Chapter Nine
Olivia and Jake spent the afternoon going through Marcus’s boxes. She was worried what other salacious documents she might find, not for her own sake but for Tom’s. If Marcus had been a blackmailer and that information became public knowledge, Tom would be tainted by association before his life had properly begun. It seemed so unfair!
‘I can do this alone,’ Jake said softly, happening to look up at the precise moment when Olivia was staring out of the window, biting her lower lip in her anxiety at that disturbing possibility.
‘Not at all. I was just taking a moment to reflect.’
‘Naturally you were.’ His smile, drenched in warmth, reassured her. ‘Whatever Marcus was or did, it will not reflect upon you,’ he said softly. ‘I will not allow it.’
How well he knows me and so accurately anticipates my thoughts. ‘Thank you, but I would still prefer to know.’
‘There are not many boxes left and thus far we have not found anything incriminating.’
‘True,’ Olivia replied, ‘but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing to find.’
She sighed and returned her attention to the next box. They sorted with swift efficiency, for the most part talking only when Jake needed her to clarify whether she wanted to retain a particular document. She became less and less particular in that respect.
‘I cannot see that negotiations between his father and an actor no one has ever heard of will be of any interest to Tom,’ she said, glancing at documents which Jake handed to her.
‘Then the fire is the best place for them,’ Jake replied, consigning them to the flames.
They stopped for tea after several hours of steady work.
‘Here is the copy of Marcus’s contract that I told you about earlier.’ Olivia passed the document to Jake and then stood with her hands on the small of her back, ineffectually attempting to dislodge the kinks that several hours of bending over stuffy papers had caused to accumulate there.
‘Thank you.’ Jake put the contract aside and stood also. He positioned himself behind her and placed his hands on her rigid shoulders, massaging her tight muscles until a slight sigh slipped past her lips and the tension in her tired joints miraculously faded away. She closed her eyes and rolled her head from side to side.
‘Hmm,’ she whispered.
‘You look more contented than Tabitha when she roasts herself in front of the fire.’ His voice was a velvety smooth whisper against her ear and made her shiver with desire.
‘Are you comparing me to a cat, Lord Torbay?’ Olivia thought she ought to be affronted by the suggestion, but that would require her to dislodge his hands in order to take umbrage, which was quite simply out of the question. Her eyes remained closed, his hands continued to work their magic and she resisted the urge to purr, thereby proving his point.
His deep laugh was imbued with a wealth of meaning. ‘I have a great fondness for felines of all persuasions. I admire their independence and lithe grace.’
‘But they also have claws,’ she reminded him. ‘Oh, that’s heavenly!’ She flexed her shoulders beneath his hands. ‘Don’t stop.’
‘Tabitha has never scratched me.’
‘Ah, but I am not as easily satisfied as Tabitha.’
Another throaty chuckle was his only response.
Olivia could stand those long, capable fingers untangling her knotted muscles all day, but the delivery of the tea trolley forced her to move away from Jake. He waited for her to reseat herself, then resumed his own chair and glanced through the contract she had just given him whilst she poured the tea. He looked totally in control of himself, relaxed and undisturbed by their brief moment of intimacy. She, on the other hand, felt oddly let down, incomplete and quite out of charity with her handsome companion for agitating her passions and then leaving her frustrated.
‘I am no lawyer,’ he said, ‘but even I can see that anyone wishing to extricate themselves from such a loosely worded contract would not have a great deal of difficulty in doing so.’
‘Then I wonder why none of them did.’ Olivia handed Jake a cup of tea. ‘We have not found any incriminating documents that would prevent them from so doing; if indeed Marcus employed blackmail in order to become their manager.’
‘Perhaps we have only found the documents pertaining to Lady Marchant because he had not used them.’
Olivia stirred her tea with more vigour than the simple ritual required; her body still humming with the aftereffects of Jake’s ministrations. ‘Possibly,’ she absently conceded.
‘Emily Black married at the height of her fame and then quit the stage when she became Lady Marchant.’ Jake selected a cake from the stand on the table between them and bit into it. ‘Was she managed by your husband when she was still acting?’
‘No, actually she was not.’
‘So those letters would have been no help to him at the time,’ Jake mused. ‘She was unmarried and the scandal attaching to an affair would not have damaged her reputation beyond recall—not would they have been sufficient to tempt her away from her existing manager, I would imagine. The letters would have shown your husband in a bad light though, if Emily defied his attempts at blackmail and made them public herself.’
