When the Curtain Rises

by Rachel Muller

  WHEN the

  CURTAIN RISES

  WHEN the

  CURTAIN RISES

  Rachel Dunstan Muller

  Orca Book Publishers

  Text copyright © 2007 Rachel Dunstan Muller

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Muller, Rachel Dunstan, 1970-

  When the curtain rises / written by Rachel Dunstan Muller.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-55143-615-9

  ISBN-10: 1-55143-615-9

  I. Title.

  PS8626.U445W44 2007 jC813’.6 C2006-906136-X

  First published in the United States, 2007

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2006937244

  Summary: Chloe confronts her own fears when she investigates the strange history of her great-grandfather, a magician who disappeared at the height of his popularity.

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Typesetting by Christine Toller

  Cover artwork by Pol Turgen

  Orca Book Publishers

  PO Box 5626, Stn. B

  Victoria, BC Canada

  V8R 6S4

  Orca Book Publishers

  PO Box 468

  Custer, WA USA

  98240-0468

  www.orcabook.com

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  Printed on 100% PCW paper.

  10 09 08 07 • 4 3 2 1

  For Bern, who believed.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  “I had the weirdest dream last night,” Chloe said as she slid into her seat at the kitchen table.

  Her father looked up from his crossword puzzle. “Another nightmare?”

  Chloe shook her head. “Not exactly.”

  “You’re up early on your first day of vacation,” said her mother. She pushed a box of cornflakes in Chloe’s direction.“I’ve been awake since six. I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

  “So what was so strange about your dream?” asked her father.

  Chloe shrugged, pushing aside a curl that had fallen into her eyes. “I don’t know. It just felt so real. Like I was there. I was walking down a street through an old-fashioned town. On one side of the street there was a river, almost like a canal. The other side of the street was lined with tall houses. I stopped in front of the biggest one and just stood there staring at it. It was familiar somehow. Then I heard a woman call my name. I couldn’t see who it was, but when I woke up I could still hear her voice in my head. It gave me goose bumps.”

  Chloe’s parents exchanged glances. “It sounds like the house in Little Venice,” said her father.

  “What house?” Chloe said.

  “Don’t you remember?” asked her father.

  “It’s been about ten years since our last visit, Sam,” Chloe’s mother pointed out. “Chloe couldn’t have been more than two or three.”

  “You’re right,” said her father. “The old ladies couldn’t get enough of you, Chloe, as I recall. The three of you were inseparable the entire time we were there.”

  “What old ladies?” Chloe asked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Maybe this will refresh your memory,” said her mother. She held up a cream envelope. “This came for you yesterday. I found it when I was sorting through the bills this morning.”

  Chloe took the heavy envelope from her mother’s manicured hand. There was no return address, but the envelope was postmarked Little Venice, Ontario. She broke the seal with her thumbnail. As she was removing the single folded page, a tiny golden key dropped into her lap. She picked up the key and stared at it for a moment before putting it on the table and turning her attention to the letter. She read the short note twice. There was no mention of the tiny key.

  “Well, what does it say?” asked her father.

  “It’s an invitation,” said Chloe, slightly bewildered. “From your aunts, Dad. Elizabeth and Katherine. They want me to spend the summer with them in Little Venice.”

  “Really?” said her mother. “How nice.”

  “I’m not going,” Chloe said as she shoved the folded note back into its envelope. “It would be too weird.”

  “What would be weird about it?” her father asked. “You could use a distraction right now. A change of scenery.”

  “Dad,” Chloe said, turning red. “Don’t start.”

  “Start what? I’m not starting anything. I just said you could use a vacation.”

  “Mom!”

  “Don’t look at me,” said her mother, raising her hands. “I think spending some time in Little Venice this summer is a great idea.”

  Chloe eyed her parents suspiciously. “You knew about this before I even opened the letter, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, we did,” her mother admitted. “Your great-aunts called us a few weeks ago. They haven’t seen you for a long time, and your dad and I talked about it and agreed that the timing was perfect. Your father’s right, Chloe. A vacation would be a really healthy thing for you right now.”

  “So let’s all go to Hawaii, then.”

  “You know I can’t get away from Edmonton this summer,” said her mother. “With Jacqueline on maternity leave, my caseload has exploded. I’m lucky if I get to go to the bathroom these days.”

  “We could always enroll you in summer camp somewhere,” her father said.

  Chloe shook her head in alarm. “No way!”

  “Right,” said her father. “Then why not give your great-aunts a try?”

  “But I don’t even know them! A visit when I was in diapers hardly counts.”

  Chloe’s mother put her empty bowl down on the counter and picked up her briefcase. “Here’s your chance, then. Your great-aunts are getting old. They won’t be around forever.”

  “Do I have a choice?” asked Chloe.

  Her father shrugged. “Of course you have a choice, Chloe. But think about it. You don’t have to go for the whole summer— how about just for a month? Little Venice is a magical place. I used to spend my vacations there, and I loved it.”

