Chapter Text
Miss Eliza Scarlet looked around the Savoy Theatre in awe. “Rupert was right, the electric lights really are quite amazing. They change the entire experience.”
Eliza and Chief Inspector William Wellington sat side by side in the plush velvet chairs of the Parker private box high above the stage.
“Stop fidgeting, William,” Eliza whispered, as she pulled the mother-of-pearl opera glasses from her eyes and dropped them onto her lap. “People are starting to take notice.”
“I don’t give a damn. This is driving me mad,” he grumbled as he pulled at his starched collar yet again.
“You look the part. This is not the first time you’ve dressed in formal wear for a case. And, for certain, it won’t be the last. Besides, how often will we be able to afford a Christmas show? Let’s enjoy the moment.”
“I’d much prefer a private moment at home, with you, after such a long week at work,” he said, and sighed.
She scanned the couple in a box on the opposite side of the stage, one level down from where they sat. “May I remind you that we are still at work?”
“No, you are still at work. I, however, am on my evening off. And have accompanied you out of the goodness of my heart.”
She snorted. “To see me in this dress, more like.” She shifted in her seat, and a smile tugged at her lips. She did feel special in her favorite silk dress, and the teal color emphasized the blue in her eyes. He told her she looked lovely in it, more than once, as did Ivy. However, she didn’t like wearing evening gowns often—it was too hard to maneuver if she were working—but once in a while, if William looked at her that way, she’d make the most of it.
He waggled his eyebrows. She was just able to see the gleam reflecting in his eyes from the newly-installed electric lights. The predatory grin dancing on his lips made her think of the fairy tales she’d read as a child. A big bad wolf, indeed.
Chuckling, she adjusted the pale aqua tulle wrap over the low cut of her bodice and checked that long white gloves were pulled up over her elbows. Her beaded reticule hung on the back of her chair. She felt vulnerable without her tools, but carrying her large purse to the theatre would have been too noticeable and invited unwanted questions.
“Well, thank you for accompanying me.” Tapping his knee with her fan, she juggled the fragile opera glasses and squeezed his hand. After scanning the far box for another few minutes, she pretended to watch the action on the stage. She laughed when the audience laughed and gasped when the audience gasped. The fierce dragon fighting Saint George in the production of Saint George and the Dragon certainly captured the attention of everyone in the theatre.
She’d been hired by a wealthy railway executive, a Mr. Otis Buckland, to follow the man who was courting his sister, Nellie, and learn more about him. Mr. Buckland was suspicious of the man’s motives, and he feared that Mr. Alfred Price had far less income than required for his treasured sister. The way Mr. Buckland doted on Nellie was a bit over the top, if anyone asked Eliza—and no one did—but he was a paying client, so there she was—or, rather, they were—working on a Saturday evening in mid-December, a week before Christmas.
They were using Rupert’s theatre box for the evening. He was still in Berlin with Tilly–due in any day now to spend Christmas with Mrs. Parker—but Eliza still had to promise to do him a favor in return for the tickets. She was just a little afraid of what that might be, but she’d deal with that later. For now, she—and William—had a case to solve. And a lovely evening out together was the benefit.
So far, all Eliza had learned about Mr. Price was that he worked in the loan department at the bank Baring Brothers & Co., and his family had made their money in manufacturing. And he was boring. But she knew only too well that those types of people were sometimes the ones with the deepest secrets to hide. She just had to work a little harder to find them.
They’d followed Miss Buckland and Mr. Price to a restaurant and then she’d spent most of the performance watching the couple—and the young woman’s brother who joined them —from the other side of the theatre. She took detailed notes of the men who interacted with Mr. Price and observed him for any signs of suspicious behavior.
Although Eliza and Miss Buckland were similar in age, she did not know the woman, and they had never crossed paths before, but through her research, Eliza had learned a bit about her. In an unfortunate coincidence, Miss Buckland traveled in the same social circles as her old classmate, Arabella Herbert, the person who teased her cruelly after losing her mother. Miss Buckland and Arabella’s names had been linked several times in The Times as attending the same philanthropic events, the latest one a charity bazaar to raise money for schoolchildren.
Eliza cringed when she saw Arabella’s name in an article—and that the woman’s contribution to the event was a set of intricately embroidered linen table napkins, exquisitely sewn by Arabella’s own hand, of course. Eliza hoped she wouldn’t come across her during the investigation. She wondered whether people change as they mature or if their characters were formed and fundamentally the same as when a child.
“Have I told you how lovely you look tonight?” The tips of William’s warm fingers slid across her bare neck, interrupting her musings, and a hot shiver went down her spine. He played with the chain of the locket he’d given her. She rarely took it off. The photos of her parents resting close to her heart meant nearly as much to him as to her. Quickly glancing around to see if anyone was watching them, or if they’d noticed that he’d removed his gloves, she sighed deeply and sank a little closer to him. Their chairs were close enough that it was not likely anyone watching would be the wiser, but she was thankful for the dark theater and the depth of the box.
