In the Barrister's Chambers by Tina Gabrielle Page A

people. Located in Covent Garden, the theater faced Catherine Street and backed onto Drury Lane. Built only two years earlier, it was the fourth Drury Lane Theatre on the site, the last having been destroyed by fire.
    Jack’s carriage pulled up, and Evelyn watched as a throng of theatergoers made their way inside. The newly installed gas street lamps illuminated the splendid clothing of the gentlemen and ladies dressed in high fashion. Some held opera glasses while others had playbills dangling from their gloved fingertips.
    Rather than join the crowd, Jack directed the driver to turn onto Drury Lane in the rear of the building by the service entrance.
    Evelyn turned to Janet who sat beside her. “Stay in the carriage. We’ll be back shortly.”
    Janet’s brown eyes grew wide, and she swallowed hard. Reaching up, she nervously smoothed wisps of frizzy, brown hair that had escaped her tightly braided coronet. “Is it safe, m’ lady?”
    Evelyn smiled and touched Janet’s hand. “Please don’t fret. I’ll be back shortly.”
    Jack jumped down and assisted Evelyn. As they headed for the back door, he said, “Your maid doesn’t approve of our clandestine activities.”
    â€œShe’ll do as she’s told,” Evelyn said.
    â€œAh, but where do her loyalties lie, Evie?”
    Evelyn’s stride slowed as she looked up at Jack. The lighting here was not as bright as at the front of the building since the expensive new gas lamps were not deemed necessary in the rear.
    In the dimness, dressed entirely in black, Jack looked a dashing, but dangerous pirate.
    â€œDon’t worry, Jack,” she said. “My maid’s loyalties lie with me. She’ll not whisper a word to my father.”
    He nodded, obviously satisfied with her answer. They came to the back door, and Jack reached for the handle.
    At once the door swung open, and two men dressed in full costume as eighteenth-century noblemen stumbled out.
    â€œâ€™Ow the devil did I know they were plannin’ to substitute Chester fer me? ’E don’t know ’is arse from ’is head onstage!” the first actor said.
    â€œEverything’s been a bloody mess since Bess was murdered, what with the director changin’ roles,” the second man responded.
    Evelyn held her breath, but neither actor paid them any heed. Jack took advantage and pulled Evelyn inside. The door closed behind them, leaving the two disgruntled actors to themselves.
    They stepped into a dimly lit corridor. The strains from the orchestra warming up its instruments for the night’s performance echoed off the walls. Actors and stagehands with single-minded purpose rushed to and fro, in and out of dressing rooms and gathering their props—before the curtain was raised.
    To Evelyn’s surprise, no one stopped them, everyone obviously too consumed with last-minute preparations. It was Jack who reached out and grasped the sleeve of a short man with a determined expression who attempted to scurry by.
    â€œWe’re looking for Mary Morris,” Jack said.
    The man stopped short, his chest jerking with each indrawn breath. He clutched a clipboard tightly to his chest and eyed Jack with annoyance. “Who are you?”
    â€œI’m Mary’s brother,” Jack lied.
    Jerking his head behind him, he said in a clipped voice, “Mary is in the second dressing room to the right. But I wouldn’t bother with her tonight if I was you. She’s been in a foul mood since the actress she worked for died. Mary’s been lowered to dressing the seconds.”
    Jack grinned. “Thank you for the warning.”
    The man turned his back and scurried onward with a clipped stride.
    Jack took Evelyn’s hand and led her in the direction the man had indicated and stopped before a closed door. He rapped twice, then waited.
    â€œWhat is it?” came a muffled voice.
    Jack opened the door. A stout