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He took the flowers from Henrietta so that she could wipe away her tears and then he gestured to her and the orchestra to begin the third song. This one revived the lively atmosphere of the first, with a stirring beat and a soaring melody, and she carried the audience along with her on a wave of such exhilaration that by the end of it they were nearly in a frenzy. As soon as the musicians played the final flourish of notes, the crowd leapt to their feet in a thunderous standing ovation.

Cormac rose too, watching Henrietta carefully as her beaming face shone almost brighter than the lamps. She curtseyed multiple times, her gaze roving over the sea of her enthusiastic admirers.

And then it landed upon him.

For the first time that evening, her poise slipped. A flash of astonishment and confusion swept across her countenance and she blinked furiously before managing to regain her composure. Mr Dunhill was just approaching her to hand back the bunch of roses; she plucked them out of his grasp and hurried from the stage, the feathers on her back fluttering as a voice hollered from the upper gallery, ‘I love you, Angelica!’

After she had disappeared into the wings, Cormac turned to Bridget. Her dark brown eyes were guarded but, when she read the emotion in his own, she nodded without hesitation, understanding at once what he needed to do.

‘We shall be obliged to wait until the interval,’ she said, her words barely audible beneath the animated chatter of the audience who were retaking their seats.

‘I know,’ he said. Though he longed to charge out of the auditorium right away, instead he sat back down with a deep sigh of frustration as Mr Dunhill started to introduce the next act.

A troupe of ballerinas flitted onto the stage, but Cormac hardly registered them. He sat rigidly in his seat, every muscle tense with the urge to take action. Beside him, Bridget was equally on edge, like a coiled spring.

The performances continued, the ballet succeeded by a trio of woodwind players who were followed by a monologue from Hamlet. He comprehended none of it. Guilt burned inside him. He may not have denied Henrietta like Munroe, nor abused her like Mrs O’Hara, but he still had not made a great enough effort to protect her. He had abandoned her just like everyone else. It was a marvel to behold the life she had managed to create for herself despite all of that neglect.

That having been said, he still harboured numerous concerns. Theatre was not an industry well known for its respectability. To many, the path Henrietta had chosen wouldn’t be viewed any higher than the one her mother had been compelled to follow. She received enormous acclaim in the limelight, but what were her circumstances behind the scenes?

The moment the interval was announced, Cormac shot to his feet. Bridget stood quickly too and together they hastened past the legs and skirts of the people sitting in the front row. Cormac caught Patrick’s look of surprise but he didn’t stop to explain – Emily would enlighten him on the reason behind their abrupt departure.

After exiting the auditorium, they made their way towards an inconspicuous door in the lobby which led backstage, where they found their progress impeded by a burly theatre attendant.

‘No guests backstage,’ he intoned.

Cormac kept a tight hold on his patience. ‘We are actually acquaintances of Mr Dunhill. We’re collaborating with him on tonight’s charity event, and tomorrow’s as well.’

The attendant narrowed his eyes doubtfully.

‘We met with him last week when he brought us through this very door to speak in his office. It’s up the stairs and past the dressing rooms.’

The attendant’s expression cleared. ‘Ah, fair enough,’ he said, reaching for the door and adding, ‘I’ll bring yous straight there.’

Cormac would have preferred to avoid engaging with the theatre manager until after he and Bridget had seen Henrietta, but the burly man didn’t leave their side as he marched them through the door, along the corridor beyond and up a flight of steps. When they passed the row of dressing rooms, Cormac perceived that one closed door bore the nameplate ‘Angelica’. He flinched; they had walked right by it the previous week without an inkling of its significance.

Arriving at Mr Dunhill’s office, they found the door open and the room empty. The attendant dithered in indecision.

‘We’re happy to wait here until Mr Dunhill comes,’ Cormac assured him, even though he had no intention of doing so. ‘The interval has only just begun so he probably hasn’t left the wings yet.’

Henrietta, on the other hand, would have had plenty of time to return to her dressing room by now.

The attendant still seemed unsure but then he brightened as he peered past Cormac’s shoulder. ‘Ah, Mr Dunhill, sir! This gent wants to talk to you.’

Cormac and Bridget swivelled to see the round-faced theatre manager striding up the corridor towards them. Damn, his presence was a complication they didn’t need. The attendant, however, gave a satisfied nod and marched away to resume his post at his door, while Mr Dunhill approached them with a puzzled smile.

‘Mr McGovern,’ he said. ‘Lady Courcey. It’s a pleasure, but I thought we had agreed that you would collect the money after the show was over?’

Cormac swallowed back his annoyance. This was a further obstacle, but if they had to go through Mr Dunhill to get to Henrietta, then they would.

‘We had agreed that, yes,’ he said, striving for amiability, ‘but we wish to speak with you on another matter—your solo singer, Angelica. It’s imperative that we meet with her.’

Mr Dunhill’s welcoming countenance became wary. After a pause, he said, ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’

At this, Cormac’s qualms only increased. Thus far, the theatre manager had seemed harmlessly jovial, but now Cormac was filled with distrust. What was the man trying to conceal?

‘I, in turn, am afraid that we will have to insist,’ he said with icy civility.

