ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Chapter One LONDON, MARCH 22, 1881 I got up from where I sat, near the door, and moved around to stand facing the boy. "So what makes you think that she''s missing?" I asked. "We was to meet for breakfast, Mr. Rivers," he said. "We always do; every mornin''. At the ''ot chocolate stand on the corner down the road. Just a cuppa and a slice of bread but, well, it was a start to the day, you might say." "All right, Billy.
Take it slowly and go over it one more time," said Stoker, studying the young man who sat on the edge of the straight-backed chair in front of his desk. Abraham "Bram" Stoker was theatre manager of the Lyceum Theatre, and I, Harry Rivers, was stage manager. I was also a personal assistant to Mr. Stoker, running any number of errands for him, Lyceum business and otherwise. "It''s Nell, sir. Nell Burton." Billy Weston ran a dirty finger around the frayed neck of his collarless shirt. "She''s done mostly crowd scenes since she''s been ''ere, which ain''t long.
She''s one of the Players in Act Two of ''Amlet . But, sir, she''s gone missin''." Mr. Stoker gave me a quick glance, one eyebrow raised. "After last night''s performance she ''urried away; said that she ''ad a most important fing she ''ad to do. She wouldn''t say what it was, but I took the thought that it was somefin'' for the Guv''n⨠for Mr. Irving, sir." "Of course.
" Stoker nodded understandingly. "So Miss Burton did not appear this morning?" "No, sir. She ain''t never missed before, and she said as ''ow she''d tell me all about last night''s ''adventure''--that''s what she called it, sir, an adventure--when she saw me this mornin''." "She was most likely delayed in some way, Billy," I said. "I think it may be a little soon to start worrying." "No, sir! . Beggin'' your pardon, sir. When she didn''t come to meet me I went ''round to ''er lodgings.
Old Mrs. Briggs on West Street. She said as ''ow Nell ''adn''t come ''ome last night. She ''adn''t seen ''ide nor ''air of ''er." Stoker glanced at me again then back to the young stagehand. "Is there anyone she might have gone to? Any close friend, or a relative, perhaps?" Billy Weston shook his head. "She ain''t got no relatives, sir. She''s an orphan, or so she says.
And I''m ''er closest friend, so she would o'' come to me, wouldn''t she?" I could see that Stoker was concerned, but he tried to ease the boy''s mind. "I think you can leave this with us for now, Billy. Mr. Rivers, here, will look into it more thoroughly. I''m sure there''s just some misunderstanding. You let Mr. Rivers know if you hear of anything else, and he, in turn, will get back to you." "All right, Billy.
" I opened the door and held it as a signal that the boy should now leave. With a last pleading look at both of us, he went out, and I closed the door behind him. "What do you think, sir?" I asked, taking Billy''s place on the seat in front of Stoker''s desk. "Not very encouraging, is it?" Stoker shook his great head, the sunlight streaming in through the small window catching the red, along with the silver, in his auburn hair. He sat back and steepled his fingers, his elbows on the arms of his chair. "There are gangs about the London streets that will abduct a young woman and sell her to traffickers in the white slave trade, Harry. I''m sure you know that. I wouldn''t want to think that a young woman of our Lyceum family had been so interfered with.
What do you know of this Nell Burton?" "Not much, sir," I said. "She joined us a month or so back, when one of the female extras had to leave because of family problems. Miss Burton had come to London from up north ." "Like so many," sighed Stoker. ". seeking fame and fortune," I continued. "She had little experience but seemed to take to the boards very quickly. She''d done a few walk-ons at the Theatre Royal, Nottingham.
I think she actually came from Derby; close by there. John Saxon noticed her and drew my attention to her. I was watching Miss Burton with a view to possibly bringing her to your attention at the end of the Hamlet run." "Our Mr. Saxon always notices the young ladies." Stoker pursed his lips and sat in silent thought for a moment. "We cannot afford to lose good young material, Harry." "What would you like me to do, sir?" "You might take a walk around to this Mrs.
Briggs and question her, Harry. Young Mr. Weston was obviously too upset to get all available information. See if there is any clue as to where this mysterious assignation was to take place yesterday evening." "I know of Mrs. Briggs," I said. "She runs a respectable boardinghouse used by girls from both here and other theatres in the central London area." "You might, then, see if any other of our extras board there.
