After a long while, Hannah became aware of the other woman’s presence.
‘What sort of house do we have?’
‘Every seat has been sold, Miss Granville.’
‘People have a great appetite for tragedy on the stage,’ mused Hannah, ‘whereas they hate it in their own lives.’
‘That’s true. But it’s the great tragic roles that allow an actress like you to soar. Audiences will remember a Belvidera or a Lady Macbeth long after they’ve forgotten a Viola or a Rosalind.’
‘Comedy is for those of lesser emotional scope.’
‘That is what Mr Dalrymple said,’ recalled the dresser.
Hannah smiled. ‘I was quoting him, actually.’
‘He was transported by your performance last night, Miss Granville.’
‘So he told me.’
‘Will Mr Dalrymple be in the audience this evening?’
‘Yes,’ said Hannah, ‘and he’ll be escorting me out of the theatre afterwards. I do so hate being besieged at the stage door.’
‘It’s the price of fame.’
It was not long before the call came for Hannah to take up her position in the wings. She could hear the excited buzz of the audience and it lifted her spirits. When the curtain rose, the commotion gradually faded away and, from the opening line, the play began to exert its grip. By the time that Belvidera swept into view, the audience was entranced. A burst of applause marked the sight of the tragic heroine but it died away as she began to speak. Hannah’s voice was clear and melodious, a musical instrument with an almost unlimited range; it was complemented by her graceful movement and command of gesture. She dominated the stage effortlessly once again.
Hannah waited until her eyes had adjusted to the glare of candlelight before she let her gaze wander over the audience. She scanned the stalls in the hope of seeing the friendly face she’d been told would be there but she was instead given a sharp jolt. Seated only a few rows away from where she stood was Paul Skillen. Beside him was the attractive woman Hannah had seen with him before. It was like a physical blow. In daring to attend the theatre with someone else, she felt that he was deliberately taunting her and she was so shaken at first that she forgot her lines and was forced to take a prompt. Recovering quickly, she lost herself in her role.
Peter and Charlotte Skillen, meanwhile, looked on in sheer wonder.
Micah Yeomans and Alfred Hale began their day by acting as bodyguards to Viscount Sidmouth as he travelled by carriage to the Home Office. Talk turned at once to the security arrangements for the forthcoming celebrations.
‘I’m glad that everything is now settled,’ said Sidmouth, ‘and that you are happy with what’s been proposed.’
‘If anything,’ opined Yeomans, ‘you will be too well-protected, my lord.’
‘That pleases me and it will please my wife even more.’
‘Nobody will be allowed to spoil what should be a memorable occasion.’
‘On the principle that a second opinion is always valuable,’ said Sidmouth, ‘I asked one of my undersecretaries to look at our preparations. He, in turn, discussed them with one of my senior clerks. Both were duly impressed.’
‘So were we, my lord,’ said Hale.
‘There is, however, one threat on the horizon.’
‘Our patrols are still searching for the fugitives.’
‘We hope to have them in custody before long,’ said Yeomans. ‘You have no need to fear them, my lord. They threatened to kill you if their demands are not met, yet the joint committee will probably not have reached its verdict by the time we celebrate our victory at Waterloo.’
‘It may have done so,’ warned Sidmouth. ‘Evidence has been taken from all quarters. A swift conclusion may be reached and reported in the newspapers. And something else might incite them to violence.’
‘What’s that, my lord?’
‘The whole nation will be celebrating our victory over the French, obliterating the fact that we actually lost our war against America or, at least, that’s how it appeared after our disastrous defeat at the Battle of New Orleans. That fact will not be ignored by these patriotic sailors. I do hope the Skillen brothers catch them in time.’
‘We are more likely to do that,’ said Yeomans, staunchly.
When they reached the Home Office, the two Runners walked him to the front door and waited until he was safely inside. They then went off on their usual rounds. It was mid-morning before Yeomans and Hale stopped off at The Peacock to rest their legs and have a refreshing tankard of ale. Someone was waiting for them.
‘What are you doing here?’ demanded Yeomans.