Chapter Eighteen

P art of the reason Delilah had suddenly felt so emotional about Felicia’s triumph was due to the knowledge that a month ago, the money Felicia won back would have made a huge difference to Delilah. The possibility of an independent home, or the ability to travel and be useful, had been all she wanted. Now, her world was confused by love and longing, and it no longer mattered at all whom she lived with, and where, if it was not with Linfield.

He was not at church the following day, although Delilah’s disappointment was quickly lost in pleasure for Felicia as the banns were called for marriage between her and Bernard Muir. If anyone deserved the happiness of a love match, it was Felicia.

And, oddly enough, it was Felicia who unwittingly set her on a different track in her increasingly urgent endeavors to learn the identity of the assassin.

In the upstairs hallway, Delilah almost collided with the chambermaid, who was about to return the day’s fresh laundry to Felicia’s bedchamber.

“I think you have Lawrence’s breeches there by mistake,” Delilah said with a quick smile, and would have passed on except that the maid blurted, “I got them from Mrs. Maitland’s room, ma’am, so I thought I should put them back there.”

“You’re probably right,” Delilah said after a short pause. “No doubt she is practicing some amateur dramatics with the twins.”

She did not believe that for an instant. Felicia had been playing for huge stakes last night, stakes none of the Vales could afford. Where had she got such money from if she had not been gambling in unrespectable places that ladies were not permitted?

It was a dangerous game, dressing up as a man, but she did not put it past Felicia. Thank God she had Bernard now to look after her.

How would she look as a man? Delilah wondered.

And then she stopped suddenly on the stairs and sat down.

What would anyone look like as a man? The would-be assassin of the Princess of Hazburg was not necessarily a man. Anyone, surely, with practice, could point a pistol and shoot. What if it was a woman who had disguised herself as a man outside the hotel the night she and Linfield had pursued the assassin? Or her…

She sprang up again, rushing down the rest of the stairs to look at her wretched translations with a fresh eye.

She had little time, of course, because Cornelius came home at the end of the day engaged to Lady Alice Conway, and confessing to being the fashionable poet Simon Sacheverill. And the following day was Julius and Antonia’s wedding.

Never a dull moment.

The wedding was a very happy affair. And when Lord Linfield sought Delilah out, she could not have been gladder. And yet she felt awkward, unable to say what she wished, or even to explain her most recent thoughts about the assassin.

All she managed to ask was, “Has Mrs. Harris’s brother arrived?”

“He has. All sweetness and light.”

“Are you not afraid to leave her?”

“Yes,” he said. “But nothing will happen to her while he is in the room with her. He has asked her to attend the theatre with him tomorrow. I believe it is the last night of Mrs. Hampshire’s play.”

“She will be delighted to hear it so described,” Delilah said wryly. “And yes, after tomorrow, they move on to Carlisle and York, and then to London. Will the princess attend?”

“Again, I believe nothing will happen to her while he is with her. But I shall be there just in case. I still have no idea whom I should be looking for.”

Delilah opened her mouth, but since she had no definite answers either, she closed it again and turned awkwardly away. She felt as if she were failing at everything, that he could no longer possibly be interested in someone so dull and inept. What value was she to a diplomat like him?

The following day, the Vales did their best to give Julius and Antonia some privacy at Black Hill. Delilah shut herself in her own room, the translations spread around her, looking for patterns, for words, for mistakes and slips…

And suddenly, she saw it.

The breath left her body, for she knew now who the assassin was.

Seizing her bonnet and her cloak, she ran downstairs, calling to the servants to have the carriage sent around immediately. She needed to tell Linfield at once, for tomorrow, even tonight, would be too late.

*

By Wednesday, Denzil was so bored that he was afraid of being lulled into a false sense of security. He had spent most of the last three days in one of the rooms off the princess’s sitting room. Here, he, along with Friederich and Karl’s blank-faced attendant, made conversation, drank tea, and ate, while in the sitting room, the brother and sister discussed, negotiated, and quarreled. On one occasion, the princess retreated to her bedchamber and would not come out again, even for her husband, until Karl had left.