I find it difficult to believe that this Miss Burton knows no one--other than our young stagehand, of course." I nodded and then hurried off. At twenty-two, I, Harry Rivers, had been delighted to obtain employment at London''s famous Lyceum Theatre, home of England''s prominent Shakespearean actor Henry Irving. I had dabbled in stagecraft during my education at the Hounslow Masonic Institution for Boys, which I attended courtesy of the Honorable Gregory Moffatt. I should explain that I am not of that class, by any means, but my father, a blacksmith, had done a great deal of work for the Hon. Mr. Moffatt (third son of Baron Runnymede), and that gentleman had looked kindly upon me. My mother died trying to bring my brother into the world, and my father passed soon after that, so, at the age of fourteen, I was forced to come to London to seek my fortune.
After a few rough years as crossing sweeper, errand boy, newspaper seller, and cab driver, I met the owner of the small Novelty Theatre on Great Queen Street, Lincoln''s Inn Fields (he was one of my cab fares), and I obtained the job of theatre doorman--so much preferable to sitting up at the back of a cab in all sorts of weather. When I later heard that Mr. Irving was to take over the running of the Lyceum--a much more prestigious theatre--I applied for a position there. Apparently Mr. Irving had brought over from Ireland a Mr. Abraham Stoker, a theatre critic who had written very favorably of Mr. Irving''s performances in that country. Mr.
Stoker became the Lyceum''s business manager, and I became stage manager . a job with which I fell in love. I worked closely with Mr. Stoker and also became a personal assistant to him. I came to admire him a great deal, although even after three years I could still be caught off guard by some of his idiosyncrasies. He was not afraid to display his emotions and, despite a fine business sense backed by years at the best Irish university, was easily swept up by tales of ancient Irish lore and legend. He openly believed in ghosts, sixth sense, and even "the little people," and spent what spare time he had writing his own stories. I must admit, however, that I would not change my employment for any other.
It didn''t take long to find out that several of the Lyceum''s young ladies boarded with Mrs. Briggs. In fact, Miss Tilly Fairbanks was Nell''s roommate. I found Tilly sitting in the greenroom by herself, studying the Hamlet script. She was young--about five years younger than myself--and not unattractive. Her dark brunette hair reminded me of my inamorata, Jenny Cartwright, though Tilly''s hair was shorter and, at this moment, in some disarray. She sat with the fingers of one hand tugging on a ringlet. For whatever reason I was suddenly conscious of my own carrot red hair.
"Oh, hello, Mr. Rivers," she said, glancing up. "Just looking over my lines. Sarah Jenkins is off with a sore throat, so I''m doing the Player Queen for a bit." "I''m sure you''ll do the part proud, Tilly. I just wanted a quick word with you." "Nothing wrong, is there, Mr. Rivers?" She looked worried.
I shook my head. "I hope not. I understand you room with Nell Burton?" She nodded. "Why d''you ask, Mr. Rivers?" "Haven''t you heard?" I said. "Nell seems to have disappeared." "Disappeared?" she echoed. "Did she return to your room last night?" I asked.
"I understand she went out somewhere in the late evening. What time did she get back?" Tilly turned very red. She brought her script up to cover the bottom of her face, as though she wished she could hide behind it. There was a long silence before she replied. "I--I''m sorry, Mr. Rivers. I . I mean .
You see ." Then, in a rush, "I didn''t sleep at home last night, Mr. Rivers! I don''t make a habit of it. I''m not a bad girl. It''s just that . well, last night me and my young man--Sammy Cooper. You know him. He works the curtains.
Well me and him has been stepping out together for some time and ." I held up my hand. "You don''t have to tell me, Tilly. You know as well as I do that you''re on very dangerous ground there. But I''m going to ignore it for now because there are more important things to look at. You are saying, then, that you don''t know when or even if Nell Burton slept in your room?" She nodded mutely, still clutching the script in front of her. "It seems unlikely that she was up to the same shenanigans that you were, since it was her young man who reported her missing." I had a sudden thought and looked hard at Tilly.
"By any chance does Nell have more than one young man? Would she be likely to ." I didn''t get a chance to finish. "No!" Tilly sounded shocked and almost dropped her script. "No, Mr. Rivers. Nell is very serious with.