Page 43 of Unforeseen Affairs (The Sedleys #6)

“We’re good friends, you see. Sent word that we were coming up from London. He set aside tickets expressly for us,” Colin said, hoping the happy confidence in his voice lent a measure of credibility to his lie. “Asked us to meet with him as soon as he’s finished.”

The doorman leaned forward, eyeing Colin up and down.

He was a hard-looking man; despite his presentable coat and neckcloth, the width of his shoulders and the size of his arms rivaled Colin’s.

But he also carried the weariness of a man just trying to make it through to the end of his workday, when he could finally go home and collapse on his bed.

And that, Charlotte knew, was key to this part of the plan. The man’s eyes lingered on the bottle of champagne and the three glasses in Colin’s hands.

“Mr. Bass didn’t say anything about guests,” he growled skeptically.

“Oh, er—” Colin hesitated, dangerously close to slipping up.

“Of course he didn’t,” Charlotte said, cutting him off. She affected a bored tone. “Anyway, how did he seem to be getting along while preparing for the show? I know he’s parted with his assistant recently, which I imagine must be complicating matters for him.”

Despite what Mr. Bass had said to Mr. Trenwith at Mrs. Kitson’s séance, it was a gamble to assume that they had actually parted ways, especially after Charlotte had seen Mr. Trenwith hanging about on the street near the box office.

But Charlotte trusted her instinct that while the pair remained in league with one another, in order to protect Mr. Bass’s reputation Mr. Trenwith would no longer be working as his assistant in an official capacity.

The doorman, acting as if he hadn’t even been aware of Charlotte’s presence prior to her speaking, now turned his scrutiny onto her.

“Nasty business, that,” she added, and lazily looped her hand through Colin’s arm.

“Er, just—who did you say you were?” the doorman asked again as he looked back to Colin.

Colin opened his mouth, but Charlotte cut him off again.

“Mr. and Mrs. Kitson,” she replied. “We hosted Mr. Bass at our home in Bayswater only last month! A right cracking time. We held a spirit circle, and wouldn’t you know, the spirits were game that evening. We spoke with one—”

“Alright,” the exhausted man said, holding a hand up to put a stop to her story. “Alright. This one’ll show you to the room, but stay in there until the show’s over, mind?”

A boy in shirtsleeves scampered up behind the large man, seemingly from nowhere. He nodded at them with a wide, toothy grin.

“Thank you, sir,” Colin acknowledged.

The doorman sighed and stepped back to allow them to pass.

“I mean it! Can’t have all you roof-scrapers milling about back here, off your leads. You needn’t wait long at any rate, his eleven o’clock number is coming up.”

The lad gestured for them to follow, and they did, quickly picking up their pace to match his.

They had gained admittance backstage. The second step of their plan had succeeded.

Truth be told, this part of the process had worried Charlotte the least. She knew her way around a theater; if the plan had called for her to strip out of her new velvet gown, don a gas-man’s filthy cotton jacket, and pretend to clean the lamps, she could have done so with hardly a second thought.

Still, she was thankful it had not come to that.

The young boy stopped in front of a door and flung it open to reveal a small boudoir set aside for performers, his arm extended in invitation.

Colin set down the champagne and coupes upon a low table, then fished around in his pocket and drew out a silver crown.

“Can you tell me, young man,” Charlotte asked bluntly, “whether or not the newspapermen attended the opening performance earlier this week?”

“That they did, ma’am,” the boy said, his eyes never leaving the coin in Colin’s hand.

“Do you know which taverns they ought to be found at just about now?”

He nodded solemnly.

“And would you recognize them if you saw them?” Charlotte pressed.

“Of course,” he scoffed, momentarily glancing away from the money to pull a face at her.

“Good,” Colin said as he stepped forward and pressed the coin into the boy’s eager hand. “Go fetch them now. Tell them this evening’s finale will be well worth the ink they spend upon it.”

The boy closed his fingers around it, then laughed.

“I can tell them, but that’s not likely to bring them running.”

Ah, a savvy negotiator. Charlotte tried to catch Colin’s eye, but he was looking sternly at the boy, his jaw set.

“Tell them Sir Colin Gearing assures them of a…” He paused to draw in a breath. “A spectacular showing, unlike anything they’ve ever seen.”

It was clear from the boy’s skeptical shrug that Colin’s name meant nothing to him.

“And tell them that… I will be available for interview.” Colin grimaced as he said the last part. As he did so, he withdrew a second crown from his pocket and handed it over.

The boy paused for a moment to see if any more instructions were forthcoming. When none came, he doffed his hat and took off like a shot, not even bothering to shut the door behind him.

Colin released a sigh, ruffling his hair with one hand. He sat down next to Charlotte. “Do you think we ought to crack that open?” He nodded toward the champagne. “Seeing as no one’s going to partake.”

Charlotte shook her head. “We don’t have time. Mr. Bass is set to begin his elongation trick shortly.”

She looked quickly about the room, searching for a clock. Seeing none, she frowned.

“Actually, I ought to go now.”

Colin stood, his expression changing from excitement at their momentary success to something darker, the lines between his brows deepening with concern.

“I still don’t like it, you going out there on your own. It ought to be me.”