Friedrich sighed with relief, but by the following day, the siblings were talking once more. Until Karl stormed out. After that, things settled down, and it truly began to look as if they had found a way forward. Even Friedrich wondered aloud if he had been wrong about Karl.

Denzil might have wondered the same thing had it not seemed to him that Karl was merely going through the motions. When temper did not get the better of him, he really might not have given a curse for what his sister offered or what he himself demanded. They did not matter to him because he still meant to have everything. That was what chilled Denzil’s blood and kept him alert.

During the afternoon, when tea was brought in, it came with a note addressed to Denzil. It was not in the princess’s hand, but he read it anyway.

My lord,

Forgive the incivility of a summons, but some very disturbing information has come to light that I believe only you, as Miss Vale’s friend, can help me with. Please, therefore, come to me as soon as you receive this. I shall await you at the back door of the theatre, to be sure we are private.

Gratefully yours,

H. Hampshire.

Delilah’s mother… Had she learned something vital about the assassin? Was Delilah herself in some kind of danger?

He rose at once, catching Friedrich’s eye. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I should not be longer than half an hour.”

He strode around to the theatre, retaining enough sense to make sure no one followed him.

The stage door was at the side of the building, but the note had distinctly said the back door. To be certain, he tried the front and stage doors first, and found them both locked, before picking his way around to the back of the theatre.

It was a mess, a mixture of ancient and broken scenery and assorted rubbish that must have been collecting for years. He had the impression his were the first human feet to find their way around here for a decade. He could not speak for the rats.

There was a padlocked iron door into the back of the building. As he approached it, his neck prickled. But the yard was empty, and the padlock had been unchained. The door was ajar, unbolted from the inside, though he could not see beyond it into the darkness.

He paused, hoping against hope that Delilah was not here, then he knocked softly.

Getting no response, he said, “Mrs. Hampshire? It’s Linfield.”

Still nothing.

He pushed open the door and at last saw a light at the end of what seemed to be a narrow passage. “Mrs. Hampshire.”

“Come in, my lord,” said a breathless female voice.

Seeing the outline of a woman, he stepped inside.

“Close the door,” she begged.

Reluctantly, he turned to obey. The sudden movement behind gave him an instant’s warning, but not enough. He had only half spun before something crashed into his head and he seemed to explode with pain. He fell to his knees, peering into the darkness, then into the blurred, candlelit face of…not Helena Hampshire, but Elise Manners.

He tried to speak, to focus on making his body work. But there was only darkness.

*

Delilah knocked most peremptorily on Elaine’s door, and brushed past the maid as soon as she opened it.

“Elaine, where is he?” she demanded. She was at a loss to account for the urgency that had flared during her journey into town, but she could no longer hold it back.

Elaine laid down her book in surprise. “Delilah! Are you looking for Denzil? He is with Mrs. Harris.”

“Of course he is. Which room is hers?”

Elaine regarded her uneasily. “You can’t go in there. You will not be allowed through the door. Neither will I.”

“But this is urgent! It is the danger he always feared, and I know who it is! I have to tell him before it is too late!

Elaine bit her lip and made a decision. “Perhaps we can send in a note. I’ll just tell him to come out for a moment.”

As she spoke, she was already scribbling on a piece of paper, which she shook in her hand to dry as she sailed across the room to the door and led the way across the hall and down the passage.

She knocked on the door at the end of the passage. It opened surprisingly quickly, but only a crack, to reveal part of a severe maidservant, and behind her, a very large footman.

“Mrs. Harris is not at home,” the maid said in heavily accented English.

“I am aware,” Elaine said pleasantly. “And we have no wish to disturb her. Be so good as to give this note to Lord Linfield, who I believe is with Mr. Harris.”