Turning her head toward him, her smile widened, as if her reaction were beyond her control. It was impossible not to when he looked at her with such hunger in his eyes. As his lips twitched in response to her smile, she clasped his wandering fingers, squeezed his hand again, and held onto it. Linking their fingers, he lightly circled the back of her gloved hand with his thumb. The trail of fire traveled up her arm and lodged in her heart.
“William—someone will see.”
“What? You are the one who did not want to tell anyone about our engagement.”
“We agreed, not yet.”
“That was your idea, not mine.”
She kissed the back of his hand to soften her words, and released him to return to her observations with the opera glasses. “For good reasons, we don’t know how our relationship will impact—“
A scream filled the theatre, interrupting her. It was well-timed. The actor playing Saint George fell to the ground as the fire-breathing dragon attacked him. The audience gasped, and the actors on the stage paused for a split second then kept going when nothing else seemed amiss. The murmur in the audience settled, and the performance continued. Eliza was focused on the couple across the theatre so observed their response to the scream. It happened so fast, so she couldn’t be sure, but it appeared that they both turned to their left, toward the adjacent box.
Eliza doubted what she’d heard, but William didn’t. He was up and out of his seat before the sound finished echoing in the large space. She dropped the opera glasses and fan on her seat and hurried after him.
He was already through the curtain dividing their box from the corridor and into the hallway by the time she caught up with him. They ran down a flight of stairs and down a long hallway to the other side of the theatre. Their quick footsteps were muffled by the lush red carpeting lining the floor, and she hoped the sound of the music on the stage covered the remaining noise.
Tripping on the edge of her long gown, she cursed. “I plan to attend the next meeting of the Rational Dress Society,” she grumbled. William came to a halt so quickly in front of her that Eliza nearly stumbled into his back.
Adjusting her grip on her skirts again to untangle her legs, she asked, “William, what on Earth?”
He groaned and continued forward, slower, like he’d begun wading through the thick mud along the Thames. Peering around his broad shoulders, she noticed an elderly woman slumped in a chair in the hallway ahead. An usher waited at her shoulder, nervously transferring his weight between his legs. A concerned young woman—her daughter from her looks as a younger version of her mother—stood next to her wringing her hands.
William reached for Eliza’s arm so they arrived at the scene together.
“We heard a scream. What is amiss?” Eliza asked. William squeezed the hand resting on his arm harder than she expected, and she flinched. “Ouch, William.”
None of the three noticed. “Ooooo,” the woman in the chair moaned, and the back of her hand rested on her forehead. “I don’t know anything about a scream, but, I am in grave, I say, grave, distress.”
“Mama, please calm yourself.” Her face tense, the young woman patted her mother’s shoulder and fanned her face. “There must be some explanation.”
Eliza motioned to William with her head, and he sighed, resigned to whatever lay ahead. “I am Chief Inspector Wellington of Scotland Yard. How may I be of assistance, madam?”
“Mrs. Featherweight has lost her diamond necklace,“ interrupted the usher.
“Lost? Lost? The impertinence—Young man, I have not lost my necklace. It was stolen.” The octave of her voice by the end of her statement was so high that Eliza was afraid the crystal chandeliers would crack. The woman opened her wrap to show her buxom chest bare of any accessories. “And it is not just any necklace, it is a diamond strand with a sapphire pendant. My husband’s mother gifted it to me on our wedding day.”
“Yes, Madam.” The usher nodded, his face impassive as stone.
“This theatre is responsible.” Mrs. Featherweight’s voice increased in volume again until she was nearly yelling. “Unless you find my necklace by the end of the show, you will be hearing from my husband’s solicitor.”
The usher’s face flushed. Eliza was impressed he was able to keep his temper in check. She was beginning to see why William was expressing reluctance in dealing with this woman. “Of course, Madam. I will contact the head usher and security at once.”
Mrs. Featherweight flapped her hand imperiously. “Bring me some refreshments first.”
“Of course, Madam.” The man nodded and glanced at William before striding toward the entrance staircase.
Waving her hand, she said, “Let Officer Washington do it. He’s already here.” The usher was already gone and did not hear. Or perhaps, he did and chose to keep moving.
“Chief Inspector—“ Eliza was about to correct Mrs. Featherweight use of William’s name and title, but William darted her such a dark look that she closed her mouth.
“Sergeant Willoughby, have you met my daughter?”
William’s good manners were instinctive. “No, madam.” He nodded toward the young woman. “Miss.”
The older woman nodded her approval. “Detective Washboard, I must insist you help me,” Mrs. Featherweight ordered.
“I am presently in the midst of another case. I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Featherweight. The head of security of the Savoy will be able to help you. Madam, Miss.” He nodded his head toward each of the women and gently pulled Eliza’s arm so that she had no choice but to join him as he continued down the corridor.
She walked five steps then stopped. “What are you doing?” she whispered. “We can help her.”
