Phoebe sprang to her feet and looked around for Max. He was nowhere to be seen and… and… she did not have time to look for him. She had discovered Lady Kline and she would solve this mystery by herself, at least. She would not be made to sit in a corner like a good little girl while Max did everything for her. Phoebe grabbed hold of one of the grooms, who was walking a tired, sweaty horse back to the stables.
“Monsieur, please find my husband, Monseigneur Ellisborough, and tell him I have found Lady Kline and that I will meet him back at the hotel later.”
She pressed a coin into the fellow’s hand and he tipped his hat in acknowledgement. Picking her skirts up out of the dirt, Phoebe hurried out of the courtyard and after Lady Kline.
Chapter 14
Eliza,
If a knight was on a quest, he would not be so bottle-headed as to get distracted by a stupid girl. The story was going along at a cracking pace until she turned up. Can’t you kill her off? And I can well believe that you would be mad enough to go hunting a dragon by yourself, but any sensible girl would know she’d be burnt to a crisp if she did something so idiotic. At the very least she ought to have gone with the Knight, not run away from him to do it all by herself. She’s a silly widgeon, if you ask me.
I enclose a drawing of the dragon as requested.
―Excerpt of a letter from The Right Hon’ble Cassius Cadogan, Viscount Oakley (Aged 11) to The Lady Elizabeth Adolphus (Aged 11).
10th April 1827. Abbeville, Sommes, France
Though it could only have taken a matter of minutes to have given her message to the groom, by the time Phoebe left the courtyard, Lady Kline—for Phoebe had no other name to call her at the moment—was at the far end of the street and turned a corner, out of sight.
“Oh, drat it.”
With one hand keeping her skirts from the mud and the other holding on to her monstrous hat, Phoebe ran. She finally turned the corner where Lady Kline had disappeared and saw… no one. Gasping—for running in heeled shoes and a tightly laced corset were not to be recommended—she paused to catch her breath. Furious with herself for having lost her quarry, Phoebe hurried down the road, keeping a sharp look out. Ah ha! Ahead, she glimpsed one of the poor devils carrying the lady’s luggage, and set off again. Further and further into the ancient, winding streets of Abbeville she followed the procession of luggage, slipping on the shiny cobbles in places and hurrying in and out of people going about their business, following the vibrant pink gown as it marched through the ancient streets of the town. Sometimes she got close enough to call after the fellows with the luggage, but they did not turn, too concerned with following their lady and keeping her luggage intact and away from thieves. Finally, after Phoebe had cursed the lady with every wicked word she knew, and begun to believe she meant to lead her all the way to Paris, they turned into a wide street and the men stopped.
At last, Phoebe could catch up with them. She did, just in time to see the lady had entered a theatre.
Phoebe crossed the street, dodging carriages, and hurried towards the building. She blinked a little against the gloom of the interior after the brightness of the day outside as she stepped through the door and heard rather than saw that Lady Kline had headed through a side door. It was marked ‘Private’ and Phoebe followed, suspecting it led to the dressing rooms. She moved quietly, keeping her distance as she travelled along the narrow corridor, watching as the woman ahead of her turned into a room with a star on the door.
Phoebe moved closer, noting the door was ajar. She held her breath, listening.
“Well, you’re here. I admit I did not count on it,” she heard the lady say. “So, you had best have the money you owe me after forcing me to leave London when I was doing so splendidly well, and for this… shabby hole in the ground. You cannot possibly expect me to perform in such a place?”
“Splendidly well, darling? I think you exaggerate just a tad, but no, dear Nina, I do not expect you to lift a finger, nor to perform.