Page 84 of Never a Duchess
Or was that merely a story to escape her attacker?
According to Anne Grimes, Madame Delafont had agreed to meet someone in the garden at the Kinver residence. Hence why she needed the letter Anne had stolen from Mrs Rowlands’ secret box.
“It wouldnae surprise me if she’s fled.” This afternoon, they had visited the lady’s rented property in Long Acre. The flustered maid confirmed her mistress had not been home for three days.
“Maybe she feels safer at the theatre.”
The sudden scraping of the rusty bolt said someone was about to open the grubby door.
Pike appeared, grimacing as their gazes collided. “You can’t come in tonight, Your Grace. Mr Warren is pacing the corridors like a guard at the Fleet. He’ll not have Madame Delafont late to the stage again.”
Callan grabbed Lillian’s hand and pushed past the man.
“We’ll need five minutes of her time. We answer to the King, nae Mr Warren.” He pulled Lillian along with him. The sooner they took the singer’s statement, the sooner they could head out on the road to Epping Forest. “Besides, we didnae question her until after the performance.”
“Yes, but Lord Sheridan came barging in last night, so sotted he could hardly stand. Mr Warren had to throw him out. It took Madame Delafont half an hour to stop sobbing.”
“Sheridan? What did the feckless fool want?” Callan turned the corner, almost crashing into a scrawny grey-haired man and knocking him on his arse.
“Pike! What’s going on here?” The fellow gathered himself and straightened his coat. “Who is this? I said no visitors tonight.”
“But Mr Warren, His Grace is here on behalf of the King.”
Callan didn’t wait to explain himself or watch Warren bow and scrape to a man with a title. He made for Madame Delafont’s door while the men argued behind him.
Lillian knocked but received no response. She opened the door, gasping when she peered around the jamb. “Quick, Callan. Hurry.”
They burst into the room to find Madame Delafont sprawled across the floor, eyes closed, as still as the grave.
Mr Warren appeared and was as useless as a watch to a corpse. “Heavens! The show is about to start. Wake her up, damn it! Wake her up.”
Lillian shot him an irate look. “Checking for injuries is the priority, sir.” She crouched over the body, pressing her fingers to Madame Delafont’s wrist, searching for signs of life. “She has a pulse.”
“Thank the Lord!” Mr Warren jumped into action, firing orders at Pike. “Fetch her a glass of brandy. That should bring her round. We’ve got less than an hour to chivvy her along and make sure she’s ready.”
“I’ll fetch her smelling salts from the drawer, sir.” Pike hurried to a tall mahogany chest. “She uses them when she’s got an attack of nerves.”
Pike found the crystal vinaigrette and handed it to Callan.
He removed the stopper and waved the bottle beneath the opera singer’s nose. It took a few seconds to rouse a reaction. Then she jerked her head violently and winced against the pungent whiff of hartshorn.
“What? No!” Madame Delafont blinked rapidly, groaning as she moved her limbs. Recognition dawned. “Your Grace? What are you doing here?”
“Have ye broken anything? Are ye in pain?”
A little confused, the lady clutched her abdomen. “I—I’m fine. I often swoon before I’m due on stage. Will you help me up?”
“Praise be.” Mr Warren gripped the lady’s arm and helped Callan ease her into a chair. “Tell me you’ll be ready for the performance.”
Her smile failed to reach her eyes. “I shall be fine once I’ve eaten. Perhaps you might send Pike for tea and cake. And ensure there’s a chair for me backstage.”
After minimal fussing, both men left the room.
“Mr Warren can be quite demanding, but he means well.” Madame Delafont pressed her fingers to her temple and winced. “I assume you’ve not come to bring flowers and wish me farewell.”
“We heard you’re leaving London.” Lillian sat in the velvet chair, her cheeks turning pink as she met Callan’s gaze.
The memory of him pleasuring her flooded his mind. He moistened his lips and stared into her eyes, wondering if she’d realise he was a man in lust and in love.
