Shades of the Past (2 page)

His voice had risen again, and Miles quietened him furiously. “Keep your voice down, I don’t want the world to know my business! It’s Deveril’s own invitation, he wants you to take Laura Reynolds with you, maybe not to the actual ball, but he certainly wants to see her.”

“Eh? I don’t believe it.”

“It’s the truth.”

“And what is my connection to her supposed to be? That she’s my long-lost sister? He’ll really swallow
that
!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, dear boy. It’s all arranged. You see, I know that your staid, rather stuffy aunt, the ever-proper Lady Tangwood, was going to be your sweetheart’s chaperone for her first London Season this summer, until fresh, supposedly virginal Marianna marries the future Earl of Sivintree in the early autumn. I also know Lady Tangwood’s ill health has caused her to withdraw from this arrangement and retreat to her estate in Yorkshire. Oh, yes, there is very little I
don’t
know. The explanatory letter she sent to Deveril House before she left, er, fell in my hands.”

Miles paused, and then smiled again. “One of my many talents is an uncanny ability to copy handwriting. A replacement letter, complete with Lady Tangwood’s seal, was duly delivered into Deveril’s hands. Its contents were quite simple. Lady Tangwood apologized most profusely for letting them down, but recommended instead a certain Mrs. Reynolds, a widow who, although young and beautiful, is a model of decorum and is everything deemed desirable in a chaperone. Lady Tangwood also suggested you bring Mrs. Reynolds with you.”

Stephen was shaken. “You—you’ve already written this?”

“I have, and Deveril has agreed to consider the matter. He replied to Lady Tangwood that he wishes you to bring Mrs. Reynolds with you next week for her suitability to be assessed. This letter too was, er, intercepted. He doesn’t specify that she will be accommodated at the house, so I suggest you take a room for her at the King’s Head in nearby Cirencester.”

Stephen’s resolve hardened. “I won’t be your cat’s-paw.”

A flinty light shone in Miles’ eyes. “Very well, but be warned, I’ll not only call in all your IOUs, but see Deveril is apprised of the goings on with his sister. Even supposing you survive the resultant duel, debtor’s prison isn’t the most salubrious of surroundings, or so I’m told, and with your health as spent as it is at the moment, I fear you’ll soon succumb to some pernicious ague or other. Be sensible, man; I’m presenting you with the means of retrieving your IOUs. Remember now, I hold all the trumps.”

Stephen ran his fingers agitatedly through his hair. “I wish to God I’d never told you anything about Marianna,” he breathed.

“I’m sure you do, but it’s a little late now.”

Stephen felt utterly sick. Miles did indeed hold the trumps. One thing was certain, if his bluff on this were called, Stephen Woodville’s obituary would soon appear in
The Times
, whether through failing health proving fatal in prison, or because of a fatal dawn meeting with Blair! He strove to extricate himself. “You’re mad if you imagine a minor actress can ape the lady well enough to be Marianna Deveril’s chaperone!”

“Laura Reynolds is no ordinary actress; she’s really very good, and not a whore, like so many of her kind. She comes from a surprisingly well-bred background of Norfolk gentry, and can conduct herself in society. Her family has debts, and she came to London to be Lady Dalrymple’s companion, but discovered more could be earned treading the boards.” Miles gave a cool smile. “I’ve made it my business to purchase these debts, as well as the ancestral home near Norwich, so if Laura wishes to protect her kinfolk, she must do as I ask. Their debts will then be wiped out, and their home returned.”

“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?” Stephen was bitter. “If only I’d never fallen in with you.”

“But you did, and now you’re in my clutches, so I suggest you bow to my wishes.”

Visions of prison and Marianna’s ruin flashed before Stephen’s eyes. “You leave me no choice,” he said, hating himself, and Miles.

Miles gave a coldly triumphant smile that reached through the centuries to touch the future Laura Reynolds as she waited nervously in the wings for the gala evening to commence.

Chapter Two

Feeling the smile’s malevolence, Laura shivered and went to the peephole just as the opening bars of the national anthem sounded the royal arrival.

She saw the garlanded royal box, but was more intrigued by the box above it, and the two gentlemen wearing clothes that were fashionable during the Regency. One of them was smiling directly at her, almost as if he knew she was there.

