“Ah!” Immediately after their father’s passing two years ago, his sisters had established their school for young ladies in a desperate attempt to survive financially.
At that time, neither he nor any of their other brothers were in a position to assist them financially. William had recently left the army and held only a temporary position as a private secretary. Francis himself had earned a pittance as a curate, and still did; while their two other adult brothers were naval officers serving overseas. The money from Mrs. Courtice’s estate had saved his sisters and allowed them to re-open their school.
Jane continued. “I have heard that Travener has fallen into dissolute ways—wine and women, rather than gambling—in the last year, with the aid of his aunt’s bequest. If he keeps a mistress, I have no idea. Why are you so concerned about this particular actress?”
“As curate, I’m concerned aboutallthe actresses in the Parish of St Paul’s. If Travener is such a man, Miss Bartlett may soon need assistance.”
“I’ll make further enquiries about Travener, if that will assist your mission.” Her eyes showed concern for the unknown young woman.
“Thank you. Now I must go if I’m to meet Dalton and William for our usual session at Gentleman Jackson’s Salon and to catch Miss Bartlett when her rehearsal ends.”I probably do sound like a lovesick swain.
He pulled Jane into a brief hug and kissed her cheek before striding from the room. The situation for Miss Bartlett was every bit as perilous as he had feared.
***
Rehearsal was underway at The Regent Theatre when Francis arrived in the early afternoon. He took a seat at the back of the foremost box at the side of the theatre. From here he had an unsurpassed view of the stage. One he couldn’t afford for any performance in his current employment.
Miss Bartlett ran through her lines and amended the timing of one in particular. Francis smiled afresh at the punch line. The revised delivery made all the difference to its impact.
Francis left his seat to wait in the green room for the cast to return. The scent of theatre make-up andeau de toilettefilled the air. Miss Bartlett’s aunt was absent today. He wondered whether that was usual.
Francis leaned against the wall beside the door to the actresses’ dressing room and didn’t have to wait for long.
The leading lady advanced towards him, an arched eyebrow raised in question. “Reverend Frank, here you are again.” Her tone sounded perplexed.
Francis pushed himself upright from the wall and spoke quietly, so only she could hear. “I would like a private conversation with you, if I may?” Cast members streamed past into their communal dressing room.
“Really? I cannot think why,” she responded in surprise. Clearly she hadn’t expected to see him again, especially as she had assured him she had no need of his assistance.
He needed to get his message across without annoying her. “I’m not going to tell you how to live your life…but I noticed you looked uncomfortable when leaving with the gentlemen last night.”
Her gaze roamed his face. “It seems to me that you are doing just that, Reverend Frank. Or at least, you’re drawing conclusions about my life and looking down on me from a high altar of righteousness.”
Francis straightened his shoulders. “I assure you, I am not. I speak only from concern for your welfare.”Good Lord!He sounded like a prig of the first order. He noted a few inquisitive gazes upon them from the other cast members. “As I see your aunt is not here today to chaperone you in your dressing room. Let me take you to Guy’s Inn around the corner where we can talk without half the cast’s eyes upon us. There we may have a degree of privacy without being alone.”
Clarissa scanned her surroundings then gave a nod of agreement. “Aunt Dora is indisposed. Let me get my coat and bonnet.”
Within minutes they were outside in the drizzling rain. Today Francis carried an umbrella instead of his walking stick. He unfurled it over their heads and they set off towards the inn.
Around them, pedestrians huddled under umbrellas or, if they lacked one, hurried onward, sopping wet. The mingled smells of mud and muck rose to meet them from the slippery pavement and cobblestones.
Inside the noisy warmth of the public dining room of Guy’s Inn, Francis closed his umbrella and offered Miss Bartlett his arm. The rain-damp of her kid-gloved hand seeped into his warmth. He led her towards an unoccupied table in a further corner of the room and pulled out a chair for her.
The mixture of patrons in the inn—merchants and clerks primarily—were all too busy with their conversations or reading the latest broadsheet to notice the new belle of The Regent Theatre. The chatter of patrons, the clunk of mugs toasting a deal, the clank of cutlery on plates and bowls, and the bangs of tankards on wooden tables filled the air. Although in apublic place, Francis and Clarissa, sitting together in the corner, seemed cut off from the rest of the patrons, in their own little bubble.
Now they were here, Francis swallowed, too tongue-tied to raise the topic that had led him to initiate this meeting. Miss Bartlett radiated an air of bright confidence as her gaze moved curiously over his face and momentarily came to rest on his mouth. He liked it when she looked at him—liked it far too much.
A flustered waitress arrived at their table. “Potato and leek soup or roast beef?” she asked distractedly, giving the limited menu options for the day.
“Miss Bartlett?” Francis enquired.
“The soup, please,” she answered.
“He ordered their meals and the waitress hurried away for their meal.
Clarissa fixed her extraordinary eyes on him. “Now, Reverend Frank, you wanted to talk with me privately.”
He cleared his throat. “I feel concerned for your welfare. As I do with all the theatre people of my parish. First, I want to know that you suffered no harm last night from the two gentlemen.”
