Darling Beast (Maiden Lane #7)(21)

He’d commandeered one of the rooms behind the gallery, where once the musicians, dancers, and pantomime players had prepared for their performances. Here he’d propped a big, oiled tarp over one corner to keep out the rain and wind, and brought in a straw mattress and two chairs. Spartan accommodations, certainly, but there were no fleas or bedbugs, which made this heaven compared to Bedlam.

Apollo took back his notebook and scrawled: They live in the theater. She’s an actress—Robin Goodfellow. Harte has given her his permission to stay here for the nonce.

“You know Robin Goodfellow?” For a second Artemis’s ducal dignity fled her and she looked as awed as a small lass given a halfpenny sweet.

Apollo decided he needed to find out more about Miss Stump’s acting career. He nodded warily.

Artemis had already recovered her aplomb. “As I remember, Robin Goodfellow is quite young—not more than thirty years, certainly.”

He shrugged carelessly, but alas, his sister had known him for a very, very long time.

Artemis leaned forward, her interest definitely engaged. “She must be witty, too, to play all those lovely breeches roles—”

Breeches roles? Those tended to be risqué. Apollo frowned, but his sister was nattering on.

“I saw her in something last spring, here at Harte’s Folly with Cousin Penelope. What was it?” She knit her brow, thinking, then shook her head. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. Have you talked to her?”

Apollo glanced pointedly at his notebook.

“You know what I mean.”

He skirted the truth: My circumstances don’t lend themselves to polite social calls.

Artemis’s mouth crimped. “Don’t be silly. You can’t continue to hide forever—”

He widened his eyes incredulously at her.

“Well, you can’t,” she insisted. “You must find a way to live your life, Apollo. If that means leaving London, leaving England, then so be it. This”—she gestured to the tarp and chairs and straw mattress—“this isn’t living. Not truly.”

He grabbed the notebook and scribbled furiously. What would you have me do? I need the money I invested in the garden.

“Borrow from Wakefield.”

He scoffed, turning his head aside. The last thing he wanted was to be in debt to his brother-in-law.

Artemis raised her voice stubbornly. “He’ll gladly lend you the money you need. Leave. Travel to the continent or the Colonies. The King’s men won’t pursue you so far, not if you take another name.”

He looked back at her and wrote angrily, You would have me abandon the name I have?

“If needs be, yes.” She was so brave, his sister, so determined. “I hadn’t wanted to mention this before, but I think I might’ve been followed.”

He looked at her in alarm. Followed here today?

“No.” She shook her head. “But on other days I’ve come to visit you. Once or twice I thought a man was following me.” She grimaced. “Never the same man, mind, so it may be I’ve entirely made the thing up.”

He frowned at her.

“Don’t give me that look,” she said. “I wasn’t sure—I’m still not sure—but don’t you see? If I was followed, if someone were to discover your hiding place… Apollo, you simply can’t stay here. You must leave the garden. Leave England. For your own safety.”

He blinked and stared down at his notebook, the paper smudged from his hand. He wrote carefully, I cannot. I didn’t do it, Artemis.

“I know,” she whispered. “I know. But you don’t have any way of proving it, do you?”

He was silent—which was answer enough, he supposed.

She placed a hand on his arm. “This stubborn refusal to leave England will be the death of you or worse.” She leaned forward. “Please. You’re kind and smart and… and wonderful. You didn’t deserve Bedlam and you don’t deserve this awful half life. Please don’t let—”

He turned his shoulder to her, but that had never stopped his sister when she was on a tear.

“Apollo. Please don’t let obsession or… or revenge consume you. A name is important, I know, but it’s not nearly as important as you. Don’t let me lose my brother.”

At that he did look up to see—oh, God, no—that her eyes were glittering. That he simply could not stand. He reached out and took her hand in his, the feel of it familiar and calming.

She inhaled. “Just promise me you’ll not give up on life.”

He pressed his lips together, but nodded firmly.

She smiled tremulously. “Besides, perhaps with this Robin Goodfellow about you’ll find something else to find interest in. She’s quite pretty, isn’t she?”

Pretty wasn’t the right word. Gamine, sly, seductive… his brain stuttered on the last and for a moment he thought he’d give himself away. How fortuitous that he’d been practicing a dumb face. Apollo used it now on his sister, who retaliated by laughing and flinging an apple at him.

He caught it deftly and wrote, How is His Grace the Ass?

She frowned over the notebook as he’d known she would. “You really must stop calling him that. He did, after all, save you from Bedlam.”

He snorted and wrote, And then chained me in his sinister cellar. I’d be there still if you hadn’t released me.