A Cantata of Love (The Code Breakers 4) (22 page)

Gabby’s body started to shake. If her brother was a spy, would she be sent to prison? England was at war with France and her brother was a French traitor. Would she be treated as a spy?

“My dear, it’s been too much for you. You’ve lost all your color.”

Unable to squeeze a single word out for fear it’d be a choking sob, Gabby took a deep breath before she uttered, “I will be sent to prison?”

Aunt Euphemia stood abruptly and sat next to Gabby. She placed her hefty arm around Gabby’s shoulder. “Oh my. I have given you a terrible fright. I’m sorry. After all you’ve endured in France, I can see how you made the assumption. You are not going to prison because of your brother. But now you understand why I have not shared the information. I also don’t believe for a minute that your brother ever told Lady Sauvage of his spying. Which leads us to a very interesting question of how the lady came to the information. But that is for another day.”

“I can’t stay here. I wouldn’t want you or Lady Gwyneth or Lord Ashworth to be associated with me.” Gabby’s heart plummeted to her feet. She’d have to keep her distance from everyone. She had to protect Michael and his family. She had money. She could hide in the English countryside.

Aunt Euphemia spoke in a slow, measured voice. “Gabby, your presence is not a danger to any of us. But most importantly, you are safe in England.”

“But why? My brother was a spy. In France, the association would be enough to imprison you or hang you.”

“I would hope our country is a bit more open-minded about innocent women. But, most importantly, I am not a helpless woman in England. I would never allow anyone to harm you. You are safe here. No prison. I promise. Your appearance in England has appeased my long-suffering grief. I’ve always regretted that I couldn’t save my dear friend’s family. And now you are here. I will never allow anyone to harm you, including the English.”

Aunt Euphemia’s vehement promise washed over Gabby like a fresh spring rain clearing the stagnant air. And like her belief in Michael, she believed Aunt Euphemia’s assurance.

Aunt Euphemia twisted to look at Gabby. “Because of your grandmother and her plea, I worked to help other women and children to escape Paris and the guillotine. Although we couldn’t save your mother, we saved many lives.”

Gabby had heard stories of the bravery and sacrifice of the people who refused to be cowed by the intimidation of the Public Committee. “I wish I could share with Lucien that it was our dear grandmamma’s brave friend who helped us escape the guillotine. He always believed it was relatives on our father’s side.”

“I hope you can now understand why I’ve waited. And I would have waited longer, if it weren’t for Lady Sauvage. There was nothing disrespectable about your brother’s actions. He made every effort to get you away from France and Napoleon. Like all of us during this time of war with plots and deception, he made the best choice he could.”

The burning sensation started behind her eyes and in her throat. Lucien. If she could only thank him for all he sacrificed to take care of her.

Her voice shook. “I wish… When Lucien left me at the convent, I was very angry at being taken away from Paris, my music, my friends, and my mentor. I didn’t get to tell him how much I loved him.”

Aunt Euphemia took Gabby’s hands between her own wrinkled ones. “Your brother knew you loved him. Never doubt that for a minute. Now, you must go for a lie down. You have the opera tonight. Gwyneth is very excited by all the intrigue and the romance.” Aunt Euphemia waggled her bushy eyebrows. “You lift this old woman’s spirit. And tomorrow we’ll have tea and talk about better days. I’ll regale you with stories about your grandmamma as a debutante. And if she could see how you are handling yourself with all these challenges, she would be proud. You come from a courageous stock of French women. Never forget that.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

The carriage stopped at the end of a dark alley in front of the backstage entrance to the Royal Opera House. Only one lantern hung above the small wood lintel for the singers’, musicians’, and workers’ entryway. A marked contrast to the front of the opera house, which was lit with a multitude of burning lanterns and chandeliers in the opulent, mirrored grand foyer.

Lord Ashworth assisted each lady down from the carriage.

A giant of a man, capable of moving the heavy scenery by the looks of his brawny arms and thick neck, stood by the door.

Lord Ashworth nodded to the man. “Crawford.”

“Lord Ashworth. Good to see you again. Haven’t been around backstage for a while.”