  Chloe waited until both her parents were gone—her mother to her law office and her father to his music store in the mall—before getting up from the table. She cleaned up the kitchen, started the dishwasher and went directly to the baby grand piano in the living room.

  Chloe lifted the heavy lid and ran her fingertips lightly over the keys. “Here goes nothing,” she told herself with a sigh, flexing her fingers. She moved quickly through her scales and then played a few practice pieces from memory. When she was satisfied that her hands were warmed up, she arranged the sheet music for Chopin’s Nocturne in F-sharp Major on the narrow shelf in front of her. She took a few deep breaths and began.

  Everything was fine as long as
Chloe kept her mind empty of everything but the music. But as soon as she let the image of an audience creep into her mind, her pulse began to race and her hands started to tremble.

  Chloe took a few calming breaths and started over again. This time she visualized Mrs. Jann, her piano teacher, seated on a stool beside her. But even that simple image distracted Chloe and made her stumble as she played.

  “This is stupid!” Chloe cried after several more failed attempts to play the piece through to its conclusion. She let her clenched hands fall into her lap. Her head fell forward against the music on the ledge. “I can’t do this,” she whispered. “It’s too hard.”

  “So. What did you do today?” her father asked as he tossed diced vegetables and pieces of chicken in a sizzling wok that evening.

  “Not much,” Chloe said. “Ashley came over for a while. Her family’s driving up to Yellowknife next week to visit her brother.”

  “How long is she going to be gone?”

  Chloe frowned. “A whole month. They’re going camping all over the place.”

  “It’ll be boring here for you without Ashley around. Did you give any more thought to your great-aunts’ invitation?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call spending my vacation with two ninety-year-olds an ‘exciting’ alternative,” said Chloe.

  “Don’t write them off just because of their age,” said her father. “Your old aunts have a lot of life left in them. They might surprise you.”

  Chloe was silent for a moment as she fingered the tiny key that still sat where she’d left it on the table. “So, what do you think this key is for, anyway?” she asked.

  Her father reached for the tiny key and weighed it in his hand. “It’s too small to be a room key. Maybe it unlocks a small chest or a jewelry box or the lock on a journal. But who knows? Your great-aunts’ house is full of mysteries.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like hidden rooms and secret passageways, for starters.”

  “Really?” Chloe said, her eyebrows rising.

  “Really,” her father replied with a grin. “Curious yet?”

  Chloe felt the corners of her own mouth curl up slightly. “Maybe. Just a little.”

  A week later, Chloe rose early and followed her parents out to the driveway. As she waited for her father to finish loading her luggage into the trunk of her mother’s Audi, Chloe fingered the tiny golden key that she’d hung on a chain around her neck. She continued playing with it absently all the way to the airport.

  Chloe’s parents stayed with her while she checked her luggage and picked up her boarding pass. At the final security checkpoint, they said their goodbyes.

  “Now don’t forget. Your great-aunts’ housekeeper, Abigail, will be waiting for you in Toronto,” said Chloe’s father. “She’ll have a sign with your name on it, so you won’t be able to miss her.”

  Chloe nodded, trying to hide her impatience. “I remember. I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

  “Use your calling card to call us when you get in,” said her mother.

  “I will.”

  “And give the old girls a hug for me,” said her father. “By the way,” he added, “I believe your great-aunts still have an old upright piano tucked away somewhere. Just in case you get the urge to play a few scales.”

  “Sam!” said Chloe’s mother, shaking her head sternly. “Give her a break!” She took her daughter’s hand. “Your counselor said you need some time off. Even Mrs. Jann agreed.”

  “I’ve got to go,” said Chloe, tugging her hand away. “They’re calling my flight.”

  “I love you, Chloe,” said her mother.

  “Me too,” said her father.

  “I love you too.” Chloe kissed her parents goodbye and broke away to join the line that led through the security checkpoint. She turned to wave at them one last time when she was on the other side of the metal detectors.

  As she made her way to her departure gate, Chloe felt an unexpected rush of exhilaration sweep through her body. She was on her own, setting off on an adventure halfway across the country.

  A stout woman with graying brown hair was waiting in the arrivals area at the Toronto airport, holding up a small handwritten sign that said Chloe McBride. The woman’s eyes lit up behind her wire-rimmed glasses when she saw Chloe approaching.

  “Chloe! You look just like your school pictures. I’m Abigail. I can’t tell you how thrilled your aunts are that you’re coming. Kitty’s been counting down the days like a schoolgirl!”

  The housekeeper’s good humor was hard to resist. Chloe smiled back.

  “Let me carry that for you,” said Abigail, reaching for Chloe’s carry-on bag. Chloe started to protest, but the bag had already been snatched away. “Now let’s track down the rest of your luggage—assuming the airline hasn’t sent it to Paraguay.”

