I spent that Thursday morning in vocal and other exercises, doing all the necessary work a disciplined singer must do to maintain the instrument and a healthy body to house it. In addition to being good for the physical health, it was excellent for burning off whatever weird shadows had been chasing me in the night.
Tommy took himself off to see Henry Gosling at about the same time as I left for tea, and we planned to sift through our findings at dinnertime. I had a treat in mind for myself after tea, a trip to my current lending library, not so far away. I had my book bag with me as I headed in, and a lesser personage might have raised eyebrows, but the staff knew me, and my reading habits. All I got from the girl who checked my coat and heavy bag was a smile and a few questions about which Shakespeare history play she might want to read next. The world is full of self-educated people, and the best of us try to help each other when we can.
I studied myself in the ladies’ retiring room before heading in; it would not do to appear as anything less than Ella Shane, “the Diva,” here, and especially not with the Duke of Whatever. Some society writer might spot us and remark on it, and I did not want the lead line to be a comment on my looks. Unless . . . it was a good one. It might just be, I reflected as I fluffed up the eggshell lace trim on the top of my lilac dress, a light wool suited to the changeable spring weather, with the slimmer sleeves that were the mode now. The hat was a matching confection of ribbons and lace, quite the thing of the moment. I made sure it was pinned at the perfect angle, of course, and that my hair was firmly in place in its soft knot.
My only ornament was my silver charm bracelet; while many divas invest their earnings in jewels, or acquire them by less respectable means, I’ve never bothered with that. I enjoy looking at the gemstones and jewelry in the museums, but have no need for baubles of my own. Besides, I’d rather have my money invested in the town house, and Aunt Ellen’s little brownstone, and a few other properties Tommy and I have bought over the years, than sitting on my fingers.
But I do enjoy having mementoes of the roles I’ve played, and various special milestones with close friends, as well as a sweet little watch, on my wrist. It’s not what one would call serious jewelry, of course, but it’s mine, and I love it.
As for the face, I did not “paint” off stage, as narrow-minded people are still wont to refer to the cosmetic arts, since I have clear fair skin (showing very few signs of age, thank you!) and naturally dark and thick brows and lashes. However, I did use a bit of rose petal salve on my lips, purely to protect them from the elements. All in all, fit for a king, never mind a Wicked Duke.
Saint Aubyn had already procured a table, a pot of tea and a tray of dainties, as protocol demanded. He did not, however, stand when I walked into the large, bright tearoom, a major breach of etiquette I would have found quite offensive, except that I quickly realized what the problem was. The duke didn’t recognize me in feminine attire. I walked over to the table and simply stopped.
He stared for a moment. And then: “Miss Shane? You look quite different in your clothes.” He realized what he’d said as soon as the words came out. I didn’t know dukes could blush. “Um, that is, you look . . .”
I probably should have been insulted, but his embarrassment was truly hilarious—and also rather adorable. I laughed. “Well, then.”
Saint Aubyn stood and very deliberately occupied himself with the gentlemanly business of getting the lady seated and settled, doing his best to pretend the earlier moment simply hadn’t happened. It still took a fair amount of time for the blush to dissipate, but as much as I wanted to giggle at his discomfiture, I didn’t.
“Shall I pour?” I asked, turning over my own teacup, and smiling at him over the porcelain bowl of oxeye daisies and pinks in the center of the table.
“Please,” he said, composing himself into proper form.
Once the tea was poured, and the sandwich plate passed, he gave me a sheepish little shrug. “I apologize. I suppose I am a bit off balance.”
“Understandable, considering the gravity of your errand.”
“That, and this city of yours.”
“Oh?”
“Since my arrival, I’ve been accosted by a pickpocket and almost run over by a hansom cab.” He shook his head. “I assume neither was intended as a personal attack, but . . .”
“When you are new to the City, it can seem as if it is coming after you.” I took it for nothing more than the new arrival’s reaction, since there was no reason to suspect anything else.
“Quite right. At any rate, shall we begin again?”
“Certainly.”
“Thank you, Miss Shane.”
“My pleasure.”
“I think it is, at that.” His eyes twinkled. “You are looking quite lovely this afternoon.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. It is finally warm enough to begin wearing the spring fashions.”
“Is spring always so sullen in New York?”
“Depends on the day. I have never been in London in spring. Is it rainy?”
“It is always rainy in London.” He smiled, and it really was endearing. “We live for the rare sunny days, which are glorious, indeed.”
“At least here, that first warm, sunny day makes one feel like they’ve come back to life after a long hibernation.”
“Apt observation.” Gilbert Saint Aubyn looked closely at me.
“I doubt I’m the first person to make it. Donne and Shakespeare both had some very moving passages on spring and rebirth.” I did not betray my enjoyment at throwing what the baseball players would undoubtedly call a “trick pitch” as I added, “And probably Milton did, too, though I’m not as fond of him.”
Saint Aubyn’s pale blue eyes widened, and he smiled appreciatively. “He did. And I don’t much like him, either. I only read him when the dons made me.”
