Chapter 20 #2
“Yes, there was a mask as well, but I don’t remember who it was for, if I even knew.”
Tilda’s brows drew together. “You wouldn’t have met this person? How would you fit them for the costume?”
“Occasionally I don’t, but it’s rare. I receive written orders for a costume, even if I’ve already discussed it with the manager.
The treasurer insists on this process so that everything is accounted for.
If I don’t receive a written order, I’m not to make it.
” She twisted her lips into a brief frown. “It’s a bit annoying sometimes.”
“I don’t understand why you wouldn’t fit someone in person,” Tilda said. “On what occasions did that happen and why?”
Mrs. Brimley shrugged. “Sometimes the actor has a wife or sister who makes adjustments. And sometimes, I make a costume for another theatre, and they have a seamstress who finishes it.”
Hadrian could see Tilda’s frustration that Mrs. Brimley hadn’t met the person who’d ordered these items. But perhaps they could discover their name another way. “Did you receive a written order for these items?”
“I recall they were two separate orders—the leather suit was one, and the mask and gloves were another—but I don’t know where they came from. I don’t keep the orders.” Mrs. Brimley waved her hand. “The treasurer files them somewhere because I refuse to clutter my workshop with such nonsense.”
“Do any of the theatre’s current or upcoming plays require those costume pieces?” Tilda asked.
The furrows in Mrs. Brimley’s brow deepened suddenly, and her gaze darkened. “No, and now that I think of those pieces together, it sounds like Spring-heeled Jack.” She put her hand to her mouth. “What have I done?”
“You are not to blame for anything Spring-heeled Jack has done,” Hadrian assured her.
Mrs. Brimley stood abruptly and went into the main sewing room where the other woman—Sarah, presumably—was still cutting fabric.
Stalking to the corner, Mrs. Brimley opened a cabinet and withdrew a folded piece of a very light yellow, bordering on ivory, leather.
She held it out. “This is what’s left of what I used. Does that help you?”
“It could, yes.” Tilda smiled at the woman as she took the leather. “Do you mind if I keep this?” It could be useful evidence to Teague. Mrs. Brimley nodded, and Tilda thanked her. “Can you think of anything else about these orders, such as exactly when you received them?”
Wiping her hand across her brow, Mrs. Brimley’s face creased with anguish. “I’m not certain, but more than a fortnight ago.” She turned to the other woman. “Sarah, when did we get the orders for the leather coveralls and the mask and the gloves with the claws?”
Sarah cocked her head. “Three weeks ago. Thereabouts. The order for the coveralls was first, then the gloves came a few days after we finished that.”
“Do you remember who they were for?” Mrs. Brimley asked, cringing.
“I don’t recall, but it was an actor, I think.
” Sarah shrugged. “Not sure what it was for. I remember the orders had the same handwriting. I read ’em all what come in, and these weren’t written by the manager or the stage manager.
Sometimes we get orders from actors or other people or even other theatres, though those are usually marked somehow so the treasurer knows how to do the accounting. ”
“Were these marked in any specific way?” Tilda asked hopefully.
“I don’t think so?” Sarah replied.
“You could ask the treasurer,” Mrs. Brimley said. “Though, he’s not usually here until later.”
“We’ll do that, thank you.” Tilda smiled in gratitude. She withdrew two of her business cards from her reticule and handed one to each woman. “I’d be interested in hearing if you recall anything further—anything at all, no matter how small or seemingly unimportant.”
Mrs. Brimley clutched the card as she looked to Tilda, then Hadrian. “I hate to think we made something that has been used for such evil.”
“Evil?” Sarah gasped. “What evil?”
“Spring-heeled Jack.” Mrs. Brimley launched into an explanation of the inquiries they’d made, and Hadrian inclined his head toward the door as he met Tilda’s gaze.
Tilda nodded almost imperceptibly, then quickly preceded him back to the staircase. When they reached the top, she turned to wait for him to join her. Holding up the leather Mrs. Brimley had given her, Tilda arched her brows at him. “Do you want to do your thing here or in the coach?”
“The coach, I think.”
Tilda led him back to the stage door, and they quickly returned to his coach. “We’re going to remain here for a few minutes, Leach,” Tilda said. “We may go back into the theatre.”
Leach nodded. “Very good.”
When they were in the coach, Hadrian removed his gloves. Tilda placed the leather in his palm, and Hadrian thought of the person who’d ordered the coveralls to be made. Who were they?
The coach vanished, and Hadrian was once again in Maud Brimley’s small design room. The memory he saw was of a person sitting at her table—he recognized it because of a pair of drawings. But they’d been set aside, and the person was focused on a piece of paper.
Leather coveralls made of the lightest leather possible
To fit a man of five feet, eleven inches with a waist of thirty-two inches
There were more measurements but no name. At the bottom, it read:
Complete by 1 June and leave at stage right.
But none of that was as astonishing as what Hadrian noticed. The handwriting matched that of Spring-heeled Jack’s ransom notes. Hadrian’s hand shook briefly, and he blinked. The memory faded.
He turned his head to Tilda who regarded him expectantly. He couldn’t help smiling. “We have him.”
