The twitch gave me enough of a hint that I was onto something with my line of questioning. I pushed forward, even though it was one of the most uncomfortable questions I’d ever asked anyone. “She’s Nellie’s daughter, isn’t she?”
She almost dropped the teacup. It clattered in the saucer. “She’smychild. If she weren’t, do you think I’d keep her? I’d give her back to her mother, even if that mother was my own fool of a sister.”
Her harsh words did not sound like a mother’s. Or, rather,they didn’t sound like alovingmother’s words. There was a ring of truth to them, however. I couldn’t imagine Mrs. Larsen taking in a simple child that was not her own. She didn’t seem to have a kind enough heart for it. That destroyed the theory brewing ever since seeing Millie walk down the corridor—that Pearl had asked for her daughter back and Mrs. Larsen had killed her to stop her taking Millie.
“I’m sorry for asking,” I said. “I must look at all possibilities.”
Mrs. Larsen’s lips pursed. “More tea, Miss Fox?”
“No. I must go.” I rose and saw myself out.
Mr. Larsen stood by a cart with Millie sitting on the back of it. He was teaching her a clapping game which required her to copy him then add something to the sequence, which he then repeated. He had a lot of patience and Millie quickly picked up the rhythm. A moment later, she’d changed it to something equally rhythmic yet different.
He smiled at her then caught sight of me. He nodded. I nodded back and left the court behind.
A few minutes ago, I’d had two potential candidates for Millie’s father, based on her age—Lord Wrexham and Mr. Culpepper. After watching Mr. Larsen with her, I now had a third.
Despite Mrs. Larsen’s protests, I was absolutely convinced that she didn’t give birth to Millie. Her sister had. But for some reason, Pearl—Nellie—couldn’t, or wouldn’t, raise her.
Chapter 11
Mr. Culpepper wasn’t in his office at the Piccadilly Playhouse. I followed the corridor towards the dressing rooms and quickly realized mid-afternoon was a busy time of day in the theater. Actors and actresses were beginning to arrive, squeezing past me in the narrow corridor to reach their dressing rooms. A man’s voice filled the cramped space as he performed vocal exercises, and a group of women talked loudly to be heard over him—and each other. Backstage staff hurried past me carrying props, costumes and stage pieces. None seemed to care that an extra person was in their midst, and I wasn’t stopped.
I knocked on Dotty Clare’s dressing room door. When she didn’t respond, I continued my search and found her in the main women’s dressing room. The door stood open even though one of the actresses wore only her corset and wide-leg bloomers.
“Miss Fox?” came the familiar voice of Mr. Alcott from behind me. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m looking for Mr. Culpepper.”
“I haven’t seen him. Did you try his office?”
Dotty joined us, wearing a silk dressing gown and slippers. She leaned against the doorframe and languidly lifted an arm and pointed towards the door that led to the stage. “He’s out there with my understudy. That girl requires work. Honestly, I think he should get someone else.”
“It’s too late to get another,” Mr. Alcott said. “There’s no time for a new girl to learn the lines. What if you got ill tomorrow? Or you had an accident?”
“Going to push me off a balcony too, Perry?”
He gasped.
Dotty turned to me, a satisfied smile on her lips. “Have you seen my show yet, Miss Fox?”
“Yourshow?” Mr. Alcott scoffed.
“Find Miss Fox some tickets, will you, Perry?” She patted his cheek. “Good man.” She walked off, her hips swaying seductively and the silk gown fluttering around her ankles.
Mr. Alcott shook his head. “She’s getting more unbearable every day. She’d best be careful or someone might push her off the balcony.Herunderstudy perhaps.”
I made a small sound of shock and he gave me an arched look.
“You seem disturbed by our little spats, Miss Fox. Clearly you haven’t spent much time around actors.”
“It’s always this nasty?”
“That’s not nasty. Not that Dotty and I are friends, either. I have made great friends in the theater though. Pearl, for example.” He released a shuddery breath and blinked back tears. “It’s beginning to sink in that she’s never going to walk out on that stage again.”
Mr. Culpepper emerged through the stage door then stopped upon seeing me. “I don’t have time for your questions.” He strode past me.
I raced after him. “This won’t take long.”
