Night Storm (9 page)

“Why the rush? I thought you’d like a tour.”

“We would love one, but we promised not to dally.”

“Promised who?”

“Whom doesn’t matter, only why.”

“Evidently, Mr. Riordan’s
agitated
today,” Piper said. “Though he appeared quite normal to me.”

Felix’s eyes flared. “Did Peter tell you that?”

“What if he did?”

“Then Mrs. Fielding’s right, we’d best get out of here. Give me a few minutes to change. I promised the wardrobe mistress I’d return this costume the moment my audition was over, which means I’m already late.”

“We’ll wait for you, but in a less-conspicuous location,” Charlotte said.

Once Felix had disappeared around the corner, Piper said, “Odd.”

Charlotte agreed, though she couldn’t settle her mind on why. Him not wanting to upset the theater manager seemed reasonable, given his newfound interest in the arts. Felix would want to please Mr. Riordan and would try to impress him at every opportunity. But none of those needs would elicit the fear that had rimmed the boy’s anxious features.

Peter’s and Felix’s reactions to the mere mention of Riordan’s agitation made her consider the possibility that abusive behavior might be involved. Had Peter been the only one, she could have accepted the possibility. Employees will tolerate much from their employer in order to protect their position.

But what stake did Felix have in all this? He could have easily auditioned at any one of the theaters in the area. Why was he so set on the Augusta?

Had Felix been a little older, her questions wouldn’t be so troubling. But youths his age were fragile on so many different levels that it would be foolhardy to believe they wouldn’t fall into a situation more harmful to them than good.

Felix soon joined them, breathless, and hair damp from his exertions. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

They navigated their way around the same crates, props, and towering columns they’d passed before.

“When will you learn if you got the part?” Charlotte asked.

“Mr. Riordan won’t post selections until Friday.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Piper said.

“Well, don’t get too excited.” Felix reached the staff entrance to the passageway that led outside and opened the door. “I haven’t been offered the part yet.”

“It doesn’t matter, Felix.” Charlotte closed the door behind them and waited a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloomy passageway, then hurried to catch up. “Your audition was flawless. If they select someone else, it’ll be through no fault of your own. Right now, we will celebrate a riveting monologue.”

Peering over his shoulder and around Piper, he asked, “Will our celebration include strawberry tart?

“Indeed, it wi—”

“Whoa!”

One moment Felix’s twinkling eyes were locked with hers, and the next they were gone. He had disappeared in the darkness.

Piper sucked in a harsh breath, halting so abruptly that Charlotte went up on her tiptoes to stop from plowing into her.

“Felix, are you all right?” Piper asked.

“Yes” came the gruff reply.

Having regained her balance, Charlotte looked past Piper to find Felix pushing up off the ground, checking his knees and elbows for injuries. The boy’s embarrassed expression troubled her far less than the body blocking their path.

A body that hadn’t been there when they’d first arrived.

The unconscious woman lay half slumped against the stone wall of the passageway; her long silk-stockinged legs spread haphazardly across the stone floor like a little girl’s discarded doll. The fine black mantle she wore was flipped up, hiding her face. Even if Felix had been facing forward, he would have likely not seen the obstacle in his path. In this low lighting, she was virtually invisible.

Edging around Piper, Charlotte kneeled at the woman’s side. She peeled back the mantle, revealing a delicate aristocratic face, with a ragged slash down the length of her pale cheek. Blood covered that side of her face and ran down her neck.

“Good Lord,” Piper whispered.

“Felix,” Charlotte said, keeping her voice calm, despite her thundering pulse, “help me lift her into a sitting position.”

Felix did as instructed, studying the woman’s features while tilting her upright. His eyes widened, and a distressed sound erupted from his throat.

“What’s wrong?”

He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “Not good.”

“Do you recognize her?” Charlotte exposed the woman’s throat and placed three fingers on the side of her neck. Nothing. Not a single heartbeat.

She repositioned her fingers.

Still nothing.

“She’s a regular around here,” Felix said. “Attends nearly every performance.”

“Her name?”

“Lady Winthrop.”

Charlotte used her thumb to coax one of her ladyship’s eyelids up. A vacant, cloudy, lifeless iris met her inspection.