Although the maid glared in a suspicious manner, she snatched the note and closed the door.

“Well,” Elaine said, amused, “we are unlikely to suffer illusions as to our own importance.”

“What if he doesn’t come?” Delilah said uneasily.

“He will come,” Elaine assured her. “He always does, because I so rarely disturb him.”

It seemed she was right, for in less than a minute, the door opened again—only it was not Lord Linfield but the round, amiable “Mr. Harris” who appeared and stepped into the passage, closing the door behind him.

“Miss Talbot,” he said, beaming. “And…Miss Vale, is it not? How very pleasant to see you again. I am afraid Lord Linfield is not here.”

“Not here?” Elaine repeated, frowning. Delilah’s reasonless unease began to grow again.

“No, he received a note and left immediately, saying he would be back in half an hour. Although”—the prince picked up his fob watch and regarded it—“that was an hour ago now.”

“Who was the note from?” Delilah demanded. “Where did he go?” She swallowed. “If you please, sir.”

He gazed at her with some alarm. “He did not say. Nor did he leave the note, but he would not have left at that point had it not been important.”

“Did you not glimpse it at all? Read any words by accident?” Delilah pursued.

“No, I was too far away,” he said apologetically. He hesitated, then added, “I thought it was a woman’s hand.”

“My brother does not pursue women while on duty,” Elaine said frigidly.

“Of course not,” the prince agreed. He scratched his chin. “I cannot leave right now, but give me half an hour or so and I will help you find him if necessary.”

Elaine curtseyed, reminding Delilah to do the same. The prince bowed and vanished back inside.

“So we wait another half-hour,” Elaine said restlessly. “I don’t like this, Delilah.”

“Neither do I.” Delilah took a deep breath as they walked back along the passage. “Is there a woman who would dare summon him at such a time? A woman for whom he would drop everything and go?”

Elaine looked at her, and Delilah retained enough sense to keep her face neutral.

“Apart from you, you mean?” Elaine said.

Heat burned Delilah’s face, although there was an odd, painful pleasure in hearing the words, too.

“We have not always understood each other very well,” she said with difficulty. She stopped dead. “I think I know where he has gone. Wait here in case I am wrong, in case Lord Linfield comes back. Otherwise, accept all the search parties Mr. Harris offers. And begin with the theatre.”

Before Elaine could speak, Delilah was running down the staircase.

Outside the hotel, she all but ran into the twins, looking somewhat scruffy and disreputable.

“What are you two doing in town?” she asked, feeling harassed.

“Looking for you. We’ve sorted everyone else out,” said Lawrence.

Delilah let that go for now. “I think…I think you need to summon your brothers to the theatre.”

“For the play?” Leona called after her.

“If necessary,” Delilah said, already hurrying away toward the theatre. She didn’t want the twins anywhere near it until she could be sure of their safety. But Linfield…

Oh God, don’t let him be dead .

*

Denzil came to himself with a horribly sore head—which, however, was nothing to the dizzying agony he felt when he tried to move. He could not suppress his groan. Memory flooded back, bringing with it anger at his own stupidity.

He had walked straight into a trap because he was afraid for Delilah, or, at best, for her mother. And what use was he to either of them now?

“Ah, you’re awake,” said a light voice with some reproach. “You were meant to sleep a little longer.”

He opened his eyes reluctantly. Elise Manners stood before him in pretty bonnet and old cloak, examining him with cool dispassion. She had hit him with some strength and moved with great speed. Not an opponent to disrespect with false ideas of the gentler sex.

“I had better tell you now, so you might save your energy for survival, that you can shout all you like and no one will hear you.”

He could not see a whole lot by the light of the single candle that burned nearby, and there was no window, but the large, filthy room was curiously decorated, as if there were cushions on the walls and ceiling.