Eliza felt his arm tense and heard him sigh as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Eliza, may I remind you why we—you—are here? We need to find the source of the scream. It could be connected to your case. It was coming from somewhere up ahead, not far away—if I’m guessing correctly—to the vicinity of your client.”
“Can’t we do both? And why did you not want me to correct her from calling you by the wrong name?”
He sighed again, a sound she was used to hearing in regard to her own behavior, not often related to someone else. “Because I am all too familiar with Mrs. Featherweight and her accusations. She appears at the Yard once a month, or so. We usually draw straws to see who takes her case. I have been lucky so far.” He huffed. “Damn. Not this time, thanks to you. I don’t want her to know my name. One time Detective Carmichael helped her, and she requested him by name the next time her dog was lost. The time after, it was an earring. It took him nearly a year to pass her off to another officer.”
“Oh, dear. My condolences.”
He snorted and pulled at his earlobe. “You don’t appear very concerned on my account. Now I’ll be spending my day off focused on her case. And she won’t leave me alone. One day, I fear I’ll call her Mrs. Lightweight, and she’d report me to her husband and I’ll lose my job.” Squeezing her hand, he added, “Interesting, now that I think about it, she reminds me of another stubborn woman I know.”
Eliza widened her eyes, trying to look innocent. “You enjoy it. Your life would be quite dull without me in it.” He did not say anything, but she snickered at the skepticism shining back at her.
“Fine, out of the goodness of my heart—” she said, “I’ll look for her jewels, and you go ahead and investigate the source of the scream.”
“Very well. It is a better case for your agency anyway.“
“Oh, PC Weatherton, come back.” Mrs. Featherweight called down the corridor toward them.
Eliza patted William’s arm. “You go ahead, I’ll be right along.”
William grinned and shook his head when Eliza removed a small pad and pencil from her pocket. “Making the most of every opportunity, I see—you are Henry’s daughter, for certain.”
“Did you ever doubt it?”
“No. My only advice is to make sure you get a signed contract, Eliza. Or else she’ll never pay you. And, are you—are you truly sure you want her as a client? If she likes you, she’ll hound you mercilessly. You’ll never escape. Ever.”
“Go. I’ll manage.” She waved her hand. “I’ve had plenty of difficult clients.”
“None like her, I can assure you.” Despite his parting words, he tipped his hat and walked away, his long strides eating up the hallway as Eliza returned to the distressed woman.
“Tell me everything, Mrs. Featherweight. When did you first notice the necklace missing?” William was long out of sight when she assured Mrs. Featherweight that she’d find the necklace. “Where did you dine before the show this evening? And where were you before and after?”
Ten—long—minutes later, she rushed to catch up to William.
Eliza wondered as she walked if Mrs. Parker had a twin sister. If she did, Mrs. Featherweight would be the ideal candidate. Too bad that kind of wealth couldn’t be a force for good, rather than consternation. Eliza knew she would benefit from another investor, and having a female investor—one who supported and understood her desire for a purpose—was appealing. Rupert’s funds were running out, and she dreaded the idea of asking him for more money. Borrowing his family box was one thing, a second loan was another.
Eliza scoffed at her fanciful thoughts. A woman such as Mrs. Featherweight would never invest in her detective agency. It was as unlikely as a finding a clean drink of water from the Thames. The woman had scanned Eliza up and down while clasping her fingers to her bosom. Her frown and tight lips gave Eliza the impression that she compared Eliza to stepping in manure on the streets and she would have held her nose if she could.
“You’re a feeble-looking pixie. I doubt you’re capable enough to find a piece of cheese for a mouse, but you might surprise me,” the woman said, as her daughter choked. “Maybe I’ll consider paying you.” The woman sniffed as she waved her hand dismissively. “Maybe—”
Well, if she found the necklace, and Mrs. Featherweight didn’t pay her, then Eliza would pawn it. Eliza smirked in satisfaction at that thought. She’d make more that way anyway, and it would be well deserved. Perhaps that would send a message to all her clients too—she could not rely on Moses forever.
Eliza couldn’t get away from the woman fast enough when their conversation was concluded, and finally made it to the hall area outside the boxes that she’d been watching with her opera glasses. “William?” she whispered. “William?”
William’s head popped through the curtains separating the hallway from one of the boxes. She could hear the music and reactions from the audience coming from behind him, and it grew louder when the curtain opened. “In here.”
She slipped through the curtain into the small box. Her eyes were slow to adjust to the dark but she was able to make out the outline of the chairs.
Two of the four chairs were occupied, one by a man who was asleep, or so it first appeared. William knelt next to him. Another second man sat sideways in the adjacent chair and he turned as William beckoned her forward. With her wide skirts, she had difficulty maneuvering and was thankful for her corset when William hit her in the ribs with his elbow as she bent to join them.
The furrowed brow and look in William’s eyes concerned her. As she drew closer, she noticed that the slumped man in front of him had a piece of white cloth tied around his upper arm. “Is he all right? Was he the one who screamed?”
William nodded. “He fainted. Didna like the sight of his own blood.”