Authors: Julia Tagan
“What did Freddie do?” Her face was pale.
William poured himself a drink from a decanter on a side table. The liquid burned his throat and the sensation momentarily calmed him. “You don't know?”
“For goodness sake, you're speaking in circles. What's happened? You went up to see Mrs. Ivey and now you're asking questions about Freddie. I'm confused.”
“He killed her.”
She gasped. “That's ridiculous. Freddie wouldn't hurt anyone.”
He studied her face closely as he spoke. “I'm certain your brother killed Mrs. Ivey. I have no doubt.”
“No, you must be mistaken. How did she die?”
“You don't know?”
She erupted with outrage. “Why would I know? Stop this at once, William. Tell me everything.”
“She was poisoned.”
Her body wavered back and forth, as if a strong wind had swept into the room. “What? How?”
“The hotel's surgeon believes Mrs. Ivey was killed by a bad oyster.”
She breathed out a sigh of relief. “An oyster. Now I'm truly baffled. Do you think Freddie fed it to her?”
“It wasn't an oyster. She was fine at the theater. A few hours later, she was dead. Food poisoning doesn't work that quickly.”
“Then what type of poison?”
“A vial of arsenic is missing from my bag. I believe Freddie put it into her tea.”
Harriet's mouth dropped open. Now he had her full attention. “Arsenic? Freddie?”
“When we were attacked in the forest and that oaf was going through my medicine bag, the vial dropped out. Freddie must have noticed it.”
“And you believe he stole it from you and gave some to Mrs. Ivey?”
“Here are the facts. The arsenic is missing from my bag. The maid saw Mrs. Ivey having tea with a man with a bandaged arm. Mrs. Ivey died suddenly, violently.” He paused. “Did Freddie know Mrs. Ivey prior to today?”
“No, not that I know of. But they were both in the theater, there's no reason why they shouldn't have met before.” Her voice was uncertain. “Why would he do such a horrible thing?”
Her shock seemed to register as deeply as William's own. He sat opposite her. “This run of bad luck, I don't think it was the curse.”
“You mean the fire? The men in the forest?”
He nodded.
“No. You're wrong. Remember, Freddie was the one who warned us about the fire, and he was injured trying to help.”
William had already replayed the evening several times in his mind: Freddie screaming for help, his frightened voice as he roused them. “My guess is he set the fire not knowing there were men sleeping in the barn. Maybe he only meant to burn the sets, wagon, and costumes. When he realized he had put lives at risk, the lives of men he knew, he had second thoughts.”
“You think he was trying to destroy the theater company?”
“That's one possibility.”
“In that case, I would suspect one of Bibby's men.”
“Or Freddie is working for Bibby.”
“Why would he do that? He wouldn't.”
“You barely know your brother anymore. And I don't know the answer to that question. I only know the facts before me.”
She shook her head. “So he saved lives at Adam's, but here in Birmingham he goes out of his way to murder an innocent woman? I can't imagine Freddie doing such a thing. I refuse to believe it.”
“He didn't want the show to go on. He had to stop it.”
“Why? Why would he want to see his own father go to prison?”
“You've seen for yourself your father and brother aren't particularly close.”
She was quiet for a moment. “You think Freddie turned against us all.” A statement, not a question.
He nodded.
And now it was her turn to attack him. “I can tell you right now you're wrong about everything. Your arsenic bottle was most likely lost in the scuffle and is lying back in the forest somewhere. Mrs. Ivey ate an oyster and became ill. Freddie's off doing whatever it is Freddie does these days. There's no real proof.”
Why would she so angrily defend a brother she barely knew, if she wasn't already a part of the conspiracy? Like her brother, she'd been trained in deception since birth. In pretending.
His eyes must have given away his suspicions, because she stiffened. “Do you think I'm a part of this?”
He didn't respond. He couldn't. An hour ago, he'd been close to telling her he loved her. His stupidity astounded him. Even if deep in his heart he knew she couldn't have been involved, he'd placed himself in a terribly precarious position.
