to make sure Katy was not pointed at, whispered at, as she and her sister used to be as children.
Taking off her cloak at last, she smoothed down her filmy muslin gown and stared into the darkness beyond the candlelight as another memory wrenched her: of her mother dressing both her children carefully for the Christmas service at the nearby church. It had been their second winter in England and snow lay thickly. ‘Mama,’ Rosalie had said, ‘do we have to go? I don’t think they like us there …’
‘Christmas is different, ma chère,’ had said her mother, wrapping Rosalie’s scarf tightly against the winter chill. ‘It is the season of goodwill to all.’
But not to the Frenchwoman and her family. The vicar had turned them away. And her mother’s stricken face, as they trudged home through the snow, would stay with Rosalie for ever.
That same night Rosalie had written a story for Linette, about a party at a magical castle. Linette’s face had lit up as she read it. ‘Will I ever go inside a real castle?’
‘Some day, why not? There’ll be food, and dancing, and—oh, we shall wear such pretty dresses, Linette!’
‘There might be a prince!’ Linette’s eyes shone. ‘And he will dance with me, and I will be a princess … Won’t I, Rosalie? Won’t I?’
Now Linette was dead, along with all her dreams. As Helen bustled around downstairs putting out the lamps, and Katy slept, Rosalie vowed anew that she would never rest, until she’d found the man who’d destroyed her sister’s life.
Lord Stephen Maybury was sitting alone in the candlelit library of his fine house in Brook Street. And the more he pondered on the events of the evening, the darker grew his thoughts. The girl. The girl with impossibly fair hair and turquoise eyes, at the Temple of Beauty tonight … Who in hell was she?
When Markin, his serving man, had informed him earlier about the new one who’d joined Dr Barnard’s troupe of so-called actresses, and how she resembled the other, Stephen had put it down to Markin’s imagination.
But Markin, whose visage was made sinister by a pale scar, had been, in his way, adamant. Markin had spies everywhere; that was what Stephen paid him for. Markin had seen her himself, he’d told his master, entering the building early this evening to get ready for her first night on stage with the other women. Looking nervous.
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