Odette was stunned. She reached across to grasp her friend’s hand. “I am so sorry, Cara darling.”
She gave herself a little shake. “It’s being here.” Cara gestured out the window. “In England. I’m too close. I can feel the pull of my green island—my family. Of course, they’re not there yet. At least the ones I knew. I’m just being sentimental.”
“We’ll go visit,” Odette said with determination. “We have two hundred years after all to work with.” She pressed her lips firmly together and nodded. “After we save the world and reinstate the natural order of things, we’ll go celebrate in Ireland before returning home.”
They both laughed restored to a comfortable equilibrium.
The coach jolted over the clogged streets halting occasionally for familiar urban fixtures—traffic, street vendors, stray dogs, and beggars, many of them children. But it wasn’t until they turned onto Drury Lane, that Odette realized Gabriel’s distaste for her profession might have as much to do with location as social stigma.
For Drury Lane was one of the most depressing slums she had ever encountered. It was dominated by sleazy pubs and prostitutes. Working their wares, even in the daytime, the prostitutes quickly noticed the well-appointed coach. Most turned away when it became obvious that the occupants were not male. One, however, blew a kiss and winked saucily crooking her finger in invitation. Odette could tell she was young. Even under the layers of garish face paint. On impulse she leaned out the window.
“Stop! Stop for a moment!” she yelled up at the coachman.
“Can’t stop here, miss. Too busy.”
“Then pull over. Just for a moment. Please.”
“Odette, what are you doing?” Cara demanded. “We have an appointment to keep!”
“This will only take a second.” She leaned further out the window and waved to the young prostitute as the coach pulled alongside. The girl looked at her in surprise and some dismay. As if Odette had not understood her bold gesture as a joke.
Odette shook her head. “No, no, I don’t want your… ah… services. Just come here, please.”
The girl sashayed over, swinging broad hips. She was indeed young and still pretty. Her brown curls were piled high on her head. She had wide, blue eyes, a pug nose, and full lips over pleasingly crooked teeth. She stopped next to the coach.
“You want me for your man then?” she asked in an uneducated accent, although her voice was low and pleasant.
“Ah, no… no man.” Odette unclasped the pearl pendant from around her neck. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen, miss.”
Odette looked at her in disbelief.
“Fifteen last December,” she admitted with a wide grin.
“And your name?”
“Fancy.”
“Is that your real name?”
“It’s as real as you’re ever gonna know.”
“Fair enough, Fancy. My name is Odette. I’m going to the Theatre Royal to audition.”
“Good for you then. What’d ya need me for?”
“If I’m hired, I’ll need someone to help me—to assist with certain things.”
Fancy nodded with a knowing look on her face. “Help you with the gentlemen like.”
“No—”
“Got to move!” shouted the coachman. “Can’t stay here any longer, miss.”
“Alright,” Odette yelled and turned back to Fancy. “I can’t explain now, but take this.” She pressed the pearl necklace into the startled girl’s outstretched hand. “It’s quite valuable, so don’t get cheated out of its full worth. It may be a fortnight or so before I start working. Use the money to stay off the streets. Then come to the theater and ask for me.”
The coach jerked sharply as it pulled back into the stream of traffic. The stunned girl was left to stare after them.
“What was that all about?” Cara sat back with her arms crossed. “A generous gesture to be sure, but you do know you’ll never see that girl again.”
“I wish it was a generous gesture,” Odette replied, her usually expressive face impassive.
Cara tilted her head to one side questioningly.
Odette looked down at the lovely dark blue of her skirt. She smoothed out a wrinkle and spoke without meeting Cara’s eyes, “We’re going to need information, Cara. In Odell’s notebook he wrote of building a network of informants. Finding people who are connected at all levels of society.”
“Fancy?”
“She’s a prostitute. She’ll have access to that world. To information we could never get on our own.”
“But how can this help us?”
“Drake can’t do this alone. He’s going to need people in both high and low places. We’re just going to get to those places before he does.”
