The Caster & Fleet Mysteries: Cases 1-3 by Paula Harmon & Liz Hedgecock

Author:Paula Harmon & Liz Hedgecock [Harmon, Paula]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Tags: mystery, novel, box set, humour, detective fiction, crime, dark, Victorian, London, british detective, English, women's fiction
Publisher: White Rhino Books
Published: 2018-12-18T00:00:00+00:00

I glanced into the audience and made the mistake of looking at Albert first. Shadowed as it was, it was hard to miss the utter astonishment in his face. James had a strange woman half-looking over the back of his chair, but he was grinning and raised a glass to me. He’ll never let me forget this.

I finished the song and moved into a little repartee, exaggerating my natural accent and staring straight at James.

‘Oh ladies, I do like a strong man, don’t you? But I also like one who’s a pushover. You can do so much more with them.’

What had just come out of my mouth? I nodded to the orchestra and the music started for my next song. It felt like a year before I left the stage. The laughs and cheers were not enough to obliterate the expression on James’s face. No wonder he didn’t think to buy me flowers. He must think I was a buffoon.

‘Albert looked rather put out,’ said Connie.

‘The last time he saw me on stage I was an angel in a nativity play.’

‘I’m not sure if that was it. James didn’t seem to mind that woman pestering him. Albert had better keep ignoring the other one.’

‘Mmm.’

‘Was he out there?’

My mind was blank of all but embarrassment, and it would shortly get worse. After Betty and Buster and a dance by the girls, Carrots would be disobeying his puppet master. James would either drop dead or kill Mr Templeton or more likely, run away with the trollop.

‘The man. The one you noticed last time.’

‘Oh. I’m not sure.’

‘Katherine, pay attention.’

In the dressing room I sped to change costumes, whipping off Felicity’s hideous dress and petticoat and stripping to my corset and drawers.

‘Gotta ’and it to yer,’ said Mabel, the last one to leave for the stage. ‘You’re not too proud to make a fool of yerself.’ Her smile was almost friendly.

I pulled Carrots’s shirt and trousers on, and popped the fringed cap over my hair.

‘That’s odd,’ said Connie. We were alone in the room. The dancers were lined up in the wings, and the acrobats had left for their next music hall.

‘What is?’

‘There wasn’t a note with the flowers, was there?’

‘No.’

‘There’s one now. In fact, there are two. Who was the last one addressed to?’

I realised I hadn’t looked properly at the envelope. I’d assumed the note was for me, as the flowers had been handed to me. ‘I think it said To the singer.’

‘Well, that one says To the singer and thinking about it, that’s not you. It’s me,’ said Connie. ‘The other is definitely addressed to Miss Caster, but it’s in different writing.’

We had a few minutes until Betty returned. I opened the envelopes.

The one to The singer said: I told you. Yore not wonted. Go back ware you come from. Or else.

The other letter said: Deer Miss Caster. Pleese stop looking for me. You put me in mor danger. Ellen Howe.

Connie and I looked at each other. Under my boy’s shirt

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