With Good Grace

by Wendy Soliman

  The lad led the way through a maze of passageways, along which busy-looking people bustled in both directions. He heard two female voices, raised in argument coming from what he assumed to be dressing rooms. Two actors dressed in doublets and hose approached them, practising lines for that night’s performance. One of them collided with Jake’s shoulder.

  ‘Watch where you’re going!’ he cried, glowering at Jake as though the accident had been his fault.

  A stagehand called for clear passage as he barged alone with a ladder over his shoulder. Jake dived into an alcove before the tail end of the ladder crashed against his head. The lighting in the corridor was so poor, Jake was surprised the man could see where he was going. Every corner revealed more people in costume, all attempting to talk over one another, an air of nervous chaos pervading. He could hear distant sounds of the orchestra tuning up in the auditorium’s pit and a beautiful soprano voice practising a popular tune.

  The lad finally stopped in front of a polished door, tapped on it and then turned the handle.

  ‘Lord Torbay, madam,’ he said, backing away so that Jake could enter a surprisingly elegant office. Just like Barber’s rather cramped premises, the walls of this office were also decorated with billboards, some of them showing Madame Céleste in her dancing days.

  ‘Lord Torbay. This is an unexpected pleasure.’

  A small woman stood from behind a large desk, eyeing Jake speculatively. Jake had not met Madame Céleste before and knew that he was not doing so now. Madame must be approaching forty but this lady was a good decade younger than that and lacked the presence he had learned to associate with actors in general. She seemed more harried and, judging by the piles of papers on the desk she sat behind, Jake assumed she filled some sort of administrative role. She spoke with a French accent.

  ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me,’ Jake replied. ‘You are not Madame Céleste.’

  ‘I am her long-time assistant and friend, Melanie DuBois.’

  ‘Miss DuBois.’ Jake inclined his head and waited for the lady to re-seat herself before taking the chair she indicated to him on the other side of her desk. ‘I had hoped to see Madame but I can already tell that I timed my visit badly.’

  ‘There are always emergencies that only Madame can resolve before any performance. Actors are such delicate creatures.’ She rolled her eyes to emphasise her point. Miss DuBois, Jake suspected, was anything but delicate and he was not fooled by her small stature and very average looks. ‘However, I understand you wished to speak with Madame about backing one of our productions. In which case, it is me you wish to see. I deal with that side of things.’

  ‘Then I am doubly glad to make your acquaintance, and shall not take up much of your time. I can see that you are busy and shall get straight to the point. Sir Hubert Grantley has gone missing and his wife has asked me to see if I can track him down.’

  ‘You do not wish to talk about backing?’ Miss DuBois’s expression hardened.

  ‘A small deception. Time, you understand, could be of the essence. If Sir Hubert is in danger then we cannot afford to waste a moment.’

  ‘Quite so.’ Her attitude softened. ‘I am very sorry to hear about Sir Hubert. I rather like him, but fail to see how I can be of help to you.’

  ‘Sir Hubert worked with his brother and represented a number of leading actors, I gather. Many of them performed here.’

  ‘That is true, but it was several years ago.’ She shook her head, and a shadow briefly flitted through her eyes. ‘In happier times.’

  ‘You did not remain on friendly terms with Sir Hubert after Grantley’s death?’

  ‘Sir Hubert and I had little to do with one another.’ She fiddled with a paperknife and focused her gaze on the surface of her desk. ‘My dealings were with his brother. I have worked with Madame since I was seventeen; initially as a dresser but slowly I made myself indispensable and now she cannot manage without me. Artistes of Madame’s remarkable talent do not need to worry themselves over the minutiae of running a theatre. Marcus Grantley appreciated that, shared Madame’s desire to be more adventurous with the productions she staged and, in short, put his money forward to make it possible.’

  And, unless Jake missed his guess, this mousy yet rather passionate creature and Grantley were more than mere friends. A melancholy engulfed her when she spoke of Marcus that she made no attempt to mask.

