“We were talking of our progress,” said Miss Ada Grandison. “And the fact that we’ve made very little.”
“I spoke to the head of the Four-Horse Club. At great and boring length,” Arthur replied. He liked driving and riding, but he wasn’t obsessed with the minutiae of these activities. Or with the clothing he wore while engaged in them. “He was no help.”
“I’m going to hang about the dancers and keep watch,” said Tom. “The señora will talk with each of them again. She thinks they may know things they don’t realize they noticed.”
Señora Alvarez looked startled, then impressed.
The other ladies continued to eye Arthur with a marked degree of attention. As if they were waiting for him to reveal secrets. Except Señora Alvarez, who was not looking at him. He was suddenly certain they’d been discussing more than the opera dancers.
There was a stir from the workshop behind him. A voice boomed out an inquiry. Everyone turned, and in the next moment Miss Julia Grandison appeared in the doorway. Her formidable figure filled it completely, the feathers in her bonnet brushing the upper jamb.
She scanned the courtyard and then descended on them like a striking bird of prey. “Ada, your maid said you were coming here.” She looked around as if mystified by the locale. “I must speak to you at once.” She loomed over the group. Miss Moran visibly winced. “Do you know what has been going on?” the newcomer added.
“In what sense, Aunt?”
“What sense! There seems to be very little sense involved.” She scanned the circle of faces. “You’ve been snooping around the opera dancers. Very much against my advice and inclination.” They sat with the silence and stillness of rabbits under the eye of a hawk. Miss Grandison’s glare settled on her niece, and bored in. “Are you aware that your father—” She hesitated.
Miss Ada Grandison sat straighter. She managed to look innocently inquisitive. “Yes? Papa?”
“Has been showing far too much interest in these very same opera dancers,” Miss Julia Grandison replied.
“Is that not an improper topic for me to discuss, Aunt?”
“Don’t speak to me of improper! As if you cared anything about that. I have gone to great lengths for you, Ada. I said nothing to your parents about your ridiculous ‘investigations.’ I think I am owed a debt of gratitude. You should be only too glad to help me.”
“Help how?”
“By telling me the truth!”
“I don’t understand what you mean. I don’t know—”
“You know a great many things you shouldn’t!” exclaimed Miss Julia Grandison. “Things your mother would faint to hear of. I know that…a certain opera dancer was mentioned during that theater visit I countenanced the other day. Mentioned in…association with your father.”
Arthur wondered who had told her this. He couldn’t believe it was anyone present. Unless someone had let it slip? Or confided in the wrong friend?
“Merely give me the name of this dancer. That is all I require. I will know what to do then.”
“And what is that?” asked Miss Ada, with commendable fortitude. Arthur knew the answer—revenge. Miss Julia Grandison thought she had found the lever she’d been searching for to pay back her brother.
“I don’t remember,” said Miss Ada. This time she was less convincing.
“Will you thwart me?”
“I don’t want to cause trouble for Papa.”
“Even though he is lower than a worm?”
Miss Ada looked conflicted. “I don’t think he is that.”
“He is careful to show you his good side.”
The girl shook her head. “I won’t tell tales on my father, Aunt Julia. I don’t think you should ask me to.” She frowned as if caught out. “Even if I knew any.”
The older lady held her gaze for a long moment. “Very well. Perhaps you’re even right.” She started to turn away. “I’ll get the name elsewhere.”
“What if I tell Papa?” asked Miss Ada.
“Do so and welcome. In fact, let us go now. I should like to see his face.”
Miss Ada declined the opportunity.
“What are you doing here?” asked her aunt then. She looked around the dilapidated space. “It is hardly a pleasant spot to sit, even on a warm day.”
“We’re interested in the workings of the theater,” replied Miss Ada.
“Indeed?” Miss Julia Grandison’s keen gaze swept over them all once again. Arthur felt evaluated and dismissed. Then the lady shrugged and bid them farewell. Everyone let out a relieved breath when she was gone.
“Should I tell Papa she is asking these questions about him?” Miss Ada wondered. “How would I bring up such a subject?” She turned to Arthur. “Would you do it, sir?”
Arthur tried not to shudder as he shook his head. “We are not well acquainted. Your father would be offended.” This was quite true. Mr. Grandison would certainly resent the interference, once he got over being aghast at Arthur’s effrontery.
“Oh.” Miss Ada considered the matter. “I’ll get Peter to do it.”
There were some dubious looks at this, but no objections. Arthur didn’t envy the young duke, but at least Compton was, or was about to become, a family member. He might have some bare excuse to broach the matter.
The young ladies took their leave soon after this. Tom and the señora moved back toward their workplaces, and Arthur followed. “Why is Miss Grandison so angry at her brother?” the señora asked.
Arthur told her the story of the punch-bowl humiliation in their youth.
“And he has never said he was sorry?”
“I don’t believe so.” Miss Grandison would have mentioned that, Arthur thought.
“The churlish, dog-hearted clotpole,” said Tom, more in the spirit of experiment than in anger, it seemed.
“So he deserves to pay,” said the señora. “But perhaps not so dearly as the large lady seems to intend.”
Arthur nodded. They paused inside the workshop door. “May I watch you paint for a while?” he asked her.
She looked surprised. “Why would you wish to?”
“I appreciate mastery in all its forms.”
Her cheek reddened a bit. “Mastery is…”
“The proper word for your ability.”
Tom grinned and gave them a nod before walking off. The señora looked uncertain. “I suppose,” she said finally.