Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
Once Arabella had been safely sent off to her sister Mary, Catherine still had a great many tasks before her. One particular thing had been nagging at her mind for months; she felt compelled to find the young woman of French extraction who had been so kind to her last autumn.
She had previously asked acquaintances if they knew a French woman of good breeding named Mademoiselle Isabella DuMornay. All the women had looked at her blankly. Some of the men had showed recognition in their eyes, and a few had even smirked, but all said they did not know her.
Finally, she took her carriage to the alley behind the Theatre-Royal, Drury Lane and knocked on the stage door. Joseph, the very same guardian of that door from seventeen years ago, opened it. He was a huge brute of a man, sporting two cauliflower ears and missing an eye.
“Joseph!” she cried and threw her arms around his thick middle.
“Who is that?” he said, looking down at her. She stepped back.
“It’s Cath, Joseph.”
Suddenly, she was buried in his arms. “Oh, my goodness, little Cath come back finally to see her Joe.” He held her out and surveyed her with his one eye. “Just as tiny and pretty as ever. Wait, it’s Mrs. Lovely now, isn’t it?”
“Lovelock. But my husband died.”
“And will you be coming back to the stage, then?”
“No, no, I won’t. I’m here for another reason. To see if anyone knows a young lady I met recently.”
“Well, the theater’s just gone dark this week, Mrs. Lovely. No one’s here besides me and the rats. Who would this young lady be?”
“She is French, and I think from a good family. Her name is Isabella DuMornay. She’s about six inches taller than I am, generously proportioned, dark hair, dark eyes. She would make a lovely Helen in Marlowe’s Dr. Faustus.”
Joseph scratched his chin for a bit.
“I wonder if that might be Izzy. Her name is Dewmorning, same as your lady. But she’s not French, although she talks queer, and, well, Cath, she is not what you would call a lady.”
“What would you call her?”
Joseph blushed. “She’s one of Madame Flora’s Cyprians.”
Catherine knew of Madame Flora, of course. Her brothel was not two hundred yards from the theater. In fact, it was quite near where she had first kissed James in an alley much like this one. No wonder the passersby had assumed she was a whore.
“I see. Thank you, Joseph.”
“She’s not in trouble, is she? Izzy is a good girl, she is.”
“No, she’s not in trouble. And I agree, Joseph. She’s a very good girl.”
Catherine went home and arranged for her coachman to take a message to Madame Flora’s for her. The coachman was astonished and protested. But Catherine insisted. She paid his wages, and she wanted the message delivered.
Two days later, Catherine’s carriage waited in front of Madame Flora’s. At the appointed hour of two, Isabella DuMornay came out and was helped into the carriage by a dumbstruck footman, whose eyes bulged and mouth hung open. The coachman snapped the reins, and the carriage rolled away.
“You are very good to see me, Mademoiselle DuMornay,” Catherine said as the carriage rattled over the cobblestones.
“But, of course. I think I was quite surprised to receive your letter. You uncovered me.”
“Yes.”
They both were silent for a moment before speaking at the same time.
“I wanted to thank—”
“You mustn’t think—”
They both stopped and smiled.
“S’il vous pla?t, Madame Lovelock.” Isabella gestured for Catherine to speak.
“You were very kind to me at a time when I was in a great deal of distress, and I hoped we might meet again so I could express my gratitude. But I could find you nowhere, and I did not like to ask anyone from that house party.”
“No. I understand.”
“Now I have found you, I would like to help you, if I can.”
Isabella laughed a low, throaty laugh Catherine was sure men found enthralling. “Oh, Madame, you are too good. But I need no help. I am happy. And, in truth, I am already leaving my profession because I will marry soon.”
Catherine leaned forward. A jealous tug at her heart. “Oh, how wonderful. I congratulate you.”
Isabella shrugged and pouted. “I want just to run away together, but the man will not have it. He insists on the marriage.”
Catherine smiled. “Not the usual reluctant groom, then.”
“I wonder that so many women want marriage. It is all to benefit the man and not the woman. We live in a world run by men. And we live in a world that demands marriage. This is not—how do you say?—a coincidence.”
“There are some advantages to the woman, Mamselle.”
Isabella scoffed. “Only if there are children, to make them safe. Otherwise, the woman should stay free.”
Catherine bit her lip. “Yes. But there are some women who want marriage.”
“Of course, but I am not one of them. But I am crazed for this man, and if he says he will not have me without the wedding, then the wedding I shall have. I throw all my rules away for him.”
“I’m sure you will be very happy.”
“It is good, I think, to find someone who makes you willing to throw away your rules.”
The carriage lurched.
“What were you going to say to me, Mademoiselle DuMornay? Before?”
“Oh, Madame Lovelock, I was going to tell you not to think there is anything between Lord Daventry and me. But now you have heard I am to be married, of course, you would not think that.”
Catherine sat back. She had no inkling of anything between James and Isabella.
“I know there was always talk because James would come to me so often in the brothel,” Isabella said.
Catherine felt her spine go rigid. “I heard . . . no talk.”
Isabella clapped her hand over her mouth. “I had thought, that is, I thought that is why you had asked to see me.”
“No, I had heard nothing. And even if I had, Lord Daventry’s behavior could have nothing to do with me.”
Isabella’s eyes became very large. “Oh, no, Madame, you will break his heart.”
“Nonsense.”
Isabella frowned. “I cannot say what I wish to say. But, begging your pardon, you are a fool.”
Catherine smiled weakly. “On that, we can agree.” She knocked on the ceiling of the carriage and told the coachman to take them back to Madame Flora’s.
Just before the carriage came to a halt, Isabella patted Catherine’s knee. “At the very least, you must tell him.”
Catherine began to ask what she meant but thought better of it. She compressed her lips into a thin line and shook her head.
Isabella got out of the carriage without waiting for the footman’s assistance, but she popped her head back in through the door.
“His father has died, in case you had not heard the news. Jacques is the duke now.”