‘Please accept my heartfelt condolences on the passing of the late viscount,’ said Ruby, sailing on with her usual confidence.
Dora kicked herself. That should’ve been her first line. Her only excuse was her discombobulation at her two worlds colliding.
‘I offer mine as well. Has his lordship been laid to rest, or do you have to go back for the funeral, Jacob?’
Jacob squeezed her hand, a sign he was going to make the best of this situation. ‘He has– with great dignity yesterday. Arthur, William, stop standing round like lampposts. I’ll put the kettle on and make tea.’
‘You don’t have a servant?’ Was that a sneer in Arthur’s voice?
Ruby tittered. ‘I know! Isn’t it shocking? I said the very same thing to Dora when I arrived.’
Arthur took the carver chair and gestured to Ruby to sit beside him. ‘Miss Plum, do tell me about yourself. How do you know Miss Fitz-Pennington?’
‘Really, Arthur, do you have to interrogate my guests?’ muttered Jacob. He slapped a board with bread on it in front of him. ‘Carve us all a slice please. I’m making toast.’ He added a bread knife.
Arthur picked it up and looked at it gingerly. He probably hadn’t ever had to slice a loaf before.
‘Allow me,’ said Ruby. She took it from his fingers and expertly set about the slicing. ‘I’ve known Dora for years now. How long is it, dearest?’
‘Four years,’ said Dora. She had a weird sensation of being outside herself, like someone watching a carriage accident and unable to stop it.
‘Our manager, Mr Thomas, took Dora on in Liverpool, did he not?’
‘He did.’ At least Ruby didn’t know the details of what Dora had had to do to survive in the months before meeting up with the theatrical folk.
‘He found her an uncommon talent and instantly invited Dora to join the Northern Players. She’s been Beatrice to my Hero, Viola to my Olivia, Kate to my Constance.’
‘And the Northern Players are…?’ encouraged Arthur, seemingly mesmerised by Ruby’s deft cutting of bread.
‘A very respectable touring company. We play all the major theatres in the north of England, and sometimes those in southern Scotland.’
‘Majortheatres?’ said Arthur.
‘There is cultural life outside London,’ said Jacob, entering with a teapot and tea service. ‘You should broaden your horizons, Arthur.’
‘No, no,’ said Ruby, ‘I can quite understand how his lordship thinks they are very low places compared to what he is used to. Your standard is Drury Lane and Covent Garden, is it not, my lord? I would simply adore to perform there one day. If only I had a sponsor who would introduce me to the management.’
Arthur ignored the obvious play for his interest. ‘And you, Miss Fitz-Pennington, do you dream of Drury Lane too?’
‘Once upon a time, I might have done so,’ Dora conceded. ‘There is nothing to be ashamed of, in acting in the company of Mrs Siddons and Mr Kemble.’
‘Indeed not!’ agreed William. She could see him willing everyone to play nicely.
‘However, your brother and I are making a success of another venture. I dare say he has mentioned the subject to you? Mr Sandys is aware of our last case, though it is not public knowledge.’
‘Ooo, a secret!’ Ruby leaned forward, which did interesting things to her cleavage. The viscount’s eyes drifted down then snapped back to the loaf.
‘I’m afraid we can’t speak of it,’ said Dora. ‘We promise confidentiality.’
Ruby pouted. ‘Dora!’
‘You must admit you are the most indiscreet person in the Northern Players. You scatter secrets like pennies at a wedding.’
‘I do so love a wedding,’ sighed Ruby. The wistful look was dismissed for one of sharp intelligence. ‘If you can’t speak about that, tell his lordship about your latest case– the manuscript thingy.’
‘Allour clients are promised confidentiality,’ Dora rejoined, wishing Ruby to Hades. She needed to talk to Jacob about it before entertaining his brothers with the matter.
‘Well, your customers never asked me to be quiet on the subject, so I’ll tell our guests.’ Ruby tucked a dark curl behind her ear. Her locks always looked in danger of tumbling free, just as her bosoms seemed ready to leap out of her bodice. It was part of her sexual charm and usually had men eating out of her palm. ‘This funny little woman– Dorothy Wordsmith?—’
