Page 25 of A Stranger’s Kiss

“I wouldn’t know, lass,” the woman replied. “But he smells of the banking sort.”

Olivia frowned, murmured a distracted, “If you’ll excuse me,” then ran through the back door and up the stairs. In less than three minutes, she’d changed into a dress and dragged a comb through her hair and dashed back down the stairs.

On the last step, she drew a deep breath and, adopting a sedate pace, headed for the front shop. Pausing behind the curtains, she peeked through the opening.

“Damnation,” she swore under her breath.

It was Mr. Pitt, the owner of the Theater Royale, standing by the counter with his pudgy fingers laced behind his back and his bald spot prominently on display—despite the straggly tufts of hair he’d combed sideways to hide his loss of hair.

Her mouth went dry. What brought him here? Her last payment wasn’t due for a few more weeks.

“Good morning, Mr. Pitt,” she forced a measure of warmth in her voice as she entered the room. “How pleasant to see you. How might I be of service?”

The man turned and gave a curt nod that sufficed as a greeting. “This letter.” He pulled a letter from his waistcoat. With a flick of his wrist, he slid the paper across the counter. “‘Tis a might concerning, it is. Read it, right quick.”

Wordlessly, Olivia picked up the letter and began to read.

Dear Mr. Pitt,

I am writing to inform you that I will no longer be singing An Enchanted Summer Evening…

Olivia’s heart stood still. She gripped the letter tightly, unable to read anything more, other than the name scrawled at the bottom: Louisa.

“As you very well know, Miss Mackenzie,” Mr. Pitt’s voice droned in the background, “I foresaw this exact risk when I agreed to rent the Theatre Royale for this concert. Our contract states that all monies are due, in the event I deem it necessary to collect them—which I do so, now. Fetch the coin and right quick.” He paused, then his voice altered when he continued, “Unless, of course, you seek alternative arrangements—”

Olivia crushed the letter in her hand. “She will sing. I have contracts myself, Mr. Pitt. She will sing.”

He stared at her, eyes cold. “Then show me these contracts, along with the remainder due. Otherwise, I will not hold the date.”

The remainder? She only had eighteen pounds in her keeping, not the twenty owed. Why was he being so obstinate? He couldn’t have a host of performers eager to perform in the summer months, but she knew better than to challenge the man.

“The remainder,” he repeated, his voice low. He didn’t mention ‘alternate payments’ again—verbally, anyway. He let the lift of his eyebrow and the quick glance at her breasts speak, instead.

“Very well,” she snapped. “I will show you the contracts.”

Olivia marched through the curtains, her mind racing. She was short two pounds. Perhaps seeing the contracts would be enough? Would he accept something as a good faith gesture? She couldn’t bear to part with her mother’s locket, but did she have something else of value the man might accept? Nae.

Tears gathered at the thought of handing over her mother’s locket. But the payment was only half the problem. Louisa. She scowled. Well, she’d show the woman the contract. She’d force her to sing if there was no other recourse. Such an action would end their friendship—but then, it didn’t matter, not when they weren’t much of friends to begin with.

If only she could find someone else to sing, but it was too late. There wasn’t enough time, and of all the opera singers she knew, only Louisa could draw a large enough crowd.

She closed the print room door behind her and dropped to her knees before the secret floorboard. Again, tears burned her lashes at the thought of giving the odious man her mother’s locket, but what choice did she truly have? What could she possibly say to convince him to wait? At a loss, she pried the floorboard loose and pulled out the box. It was unusually light. Puzzled, she lifted the lid.

Her heart stood still.

The box was empty.

Frantically, she searched the cavity in the floor. There was nothing there. Her coins, the contracts, and her mother’s locket…gone.

“Nae,” she gasped. “Nae. Nae. Nae.”

Panic seized her. Who could have taken her things? William? Mrs. Lambert? They were the only two in the house besides her father. Mrs. Lambert wouldn’t. She was practically family, and in her heart, she knew William wouldn’t, as well. He was a simple lad, incapable of such things. Biting back the tears, she jumped to her feet and ran to the parlor. Nicholas sat in the chair opposite Mrs. Lambert, listening to her father play the piano.

“What is it, child?” Mrs. Lambert rose to her feet, alarmed.

“The box,” Olivia choked. “The box in the print room.”

“Box?”