Gwyneth twittered. “Yes, Lord Ashworth, explain to the nice gentleman why you haven’t been spending your nights in the pursuit of opera dancers.”

Gabby wondered if Crawford was as familiar with Michael’s name and his pursuit of opera dancers as he was with Lord Ashworth.

Lord Ashworth cleared his throat and took Gwyneth’s arm. “Lady Ashworth, what a wonderful sense of humor.” He bent down and whispered something to Lady Gwyneth who looked up into his eyes, her smiling face suddenly serious and her eyes darkened with longing.

It was Amelia’s turn to harrumph. “Shall we go in?”

Gwyneth pulled her arm away from her husband. “Of course, Amelia. My husband forgets himself.”

Gabby followed the ladies into a small anteroom. A list of the names sat on a wood table positioned next to the door.

Despite the cracked walls and stacked boxes lining the long hallway, there was a burst of action. Men hustled back and forth. There was an air of excitement in the preparation for the performance. Ignoring the low thrum of fear vibrating through her, Gabby was still eager for Madame Abney’s performance.

Lord Ashworth had warned the ladies they were to be vigilant regarding their surroundings and the people around them. He gave no other specifics for their behavior during the evening.

Crawford winked at Lord Ashworth. “My lord, I’m to escort the ladies to Madame Abney’s dressing room. Madame doesn’t like gentleman callers before the show. Says it distracts her.”

“I agree with Madame Abney, Mr. Crawford. Men are irritating distractions,” Gwyneth retorted in a too sweet contrite voice.

Lord Ashworth chuckled. “You will pay for that comment, wife.”

Gwyneth grinned back at her husband and said in a saucy tone, “I look forward to my punishment.”

The usually relaxed Lord Ashworth stiffened and his breath came out rushed. Gabby heard him whisper to Gwyneth. “You forget yourself, wife.”

Gwyneth leaned into her husband while he slipped Crawford a coin. “I’ll come back for my wife and the ladies at intermission, Crawford.”

Everything was proceeding according to their plan. Lord Ashworth would pretend to be leaving, but in fact would be backstage observing. Gabby didn’t know how Lord Ashworth would gain access to the backstage and he didn’t volunteer any more information, except that the ladies would be protected at all times. Lord Ashworth hadn’t hinted if he also suspected Madame Abney as a threat.

If Madame Abney was a French spy, Gabby would risk everything to apprehend her to protect her friends.

“Come this way, my ladies.” Crawford pointed down the long hallway. He turned back and spoke over his shoulder to Lord Ashworth who watched their departure. “I’ll take good care of your lady and her friends, my lord.”

“Thank you, Mr. Crawford, for your concern,” Gwyneth said.

Gabby appreciated their protection, but she also would be vigilant to keep her friends safe.

She had slept soundly for the first time since the news of Lucien’s death. And she had awoken this morning refreshed with a new resolve. The loss of Lucien was a terrible shock, and she had needed time to absorb the pain. But many had lost loved ones in this time of unrest, and it was time to move forward. She didn’t want to remain like a broken shell on the shore, swept back and forth with each change in the tide of men’s greed and violence.

Aunt Euphemia had risked her life to save Gabby and her family. She owed Aunt Euphemia and her family a debt of honor. Like her grandmamma and Aunt Euphemia, she wouldn’t allow Napoleon to wreak havoc on her friends or on herself.

Napoleon and his men would not intimidate Gabrielle de Valmont.

“Mr. Crawford, have you worked here for a long time?” Amelia asked innocently. “You must know everyone who works here. It must be a large group.”

“I do, my lady.”

Gabby caught on to Miss Amelia’s purpose. “You guard the door against anyone who doesn’t belong?”

“Of course, he does. It is why they have a gentleman of Mr. Crawford’s bulk and strength at the door,” Gwyneth added.

Mr. Crawford shrugged his shoulder, basking in the ladies’ admiration. “I do what I must to keep the uninvited from wandering in. It’s a little tricky with the young gents who have too much liquor… Oh, the stories I could tell ya.” He stopped. “Excuse me, my ladies. I shouldn’t be telling you fine ladies such tales.”

