Earl's Well That Ends Well Page 7

  Teresa had to agree. She could not see these three girls banding together for any purpose.

  “So three actresses have vanished,” began Miss Grandison.

  “Dancers,” corrected Tom.

  “Opera dancers?” Miss Finch looked as if she recognized, uneasily, this phrase.

  Teresa almost asked Tom what the ballet master had to say about these absences, but she closed her lips on the question. She would find out later, when the inquiry would draw less attention.

  “Why are you speaking of opera dancers?” inquired an indignant voice. The large lady who accompanied the girls had joined them. She loomed, every inch the fierce chaperone. She was also a Grandison, Teresa recalled from the introductions—the mother…no, the aunt, of the younger one.

  “Some of them at Tom’s theater have disappeared,” replied Miss Deeping. “It’s a mystery.”

  The final word seemed to irritate the older lady. She distributed a glare around the group. Teresa felt she received an extra measure of suspicion. “This is not a suitable subject for your little games,” the elder Miss Grandison said to the girls.

  “Not games, Aunt,” replied her niece. “An investigation.”

  The lady snorted. “Investigation! Hoity-toity.”

  The earl and the young duke had come over to join them. “What’s this?” asked Lord Macklin.

  He looked ready to spring to someone’s defense. Teresa hoped he did not imagine it was hers.

  “There will be no investigation of opera dancers,” replied the elder Miss Grandison with obvious distaste. “I’m sure they make a habit of disappearing. And please let that be the last mention of such…persons.”

  Teresa couldn’t bear the contempt the older woman infused into the last word. A response burst out before she could stop it. “They are girls no older than these—many even younger—oppressed and exploited simply because of their place in society.”

  All eyes focused on her. Why hadn’t she controlled her reaction? This was hardly the first time she’d heard that sort of remark. Tom gave her a sympathetic nod.

  “We should find out what’s happened to your three friends,” Miss Deeping said to Tom. “Perhaps they need help.”

  Teresa expected the other girls to scoff, but Miss Moran and the younger Miss Grandison immediately agreed. The redheaded heiress was slower to respond, but in the end she nodded as well.

  “Nonsense! I forbid it,” declared their chaperone. “That sort of…female is all too likely to…wander off. No doubt they find places to go.”

  “But somebody knows when they do that,” said Tom.

  The large lady turned on him. “You hold your tongue, young man. You’ve caused enough trouble already.”

  “We won’t do anything improper, Aunt,” said the younger Miss Grandison.

  “So you always say, and never manage,” replied her aunt.

  “Surely we could speak to some of these girls’ friends?”

  “Señora Alvarez can talk to them all in their own languages,” put in Tom before Miss Julia Grandison could voice the refusal she clearly intended. “Makes things a deal easier.”

  “Indeed?” said the formidable chaperone. Clearly her doubts about Teresa were growing. “And what things would those be?”

  The four young ladies seemed simply interested. Miss Deeping spoke for them. “Perhaps you would go with us back to the theater now, Señora Alvarez, and we could…”

  “No!” said Lord Macklin and Miss Julia Grandison with one voice. “The dancers will be tired after the performance,” added the former.

  They might well be, Teresa thought. But right now they were being ogled by amorous men in their retiring room, fending off or welcoming the sort of offers these young ladies knew nothing about. She nearly said this aloud just out of perversity, to provoke a reaction from the older woman.

  “Well, tomorrow then,” said Miss Deeping. She glanced at her friends and received their approval.

  “I am fully occupied tomorrow,” said the elder Miss Grandison. “Not to mention utterly opposed to this scheme. I shall tell your mothers what you propose, and then I wash my hands of this whole matter.”

  “Please don’t do that, Aunt,” replied her niece. “Tell them, I mean. We promise to behave with perfect propriety.”

  The two Grandison women faced off. The aunt was fierce, Teresa thought, but the younger one looked able to hold her own.

  “Señora Alvarez could be your chaperone,” said Tom. “His lordship could come along as well.”