The coach made a sharp turn and threw them back against the cushions. Odette poked her head out the window to find they had turned abruptly onto a side street. “Here, coachman! Where are you going?”
“I’m taking you ’round by the main entrance. Don’t think its right to let you ladies down with them sorts milling about.”
Odette pulled her head back in. Cara smiled. “He saw you give Fancy the necklace. He figures you for a Plushy.”
Odette thought back to the last time someone believed her soft. Cristabelle had called Odell soft too—an easy mark. Well, both Cristabelle and the coachman would be surprised to learn that she was doing Fancy no favors drawing her into this intrigue.
The coach turned again and then stopped in front of what looked to be a darkened entrance to a covered passageway. A boy stepped forward to grab the horses’ heads, while the coachman jumped down to open the door and put down the steps. Odette followed Cara out of the coach to stand on the wood planked entrance to the theater.
The coachman unbuckled two leather bags from the rear rack and handed them to Odette and Cara. “The theater’s right through that passageway. I’ll be back ’round in about an hour.”
“Thank you,” Odette replied and led the way into the wide, dark passage. They walked a short distance to emerge into a walled yard opened to the sky. Across the yard were small, narrow stairs that went in three different directions into the theater. They took the ones leading center and down and found themselves in the pit.
Odette walked forward. Her footsteps echoed in the large, empty theater. She stopped in the center of the pit and took a deep breath. Nothing had changed. Over two hundred years and yet nothing had changed. She could as well be standing in the darkened house of her own dear White Swan.
The White Swan was smaller, but the design was almost identical. The benches of the pit spread back from the stage in arching rows. On the wall, a circular line of boxes surrounded the pit. The front boxes, or amphitheater, would be where the wealthiest patrons sat. In the pit, one would find a mix of people. Merchants and other working folk rubbed shoulders with aristocratic young men and their mistresses.
The stage was large and elevated. Odette could see the polished wood planks from where she stood. Elaborate chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and she realized that at least one thing was quite different. There was no electricity. The theater and stage were lit entirely by candlelight. One of the main reasons most performances were staged in the early afternoons.
“To dance by candlelight,” she whispered to herself. A little shiver of delight coursed through her. She wondered if candlelight would create an atmosphere of greater intimacy with the people who came to watch her dance.
“Odette,” Cara’s voice broke into her thoughts, “someone is coming.”
A petite figure approached them from the pit door. “Miss Swanpoole?” It was a lady, a very graceful one. Dressed in orange silk with ruffles of white lace at the throat and elbows, she stopped in front of them.
“Miss Swanpoole, I am Eva Marie Garrick, David’s wife,” she said in German-accented English, however, more polished than that of the little shoemaker.
Odette caught herself before presenting her hand to shake and
merely bowed her head in greeting. “Mrs. Garrick, how good to meet you. This is my friend, Miss Cara Mills.”
Mrs. Garrick nodded politely to Cara but turned her attention quickly back to Odette. “I was very intrigued to read your letter. I have never heard of a dance master by the name of Blasis or this new technique you wrote of.”
Odette swallowed nervously. Lying always made her mouth dry. “Yes… well… he is very retiring—one of those genius types with little social skills and no interest in anything but his art.”
Eva flicked her hand charmingly in the air. “Oh, my dear, I know the type.” She led the way back through the door and up the stairs into the wings. Talking all the while, she pointed out important features of the theater. “My husband has many plans for improvement and would very much like to enlarge the theater.”
They walked down a narrow hallway with dressing rooms on either side. Odette was in her element. Just the smell of the theater soothed her. Through scent she could feel the aged wood, the polish from the floorboards mixed with paint, and musty curtains. By the afternoon this place would be humming with activity. Stagehands, technicians, actors, dancers all would come together in concert to provide a few hours of escape and entertainment.
She inhaled deeply and asked, “Is Mister Garrick to meet us here as well?”
