‘Cunning,’ I said. ‘Respectable, with a good excuse for being with Luc and yet nothing that might cause anyone to look you up, as a claim of owning a stud might.’ I gave them both my best police I know you’re up to something, Sir, but I haven’t any cause not to be exceedingly polite to you right now look. They smiled blandly back.
I had wondered whether Garrick might be a relative of the Franklins on the wrong side of the blanket, but I couldn’t see the slightest resemblance between them. If it was something they could share then they’d tell me in their own good time, I supposed, remembering I was meant to be behaving like a lady. Ladies do not demand, And exactly who the hell are you?
‘What about dinner?’ I asked, as James came in looking decidedly gorgeous in dark blue with a pale blue waistcoat. ‘None of us can cook dressed like this.’
‘Peggy’s mother is in the kitchen now, preparing dinner,’ Garrick said. ‘We’ll serve ourselves.’
Peggy, the little maid of all work, brought the food in. She was scrubbed as thoroughly as she scrubbed the floors, her ears pink under tightly braided hair, and I reminded myself to talk to Luc about her. She had potential to do better for herself, I was sure, and I was encouraged by the way both he and Garrick spoke to her.
As though by unspoken consent we didn’t discuss the investigation over the meal. This would be like any dinner party would be, I realised. Smaller than most and without the footmen serving, but, even so, far more formal than any meal I’d participated in so far. Garrick must have done a lot of preparation first, I was sure, or perhaps had sent out for some dishes. Somehow I couldn’t imagine Peggy’s mum rustling up cold cucumber soup, stuffed sole, veal in cream and mushroom sauce and three different desserts single-handed.
I kept an eye on what the men were doing and negotiated the cutlery and wine glasses safely while keeping up my end of the conversation with the occasional comment. They were fairly occasional, it is true, although they worked hard at finding topics that I might be able to relate to.
‘Where will we be going this evening?’ I asked, wondering if my stays would allow me a second helping of vanilla cream.
‘The King’s Theatre, Haymarket,’ Lucian said. ‘The largest theatre in England.’
There were two theatres in Haymarket that I knew of, the Theatre Royal, halfway up, and Her Majesty’s. ‘Is that the one near Pall Mall?’ They nodded. ‘That’s the one we call Her Majesty’s Theatre,’ I told them. ‘But I think it’s been rebuilt since now.’
‘Theatres are always burning down,’ James said. ‘Terrible fire risk.’
Of course – the lighting wouldn’t even be gas at this time. I pushed the voice of my health and safety and emergency planning colleagues to the back of my mind and told myself that the largest theatre in the country was not going to burn to the ground while I was in it. Probably.
‘And what is the opera?’
‘No idea,’ James confessed. ‘Luc?’
He shook his head. ‘We’ll find out when we get there. It really doesn’t matter – I just thought Cassie would enjoy the spectacle. Or do you go to the opera a lot in your time? I should have asked.’
‘Opera? Never. Theatre and concerts, of course.’ I didn’t explain what kind of concerts. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’ And I was, although what I knew about opera could be written on the back of a credit card with room left over.
We had a driver and two grooms with the carriage. I’d never seen them before, but from the few words they exchanged with Garrick they must have been part of his web of acquaintances and ‘cousins’ who seemed to appear as and when needed and then fade into the background again.
I didn’t miss the way that the men put me in the middle of the forward-facing seat with Lucian and James either side, although there would have been more room if one of them had sat with Garrick opposite. Nor did I miss their failure to light the interior lamp, or the way they scanned the streets as we passed or the close huddle of large male bodies around me as we climbed the steps into the theatre.
It didn’t do a great deal for my nerves, but I forgot to be twitchy when we got inside and I found myself in the middle of more gold mouldings, crimson walls, ornate furniture and blazing lanterns than I had ever seen. ‘Did Prince George have anything to do with designing this?’ I asked.
Luc snorted, but swept me on up the grand staircase, nodding and greeting passing acquaintances, but stopping for no-one. We went along a wide corridor lined with upholstered banquettes and sofas on one side and numbered doors on the other. Almost at the end he gestured to a flunkey who came hurrying forward to take the token Luc held out.
‘My lord. Your box is ready. There are bottles of champagne on ice, refreshments will be brought at the intervals. Is there anything else, my lord?’ He unlocked the door and held it as Luc ushered me in.
The noise hit me first, then the light and the colour and then the smell of hot wax and inadequately washed, un-deodorised, humanity. I’d been knocked back by it at Almack’s but it was even worse here. I waved my fan and told myself I’d stop noticing after a while.
We took our seats at the front of the box and I stared round at the vast space. There were five tiers of boxes, stretching right back along both sides, a huge, empty stage and then the stalls, a seething mass of people jostling and waving and calling to each other. Ladies were balancing on the benches working their way along to where they had an allocated seat and men were shouting across the rows to each other.
I stopped gazing down and making myself dizzy and looked around. We were on the third tier just at the point where the stage ended, which gave us an excellent view of both the stage itself and the boxes opposite. Red curtains were looped back on either side of each box but they were all open and the occupants of the boxes were scanning the scene – and their neighbours – with lorgnettes and eye glasses on sticks. I’d expected to see opera glasses, but couldn’t. Apparently they hadn’t been invented yet.
Luc reached into his breast pocket and passed me a slim leather case that proved to contain an elegant lorgnette. I plied it, feeling as though I was taking part in a costume drama, which was strange because this was the first time I’d felt that way. Perhaps it was the effect of being on display like this, as though I was on a stage of my own.
I felt myself relax. This was the glamour of the Georgian era that I had read about, dreamed about. This was a marvellous break from the mystery, from danger, from nagging worry. Really, I should have known better by then…
Chapter Twenty One
A party of four was being ushered into a box opposite on the same level as us, but two places further back from the stage. I focused through the wavering lenses and ducked sideways into the shadow of the curtains. Luc and Garrick were discussing something in the programme and James was pouring wine at the b
ack of the box. No-one noticed me.
The new arrivals settled. Sir Thomas Reece was talking to his wife. Annabelle sat next to her mother looking pale and discontented and nearest us Elliott Reece lifted an eyeglass and began to scan the boxes. The moment he saw Luc he froze. Through my own lens I saw his expression change from mild interest to absolute loathing. If looks could kill, then Luc would be a smouldering heap on the floor of the box.