  Teresa gazed at Tom in astonishment, and then found all eyes turned to her once again. She felt the weight of their attention. Lord Macklin had vouched for her by inviting her to the play, whether he had meant to or not. She could not deny her suitability as a chaperone without speaking of things she didn’t care for them to know. They had no right. Well, let him solve the problem he had created. She waited for some devious denial.

  “I would be most happy to escort you,” said Lord Macklin.

  “I’ll come as well,” said the duke.

  The younger nobleman clearly fell in with anything the earl suggested. Teresa noted, for future reference, that she couldn’t expect independent opinions from the Duke of Compton. “I don’t—” she began.

  “Splendid,” interrupted Miss Deeping. “That’s settled then.” Of the four young ladies, she was obviously the most assertive and the most interested in this problem.

  It was rather like stepping into a stream and realizing that the current was much stronger than it had appeared, Teresa thought, feeling that she was about to be carried away.

  The young ladies smiled hopefully at her. Teresa silently resisted. Of course she knew the duties of a chaperone. Indeed, she might be better able to protect young ladies from hazards than those who had never had all the conventions of society come crashing down around their ears. That didn’t make this a good idea. “I have obligations,” she said. “I cannot.” No need to mention that they involved painting scenery in a plebeian workshop. She gave Lord Macklin, who knew this very well, a sharp glance. His eyes glinted back at her with…amusement? What was the man thinking?

  But her reluctance had the unanticipated effect of mollifying the elder Miss Grandison. She looked at Teresa as if they had become comrades with a common cause. “I suppose, if they are properly overseen,” she grumbled.

  “I don’t think—” Teresa tried again.

  “One time only,” interrupted Miss Julia Grandison. “I will not condone this nonsense beyond that.”

  Once again, everyone gazed at Teresa. Several looked ready to argue if she objected again. It didn’t seem worth the trouble. “Oh, very well. One visit. I really cannot promise more than that.”

  “Very right.” Miss Grandison began herding her charges toward the door. “And now we must go.”

  The party dissolved as wraps were fetched and donned. Under cover of the hubbub, Teresa quietly asked Miss Deeping, “Why do you wish to help opera dancers?” She was curious.

  “Because they are in trouble. Or might be.” The girl spoke as if this was obvious.

  “You do not think they have ‘brought it on themselves’?” That was the attitude of most of society.

  “It being the trouble? Or some more sweeping indictment?”

  This was an intelligent girl, Teresa thought. And so perhaps her friends were as well. But she expected they would lose interest in Tom’s “mystery” before too long. Their sort didn’t really care about the fate of the so-called lower classes.

  Tom grinned at Teresa as he set her shawl around her shoulders. “I’ll arrange everything,” he said.

  She suddenly suspected that he had already been doing so, on a larger scale than she’d realized.

  Five

  When the next day came, Arthur had doubts about the visit between a group of sheltered young l
adies and the theater opera dancers. There seemed to be many ways it could go wrong. It seemed that Tom must know this, as he must have noticed that Señora Alvarez hadn’t been pleased to be named chaperone for the outing. Her face had shown that she was being drawn into a position she disliked.

  Arthur had thought of trying to cancel the outing, but he didn’t think the young ladies would listen. Tom had known just what to say to rouse their interest. They would simply go anyway. In the end, Arthur could only send his roomiest carriage to make the rounds and fetch the feminine contingent while he and Compton walked together to the theater where Tom awaited them all.

  At least the expedition was not unprecedented, Arthur thought as they strode through the London streets. The theater offered daytime tours, on formal application, to those interested in its inner workings. People were shown the wardrobe, the machinery above and below the stage, provisions for preventing and extinguishing fire. This would not be quite like that, of course, but it could be made to sound so if questions arose.

  “Do you think this is a good idea?” asked the young man at his side as if he had read Arthur’s thoughts.

  “I’m not certain,” he replied.

  “Ada doesn’t really understand about opera dancers.”

