Free The Bargain by Jane Ashford

egg.”
    Ariel’s eyes had narrowed. “I didn’t find it in the house. I suppose one of the servants may have…” She trailed off.
    â€œShe might have hidden it,” suggested the theater manager. “Wasn’t something you’d just leave lying about, believe me.”
    Ariel nodded. “Bess and the earl were…?”
    â€œHe seemed mad about her—as they all were. And she was leading him a merry dance.”
    Ariel nodded again, as if this were what she had expected to hear.
    Alan remained silent, having been suddenly struck by the notion that he would no doubt be expected to approach the earl, an irascible man thirty years his senior, and attempt to interview him about the death of his mistress. He was having no difficulty, unfortunately, picturing the scene.
    â€œWe’ll talk to the others,” Ariel was saying. “If you should remember anything else…”
    Balfour shook his head. “Nothing to remember,” he replied. When she started to speak again, he waved a hand. “I’ll try, I’ll try.”
    â€œThank you.” She smiled at him, and the manager gave her a wry look in return.
    They returned to the dusty corridor and followed it until it took a sharp turn into another, which clearly stretched across the back of the entire building. A series of doors opened off it, and a number of voices could be heard. “You should let me talk to the actors,” said Ariel.
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œYou’re likely to upset them,” she explained. “You did Cyrus, and actors will require an even more delicate touch.”
    â€œI am capable of questioning all sorts of people,” declared Alan. “My ability to get to the heart of a matter and elicit the facts has been much admired.”
    â€œBut we want much more than the facts.”
    â€œMore? There is nothing ‘more.’”
    â€œOf course there is. Just let me take the lead,” said Ariel.
    â€œAnd ask nothing about the events at Carlton House, as you did with Balfour?” He shook his head. “I think not. That is why I am here, and I shall certainly question everyone about it.”
    â€œIt is only because of me that you have the opportunity,” she answered. “And I think you might be a little more—”
    A head appeared at one of the open doorways along the corridor. “Hullo?”
    â€œMr. Padgett,” said Ariel, sweeping forward to greet the man. “It’s Ariel Harding.”
    The head cocked, then the rest of the figure appeared—a tall, muscular fellow, Alan observed, with a magnificent profile and a leonine mane of pure white hair. His face was handsomely craggy and showed few signs of age, though he must be past fifty.
    â€œLittle Ariel?” boomed the newcomer. His voice was deep and resonant, clearly trained to reach the farthest balconies. “My brave and tricksy spirit?” he continued. “‘Thou shalt have the air at freedom.’”
    Ariel stood straighter and clasped her hands in front of her like a child making a recitation. “‘Full fathom five thy father lies,’” she intoned. “‘Of his bones are coral made / Those are pearls that were his eyes / Nothing of him that doth fade / But doth suffer a sea-change / Into something rich and strange.’”
    â€œYou haven’t forgotten! Good, good.” The older man turned to Alan as if they had been acquainted for years. “I taught her the whole part of Ariel when she was eight years old. I thought it might go over well—a child as the magician’s helper, you know. We were going to suspend her from a cord and let her fly across the stage. Even had the wings made.”
    â€œ How I wanted to do it!” declared Ariel.
    â€œPluck up the backbone, you were,” agreed Padgett. “But Bess didn’t like the idea, so it came to nothing in the end.” He looked