“Me!” Fitzwilliam agreed, grinning. “Rebecca will know something. And if she does not, it is still a fine excuse for a visit!”
They found Miss Rebecca Hislop sprawled with two of her friends on a decaying chaise longue in a large hall full of stage scenery, wearing—barely—what Darcy could only assume was her costume for that evening and practising her lines. Once her friends had been sent scurrying away, Fitzwilliam scooped her up into his arms, spun around, and sat back on the chaise with her now in his lap, much to her giggling delight.
Darcy rolled his eyes and walked away to another part of the hall, where he did not have to see or listen to his cousin’s lovemaking. Several other women in similar costumes ran past, chattering loudly, and disappeared along a passage. He peered after them, wondering whether, if Mrs Randall was presently at the theatre, she might be wherever the women were going.
The decision to follow them was one he very quickly came to regret. Mrs Randall was not in the room in which he found himself, but at least a dozen actresses were, all in various stages of undress. Every one of them stopped what they were doing upon noticing him, and stared.
“Forgive me for the intrusion,” he said, turning to go.
“You’re him!” someone exclaimed before he had crossed the threshold. “Here, Ethel, he’s that fella what’s got all the nobs in a lather about his secret engagement.”
Apparently not even the bowels of the Theatre Royal were a safe haven from gossip.
“Excuse me,” he repeated and stalked away.
“Everyone is talking about you, Mr Darcy,” someone called after him. “The way you whisked her off into the old west passage that night you were here last month was scandalous!”
Someone else shouted, “Don’t look so worried. We all thought it was wonderful!”
Darcy strode directly through the larger hall without stopping, calling to Fitzwilliam that he was leaving and emerging onto Bow Street to suck in several furious breaths. Would this madness never cease?
Fitzwilliam announced his arrival by slapping him on the shoulder. “What sparked your powder?”
“Never mind. Did you find anything out?”
“Of course.” He started walking and, once Darcy had fallen in beside him, said, “Mrs Randall has left the theatre.”
“Left? She only just returned.”
“Evidently her new sponsor has other designs for her.”
“Such as?”
“Dashed if I know, but did you not just hear me say that she has a new sponsor? I thought you might be abitinterested in my discovery.”
“It was not your discovery—Itoldyouthat. It is his name I need, or better, his direction.”
Fitzwilliam grimaced. “Got neither of those two, I’m afraid. But Rebecca did say she thought the chap was a friend of the Earl of Fulcombe’s. Perhaps, if you had a chat with him, you might find out more.”
“Fulcombe? Never met the man. He spends all his time with Perceval’s men.”
“Well, loosen your principles a little and get to know him, then. Get yourself invited to a dinner or something.”
“How in blazes am I to do that?”
“Upon my life, Darcy, with your present distinction you could probably get yourself an invitation to dine with the Queen if you chose to.”
If Darcy had wished to argue this point, he lost his chance when they turned the corner and walked directly into a gaggle of people who instantly began muttering and gesturing for each other to pay heed to his presence and—absurdly, since he knew not a face among them—curtseying and tipping their hats to him as he passed.
Fitzwilliam chuckled.
Darcy sighed heavily. “I suppose I could ask Lord Stewart—he knows everyone.”
“That’s the spirit,” his cousin replied cheerily. “If you cannot beat them, join them, eh?”
Darcy did not share his good cheer. The absurdity of exploiting the notoriety he so despised, to inveigle himself into the dining parlour of a man who was as good as a stranger, on theoff chancethat he was acquainted with a man whomightbe Mrs Randall’s new protector, in the hope that shemightlead him to Mrs Bennet, whom he would much rather never set eyes on again, did not rouse in him any happy feelings. There was only one woman alive for whom he would expose himself to such utter folly, and he was not even sure she would thank him for it.
25
