The note I now held in my hand had most definitely been written by a woman, the handwriting small, each curve of a letter flowing into the next, unlike that of a man, scribbled and almost indecipherable.
The pen had paused where the ink had puddled after that last word, as if the person who wrote perhaps had second thoughts before adding those initials.
And then there was that unmistakable scent of perfume, almost indiscernible, but I recognized it. The same that I had first discovered at the residence at St. John’s Wood.
It was very near nine o’clock in the evening. There would be a play at the Theatre Royal, with guests arriving. The perfect place to meet someone in a crowd and not be seen?
“I will need a driver,” I told Mr. Cavendish as I turned toward the stairs.
“Mr. Brodie would not want you takin’ yerself off alone at night,” he called after me as I reached the stairs.
“As soon as possible,” I replied as I reached the landing at the office. I left a note for Brodie, then quickly gathered my bag and retrieved my coat from the stand. I locked the office door and returned to the sidewalk as Mr. Jarvis arrived.
“What should I tell Mr. Brodie?” Mr. Cavendish inquired. The expression on his face said far more.
“I’ve left a note.” Not that he would be pleased.
There was another comment amidst much grumbling that I chose to ignore.
“You’ll not leave without the hound,” he announced. “Mr. Brodie would have what’s left of me hide if I let you go off without him.”
Rupert jumped into the coach, and I climbed in after. I gave Mr. Jarvis the destination of the Theatre Royal.
“That it is,” he replied, and we set off, Mr. Cavendish still grumbling.
The theatre lights from the Royal lit up the night sky, as late guests continued to arrive amid the dozens of coaches and cabs on the street.
How was I to find Adele DeMille in the crowd?I thought as I stepped down.
I scanned those afoot around me as they rushed to the theatre entrance, along with those just arriving, and was very nearly run down by a late arrival. The coach pulled to an abrupt stop and the door opened.
“Get in, Lady Forsythe.”
It seemed that I had just met Adele DeMille.
“Miss?” Mr. Jarvis inquired, with an eye to the traffic.
“It’s quite all right. A friend,” I told him as I stepped up into the coach with the hound behind me.
The driver efficiently guided the coach through departing rigs and then set off.
“A friend?” the woman across from me inquired with a faint French accent, her features concealed in shadows created by the light from streetlamps that spilled inside the coach window, then disappeared as the driver slowed the team.
“We are not enemies, Adele, therefore I prefer ‘friend’.”
There was a brief nod amid the cloak of darkness inside the coach.
“And you have brought a special friend with you?”
She obviously meant the hound.
“C’est vrai.” I replied in French, with the hope of putting her at ease. “Voux avez demandé à se rencontrer.” I reminded her that she was the one who asked to meet.”
“He told me that you were educated. He did not mention that you spoke French.”
I was not surprised, as Burke was most definitely not one to hand out compliments.
“The creature is yours?”