Lies and secrets continued to haunt him. On the terrible night of Oliver's death, when he'd chided his brother for even considering the idea of marrying an actress, the woman, in a fit of anger, had blurted out a terrible secret. He'd told Oliver and the girl in no uncertain terms to go to hell and hours later, they were dead.
Now a famous actress had been killed using his poison. William caused death and destruction wherever he went. The irony he was a physician, a profession devoted to healing, was not lost on him.
Harriet stood. “Obviously, you do suspect me. I had nothing to do with Mrs. Ivey's death, nor any of the other calamities we've faced. And I'm not sure you're thinking straight. You still have no proof.”
“Freddie requested the key to my room from the concierge earlier today, while you and I were together. Apparently, he pretended to be my brother. Is that proof enough?”
She recoiled in shock. From the ashen look on her face, it was indeed. “He wouldn't. He couldn't have.”
“Yet it appears he did. If Freddie is caught, he could easily point fingers at me, saying I supplied the poison. And he'd be right, I did.”
“Not willingly. He stole it from you.”
“Do you think the newspapers care about subtleties? My name, and my family's name, will be ruined.”
“We have to find Freddie, talk to him. I'm certain we can sort this out.” The earlier ferocity in her voice was gone, replaced by panic.
“I doubt Freddie is anywhere near Birmingham.”
Harriet's breaths came faster and faster, her lip trembled. He knew every intimate curve of her body, every dip and rise. The knowledge pained him.
No other woman had this effect on him, and he vowed no one else ever would. Her very presence rattled him. He'd promised the duchess he'd keep her ward out of trouble. Instead, he'd made love to her, been seduced by her charms. The gay theatricality of the past few days had made him forget that real life was rife with complications. He'd not only failed the duchess and Marianne, he'd exposed his family to more ridicule.
“What do we do?” Harriet put a hand on his arm. “I'll do anything you ask.”
She was so trusting, so confident he would make it right. He had to put her straight.
“My priorities right now are to my family.” A bitter taste rose at the back of his throat. “I must return to London and bring the medicine to Claire. She's my first priority. I should have never gotten sidetracked.”
“I'll go with you.”
He ignored her. “The surgeon will state Mrs. Ivey died of food poisoning and I hope his finding will not be questioned, particularly as the maid's testimony will reinforce the assumption.”
“What about Freddie? If he did do this, shouldn't he be found and punished?”
“If I go to the magistrate about Freddie, he'll want to know where he found the poison. It'll make the papers, and Claire's too weak to be able to handle another assault on our reputation.”
“But if Freddie did commit such a terrible act, he needs to be put into jail. He's a murderer. Keeping your family's name pristine is not the priority here. Can't you see that?”
He spoke slowly and calmly. “You have no idea what my priorities are. If you have any sense, you'll go back to London and make amends with the duchess. Once these matters have calmed down, I will marry Lady Marianne.”
Harriet put one hand over her mouth and stifled a sob.
“I was remiss to have ever allowed our relations to go so far in the first place. If you have any respect for me, or my family, or the family of your guardian, you will return to London and marry the man to whom you are intended.”
“Mr. Hopplehill?”
“Yes.”
She turned on him with a vehemence he was unprepared for. Her eyes burned into him. “We are nothing from now on. Not lovers, not friends. I want nothing from you, William. I never have. What kind of woman do you think I am?”
He stayed silent.
Her face contorted with anguish. For a second, William wanted more than anything to draw her into his arms, to comfort her and tell her they'd work through these troubles together. But they were of two different worlds, their pairing was impossible.
“It is best we go our separate ways. I'll leave you money to get back to London.”
“I don't want your money.” She gave a harsh laugh. “And now, finally, I no longer need a chaperone? Has it come to that?”
“Obviously you can take care of yourself. I should have known that from the start.”
Harriet slapped him across the face. “You're more worried about what people think than what you feel. I see that now. Leave. Go back to London. I'll do as I please.”
