Aislynn exhaled a slow, steady breath. “My God. I never considered it from that perspective before. If that were a possibility, it would appear that this individual is quite unhinged.”
“Most mass murderers generally are.”
Her eyes widened. “You have dealt with this sort of scenario before?”
His eyes were flat, his lips tight when he replied, “My father was guilty of the same crimes. It was how my mother met her end.”
She was still trying to recover from the shock of his statement when he switched the topic back to the matter at hand. “Your turn. Do you know if Miss Adams had any enemies?”
It takes a moment for her brain to switch gears so abruptly. “Er, not that I am aware of. We were roommates—until just recently.” She noticed that he didn’t take any notes of her accounting but seemed to absorb it all behind those fascinating dark eyes.
“Reynolds mentioned that you found her and she was planning to meet someone.”
“Yes,” she murmured. “I knew she was staying behind, but she didn’t tell me who she was meeting, only that she would be late returning home. I fell asleep reading a novel while I was waiting for her. When she didn’t appear in the late hours of the morning, I thought to come to the theatre to check on her. That’s when I discovered her… body and sounded the alarm.” She could hardly speak of Geneva in the past tense, knowing that she was truly gone. Her blood had not yet cooled on the backstage floor and she was forced to relive the horror for a second time.
“What were you reading?”
She blinks. “Pardon?”
“The book you said you fell asleep reading. What was it?”
She frowns. “Does it matter?”
“Just answer the question.”
With a blink, Aislynn gave a slight frown. “It was ‘The Mysteries of Udolpho,’ but I’m not sure how that signifies?—”
“Ann Radcliffe at her finest,” he murmured. “A woman who paved the way for Gothic romantic novels.”
For some reason, her cheeks warmed, although she had nothing to be embarrassed about. “Indeed. She is a particularly talented writer.”
Abruptly, he rose to his feet. “Do you have an escort back home, Miss Sims?”
She stood and shook out her skirts in a show of bravado she wasn’t really feeling right then then grabbed her cloak to put it on. “I do not need one. I have managed fine on my own for a number of years now, Mr. Steele.”
“That may be true, Miss Sims, but are you not concerned that you could be the next target on the killer’s list?”
His words bade her pause. “What makes you say that?”
“Merely that there are certain coincidences between you and the victims. You are an actress with fair hair.”
She waited for more but when nothing else was forthcoming, she gave a light snort. “That is the only comparison that you can come up with? Mr. Steele, do you have any idea of the number of women in London that meet that very description? Actresses are plentiful, which is why it is important for the show to go on. I will mourn Geneva’s death, but I will not let it keep me from the stage and doing what I love.”
“Even if that devotion should cost you your life?” he countered softly.
“Precisely, because it is not as if there are many other options for a common woman of limited means. I prefer not to take paths that lead to fates worse than death.” She shook her head. “This has been an enlightening conversation, Mr. Steele, but you will have to forgive me for going home and attempting to put all of this behind me. Tomorrow, the curtains rise once more.”
Everything had been said, so Aislynn made her way out of the theatre, careful to avert her gaze from the prone form of Geneva, still lying on the backstage floor. A shudder rippled through her that had nothing to do with the chill outside.
Pure white flakes swirled on the wind, lending a festive appearance, despite the unfortunate circumstances that had unfolded this evening. She lifted the hood of her cloak to blot out the soft winter scene as she trudged along the freshly fallen snow. Aislynn had never imagined the theatre as a violent place. She had endured enough of that during her childhood and she wasn’t thrilled to suffer a repeat of those days. She’d been honest when she had told Mr. Steele that there were fates worse than death. Her right arm still ached during the cold months because of a break that had never fully healed when she’d been young. It had taken months for her to regain mobility in her right arm as it was, and to this day, she found it challenging to use it for long periods of time. At least she could write her name, though, which had served her well when her admirers wanted her signature on a playbill.
It had been convenient to secure rooms near the Theatre Royal, but now Aislynn wondered if she would have to find somewhere else to call home. It wasn’t as though she had that much to her name, and without the added support of Geneva’s finances to keep them afloat with living expenditures, the future looked particularly bleak. She could always find a protector, of course, but the idea turned her stomach. She never wanted to be some man’s property, his chattel to do with as he pleased. She had encountered women with horror stories about the men who shared their beds, and Aislynn was not keen to experience that sort of life. Survival meant more to her than staying alive, and if she couldn’t do so without sacrificing her livelihood then what was the point?
Aislynn reached her rooms and entered the interior which did not feel much better than the outside. The fire had dulled to a simmer and although she hated to waste more coal to get it going again, she was frozen from the inside out. Tonight, she needed to splurge on the extra warmth because her thoughts needed the comfort it would provide.
After ensuring that the door was securely bolted, Aislynn removed her gown. Keeping her shift on, she curled under the coarse woolen blanket and shut her eyes tightly. Repeating the mantra from her childhood, she kept it floating through her mind until she finally drifted off to sleep.
Tomorrow is a new day… Tomorrow is a new day…
