in Billingsgate. As far as Evelyn knew, her father believed Randolph was taking a brief sabbatical from the university until the business of Bess Whitfield’s murder was resolved, and Randolph had sufficient time to mourn the loss of his cousin.
Evelyn bit her lip and looked to Jack, fearful of what he would reveal. Her hands twisted the napkin in her lap, this way and that, in anticipation of his response.
“I have met with Mr. Sheldon,” Jack said, “and I am looking into the best defense, as well as any alibis, should Bow Street decide to question Mr. Sheldon or seek his arrest.”
Evelyn held her breath until her father nodded his head in approval. Exhaling in relief, she made a show of taking a bite of roast beef. Jack had managed to inform her father without telling him the most damning facts and had successfully hedged the truth without lying.
What an incredibly talented lawyer you are, Jack Harding, she mused.
“Truth be told,” Lyndale said, “I am relieved you are on Randolph’s side. Case law is full of tragedies in which men have been sentenced to death for lesser offenses, many of whom were probably innocent but without the means to pay for legal representation. I myself vividly recall a client who paid with his life. As a longtime criminal barrister yourself, I am sure you have experienced such injustices firsthand.”
Jack’s eyes darkened to a deep jade, and Evelyn knew he was recalling a memory. “I’m only too aware. Successful in the courtroom as I have been, I have lost trials and have been present at the execution of more than one client. Not all have been guilty of the alleged crime.”
A tangible tremor passed across the table between Jack and Lyndale. Evelyn sensed their angst and shared bond of having witnessed the death of an innocent man, unable to prevent the deed.
A renewed urgency rushed through her veins, making her light-headed. Randolph, too, could be an innocent man sent to prison—or worse—to the gallows.
Images flashed through her mind. Randolph with his fair hair and kind blue eyes as he listened to her theories on William Blackstone’s works. All she ever wanted was a man who would look past her appearance and seriously consider her intelligence. And Randolph seemed to be perfect. He never minded her opinions, and he had even sought her help with research for his papers. That he never named her on his work or gave her credit for her research she knew was not his fault, but that of the male-dominated university.
And now, after years of searching for an intellectually suitable partner, there was a risk that Randolph could pay with his life for a crime he did not commit.
“Please keep me informed of your progress, Jack,” Lyndale said.
“I have hired an investigator to assist with the investigation,” Jack said.
Evelyn started, and her gaze snapped to Jack. He had wasted no time in seeking out professional assistance.
“Very well,” Lyndale said, rising from his chair. “Before I forget, Evelyn and I host a monthly dinner with Lordships Bathwell and Barnes, and I will be extending an invitation for you to join us.”
Jack stood and nodded. “I’d like that very much.”
Lyndale glanced from Evelyn to Jack, and a keen look came into his eyes. “I’ll leave you two to discuss the case.” Then he turned and left the room, leaving them alone.
Jack sat and returned his napkin to his lap.
“You hired an investigator that swiftly?” she asked.
“My colleague, Anthony Stevens, works with a talented investigator with the instincts of a bloodhound; he arranged the matter. If Bess Whitfield was attempting to hide something, this fellow will learn the truth.”
Jack rested his elbow on the table and leaned forward. “There’s another reason I came here today, Evie. An opportunity has arisen.”
“What oppor
tunity?”
“It’s Saturday.”
“I don’t follow, Jack.”
“Tonight is Saturday evening, Evie. The busiest night of the week for the theaters.”
“The theaters?”
“I thought we could start by questioning Bess Whitfield’s personal dresser.”
“Is the dresser on the list of suspects Simon gave us?”
“No. But I’ve learned that servants and the hired help should never be overlooked. Oftentimes they are the most knowledgeable.”
“Are you suggesting I accompany you unchaperoned to the theater tonight?”
“Bring your maid if you must, but you may want to leave her in the carriage. We’ll be going in the back door uninvited.”
Chapter 13
On a busy Saturday evening, the Drury Lane Theatre could hold a little over three thousand people. Located in Covent Garden, the theater faced Catherine Street and backed onto Drury Lane. Built only two years earlier, it was the fourth Drury Lane Theatre on the site, the last having been destroyed by fire.