“Is she…?” Piper murmured. “Dead?”

Sitting back on her heels, Charlotte nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

Felix’s face scrunched up in horror. “I touched a dead person?” He glared down at his hands as if he could see the taint of death coating his skin.

Charlotte inspected the woman’s neck, seeing faint bruises purpling her skin. Not enough for strangulation. She continued down her ladyship’s body, peeling back layers until her fingers came in contact with moisture. Circling the pads of her fingertips together, she knew before she ever saw her scarlet-stained flesh that the tacky texture she’d encountered was blood.

“Piper, I need a light.”

The girl nodded and ducked back into the theater.

“Did someone shoot her?” Felix squeaked.

“You must remain calm. The authorities will want to preserve what evidence we haven’t already destroyed.”

Felix stood with his hands clenched into fists. A wild look had entered his eyes.

In a low voice, she said, “Why don’t you go back inside and ask someone to send for the coroner.”

Nodding, he headed back inside, though he paused at the door. “Will you be all right?”

She sent him a grateful smile. “I’ll be fine. Run along.”

Charlotte returned her attention to the murder scene, once she heard the door close behind Felix. She gained her feet and strode the length of the passageway, looking for anything out of the ordinary. The process took little time, for the space contained no furniture, no niches, no crannies. Nothing but the single wall lamp and cold, damp stone.

Piper returned, brandishing a seven-tier candelabrum fit for the royal household.

“Remind me to send you on errands more often.”

The young woman set the monstrosity on the ground. “I thought we could use all the light we could get.”

“Indeed.”

Piper’s candelabrum contained only one lit candle. Lifting it, she set its flame to the others. The passage glowed to life. “Where’s Felix?”

“He went to find someone who could call the authorities.” Returning to Lady Winthrop’s side, she examined the mess at the woman’s right ribcage. In the large patch of blood, she found five one-inch rents in the fabric of her dress. “She’s been stabbed.”

“Rather viciously, too.”

Charlotte slid her hand along the woman’s side. “Her assailant either had very good aim to miss her stays, or he became intimately acquainted with her before the stabbing.”

Sitting back on her heels, Charlotte scanned the woman’s body, not knowing what she was hunting for, but hunting all the same. Her ladyship’s ungloved hands curled into rigid half fists, as if she’d desperately grasped for something in her final moments, or perhaps her muscles had contracted against the terrible pain, causing her fingers to fold inward.

She noted nothing else unusual until she expanded her search area. On the stone floor not far from her ladyship’s clenched hand lay a narrow length of cloth, several inches long.

“What’s this?”

Using her thumb and forefinger, she carefully lifted the item up for her inspection. No thicker than the width of a man’s thumb, the material appeared to be sewn closed on one end and, on the other, ragged fibers hung limply from a tubular opening.

“Did you find something?” Piper asked.

“Yes, though I’m not sure—”

The theater door flew open. A tall broad-shouldered gentleman strode with singular purpose down the passage toward Charlotte. She recognized him from the auditions—Mr. Riordan. Something about the hard set to his jaw and the determined glint in his eyes sparked Charlotte’s survival instincts. Lowering her hand, she rose to meet the theater manager.

Gray, piercing eyes roamed over Charlotte, briefly taking in the corpse at her feet. “I understand you’ve discovered a dead body. Mrs. Fielding, I presume?”

“Yes, to both.”

He bent forward in a short bow. “Blake Riordan, manager of the Augusta.”

Piper and Felix slipped past the theater manager to stand at Charlotte’s side. She appreciated their silent support, but she found herself wishing the two of them away. Strong, square jaw, straight, close-cropped hair, lean hips flowing into muscular thighs—Mr. Riordan looked even more imposing close up.

She produced an abbreviated curtsy to match his less-than-enthusiastic greeting. “Mr. Riordan, it’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

“Is it, indeed?” His disturbing gaze strayed to Felix long enough to force the boy’s attention to the floor. To her, he asked, “What brings you to my theater?”

What could she say without bringing any more attention down on Felix? She hadn’t meant for her “face to the name” comment to be taken as anything other than a compliment. Riordan struck her as the sort who would bask in his own notoriety, soak it up like a sandy beach consumes the seawater. Instead, the pointed look he’d given Felix suggested the boy had betrayed him in some way.