Eva stopped at the opened door of a small room and gestured them inside. “I must confess, Miss Swanpoole, it is I who answered your message. My husband is in Scotland for several days, and I was too curious to wait until his return.”
The three women in their large hoop skirts filled the dressing room. It appeared even more crowded as the full-length and dressing table mirrors reflected their images back a hundredfold.
“So your husband is unaware of this audition?” Cara spoke for the first time.
“Entirely.” She smiled sweetly. “But do not worry. I was a dancer of some renown. David always seeks my advice when we stage a ballet.” She clapped her delicate hands to her breast. “And we have a visiting expert. He was set to return to France but has delayed his departure as a favor to me.” She picked up her skirts in an efficient manner and flattened them to her sides as she exited the room. “Now, Miss Swanpoole, please prepare yourself and meet me at the stage in half an hour.”
Odette and Cara were left alone.
The dressing room was located at the interior of the building and had no windows. Only light from the hallway and the wavering flame of a candle illuminated the sparely furnished room. Odette looked around at the dancing shadows and dimly lit reflections and felt a flicker of butterflies in her stomach.
She blew out a slow breath. “What do you think Cara? Is this on the upside? Is she for real?”
“Well, her dress is very luxurious and well designed. I have no doubt she is his wife. And she certainly looks the part of a dancer.” Cara put the bag on the dressing table. “What reason would she have for messin’ with us anyhow?” She gave a Gaelic shrug of her shoulders. “Aye, we’ll know soon enough. You’d better get ready.”
Odette was ready in under twenty minutes. The last ten minutes, she used to stretch and warm up. She didn’t have a barre and time was short, but it would have to do.
She walked down the corridor with Cara trailing behind her. Odette always thought it funny how ungainly ballerinas appeared walking flat-footed in pointe shoes. With feet splayed out like a penguin’s. The mid-calf tutu Cara had designed grazed the opposite walls of the narrow hallway. Odette flattened herself against one wall as two workmen rushed by throwing surprised looks back over their shoulders.
She put her hand up to check the hairpiece pinned onto her head to simulate a classical ballerina’s bun. Her hair was slicked back with a pomade Cara had concocted with the help of Josephine Wright. It was an unnecessary detail. Ballerinas had yet to wear their hair in this fashion. But Odette had insisted. The ritual of hair and makeup comforted her and gave her courage. A lot depended on this audition. Odette only hoped that Eva Marie Garrick was indeed the advisor to her husband she claimed to be.
She was certainly astonished when Odette appeared in the wings.
“Miss Swanpoole! You… you… look,” she struggled for words. After a moment of stunned silence she shut her mouth firmly and reached out to touch the tutu. “May I?” she asked.
“Of course.” Odette nodded.
“This is extraordinary!” she enthused, touching the stiff gauze. “The appliqué work is exquisite. But how is it held up? There are no sleeves, no corset.” She reached up to touch Odette’s shoulder and drew in a sharp breath. “Oh! But I see it now! The netting is so thin—so delicate. No one will see it from the audience. They will believe you are dancing in an enchanted dress!”
“Miss Mills is a master of her art,” Odette explained.
“Indeed she is! I think I should be scandalized. But it is too beautiful, and you look so lovely. And this?” She pointed at Odette’s feet. “What do you have on your feet?”
Odette felt again the familiar twinge of her conscience. She tamped it down firmly. “Pointe shoes, Mrs. Garrick. They allow me to push the boundaries of ballet to a new level.”
“Extraordinary!” she exclaimed again. “I will have to look at them more closely later.” She straightened her shoulders and gathered about her a more professional demeanor. “Now, Miss Swanpoole, if you will come with me.”
Cara was left in the wings while Eva led the way out onto the stage. Adjustments had been made to the lighting. Two of the large chandeliers were lit illuminating the forward part of the stage. In the wings, candles were set in holders mounted on partitions. These partitions were set on tracks that could move the candles further out onto the stage if necessary.
Eva walked to the edge of the stage and motioned Odette to follow. “I would like to introduce your accompanist for today, Arthur Harrison.”