Something about him made her shiver again, and she drew hastily back. Then something struck her. “That’s odd... “

Jenny was still beside her. “What is?” she asked.

“There are two men dressed in Regency clothes in the stage box above the royal box, but I thought that particular box wasn’t to be used because it’s considered unsafe.”

“That’s right.”

“Then how come they’re there?”

Jenny laughed. “Maybe they’re theater ghosts!”

Laura looked through the peephole again. “They’re very solid ghosts. I don’t know them, but they must be part of the company; why else would they be dressed up like that?”

Jenny put her eye to the peephole, but the box was empty, and she straightened. “You’re definitely seeing things.”

Laura stared at her. “But—”

“Look, I may be Irish, but I don’t see the Little People. There’s no one there, Laura.”

Unable to believe her, Laura looked again. This time she couldn’t see anyone either.

“I—I don’t understand it. I definitely saw two men, and what’s more, one of them could see me.”

‘Through that little hole? Oh, come on!”

“Well, that’s how it felt.” Laura grinned sheepishly.

Jenny grinned too, then gave a nervous laugh, “Oh, God, why’s it taking so long to start? HRH must have parked her
haute couture
butt on the royal seat by now!” She pulled a rueful face. “The nerves never get better, do they? I’ll be glad to leave all this and settle down to running the hotel when Mum and Dad retire and Alun and I take over.”

“Tell me, is it true what they say about chefs? Big hat, big everything else?” Laura inquired a little impishly.

Jenny raised an artful eyebrow. “Wouldn’t
you
like to know!”

“I’m looking forward to our vacation too,” Laura said, thinking of the picturesque country house hotel she’d as yet only seen in photographs.

“With all that free two-star Michelin food,” Jenny observed dryly.

“Why else do you think I’m coming along?”

“And here’s me thinking you liked me for myself!”

“You? Hell no, I’ve just been putting up with you in order to get to the gourmet trough,” Laura replied with a grin.

Jenny laughed, and then looked at her. “Are you sure you don’t want to come to the Dorchester party tonight? Everyone else will be there.”

“I’m not in the mood. I’d prefer a hot drink and a good book.”

“How incredibly boring!” Jenny declared, and then gasped as there was a sudden hush in the auditorium. She looked around at the rest of the waiting chorus. “That’s the pregnant silence. Get ready girls!”

They all formed a line, the orchestra began to play, and on cue they danced onto the stage to ecstatic opening applause. But as Laura went through her routine, she couldn’t help frequent glances toward the empty box. She had the oddest feeling the two mysterious gentlemen were still there. Before the night was over, she was destined to see them again, and the experience would be frighteningly real.

It happened after the gala, which had been hugely successful, with encore after encore. Everyone had gone on to the celebratory party, and the theater was quiet. Laura was taking her time about changing, and thought she was alone in the building except for the stage doorman. She wore jeans and a simple turquoise sweater, her willful hair was loose, and her face was shiny from removing her makeup. She was just getting her coat when she heard voices from the nearby green room.

Puzzled, she looked out into the passage, where a dim ceiling lamp revealed the shadowy props stacked against one wall. What appeared to be candlelight shone from the green room’s open doorway, and there was laughter and chatter, as if a post-performance party were in progress. But everyone had gone on to the Dorchester!

She slipped along to see what was happening. The green room was lit by wall candles she’d never noticed before, and there were sofas and chairs covered with rich crimson velvet. Actors and actresses in theatrical costume stood around talking, but she didn’t know any of them. There was something else odd about them too—their makeup seemed more exaggerated than it should be, far brighter than had been the case for the gala performance, and their costumes were much quainter and more fussy. There were no modern fabrics and trimmings, no gleaming shoes, just rather battered flat-heeled pumps. In fact, they made Laura’s 21
st
-century copy-costume seem anachronistic, as if
they
really did belong to an earlier century.

There wasn’t a single familiar face. Except perhaps… She found herself looking at the two gentlemen who’d been in the upper stage box.

Miles sensed her arrival, and turned. “Ah, there you are, Laura, my dear.”