  ‘Grantley’s management company was sold to a man by the name of Barber and all of Grantley’s actors remained loyal. I have met Barber and cannot persuade myself that he has the same magnetism as Grantley, to say nothing of the fact that he does not put money into your productions so has no real sway with the casting.’

  ‘That is true, but I cannot see how that information will help you to find Sir Hubert.’

  Nor could Jake…yet. ‘You were instrumental in ensuring the best actors headed towards Marcus Grantley for representation,’ Jake said, following his instincts, even though he had nothing concrete upon which to base that assumption.

  ‘Whatever makes you suppose that?’ Miss DuBois asked, her head shooting up. An element of fear filtered through her eyes that told Jake he had got it right.

  ‘Mrs Grantley was accused of killing her husband. I had the privilege of saving her from an appointment with the hangman.’

  ‘Of course. I remember that now. That is why your name sounded familiar.’ But Jake was fairly sure she had known it from the first, and curiosity persuaded her to receive him; that and the possibility of backing, which she could not afford to ignore. ‘What does Sir Hubert’s disappearance have to do with Mrs Grantley?’

  ‘Perhaps nothing, but I am persuaded that his disappearance does have something to do with this theatre and his work with his brother.’

  Miss DuBois had regained her composure and treated Jake to a cold look. ‘I fail to see how.’

  ‘Mrs Grantley has been forced by Sir Hubert’s disappearance to look through her husband’s papers; something she had thus far avoided doing.’

  A flare of anxiety briefly lit her expression but she had better control of herself now and quickly tamped it down. ‘She found something that brought you to my door.’

  It was not a question and Jake merely nodded, waiting to see what response that would elicit. A silence lengthened between them; heavy and expectant, and Jake had not the slightest intention of breaking it. Miss DuBois held his gaze, apparently trying to assess what he thought he knew, or how much to reveal.

  ‘Actors are a fragile breed,’ she said at last. ‘They need constant reassurance, which is where people like Marcus came in. But more than anything, they need someone like Madame who is in a position to promote their talents. She does not have the time or inclination to soothe their ruffled feathers and it is part of my duties to ensure these things are managed with as little inconvenience to Madame as possible.’

  ‘As you said earlier, she does not have the patience for details.’

  Miss DuBois inclined her head. ‘That is not precisely what I said, but close enough.’

  ‘You need the best actors at your disposal,’ Jake replied, rubbing two fingers speculatively through the cleft in his chin. ‘Having them in one stable, managed by a person who understands their delicate egos, makes life easier for you and the manager of that stable. And all the while Grantley was backing Madame’s productions, you were able to be of service to one another.’ He resting a probing gaze on her face. ‘In all respects of the word.’

  She flapped a hand. ‘If you expect me to apologise for my personal conduct then you will have a long wait.’

  ‘You were in love with him,’ Jake said softly.

  Miss DuBois did not reply, but then she didn’t need to. She lowered her gaze, but not so quickly that Jake failed to notice the abject sorrow in her expression.

  ‘We planned to make a life together,’ she said simply.

  ‘In spite of the fact that Grantley already had a wife and son?’

  ‘Bah, his wife did n
ot understand the ways of the theatre, or of the man she married. She was no support at all.’

  Jake somehow managed to contain his anger. ‘Is that what he told you?’

  ‘It is what I know. I observed them together more than once. I could sense the distance between them. Oh, Mrs Grantley is very beautiful, I will grant you that much, but she is also cold and unfeeling and quite incapable of understanding her husband’s needs.’

  ‘But you could?’

  ‘Your disdain will not serve, Lord Torbay. I care nothing for your opinion of me.’

  Just as well. ‘Grantley supported your productions and you made sure that anyone wishing to perform in them required his representation.’ Realisation dawned. ‘But it took more than the allure of performing in one of Madame Céleste’s productions to tempt all of those top actors to Grantley’s door and keep them there. As you keep reminding me, they possess delicate sensibilities and would not choose to share the spotlight with others.’ Jake recalled hearing the two actresses screaming at one another like fishwives when he made his way to this office. ‘How did you persuade them?’