Tilda held her breath. The excitement in Hadrian’s expression drove her heart to pound madly. “What did you see?”
“The order for the coveralls. It was written by the same hand as the ransom notes.”
“The kidnapper ordered them!” They indeed had him. “What’s his name?”
“Er, the order didn’t say.” Hadrian grimaced.
Disappointment rushed through Tilda, and she frowned. “Then how could you say we have him?”
“I spoke too soon,” Hadrian said apologetically. “We don’t have his identity. But we do know he obtained costuming and likely his fire-making device from the Albion Theatre.”
At least they’d discovered that much. “That’s great, actually.” It just wasn’t what she’d expected based on Hadrian’s exclamation. She took the leather from him and set it on her lap with her reticule.
“The order asked for the coveralls to be ready by the first of June and to leave it at stage right,” Hadrian continued.
“We must go back inside and investigate that,” Tilda said. “Perhaps we can find the manager if he’s in. He may know who ordered them.”
Hadrian opened the door and helped her from the coach. “We won’t be long,” he said to Leach before escorting Tilda back toward the stage door.
They managed to find the right side of the stage. A couple of dozen or so pegs dotted the wall and held a variety of costumes. “I see why the costume was left here.”
Hadrian stepped toward the pegs. “The wall is blue.” His voice sounded as though he’d found a treasure.
Then Tilda recalled that he’d seen a blue wall in his memory from the cloak at Scotland Yard. “Is this the same place you saw in your memory?”
“Yes.” He removed his glove, but Tilda grabbed his hand.
“I don’t think that’s wise. There are too many pegs here, and it’s entirely possible, if not likely, that one can remove a costume without touching the peg.” She looked at him intently. “The risk of not learning something useful is too great compared with the certainty of pain—or worse.”
He scowled faintly then rubbed his temple. “You’re right.”
“And you’re already in at least a bit of pain after the leather,” Tilda noted.
“You know me so well.” He cracked a faint smile.
Tilda released his hand. “Your ability has already helped us—now we know the cloak came from this theatre. That’s a third connection. Let’s find the manager.”
Mr. Fenton was in his office. He was clearly irritated by their interruption until Hadrian introduced himself.
Brightening, the manager stood, his dark brown mustache twitching as he smiled almost obsequiously. “Good afternoon, my lord. How can I be of service?”
“We are investigating some costuming items that were crafted here—coveralls made of a pale brown or yellow-ivory leather, a horned mask, and gloves with claws. We spoke with Mrs. Brimley and Sarah downstairs. Neither recalls who ordered them.” Hadrian gave him his most arrogant stare. “It’s imperative we find this person.”
Tilda quashed a smile. Sometimes it was incredibly useful for him to bring the full weight of his earldom.
The manager blanched. “Er, I don’t know who that was. Those items are not currently in use here. That information would be on the order form, which you’d need to speak with the treasurer about. I’m terribly sorry, but he’s not here just now.”
“I’m sure you could allow us into his office,” Hadrian said, his gaze cool and expectant.
Now color rushed up Mr. Fenton’s neck and flushed his cheeks. “I don’t have the key, I’m afraid. But if you come back this evening, either before or after the performance, you will surely catch him. Or the proprietor will be here, and he has a key.”
“What about a list of employees?” Tilda asked.
The kidnapper had used Larkin and Brimley to outfit himself, and he’d taken the cloak from here.
It made sense that he may indeed work at the Albion Theatre.
He at least had some connection. She thought of what Larkin had said about Jack—a stage performance moved to the streets.
Perhaps Jack was an actor. Sarah had indicated that actors submitted costuming requests.
Now, Mr. Fenton looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I don’t have that list either. You’d need to obtain that from the proprietor or the treasurer also.”
Hadrian’s brows snapped together, and his mouth hardened. “Don’t you have a list of who’s working on your current plays?”
“The playbill is posted outside the theatre,” Mr. Fenton said.
“But that won’t include all the employees.
For instance, we don’t list people who work temporarily to build scenery or sew costumes, and we don’t include temporary actors who may be called upon if we need a new understudy.
We’ve a few of those right now—there’s the fellow who teaches dancing and another who gives elocution lessons. ”
Tilda froze. “Did you say elocution?” Mr. Fenton nodded. “And he’s an actor?”
“Yes, but if you ask me his name, I’m afraid I don’t remember.
” He glanced at Hadrian. “I’m very sorry, my lord.
I do hope you’ll return this evening. Here, let me provide you with one of our boxes.
We’ve just one left available for tonight, but it has an excellent perspective.
” Mr. Fenton went to his desk and pulled a ticket from the top drawer which he handed to Hadrian.
“Thank you.” Hadrian tucked the ticket into his coat and turned from the manager, escorting Tilda back outside. “Should we go to the proprietor’s house or the treasurer’s?”
“That may not be necessary.” Tilda walked very quickly toward the coach—much faster than her usual pace.
“We must return to Ravenhurst House to speak with Bannet.” They reached the coach, and she looked up at Hadrian with unchecked anticipation.
“She and this elocution tutor who is also an actor may be the keys to the entire case.”