Trying to ignore his irritating attentions, Kate stared about her with interest. As usual, the theatre was over hot from all the lights and the press of bodies which filled the crowded benches and boxes. A familiar smell of candle grease, sweat and stage-paint wafted up to her from the stage and Kate felt a pang of nostalgia. She ought not to have come! Simply being here was unsettling her nerves!
Up to now she had managed to avoid visiting Chester’s Theatre Royal, although she had been curious to see it. Alicia had told her that it was housed in the reconstructed old Wool Hall once part of the medieval St Nicholas Chapel. The exterior was something of a hotchpotch, but the auditorium was smart enough with space for a proper orchestra and plenty of gold paint everywhere. Handsome wrought-iron chandeliers provided illumination and there were fancy red curtains draping the stage.
In fact, it was a better theatre than most of the places she had played in, apart from the one in York. Backstage, it was probably another story. Managers never cared if actors suffered inconvenience and Green Rooms were always shabby in her experience, although she had heard that things were better in the big London theatres. Not that the Gillman Players aimed so high. They played the provinces, with occasional forays to Ireland when Ned managed to secure a booking.
She lent over the edge of the box, scanning the audience for Randal, but could catch no glimpse of his tall figure.
‘Take care,
mavournin
. You’ll do yourself an injury, so you will.’
Much you’d care
, Kate thought, withering him with a look. Then, remembering, she forced her lips to curve sweetly. ‘Oh pray do hush now, cousin! See, here comes the prompter with his staff. They are about to begin!’ she exclaimed in her best girlish tones.
He nodded obediently and sat back in his seat as the prompter struck the floor with his staff three times and the curtain rose to reveal a cleverly-painted backcloth showing the interior of a noble house.
The programme began with a popular song and then a couple performing a Highland Reel before moving on to a short recitation given by a pretty actress. The main item on the playbill was
The Fatal Marriage
, a tragedy by Southerne, which had been made popular by Mrs Siddons. Kate had attempted the part, but she did not consider tragedy to be her forte and the sufferings of the heroine, Isabella, were too long winded for her taste.
The plot began to unwind. To Kate’s disgust, the actress playing Isabella was trying to copy Sarah Siddons’ high-flown style, but her voice lacked authority and her gestures seemed petulant rather than tragic. When she completely misjudged one move and almost stumbled into one of the oil-bath footlights which brightened the stage, Kate gave up.
Her wandering attention soon succumbed to anxiety over the problem of extricating herself from Chester without hurting anyone and she twisted restlessly in her seat.
‘Can you not see as well as you might, Miss Nixon? Perhaps you would like to exchange seats with me?’
Kate shook her head at Sir Richard. ‘Thank you, sir. It is kind of you to ask, but I am quite comfortable,’ she whispered back, resolving to stop fidgeting.
She was glad when the interval arrived.
‘Would you care for a stroll to stretch your legs, Kitty?’ Sean enquired.
When she refused he announced he would go alone and excused himself. Kate continued to scan the other boxes and the pit. After a few moments Lady Alicia suggested they adjourn to the coffee room.
‘I am not thirsty, ma’am,’ Kate declared, still hoping that Randal was here and would pay their box a visit.
‘I’m not sure we should leave you on your own.’ Her benefactress cast a doubtful glance at Sir Richard.
‘I dare say Miss Nixon will be all right for a few moments,’ he said in his gentle voice.
‘Of course I will.’ Kate smiled at him gratefully.
After a little more persuasion Lady Edgeworth was convinced and Sir Richard escorted her out of the box.
They hadn’t been gone more than a pair of minutes when Kate’s attention was caught by the sound of a quiet knock. She jumped up to open the door, thinking it might be Lord Redesmere.
A burly man dressed in working clothes stood there. ‘You Miss Nixon?’
Kate nodded.
‘Message for you. There’s someone who would like a word with you.’
Kate’s fine brows lifted in surprise and the man hastily thrust a folded sheet of paper at her. ‘Gentleman told me to give you this.’
Kate unfolded the note and let out a gasp.
It read:
Meet me downstairs.
‘Shall I take you to meet him, Miss, or not? Said he needed an answer quick.’
Beneath the single line of writing was a bold
R
. Kate stared at it in consternation. Something must be wrong for Randal to approach her in this hole-in-the-corner fashion!
