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She raised her eyes to his face and found he watched her as well. She averted her gaze, not wanting to invite further interest.
Theodore didn’t knowwhat to think of the collection of performers before him. He’d come to Vauxhall years ago and taken in a few shows, but to see so many unusual people assembled in one place when his mind spun with questions and heart ached with loss, was almost too much to comprehend. He scanned the group, searching for something, any indication that seemed unnatural. But there was the rub. These performers thrived on the unnatural. They purposely enhanced any quality considered untraditional, whether in their physical features, manner of dress, or eccentric skill. It was their trade, yet it made his task that much harder. So many of them gawked at him, as ifhewas the oddity. Others ignored him altogether. It was a peculiar situation.
Continuing his perusal, he noticed a young woman at the far-right side of the tent. She looked startled, for lack of a better description. As if she held her breath in wait. He’d observed how the man beside her had reached for her hand and she’d pulled it away abruptly. That man appeared equally troubled. He too was young and from another country if the color of his skin was any indication. Although, the audience before him consisted of every imaginable skin tone. Life at Vauxhall couldn’t be more different from the world where Theodore lived. Not in appearances or the strict decorum of the earldom.
He brought his attention back to the woman at the same time she chose to glance in his direction. Their eyes met and held. An unexpected frisson of emotion coursed through him. Did he know her? That was an impossibility and yet something in her gaze felt familiar, as if they were connected somehow. His brow creased with the inane thought, though he didn’t look away.
She was beautiful with delicate features and large, luminous eyes. Her dark, glossy hair fell nearly to her waist and the image was intimate for its evocative invitation. Ladies of the ton kept their hair pinned back, hidden under bonnets or braidedinto intricate designs.Unseen.He inhaled deeply, ignoring a misplaced pulse of lust.
Why hadn’t she looked away? Did she feel the same invisible bond? The very idea was ludicrous. She likely challenged everyone in the same manner. Life in this atmosphere couldn’t be easy.
When she suddenly turned away, he felt the loss of her attention and mentally cursed himself. His emotions were erratic, running high as he came to grips with Fremont’s passing. Regardless of the early hour, he needed a drink. Probably more than one.
“Thank you for coming in early to meet with us.” Fredrickson addressed the performers, his back to Theodore. “So that we can gather information in an orderly manner, Johns and I will speak to each of you individually and that may take some time. You are free to leave the tent briefly if absolutely necessary, although I ask that you return within the hour. Mr. Morland has supplied us with a list of employees, so failure to appear will cast you in an unfavorable light.”
Theodore was impressed. Fredrickson knew how to enhance his preamble with subtle threats aimed to get exactly what he wanted. Compliance.
“If anyone was near the pleasure paths behind the grandstand area, your information could be especially helpful in apprehending the attacker,” Fredrickson went on. “Anything unusual or suspicious should be shared.”
“And it doesn’t only have to be events you observed last evening,” Johns interjected. “The assailant may have visited repeatedly, waiting for the right opportunity. Any instance or strange happening that seems odd, uncommon or inappropriate should be reported.”
A loud snicker from the left side of the tent overrode the end of Johns’ sentence.
“You’ll be here to next Tuesday if you want us to tell you all that,” a male voice called out.
Fredrickson began to organize the interview area and Theodore glanced to where the young woman with the beguiling eyes was seated, but her half of the bench was empty now. He turned toward the exit at the rear of the tent in time to see her leave through the flap. Without a moment’s hesitation, he set out after her.
Lola’s heartbeathammered so loudly in her chest she wondered if it would be the death of her. She wanted to visit the spot where she’d witnessed the murder and then she’d return. Everyone was back at the tent. Now seemed a good time to slip away. Besides, if someone questioned her actions, she would claim curiosity. A desire to see the area in case it jarred a memory. Something like that. She didn’t think more on it.
Hurrying, she rounded the back of the grandstand and walked toward the maze of hedgerows and flowering shrubs that composed the pleasure paths. In the bright morning sun, the gardens looked welcoming and innocuous but in her time at Vauxhall, all sorts of erotic acts and scandalous debauchery were reported to have happened within. Once inside, one could be assured of privacy. Even in daylight, it was easy to become lost in the labyrinth of green shrubbery lined with identical lanterns. She’d experienced it herself the few times she’d allowed Marco to take her inside.
Now she swallowed her indecision, glanced cautiously over her shoulder, and entered through the gate. Unless one had been inside the close walks at the exact time of the murder or accidently happened upon it, the act would have gone unseen. When she’d looked back a moment ago, the wooden stanchions and taut rope where she performed each evening rose highabove the tent. The knowledge she might be the only person who’d witnessed the killing pressed on her chest. She could never confess such a thing. Not with her past. Not at the risk of discovery.
Besides, she’d seen nothing more than a man in a long black coat. It was hardly a useful description. She pressed her eyes closed not wanting to relive the experience though the memory showed itself nonetheless.
Several minutes later, she reached the area she sought. With tentative steps, she approached the small clearing and crouched down, running her fingertips over a patch of bloodstained dirt and crushed gravel.
What had happened? Why was a man killed in a place meant for amorous acts and titillating entertainment? Had he been lured here purposely or was he waiting for a loved one? Too many questions bombarded her at once.
“You there.”
She jerked to her feet, thrusting her hand behind her back as if she hid something, even though her fingers held nothing more than the sensation of having touched death.
It was the same tall stranger from the tent. The man who’d stared at her until a sheen of sweat had coated her skin. She drew a breath and exhaled slowly. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She shouldn’t feel as though she had.
“Yes?”
“Do you work here?” He stepped closer and the sunlight glinted off his thick hair, black as a raven’s wing, dark as the intention in his eyes.
“Yes.” She moved her hands to her sides, uncomfortable and at the same time intrigued. She was graceful by nature, able to move silently through the world, but here in front of this man with her heart pounding and mind spinning, a strange combination of exhilaration and fear clashed inside her.
“Shouldn’t you be with the others?”
He indicated the direction she’d come with a shallow wave of his hand. He didn’t wear gloves which was curious indeed. He looked like a man who always kept his hands clean and mingling with Vauxhall performers would definitely be considered filthy business.
3
She looked guilty. Her wide eyes watched him as if she feared he meant her harm. Nothing could be further from the truth. If she knew something about Fremont’s death, he wanted to hear what she had to share. And yet, he had no idea if she knew anything at all.