She strode to the door. “And I never want to see you again.”
Chapter 13
Harriet woke out of a deep sleep and gasped when she realized the time. She rose too quickly and the room swayed underneath her, so instead she sat back down on the bed and put her head in her hands. She'd had a terrible night's sleep, her body going hot and then cold as she replayed the events of the evening before in her head. Her heart felt as if vines were growing around it, choking off all blood supply, the anguish of her loss turning into a visceral pain within her rib cage. She'd drift into sleep and suddenly awaken, William's cold visage appearing anew. If only she could erase her memory, and not have to recall the terrible events of the past day. His accusations had been horrible, and his words came back to her more viciously in the harsh light of day.
She'd fallen deeply in love with him. The tenderness of his lovemaking, his concern for her, made her think he might feel the same way. An hour later, he'd abandoned her.
The mirror across the room caught her reflection. Deep circles under her eyes and a sallowness to her skin made it appear as if she'd been up all night carousing, which is probably how most of the cast spent the hours after the curtain fell, even with the solemn news of Mrs. Ivey's death. Harriet had no doubt the good notices for the play were followed by rounds of drinks and toasts to the memory of a fallen fellow artist.
After a maid arrived with tea, Harriet opened the window to bring in some fresh air. Down on the street, she spotted William and caught her breath. She willed him to look up and see her. Instead, he tipped a porter and climbed inside a black barouche, disappearing from view.
He'd left her behind, retreated to his regular life where he would obliterate the events of the past week, when they'd turned to each other in crisis and in passion. It was over. She would have nothing further to do with him. And he would have nothing to do with her.
She was unwise for having given her heart to him, for having fallen so deeply and quickly in love with a man she barely knew. They'd shared secrets and, after he'd taken her maidenhood, she'd hoped he might possibly love her back.
Her mind was going in circles. She must stop these useless ponderings and try to think straight.
Was Freddie indeed guilty of stealing William's arsenic and killing Mrs. Ivey? It was hard to imagine her affable brother pouring poison into an innocent woman's drink, knowing she'd be writhing in pain and die hours later. Could he have done such a thing? And why?
But William was right on one count. Harriet didn't know her brother well anymore. She must find him. There had to be an explanation for why he'd asked for William's room key, or taken tea with Mrs. Ivey. Something to explain the coincidences.
She dressed and made herself presentable. Downstairs in the lobby, the manager informed her Freddie Farley had checked out yesterday without leaving a note or letter.
He was gone.
At the theater, the stage door entrance was propped open and unfamiliar faces filled the backstage area.
“Can I help you, miss?” asked a young man.
“Yes, I'm looking for the Farley Players. Have they left already?”
“Over at the loading docks. They're going out, we're coming in.”
“I see. Break a leg.”
“Will do.” He grinned and winked at her.
She finally located her friends as they were securing the trunks on the wagons.
Mrs. Kembler scurried over and gave her a big hug. “We missed you last night.”
“Yes, sorry. I didn't feel like celebrating. But I'm glad you did. You deserved it.”
Mrs. Kembler studied her face. “I wasn't able to tell you how wonderful you were last night. Have you seen the papers?”
“No, I haven't.”
“The notices are tremendous. Brilliant reviews all around. And they say you're a star in the making. Aren't you thrilled?”
Harriet gave a quick smile. “Over the moon. Thank you. Have you seen Freddie anywhere?”
“Not today. Not last night either, if I remember. But I don't remember much.” She nudged Harriet in the ribs. “Quite a night out, if you know what I mean. Adam! Have you seen Freddie?”
Adam eased his way down from the wagon and gave Harriet a hug. “No, no sign of Freddie since the curtain went up yesterday. So sorry about Mrs. Ivey. Terrible tragedy. The reason why I make it a rule to stay clear of oysters.”
“Right. Oysters.” At least the rumor had stuck. So far.
“Your dad's up and about, though. Looking quite spry, I must say. He was asking for you.”
“Thanks, Adam. Where are you off to next?”