‘Very well.’ Kate followed the man out into the corridor. Moving at a purposeful speed, he led her through the old building, taking bewildering shortcuts which confirmed her guess that he was probably one of the stagehands.
‘Right.’ They came to a halt in a temporarily deserted corridor on what Kate concluded must be the ground floor. ‘Through there, Miss.’ Her escort pointed to a door. ‘He’s waiting for you in the alleyway.’
‘He’s
outside
?’
The man shrugged, an embarrassed expression on his face. ‘Said he wanted to talk to you private like,’ he muttered. ‘It’s up to you what you do, Miss, but I’ve got to get back to work and I can’t leave this door open. More than my job’s worth.’
Good God, he thinks it is a romantic assignation!
Kate squashed her unseemly mirth and began to fish in her reticule for a coin.
‘No need for that, Miss.’ The workman hurried to unlock the door. ‘Gentleman already paid me.’ He held it open for her. ‘Good luck!’
Kate went through and found herself in a narrow stone passageway. The door immediately slammed shut and she heard the bolts ram home.
It was very gloomy, but she could see a tall male figure, dressed in a dark suit of clothes with his hat pulled well down waiting near the end of the passage. He was carrying a cloak over one arm and had his back towards her.
‘Randal!’
At her approach the figure turned in her direction and, even as her surprised brain registered his black mask, he flung the cloak he carried over her head.
* * * *
‘May I come in, Cousin Kitty? Lady Alicia said you were allowed to have visitors today, but if you are tired I could come back later.’
Kate sat up against her pillows and signalled Emma Lattimer to enter the bedroom. ‘There is nothing wrong with me, save boredom,’ she announced, waving her visitor towards the elbow chair by the window. ‘But Alicia refuses to let me get up.’
Emma sat down and stripped off her gloves. ‘I must say you look better than I expected. From what Randal said I thought you would be a mass of cuts and bruises.’
Kate gave an abrupt laugh. ‘My bruises are in an unmentionable spot! But, yes, I’m all right.’
‘Are these flowers from Randal?’ Emma enquired, pointing to the exquisite bouquet of summer blooms which decorated the little drum top table near her chair. ‘He said he had called to ask after your health.’
Kate nodded. ‘What exactly did your brother tell you?’ she asked cautiously.
‘Well, I didn’t swallow the polite fiction he tried to feed me, if that’s what you mean,’ Emma declared with a touch of indignation. ‘I knew you wouldn’t cry off from our trip to Malpas for a mere toothache so I went to see him yesterday and wormed the truth out of him.’ She gave a shudder. ‘It must have been a terrifying experience!’
‘It was.’ Kate’s tone was grim.
‘Randal said you had no idea who your attacker was?’
Kate shook her head.
She was lying of course. She had a very good idea of who had attacked her, but she couldn’t prove it.
Sean Sullivan was behind that attack or she was a Dutchwoman. But why had Randal been there so conveniently on hand to rescue her?
At the time Kate had been too relieved to question his presence. She would have thanked the Devil himself for getting her out of that scrape, but she’d had two days to lie here thinking about what had happened and a cold chill settled on her heart whenever she tried to explain Lord Redesmere’s presence in the Rows that night.
Blinded by the cloak Sean had tossed over her, Kate had struggled to free herself from his strong grip. The heavy cloth muffled her cries and hampered her arms, making it easy for him snatch her up and fling her over his shoulder like a sack of turnips.
Half-choking for want of air and jolted uncomfortably against his back as he hurried along Kate fought off panic. She couldn’t tell which way they were heading, but she knew she had to get free quickly. The Theatre Royal wasn’t far away from the Rows, which were unlit and notoriously dangerous at night. Respectable people kept well clear, leaving the area to footpads, drunkards and ne’er-do-wells. Even if she managed to scream for help, it was unlikely anyone would interfere.
Sean had attempted murder once already. Let him get her to a quiet spot and her fate would be sealed!
She could hear him panting. She was slim and didn’t weigh heavy, but her frantic wriggling was making it difficult for him to carry her. He stopped. Kate thought at first it was so he could catch his breath and then his arm came up and it dawned on her he was going to try and knock her senseless.
