“You saw him before you saw him in Hanbury Street?”
“Of course.”
“Do you remember where you saw him?”
“Oh, aye.”
“Where?”
?
?Wilton’s.”
“Wilton’s? What is Wilton’s?”
“Wilton’s Music Hall. In Wellclose Square. I went if I could find a penny or a man to pay my way.”
Isaac Bell felt as if the black sky had fallen on his head.
A young girl’s crush, just as Wayne Barlowe had guessed. If not the angelic gentleman the illustrator had proposed, could a handsome actor have caught her eye? All the more dazzling in limelight and theater makeup?
“He was an actor?”
“No.”
“No?” Bell’s hopes soared as quickly as they had fallen.
“They never let him act—except once he carried a spear.”
“Then what did he do at Wilton’s?”
“Everything. He wore a sandwich board to tout the show. He ran for beer. One day, I watched him paint the scenery in the backyard. He sold sweets and passed out programs. Sometimes, he was a callboy, knocking on dressing room doors. And he stood right at the elbow of the prompter himself.”
An all-rounder, thought Bell. A boy-of-all-work assigned every job that needed doing in the theater. But how deep was their connection?
“Did he hand you a program?”
“I couldn’t get in that night. I had no money. By the time I earned it, he was gone.”
“Did you help him paint scenery in the yard?”
Emily’s face fell. “He chased me off.” She grew restless, her hands fluttering.
Bell asked, “How often did you see him on the stage with a spear?”
“Once.”
“Only once?” How did one sighting on the stage stick him so deep in her memory?
“And once when he carried a lantern.”
“So only twice?”
“Twice.”
“But you said you went often.”
“He wasn’t always there.”