“Not sure. Your dad told us to load up and he'd give us instructions later this morning. I assume we're back to the regular circuit. All thanks to you. Where's your earl?”
“He's not my earl. And he's gone to London. He had business to attend to.”
“Too bad, I'll miss him. Nice bloke, that.”
“And such a good-looking man,” added Mrs. Kembler. “If only I were five years younger, right?”
Adam rolled his eyes. “More like twenty-five.”
“There you are, Harry, my girl!” Her father picked Harriet up in a huge bear hug and twirled her around. After her feet touched the ground again she stepped back, in shock. His eyes were bright and blue, and the air around him seemed to shimmer with anticipation.
“Father, you look well.”
“I am. I am. I have a new lease on life, because of you. I'd forgotten why I was here on this earth, what drove me to create and to inspire and to dream. And you reminded me. Last night, watching you from the back of the theater, I was reminded of the first time I set foot on a stage.”
“Is that right?”
“The magic, I could smell the same magic last night.”
“What exactly does magic smell like?” asked Mrs. Kembler.
Her father gave her an exasperated look. “Don't make everything so literal, I'm trying to express an emotion here, one which can't be put into words. But it was you, Harry, who changed me. I will keep my wits about me from now on. You have saved me from myself.”
“Father, may I speak with you in private?” She didn't like his rapid-fire delivery, his unbridled energy. Something was up.
“Of course. In fact, I'm on my way to an important meeting and you should be present. Come with me.” He waved his arm to the company. “Load up and be ready, my fellow thespians, good news awaits.”
Her father first stopped in at a newsagent's on the High Street. She waited impatiently outside for him while he flirted with the shopkeeper's wife.
Finally, he emerged clutching a newspaper and took her by the arm. “I've read the review already, but it'll be a good prop for our meeting.”
“What is this meeting?”
“You'll find out when we arrive. With notices like these we can do what we like, where we like. I'll add a musical number to start the show, and wrap up with something using dogs or horses. Audiences love that kind of thing these days.”
His casual manner shocked her. “How can you be so chipper? Have you forgotten the passing of Mrs. Ivey?”
His eyes grew solemn. “Of course not. It's an awful thing that happened. In fact, it helped to bring me out of my doldrums, if you want to call it that. Coming face to face with death changes a man.”
His penchant for hyperbole was exasperating.
“Where's Freddie?” she asked. “No one's seen him since last night.”
“Probably run off.”
“Why? Where would he run off to?”
Her father turned his face to the side and spat. “Who cares? I've had enough of that boy.”
“Why have you had enough of Freddie?”
“He used to say he wished he was the one who was sent away, can you believe that? A few years ago, I told him I was willing to pass the company on to him and instead he whinged about how much he'd wanted to go to London instead of you. No sense of duty. Not like you, returning to your old man in his moment of crisis. I won't forget that, I promise, Harry.”
“He told me you refused to pass the company on to him.”
“Once he fell into a hole, you bet I did.”
She wasn't sure what to believe. “Maybe if you'd been more patient with him.”
Her father regarded her with amazement. “I was more than patient. I loaned him a good deal of money when he lost it gambling with men from Bibby's company last year. He promised to stop, but I knew he couldn't. Takes after his dad that way, what I've got for drink, he's got for the card table.”
“Freddie owed money to Bibby?”
He nodded. “And when I agreed to discuss it with him, you know what he did? He insisted I order a pint. Said he wouldn't talk about it unless I joined him in a drink. I allowed him to buy me a pint. I'd been careful up to then, after what we went through when your mother passed on.” A pained expression crossed his face. “But once I was finished he insisted we drink another. And another.”
Harriet's heart beat fast. If Freddie owed money to Bibby, the only way he could have paid it off was to promise him the circuit. The final piece of the puzzle snapped into place. William was right.
Their father would never give over the company willingly, so first Freddie had to weaken him, which was easy enough in the right pub. She wondered what kind of addiction lurked within her own nature, when the ones her brother and father battled were so difficult to resist. The only thing she had ever ached for that badly was William.