“Oh, but Mr. Crawford, we would love to hear of the gentlemen and their visits backstage, wouldn’t we ladies?” Gwyneth snickered.

Unfortunately, they had reached the end of the hallway. Gabby’s heart kicked into a rapid allegro rhythm with the sound of a familiar male voice coming from behind the door of Madame Abney’s dressing room.

Mr. Crawford knocked on the door.

“I thought Madame Abney didn’t allow gentlemen visitors before a performance.” Gabby’s tone came out strident with the realization that Michael was back in pursuit of the opera diva.

Crawford shook his head. “Depends on the gentleman.”

The cad was back, pursuing Madame Abney after pledging his fidelity and planning a rendezvous with Gabby on the same very night. Gabby stewed in a mixture of disbelief and betrayal.

A young, plump woman, with round apple cheeks and a wide smile, opened the door.

“The ladies are here to see Madame Abney,” Crawford said.

The woman blocked Gabby’s view into the room. But she heard the singer’s titter and then Michael’s croaky laugh.

He’d asked her to trust him. Could she? Maybe he was innocent, but it didn’t stop Gabby wanting to do something violent to his person.

“Bete, allow the ladies into the room,” Madame Abney chimed.

Madame Abney’s dresser fluttered her eyelashes and lowered her voice. “Thank you, Mr. Crawford.”

Crawford grinned at the dresser before he stepped back to allow them into the room. Unlike the dark hallway, this was a bright and spacious room. An Oriental painted screen sat in the corner. A vivid red jewel-encrusted costume was hung partially over the screen.

Crawford bowed his head. “Have a good evening, ladies.”

“Thank you, Mr. Crawford.” The ladies all spoke at the same time, making them all laugh together.

“Ladies, what is so amusing?” Madame Abney sat in front of a large mirror, again in disarray, her ivory robe hanging over one shoulder, her dark hair hanging down her back. Unlike at her townhouse, she had blackened her eyes with kohl. The dramatic line made her small eyes appear large and intriguing. She pouted at herself in the mirror while she applied deep-red rouge to her lips.

Michael stood frozen like the marble statues at the Louvre, his mouth open in shock. The idea of the loquacious man shocked into silence would be amusing to Gabby if she weren’t ready to combust in distrust and disappointment.

Part of her excitement for the evening was her secret rendezvous with Michael. She had been eager to share with him her resolve to be of assistance in finding the men, to not be seen as helpless in Michael’s eyes. She wanted to be seen as a confident woman, like Aunt Euphemia, not someone who needed his protection.

Neither Gwyneth nor Amelia registered any surprise over finding Michael again in the presence of the singer. “Kendal, your face looks like…” Gwyneth pressed her fingers to her lips to stop the laughter.

“Were you going to say as if he has seen a ghost?” Amelia asked.

“Ladies, does Ashworth know of your appearance backstage?” Michael’s voice was challenging, as was the way his eyes locked on Gabby.

Gabby stared right back at him. After this morning’s decision, she wouldn’t allow her feelings for one tempting man to rule her behavior. She was going to trust him and if he proved false, she would survive. Women survived heartbreak all the time.

“Tut, tut. Lord Kendal, didn’t know you were so exacting on propriety. The ladies are here on my invitation. And Lady Gwyneth and Miss Amelia, do you believe in ghosts?”

Amelia said amusingly, “I’m not sure I do, but I do believe Lord Kendal does.”

Gwyneth swept into the center of the room, her crimson gown matching the exotic hues of the paisley shawl draped across the settee. Two chairs were placed next to the sofa and gave all those seated a great view of Madame Abney’s reflection in the mirror. Gabby didn’t believe it was an accidental arrangement.

Amelia gasped on spotting a small anteroom overflowing with costumes and gowns. A long shelf above the rack of clothing held wigs, hair pieces, and hats. “Your costumes are magnificent. May I take a peek?” Amelia pleaded.

“Of course. I’m looking forward to your ideas on my new gowns and costumes.”

Gwyneth sat on one of the chairs. “We’ve lost Amelia to any further conversation.”