“Aye. Everyone in London is familiar with her. She’s gaining quite a bit of popularity on the stage. Some say she’s the next Sarah Siddons.”
Cordell’s brows rose. He recalled hearing of the infamous Lady Macbeth and her timeless portrayal of the titular character. If Miss Sims was being compared to such a paragon of the stage, it only proved that she might become a future target for this latest killer. To destroy such an illustrious name would cause a flare of intrigue and publicity that seemed commonplace with mass murderers. In his observations, desire for recognition was top of the list when it came to notoriety.
“I’ll personally see to it that one of my men is watching over her.”
“Thank you.” Cordell drained the last of his ale and tossed some coins on the table. He glanced at Mary. “Not all of this goes to the waitress.”
She reached out and picked up a few then tucked them securely into her bodice. “A pleasure as always, Steele.”
Cordell made his way back home and walked up the stairs to his lodgings. He drew a deep breath then released it and opened the front door and walked into the cavernous townhouse. For years, he’d dreamed of finding a way to better his circumstances. It had come with hard work and determination, but he had finally found his place in society. He might not be invited to all the society events, but he was accepted in certain circles. He didn’t have a gentleman’s club, but neither did he care to gather in a room filled with smoke and idle gossip while complaining over the latest forward government ideals. Working class labor conditions had begun to become a heated argument, with some traditional men believing that the loudest voices for reform should be silenced, while the modern thinkers applauded the need for change.
For someone who had lived on the lower end of the spectrum for years, Cordell had to agree that the long, harsh hours and child labor should not have turned into an issue in the first place. He had long abhorred the way the working class had been treated, but for those who had never had to suffer and grown up with every advantage, they found it difficult to imagine that it could be as horrific as it was portrayed. The sad truth was that it was worse. It was why so many turned to a life of crime and thievery, because it was easier to evade the watch than to subject themselves to other poor treatment.
Cordell had nearly been one of those who had taken to the streets, but he was lucky to have discovered others like him along the way who helped to propel him in the right direction. It was with their guidance that he was able to walk into this comfortable abode and call it home. So many were not as fortunate and he made a point to remember his own struggles so that he might help others in need. More than once he’d opened his home to one vagrant or another, saving them from another night on the streets. Most were grateful and the others had already made their choice long ago. Because of his shared loyalty, Cordell had earned the respect from both sides of London—the East End affluent society members and the West End working class. And yet, he was still fighting an inner battle that no one knew about. At least, no one who dared to say anything to his face.
Climbing the stairs to his chamber, he undressed and climbed into bed, but his racing mind refused to let him rest.
He wondered why he’d blurted out the truth of his father to Miss Sims like that. It wasn’t as though it was common knowledge. Not anymore. But there had been a time when his father had been alive and Cordell had been dragged through the misery of those trials and judgment. He hadn’t thought of his sire as a monster, but the truth had been laid out for everyone to see and to hear the truth come from his very own lips…
Cordell clenched his fists as the memory of those dark days pressed down on him with the weight of a hundred carriage wheels, as fresh now as it was back then. Was it possible to ever escape the torture of knowing one’s father murdered people out of pure curiosity? Or perhaps it was sport. It was one of the terrible unanswered questions that he would never know the answer to. He would never understand what had caused his father to shove a knife into his wife’s chest over and over again until there was more blood coating the floor than what was left in her body.
He slowly forced himself to relax his hands and exhale slowly. It was his severe reaction to these memories that scared him just as much as what his father had done. What if he woke one night, caught in the throes of a night terror and injured someone? It was why he’d vowed to remain a bachelor and live the libertine lifestyle. He visited bawdy houses and never stayed any longer than it took for a mutual exchange of pleasure. He’d never taken a mistress because he hadn’t wanted to accept an overnight stay. He feared it was entirely too dangerous.
