On the floor above, there were more footsteps, more running around. She could hear muffled voices but they were too far away to make out the words. She began to believe she might be safe.
She kept still, her mind going places she rarely let it venture. After all, how many times in her childhood had she hidden this way? Curling herself into a ball so as not to disturb the men who visited her mother? She’d once been quite adept at tucking herself away where she couldn’t be seen. Or pretending to not be where she was.
Dark memories . . . they marked the passage of time until the theater above her seemed quiet. She allowed herself to breathe. She rose and lifted the door. All was dark except for a light that came from the back door entrance. In the distance she could hear movement but they were the sounds of the theater being closed. That must mean that her pursuers had left.
Sarah pushed back the door and climbed out. Her muscles complained and she felt every one of her years. Most of the pins had fallen from her heavy hair. She gathered it up with one hand and pulled it behind her.
For a second, she debated just going home but then realized she couldn’t run around London in this dress.
As she walked across the backstage, she held out her hand to keep from tripping over anything in the dark. Apparently even Geoff and Charles must have left. She knew she needed a candle before going to the dressing rooms. Otherwise she’d never manage the labyrinth of corridors and old stage pieces. She moved toward the light where she knew Old Ollie the back door watchman sat. His last act of the evening before locking the door would be to blow out his lantern.
All the other cast members appeared to be gone. Sarah hoped no one had been caught up in the craziness of the riot and that none of the other actresses had been harmed.
She heard the sound of sweeping. Reaching the rear entrance, she saw Ollie using a broom to set things to rights in his area. Ollie had worked around most of the theaters in the London area and knew Sarah by sight. He smiled when he saw her.
“Hey there, I wondered if you’d escaped them. Hot after you they were.” He set his broom aside.
“Men are strange, Ollie.”
“Aye, we are.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
He shook his head. “Nah, the girls they know how to take care of themselves. I shouted that you’d gone out the back door and the lads went running after you. We cleared this theater out quick.”
“I have never seen anything like that in my life. Was there much damage done?”
“Mr. Geoff and Mr. Charles were shouting about the curtain being torn but all is in decent shape. They were actually more interested in this night’s take.” He referred to the seat sales.
That was a relief. If there had been extensive damage, Geoff and Charles might have blamed her and refused to put on her play; then all she’d done would have been for naught. “May I take a candle to the dressing rooms? I must change.”
“Of course you may, miss.” He reached for a candle stub for her and lit it off his lantern.
“I hope you know I’m trying to keep my identity a secret, Ollie. Geoff and Charles said they would stage a play I’ve written if I would do this for them. However, I would rather be known as a good playwright than as the Siren. Can I trust you?”
But it wasn’t Ollie who answered.
“I’m afraid your secret is out, Mrs. Pettijohn,” a male voice said. The blond man who had attacked her on stage stepped out of the darkness. “And if I were you, I would be proud of my performance. You captured my attention.”
She frowned at Ollie, knowing he must have a hand in betraying her. “I hope he paid you well.”
“I’m sorry, Sarah,” Ollie murmured and moved off into the darkness.
The man walked toward her, his intent clear. “Don’t be upset, Mrs. Pettijohn,” he said. “I know how to make a woman very happy, especially,” he added, letting his heated gaze roam over her body in the thin costume, “a woman as lovely as yourself. Let me introduce myself. I’m Rovington.”
Sarah had heard of Rovington. He had a taste for actresses and considered them free for his taking. Stories she’d heard about him teased her memory. He was not one of the favorites. He had a temper—and she knew about men and rages . . . knew better than she wished.
“You and I are going to become very good friends—” he started to promise, reaching out as if to capture her, but Sarah had a different idea.
She grabbed the high desk where Ollie usually sat by the door and threw it down in front of him before whipping around, opening the backstage door, and running.
Rovington cursed at being thwarted and then he laughed, the sound strange behind her. Evil.
Sarah’s bare feet flew down the steps and out into the alley. She heard Rovington behind her. She expected him to give chase.
Instead, he stood by the door and shouted almost happily, “Take her. The first man who grabs her will receive a fiver.”
More men?
