by Megan Chance
“A misunderstanding,” I said, attempting a smile. “I felt a little ill. But I’m fine now.”
He gave me a shy smile. “I saw you at the Regal once. In that play—I don’t remember the name. About the divorce?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, it was good. You were good.”
This was what we’d hoped for. Ginny Langley blending into Beatrice Wilkes, with only one seeing the difference. I smiled back at him. “Why, thank you. You’re very kind.”
“You won’t want to go up them stairs, ma’am. They’re for the servants.”
“Oh, but I don’t want to go clear around,” I said. “And I’m no fine lady. Just an actress. I’ve seen worse stairs than these.”
He ducked his head in reply, and said nothing more as I went up, pausing again at the top, listening. There was no sign of Nathan, and the crowd was clapping, Lucius Greene was saying something about the Phoenix, and I hurried down the hallway and back into the dressing room, nearly tearing off the gown in my haste, laying it back over the settee, crawling into the armoire, clad only in my corset and chemise. I’d no sooner closed the armoire door than the one to the dressing room opened, and the chatter of Mrs. Chace and Miss Jenks followed it. Then Mrs. Wilkes said, “That went well, didn’t it?”
I sagged back against the wall of the armoire, putting my head in my hands, breathing deep. And suddenly I was trembling. I thought of Nathan racing down those stairs behind me, how big a risk I’d taken, how easily he might have caught me. Now that it was over, I was shaken at how dangerous it had been.
The chattering went on. Finally, I heard Mrs. Chace say, “I’m going back out.”
Miss Jenks said, “Are you coming, Bea?”
“In a minute,” Mrs. Wilkes said. “These damn pins. Go on. I’ll be there shortly.”
The door closed. There was silence. Then a tap on the armoire door. It creaked open, just a bit. She whispered, “Are you in there?”
“Yes,” I said.
“What happened? I know he saw you. I saw him leave.”
“He didn’t catch me,” I said.
“So it went as we planned?”
“Yes indeed. He was quite distressed.”
“I hope so.” She paused. “Well, then … good night.”
She closed the armoire door. I waited for her to leave. Then I came out of the armoire and dressed in my old gown, putting up my hair again, tying the apron about my waist, and in my guise as a servant, I left the Wilcox house.
Chapter Thirty
Beatrice
The moment I returned to the ballroom after changing back into the blue silk, Nathan grabbed my arm and shoved me into a corner. He smelled of liquor as he breathed into my face, “Where were you?”
“Changing,” I said, drawing back, though I couldn’t go far because the wall was right there. I pulled my arm from his grasp. “And if you don’t mind—”
“Have you left this room at all?”
“Just to go to the dressing room,” I said.
“You didn’t go downstairs? You didn’t run from me?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Are you telling me the truth?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m telling you the truth. Why wouldn’t I? What are you talking about?”
He sighed and closed his eyes briefly. “Then it was her I saw.”
“Who?” I feigned confusion when all I wanted to do was laugh at how well things had gone.
“Ginny. She was wearing that dress, the one you have on.” He ran his finger from my collarbone to the swelling of my breast, which was nearly falling out of that low bodice. “The servant said it was you, but it was her. You promise me you weren’t downstairs?”
“I’ve already told you I wasn’t. How could I have been? I was in the tableau.”
He shook his head, as if shaking off confusion. “I wouldn’t have mistaken her. I saw her, I tell you. It was Ginny.”
“Did anyone else see her?”
“No. They all look at me as if I’m mad. But I’m not mad, am I, Bea?”
I saw how badly he wanted reassurance, and you know, I could almost have felt sorry for him right then, except he had that strange look in his eyes, and I thought that if he’d managed to get hold of his wife, he might have strangled her. I knew already that feeling sorry for Nathan Langley was a waste of time, and I had a role to play. The role Sebastian had written for me. Penelope Justis. I felt her inhabit me the way the best roles did, her righteous anger, her determination, and I took hold of her hard and feigned sympathy as I touched Nathan’s cheek. “I believe you’ve seen her.”
His eyes widened. “You believe me?”
“Well, not that you’ve seen her exactly, but her spirit.”
Uncertainly, he said, “I don’t know.…”
“What else could it be?”
Nathan seemed to slump. He ran his hand through his hair and tossed off the rest of his drink. “No. That can’t be true.”
“No one else saw her. Not here or at the mayor’s speech. It’s clear she’s appearing only to you.”
“I don’t believe it.” But his tone said otherwise. “I’ve never believed in such things.”
“It seems to me that you might want to start believing now. Really, Nathan, it would be one thing if you’d only seen her in the city. Then perhaps I’d think she might be alive. I mean, I suppose there’s a possibility no one’s spotted her. But to see her here—how could she have done it? Are you saying she snuck in? How?”
His jaw went tight. “I suppose not. Not here. She was never welcome here.”
“There are a hundred people in this room at least. And servants too.”
“Impossible,” he agreed quietly.
I said again, “What else could it be but her spirit?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know!” He spoke the last so loudly I saw people turn to look. He lowered his voice as if he’d noted it too. “Dear God … what if it is? Why does she appear?”