Strange sensations began to pass through her, and then something really weird happened. It was as if she’d become two women, her feisty present-day self who was curious about the odd goings-on around her, and a much more constrained Laura from the past, who’d fallen into the grip of this unpleasant man.

Knowledge poured through her, and in an instant she knew who Miles was, and all about his plot against Sir Blair Deveril. A maelstrom of conflicting feelings tumbled inside her for a second or so, before her modern self faded and she became almost completely the Laura from the past, bound to do Sir Miles Lowestoft’s bidding if she wished to protect her family. But New York Laura lingered deep inside, like a secret observer.

Miles beckoned, and she obeyed, but as she stepped over the threshold, she felt a long skirt brushing around her ankles. A long skirt? She glanced down, and saw her modern sweater and jeans had become a pale blue lawn gown, high-waisted, short-sleeved and clinging, as fashions often did during the Regency. She wore long white satin gloves, and her hair felt different too. On reaching up she found a Grecian knot on top of her head, with ringlets and a frame of little curls around her face.

Miles approached her, and as their hands touched an unpleasant sensation tingled through her, like faint but ominous contact with distant lightning. Instinctively she snatched her hand away,

“There’s no need to be uncivil, my dear; remember how easy it would be for me to destroy all you hold precious.”

“How could I forget?” It was with something of a jolt that she found her voice was very English, completely devoid of its New York accent.

“Then be advised to bear it in mind. Now, I wish you to meet Stephen Woodville, who is to escort you to Deveril House.” He drew her hand over his arm and led her toward his companion.

Stephen inclined his head to her, and she saw by the pain in his eyes that he too was being pressured by this odious man.

Miles ushered her forward a little more. “What d’you think, Stephen? Will she pass muster?”

Stephen’s glance swept unwillingly over her. “Well, since I have no idea what Celina Deveril looked like, I’m not really in any position to judge,” he muttered.

“Don’t be so tetchy, dear boy; all I’m asking is what you think of her.” Miles didn’t wait for a response, but went on. “I chose the gown, of course. I thought it epitomized the character she’s to adopt. The rest of her new clothes are in the same vein, a collection of elegant, tasteful garments that are just a few years out of date, as one would expect of a widow now out of mourning and obliged to support herself.” Miles smiled, and then put a hand to her chin, stroking her skin with his thumb. “Do what’s necessary to regain the necklace for me, my dear, and I promise your family will be safe; but remember, I want Deveril’s spirit crushed in the process. I want him to love you, and then lose you. He must suffer!”

She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened on her chin.

“Steal his heart, my dear, but steel yours against him.”

He pinched her chin so tears sprang to her eyes, and then he returned his attention to Stephen. “It’s all arranged. She’s been well coached, she has the fake necklace, and a convincing wardrobe. As soon as the real diamonds are in my hands, I’ll honor my side of this, er, agreement with you both.”

Laura looked quickly at him. “What if it goes wrong and, through no fault of mine, Sir Blair doesn’t engage me as his sister’s chaperone?”
Oh, how weird to have an English accent…!

“Just see Deveril
does
appoint you, my dear. Now, you may go.”

She turned with relief, but he seized her wrist in a grip like a vise. “Don’t let me down, Miss Reynolds,” he hissed. “The breaking of Deveril’s heart is as important to me as regaining the necklace, and I expect you to use every feminine wile. If it means gracing his bed, you’ll do it. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

He released her, and she gathered her skirts to hurry from the room. As she crossed the threshold again, everything went suddenly quiet. She was alone, and wearing her modern clothes. Her heart pounded as she turned to find the empty modern green room. How could she have imagined something so clearly, even down to the clammy touch of Miles’ hand?

“Still ‘ere, miss?” called a voice along the passage.

She whirled around. It was Fred Bates, the stage doorman, a tough former cab driver who guarded his theater domain like a bulldog. He gave a toothy grin. “Gawd luv us, miss, you’re all of a flap! Did I frighten you?”

“I—I guess you did. I thought I heard someone in the green room and came to see.”

“They’ve all gone long since. Maybe it was one of the theater ghosts,” he said seriously, coming over to her. “The ‘Annover’s got two, you know, a gray lady and a one-eyed cat.”