  She tossed her head and attempted, unsuccessfully, to intimidate Jake with a haughty glower. ‘I cannot think what you mean.’

  But Jake knew he had got it right. It was Madame Céleste’s devoted assistant who held incriminating snippets of information against the actors in question—information that could damage or even finish their careers if it became public knowledge. Madame Céleste had worked in Paris, America and England as a dancer and then an actress. Miss DuBois had accompanied her; employed as her eyes and ears everywhere. The theatre was a hot-bed of gossip—hot-bed being a literal interpretation with regard to thespians. But how could he make her confirm it?

  ‘You were not Marcus Grantley’s only conquest, you know.’

  She sat up even straighter and her glower intensified. ‘Rubbish! He and his wife were no longer intimate. He was true to me.’

  ‘And yet he and his entourage, including Miss Aspin, left a first-night party at this theatre and returned to Grantley’s house. That was the night he died.’

  ‘Verity Aspin can be impossibly demanding and only Marcus could handle her when she got into a taking. She wanted to leave and he told me it would be for the best. She was on the point of throwing a tantrum because one of the other actresses was getting all the accolades. I trusted Marcus implicitly and did not doubt what he told me.’

  ‘Mrs Grantley was accused of killing her husband because they argued violently that night. Were you aware of that?’

  ‘Someone mentioned something, but it was never established what the argument was about.’

  ‘Actually it was.’ Jake paused for emphasis. ‘Mrs Grantley objected strongly to her husband taking Miss Aspin up to her room that night, in full sight of her guests.’

  Miss DuBois gasped and her face paled. ‘You’re lying!’

  ‘If you are unprepared to take the word of a gentleman, I would refer you to Detective Chief Inspector Drake. It is a matter of record. Furthermore, Lady Grantley was there. She saw it all.’

  Miss DuBois’s rigid posture collapsed and she looked on the brink of tears. ‘You knew, I think,’ Jake said softly. ‘But all the time you did not see it with your own eyes you were prepared to think it was for the greater good. Marcus Grantley did not love the other women; he cared only for you.’

  ‘Which is true.’ Miss DuBois briefly rallied. ‘He did whatever had to be done in order to secure our future together.’

  And Jake could see that she genuinely believed what she told him. Miss DuBois had nothing to recommend her; especially when compared to Olivia’s radiant beauty and voluptuous figure, or the arresting presence of Grantley’s stable of actresses. But she was in the right place to be of help to Grantley. He had used his charms on a needy young woman, flattered her into complicity because he was clever enough to realise that she possessed knowledge that he could exploit for his own benefit. Jake did not have it in him to tell her about Lady Marchant’s passionate affair with Grantley, which must have taken place whilst he was making empty promises to Miss DuBois. Jake had never had a high opinion of Grantley, but as he watched the gamut of desolate emotion flitting across Miss DuBois’s plain face, he liked him even less.

  ‘Tell me what information you hold against Miss Aspin and the others,’ he asked softly.

  ‘What makes you suppose I hold anything?’

  Her tone lacked conviction and Jake realised she was on the point of capitulation.

  ‘If you do not tell me yourself, I will approach each of the actors in turn. One of them will speak to me; I am convinced of it. No one likes to be manipulated.’ Jake lowered his voice. ‘Or deceived,’ he added.

  With a protracted sigh, Miss DuBois, a woman wronged and humiliated, told him everything.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘There we are, madam.’ Jane put the finishing touches to Olivia’s hair and stood back to admire her handiwork. ‘You look lovely.’

  ‘Thank you, Jane. You are very good at what you do. If my son was not quite so fond of you, I would say you were wasting your talents as a nanny.’

  ‘My mother was able to turn her hand to everything and encouraged me to do the same. She told me you never knew when those skills might be called into play. They certainly helped her with her advancement.’