“She must want something.”
“Want something? Why would you say that?”
“It’s what the spiritualists say. That spirits return because they’ve left something unfinished, because they want something. What could she want from you?”
He frowned. “Nothing. She had everything.”
“She’s left something undone then,” I suggested.
“Undone? Like what?”
“I suppose there might be any number of things. Is there a reason she might be angry? Could she want vengeance for something?”
“Vengeance? What would she want vengeance for?”
“I don’t know. You knew her best, didn’t you?”
Beneath cheeks flushed from drink, he paled. “There’s nothing,” he whispered. “Of course not.”
“Perhaps you should think on it.”
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “Yes, of course. I shall think on it.”
I saw more than a few curious glances. I looked to where Jack and Lucius and Brody were packing the props we’d used for the tableau. “The others are leaving,” I said softly. “You wanted me to stay?”
He blinked, looking at me as if he’d forgotten who I was or what he was doing talking to me. “I—perhaps not tonight. I find I’m …” He let the words trail off, and that was such good luck I could hardly believe it. It was all I could do not to dance off in relief. But this isn’t over, Bea, and you know it. It’s only delayed. Yes, I knew that too.
“Then I’ll go with Lucius.” I touched Nathan’s arm as if I cared. “You’ll be all right?”
He passed his hand over his eyes. “Yes. Yes, I’ll be fine. You go on.”
I nearly ran over to Lucius and the others, and when Lucius saw me he said, “Are you ready to fly away, sweet Bea?”
He was smiling as if he’d just won some huge prize, which I guess was pretty much the case, because then he said that Mrs. Wilcox had paid him for our services, a percentage of the donations, and the crowd had been lar
ge and wealthy.
“It went well then?” I asked.
“Such spoils surpass my wildest hopes.”
“I trust you mean to share,” Jack said wryly.
Lucius said, “But of course! Have I not promised it? A few coins to my good players in the morning. At rehearsal. Ten o’clock, and not a moment later.”
I had to admit I was looking forward to maybe buying a new dress if there was something to be found among whatever dry goods managed to get into town, and maybe some food for Mrs. Langley too. Something besides bread.
I glanced over my shoulder to see Nathan snag another drink from a passing waiter. “Well, let’s go then. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m for bed.”
Jackson winked at me. “How anxious you seem, my love! No doubt you expect it warm and waiting for you! Who’s it to be tonight? Our rich patron or our resident playwright?”
“You haven’t insulted Langley, have you, Beatrice?” Lucius asked.
“I have not,” I said indignantly. “But as it happens, he has other obligations tonight.”
“He looks to be glued to the bottle,” Jack noted.
“And likely to stay that way a good while,” I told him. “Shall we leave before he changes his mind?”
Jack laughed, and Lucius shook his head and tsked at me, but neither of them said anything more as we gathered up the others and made our way out of the Wilcox mansion. The night was cooling, but there was still the faint scent of smoke in the air. Mrs. Chace grumbled at the lack of a wagon, and Lucius complained of dyspepsia, and Jack said, “You should have known not to eat so many oysters.”
Aloysius sighed as he looked up at the stars. “Ah, I vow ’tis a relief again to be in the open air! ‘Society is now one polished horde, formed of two mighty tribes, the Bores and Bored.’ ”
Brody laughed. “Ain’t that true enough! But there was fun to be had if you knew where to look. Some of them women ain’t so buttoned up as they pretend.”
“Nor are some of the men,” Aloys said with a smile.
Lucius grimaced. “My children, I do hope you left them with an appreciation of our talents rather than cursing our debaucheries.”
“Who’s to say they aren’t the same thing?” Jack asked with a smile. “To hear the rumors, some of them prefer to play in dirtier fields. I vow I’d never suspected such things of our good Mr. Fulton, for example. Or Mrs. Bailey, for that matter.”
“Not to mention Mrs. Langley,” Brody said.
Aloysius said, “Yes—speaking of her: Did any of you see the way her husband dashed out during our tableau?”
I’d only been idly listening while we walked, but now I perked up.
“Oh dear, did we bore him?” Mrs. Chace asked.
“I hear it was more than boredom,” Aloys went on. “They say he saw his wife.”
Jack asked, “His wife? So she’s been found?”
“She hasn’t been found,” Aloysius said. “But the rumor is that he’s seen her about town. More than once.”
Carefully, I put in, “How could that be? I thought she was dead.”
“Ah, but that’s the thing. We’re talking ghosties, darling. And Langley drinking as if he means to chase her spirit away with … well, spirits.”
“Who’s saying this?” I asked.
I almost heard Aloys shrug in the darkness. “It was all the talk tonight. One or two of his fellows are quite concerned. They say he was raving when he came back from wherever he rushed off to tonight. And he asked the mayor to send the police after her yesterday, even though no one saw anything then either.”
Lucius said, “Good God, I hope the man’s not mad! Did he seem so to you, Bea?”
I didn’t want to overplay it, so I said, “He seems … not quite himself since his wife disappeared.”
