Page 12 of Ashes To Ashes
"More personal than what we've already been discussing?"
She blinked. "Yes." She crossed to the double doors and shut them. "I want you to speak to Mr. Golightly on my behalf."
Lincoln righted the cup and placed it in the saucer. The rim was indeed chipped. "The stage manager at The Alhambra? Why?"
She drew in a deep breath and let it out again. "I had an arrangement with him after I severed my connection to The Al before my marriage. He agreed to ensure that no one in his employ would publicly connect Lady Harcourt with Miss D.D. the dancer. After Merry Drinkwater's recent threats to expose me, I've become concerned that he isn't keeping up his end of our bargain."
"He can't control what people say once they leave his employ."
"He should try!" Her voice rose, along with her bosom as she heaved in another breath. "Oh, Lincoln, she almost exposed me."
"Almost, but not quite. How fortunate that you came up with an arrangement to satisfy her and keep her quiet." That arrangement being the kidnapping of Charlie and Gus so that Charlie could raise Mrs. Drinkwater's dead supernatural husband. Those dark hours when Lincoln hadn't known where Charlie was still ate at him. He had never known real fear until the moment when he learned that she'd been taken, perhaps killed. He never wanted to experience it again. It was after he'd learned of Julia's involvement that he'd begun to see her for the selfish woman she truly was. It had taken every ounce of his control not to kill her. The irony wasn't lost on him that he wouldn't have had that self-control if it weren't for Charlie believing he had it in him.
"Please, Lincoln." She placed her palms on his chest, tilted her chin and blinked watery eyes at him. "Please speak with Golightly and get his assurance that nothing like that will happen again."
He plucked off her hands then let them go. "That is your affair, not mine. Speak to Golightly yourself."
"But I'll be seen!"
"Then write him a letter."
"So he or that horrid Redding woman can keep it and use it against me?" She bit her wobbling lip, and this time he believed that her tears were real. "She never did like me, the jealous minx. Not once Andrew and I…not after he began paying me attention."
He passed her his handkerchief. "Speaking of Buchanan, do you know about your stepson's latest interest?"
She paused, perhaps needing a moment to adjust to the change in topic. "Interest?"
"Her name is Ela."
She swallowed. "Oh. That sort of interest. No, I didn't know about her." She lifted her chin, stretching her throat above the high lace ruffle of her collar. "Who is she?"
"A dancer with the circus."
Her bark of laughter held no humor. "Of course she is."
"You haven't seen her at Harcourt House?"
"God, no! No gentleman brings home his mistress for the world, and the servants, to see. That's obscene."
She should know, having been a gentleman's mistress prior to her marriage. Lincoln wasn't sure how she'd convinced Lord Harcourt, Andrew's father, to marry her, and he didn't want to know. The agreement struck up with Golightly had probably helped her cause considerably. Harcourt had been a respected, conservative nobleman—he wouldn't want the world thinking he'd fallen for a dancer. The fact that Julia was a headmaster's daughter had been enough of a scandal at the time.
"They must have hired a room somewhere for the purpose." She strode away, her deep plum skirts swishing around her ankles. She trailed her fingers along the back of the sofa then turned to face him, her back to the fire. Her eyes seemed to glisten, but whether from unshed tears or something else, he couldn't be sure. "Did you mention this Ela woman merely to see my reaction, Lincoln? Are you curious to know if I'm jealous of her?"
Lincoln knew that Julia and Andrew had a dalliance before she met Andrew's father. He wasn't as sure whether their affair had continued after Lord Harcourt's death, although it wouldn't surprise him if they had an arrangement. It would be easy enough, since they lived in the same house and both had passionate natures that neither seemed fully able to control. But there was a tension between them with a sharp, cruel edge to it. Lincoln didn't know the source of the tension, nor did he understand why they stayed together in the same house if they didn't like one another. Their relationship, like many, was a mystery to him.
He blamed his lack of understanding on a deficiency in his education. He'd been taught a broad range of subjects, but his lack of interaction with other people meant he felt like he was always observing through a window, unable to hear the conversation on the other side.
Charlie had been good at understanding people. Years of living with gangs on the street had honed senses Lincoln doubted he even possessed. She could quickly identify subtle changes in the mood of others and the meaning behind facial expressions and tone of voice. She knew how to express her feelings, and how to coax the best out of people. And sometimes the worst.
"Lincoln? Are you listening to me?'
He snapped his gaze back to Julia. "Buchanan is your stepson," he said. "Why would you be jealous of his latest paramour?" It wasn't the cleverest thing he'd said all day, and the stiffening of her spine cued him into her opinion of it.
She sniffed. "Paramour is not quite the appropriate word, in this case. I prefer to use whore."
"She was also O'Neill's lover," he told her.
"Ah. That explains your questions. And here I thought it was to goad me."