Odette nodded politely and bent down to speak with the fashionably dressed young man standing in the orchestra pit. She hadn’t noticed earlier the railing that separated this small space from the rest of the pit. But now she could see the neatly arranged benches and the two harpsichords that bounded the orchestra on each end.
Arthur stared at her in some fascination and said, “I play the harpsichord. Do you have any preference in music?”
Odette knew this to be her most difficult task. Typically classical music of the time was composed with vocal accompaniment in mind. The harpsichord, in particular, had a tendency to sound stilted and courtly. The early ballet music with which she was most familiar came later in the eighteenth century.
“For the type of dance I perform, Mister Harrison, I need music that is lyrical and flowing. Perhaps something by Christoph Gluck.”
He blinked at her in surprise. “As it happens, Miss Swanpoole, he is working on a new ballet. His first, I believe. I know much of his music. I think I can improvise something for you.”
Eva clapped her hands together decisively. “Yes, yes, Arthur, improvise. She looks like a magical creature. You must provide proper music.” She gazed off into the boxes and waved her hand, speaking loudly, “Jean, are you ready?” She must have received an affirmative gesture in return, because she said, “I go now to join Jean. You may begin when ready.”
After Eva had exited the stage, Odette addressed the young musician again, “Would you please play a few stanzas for me. I just need to hear it.”
Odette breathed deeply to calm her racing heart. To be sure there was always some anxiety before a performance. But not since she was a very young dancer had she felt her hands grow clammy and knees wobbly as they were doing now. It was as if the eyes of all those she was about to usurp frowned down upon her from the heavens.
The first notes of the harpsichord floated up onto the stage, and she closed her eyes. “Forgive me,” she whispered.
She struck a pose. Her arms were delicately bent and slightly out from her body, right foot pointed behind her. Odette kept her eyes closed and let the music flow through h
er. She opened her eyes as she heard the harpsichord falter and realized she had been still too long. She took a deep breath and nodded reassuringly to Arthur. He bent over the instrument again and resumed.
Odette opened with an arabesque, balancé, cabriole and chassé. She felt her muscles loosen. The familiar movements flowed out from her hands and feet, arms and legs, head and neck. Her whole body became part of the music. Years of training allowed her to move with technical precision and startling grace. She executed another arabesque, followed by a grand jeté and développé.
The music became smoother. The twangy notes of the harpsichord softened. Odette transitioned effortlessly into a bourrée, chaîné, penche, chassé, fouetté and finally a pirouette—a single—a double. She faltered. Odette felt the pointe shoe give way, the makeshift shank broken almost in two. Drawing the muscles of her leg up taunt and trying to control her faltering foot, she came to a stop and held herself for a millisecond more en pointe. She slowly rolled down. Not very gracefully, but she was grateful not to have fallen.
It was a short variation. No more than two minutes. It still left her gasping for air her chest visibly heaving. Even through her heavy breathing, she could sense the profound silence around her. She put her hands on her hips and walked forward so as to see Arthur at the harpsichord. He was bent over the instrument his fingers splayed across the keys as if still playing. Odette looked out into the silent house, and then finally over at Cara.
She licked her lips and stared down at her feet. Something was wrong. Why was no one applauding or even speaking? Her whole performance was intended to overwhelm, to give the Theatre Royal no other option but to employ her. As a tour de force, people would flock to see her. No door would be closed to her, and she would have access to important people.
But the silence only deepened, and she felt her legs tremble. Cara joined her on stage and grasped her hand.
Finally there was movement at the back of the theater. She focused her eyes on a dark, fuzzy figure that solidified as it came into the circle of light cast by the chandeliers. He was neatly dressed entirely in black. A trim figure with strong shoulders, his only adornment was a powdered wig. Odette looked into his face and felt her knees buckle. She clung tightly to Cara’s hand and hurriedly sat down on the edge of the stage. She bent forward and put her head in her hands sucking in air.
Odette Speex: Time Traitors Book 1 Page 13