Page 68 of Grave Expectations
Gus stopped the coach directly outside The Alhambra. Seth got out first and opened the umbrella. The rain wasn't heavy but it provided cover from passersby. I flipped the hood of my coat up as I stepped onto the pavement. Now that we were in the heart of the city once again, it paid to be careful. No one had tried to harm me since leaving Lichfield, but that didn't mean I could let my guard down. I touched the amber pendant nestled against my chest. It was a comfort knowing the imp slept inside, awaiting my command.
We entered through the side door to the promenade, the undercover walkway that surrounded the theater itself. Seth folded up the umbrella and took in the stained carpet, the cobwebs and peeling paintwork.
"It looks so different in the daytime. So…" He shook his head.
"Gaudy? Unseemly?"
"I was going to say out dated, like a faded beauty trying to relive her youth with too much rouge. The low lighting of the evenings hide her age. This place is quite magical when the lamps are lit and the dancers come out, all dressed up in their feathers and finery. At least, it used to be."
"You sound sentimental. I thought you didn't come here much."
"So where do we find this Miss Redding?" he asked, ignoring me.
"Backstage." I led the way along the promenade but stopped at the top of the steps leading to the backstage corridor. I kept my voice low. "Try not to flirt with her."
He grinned. "Are you jealous?"
I rolled my eyes. "No, it's just that I think she's had some disappointment in her life. Unless you plan on a permanent arrangement with her rather than a single night, don't allow her hopes to rise."
"I'll try, but what you often call flirting is my usual charming character. I can't help it if ladies find me interesting when I'm not even trying."
"You said all of that with a serious face, too."
He gave me a blank look.
I headed down the steps into a corridor where Jonathon Golightly, the theater's stage manager, kept his office. I steeled myself for an unpleasant meeting with him and his assistant, Miss Redding. The last time I'd seen him, he'd invited me in, thinking I was related to a potential investor, only to ask me to leave when he learned that I wasn't.
Miss Redding, on the other hand, had been most helpful. A dancer once herself, she'd told me how Lady Harcourt, known then as Miss D.D., had performed at The Al before her marriage to Lord Harcourt. Andrew Buchanan, her stepson, had also been infatuated with her at the time. Money must have been paid to Mr. Golightly, or threats made to keep the connection quiet, but Miss Redding either wasn't part of that financial arrangement or she was jealous of Lady Harcourt's good fortune. She'd imparted her gossip a little too easily, and her waspishness had left a bitter aftertaste.
The triangular connection between Lady Harcourt, Miss Redding and Merry Drinkwater was a curious one. If Miss Redding disliked Lady H but was friends with Merry, shouldn't the relationship between Lady H and Merry also be strained? Why would she help someone she disliked to kidnap me?
Mr. Golightly's office door was closed and the corridor empty. We slipped into the small kitchen and waited, without speaking, for several minutes until finally we heard voices, one male, the other female. Seth raised his brows at me, asking if I recognized them. I nodded.
"Tea," demanded Mr. Golightly. "And one of those little orange cakes."
"There aren't any left," Miss Redding said.
Golightly's mumbled response didn't reach me. A moment later, Miss Redding entered the kitchen. She let out a small squeal of surprise before I placed a finger to my lips to shush her. I listened for footsteps, but Golightly didn't come to investigate.
"You!" Miss Redding's wide eyes inspected me as if she were expecting to find me changed from our last meeting. "I thought I'd never see you again."
"Oh?" I said, rather stupidly. I hadn't yet decided how to approach her on the topic of Mrs. Drinkwater. It might be time to tell the truth, or part of it. Hopefully it wouldn't have the opposite effect of silencing her.
"Good afternoon." Seth had been standing by the door so that she'd sailed right past him upon entering.
At the sound of his voice, she spun and gasped loudly. "Who are you?" Her hand came up to her blonde curls and twirled them as a shy little girl would. It was perhaps a habit born from years of being self-conscious about the pockmark scars on her face. Although she'd not shown such shyness with me, Seth was quite a different matter. The man was beautiful, and if one admired beautiful men, it was easy to feel inadequate in his shadow.
It would seem I was immune to his appeal. "This is my dear friend, Seth," I said. "Seth, this is Miss Redding."
She held out her hand to him. He took it and kissed it then smiled up at her. She blushed to the tips of ears. If he was trying not to flirt, he was doing a terrible job.
"Your…friend?" she said to me.
Perhaps I should have introduced him as my brother. "Yes."
"What about your fiancé?"
"How do you know about him?"