Jack’s carriage pulled up, and Evelyn watched as a throng of theatergoers made their way inside. The newly installed gas street lamps illuminated the splendid clothing of the gentlemen and ladies dressed in high fashion. Some held opera glasses while others had playbills dangling from their gloved fingertips.
Rather than join the crowd, Jack directed the driver to turn onto Drury Lane in the rear of the building by the service entrance.
Evelyn turned to Janet who sat beside her. “Stay in the carriage. We’ll be back shortly.”
Janet’s brown eyes grew wide, and she swallowed hard. Reaching up, she nervously smoothed wisps of frizzy, brown hair that had escaped her tightly braided coronet. “Is it safe, m’ lady?”
Evelyn smiled and touched Janet’s hand. “Please don’t fret. I’ll be back shortly.”
Jack jumped down and assisted Evelyn. As they headed for the back door, he said, “Your maid doesn’t approve of our clandestine activities.”
“She’ll do as she’s told,” Evelyn said.
“Ah, but where do her loyalties lie, Evie?”
Evelyn’s stride slowed as she looked up at Jack. The lighting here was not as bright as at the front of the building since the expensive new gas lamps were not deemed necessary in the rear.
In the dimness, dressed entirely in black, Jack looked a dashing, but dangerous pirate.
“Don’t worry, Jack,” she said. “My maid’s loyalties lie with me. She’ll not whisper a word to my father.”
He nodded, obviously satisfied with her answer. They came to the back door, and Jack reached for the handle.
At once the door swung open, and two men dressed in full costume as eighteenth-century noblemen stumbled out.
“’Ow the devil did I know they were plannin’ to substitute Chester fer me? ’E don’t know ’is arse from ’is head onstage!” the first actor said.
“Everything’s been a bloody mess since Bess was murdered, what with the director changin’ roles,” the second man responded.
Evelyn held her breath, but neither actor paid them any heed. Jack took advantage and pulled Evelyn inside. The door closed behind them, leaving the two disgruntled actors to themselves.
They stepped into a dimly lit corridor. The strains from the orchestra warming up its instruments for the night’s performance echoed off the walls. Actors and stagehands with single-minded purpose rushed to and fro, in and out of dressing rooms and gathering their props—before the curtain was raised.
To Evelyn’s surprise, no one stopped them, everyone obviously too consumed with last-minute preparations. It was Jack who reached out and grasped the sleeve of a short man with a determined expression who attempted to scurry by.
“We’re looking for Mary Morris,” Jack said.
The man stopped short, his chest jerking with each indrawn breath. He clutched a clipboard tightly to his chest and eyed Jack with annoyance. “Who are you?”
“I’m Mary’s brother,” Jack lied.
Jerking his head behind him, he said in a clipped voice, “Mary is in the second dressing room to the right. But I wouldn’t bother with her tonight if I was you. She’s been in a foul mood since the actress she worked for died. Mary’s been lowered to dressing the seconds.”
Jack grinned. “Thank you for the warning.”
The man turned his back and scurried onward with a clipped stride.
Jack took Evelyn’s hand and led her in the direction the man had indicated and stopped before a closed door. He rapped twice, then waited.
“What is it?” came a muffled voice.
Jack opened the door. A stout middle-aged woman, with steel gray hair and seamstress pins clenched between puckered lips, lifted her head and glared at them. She was hunched over, pulling the two ends of a gown together on the back of a skinny actress. With jerky movements, she removed the pins from her lips and proceeded to pin the actress’s dress together. The bodice, clearly made for a more full-breasted woman, sagged drearily like two deflated balloons on the actress’s chest.
“Bloody ’ell!” Mary swore. “Ain’t nobody can fix this dress. You lack the titties to carry it off.”
The actress’s kohl-lined eyes narrowed, and with an indignant huff, she lifted her skirts and swept past Jack and Evelyn out the door.
Jack stepped forward, and Evelyn followed close on his heels.
The dressing room was small and crammed with a rack full of costumes, shelves of hats, and a counter crowded with facial makeup, wigs, and hairpieces. It smelled of sweat, smoke, and face powder.
