Page 13 of Beyond the Grave
We took the brougham. Gus kept me company in the cabin while Lincoln and Seth occupied the driver's box seat. He grumbled much of the way to Leicester Square, complaining how he was "no toff" and shouldn't be sitting inside like a lady.
"At least it's warmer in here," I reassured him.
He slouched into the seat. Honestly, there was no pleasing some people.
I waved them off from the pavement outside The Alhambra. The theater was Moorish in design, as befitted its name, with arches and columns in abundance, and domes topping the crenelated roof. The main doors were locked, and I was about to knock when someone strode up to the smaller door at the side and pushed it open.
"Excuse me." I hurried over to him as fast as my hobbling gait allowed. "Do you work here?"
"The theater is closed," he tossed back at me. "There is no matinee today."
"My name is Miss Charlotte Holloway."
"Holloway?" The gentleman finally looked at me. He took in my umbrella and cloak then removed his bowler and bowed. "Pleased to meet you. Mr. Jonathon Golightly, at your service."
"I wish to speak to someone who works at this establishment. Preferably someone who has been employed here for some years."
"I work here." The smile he gave me as he straightened was rather dashing, particularly coupled with his pencil-thin moustache and sharp beard. I pegged him to be about fifty or so, but he was unlike any man of that age that I'd met. For one thing, his waistcoat was the brightest fuchsia and he wore a cravat, not a tie. "I'm the stage manager at The Alhambra and have been so for some eight years. Prior to that, I was an actor, also here. Would you like to come inside?"
"Thank you. You're very kind."
He opened the door for me and I found myself in the promenade, an area that encircled the entire theater. It was eerily quiet. While I'd never been inside The Alhambra before, I'd often peeked through the windows as I lay in wait for a drunkard to stumble out. The handsomely dressed gentlemen, mingling alongside pretty barmaids and leggy dancers, had dazzled me as much as the richly colored carpet and the gilt-edged arches. But daylight and emptiness revealed the stains, the gaudiness, and the cobwebs hugging the corners.
"Come through to my office, Miss Holloway." He led the way along the promenade, past the bar and through a door. "Mind your step down this short flight." His voice was light, his steps short and quick. He had to stop frequently to wait for me.
Mr. Golightly led me through to a small office. A series of colorful posters were laid out on the desk, advertising a variety performance for the spring. Someone had written corrections across them in a large, looping hand.
"Please be seated, Miss Holloway." A piano struck up a tune deep inside the building and a clear female voice instructed, "Higher, higher!"
"Rehearsals for tonight's ballet," Mr. Golightly told me. "Miss Redding!"
A moment later, a tall, slender woman with a severe part through the center of her blonde curls glided into the office with a grace that reminded me of Lady Harcourt. She seemed to move without so much as a flutter of her skirt hem. Unlike Lady H, however, she wore a simple woolen dress striped in two shades of brown and a matching jacket in a style that showed off her tiny waist. She wore color on her lips and cheeks, perhaps hoping to detract from her pockmarked complexion. Unfortunately, it did not.
"Yes, Mr. Golightly?" It was difficult to tell how old she was. Her golden hair and slender figure suggested twenties, while the lines around her mouth and eyes made her seem at least mid-thirties.
"Tea, please, Miss Redding. I have a guest." He beamed at me and once again took in my rich velvet cloak with its intricate embroidery. "This is Miss Holloway."
Miss Redding wasn't quite so interested in my clothing. Her gaze remained on my face as she smiled a tentative greeting. "Right away, Mr. Golightly. The water has just boiled."
"Miss Redding is my assistant," he told me as she disappeared. "A most valuable asset to the theater."
"Has she been your assistant long?"
"Only a year or two, but she's been at The Alhambra for considerably longer. She used to dance here."
I made a mental note of the fact. "I have a rather strange series of questions to ask you, sir. At least, they may seem strange to you."
He leaned back in his chair behind the desk and rested his elbows on the chair arms. "How intriguing."
"Do you know anyone by the name of Estelle Mary Pearson?"
He shook his head. "The name is not familiar to me."
I didn't think there was a link, since the name hadn't been mentioned on the same pages as the theater, but asking couldn't hurt. "What about someone with the initials D.D?"
"That could refer to anyone."
"Only to someone with the initials D.D."