“Ah, well.” He took her arm in his. “You're a good girl. Together, we'll do wondrous things. I'm so glad to have you back in the fold.”
Maybe if she'd never left she might have stopped this disaster from happening. “There are times I wished I hadn't been sent to London.”
“I'd rather you be educated and see the sort of world a duchess moves in. Nothing can take the place of being comfortable around the aristocracy. You straddle two worlds now, you see? What an asset you'll be to the Farley Players.”
He was moving too fast.
“I only meant to come for a few days, to get the production up, then return to London.”
Her father stopped and faced her, holding her arms with both hands. He was still a remarkable looking man, despite years of traveling, hard work, and periods of vice. Lines like cat whiskers extended from the corners of his eyes, softening the regal bearing of his nose and cheekbones. She'd inherited his face, his profile.
“I'm sorry I ever sent you away,” he said. “It's important you hear that from me. I know Her Grace raised you as her own, and I hope she was kind to you.”
“She was, in her own way.”
“Good. You needed a mother to guide you into womanhood. But now you're a grown woman, you belong back here with me.”
Harriet considered his words. He was saying exactly what she secretly hoped he'd say to her, the reason she'd come to Birmingham in the first place. She'd been drawn to him in the hope she'd be told she was loved, needed, and missed. And he had. If she did what he desired, and stayed with the Farley Players, she'd be with her family once again. She could be a true daughter, not a ward of the duchess or a faux sister to Marianne.
And she'd never have to see William again.
* * * *
“Ah, number seven, here we are!”
Harriet's father stopped in front of a grand two-story residence with large, evenly spaced windows. Tendrils of ivy climbed up the red brick walls, almost reaching the gabled roof.
“Who lives here?” she asked.
“You'll find out soon enough.”
“I'm guessing it's a theater manager who wants the show. Are you adding a new stop to the tour? Sending the Farley Players to Aberdeen or something?”
He chuckled but instead of answering her, he lifted the doorknocker and banged it hard three times.
A pretty young maid opened the door and led them into a large hallway lined with recessed alcoves. Each contained a marble statue depicting a cavorting nymph.
Her father caught her staring. “Do you see, these are characters from Shakespeare?”
Indeed, as she peered closer she could see one figure held a skull, like Hamlet, while another wore a donkey-head, like Puck in
Midsummer Night's Dream
. Yet all were stark naked.
“Dear me,” said Harriet. “How awful.”
Her father put his finger to his lips to silence her. They followed the maid to a study lined with mahogany bookcases and were told to wait.
“Even if his taste in art is dubious, I see the Shakespeare library is complete,” said her father as he scanned the shelves. “Even the sonnets.”
Harriet joined him and stared down at the small volume in his hands. “Do you remember the book of sonnets you gave me before I left with Her Grace?”
He replaced it on the shelf and pulled out another. “I think I do.”
“The one you inscribed to me? Remember?”
“Of course, of course. How could I forget? âParting is such sweet sorrow.'”
“No, that wasn't what you wrote.” She wasn't sure if he was teasing her or not.
He waved one hand. “How can I remember what happened so many years ago? I'm getting old. You'll have to be taking care of me soon, as I'll be a doddering, drooling gentleman in no time.”
“Don't be silly.”
Her father began reading aloud and Harriet only half-listened as she pondered her alternatives. She couldn't bear going back to London, where Marianne would marry William and live in wedded bliss. It was unimaginable.
Instead, what if she remained with the Farley Players? She could help steer the company and keep her father out of trouble. While acting was interesting enough, she most enjoyed putting together all of the elements to create a production, as she'd done the past week. And she was good at it.
The more she turned the idea around in her mind, the more excited she became. Why should she obey William's decree? After his dismissal of her yesterday, he no longer had any hold over her. This afternoon she'd write a letter to the duchess thanking her for taking care of her all these years and telling her she wouldn't be coming back. She'd explain her father needed her now.