  Abigail continued to chatter as she led Chloe to her tiny hatchback, parked in the bowels of the airport parkade. By the time they’d stopped for burgers and fries just off the freeway near London, Chloe had only managed to insert about a dozen words into the conversation.

  It was almost eight o’clock when they finally reached the turnoff for Little Venice. As the hatchback left the highway and drove through the outskirts of the small town, Chloe felt goose bumps rise on her arms. The view outside her window was ordinary enough. Tall maples, oaks and chestnut trees formed shady tunnels along residential streets. Children played on trim front lawns and rode bikes and scooters up and down the wide sidewalks. It could have been an older neighborhood in almost any city, but somehow, even though Chloe had no memory of ever being here, it seemed strangely familiar.

  The car turned and turned again, and they made their way through the center of town. Pretty, old-fashioned storefronts painted in bright colors lined the town’s streets. Pedestrians spilled over the brick sidewalks.

  “Everyone wants to be in Little Venice in the summertime,” Abigail said. “It’s a magical town—there’s no other place quite like it.”

  Chloe nodded, drinking it all in. “My father called it that too. Magical.”

  They drove over a long stone bridge that crossed a canal. “The Grand Canal,” said Abigail. “Little Venice was modeled after the original Venice in Italy. The town founders carved out the first canal, but they never got around to all the lesser ones. Cost too much, I guess. This one starts down at the lake and ends at St. Mark’s Theatre.” She gestured toward a large domed building at the far end of the canal. “We’re almost home now.”

  Chloe drew in her breath. With a ribbon of shining water on one side of the street and a row of proud Victorian mansions on the other, it was almost as if Abigail were driving her through the setting of the dream she’d had the night before she received her invitation. As Chloe released her breath, Abigail pulled over to the curb and parked.

  “This is it,” the housekeeper announced.

  It was all just as she remembered from her dream: the wraparound veranda, the overflowing window boxes at the lower windows, the turrets and balconies and widow’s walk above. But Chloe only had a moment to take in the house before two tiny elderly women appeared on the front steps.

  “Chloe!” one of them called out, clapping in delight. “You made it!”

  “I told you,” said Abigail. She nudged Chloe forward. “Kitty’s been positively beside herself.”

  Chloe was gathered into a soft lavender-scented hug the moment she reached the steps of the veranda. “Welcome to Little Venice, my dear,” said the old woman in whose slender arms Chloe was wrapped. “We’re so happy you decided to come!”

  “You’re going to smother her, Kitty,” said the second old woman. “Well, let’s have a look at you,” she continued. Her green eyes scanned Chloe’s face. “You’ve got your mother’s mouth, but there’s still something of the McBrides up around your eyes.”

  “And that hair,” said the first woman, reaching out to touch Chloe’s brown curls.

  The second woman nodded. “She definitely ha
s Magdala’s hair.”

  “Oh, Bess!” The first old woman raised her hand to her mouth. “Where are our manners? We’ve been chattering like magpies without introducing ourselves. I’m Kitty and she’s Bess,” she said to Chloe. “We’re identical twins, but you shouldn’t have too much trouble telling us apart. I’ll give you a hint,” she added in a stage whisper. “I like wearing violet, and Bess favors blue.”

  “Only one of us is chattering,” Bess remarked. She turned to Chloe. “Put that bag down and come have a seat on the veranda. I don’t imagine you’ve had any decent food since you left home this morning.”

  “I’m fine,” Chloe protested. “We stopped for burgers and fries on our way from the airport.”

  Bess waved her hands in the air dismissively. “That’s not real food.”

  “We have strawberry shortcake,” said Kitty. “You don’t want to pass up our shortcake, my dear. Abigail picked the strawberries and I whipped the cream myself,” she continued, steering Chloe toward a wicker chair on the veranda.

  Abigail stepped inside the house and returned a moment later with a tray. “Don’t worry,” the housekeeper whispered as she handed Chloe her shortcake and a tall glass of iced tea. “You’ll get a chance to catch your breath eventually.”

  Chapter Two

  Chloe had intended to get up early the next morning, but the clock on the bedside table said eight thirty when the knock on her door woke her up. “Wha’? Hello?” she said, momentarily disoriented.

  “It’s just me.” Abigail’s voice came from the hallway. “I’m about to put breakfast on the table.”

  “Thanks,” Chloe mumbled. She pushed herself out of bed, slipped on her bathrobe and followed her nose out to the kitchen.

  “Did you sleep well?” Abigail asked as she removed two waffles from a waffle iron. Bacon and eggs sizzled behind her in a pan on the stove.

  Chloe yawned and nodded. “That’s the softest bed I’ve ever slept in. It was like sleeping on a cloud.”

  “You can thank your great-aunts for that. They like everyone to be very comfortable,” said Abigail. “Speaking of your aunts, they’re just through here having their morning tea. Be a dear and hold the door while I carry in this tray.”