Earl's Well That Ends Well (The Way to a Lord's Heart #5) - Jane Ashford Page 0,40

out again. The two seemed equally strong, and each was quite disdainful of the other’s point of view.

Seven

Two days later the theater workshop was enlivened by a sudden influx of fashionable ladies. A ripple of greetings and buzz of reaction made Teresa turn from her painting to see the four young “investigators” come in. This bevy of well-dressed females flowed in among the craftsmen, their dresses and bonnets and wraps a swirl of moving color in the middle of the space.

Tom went over to welcome them and offer introductions, which they happily accepted, and he took them around to explain the various tasks that were being performed. The ladies asked questions and complimented the artisans, seeming fascinated by this peek behind the scenes of theater production.

When they reached Teresa, she wondered if they would think less of her because she worked here. She was also conscious that her old muslin gown, quite suitable for painting, was shabby compared with what they’d seen her wear before. Not to mention the streaks of midnight blue and crimson down her long apron.

“How lovely,” said sandy-haired Miss Moran when the newcomers clustered around the flat that Teresa had been painting. “I feel as if I could walk right into the scene and climb up the hill to that castle.”

“Your use of perspective is excellent,” said Miss Deeping.

“How did you capture the feeling of moonlight?” asked Miss Finch. “I have tried to paint that and made a muddle of it.”

Teresa could see no sign of mockery in their faces. She relaxed a bit and explained some of her techniques. Miss Finch in particular seemed interested.

“My goodness, can you paint from the top of a ladder?” asked Miss Moran. She was gazing at the upper part of the landscape. “That must be fifteen feet high.”

“The carpenters set up a platform for me when I am putting in the sky.”

“Ah, that’s good.”

“I like this place,” declared the red-haired heiress. “One can see that everyone enjoys what they’re doing and is good at it.” She nodded to Teresa. “I can see why you bring your talents here.”

Teresa thought of mentioning that this was not some careless pastime. They were all paid, and the wages were vital to the craftsmen. But she decided not to. Miss Finch hadn’t meant to be patronizing.

Miss Grandison edged closer to her. “We came to consult with you and Tom,” she confided in a low voice. “Though of course it is lovely to see your painting as well. But we wanted to speak to you, and we cannot visit the theater again because my aunt has made difficulties.”

“I see.”

“Tom told us that you stop for a sort of luncheon,” the girl continued. She held up a small box tied with string, and Teresa saw that they all carried similar offerings. “Is this the right time?”

“Near enough.” Teresa untied her apron and laid it aside.

In the courtyard, the ladies brought out a positive banquet of cakes and tarts and small sandwiches, setting them out to be shared by all. Then they established themselves in one corner of the space where they could talk with some privacy.

“We are not making a great deal of progress on the opera-dancer problem,” began Miss Deeping with a severity that appeared to include herself.

“We have asked everyone we meet about Richmond Park,” said Miss Moran. “But quite a large number of people have visited there recently, with the spring flowers coming on.”

“And none of them seemed particularly…sinister,” said Miss Grandison.

“They don’t,” said Miss Finch. “That is how they operate. They seem just like anyone else, until the moment they turn cruel. When it is too late.”

The look in her eyes and harsh tone told Teresa that she had endured some hardship. She felt an impulse of kinship.

The others waited a respectful moment. Perhaps they knew what had befallen her, or perhaps they only heard the pain in her voice.

“So we need to decide what to do next,” said Miss Deeping then. “What do you think?” She looked from Tom to Teresa.

“I’ve asked at houses all ’round their lodgings,” replied Tom. “Up and down the streets. Nothing new there.”

“It’s too bad one of us can’t join the opera dancers,” said Miss Moran. “We’d be on hand to see who approaches them and judge their intentions.”

Teresa waited for exclamations of horror at this outlandish suggestion. She also concluded that Miss Moran didn’t really know what the approaches entailed.

“Imagine me in a ballet,” said Miss Deeping. “I’d look like a poorly trained elephant