“Who are ye?” Mary demanded.
“My name is Jack Harding. I’d like to talk with you about Bess Whitfield.”
Two deep frown lines appeared between Mary’s eyes. “Yer with the constable?”
“No. I’m a barrister, and this is a close friend of Bess’s cousin.” Jack motioned to Evelyn. “Has Bow Street spoken with you?”
“Not yet. I was wonderin’ what was takin’ ’em so long.”
“They may not have thought to question you.”
“Word on the street is they know who killed ’er. Some university boy seen jumpin’ from ’er window.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“Bess could ’andle a boy like that.”
“You knew her well, then?” Evelyn asked.
“Bess was my actress. The day she walked in ’ere, I knew she ’ad what it took to make it big. Not like the dozens of girls that float through ’ere. Bess took a likin’ to me. As she rose, my position in the theater rose with ’er. I owed ’er.”
“They say she had many lovers. Do you think one became jealous and killed her?”
“I couldna say fer sure. All I knew is she liked ’er men. All sorts of ’em. Titled nobility, rich merchants, and even young, good-lookin’ stagehands. Poor thing was neglected by her father as a child, and sought male attention like a moth seeks a flame. I knew all ’er men, all except ’er longtime benefactor.”
“Her benefactor?”
“She kept ’im as a lover the entire time I knew ’er. ’E ’ad to be rich, probably nobility, fer ’e regularly sent ’er blunt and gifts, expensive ones too. But I never learned ’is real name.”
“Do you know why someone would want to kill Bess?”
“No. There were rivals at the theater, but none that would advance straightway if she was dead. They knew the director would ’ire outside the theater, and ’e did just that after Bess was killed.”
“Do you know if Bess had something to hide or something valuable? Something worth killing for?”
“None of ’er jewels were missin’.”
“Anything other than jewels or money?”
“She kept a diary, but she was real careful never to use ’er benefactor’s true name. As for ’er other lovers, they were all there.”
“A diary? Do you know where it is?”
“It’s missin’. I searched her dressin’ room, b
ut I knew it wouldn’t be there. Bess always carried it with ’er.”
“Do you recall any of her admirers she might have written about in her diary?” Evelyn asked.
Mary shrugged. “I knew ’em all as I seen ’em come to visit ’er backstage.”
“Name them,” Evelyn said. “Please.”
“There was a fancy viscount with a curled mustache she called Maxwell, and the old, fat Earl of Newland. Then there was a well-spoken commoner with dark hair named Sam. Never did learn ’is last name.”
Evelyn took a quick breath of utter astonishment. “Maxwell Stanford, the Viscount of Hamilton, and Harold Kirk, the Earl of Newland!”
“There were others too. Some of the fools would pretend they were theatergoers who only wanted to meet Bess. Ha! As if old Mary can’t tell when a man wants to bed a woman.” Mary’s wizened eyes studied Jack, noting Evelyn standing close by his side. “Just like ye two.”
Evelyn took a step back. “We’re not . . . lovers.”
“Not yet?” She turned a hard eye on Jack. “Then it won’t be long by the look of ’im.”
Chapter 14
“Stop the carriage at the corner,” Evelyn said.
Jack leaned out the window and spoke to the driver. Moments later, the conveyance stopped down the street from Evelyn’s home.
Evelyn grasped her maid’s sleeve, then reached for the door handle. “Kindly take a walk around the block, Janet. Knock on the carriage door when you get back.”
Janet opened and closed her mouth like a fish, clearly surprised by the command. But at her mistress’s stern stare, she scurried from the carriage.
Jack casually leaned back against the padded bench. He eyed Evelyn across from him, a knowing look in his eyes. “I take it you want a word with me alone?”
“I need to ask you something. When Mary Morris said she could surmise when ‘a man wants to bed a woman,’ and she referred to your inclinations toward me, you did not rebuke her or deny it. Why not?”
His stare was bold as he assessed her frankly. “Do you want to know the truth, Evie?”
“Yes, I do,” she insisted. “For us to successfully work together there must always be the truth between us.”
In the Barrister's Chambers Page 8