He threw his arm over his forehead and stared at the canopy above his bed, his thoughts once more pulled in the direction of Miss Sims. He was concerned that if he didn’t discern why this villain was targeting fair-haired young actresses for a particular reason, she might end up being the target on the killer’s list. The sight of Miss Adams’ lifeless eyes glared up at him in his vision and he could almost feel that condemning stare. Why didn’t you save me? Why didn’t you catch the murderer before he struck a second time? You failed me. You failed us.
All of us.
He clenched his jaw. He would not make the same mistake again. He might not be able to protect every woman in London. That would be impossible. But he could vouch for the safety of Miss Sims. He would ensure that if it took his dying breath to do so.
Aislynn peered out of the corner of her smudged window the next morning and narrowed her eyes. She didn’t know who Cordell Steele was fooling if he thought she was too naïve to spot someone loitering about her flat. She had no doubt that he’d hired someone to watch over her. He seemed the type to act the part of dashing knight and rescue the damsel in distress, but what he didn’t know about Aislynn was that with her growing fame in the city, she was used to looking over her shoulder and warding off unwanted admirers. Unfortunately, it was the ones with money and prestige who were tougher to fight off than those wielding any sort of weapons.
However, a shiver crawled over her skin because Geneva’s body wasn’t yet cold in the grave and she was expected to play her part at the Theatre Royal that evening as if nothing untoward had happened. The show must go on, and although she might not be in the mood to accommodate an entertainment hungry crowd, she knew if she wanted to eat and have a roof over her head, she had to swallow her pride and put on a winning smile and put on the best performance of her life. Her survival depended on that success.
Donning one of the few simple dresses she had in her possession, Aislynn considered that she would have her pick of the finest silks that money could buy when she walked out onto the stage. Every need was at her fingertips for the taking—until she walked out the door and returned to her simple flat that used to house two hopeful actresses. Now that it was just Aislynn, she had to start asking around to see if someone would be willing to move into Geneva’s room and help share the expenses.
She glanced toward the closed door and realized that she couldn’t find the nerve to go inside and look around just yet. There could be clues to her demise, and yet, Aislynn felt sick every time she thought of rummaging around in Geneva’s things. It seemed like a terrible invasion of her privacy even though she would no longer have use of anything inside.
Aislynn wondered about her family. When Geneva was around, they just talked about the theatre and kept things light and impersonal. It was as if they believed speaking about such things as the past and their family would become too intimate and tears could start flowing. At least, that was the impression she received from Geneva. Aislynn had long been on her own. She had never known her father, only the men that her mother had paraded through their tiny flat. She managed to deal with her mother’s unstable and cruel environment to a point, but when circumstances became too harsh, Aislynn had finally dared to leave for London at the age of fifteen and hadn’t looked back. There were times when her mother had attempted to contact her through the years, but Aislynn generally found some reason to deny her an audience.
Aislynn just wanted to put that part of her past to rest. She hadn’t been certain she would survive when she made it to London with the pittance she’d spent to take the public coach there, but by some miracle, she’d been spared the life of a demimonde and found work as a seamstress while she struggled to find work on the stage. It had always been her dream to perform and it had finally come true. To a point, at least.
She knew she was currently being well received by the common and fashionable crowd alike, but how long would it last before someone rose to take her place in the light? She was under no misconceptions to believe she would always be heading upward. Once she reached the top, there was only one way to go and she had to make sure plans were in place before everything came crumbling down around her.
Thus, she pasted a bright smile on her face and ignored the stranger standing across the street with a roll of her eyes as she headed for the theatre.
She made her way in the back entrance and was immediately beset by Mia. “I was about to go to your flat if you didn’t show up within the next few minutes!”
“Why?”
Mia’s eyes widened. “Tell me you did not just say that. Have you forgotten about last night already? I was determined to check on you if you were one second late for tonight’s performance.”
“Afraid you could not take on the role of Juliet in my absence?” Aislynn returned dryly.
Again, Mia stared at her as if she’d suddenly spouted two heads. “There was a murder here, in this very theatre.”
“I am well aware of that,” Aislynn said with gritted teeth. “Geneva was my roommate.”
“I know! That’s why I was terrified for your safety last night!”
