Page 70 of Miss Dramatic
“Meaning me,” Gavin said. “My ability was inspiring Drysdale to greater feats of greed and folly, so I had to go.”
“You had to go,” Gemma said. “Not only was Drysdale getting wild notions about touring the great capitals, you were nobody’s fool. We knew you came from means, and you’d see what the members of the troupe might miss—new sets, new wardrobes, scripts, props, handbills, advertisements… It all costs money. A lot of money, and that’s in addition to keeping the Players fed, decently clad, and housed. If you asked the wrong questions, if you heard the wrong rumors up from Town… you could send us all to the Antipodes.”
Gavin thought back to Gemma’s quiet presence with the prompt book, her silent appraisals in rehearsal, her apparent dislike of him.
Not dislike, but rather, fear.
Rose took his hand. “You worried about another possible consequence if Mr. DeWitt remained associated with the troupe, didn’t you?”
Gemma’s smile was wan. “That his talent would be forever buried in the shires?”
“That he’d be found guilty by association, and a good man would be branded a criminal becauseyour husband was a selfish idiot.”
So that’s how Rose had solved the riddle—the ghost of Dane Roberts had pointed squarely to Hammond Drysdale.
“The Players and I know what Hammond is and what he isn’t. He’s not the world’s greatest thespian. He never will be. But that troupe is his life. He would do anything to keep us together and performing. Anything. DeWitt was a recent addition to our numbers, with no idea what a mare’s nest Hammond could make of things.”
“But, my dear,” Drysdale began, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I don’t take these risks for myself. I only did it—”
“Do not”—Rose’s voice would have cut marble—“imply that you steal, lie, and break your word for the sake of others. If you could not be the great hero onstage, then you’d be the great hero in your own mind. Misunderstood, unappreciated, nobly bearing up under the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune while nevertheless having a jolly time on precisely your own terms. Be glad your wife hasn’t taken up the art of the horsewhip.”
Rose’s warning inspired a flurry of glances, between Lord and Lady Phillip, Tavistock and his marchioness, and Drysdale and his wife. Even Lady Iris was regarding the supposedly quiet widow respectfully.
“You have a flower name,” Lady Iris said. “I told Delphine and Zin that you have a flower name.”
“As does my marchioness,” Tavistock said. “Back to the matter at hand. Was it you, Mrs. Drysdale, who left the coins among DeWitt’s effects? Were you trying to incriminate him?”
“I was trying to put him in disgrace to a sufficient degree that he’d be glad to leave the troupe. I expected Mrs. Roberts would see the money sitting among DeWitt’s clothing. She should have been suspicious of its origins when Drysdale reported that his funds had been stolen, and she should have been further concerned when she found a heap of rubies in her jewelry box. The only party with access to her quarters who might have purloined the coin and the necklace was Mr. DeWitt. She should have suspected him of theft, though I doubt she’d have turned him over to the authorities.”
That plan was not exactly outlandish, but neither was it very astute. But then, Gemma Drysdale’s perspective was that of a woman much disappointed by the man in her life. That Gavin might waken first, and take offense at the coins, hadn’t occurred to her.
“The necklace never made it to my jewelry box,” Rose said. “What happened?”
Gemma ran a hand gently over the harp strings and graced the air with the soft whisper of a glissando. “I was startled.”
“Mr. DeWitt startled you?”
“With a perfectly lucid rendering of the opening lines ofRomeo and Juliet. ‘Two households, both alike in dignity…’ I nearly screamed I was so surprised.”
“Instead, you fled with the necklace?”
“And I have been fleeing with the necklace ever since, though when Drysdale mentioned this gathering, I hoped my luck had turned. I meant to hide the necklace among the effects of one of the guests and hoped Lady Iris would learn of it. They all seem so chummy, with their flower names and disguises and roles.”
Roles. Well, yes. Gavin would ponder that puzzle later. “Where is the necklace now?”
Gemma plucked a minor chord. “Mrs. Roberts has the right of it. The necklace has been hiding in plain sight, among the props with a lot of paste. I’ve never let anybody wear it for fear Drysdale would recognize the piece.”
“As well I might.” Drysdale rose. “If Lady Iris will take charge of the necklace, then it only remains for somebody to repay me the coin I was parted from in Derbyshire. All’s well that—”
“Don’t attempt the merry exit,” Gavin said, rising. “Your stupid greed caused untold suffering to many victims, and while you can return the gems, you cannot undo misunderstanding, shame, or hurt feelings. You cannot wave away the pain Lady Rutherford, a decent and generous woman, endured because she could not protect a family legacy from your ambitions.”
“You’ve caused me more than a spot of bother too,” Lady Iris muttered. “I say we summon the magistrate.”
“I say,” Rose countered, “your ladyship accepted an invitation under false pretenses, and more to the point, you’ve bored half the company witless with your herbal blathering. If that’s not an offense against the king’s peace, it’s certainly a violation of the rules of hospitality.”
Lady Iris had the grace to look chagrined. “I am sorry. My interest in herbs is genuine, and I’ve been tracking that necklace for months. Do as you will with Drysdale, but I am determined to retrieve the necklace.”
Do as you will…Gavin thought of all the miles he’d galloped hoping to elude despair, all the letters he’d tried writing to Rose, only to toss them into the fire. He thought of Rose, confidence at low ebb, grieving a failed marriage, then faced with the prospect of a fickle suitor…