“Paradise Lost was just too heavy, and too religious for my taste.” I’d given up about halfway through, despite my best intentions.
“I agree. I much preferred the more secular works, and especially Shakespeare’s histories, with all that fighting and blood and intrigue.”
“I prefer the comedies. All manner of adventures—and a happy ending, but only after everyone works for it.”
He smiled. “Very American attitude, that.”
“What?”
“That one must work for everything.”
“That’s life for most of us, Your Grace.” I shrugged. “We don’t get anything we don’t work for, and sometimes fight for.”
“Well, surely, occasionally one simply gets a gift from life.”
“Maybe in your castle. Not often in the tenements of the Lower East Side.”
“I didn’t grow up in a castle, Miss Shane,” he said quietly, toying with his teacup. “My family lived in a perfectly acceptable, but not fancy, town house in York. Thanks to any number of complications in the family tree, and several relations who obligingly died in various outbreaks and minor skirmishes, I inherited the title when I was twenty-five.”
“Oh.”
“So kindly don’t assume that I’m some sort of cartoon aristocrat.”
“Fair enough.”
“As it happens, I find the whole system silly and outdated. And I’d happily let the castle crumble to rot as it wants to if I couldn’t hear several hundred years’ worth of ancestors’ screams every time I think about it.”
I smiled at him. “Well, so much for all the ink spilled on Wicked Dukes and Princes Charming.”
“I don’t have time to be wicked.” He said it with such a beleaguered expression that I almost believed it. “But I should like to think I can be charming, when I want to be.”
Those amazing silver-blue eyes were close on my face as he spoke, and I noticed that he had long, thick black lashes, to boot. I felt a truly impressive blush creeping over my cheekbones.
“So,” he said finally, “you clearly know your Renaissance poets. Is that part of the curriculum on the Lower East Side?”
/> “No. I learned to read and cipher at the public school. After that, I was on my own. Thankfully, the City has many good lending libraries.”
Gilbert Saint Aubyn gazed at me for a very long moment. “You are not what I was expecting.”
“Sorry to disappoint you. It’s a big city. I’m sure you can find some empty-headed chorus girls to share dinner with you, if that’s what you’d like.”
“Not at all.” He shook his head. “I have no need or desire for chorus girls. I merely meant that when I found out that Frances had joined an opera company, I had a particular picture of a touring diva and you are not it.”
“You were expecting an aging, heavily-painted harridan who led her company through the shadier parts of the world? I can’t deny such people exist. But I am not one of them.”
“No, you are not. You’re quite an impressive lady. And I have not even heard you sing.”
“That’s easily remedied,” I said quickly, keeping things moving to avoid drowning in those eyes. “I have an engagement early next week. A benefit performance, as it happens, for a girls’ school in my neighborhood.”
“What are you singing?”
“An aria from Xerxes. It’s an old, rarely done, Handel piece with a marvelous lead role. Tommy teasingly calls it my General Shane Show. I may take it on the road next time.”
“No more Romeo?”
“Not on the circuit. In May, a few weeks from now, I’m doing the Balcony Scene with my favorite singing partner at another benefit. But I won’t be touring with Capuleti next time.”
“Does this have anything to do with Frances?”
“Perhaps.” I looked at my teacup. “And I’m not sure I want to die for love, night after night again, for a while.”
“Oh.”
I glanced up just at that second, and our eyes held. Too long. “At any rate,” I finally said briskly, “what can I tell you about her, and her time with us?”
“Were there any signs of trouble?”
“None that we saw. She seemed to be very happy with the role, which you may know is a real showcase for a young soprano.”
“Was she doing well?”
“Very well. New Haven was the last stop. Reviews were good, and she would definitely have been able to parlay this into bigger things.”
“Such as?”
“Probably the next step for her would have been a contract with a company in Boston or Philadelphia, some kind of regional operation that would cast her in several roles over a season and give her a chance to grow as an artist.” I sipped my tea, and decided to permit myself one cucumber sandwich. “I don’t doubt her booking agent would have been working on it.”
“Would you be kind enough to find out for me?”
“Certainly.” Tommy, of course, was doing just that even as we spoke.
“So, then, all rosy future for singing?”
“Singing isn’t an easy career, you know. There are good runs, and setbacks, but, overall, things looked promising for her.”
“So if not the work, then what?”
I shook my head. He was asking the question families like his had asked since time immemorial, and I had no good answers. Sometimes we don’t know who is broken, or how, until it is too late. “I honestly don’t know, and I’m terribly sorry about that.”
He absorbed that in silence for a moment, swirling the tea in his cup contemplatively, if not with perfect manners. “Was there a young man?”
“Not that I knew about.” I shook my head. “And I would have known. Even though she was not the confiding sort, there are very few secrets in a company.”
“Apparently, she kept a very important one.” The ice blue eyes burned into mine.
“Yes, by holding everyone at arm’s length.” I shook my head. “To the best of my knowledge, no one knew her well at all.”