‘We know her, you see,’ Bridget interjected in a more placating tone. ‘And she knows us. From a long time ago.’

Mr Dunhill frowned. ‘She said she had no family.’

Which was no doubt a factor in him seizing the opportunity to take advantage of her, Cormac thought, growing angrier by the second. Although she had appeared well nourished, Mr Dunhill could be exploiting her in a myriad of other ways.

‘We do not share blood, and yet I have reason to claim a sense of responsibility towards her,’ Cormac said, clenching his fist to keep his temper in check. ‘You cannot prevent us from seeing her.’

Mr Dunhill shook his head. ‘She’s resting before her performance. She must not be disturbed.’

‘But she has already performed,’ Bridget pointed out.

‘She’ll go out again for the encore,’ he replied. ‘It’s not in the billing but our regulars know to expect her reappearance.’

‘Please let us have a few minutes with her,’ said Bridget. ‘We don’t mean her any harm. We just need to talk to her.’

‘I have a duty to protect my performers,’ he said stubbornly. ‘I can’t take the risk that you’re trying to deceive me.’

‘We’re not,’ Cormac snapped. Part of him wondered whether clashing with the theatre manager might put their charitable cause in jeopardy, but he was prepared to gamble. ‘We’ve known her since she was three years old. We know where she’s lived for most of her life. And we know that Angelica is not her real name.’

Mr Dunhill’s eyes widened with uncertainty. Nevertheless, he said, ‘Be that as it may, I cannot allow—’

‘It’s all right, Mr Dunhill,’ came a soft voice from behind them.

They all pivoted and found Henrietta standing there in the corridor. She was still wearing her shimmering gown but she had shucked off her feathery wings. This close to her, Cormac was struck by how similar she looked to Thomasina with her black hair and full lips, although it had to be said that her mother would not have favoured such a modest neckline.

She came forwards and gave the theatre manager a reassuring nod. ‘I’ll speak with them.’

His brows knitted together. ‘Are you sure, my angel? You don’t have to. I can send them away.’

‘I’m sure,’ she said. ‘They’re telling the truth—I do know them. And I know they won’t stay long.’

She inflicted this sting with a sweet smile that made it all the more painful. Cormac felt the weight of his shame settle even more heavily upon his shoulders.

‘Hmm,’ Mr Dunhill said dubiously, before relenting and patting her cheek. ‘Off you go, then. But keep it short—the second act will begin soon.’

With a swish of her white gown, she turned and led the way back down the corridor towards her dressing room. Cormac and Bridget followed, exchanging uneasy glances.

They trailed after her into a cramped, windowless room just big enough to fit a dressing table on one side and a low cot on the other. A wall-mounted gas lamp revealed a large, slightly tarnished mirror standing on the table, which was scattered with powder boxes and pots of rouge, a well-worn hairbrush, and the bunch of red roses she had received earlier from her adoring audience. A costume rail stood against the back wall, crammed with several white dresses and a few pairs of wings. The air was thick with perfume, the scent of roses, and stale sweat.

There was a stool in front of the dressing table – Henrietta pushed it in to give them a bit more space, although they were still obliged to stand in close quarters, unless any of them wished to sit on the cot, which was strewn with rumpled blankets and a shift stained under the armpits. Cormac eyed the cot in dismay.

‘Is this where you sleep?’ he asked.

She arched an eyebrow. ‘Judging me already, are you?’

Turning to the dressing table, she carelessly pushed the roses out of her way and perched upon its surface, crossing her legs beneath her gown and surveying them with a cool expression.

‘You’ll have to forgive Mr Dunhill,’ she said. ‘He’s extremely protective. We’ve had quite a few instances of men trying to force their way backstage because they want to “meet” me. Of course, it always turns out that they want much more than that. He’s had to shield me from some very unwelcome advances, so now he has strict rules about who’s allowed back here.’ She twisted her lips. ‘To be honest, he treats me like a child, constantly fussing over me as if I’m made of glass. Still, I’m happy to put up with it—he’s the only man I’ve ever known who hasn’t let me down.’

That hurt even worse than the last sting, especially because Cormac was in no position to deny it. How could he hope to make amends to the poor girl when he had disappointed her so thoroughly?

‘Henrietta,’ he began.

She folded her arms. ‘I don’t see anyone in this room who goes by that name.’

‘Henny,’ he tried, but she stared back, impassive. After another beat, he said, ‘Angelica.’

‘Yes?’ she responded sweetly.

He chewed the inside of his cheek. ‘I’m very glad to see that you are healthy and well—’

‘Are you?’ she said with a faint sneer. ‘I bet the sight of me on that stage was a nuisance more than anything. Time to pretend you care for a couple of minutes, but I guess now you’ll be off the hook again for another few years. Truth be told, it was a bit rich what you said to Mr Dunhill out there, acting like you were my long-lost da or something. I probably haven’t even crossed your mind since you saw me last.’

‘On the contrary,’ said Bridget, ‘we have tried to visit you in the meantime, only to learn from Mrs O’Hara that you had run away from her lodgings.’

