“A new scene, but we lack any suitable props.” Bridget plopped onto the sofa beside her great-aunt. Sophronia leaned her head close to see the pages she held. Viola had long since decided that Bridget was Sophronia reborn, exuberant and irrepressible. “Viola, could you help locate them? Everyone else is busy rehearsing.”
She shifted uneasily. The pair of them were looking at her so innocently, it immediately put up her guard. “What do you need?” Perhaps it could be found swiftly and she could be back before anything untoward happened . . .
Bridget consulted her pages. “A large book, a cape—preferably red velvet; what do you think, Aunt Sophronia?”
“Oh yes, definitely red velvet,” said the old lady in delight.
“A set of goblets that may be thrown around and not break, and an iron chain.”
Viola, having listened in growing dread, blinked at the last. “An iron chain?” she cried. “Bridget, what’s in this play?”
“A ghost,” said Bridget patiently. “I’ve told you that for days. But we haven’t got a chain, or a crown—”
“A crown?”
“He’s the ghost of the king.”
Viola put one hand to her temple. “You said the ghost delivered a prophecy about the king.”
“Yes. And then the king dies and becomes another ghost.” Bridget smiled as if she’d just answered every question. “And the prince becomes king after that, you see.”
Viola stared helplessly. “Of course.”
“There must be a chain and a crown somewhere in the house,” Bridget went on. “It is a castle, after all. Ask Mama if you cannot find them on your own.” She paused, then added, in a markedly offhand manner, “Perhaps Lord Winterton would help you look.”
Viola glanced at Sophronia, who merely gave a tiny smile and nod, and knew she was stuck. “Very well, I shall ask him. But you must promise to behave,” she added in a lower voice.
Sophronia waved both hands. “Of course! Of course!”
“No more kisses on stage,” Viola added, casting a glance at Serena and Mr. Jones. Serena was talking to Lord Gosling, but Mr. Jones was watching her with a strangely pensive expression. She was afraid the kissing would give the poor man ideas, which would be unfortunate. Frye might be despised as a scoundrel by Alexandra and Bridget, but Viola knew the dowager duchess still hoped Serena’s erstwhile suitor would return and persuade her to mend the broken engagement.
Bridget rolled her eyes. “We need the chain desperately. Otherwise Mr. Penworth will have no way to rehearse his scene, which is vital to the plot.”
“We cannot have that,” said Sophronia at once. “Viola, I am certain no one can find these things as quickly as you can.”
Viola very much doubted there was a plot to this play, but she couldn’t overrule Lady Sophronia. She nodded and went to find the earl.
He was in the small parlor near the grand hall, admiring a book of engravings laid out on a table near the windows. He glanced up as she came in, and a broad smile crossed his face. “Mrs. Cavendish. How does our grand entertainment progress?”
“I cannot speak to its grandiosity, nor to it being entertaining,” she said wryly. “I have been sent in search of props, and hoped I might enlist you as well.”
“Of course.” He closed the book and faced her. “What are we in search of, and where should we begin?”
“That’s why I need help,” she replied. “A most ridiculous list, and I haven’t the first idea.”
His eyes lit up and he grinned. “Excellent! An adventure.”
“That it will be,” she agreed, and they set out.
One item was easily accomplished. A visit to the kitchens and a few words with the cook unearthed some tinware that the actors could throw and not break. Viola told a footman to take it to the drawing room where the play was being staged, and they went in search of the next item.
“A scarlet cloak,” mused the earl. “Surely one of the ladies has a suitable one?”
Viola hoped so. By good luck they ran into Miss Penworth on her way to the music room. She was very talented on the pianoforte, and Bridget had assigned her the task of choosing and playing dramatic music for the play. Viola had lost all reserve by now, and spurred by Lord Winterton’s suggestion, she asked Miss Penworth if she or any of the young ladies had brought a red cloak. Fortune smiled on her; the young woman had brought such a cloak, and promised to send it to the drawing room.
“Thank you,” said Viola fervently. “I hope Lady Bridget’s play does no harm to it.”
Miss Penworth laughed. “I’ve known Bridget all my life,” she confided. “If it does, I am already well aware that His Grace will replace the cloak. He replaced my doll when Bridget drowned it in the lake, two bonnets lost to escapades planned by Bridget, and more hair ribbons than either of us could count.”
Viola breathed a sigh of relief as they left Miss Penworth to her practicing. “Two down, three to go.”
“What’s next?” the earl wanted to know.
“A crown, a large book, and an iron chain.” She shook her head. “A chain! Perhaps in the stables?”
They paused before a window overlooking the park in front of the house. The snow had stopped and the sun had come out, but the scene was no less daunting. It looked like a foot of snow drifted over the grounds, with only a few tamped paths through the glittering whiteness. Getting to the stables, down near the lake, would be cold and slippery.
“Perhaps in the attics?” The earl cocked his head toward her, his eyes dancing and a wry smile on his lips. “Or the dungeons?”
“There is an armory, but no dungeons I know of.” She tapped one finger on her lips, thinking.
“Dare I ask why a chain is required?” The earl appeared in no hurry to keep searching. He clasped his hands behind him and stood watching her. “It seems an odd item in a farce.”
And that is
