Treacherous Temptations(41)

“It is both,” Hadley answered. “I had thought to settle here for a time, but it seems now that I may be obligated to depart soon for Paris.”

“For Paris, you say?” The ambassador’s tone remained cordial, but his gaze was sharp, a lifetime of diplomatic service having taught him to read between every line. “Then you must visit some particular friends of mine.”

“That is precisely what I had hoped to do, but alas, I am in need of letters of introduction.”

The ambassador smiled. “But of course, mon ami. You know that I would be delighted to provide all that you require. As to the Beggar’s Opera, I regret that I have some prior obligation, for Monsieur Handel opens his tribute to his Germanic Majesty this same evening. I fear it could be sadly misconstrued as a lack of deference should I not pay my proper respects.”

“Then perhaps we might kill two birds with one stone?” Hadley suggested. “As an Italian national, you understand that I only wish to comprehend the public’s absurd fascination with this unusual English production. Perhaps just the first act and then we shall proceed to a proper Italian Opera.”

Several hours later, after having wined and dined with his extravagant host, Hadley and Chavigny arrived at the standing-room-only theatre at Lincoln’s Inn Fields, where they had to elbow through the mob to watch the first act of the Beggar’s Opera. The house was packed with Londoner’s of all rank and station who applauded with great enthusiasm the bawdy comic parody that dared place the spotlight on the overt government corruption. Hadley was surprised to remark a number of men he would have expected to be waiting attendance on the king. Of particular note, sitting in a private box on the stage itself, was the Duke of Bolton.

“It is not his politics, but his prick that places him here this night,” the Frenchman winked.

“What do you mean?” Hadley asked.

“The lovely Lavinia Fenton has caught his eye.”

“The actress who plays Polly Peachum?”

“Oui, the same,” The ambassador sniffed. “The talk everywhere is that the noble duke is smitten and desires to take that common stage strumpet as his mistress. In France, one at least strives to keep the noble prick in the noble chatte.” He smirked with a one-shouldered shrug. “Chacun à son go?t n gout. I fear I shall never comprehend the ways of the English.”

…

Arriving at the King’s Theatre between the second and third acts, Hadley was struck not only by the staid aristocratic audience and the sober tone but by the many vacant seats for this operatic tribute to the new king, compared to Lincoln’s Inn with its bawdy and raucous songs that packed the house. The two contrasting scenes confirmed the class disparity and growing popular discontent that Cornbury had described.

Hadley parted from his companion shortly after entering the theater. Although he would have liked the opportunity for a Royal audience, presenting himself as Di Caserta in company with the French ambassador would not serve his interests. Thus, while Chavigny paid his respects to the King and Queen, Hadley sought out Mary and Lady Blanchard.

Descending into the pit where he had an unobstructed view of all the boxes, he scanned the occupants of each three times, yet failed to locate them. Strange that. It was uncharacteristic for Sir Richard to forego any opportunity to toady to those in power. For the sake of appearances, Hadley stayed for one act, after which he made his excuses to Chavigny and departed for Blanchard House. It was well past midnight when Hadley arrived to a house still ablaze with light. Finding Sir Richard in a state near apoplexy only added to his immediate sentiment of unease.

“But what more can you expect me to do?” he heard Barbara say to his nemesis. “I’ve already sent out every footman in my employ! It’s not my fault they returned empty handed.”

“Send them again. Damn it!” Sir Richard shouted, shaking as if in the midst of a convulsive seizure. “And call for the watch! Leave no stone unturned!”

“The watch?” Hadley’s brows shot up. “Have you been set upon by thieves?”

Barbara replied, “No, Hadley, it’s—

“—none of his concern,” Sir Richard silenced her with a dark look and then turned his wrath on Hadley. “You’ve no business here!” The baronet snatched up his hat and walking stick. “I go now to report this unhappy incident to the authorities. I expect you to notify me the very moment you have any word.”

“What the devil has happened?” Hadley asked the moment Sir Richard departed. “Where is Mary?”

Barbara threw her hands up in the air. “She’s run off! Our plump little pigeon’s flown her coop!”

“How?” he demanded. “Why? What has transpired to make her do such an insane thing?”

“The foolish chit overheard Sir Richard and I discussing her marriage and bolted out the door!”

“And you both just stood there and watched?”

“Of course not! I ordered the footmen after her straight away.”

“When did this happen?”

“About four hours ago.”

“Four hours! The devil you say! The girl could be floating in the bloody Thames by now!” He spun toward the door with a growl.

“Where are you going?” Barbara demanded.

“To find her, of course!”