“Well, certainly not this.” Charlotte made a sweeping gesture with her hand over her ladyship’s form. “Did you send for the coroner?”

“No.”

“No?” She speared a look at Felix, whose attention remained steadfast on the stone floor. “Very well. I will see to it. Mr. Blackburne is a good friend.”

“You mistake my meaning, Mrs. Fielding,” he said. “I have every intention of contacting the coroner. But first I plan to have Bow Street investigate the incident.” His perfect features folded into a grimace. “If there’s anything left to investigate, that is.”

“I was careful not to disturb too much. A bit of clothing, no more,” she lied.

“Glad to hear it.”

“Isn’t it a bit irregular to have Bow Street present before the coroner?”

“I wouldn’t know as this is my first murder.”

At that moment, a large, bulky man with no neck, a bald pate, and forearms thicker than the circumference of her body entered. Following him was a well-dressed ferret-faced gentleman, sporting a gold-rimmed monocle in one eye, who moved to stand behind the first gentleman and to the right of Riordan’s shoulder. He peered down at the grisly scene and his pale complexion transformed into an interesting shade of green.
Pea soup
, she thought distractedly.

“A Runner should be here any moment, Mr. Riordan. I’ve sent for Lord Winthrop as well.” Ferret-face’s voice by no means matched his appearance. Deep and brandy-smooth. Mesmerizing. He would draw quite a crowd if he were to conduct a live reading of one of those Gothic novels she’d heard so much about.

Charlotte angled around, directing her next comment to Piper and Felix. “The two of you should go.”

Piper shook her head. “I’d prefer to stay.”

“I don’t want you to be exposed to such violence any longer. I will follow shortly.”

“The same goes for you, Mrs. Fielding,” Riordan insisted. “My men and I will take care of this unpleasantness.”

“Bow Street might have questions for me.”

“I’ll send the Runner to you. He’ll likely want to take statements from all three of you.”

A deep-seated instinct forced Charlotte to react without fully considering all the details. “Since I was the first to come across the victim, I would be the best qualified to provide him with answers.”

“Not according to Mr. Scott.”

Charlotte frowned. “Pardon?”

“Mr. Scott stated he was the one who tripped over Lady Winthrop. Therefore, he would be the best person to stay behind and speak with Bow Street, don’t you think?”

The unmistakable, albeit subtle, threat in Riordan’s suggestion made the low hum of tension in Charlotte’s neck and shoulders twist and tighten to a point that she feared one of her muscle strands might snap from the pressure.

She weighed her options—hold her position and do right by Lady Winthrop or retreat and remove the threat now hovering over their heads, especially Felix’s. Charlotte pulled in a long, tension-easing breath. Retreat, it was.

By sheer, pigheaded willpower, Charlotte carved out a reassuring smile on her face. “I see your point, Mr. Riordan.” She wrapped an arm around each of the Scott children, encouraging them down the passageway. Over her shoulder, she said, “We will leave you to it, sir.”

“Mrs. Fielding,” the manager called. “Where might I—or rather the Runner—reach you?”

With the door only a few feet away, Charlotte gritted her teeth. It would take little effort on his part to find her. Many in the area either knew her or were familiar with her shop. A few inquiries here and there, and he would have her address. She considered responding with a vague, cheeky remark, but worried the fear trembling beneath the surface of her calm façade would break free, revealing more than she dared to a man like Riordan.

“My apothecary shop is located on Long Acre. Call on me any time.” With that bold pronouncement, she threw open the door and nudged Piper and Felix outside. She said nothing for several pavement-pounding minutes. When she did, her voice was firm, steady. “Felix, you mustn’t go back to the theater.”

“Why not?”

How could she explain her inexplicable desire to keep him away from the manager? She took the safer route. “There’s a murderer running about. He could be anyone.”

“You think he’s one of actors?”

“No, I’m not saying that at all. But until the killer is caught, everyone at the theater is at risk.”
And suspect.
Where that particular thought came from she didn’t know. But she knew it was true. Until Bow Street found the murderer, they would be looking at everyone in the vicinity with assessing eyes.