“But definitely no young man.”
“It’s probably the one thing I can say with absolute confidence.” Whatever my personal views on road romances, I will never find myself in Chicago without a Juliet again. “There were—there always are—a few single men in the company, but this tour’s bunch seemed far more interested in the pleasures of the road than in poaching in the dressing rooms.”
One of his perfect black eyebrows flicked up.
“I am not aware of these pleasures in any kind of detail, Your Grace, only of their existence,” I said rather stiffly. “But the young men tend to come in one of two types—those who partake, and those who don’t. The ones who don’t are the ones who concern me more, because they may be casting eyes on someone inside the company.”
“I see.” Saint Aubyn almost smiled. “You’d rather they were . . . partaking outside?”
I gave him a hard look. “I am a respectable maiden lady, but I am aware that young men have a great deal of energy, and most of them have to burn it off somehow.”
“Perhaps they might stay in the boardinghouse reading their Bibles at night?”
I laughed. I had to. “You are teasing me.”
“I am.” He gave in to his smile. “You are just discussing this with such adorable maiden-lady seriousness.”
“Oh.” Adorable? What?
“Do you have any idea what this energy is and what they do with it?”
I scowled at him. “Only insofar as I know I do not want it anywhere near my sopranos.”
“That’s quite fair. And I appreciate your keeping this energy away from Frances. But I have heard that some young ladies actively seek it out.”
“I am happy to say your cousin was not one of them,” I assured him. “In our off-hours, she was learning new roles with my accompanist, or working on her German with the costumer.”
“The costumer?”
“Anna Abramovitz, who, as it happens, is married to my accompanist, Louis Abramovitz. They’re a lovely couple, with a sweet young son.”
He nodded. “So no time for . . . partaking?”
I returned the nod quite firmly. “None.”
“Well, that is some small consolation.” He looked down into his tea again. “I can tell her mother that she was virtuous.”
“Indeed you can.”
“Thank you for that, Miss Shane.” His eyes held mine very steadily. “It will matter a great deal.”
“Anything I can do to ease a mother’s heart. I do not wish that pain on anyone.”
“Too true.” He looked at his cup again. “It is a relief that it was ruled an accident. Otherwise, I would have had to fight the vicar . . .”
“No.” I was honestly shocked. Surely, they didn’t still deny suicides proper burial. “So narrow-minded, even in our day?”
“Rules are rules, Miss Shane. Aren’t you Catholics just as—”
“I’m not a Catholic.” I spoke before I thought.
“Oh?”
“At least not entirely.”
He waited.
My faith is my own, and I don’t talk about it with most people. But I also don’t hide it. The way to defeat prejudice is to look it in the eye and take it on. Although I really hoped I would not see any here. “My mother was Jewish.”
“So you are . . .” He watched me with curiosity, not disgust or anything else.
“Both.”
“Is that even possible?” It was merely an honest question.
“I light candles on Fridays and go to Mass with Tommy.”
“And when you pray, if you pray, to whom do you pray?”
“Don’t we all pray to the same God?” I shrugged. “We may pray or worship differently, but there’s surely only one Deity listening.”
“That’s what I hear.” Saint Aubyn nodded. “I knew a few Jewish clerks when I was reading law. One was, and still is, a friend.”
“Really.” So much for the prejudiced upper crust.
“Yes. But Joshua is, what do you say, devout?”
“Observant.”
“Right.” He smiled. “A much better man than me.”
“Not for us to ju
dge,” I reminded him.
“True. Judging others never ends well.”
“I’ve never known it to.”
We were silent for a moment, before he spoke again.
“I wonder if I could prevail upon you to do me another great favor?”
“If I can.”
“Would you help me to look through Frances’s things? I collected a trunk from the coroner, and you might know better than I what her possessions would mean.”
“All right,” I said slowly, trying to figure out how this might happen. Obviously, I would not go to his hotel to look through the items, but I also couldn’t ask him to drag it to my house.
“Tell me when, and I’ll have it sent to your home so we can look through it there.”
I smiled a little.
“I would never expect a lady to come to my lodgings, even on an errand of mercy. You’re already going beyond the call of friendship. I would not ask you to imperil your reputation as well.”
“Very perceptive of you.”
Saint Aubyn returned my smile. “I trained as a barrister. Observation was a key part of the art.”
“I’m sure.” I put down my cup. “Soon I must be going. I need to get more library books before I go home, since I am very busy for the next few days.”
“Library books?” He gave me a puzzled glance.
“Well, yes. I developed a fondness for the lending library as a girl and I see no reason to change now. And it would be absolutely ruinous to buy everything I want to read.”
“Quite practical.” He nodded. “Thank you for joining me.”
“It was my pleasure.”
Gilbert Saint Aubyn favored me with a longer and warmer smile. “Mine as well.”
Protocol would have normally required the gentleman to escort me to a hansom cab, but since I was walking on to the library, we exchanged bows and farewells in the lobby and took off in our separate directions.
A Fatal Finale Page 3