She jerked her head away at the last second and he missed, his fist crashing into her shoulder instead. The blow was painful, but Kate scarcely noticed it. He was dragging her into a more upright position, probably to make the task of rendering her unconscious easier, but the movement was causing the edge of the cloak to work loose, freeing part of her face.
Gulping in air, Kate immediately twisted her head and bit his earlobe, sinking her teeth into his flesh with a desperate, savage fury.
He let out a startled shriek of pain and, in pushing her away, dropped her.
Kate landed heavily on her bottom, spat out blood and struggled to scramble free of the cloak.
‘Bitch!’ His hand flew to his injured ear.
Before she could regain her feet he sprang towards her, his fist upraised and Kate screamed at the top of her well-trained lungs.
The sound of booted footsteps running in their direction answered her cry.
Sean’s head jerked round. He hesitated for an instant and then, realising how close the sound was, let out an explosive curse.
Snatching up his cloak, he whirled and fled.
‘Let me help you.’ Her rescuer skidded to a halt beside Kate and extended a hand to assist her to her feet.
‘Randal!’ It was too dark to make him out clearly, but his voice was unmistakable. ‘What…what are you doing here?’
‘I was on my way to the theatre. When I saw that fellow behaving so suspiciously I couldn’t resist an urge to play the knight errant.’ Lord Redesmere shrugged lightly.
‘Not that I realised you were the particular damsel in distress,’ he continued in the same insouciant tone. ‘I shall be fascinated to hear how you came to be in such a predicament, but I think we had better leave explanations for later.’ He placed a supportive arm around her shoulders. ‘This is not a healthy place to linger at this hour.’
He had taken her home, ignoring her protest that Alicia would be frantic.
‘You can’t go back to the theatre. You are in no fit state to be seen,’ he had pointed out with brutal logic.
Kate gasped and he had added in a kinder voice, ‘Don’t worry. I’ll inform them of what has happened.’
When they reached Abbey Square he had handed her over to the care of Mary, who was summoned by a visibly distressed Thorpe. Feeling close to tears herself, Kate had allowed Mary to fuss over her. Put to bed with soothing compresses and a hot posset, the shock had worn off sufficiently for her brain to start working again by the time Alicia returned home.
‘Kitty, my dear! Whatever happened?’
‘It was my own stupid fault,’ Kate murmured and launched into the story she had decided to tell of how deciding she fancied a breath of air, she had impulsively stepped outside the theatre.
‘Then I heard a cry for help coming from the alleyway and without stopping to think I ran towards the sound. It was a trap, of course.’ She sighed artistically. ‘That footpad must have seen me and decided I was easy game. He got away with both my reticule and my gold locket.’
The Nixon locket had indeed disappeared. Kate thought the chain must have snapped during her struggles to free herself and she felt terribly guilty about losing it.
‘You poor girl! Thank goodness Lord Redesmere was at hand to rescue you!’ Dabbing at her eyes, which were overflowing with sympathy, Alicia quite forgot to scold her charge for being so independent.
To ward off further enquiries Kate had pretended to feel ill, but her ploy backfired on her when Alicia ordered that she remain in bed.
‘She says that I may get up for your costume ball tomorrow night if I rest quietly until then,’ she informed Emma with a doleful sigh.
‘Then I had better go away and leave you in peace,’ Emma chuckled.
‘Aren’t you going to tell me about your trip to Malpas?’ Kate demanded indignantly.
Emma was happy to oblige, but they had only been chatting for a few more minutes before Alicia came to tap on the door to announce that it was time for Kitty’s nap.
When Emma had gone Kate lay back with a thoughtful expression. She was sure she could trust her friend to be discreet about the attack, but discretion alone wasn’t going to solve the problems besetting her.
Alicia’s insistence on her remaining in bed meant that she had not been able to sign those all-important papers yesterday. She had pleaded with Alicia to summon Mr Hilton, but her benefactress had refused.
She had also turned Randal away, merely promising to convey his flowers and good wishes to Kitty.
Kate could have screamed in frustration.
‘As soon as you are allowed up, you’ll have to demand the money,’ Mary had advised anxiously. ‘We’ve got to get out of here. It’s as plain as the nose on my face that you are in danger so long as that villain is on the loose.’