The Sans Pareil Mystery (The Detective Lavender Mysteries Book 2) by Karen Charlton Page A

waited patiently for her mood to pass and silently cursed the Spaniards who had spoiled her evening. He wasn’t in a rush to find out the cause of their open hostility towards the woman at his side. He already knew from something John Read had said and his subsequent inquiries that Magdalena had been forced to shoot her way out of Spain in order to escape with her son. He suspected that the two incidents were related. Magdalena would tell him about it when she was ready.
    They had a good view of the Royal Box and its occupants from where they sat, although Magdalena only gave them a cursory glance. The Duke of Clarence and his party were sumptuously dressed in rich and colourful gowns and uniforms. The women glittered with jewels. The duke wore a silver badge with the insignia of an admiral on the lapel of his dove-grey velvet topcoat. Beside him sat a short man in the dark blue and gold-braided coat of a naval lieutenant. Lavender recognised him as the duke’s aide, Sir Lawrence Forsyth, who now worked for the naval department in Whitehall. From the sour expression on his face, Forsyth wasn’t enjoying the show. His close-set eyes narrowed with distaste at the performance on the stage. He seemed dwarfed in his chair sat beside the tall, stocky duke. Something about the aide’s face and his long nose reminded Lavender of a weasel.
    Prince William had a broad face and a double chin that wobbled above his high-necked cravat when he laughed. He was delighted with the show. He clapped his large hands loudly and boomed ‘Encore!’ at the end of each act. ‘Damned cove!’ he’d exclaimed when Richard’s villainy was exposed. Lavender smiled to himself as he noticed that when the duke became animated, Forsyth dropped his sour expression and mimicked every action and every exclamation of the prince.
    Magdalena followed his gaze and scrutinised the occupants of the Royal Box. ‘That stout woman with the prince,’ she asked, ‘who is she?’
    ‘Which one?’ There were several women in the party.
    ‘The one with the sequined headband and ostrich feathers in her frizzy hair.’
    Lavender glanced across at the short, plump woman seated next to the duke. He lowered his voice. ‘That is the famous actress, Dorothy Jordan. She’s the duke’s long-time mistress and the darling of Drury Lane. They have been together nearly twenty years.’
    ‘I have heard of her,’ said Magdalena. ‘She was a great comedy actress, was she not? And quite famous for strutting across the stage in men’s clothing.’
    ‘Dorothy Jordan still acts occasionally and always draws huge crowds,’ he said. ‘Her popularity is undiminished.’
    Magdalena’s head turned sharply. ‘She still acts? But she’s the mistress of a prince! Why does she need to work?’
    ‘The prince is heavily in debt,’ Lavender explained. ‘They have ten children back home in Bushy Park. It is rumoured that the money Mrs Jordan earns from theatrical tours and benefits is the only thing which keeps their home and the Duke of Clarence afloat.’
    ‘I think your British women are very practical,’ she said. ‘Tonight I have been in the company of at least three talented women who support themselves – or their families – through their work.’
    He nodded towards the stage. ‘I don’t think Jane Scott needs the money. Her father is wealthy.’
    ‘No, she works in this theatre to satisfy her passion. I suspect that both Lady Caroline Clare and Dorothy Jordan also have a passion; they would not be so successful if they didn’t.’ She frowned and looked thoughtful. ‘Maybe it is time I became more practical about my own situation.’
    He sensed that she was pondering something but there was no time to enquire further about the meaning of her words because the curtain swept aside and the actors and actresses returned to the stage for the final sad act. Lavender didn’t particularly enjoy melodrama. He grimaced throughout most of the act, especially when Mary