Page 7 of The Scoundrel of Drury Lane
“The man died last year, but... his daughter works at the Drury Lane theater,” Vincent added, and the others shot him a look of surprise.
“How on earth do you know that?” Darius demanded, a little suspiciously.
“I always keep track of pretty women. And she’s rather pretty,” Vincent admitted. “I decided to follow her one night.”
Kit listened to his friends, who all began to talk at once, arguing about who had watched whom, and it was in that moment Kit realized just how deeply invested his friends had been in keeping informed of his enemies’ movements. Even after all this time, they’d really been watching out for his father and for him.
“How pretty israther pretty?” asked Felix with a rakish grin.
“Quitepretty,” Vincent replied seriously. He leaned back in his chair, pensively studying the card table in front of him, which held a few dusty books that hadn’t been touched in months. “If she has any of her father’s wealth from his payoff for betraying you, Kit, she’s hiding it well. One of us should investigate her more thoroughly.”
“I suppose you’re volunteering?” Warren chuckled and rolled his eyes.
“I always volunteer when it comes to beautiful women,” Vincent freely admitted. “I’d much rather watch her all day than I would Walsh or Balfour.”
Kit envied their easy camaraderie. Once upon a time, he’d fit in so well with them, but now he had only memories of the boys they’d been, and he didn’t know where he fit in the group anymore. He struggled to regain his focus on what mattered in this moment.
His hands curled into fists. So Townsend’s daughter was an actress on Drury Lane and living on blood money from his conviction?
“Let’s start with her,” Kit said. The teasing and bickering amongst his friends died away. “And I’ll be the one to deal with her,” he added.
Lionel cleared his throat. “Just to be clear... you aren’t planning tohurtthis woman, are you? She was only a child when you were convicted.”
“If she’s gained any advance from her father’s betrayal of me, I will take it from her.” He paused briefly, meeting Lionel’s eyes. “But I do not hurt women. Vincent, is there a play on tonight?”
“Tonight? No, they will likely be working on the new play that debuts in a few weeks. They’ve been staying late each evening for rehearsals.”
“Good. That gives me some time to develop a plan for her.”
“Kit, you’ll need to visit the shops to buy new clothes... and cut your hair. You look a tad... well,frightening,” Darius offered with brotherly gentleness. “If you’re to return to London, that means a return to society, even if only long enough to exact revenge.”
Darius was right. The way Kit looked at the moment, he would terrify anyone he came across. His plan to exact revenge required fitting back into society. He would have to become a gentleman again. He had considered just killing the three men who’d destroyed his life, but that would have been too quick of a punishment for them. They needed to suffer, to have everything they cared about taken away, just as he had.
“Why don’t we meet tomorrow evening at the club?” Warren suggested. “The Bombay Room at nine o’clock?”
Everyone murmured their assent, and Kit finally nodded as well. One by one, his friends took their leave until Kit was alone with Darius in the drawing room.
“I’ll come over sometime around midday. We’ll see about a new wardrobe and a haircut.” Darius lightly slapped Kit on the back. “I’m glad you’re back. It’s been... not right here without you.” He seemed like he wanted to say more, and the ghosts of old wounds gleamed once again in Darius’s blue eyes.
Seeing his friend hurting like that pierced the wall that Kit had built around his dead heart years ago. Damn his friends for bringing his heart back to life. Each beat was heavy in his chest, and the depth of the feelings that tumbled around inside him grew impossible to ignore.
“Sleep well, Kit,” Darius said, and then he too slipped out into the darkness, leaving Kit alone once more. The house felt empty, even though he knew more than a dozen servants slept within its walls.
Kit turned out the lamp and lingered between the shadows and moonlight as he listened to the quiet settling of the wood and stone of the house. Then, after a long moment of utter stillness, he collected his small coin purse and left. He took a route he remembered from years ago to reach Drury Lane. The theater house appeared empty of patrons, but a few lamps were lit in the windows.
So this was where Townsend’s daughter worked as an actress? He had never met the girl. His few interactions with Townsend had been brief. He’d always greeted the man before going into Maynard Walsh’s office. He’d exchanged pleasantries with the fellow, but that was it.
Kit frowned as he crept closer to the theater. He edged around the side of the building, where he caught a slender beam of faint candlelight slicing through the inky night. A door to the back of the theater was propped open with a sturdy rock.
A dark-haired man around Kit’s age or perhaps a little older was emptying a bucket of dust into the street. A small cloud billowed up, causing the man to cough violently as he stepped back into the theater, carrying his broom and bucket with him.
Through the half-open doorway, Kit spotted a few actors adjusting elaborate costumes while they chatted. Beyond them, a woman was perched on a ladder, holding a paintbrush. The scenery she was painting looked unbelievably vivid. She’d created a dark forest background with motes of sunlight that pierced the gloom of the greenery. It was so lifelike that Kit blinked several times. He found himself drawn toward the exquisite quality of the background sets, and he’d just reached the half-open door when the dark-haired man stepped into his path.
“Oh, I beg your pardon.” The man peered outside. “Are you one of our new theater staff?”
Kit glanced down at the bucket and broom the man held. “Yes,” he said quickly. “I’m to clean... the theater.” He laid on a slight Cornish accent, sounding like the sailors he’d traveled with back to London.
“Well, nice to meet you, old chap. I’m Florizel Holland, the stage manager.” He thrust out a hand and smiled at Kit. “Everyone calls me Flory.”
