A Wicked Conceit (Lady Darby Mysteries #9) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,18

I expected, even before the play began. And I overheard several women talkin’ aboot how no new people had fallen ill in their tenement in o’er a fortnight. Ye could sense their relief.”

A relief I imagined we all shared. But Edinburgh had been one of the first places that cholera morbus had appeared in Scotland before spreading on to the north and the west. The disease was now rampaging through parts of Glasgow, and the numbers of sick were already far greater there.

In any case, no place seemed to be completely safe. Not even small villages, which had reported their fair share of disease. Cholera had reached the east end of London in late January, and the newspapers had reported Paris’s first flux of cases only a few short days ago.

“That sounds optimistic, but regardless, we’ll continue to remain vigilant,” Gage declared. An assertion none of us were going to argue with.

Anderley nodded, then inhaled a deep breath as his eyes locked with Bree’s in what I could only term a speaking look. “Then, I’m sorry to say the play was a rousing success.”

Bree’s shoulders hunched as if trying to retreat from the truth. “Aye. I’m no’ sure I’ve ever seen the like. At least half the crowd had already been to see it before. Some o’ ’em even started singin’ along wi’ the actors.”

“I heard one chap tell his friends he’d seen it half a dozen times, and he’d caught a handful of the plays and gaffs at other venues.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” I admitted, meeting Gage’s eyes. “The play at the Theatre Royal was also a remarkable success. You should have seen the mother’s death scene. There practically wasn’t a dry eye in the house. And the staging of the jailbreak scene was nothing short of revolutionary.”

“Not to mention the swordfight with Maggie Kincaid’s kidnappers,” Gage supplied.

“The Grand’s version had its fair share of fisticuffs and violence, as well. Along with a storm created by special effects, a ghost scene . . .” The corner of Anderley’s lips quirked. “And not one but two defiant speeches decrying the aristocracy’s suppression of the poor.”

Given the fact that the Grand’s audience was composed of people from the lower and merchant classes, this wasn’t entirely unexpected. Nor was the fact that such a thing was left out of the Theatre Royal’s script.

“Aye, but I think the main draw is the banter and the music. Over and over, in the streets, I heard people repeatin’ some o’ the choicest phrases and singin’ the more memorable tunes. The drinkin’ song from the second act seems to be the favorite.” She began to hum a few bars.

“Good heavens,” I gasped. “I heard a lad singing that inside the Lejeunes’ patisserie just the other day. Something about . . . nix my dolly?”

“Aye, that’s the one. ’Tis a catchy tune. Probably more so because it’s in thieves’ cant.”

Anderley’s fingers drummed against the arms of his chair, revealing more of his restlessness and agitation than perhaps he realized. “All the theaters and gaffs recognize what a windfall Bonnie Brock’s story is, and they’re going to keep competing with one another for their share of the audience and profits as long as the interest lasts.”

“Which could be a very long time,” I murmured in resignation.

“What of the story?” Gage interjected. “Did it adhere closely to what’s in the book?”

Once again, Bree and Anderley exchanged a look.

“Yes and no,” Anderley replied somewhat hesitantly. “I suppose it followed the general narrative of the book, but there were also parts that were heavily . . . embellished.”

I wasn’t certain I liked that word. Embellished. It gave me a sinking feeling. I could tell from the tone of Gage’s voice that he didn’t like it either.

“Embellished how? Did they mention the corruption?”

“No. No, they didn’t touch on that.”

“What about the body snatching?”

“They mainly skirted that issue, as well.”

Much like the Theatre Royal, they understood what played well with their audience and what did not.

Gage arched his eyebrows. “Then . . . ?”

Anderley cleared his throat, seeming to look to Bree for help, but she merely scowled at him. “Well, the venue being what it is, and the audience being less inhibited . . . I suppose you could say the dialogue was a bit . . . bawdier.”

My gaze flicked to Bree’s furrowed brow and back. “Just the dialogue?”

“Er, well . . .” He cleared his throat again. “Mainly.”

What exactly this meant was unclear, but given Anderley’s discomfort and Bree’s