Chapter 20
Hadrian didn’t like the shadows in Tilda’s eyes or the stiffness in her step as they moved from the coach to the stage entrance of the Albion Theatre on the Strand near Catherine Street.
She was understandably upset about the encounter with Mrs. Redmayne.
Helping was in Tilda’s nature and to be told she wasn’t wanted, especially in a capacity in which she excelled, was devastating.
The urge to continue to soothe her was great, but knowing Tilda, she wanted to focus on the investigation. “Who do you plan to speak with first?” he asked as they arrived at the stage door.
“Whoever is available. I suppose I’ll ask for the property master.” Tilda tried the door, and it opened.
“We don’t need to knock?” Hadrian asked.
“I find I’m in the mood for begging forgiveness rather than seeking permission.” Her gaze was cool, but he knew it wasn’t directed at him.
Hadrian followed her inside and secured the door behind them. “Do you plan to just look around for someone?”
“That is my intent, yes.” She led him along a corridor at the back of the theatre, and they came upon an open doorway to a large work room.
Props and mechanisms along with supplies sat on shelves lining the walls, and a large worktable occupied the center of the room.
A man perched on a stool at one end, his attention focused on a fixture he was repairing.
“Good afternoon,” Tilda said.
The man looked up—through a pair of spectacles—and fixed on them with curiosity. Nearing fifty, he had dark curly hair tinged with gray, particularly at the temples. “Afternoon. Can I help you?”
“I hope so,” Tilda said crisply. “I’m Miss Wren, and this is my investigative associate, Lord Ravenhurst. Are you the property master?”
The man nodded as he set down the device he’d been inspecting. He removed his spectacles and set them on the table. “I’m Larkin. Pardon me, but I can’t imagine why you’re here.” His gaze lingered on Hadrian. “You can’t be here fetching something for another theatre.”
“No,” Hadrian confirmed. “We’d like to ask you about your job and the props you make, particularly for special effects.”
“You’re investigators?” Larkin asked.
“Yes,” Tilda replied. “Specifically, we’re interested in how you create fire effects for the stage.”
Larkin grinned. “You’re asking about one of my favorite things.
Creating special effects is my specialty, as anyone will tell you, and I’m always looking for new ways to awe the audience.
There are many ways we create fire.” He stood from the worktable, revealing he was on the shorter side and possessed a somewhat slight build.
He limped to one of the shelves, and Hadrian wondered if he had an injury or ailment.
“These are some of the devices I’ve created for fire effects.” Larkin gestured to a shelf holding several items, including one that looked very like what they suspected Spring-heeled Jack carried, except it was larger.
Tilda noticed it too as she went directly to it and pointed at the device. “What is this for?”
“Ah, that provided a wonderful effect in which we needed a dragon to breathe fire on stage. The actor in the dragon costume blew through this tube, which was stuffed with cotton soaked in spirts of wine with strontium salt added to make the flame red. Spectacular!” Larkin’s enthusiasm for his work was evident.
He went on to describe what some of the other devices accomplished.
“You designed and created all these?” Hadrian asked.
“I did indeed,” Larkin said proudly.
“You’ve been doing this a long time,” Tilda remarked.
“Been here at the Albion twenty years this autumn.”
“Why did you think we might be from another theatre?” Tilda asked.
“I often sell props and devices like these to other theatres, especially the smaller ones. Even some from outside London. They can’t afford to hire a mechanist to assist with their props. It’s cheaper to just buy or even rent what they need from me or someone like me.”
Tilda exchanged a look with Hadrian, and he was fairly certain she was wondering if that was how Spring-heeled Jack had obtained his device.
She withdrew the cap from her reticule and held it in her palm for Larkin’s inspection.
“Does this brass cap look familiar to you? Might it be something you would create, perhaps to fit onto the end of a device used to create fire?”
“May I?” Larkin raised his hand to pick up the cap.
“Certainly.” Tilda gave him the item.
Larkin studied it closely. “This is definitely something I would create. In fact, I’m fairly sure I crafted this one.”
From the corner of his eye, Hadrian saw Tilda’s reaction. Her chest swelled as she took in a breath, and her nostrils flared gently.
“Where did you find it?” Larkin gave the cap back to Tilda.
“It’s associated with a kidnapping we’re investigating.”
Larkin’s dark gray-brown eyes rounded. “Kidnapping? This isn’t to do with that horrible Spring-heeled Jack impostor, is it?”
“You think he’s an impostor?” Tilda asked.