Like a padded cell where they put violent lunatics so they did not injure themselves. And so other inmates were not upset by the screams…

“It’s an old rehearsal room,” Elise explained, “fitted out by the theatre’s first eccentric manager, to keep his new plays secret from those both inside and outside the building. Extremely clever and painstakingly carried out. And yet it’s been left to rot. No one uses it now. Most people don’t even know of it.”

“Except you,” Denzil pointed out. “Um, not that I am unflattered, but why did you summon me here? Just to hit me over the head?”

“Be grateful,” she said wryly. “My employer wants you dead.”

“And here I thought he wanted the princess dead.”

“He thinks you’re in the way. In which, of course, he is quite right, but there are less elaborate and considerably less risky ways to go to work, if only he would see them. He has a tendency to overcomplicate everything, usually in an effort to wriggle out of any connection to the crime. I don’t suppose you like working with fools either.”

“No,” he admitted. “But if you are so clever—and I am, of course, prepared to take your word for it—why would you risk your life to kill another clever woman at the behest of a fool?”

She sighed. “A good question, my lord. He is not a complete fool, and a girl has to earn her living as best she can. I’m sure you noticed I am not a great stage actress. I am, however, an excellent assassin. The acting helps a little, to gain the confidence of necessary people.”

“Like Reginald Miller?”

“Of course.”

He stirred, finding he could move now with only minor pain. He heaved himself slowly to a sitting position. It was difficult with his hands tied behind his back and his feet tied at the ankles. The girl opposite watched him carefully from her stool.

“You’ll forgive me if I am not much comforted by your explanations,” he said. “Nor by the fact that you showed yourself to me at all. You must mean to kill me at some point. If you can.”

She smiled. “Oh, I can. I choose not to, or you would already be dead.”

“Why? If your employer ordered it?”

“It is not part of our agreement, and he certainly does not mean to pay for extra bodies. In fact, it’s my belief he doesn’t mean to pay me at all. Apart from the deposit I insisted on to be engaged in the first place.”

“Then don’t kill the princess either.”

“Oh, one has to keep one’s reputation,” she said vaguely. “Though it means I shall have to escape doubly quick. He could, after all, shoot me in front of a whole theatre audience and be justified because I killed his sister.”

“Then don’t. I will see you are paid to spare her.”

She smiled—an oddly appealing smile, considering her vile profession. “Don’t be silly. You’d have me caught, imprisoned, or dead before you got to the bank. Just be grateful to escape with your own life.” She rose to her feet. “And now, you must excuse me. I have a play to perform.”

“Wait. I’ll die here anyway if no one can hear me and no one knows where I am.”

She took a familiar note from her pocket and waved it at him. “I took it from your coat. If they find it in the dressing room, they’ll know where to search for you.”

“You’ve thought of everything.”

“I usually do.”

“You would not consider a career change? I know of people who could use your skills.”

“Perhaps they already do,” she taunted him. “You would never be informed. Goodbye, my lord. You have at least made this tedious task more interesting.”

She sauntered off to the passage, and he heard the slamming of the thick iron door. At once, he staggered to his feet, jumping his way after her in an effort to open the door before she could padlock it.

With his back to the door, he got his fingers around the handle and pulled violently. Nothing happened. She had already locked the door and gone.

With some difficulty, he jumped back the way he had come, ignoring the harsh throbbing of his head. There were no obvious sharp or even rough surfaces to cut or fray his bonds.

And even if he could be free of the ropes, he could not get out…

Or could he? Was there another exit? A way into this cellar from the theatre? The candle could burn out before he found it. And the candle was the only way to break his bonds. He heaved himself over to it, sat on the stool beside it and turned his back to thrust his wrists toward the flame. This was not going to be comfortable.

*

It was too early for the front of the theatre to be open. Delilah wondered whether to run to her mother’s lodgings. After all, he could be there—only, surely Elise Manners would not risk meeting him in front of the company? Impossible to know what she would risk. On impulse, Delilah tried the stage door and found it opened at once.