Charlotte closed her hand around her carnelian watch fob and lifted it away from her chest. The swath of lace adorning the neck of her gown obscured the decoration behind its light, yet thick ruffles.

Silently she imagined a happy resolution to their endeavor, trying to will a successful outcome into being.

There was no reason to allow the omen she thought she had sensed in the entrance hall to spook her.

“We’ve discussed this…” she began, flushing at the memory of them outlining the steps of their plan as they lay entangled atop the hotel sheets.

He had protested this part heartily, not wanting her to open herself up to ridicule.

“You placed yourself at my direction, if you’ll recall,” she reminded him.

“I know,” he said gently. He looked down at her in her chair, then reached down and tipped her chin up.

When she looked up at him, his eyes were fierce, revealing a strength of emotion she’d come to recognize in her own heart. Her entire body heated.

“I’m not one to disobey orders,” he murmured.

His lips were beautiful. She remembered the way they felt on her…

Charlotte shut her eyes. Since you’ve placed yourself at my disposal, I would have you marry me, then . Now was a chance for her to say it.

But she didn’t.

Instead she stood and, with one last look back at Colin, slipped out the door.

Out in the narrow, poorly lit halls underneath the theater, she navigated her way to the stage almost preternaturally. On another occasion, she might have credited that to the fact that she’d grown up behind the footlights.

Tonight, though, something else drove her there.

Here was the final step of their plan, requiring Colin to manufacture a diversion that would allow Charlotte to take action.

She snuck into a shadowed corner behind a pile of detritus from another production, and from there she peered out until she saw Colin approach the backstage area, striding out in the open as though he belonged there.

Just out of sight, a ripple of cheers and applause rolled through the auditorium.

Mr. Bass must have finished his trick, the last one before the elongation. Soon he would begin the one they had been waiting for. The orchestra struck up a delicate, mysterious tune, all minor notes and tense strings.

A few stagehands milled about, moving equipment or just relaxing atop assorted wooden crates, waiting for their cues. They lifted their heads warily as Colin approached—he had begun to beckon them over to him with an urgent, yet authoritative gesture.

“Quick, men!” he exhorted, doing his best to keep his voice low as he started issuing orders. “There’s something going on out there—people are blocking one of the exits.”

The men bolted to their feet and hurried toward Colin.

It would have been difficult for them not to, for he possessed a cool, collected manner while projecting a calm self-assuredness. Charlotte realized she was witnessing what it was that had allowed him, despite his youth, to rally his men to capture and board those two privateer ships.

One could not help but do as he said, when he said it like that.

And besides, the suggestion of an emergency was nothing to sneeze at, especially not in a theater.

Charlotte had never seen one that was not full of gas lamps, flammable materials, and an inadequate number of exits.

Indeed, theaters tended to meet their ends as smoking piles of charred rubble.

Even the mere worry of fire could send hundreds into a mass panic.

“Fire?” one of the stagehands whispered urgently, looking to Colin for guidance as he passed.

“No, no fire,” Colin replied as he waved the men on.

He would not risk such a panic, which if it spread to the audience could result in a human crush whose tragedy could surpass that of an actual fire.

“Keep calm! There is no fire, but we must keep this building safe and open. Get on with it—I’ll be right behind you. ”

They all took off running, and Colin jogged after them, the intent being to scatter them in all directions.

For a moment Charlotte waited, imagining him at the aft of a ship with one of those large, silly hats upon his head. She had seen a great many of them in the familial portraits that lined the halls of the Gearings’ London home. It wouldn’t look silly on him, though , she thought with certainty.

The wing was now empty. Surely there were people in the opposite wing, but they would not be in a position to stop her from entering the stage.

With a deep breath, Charlotte came forth from the shadows, drifting toward the light spilling from the channel between the thick, plush curtains concealing the wings. These were cheekily referred to as the legs, which hung at the sides of the stage in front of the backdrop, the grand drape.

A frisson danced across her skin, raising gooseflesh up and down her arms and across the back of her neck.

“This again?” she murmured to herself, pausing to examine the sensation.

But when nothing further happened, she continued on, only half-listening as Mr. Bass explained to the audience the limits of our physical sphere and our mortal bodies, his booming voice projecting to every corner of the auditorium.

And just then, on the cusp of the wing, barely concealed from the audience by the thick drapery of the leg, Charlotte froze.

A woman was already standing on the stage, behind Mr. Bass.

A small woman, dressed in the bright, obnoxious hues typical of stage costumes, weighed down with ruffles upon ruffles. Her dark hair was elaborately curled, hanging at either side of her head in a rather dated fashion.

She hadn’t been there at any of Mr. Bass’s London shows.

Mr. Bass spun about dramatically, allowing the audience to see all sides of his garments. He slid off his coat to show that his next act would involve no trickery.

Charlotte watched as his eyes passed over the woman; he appeared not to notice her, nor did he speak of or to her. Both the orchestra and audience were still; the silence was overpowering, filling Charlotte’s ears with an empty, ominous roar.

She realized she was holding her breath, but found she could not stop herself from doing so.

The woman turned and looked uneasily over her shoulder, her eyes searching.

“Mama!” Charlotte gasped.

Her mind instantly filled with a million things she wanted to say, but her voice failed; her breath would not come. Shocked and confused, she stumbled backward.

Right into the grasp of a man.