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“Eloping?” Clem was startled. Surely that was the same day Henrietta Fields had signed over her rights to the theatre to him?

“Yes,” she agreed absently, seemingly oblivious to his surprise. “We had a telegram when she reached Calais a week ago, but we have received nothing else since. Felix says we should not be alarmed as doubtless, she is far too busy pleasure bent to write to us. She promised to write again when she reached Paris.”

Casting a quick look at her, Clem guessed Henrietta had still not confessed she had sold her interest in The Parthenon to either of her siblings. “Who did she elope with?” he asked curiously, thinking of the broken-nosed man mountain who had escorted her to his office.

“Sir Matthew Hillingdon,” Theodora answered without much enthusiasm.

Not the bruiser, Clem realized and returned abruptly to the previous matter. “You should never travel to Shoreditch like that after dark,” he found himself cautioning her. “Not alone.”

“I know that,” she answered without rancor. “We always have an escort to the theatre in the evenings. Had an escort,” she corrected herself. “When I still acted.”

“Who was that?”

“Vincent, the doorman at The Parthenon.”

“Would he carry messages for you?”

She paused as if to consider, then shook her head. “Alas, I could not be assured of his loyalty,” she admitted. “My brother pays his wages, and it was my sister he was slavishly devoted to, not me.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “Poor Vinnie,” she murmured, her mouth twisting. “He is quite heartbroken by Hetty’s running off like that.”

Briefly, Clem wondered if the bruiser and the broken-hearted doorman were one and the same. Then he dismissed the matter from his mind. “Do you have someone you do trust?”

“Well …” She seemed to think a moment. “There is always Albert.”

“Albert?”

“He is a paper boy I am friends with, who sometimes runs errands for me. He sells his papers near the theatre, but he has fetched a parcel or two for me in his time and knows where I live.”

This sounded more like it. “Have him come to The Eagle and Sun on a Friday afternoon to collect letters for you.”

“Every Friday?” He nodded. “And will you pay him a tip?” Before he could answer she flushed and started fiddling with the tea towel wrapping her arm. “I only ask because I have divided what savings I had between Lil and Mrs. Cherwell, and I do not have much left.”

“Lil and Mrs. Cherwell?” he repeated, a pucker between his brows.

“Felix has dismissed them both you see, and they will end up on the street without my help.”

What he saw was that she had a hobby collecting lame ducks. He wondered if there was also a three-legged dog in the offing. “I will give Albert a penny every Friday,” he confirmed, reaching into his jacket and withdrawing his wallet.

“I did not mean to appeal to you for funds!” she said hurriedly. “It is just that I need to be careful with my expenses, now I no longer receive a wage, however paltry it might have been.”

He flashed her a smile, cutting off her awkward words. “You will need to catch a cab to my neighborhood,” he pointed out. “We are getting married, are we not?” he said placing two notes on the kitchen table before replacing his wallet and straightening his coat.

When he slid his gaze back to her, he found to his surprise that she had still not taken the bank notes from the table and her cheeks were bright red. “Mr. Dabney, that is a good deal of money,” she pointed out.

“I’m sure you have a hundred things to spend your pin money on,” he told her steadily, “and it is now my place to provide it.”

“We are not yet married!” she pointed out, then glanced about nervously in case anyone should have overheard her compromising words. She cleared her throat. “It is … very good of you,” she finished off awkwardly, still gazing at the money with a troubled expression.

“Perhaps bride clothes?” he suggested, hoping like hell she would not turn up to the church in anything like whatever it was she was currently trailing about in.

She reached at last for the money, though she still looked torn. “You are too generous,” she murmured, before concealing it somewhere about her person. He looked away to give her a moment’s privacy.

He felt a sudden conviction that the money would be spent neither on hats nor gowns for her wedding, but on some obscure cause such as over-the-hill actresses and unemployed domestic servants.

They both rose from their seats and Clem was just opening his mouth to say something glib when she took an impulsive step toward him. “You will never regret this, Mr. Dabney,” she said seizing his hand and this time she did not go for the handshake but instead clutched it to her chest as she gazed up at him earnestly. Clem blinked. She did not have much there, but what she did have was clearly un-corseted. He cleared his throat.

“Oh, I … er, do beg your pardon,” mumbled a voice from the doorway and Clem turned to find a scarlet-cheeked young man staring at them both with undisguised dismay.

“Oh Harold,” Henrietta faltered. “I—er—did not realize you were at home. Did you want something?” Then she seemed to notice she still held Clem’s hand cradled to her bosom and hastily dropped it. “My friend is just leaving, are you not?”