  “They are not thought a fit subject for young ladies.” Although Miss Julia Grandison’s attitude must have given even a stupid girl a strong hint. And these four were far from stupid.

  “No.” The young duke frowned as they strode along. “Do you think I should have forbidden it?”

  “Could you have?”

  Compton considered. “If I really insisted on the point, I think Ada would do as I asked. Though she would want to know why, of course.” He hesitated. “Some say a husband should command his wife?”

  This was more than half a question. “Some,” agreed Arthur. “And have you noticed that the men who declare that the loudest fail to see how little they actually do?”

  The younger man looked confused. “So you don’t think it’s true?”

  “I was drawn to my wife, Celia, by her beauty at first,” Arthur said. “But my interest was fixed when I discovered in her an intelligent, tender, sensible person. Why then would I ignore her opinions?”

  “Ah. I like that. Why indeed?” They walked through a brief silence. “But doesn’t a man know more of the world?” Compton asked then.

  “Parts of it. And of others, nothing.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Childbirth, for example. It is not thought ‘a fit subject’ for men, but it is surely one of the most important events of our lives.”

  His companion looked even more bewildered.

  “I think husbands and wives should consult each other and decide matters together,” Arthur added, hoping he didn’t sound pompous. “And there is this. What would you do if someone tried to command your every move?”

  “Send them packing.”

  “Precisely. And if you could not, because you had no power to do so, you might turn to deception. I’ve seen women pretend deference and behave outrageously on the sly.”

  The young duke seemed shocked. The remainder of their walk passed in silence.

  They reached the theater a few minutes before Arthur’s carriage pulled up in front of it. The ladies descended. Señora Alvarez looked…concentrated, as if the ride had not been entirely easy. Arthur had no doubt that she’d managed whatever had occurred, however. The sense of deep presence she possessed was unshaken and so much more than simple beauty. Today, she wore a somber gown and bonnet, the dress of a staid chaperone. He offered his arm. She took it. Her fingers seemed to warm his skin, even though this was impossible through the cloth of his coat. He looked down at her, but her gaze was directed at the theater door. They all went inside together and found Tom waiting like a thoughtful host.

  “The place looks so different with no audience,” said Miss Moran as they walked into the vast interior. “Even emptier than it should be somehow.” They had some hours until the evening performance at seven.

  “And without all the lights,” said Miss Ada Grandison. The powerful oil lamp that illuminated the premises for a performance was unlit, as were the central chandelier and the row of footlights. Only a few candles in covered sconces burned, leaving the place dim and cavernous.

  Tom escorted them to a room in the back where they found the opera dancers he’d gathered during a break from rehearsal. They were clustered around a table that held an array of confections from Gunter’s. Tom had suggested, powerfully, that Arthur should order the sorts of things served at a society ball, and he had complied. Watching the dancers revel in the food, Arthur didn’t begrudge the sum.

  A babble of chatter trailed off into silence when they entered, though chewing continued. Some of the girls gathered more treats as if they feared this largesse would be snatched away by the newcomers. They were all very thin, Arthur saw. One didn’t notice so much when they were dancing. The ballets strove for an ethereal impression. But close up they looked too fragile, their eyes large in delicate faces. Most had wrapped shawls over their gowns as if they were cold, though the room didn’t seem so to him. He was glad that he’d provided sustenance for these waifish creatures.

  Tom was the only person present who was acquainted with everybody, and he naturally took charge. He chose to begin with group introductions. “These are my friends the dancers,” he said to one side of the room. “And these are my friends the young ladies who solve mysteries,” he told the other.

  This brought a hoot of derision. Arthur didn’t see which of the dancers had made it, but none of them looked impressed.

  “They do and all,” Tom responded. “I seen them find a treasure out in the country.”

  “I could use a treasure,” replied a wan, yellow-haired girl.

  “What about the gentlemen?” asked another dancer. “Are they looking for treasures as well?” She rolled her eyes at Arthur.