“Is Mrs. Hampshire here already?” she asked the porter, who obviously recognized her.

“Yes, ma’am, she’s in her dressing room, but she don’t like to be disturbed before the performance. After is much better.”

“I know,” Delilah said, slipping past him. “I won’t keep her.”

In fact, she had no intention of going near her mother at this point, unless she really needed her.

If he had come here, where would he be? Surely Elise could not have killed him here? How would she hide the noise, the body? Almost sobbing with fear, Delilah walked smartly toward the dressing rooms. Nell’s was shut. So was the men’s, although a faint murmur could be heard behind it. The door to the women’s shared dressing room was ajar.

Warily, Delilah crept up to it.

“Think you’ll get the next leading role?” someone asked, sympathy barely covering the spite in her voice.

“No.”

Delilah’s stomach lurched. Surely that was Elise’s voice? Pressed against the wall, she peered through the crack in the door. Elise, half in costume, was flouncing across the room, her back to Delilah.

“Don’t know if I’ll stay with this company,” Elise said. “Don’t you get weary of constantly playing second fiddle to old Nell?”

“She ain’t that old,” someone argued. “And you must admit she’s better than…us.”

Delilah darted past, unsure now where she was going. Elise was preparing for the performance, so where was Linfield? Surely nowhere he could be discovered before the play began? Before the princess arrived?

She found herself behind the deserted stage, among the painted scenery and the furniture used for the play. It all looked a chaotic guddle, though she supposed there was method in it understood by the stagehands.

She moved across the backstage area, behind all the curtains, scuffing her feet across the floor because the light was poor here and she wanted to feel for trapdoors, even while she ran her fingers along the walls.

There were steps up to the theatre foyer from the street. So there must be space below. A basement, a cellar? Back and forth she walked, tapping her foot on the floor, her knuckles on the wall, searching for any hollow sound. She tripped over a thin, scrunched-up rug that must have been meant to muffle the patter of feet approaching the stage. She probably scuffed it up in her last pass across the floor.

On impulse, she bent and pulled the rug aside. Her fingers found the shape of a door in the floor, and a ring to pull it.

Excitement surged, although she knew there must be several secret ways onto the stage for various complicated performances. Only this was on the other side from the dressing rooms, and it was some distance from the stage.

Moving off the door, she lifted the ring and pulled.

Nothing happened. Tightening her grip, she tugged harder, and the door lifted just a little. It must be wretchedly heavy! Bracing herself, she crouched, exerted all her strength, and pulled open the door. It rose smoothly and silently, as though its hinges had recently been oiled, even though below it smelt musty, as if no one had been down there for years.

It was also pitch dark. And the underside of the trapdoor was unexpectedly soft, thickly cushioned. Bizarre .

From the other side of the stage, she could hear more of the company arriving, calling to each other, the odd burst of laughter. Delilah rose to her feet, stumbling to where she had seen candles, flint, and tinder box. Having lit one candle, she stuffed the flint and tinder in her reticule, in case the candle went out, and made her way back to the trapdoor. Now she could see there were stairs leading downward.

Her heart was thudding with fear as to what she would find. Elise could have an accomplice, waiting below to attack her…

Delilah listened but heard nothing. She had to go down there, if only to be sure Linfield was not trapped, hurt, or worse… She put her foot on the first step and began to descend. After another brief hesitation, she pulled the trapdoor closed behind her in case someone else fell in. Only then did she realize how well the underside of the door blended into the rest of the ceiling. It was all padded, presumably to muffle sound. So were the walls, and the door she found at the foot of the stairs. It opened when she pushed it.

The candle flame flickered because her hand was shaking. Forcing herself, she walked forward from a dingy passage into a large room. One step inside. Two. And then hands seized her.

She cried out and dropped the candle, plunging the world into darkness. She lashed out blindly, struggling in her attacker’s hold.