  Olivia nodded, aware that Jane’s mother had also started out as a nursery maid. As the daughter of an impoverished scholar, her mother had been well educated and finished up holding a position as governess to a wealthy family. She was retired now, living in a small cottage in Hampstead, and not in the best of health.

  ‘How is your mother?’ Olivia asked.

  ‘Not at all well, madam, although she tries to hide from me just how much pain she is in.’ Jane wrinkled her brow. ‘I saw her on my last afternoon off; I see her every chance I get, but I fear she will not be with us for much longer.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Jane. If you need to be with her, you know there will always be a position for you here after…well, whenever you need it.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Grantley. I am very attached to Master Tom, little scamp that he can sometimes be.’

  Now was not the time to ask Jane if she would like to become her official lady’s maid. She owed it to Molly to give her a chance to change her ways, or explain the sudden alteration in her attitude.

  ‘Cheyne walk is not so very large that you will ever be able to avoid Tom; much as you might sometimes wish to.’

  Jane smiled. ‘It is simply a case of remaining firm without curbing the child’s natural curiosity.’

  Olivia rolled her eyes. ‘If you discover how to achieve that ambition, I shall be very much obliged to you.’

  Jane put the finishing touches to Olivia’s apparel as they chatted amicably about Tom’s lively character. She could not recall ever getting anything other than monosyllables from Molly; not since she had become friendly with her curate, who appeared to think that all pleasurable activities paved the pathway to hell.

  Determined that Molly’s sanctimonious attitude would not spoil the expectancy that coiled through her, Olivia stood to examine her reflection in the long glass. The deep pink gown she wore was a favourite of hers and flattered her figure. Her shoulders were bare and the cream lace that edged the bodice failed to completely conceal the swell of her firm breasts. There was a defiant sparkle in her eyes as she contemplated spending an evening entirely alone with Jake. She had done so several times before but never in his house, the size of which offered them so much more freedom to allow instinct to overcome common sense. If he propositioned her, would she have the strength to resist him? Did she want to?

  Worse yet, what if he did not?

  ‘Have a lovely evening, madam,’ Jane said, recalling Olivia’s wandering attention.

  ‘Thank you, Jane. I shall do my very best to enjoy myself.’

  ‘I doubt it will require much effort.’ Jane giggled. ‘Not with the handsome earl to
bear you company.’

  Olivia ought to scold her maid for her impertinence. Instead she simply laughed, feeling as though Jane was more of a feminine confidante than a servant. ‘Oh, he is certainly handsome, Jane, and well he knows it.’

  Jane bobbed a curtsey as she opened the door and stood back to allow Olivia to pass through it in her wide skirts. Olivia thanked her, took a deep breath and made a slow descent of the grand, winding staircase.

  ‘Lord Torbay is only just back,’ a footman told her as she reached the vestibule. ‘He said to wait in the drawing room, if you would be so kind, and he will join you just as soon as he has changed.’

  ‘Very well.’

  Olivia walked into that room, where a cheerful fire burned and the lamps had been lit, even though it was not yet dark and the curtains had not been closed. Olivia sat beside the fire, wondering what had kept Jake at the theatre for so long. No sooner had the thought filtered through her head than the man himself joined her. Suave and self-assured in his pristine evening clothes, Olivia’s breath caught in her throat as their gazes duelled. She seemed incapable of looking away again, or even articulating a single word of greeting.

  ‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting,’ he said, suffering from no such affliction as he smiled and subjected her person to a lazy perusal that caused her to blush. His smile radiated approval, and something more fundamental, causing a horde of butterflies to run riot deep within Olivia’s core. He knew precisely what he was doing to her, the rogue, and appeared to remain in command of himself whilst entertaining himself at her expense. ‘Champagne for Mrs Grantley, Parker. I will have whisky and when you have poured the drinks you had best stay and hear what I learned.’

  ‘I can tell from your expression that you made headway, Jake,’ Olivia said, finding her voice and a modicum of self-control as Jake took the chair across from hers.