  “I got a treasure I could show them.” A girl with brown curls shook her hips. “Right popular it is with the gentlemen too.”

  “I’m surprised it ain’t worn out with looking,” said the first girl.

  “Now, Bella,” said Tom.

  The innuendo didn’t seem to unsettle him. Compton looked embarrassed, and the young ladies exhibited varying degrees of uneasiness. Arthur wondered again if this had been a good idea. The dancers were not welcoming. He glanced at Señora Alvarez. She stood to one side, observing.

  “So we want to try and figure out what happened to Odile and Sonia and Maria,” Tom added.

  “Those cows,” commented a voice from the back of the dancers’ group.

  “Going off and leaving us to fill in their parts,” said another.

  “Foreigners,” declared a dancer with a London accent. “I say, let ’em go back where they came from. And good riddance.”

  From the glares exchanged, Arthur concluded there were two camps among the dancers—the English and the others.

  “And if there is nothing to go back to, after the war?” asked Señora Alvarez. Her clear voice cut through the muttering. Her dark eyes were steady on those who had complained.

  The dancers fell silent, though some heads were tossed. They obviously respected the señora, Arthur thought. No one wanted to argue with her.

  “We’re all the same in one way,” said the yellow-haired Bella. “Nobody cares what happens to the likes of us.”

  “I do,” said Tom. “I want to be certain Odile and Sonia and Maria are all right.” He repeated the names as if reciting an incantation. “That’s why I brought help. And I’d do the same for any of you who was gone with no word.”

  “Would you?” asked several of the dancers at the same time. The girls exchanged glances.

  “’Course I would.” Tom smiled. Most of the girls smiled back. They liked him as they might a younger
brother, Arthur decided with a brush of relief. “So what d’you reckon?” the lad added. “Anybody know where they went? Did they say anything just before?”

  The group arranged itself. Dancers settled cross-legged on the floor or leaned against a wall, fortified with more of Gunter’s confections. Miss Moran opened a small notebook and poised a pencil over it. The other young ladies ranged themselves around her, while Compton adopted them as a shield and hovered behind. Tom escorted Señora Alvarez to the lone chair as if she was royalty, and Arthur posted himself beside her.

  Tom returned to the middle of the room. “All right then,” the lad said. “What do we know about Odile and Sonia and Maria?”

  Several dancers threw out answers. The missing girls came from France and Spain, it appeared, and none had been here more than a few months. They had gone missing over the last six weeks, at irregular intervals. Their skill with English was among the least in the ballet company. Señora Alvarez discussed this with two girls in their native languages. “They were trying to learn, but having difficulties,” she translated for the others. “Why didn’t they come to me? I would have helped.”

  “We don’t have time to be schooled, do we?” replied Bella. “There’s hardly a minute in the day.”

  “And we have to sleep sometime,” said another dancer. “We can’t be looking worn and tired. That’s not what’s wanted. They’ll show a girl the door right quick if she droops.” This provoked nods of agreement.

  There was such a contrast between the young ladies and the dancers, Arthur noted. They were around the same age, and female, but one group was sleek and calm while the other was spiky and wary. The former exhibited a bone-deep assurance that they had a place in the world and could count on its support. The other had none of that—with good reason, Arthur supposed. The dancers were obviously scraping to survive, and they had the suspicious air of alley cats poised to evade a kick. Señora Alvarez had mentioned helping opera dancers, he remembered. He understood better now what she’d meant.

  Tom presided over the chorus of voices like a concertmaster, and it emerged that the missing girls had no family or connections in England. After a long speech from one girl in Spanish, Señora Alvarez relayed the opinion that they were all a bit prickly and had made few friends. Odile had a running dispute with her landlady, whose son had been killed by Napoleon’s army. Sonia had a quick temper. She’d accused another girl of stealing an earring and hadn’t really apologized when the jewelry turned up in a hidden corner. Maria was quiet and standoffish; many thought she was above herself.