Page 62 of Fairest of Heart

Titus’s pulse thrummed. This was what he needed. It wasn’t exactly hard proof, but it strengthened their circumstantial case and placed Madame LaBelle with one of the victims on the day the missing items were last seen.

“She wouldn’t be the first actress to supplement her stage earnings by sharing private company with a wealthy patron,” St. Helen said with a shrug. “Though I would never disparage the lady’s reputation by testifying that such was the case in this instance. I did not bear witness to anything improper between them, so all I can say for certain is that Mr. Clayton and Madame LaBelle appeared to be enjoying each other’s company a great deal while they were here.”

Titus took his tablet from his pocket and made a few notes before looking back up at the bartender. “Did you happen to notice if Clayton was wearing any jewelry that evening? Tiepin? Cuff links? Lapel pin?”

St. Helen’s affable manner withered. It seemed he had no qualms about gossip, but anything hinting at criminality was a different matter.

“I don’t recall.” His words emerged stiff and clipped. “There had to have been over fifty people here that night. I cannot be expected to remember what each individual did or didn’t wear.”

“Of course.” Titus backed off his questioning, not wanting the fellow to feel as if they were accusing him of anything. They might need him to testify in the future, and the man would be easier to convince if they remained on good terms. “I appreciate your time, Mr. St. Helen. I’ll be in touch if we need anything else.”

The hunted look in the man’s eyes faded. He manufactured a smile and offered Titus a nod. “You know where to find me.”

True. He also knew where to find Narcissa LaBelle. In Weatherford. Time to quit cutting bait and reel in the big fish.

Titus bid St. Helen and Morris a good day and made his way to the train station. He purchased a ticket for an early afternoon departure, then paid a call on Ambrose Clayton’s housekeeper and Henry Kerr, the owner of the opera house.

The tight-lipped housekeeper could not or would not confirm any late-night guest Mr. Clayton might have entertained on the evening of the Chicago Theatrical Company’s final performance. She did confirm that she’d conducted a thorough search of the house for the missing cuff links, and they were not to be found. The woman was obviously loyal to her employer and protective of his reputation, but she did mention that anyone who would steal from such an upstanding gentleman was a Jezebel of the worst order. And since Jezebels only came in one gender, Titus was pretty sure the woman at least suspected a female was to blame. Another arrow pointing to Madame’s guilt.

Kerr hadn’t been much help. He’d sung Madame’s praises, calling her the finest actress to ever grace a stage west of the Mississippi. He bragged that she’d brought in capacity crowds every night and lamented that he hadn’t extended their booking for another week.

By the time Titus boarded the train, he was more than ready to leave Granbury behind, but he still wasn’t certain how best to handle Narcissa LaBelle. Without the jewels, his best hope was to arrest Hunt for abduction and housebreaking and get him to turn on his partner.

But when he disembarked in Weatherford and made his way to the Haynes Opera House, he found the flyers advertising the show torn down.

No! They were supposed to be here another week.

Hurrying around back, he found wagons being loaded with trunks and set pieces. Thanking God that he hadn’t missed them altogether, he let himself in through a backstage door and searched for a familiar face. A woman bent over a trunk overflowing with colorful dresses caught his eye, and he hurried over.

“Mildred?”

The seamstress spun around. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. “Mr. Kingsley? What are you doing here?”

“Looking for Cecil Hunt.”

“He’s not here. He and Madame had a falling-out. She demanded he leave the troupe, then fell into a weeping spell so violent it made her ill. She insisted Mr. Billings cancel our bookings for the next month. We’re traveling to Denver and will meet her there once she recovers.”

She was running. Slipping the noose. He had to tighten it before she escaped.

“Where is she?” Titus lifted his head and started searching all the faces visible backstage. But none of them belonged to the troupe’s leading lady.

“I don’t know.” Mildred raised empty palms. “She left yesterday on the train. You should ask Mr. Billings.”

“And Mr. Billings is . . . ?”

Mildred pointed. “In the office, tallying the receipts from the refunded ticket sales.”

Titus turned to go, but Mildred grabbed hold of his arm.

“Did you find Penelope?” she asked, worry lining her face. “Is she all right?”

Urgency tempted him to brush her hand away and search out Billings before he lost the only lead left to him, but an image of Penelope rose in his mind, and he knew he couldn’t treat her friend with such shabby impatience.

“I found her,” he said. “She’s alive and well and staying with some friends of mine.”

Mildred closed her eyes, and for a split second, Titus thought she might faint. Then she murmured a quiet “Thank God,” and squeezed his arm for a heartbeat before releasing him. “Maybe this will work out for the best. Give that sweet girl a chance to make a life for herself out of the shrew’s shadow.”

Titus patted the woman’s arm. “You have a month. Maybe you can use the time to find a different path for yourself as well. I imagine there are lots of towns between here and Denver that could use a seamstress with your talents.”