“I’m so sorry if he’s been bothering you,” he continued as he moved to his uncle’s side. “He becomes a bit of a handful when he’s in his cups. And he was quite distraught when Miss Warrington didn’t appear onstage. I turned my back for only a moment, and he’d disappeared from my side. But I don’t know why he came here.”
“I believe he hoped to find out the reason for her absence from some of the other cast members.” Val offered his hand to the young man. “I am Lord Wrackham. And you are?”
The youth’s head shot up, stopping his inspection of his uncle. “My apologies, my lord,” he said, bowing deeply. “I’m James Harrison and this is my uncle, Thomas Harrison. I’ll just get him out to our carriage and back home.”
But before he could lift his uncle, Caro spoke up. “Please don’t go just yet, Mr. Harrison. I’d like to ask you a few questions first.”
Val wasn’t sure what the nephew of Miss Warrington’s most intoxicated admirer could tell them, but Caro had been thwarted so many times in her quest for answers tonight he didn’t have the heart to discourage her.
“Oh, I am doubly sorry now. I beg your pardon, Miss…?”
Val didn’t miss the way the younger Harrison’s eyes widened. Whether at her beauty or her disheveled appearance, he couldn’t tell. “This is Miss Caroline Hardcastle,” he said. “Caro, this is Mr. James Harrison.”
Once she’d offered her hand and he’d bowed over it, Caro pressed on. “Do you often accompany your uncle to the theatre, Mr. Harrison?”
“Fairly often.” He shrugged, glancing down at his uncle, who was now softly snoring with the side of his face pressed against the sofa. “My mother is concerned that he’ll get into trouble on his own. And since he’s got no wife and family, and I’m his heir, it’s up to me.”
“So, you’d be familiar with the usual men who come to see Miss Warrington here in the greenroom?” Caro asked.
“There are always newcomers when the play changes,” Harrison said thoughtfully, “but there are several who come back no matter what.”
“And who might they be?” Caro asked.
His previously easy expression turned guarded. “What’s this about?”
Before Caro could respond, Val said with a confidential air, “We’re friends of Miss Warrington’s and she’s asked us to speak with her most loyal admirers to let them know how sorry she is to have missed tonight’s performance.” He didn’t want the young man to stop sharing information with them, and since he could hardly reveal Miss Warrington was missing, this seemed the best excuse.
To his relief, Caro went along with the ruse, though she shot him a look of exasperation. “She’s too ill to tell us the names of the gentlemen herself.”
“She won’t be back for the rest of the week?” Harrison asked, an odd bit of hope in his voice. Perhaps seeing their puzzlement, he continued. “It’s just that it gets tiresome following my uncle here night after night.”
He leaned forward and said sheepishly, “I’d much prefer a bit of light opera to all this Shakespeare folderol. Give me dancing girls and—” He colored. “That is to say, this sort of play isn’t my forte.”
“We aren’t sure when she’ll return,” Caro said, ignoring the young man’s disclosure. “It depends on the duration of her illness.”
She returned to her earlier question. “Are there any of her coterie who stand out in some way? Someone overly attached to Miss Warrington, perhaps?”
Harrison rubbed his chin. “Well, aside from Uncle Thomas, there are only a handful who appear week after week. When Francis Thorn started keeping guard over her, a few of them stopped coming. There’s the Duke of Langham—he was here just last week for the final performance of Othello. A bit intimidating, if you must know. Langham, I mean. Especially when he just sits there and glowers at everyone. I thought at first he was here for Nell Burgoyne but he didn’t take his eyes off of Effie the whole night.”
Val muttered a curse. Unless young Harrison was mistaken, Langham had lied right to his face this afternoon. Could he be involved with Miss Warrington’s disappearance? He’d seemed so damned sincere about Nell, though. He hoped the man hadn’t taken the opportunity to go underground before Val could question him in the morning. Because he definitely needed answers from him, duke or no duke.
“The only other man I’ve seen focused on Effie,” James Harrison continued saying, “is Lord Tate. I’ve only crossed paths with him here once before tonight. I don’t know that he’s an admirer, though. He really upset her. Thorn wasn’t there, so she had no one to put him in his place. I suppose he brought all those roses tonight to apologize.”
“When was this?” Caro demanded. “Recently?”
“Just last week,” the young man said. “As I said, whatever they discussed truly overset her.”
Clearly it hadn’t seemed alarming enough for either of the Harrisons to come to her rescue, Val thought grimly. What a useless passel of fools these men were. Aloud, he asked, “Where was Langham that evening?”
“Oh, he wasn’t here that night either. Poor Effie was on her own.”
“You’re sure that was Tate here with the roses tonight?” Caro asked.
“Absolutely. He seemed to be in just as sour a mood, though. I suppose because she wasn’t here to accept his apology.”
“Any others who stand out?” Val asked. He was growing impatient to leave. Perhaps he’d track down Langham tonight while his annoyance was fresh.
But young Harrison shook his head. “I don’t really think any of them had a chance even before Thorn bagged her. You know how actresses are. They’re looking for the wealthiest protector they can find. It’s why I tried to dissuade Uncle Thomas. But he would have none of it.”
“What do you mean ‘bagged her’ and ‘how actresses are’?” Caro asked, her voice quiet. Val could have warned Harrison her tone did not bode well for his continued good health. He suppressed the urge to teach the fellow a lesson for his insulting words. Caro was more than capable of dispatching the man without his help. “Are you suggesting that they are at fault for the fact that men see them as—”
A nearby clock tower chimed the hour. Good Lord, the interval was long over. They had to get back to their box at once.
“Thank you very much for your help, Mr. Harrison,” he said, interrupting Caro’s admittedly warranted scolding. “Best wishes to your uncle.”
Pulling her out into the corridor, he said in a low voice, “Do you know how long we’ve been gone? Your parents are probably frantic.”
Caro gasped, lifting a hand to her torn sleeve. “My gown.”
He looked at the unseemly amount of creamy skin revealed by the ripped seam and cursed. The unexpected desire to run his tongue along her exposed skin did not improve his temper. “Don’t you ladies carry pins in your reticules for such things?” he demanded crossly.
“At balls,” she snapped, trying to hold the two edges of fabric together. “Where there is an expectation of dancing with gentlemen prone to treading on my hems. I hardly expected to be accosted by a drunkard tonight.”