In the Barrister's Chambers by Tina Gabrielle Page B

middle-aged woman, with steel gray hair and seamstress pins clenched between puckered lips, lifted her head and glared at them. She was hunched over, pulling the two ends of a gown together on the back of a skinny actress. With jerky movements, she removed the pins from her lips and proceeded to pin the actress’s dress together. The bodice, clearly made for a more full-breasted woman, sagged drearily like two deflated balloons on the actress’s chest.
    â€œBloody ’ell!” Mary swore. “Ain’t nobody can fix this dress. You lack the titties to carry it off.”
    The actress’s kohl-lined eyes narrowed, and with an indignant huff, she lifted her skirts and swept past Jack and Evelyn out the door.
    Jack stepped forward, and Evelyn followed close on his heels.
    The dressing room was small and crammed with a rack full of costumes, shelves of hats, and a counter crowded with facial makeup, wigs, and hairpieces. It smelled of sweat, smoke, and face powder.
    â€œWho are ye?” Mary demanded.
    â€œMy name is Jack Harding. I’d like to talk with you about Bess Whitfield.”
    Two deep frown lines appeared between Mary’s eyes. “Yer with the constable?”
    â€œNo. I’m a barrister, and this is a close friend of Bess’s cousin.” Jack motioned to Evelyn. “Has Bow Street spoken with you?”
    â€œNot yet. I was wonderin’ what was takin’ ’em so long.”
    â€œThey may not have thought to question you.”
    â€œWord on the street is they know who killed ’er. Some university boy seen jumpin’ from ’er window.”
    â€œYou don’t sound convinced.”
    â€œBess could ’andle a boy like that.”
    â€œYou knew her well, then?” Evelyn asked.
    â€œBess was my actress. The day she walked in ’ere, I knew she ’ad what it took to make it big. Not like the dozens of girls that float through ’ere. Bess took a likin’ to me. As she rose, my position in the theater rose with ’er. I owed ’er.”
    â€œThey say she had many lovers. Do you think one became jealous and killed her?”
    â€œI couldna say fer sure. All I knew is she liked ’er men. All sorts of ’em. Titled nobility, rich merchants, and even young, good-lookin’ stagehands. Poor thing was neglected by her father as a child, and sought male attention like a moth seeks a flame. I knew all ’er men, all except ’er longtime benefactor.”
    â€œHer benefactor?”
    â€œShe kept ’im as a lover the entire time I knew ’er. ’E ’ad to be rich, probably nobility, fer ’e regularly sent ’er blunt and gifts, expensive ones too. But I never learned ’is real name.”
    â€œDo you know why someone would want to kill Bess?”
    â€œNo. There were rivals at the theater, but none that would advance straightway if she was dead. They knew the director would ’ire outside the theater, and ’e did just that after Bess was killed.”
    â€œDo you know if Bess had something to hide or something valuable? Something worth killing for?”
    â€œNone of ’er jewels were missin’.”
    â€œAnything other than jewels or money?”
    â€œShe kept a diary, but she was real careful never to use ’er benefactor’s true name. As for ’er other lovers, they were all there.”
    â€œA diary? Do you know where it is?”
    â€œIt’s missin’. I searched her dressin’ room, but I knew it wouldn’t be there. Bess always carried it with ’er.”
    â€œDo you recall any of her admirers she might have written about in her diary?” Evelyn asked.
    Mary shrugged. “I knew ’em all as I seen ’em come to visit ’er backstage.”
    â€œName them,” Evelyn said. “Please.”
    â€œThere was a fancy viscount with a curled mustache she called Maxwell, and the old, fat Earl of Newland.