“Of course.” Larkin’s tone said that, to him at least, this was obvious.
“I can’t believe that same creature has resurfaced thirty years later.
If he even existed then. It’s a stage performance moved to the streets to sow chaos and terror.
Whoever is assuming the identity now is doing so to ensure his crimes gain notoriety. ”
“I think so too,” Tilda said. “Do you know who might have purchased this cap from you?” She tucked it back into her reticule.
He shrugged. “I’ve sold so many different things to people that I couldn’t say.”
“Do you have receipts for those sales?” Tilda asked. “We’d be happy to look through them. I don’t wish to trouble you unduly.” She smiled.
“The treasurer has them. Though, it’s possible someone simply took it from my workshop. Various stage workers and actors regularly come in here and take things—typically for something they’re doing with a performance here at the theatre but not always.” He frowned slightly.
“Do you know where we may find the treasurer?” Hadrian asked.
“He won’t be in yet, unfortunately. You can try again closer to the performance this evening.”
“We’ll do that,” Tilda said. “What of the costumer? Might they be here?”
“That’d be Maud Brimley,” Larkin replied. “She’s downstairs. Go back along the corridor past the stage door and the stairs are at the end.”
“Thank you again,” Hadrian said as Tilda turned to leave. He followed her from the property master’s room, and they made their way toward the stairs. “That was helpful.”
“Somewhat. I was really hoping he could tell us who obtained that cap from him.” She let out a disappointed sigh.
“Isn’t it suspicious that he made that cap and Delia Chadwick was fond of attending this theatre of late?” Hadrian asked.
“Not necessarily. Jesson said Larkin was the best prop mechanist in London, so I’m not surprised that Spring-heeled Jack may have wanted to use his fire-creating device. That supports our theory that the kidnapper is a member of the theatre community. He’d have to be to know that about Larkin.”
“That certainly makes sense to me,” Hadrian said.
They descended the staircase, but halfway down, Tilda paused and turned to him.
The space was dimly lit, so her face was in shadow.
“I’d intended to just ask the costumer about the ease of making a light-colored leather costume, but since the brass cap has a connection to this theatre, I plan to ask if she’s made such a costume. ”
“Good idea. It will also be helpful to know her process for creating costumes. I wonder if she also fulfills orders from other theatres as Larkin does.”
“Agreed.” Tilda’s tone held determination, and Hadrian was relieved to see her focused and even energized by the investigation.
They found the sewing room easily. A young woman with pale blonde hair stood at a table cutting fabric.
Tilda approached her. “Good afternoon, are you Maud Brimley?”
The woman shook her head and pointed to a doorway with her scissors. “Maud’s in there, but she won’t like ye disturbing ’er when she’s drawing.”
“I’m afraid we must.” Tilda walked to the doorway, and Hadrian trailed her, hoping Mrs. Brimley wouldn’t be difficult.
Tilda stepped just over the threshold of a small room. A woman with a blue cap covering most of her sable hair sat at a table sketching a costume design. She did not look up. “Sarah, I’ve told you not to bother me when I’m working.”
“My name is Miss Wren,” Tilda said. “And this is my associate, Lord Ravenhurst.”
Mrs. Brimley lifted her head. She appeared to be in her forties with a jutting chin and sculpted cheekbones. Her mahogany eyes fixed on Hadrian. “My lord. What brings you down here?” Her expression was a mix of curiosity, awe, and bemusement.
Since she addressed him, Hadrian answered. “Miss Wren and I would like to ask you about the costumes you make.” He inclined his head toward her sketch. “I see you design them too.”
“Certainly. Any good costumer along the Strand does so.” She behaved as though she would be affronted if he suggested otherwise.
“Have you ever had occasion to design or create white or light-colored coveralls, perhaps made of leather?” Tilda asked.
Mrs. Brimley’s eyes narrowed slightly as she set her pencil down. “I have. Just a few weeks ago, in fact.”
Hadrian experienced a rush of excitement and knew Tilda had to feel the same.
“What about gloves with claws?” Hadrian asked. “Do you make any costumes like that, perhaps for animals?” He thought of the dragon costume Larkin had mentioned.
“Oh, yes, I’ve designed many animal costumes, and I did create a pair of gloves with claws recently too.” She stared at them, her brow creasing. “Why are you asking about these things?”
“We are conducting an investigation, and these items were used in a crime,” Tilda replied. “Who did you make these costumes for? And was there a mask, perhaps with horns that looked rather devilish?”