Her head snapped up, her doe-like eyes, fearful. “Oh, no. No, ma’am. I couldn’t possibly say. He said he would kill me if I was to tell anyone.” Another threat from a position of power. The young woman hiccupped and her tears turned into a deluge.
Fury rippled through Gabby. It was just as Rebecca and Gabby had always suspected. The haute ton’s flurry of gentlemen were decidedly not gentlemen.
Gabby sat back on her heels. “What is your name, dear?”
“Mabel. Mabel Clark.”
She considered the youthful girl before her. “How old are you, Mabel?”
“Sixteen, milady.”
Sixteen! Good heavens. “This is what you are going to do, Mabel Clark. Tomorrow morning at eleven, you’ll meet me at Fiztroy Garden. I shall be walking my dog, Lady Macbeth.”
Mabel drew back in horror, gasping. “Oh, no, milady,” she whispered. “’Tis bad luck it is to say… say th-that backstage.”
“Macbeth? That is just an old Scottish curse. Pure nonsense. Although, I am at the theater with two of my least favorite people,” she muttered. Gabby looked back down the hall from where she’d initially approached. She squeezed Mabel’s hand. “I shall help you but right now I must go. Try not to fret. Things are not so hopeless as they seem.”
Her head tilted, and she drew in a sharp breath. “I’ve heard of you. You helped Dinah Darby. No one’s seen her in months. And, Jenni and Sarah. They call you the Drury Lane Defender.”
Gabby’s mouth fell open. “The what?”
“The Drury Lane Defender.” Her timidness disappeared, replaced by awe, excitement. “Some call you an avenging angel on account of what you did for Dinah and the others.”
Gabby stopped, unexpectedly flattered. “They do?” But then shook her head. This was not the time to get distracted. “Mabel, I think it important my name is not mentioned henceforth. It will not further my future efforts.”
“Ah. Yes, I see what you mean, my lady.”
“’Tis a lovely sentiment, however. I am beyond flattered, but, well…” her voice trailed off. “Now, I really must go.”
“Oh, yes, milady. Thank you, milady. I shan’t say a word.” She jumped to her feet and assisted Gabby up. “Tomorrow. I’ll be right on time, I will.”
Gabby nodded and hurried back the way she’d come to an emptied hall but for the men trimming the candle’s wicks. Inside her chest, her heart swelled to overfilling, and she found herself unable to contain a grin. The Drury Lane Defender?
She thought of poor Dinah. How she’d been kicked to the curb. Literally beaten unrecognizable. Another noble libertine, taking what he wanted from a poor defenseless girl. But Dinah was now a scullery maid at Huntley Hall in Doncaster.
Yes, Rebecca had been right all those years ago when it came to helping those less fortunate.
Finding one’s purpose in life was extremely gratifying.
Five
Dear Gabby. There is still much at stake. Yrs. Rebecca.
Gabriella was going to be furious. He could lay the blame at Liverpool’s feet. After spending the entire day interrogating several young men Liverpool hoped to recruit into the business, James had looked forward to having his wife on his arm for a frivolous evening of fun. Now, he was late. The man still had James by the throat in his service to the Crown.
Oh, not active service that would take him from home for months and years on end. Therein lay his dilemma: placing the blame where it actually belonged—at his own feet. For someone with James’s experience to just walk away when there was still so much to do. To protect. It was a heavy burden he carried. And, Welton having been murdered under James’s own watch—in London, no less, leaving so many lingering questions. What was he to do?
He longed to confide this clandestine side of his life to Gabriella but feared telling her would place her in imminent danger. And that, he was not willing to do. There had been more to the miscreant who’d leveled the blow on his head and dragged him and the duchess of Ryleigh to that abandoned warehouse. Another reason he was late in accompanying his wife to her apparent favorite pastime. He’d been nosing around the docks as he couldn’t seem to let the situation go. Even though Cromwell was well ensconced in Newgate and no longer a threat to anyone.
He took the stairs of the Theater Royale by two. Guilt and shame from his wedding night had James sleeping in his own chamber, and he was weary of the arrangement. He wanted his wife and tonight he had every intention of making that clear.
He forged ahead, aware the show was into its first act. The vast halls were devoid of attendees. Not dark, however. Candles lined the walls and were being tended by those hired to keep the wicks trimmed so wax didn’t drip and burn on some less-than-attentive drunkard. James reached the darkened portion of the hall not far from his own box and came full stop, eyes narrowing.
The beauty appeared from the hall behind her. He had just enough time to step back and out of her line of sight. Her gown of deep maroon blended nicely within the shadows. It was the expanse of bosom that shined glaringly in the low light that set his blood afire. Her dark hair was drawn up and back with fashionable curls draping over her shoulder. No question, he was married to one of the most beautiful women of the ton. Gabriella glanced in his direction but apparently didn’t see him, then slipped behind the curtains of his own box. “What mischief are you up to, my devious little darling?” he said in a low voice. His words caught the attention of the nearest candle-tenderer.
“Wot’s that, guv?”
James shook his head and drew in a couple of deep breaths before storming his own box—his full box. Five pairs of eyes turned on him but only one pair looked guilty as hell. Besides his wife, their company included two out of the three of Gabriella’s sisters and their husbands.
