Free Death at the Theatre: Miss Hart and Miss Hunter Investigate: Book 2 by Celina Grace Page B

us to put our coats, which we definitely did not need in there. I could feel the sweat beginning to trickle down my back. “Half the theatre folk around here come in here after the shows.”
    I curiously looked around me at my fellow diners. I recognised a couple of people from the Connault Theatre by sight and wondered if we’d see Aldous Smith, though I couldn’t spot him in the crowd.
    Tommy came through the press of people with a tray in his hands and the air of a man who had fought a long, hard battle. “Bloody hell, it gets worse every night. Here you go, ladies.” He handed around plates of pie and mash and a glass of ale for us all. “Chin-chin.”
    We clinked glasses and set to with a will, Verity and I conscious of the fact that we had very little time before we had to leave. Gwen, having started eating before us, had more time for talking, and she and Tommy began discussing Sir Nicolas Holmes with avidity.
    “Rich as Croesus, he is,” said Gwen. Her round red cheeks shone in the heat. “One of the most eligible bachelors in London and Miss Caroline managed to snag him.”
    “Well, good for her,” said Tommy, swilling his ale. “We’ve got to make our own luck in this world. Wish I had that option.” Verity and I exchanged glances and guiltily lowered our smiles to our plates.
    “Do you know when the wedding is?” Gwen asked.
    “Not for some time. You know what it’s going to be like; white silk to the rafters, orange blossom, gilded carriages, probably. White doves.”
    “Do you think she’ll carry on acting after she’s married?”
    “She’ll have to,” I exclaimed. “She couldn’t possibly stop acting, surely, just because she’s married. It would be criminal to waste that talent.”
    Gwen shrugged. “She may not have a choice. You know, once the babies come and all that.”
    She looked thoughtful for a moment and then said “She’s lucky. She gets a choice.”
    There was bitterness in her tone. I wondered if it was because she’d like to get married herself and knew there was little chance of that. Well, I knew just how she felt.
    “Being wardrobe mistress must be very interesting,” I said, wanting to cheer her up a bit. I didn’t know her from Adam but she seemed a nice girl, and I didn’t like seeing her sad.
    It was the right thing to say. Gwen brightened and said, “Oh, it is! I love it. I love fashion and textiles, and it’s wonderful when you have a chance to really make a difference to a play, you know, in making sure the costumes are just right.”
    She went on in the same vein for a little while, her affection for her job quite apparent. Again, I felt envious. Just like the actors, Gwen was following a passion and being paid for it. Was I ever going to get the chance to do something similar? I loved writing, and the theatre, and I thought I had a little talent for it. But who was ever going to pay me to write stories and plays? I didn’t even know where to begin.
    That evening, over a plate of pie and mash, I made a resolution. I would begin to find out about writing professionally – if it was even possible for someone like me to do such a thing. You only live once, Joan .
    “It must have its downsides,” I said to Gwen, thinking that I had better be realistic about my ambitions.
    “Oh, yes, of course. The way some of the actors treat the costumes is just shocking. Rips and stains… I’m up half the night mending them, sometimes, so they’ll be ready for the show. And —“ she went on, in a darker tone, “sometimes things go missing , if you see what I mean.”
    “Stolen?” I asked in a suitably shocked tone.
    “Well, I wouldn’t like to use that word out loud, but yes, it does happen. Only a week ago or so I had a whole costume disappear. I thought I’d mislaid it, but perhaps someone came along and pinched it—“
    She was interrupted by Verity’s urgent summons. “Joan, it’s five and twenty past ten. We have to go.”
    “Yes, we must.” I