“What has that to do with it?” Frank’s frustration rang out through the room.
“If he was able to linger in this part of Mayfair for a long period of time without having someone call the watch on him,” Eversham explained calmly, “then it stands to reason he must have blended in. Gentlemen and servants are the most frequent visitors to this area.”
Understanding dawned on Frank’s face. “No, he was dressed well enough. The colors were dark except for his shirt, but then what gentleman doesn’t wear black or gray these days? And he definitely did not wear livery.”
“So, he was dressed as a gentleman?” Caro asked before Eversham could comment.
“I suppose so,” Frank said. “He didn’t strike me as a servant, though I couldn’t tell you why. Maybe the way he held himself.”
“Was she having a problem with admirers at the theatre?” Eversham continued. “Someone too eager? Perhaps someone didn’t like the fact that she had chosen you over them?”
Frank suddenly looked exhausted. “Of course, there were some who cut up rough. It’s part of that world. Especially for a performer as beautiful and talented as Effie. But she knew how to handle them. She’s been on the stage for nearly a decade now. There are quite a few men who frequent the greenroom that I would just as soon see transported to the other side of the world for their insolence.”
“Is that how you met?” Caro asked, not quite keeping the censure from her tone. “In the greenroom?”
“What does it matter?” Val didn’t bother to soften his exasperation. He knew well enough she held a low opinion of men who dangled after actresses without a care for their situation, but Frank was betrothed to Miss Warrington, for heaven’s sake. He’d already proven his honorable intentions. Caro’s criticism, while well-meaning, was misplaced. “We can save the story of how they met and what their favorite tune is for later.”
“It matters because he might be able to link one of those men at the theatre to whoever who took her today,” Caro said tightly.
“What of the man’s accomplices who attacked you in the carriage?” Eversham asked, getting them back on subject. “Did you recognize them from the theatre?”
“No,” Frank said firmly. “If these men ever go to the theatre, it’s not to lavish gifts on actresses. They were rough. Their clothes were dirty and they smelled of”—he closed his eyes as if to recapture the memory—“grease and onions.”
“My poor Miss Effie.” Mrs. Spencer was weeping openly. “To be violently torn away from her own carriage. Why would someone do this to her?”
Caro placed a comforting hand on the older woman’s arm, and Val was reluctantly relieved she was here. Her fierceness masked a deeply caring nature, and it was moments like these that made it impossible for him not to be drawn to her all over again. Even as common sense and past experience warned him against it.
“We’re going to do our best to find out, Mrs. Spencer,” Eversham assured the companion. To Frank, he said, “Tell us what happened in the carriage in as much detail as you can remember.”
“We were discussing her fittings,” Frank said, his eyes closing momentarily, “and her argument with one of the other actresses earlier today.”
Caro’s brows drew together. “What did they argue about?”
“Julia was saying that she’s the one who should be playing Ophelia in this production—not Effie.”
“Julia Todd has been jealous of Miss Effie ever since she began working at the Lyceum,” Mrs. Spencer said sourly. “She’s a nasty young woman with no more manners than the good Lord gave a goat.”
“Could this Julia have something to gain if Effie disappears?” Caro exchanged a look with Kate that Val couldn’t interpret. Perhaps they knew something about their friend’s dealings in the theatre they weren’t ready to share yet. He reminded himself to press them for more details later. If Miss Warrington had something to hide, then his cousin should be informed of it. “Is she Effie’s understudy perhaps?”
Frank sat up straighter. “Yes. She is.”
“Before we go down that road,” Eversham interjected with a lifted hand, “please finish telling us precisely what happened in the carriage, Frank.”
Looking only slightly chastened for taking them off course, Caro clutched her hands together in her lap.
“When we were nearing Half Moon Street, the carriage came to an abrupt halt,” Frank said. “Effie knocked on the panel and asked if there was some problem, and Johnny, the coachman, said all was well. We took off again, but I could have sworn we’d made a turn that we weren’t supposed to make. Turns out the villains had steered us into the mews behind the house.”
“And then?” Val prompted when his cousin seemed to lose himself in memory.
“Then it happened faster than I could have imagined. The carriage door was wrenched open and two ruffians were dragging us both from the carriage. When I tried to fight them, one coshed me in the head with a club. They threatened to kill me with it if she didn’t go quietly.”
He stared into the distance, as if seeing the scene again in his mind. Then he said with excitement, “There was someone else. Outside the carriage. Where they dragged me. He had a more cultured accent than the other two.”
“Did you see his face?” Kate asked.
But Frank shook his head. “No. I was near to passing out by that point. But I heard him.” Turning to Val, he scowled. “It had to be the one Effie and I saw before.”
“It seems plausible,” Val agreed. “Though we can’t know for sure until we learn all of the men’s identities.”
They were all quiet for a moment, taking in the gravity of the situation. Men who were willing to beat a duke’s nephew were either too stupid or too reckless to fear the hangman’s noose.
“Next thing I knew I’d been brought into the house,” Frank concluded. “I sent for Val as soon as I was able to form a coherent thought.”
“Why Val?” Caro asked. “Why not the authorities?”
“Because the authorities would alert my family to the fact that Effie and I are betrothed,” Frank answered. “I know I can trust Val to be discreet, but if my father gets wind of the engagement, he’ll do what he can to see to it that, even once Effie is back safely, we’ll never be able to marry.”
“The aristocracy does dislike seeing its ranks sullied by common blood, doesn’t it?” Caro asked in a biting tone.
Her question cut a bit too close to the bone after his earlier conversation with his father, and Val answered more sharply—and more defensively—than he might have otherwise.
“However misguided he might be, my uncle merely wishes to protect Frank. I’m here to see to it that we find Miss Warrington without exposing either her or my cousin to scandal.”
Chapter Three
He realized his error almost as soon as the words left his mouth. A fact made clear by Caro’s little exhalation before she said, “How fortunate that Kate and Eversham and I are here to do the hard work of finding Effie, then, Lord Wrackham, while you see to protecting the Thorn family name.”