‘From the tone of their correspondence, and its inflammatory nature, I think they were genuinely fond of one another. Their passion would explain why she did not turn to Marcus for career advice and why Marcus did not use the letters to try and persuade her. Even so, he clearly anticipated that they might be of use to him one day, which is why he hid them away instead of returning them to her or destroying them, as any gentleman ought to have done.’
‘I am sorry you are involved in this distasteful business,’ Jake said, his voice soft, full of compassion.
‘Nonsense, Jake.’ She sat a little straighter and clicked her tongue. ‘I am fully conversant with the true character of the man I so foolishly married. I had personal evidence of Verity Aspin’s feelings for Marcus. In fact, she took pleasure in flaunting their affair in front of me, as though she had something to prove.’
‘I am willing to accept that Marcus’s physical charms might have persuaded Miss Aspin and Cecelia Fortescue to place themselves beneath his care in terms of their career advancement. We have written evidence that he also stirred Lady Marchant’s passions. But that does not explain why Michael Danton and other leading male actors stayed with him. Nor does it explain why they remain with Barber. The man is physically repellent.’
‘Ah, I see what you mean.’ Olivia tilted her head, annoyed to realise that she was trying to think of excuses for Marcus; not to salve her own pride but because she was still trying to protect her precious son from the knowledge that his father had made his fortune through such disrespectable means. ‘Presumably, Barber’s inherited stable of actors imagine he now holds whatever Marcus once did; information to their detriment.’
‘Yes, although he assures me that none have asked him about it, and I believe him. He seemed genuinely surprised by the question.’
‘You said he comes from a theatrical family himself. Perhaps he is a good actor.’
Jake lifted one impossibly broad shoulder. ‘Somehow I doubt if he is that good. In fact, he told me that he attempted acting but admits he was not good at it.’
‘They might have stayed with Marcus because he put money into some of Madame Céleste’s productions which, presumably, meant he had a say when it came to casting, I suppose,’ Olivia remarked reflectively.
‘Yes, but Barber is not a backer.’ Jake put his cup aside and stretched his arms above his head. ‘Unless we find Sir Hubert, I doubt we shall ever know.’
Olivia smiled. ‘Which will niggle away at you like a sore tooth. I know how much you dislike unsolved mysteries.’
He fixed her with an absorbed look. Olivia felt herself fall further under his compelling thrall as she noticed the manner in which his eyes glowed with passionate determination. ‘My primary…my only concern, is for your safety and peace of mind.’
‘Thank you, but I—’
‘Lord Warbeck’s here,’ Parker said, entering the room.
‘Hopefully he has news. Show him in, Parker.’
‘News of what, Jake?’
‘Simon was with me in Scotland, chasing after a rogue by the name of Barnard. He eluded us, but vocally expressed his determination to exact revenge against me in particular for putting a stop to his traitorous activities.’
Olivia widened her eyes. ‘And you think he might be in London, trying to get to you through my son. Surely that would be the height of stupidity? He would be better advised to leave these shores while he still can.’
Jake shrugged. ‘Barnard is an arrogant and very convincing man, which is how he got away with trading state secrets for so long. No one suspected him for a moment.’
‘Other than you?’
Jake grunted. ‘I have a suspicious nature.’
Simon Warbeck entered the room and offered Olivia a flamboyant bow. ‘I am sorry to hear that you have been troubled again,’ he said, ‘but at least I can put your mind at rest insofar as Barnard has not been seen anywhere in the capital.’
‘Are you absolutely sure about that?’ Jake asked curtly. ‘Sorry,’ he added in response to Simon’s wounded look, ‘but this is important.’
‘I’m as sure as I can be. I have had people checking all his usual haunts, offering generous rewards for valid information, and he has not been seen at any of them. I shall continue to keep watch, but my instincts tell me the rogue has taken to his heels.’
‘I am relieved to hear it,’ Jake replied. ‘Even so, he will return sooner rather than later, and we will be waiting when he does. I trust Simon’s judgement, Olivia,’ he added, turning to look directly at her, ‘and I think it safe to assume that he is not responsible for Tom’s gift.’
‘It is to do with Hubert’s disappearance; I am absolutely sure about that.’
‘Possibly,’ Simon replied, nodding his thanks as Olivia handed him his tea. ‘But it doesn’t do to jump to conclusions. Jake has an annoying habit of collecting enemies in the same way other men collect stamps.’
‘Jake’s enemies are not mine,’ Olivia replied.
Simon sent her a knowing smile that caused her to blush. ‘The people we go up against do not fight fair,’ he told her.
‘Thank you for taking such swift action, Simon,’ Jake said.
‘All part of the service.’
