The play began. Winston tried to watch, but his gaze kept returning to Adeline. She sat too still, her eyes fixed but unfocused, as though she were listening for something beyond the stage. When applause broke out, she flinched, smiling too quickly to hide the reaction. Cordelia seemed to notice his concern and the cause of it. She leaned past Louisa, whispering.
“She’s only overcome by the splendor of it. We all are.”
Winston didn’t argue, though he knew it wasn’t splendor that made Adeline’s hand tighten on her fan until it cracked. Her eyes roamed the audience more than the stage, as though looking for someone.
Did the letter suggest meeting here, tonight? Is Oswald here in the audience?
He found himself dividing his attention between Adeline and the crowd of faces, all turned to the stage. Oswald was not there, that he could see. The performance ended to loud applause. The audience rose, milling toward the exits. Louisa chattered about the costumes, Cordelia about the music. Winston turned to offer Adeline his arm, but she was staring toward the lobby, face drained of color.
“Adeline?”
Her eyes were fixed on someone across the crowd. He followed her gaze and saw only the indistinct shape of a man. He was tall, broad-shouldered, turning away as though to leave. Nothing remarkable, save for the way she swayed at the sight of him.
“Adeline, what is it?” Winston asked, leaning close. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She didn’t answer. With a sudden, desperate movement, she turned and fled, pushing past a group of gentlemen near the door.
“Adeline!”
He caught Cordelia’s startled look, Louisa’s cry, then he was moving through the press of people, past astonished faces and the murmur of curiosity that followed them both. She ran through the lobby and out into the cool night air. The street beyond was thick with carriages, the air sharp with smoke. For one terrifying moment, he lost sight of her entirely. Then he saw the pale flash of her gown as she turned down an alley beside the theater.
“Adeline!” His voice carried over the noise. “Stop!”
She didn’t. He followed, heart hammering. He ran through the dark, noisome alley towards the green square of Lincoln’s Inn Fields. As she emerged from the alley, Adeline collided with an innocent passerby and cried out. The man recoiled, raising his hands as though to demonstrate how little of a threat he was. His hat was knocked from his head and Adeline ran on.
Winston put on a burst of speed and caught Adeline, grabbing her wrist.
“Let me go!” she cried.
“Not until you tell me what’s happened,” Winston responded.
But Adeline kept pulling, trying to extricate herself from his grip. What Winston saw in her face was blind terror. Her breath came fast, the pulse in her throat visible.
“He was there,” she whispered. “I saw him.”
“Who?”
“You alright, miss?” A cab pulled up, its driver leaning from the seat, lifting his hat to peer at the altercation.
“Mind your own business!” Winston snapped, irritated at the interference just as Adeline had been opening her mouth to speak.
It was the worst response he could have given, making it look to the driver that he was the one inspiring the terror in Adeline’s face. The driver vaulted from the seat, hefting the flexible goad he used to spur his horses.
“I think you should let the young lady go, mate,” he said.
Winston ignored him, taking Adeline’s face in his free hand as gently as he could.
“Let me help you,” he whispered. “Who was it you saw?”
“I said, let her go!” the driver snarled, seizing Winston’s shoulder in a surprisingly strong grip.
Adeline wrenched free of Winston’s hold, taking three steps away from him. But those three steps took her dangerously close to the road, where carriages were rattling by apace. Winston saw the danger before she did. Adeline was looking up and down the street as though she did not know where she was or what was happening. Winston tore free of the driver’s hands.
“Adeline, stop!” he barked.
“Miss, look out!” The driver who had sought to be a hero now realized Adeline’s danger too.
Both men lunged for her as her breathing rose to a crescendo, eyes widening, and she turned to run. Time slowed, and Winston saw the motion of skirts being gathered. Saw the leading foot raised. Saw the stride that would take her into the road and the path of a carriage. The oncoming driver hauled on his reins, but the motion of the vehicle was too great. The horses would not stop in time. Worse, they would cannon into her and then rear at the sudden sawing of the reins, lashing out with steel hooves.