‘Oh,’ Henrietta said, taken aback. Then her face darkened. ‘Are yous here to take me back there? ’Cause I swear to God, I’ll kick and scream every step of the way. I never want to lay eyes on that old bag ever again.’

‘On that we are agreed,’ Cormac said tersely. ‘Placing you in her care was a tremendous error on my part, though at the time I believed it best for you to remain with your own flesh and blood. I can only express my deep remorse at the ill-treatment you suffered at her hands.’

Her brows shot up. ‘So yous don’t intend to tell her where I am?’

‘No, we don’t.’ He made the decision on the spot – after all the abuse Mrs O’Hara had inflicted upon her grandniece, she no longer had any entitlement to the knowledge of her whereabouts. ‘You have my word on that.’

She sagged with palpable relief. His heart went out to the vulnerable girl hidden beneath her prickly exterior.

‘You should have come with us,’ he said gently, ‘when I offered to take you to Boston.’

She picked up a rose and twirled it between her fingers; the admirer who had thrown it onto the stage had removed the thorns so its stem was smooth.

‘You didn’t really want me to come,’ she said at last. ‘I know you just made the offer out of pity.’

‘That’s not true,’ he countered. ‘I sincerely wanted to make your life better. You didn’t deserve the one you had ended up in—it was my fault you found yourself in that objectionable situation, but I had the means to liberate you from it.’

She shrugged. ‘I didn’t need you. I figured out my own path.’

‘And we are most impressed with what you have managed to achieve,’ Bridget said. ‘Are you willing to tell us how you came to be here?’

Henrietta cast her a mistrustful look before she said, ‘I suppose so.’ She tossed the rose back onto the pile next to her and smoothed her palm over the skirt of her gown – at this proximity, Cormac could make out the tiny pieces of reflective silver metal that had been sewn into the material to give it its shimmering appearance. ‘When I ran away, I had a plan. I’d heard of great singers who were adored everywhere they went and that’s what I wanted for myself. So I sought out the theatres in the city and worked my way inside them by whatever means I could. I swept floors, dusted seats, cleaned out dressing rooms, anything to just get in the door. At night, I found different hiding places to sleep—under the stage or up in the gallery or in the costume storage room, which was the best ’cause I could make a nest out of the clothes. I was only ever caught once or twice.’

Cormac pictured her huddled in the darkness of a theatre building, small and alone and determined to succeed somehow. She had certainly inherited her mother’s grit.

‘I saw actresses come in for auditions but didn’t know how to get one myself. Then one morning, I was sweeping the boards here at the Theatre Royal and I thought the place was empty so I put down my brush and flung my arms out and pretended I was singing to a full house. And after I stopped, I realised that Mr Dunhill was standing in the wings watching me. I was sure he’d kick me out but he said he’d never heard a voice as angelic as mine.’ She flushed with pride. ‘He took me under his wing, put me in the chorus, and arranged for me to get proper training in singing and acting. He made a big fuss when I was ready for my debut solo performance—I think he could tell I’d bring him a lot of money. It’s not about the money for me, though. When I stood up on that stage and sang by myself for the first time and heard the clapping and cheering from the audience, I knew I was finally where I was meant to be. This was where I belonged.’

Her voice broke, and her eyes brimmed and spilled over. Cormac longed to put his arm around her. Then she threw them a wicked grin through her tears.

‘I’ve gotten pretty good, haven’t I?’

He cleared his throat, feeling foolish. ‘I commend you on your talent and your resilience. You’ve made something of yourself against all the odds. Nevertheless, it must be a lonely existence without any family by your side.’ Avoiding Bridget’s eye, he carried on, ‘If we asked again, would you come with us this time?’

She contemplated him, her countenance carefully controlled. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m Angelica now. This is my home. And I do have a family—Mr Dunhill and the other theatre performers are all the family I need.’

This response wasn’t a surprise really, but he still felt disappointed. He yearned to become a worthier person in her life than he had been up to now.

‘Will you think about it?’ he asked, his tone just short of pleading. ‘We’ll be back for tomorrow night’s performance. May we speak to you again then?’

She jerked one slender shoulder in an approximation of a shrug.

Accepting that he would get no greater commitment from her than that, he said, ‘We’ll let you rest now. We look forward to hearing you sing again at the encore. You truly do have a marvellous gift, Hen—Angelica.’

He discerned a hint of her uplifted expression before she smothered it beneath a nonchalant nod. Smothering a whole host of his own emotions, he left the dressing room with Bridget and found Mr Dunhill hovering in the corridor, his round face anxious. In all likelihood, the man had no need to worry that his angel might fly away; Cormac highly doubted that a day’s reflection would be enough to sway headstrong Henrietta.

He extended his hand and Mr Dunhill took it hesitantly.

‘Thank you,’ Cormac said, ‘for taking care of her. I beg you, please don’t ever let her down. She needs someone she can wholly trust.’

‘I swear she is as precious to me as my own daughters,’ the theatre manager replied.

They shook hands and, after confirming once more that they would meet after the show to arrange the collection of the charity funds, Cormac and Bridget made their way back to the lobby to rejoin the glittering mass of patrons who had no idea that the girl with the angelic voice had built a wall around her bruised heart.