Simon finished his tea, stood up and took Olivia’s hand, kissing the back of it. ‘I shall continue to keep my ear to the ground,’ he assured her. ‘Doesn’t do to relax one’s guard.’
‘Thank you,’ Olivia replied.
Parker appeared in response to the bell and showed Simon out.
‘You should rest,’ Jake said to Olivia when they were alone again. ‘You look exhausted.’
‘If that is a polite way of telling me that I am not looking my best, then you could have saved your breath. I am well aware of it.’
‘The strain, the worry about Tom, is taking its toll.’ Jake glanced out the window. It was raining steadily. ‘There will be no walks in the park this afternoon.’
‘Where are you going?’ she asked, when he stood.
‘I think it might be a good time to call upon Madame Céleste at the Adelphi. I would imagine she will be there about now since I know there is an early performance of Much Ado About Nothing this evening.’
‘They have returned to safe ground with Shakespeare. No more of Madame’s avant-garde experiments.’
‘That is one of the questions I intend to ask Madame, if she will see me.’ Olivia smiled; well aware that few people declined to see the distinguished and respected Earl of Torbay, no matter how inconveniently timed his visit might be. He loomed over her, tall, dark and oh so enticing that Olivia wanted to pinch herself, convinced he must be a product of her imagination. No man who looked like an avenging Greek god could possibly have an abiding interest in a notorious woman of her ilk, could he? His lips briefly covered hers, silently confirming that he very likely could.
‘I shall be back in good time to dine with you,’ he said.
Olivia watched him go, thinking about the smouldering luminescence in his eyes as he reminded her that they would be dining alone. He kept an excellent chef but Olivia was perfectly sure it was not the prospect of a good dinner that was responsible for his anticipatory expression. Perhaps he was thinking of sating other appetites, aware that no disapproving maids would be on hand to spoil the mood on that particular evening.
All well and good, she thought, leaning her chin on her clenched fist, but she had already told him that she would not share her bed with him again until they had defined the precise nature of their relationship, had she not? And Olivia couldn’t trust herself to stick to that resolve if Jake took matters into his more than capable hands.
‘Mama, make it stop raining!’ Tom barged into the room, a mini whirlwind of righteous indignation. ‘I want to go to the park.’
‘We shall have to wait until tomorrow, I’m afraid,’ Olivia replied, smiling at Jane as she scooped her disappointed son onto her lap and smoothed his curls. ‘What would you like to do instead?’
‘Ice cream. I would like lots and lots of ice cream.’
‘Well, if you have been a very good boy indeed, perhaps you shall have a small bowl in a moment.’
This promise did not produce the smile that Olivia had hoped for.
‘But I want a big bowl, Mama.’
Olivia laughed and fortunately Tom was distracted when Jane produced his hobby horse. Olivia feared for the welfare of Jake’s expensive furniture as her son enthusiastically rode his horse around the room, with no proper sense of direction. After a quarter of an hour, Jane took Tom’s hand, coaxing him from the room with the offer of the promised ice cream.
‘I shall need you to help me dress for dinner in Molly’s absence, Jane,’ Olivia said.
‘I assumed that you would, madam. Agnes is available to help with Master Tom if he has not settled by then.’
‘Thank you, Jane.’
Olivia was lucky to have Jane. She held Tom in genuine affection, valued her position and never gave a moment’s trouble—she was the perfectly discreet servant in all respects. Perhaps she would dismiss Molly, promote Jane to a permanent position as lady’s maid and find someone else to look after Tom. She would be more comfortable with that arrangement, Olivia decided as she took herself up to her chamber, and would give it serious consideration when the business with Hubert had been resolved.
҉
It was still raining hard when Jake’s carriage deposited him at the stage door to the Adelphi Theatre. He told his coachman to wait for him and made his way inside, where a porter asked him his business. His gruff attitude became more deferential when Jake gave his name and asked to see Madame Céleste.
‘She’s busy right now, m’lord. She don’t normally see no one this close to curtain time. Can I say what your business is?’
‘Financial support,’ Jake replied, having anticipated the question.
‘Very well. We’ll see, if you wouldn’t mind waiting.’
A lad was despatched into the bowels of the theatre to seek out Madame. He returned a short time later and asked Jake if he would follow him. He did, unsurprised that Madame Céleste was willing to see him without an appointment. Men of Jake’s ilk had proven to be the generous benefactors of theatres or, more frequently, of its leading actresses. Jake had discovered that since Marcus Grantley’s demise no one else had become a regular supporter of Madame Céleste’s productions. That, presumably, was what had forced her to limit her repertoire to safer, more established works.
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 not 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.