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“The carpenters set up a platform for me when I am putting in the sky.”
“Ah, that’s good.”
“I like this place,” declared the red-haired heiress. “One can see that everyone enjoys what they’re doing and is good at it.” She nodded to Teresa. “I can see why you bring your talents here.”
Teresa thought of mentioning that this was not some careless pastime. They were all paid, and the wages were vital to the craftsmen. But she decided not to. Miss Finch hadn’t meant to be patronizing.
Miss Grandison edged closer to her. “We came to consult with you and Tom,” she confided in a low voice. “Though of course it is lovely to see your painting as well. But we wanted to speak to you, and we cannot visit the theater again because my aunt has made difficulties.”
“I see.”
“Tom told us that you stop for a sort of luncheon,” the girl continued. She held up a small box tied with string, and Teresa saw that they all carried similar offerings. “Is this the right time?”
“Near enough.” Teresa untied her apron and laid it aside.
In the courtyard, the ladies brought out a positive banquet of cakes and tarts and small sandwiches, setting them out to be shared by all. Then they established themselves in one corner of the space where they could talk with some privacy.
“We are not making a great deal of progress on the opera-dancer problem,” began Miss Deeping with a severity that appeared to include herself.
“We have asked everyone we meet about Richmond Park,” said Miss Moran. “But quite a large number of people have visited there recently, with the spring flowers coming on.”
“And none of them seemed particularly…sinister,” said Miss Grandison.
“They don’t,” said Miss Finch. “That is how they operate. They seem just like anyone else, until the moment they turn cruel. When it is too late.”
The look in her eyes and harsh tone told Teresa that she had endured some hardship. She felt an impulse of kinship.
The others waited a respectful moment. Perhaps they knew what had befallen her, or perhaps they only heard the pain in her voice.
“So we need to decide what to do next,” said Miss Deeping then. “What do you think?” She looked from Tom to Teresa.
“I’ve asked at houses all ’round their lodgings,” replied Tom. “Up and down the streets. Nothing new there.”
“It’s too bad one of us can’t join the opera dancers,” said Miss Moran. “We’d be on hand to see who approaches them and judge their intentions.”
Teresa waited for exclamations of horror at this outlandish suggestion. She also concluded that Miss Moran didn’t really know what theapproachesentailed.
“Imagine me in a ballet,” said Miss Deeping. “I’d look like a poorly trained elephant let loose on the stage.” She thumped the tabletop with her fist. “Lumbering along.”
“You aren’t big enough to be an elephant,” replied Miss Moran.
“An ox,” said Miss Finch. “Or a donkey. Yes, like Bottom inA Midsummer Night’s Dream. We could make you a papier-mâché headpiece.”
Miss Deeping made a face at her.
“The dancing master at school was always praising you, Harriet,” said Miss Moran.
“That was not ballet,” Miss Finch pointed out. “And he was a…beslubbering boar-pig, as Tom would put it.”
Tom gave her a nod and an understanding look.
“What do you mean?” asked Miss Moran.
“Monsieur Lagrange knew I was poor and powerless. Then. So he thought he could whisper his disgusting little compliments in my ear.” She shrugged. “And I do not believe he was really French either.”
The other three young ladies looked shocked. Teresa was intrigued. It seemed Miss Finch had been impoverished, and now she was rich. Perhaps this was why she seemed the most interesting of them, although all four were out of the common way.
“You never said anything,” said Miss Deeping.