Jack said, “There once was a man name of Langley, lost his wife in a fire and said ‘Hang me! For the one I loved most is a richly jeweled ghost, and I do feel a pang or two, dang me!’ ”
I glared at him. “That may be the worst limerick I’ve ever heard.”
“But appropriate, don’t you think?” Jack mused. “He had his hands full with her, and no doubt.”
“So you heard the rumor about her too,” Brody said.
“Which one?” Jack asked. “There seemed to be a multitude. I must confess, I wish I’d known of them when she was among us. She might have been a tasty treat.”
“Though I recall that when you held her in your arms, it was only to subject her to your disdain,” Aloysius reminded him.
“Ah, but I would proceed differently, now that I know she has a penchant for our kind.”
“It was one artist,” I snapped. “Even if it were true, that’s hardly a penchant.”
I don’t know who was more surprised by my words, me or Jack. He stared at me like a gaping fish, and I was stunned that I’d defended her. For a moment I didn’t feel like myself; it was as if I’d put on this gown of hers and was suddenly inside her skin, and that is the most stupid thought you’ve ever had. But, you know, I couldn’t help it. I was annoyed at the way Jack and Brody talked about her, as if the rumor that she’d had an affair meant she would have fucked either one of them if they’d only smiled at her right.
Jack frowned at me, and Brody said, “Well, it ain’t just that, you know. To hear some of them tell it, she was a wild one. They say her daddy sent her to Seattle to learn how to behave.”
“So what if he did?” I asked.
“Children,” Lucius admonished, but not as if he cared overly much whether we stopped or not.
“I wonder how tightly her husband held the reins,” Jack said thoughtfully, and I felt his gaze on me. “There was a time or two when she looked at DeWitt that—”
“That what?” I asked—too sharply, but I was irritated and I meant for him to hear it.
Jack shrugged. “Only that I thought there was a … flirtation … between them. I suppose it’s a good thing she’s gone, eh, Bea? Or you might have a rival for your playwright’s affections. Ah well, perhaps the two of you could have traded off. One night her husband, the next DeWitt.…”
He said it casually, teasingly, but I heard his meanness beneath it, his little revenge for the way I’d snapped at him, and it only reminded me of the truth we all knew, the thing that lay just beneath the surface of our affection and civility—that we weren’t the family we pretended to be; that loyalty to one another was a road we traveled only as long as it was going our way.
And, you know, that bothered me suddenly, for no reason I could say. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t always known it, or used it when I needed. It wasn’t as if I wasn’t planning to leave them all the first chance I got to start my own company. It wasn’t as if I cared. So why did it trouble me now?
“It hardly matters now, does it?” Aloys soothed. “They say she was mad herself. Not that I saw it, you understand, but one wonders if her husband isn’t following in her footsteps.”
The others laughed, and the conversation changed, and when we reached the road I was to turn on to go back to the camp, they said good-bye and blew me kisses as if our pretenses hadn’t cracked open, as if the mend we’d made was solid, and continued their way back to the tent that served as the Phoenix, and I went on alone.
But I was suddenly desperate for some company, for conversations that didn’t have hidden meanings or ones whose sole purpose was to veil little barbs and hurts. And there was Sebastian’s tent, the only one still lit from within, though it must be nearly 2:00 A.M. I knew he waited for me, and there at least was a way to lose myself, to keep from thinking about the things I wanted and conversations without pretense and what the hell was wrong with me that I felt so damned weary of a sudden?
I already knew the answer. I knew I had to go to Sebastian to discover the next part in the play he was revising, the next step in the plan. There was a part of me that was using him, and so it couldn’t be simple fucking, or solace, or any of the things I wanted tonight. There we
re too many things I couldn’t tell him, too many lies.…
And suddenly I wasn’t moving toward his tent, but toward Mrs. Langley’s. I slipped inside. And once I was there, I saw she’d been waiting for me too, just as he was, and she said in this tight, terse little voice, “What happened?”
My whole body went limp, as if I’d been waiting for just those words all night, and with a little start I realized that she—Geneva Langley, for God’s sake—was the only person I knew who didn’t require pretense, the only one I didn’t need to lie to.
Geneva
Her response to my words was to sag onto the floor near my bedroll. “Nothing happened. At least nothing we hadn’t planned. It worked. It all worked perfectly.”
“If everything went well, then why do you seem … distraught?”
“Do I? I’m tired, that’s all. It was a long night.”
“Yes, it must have been,” I said. “A party and a tableau and then Nathan’s bed after. It’s no wonder you’re exhausted.”
“I didn’t go to Nathan’s bed,” she snapped. “He was overset. He didn’t want me after all.”
“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Perfect.”
I wasn’t imagining the sarcasm in her voice. “What’s wrong, Mrs. Wilkes?”
“There’s nothing wrong. Nothing that concerns you, in any case.”
“I would say everything about you concerns me now. You must know that I don’t wish that to be true. But I also realize that I am”—oh, I hated to say it—“dependent upon you.”
“We’re dependent upon each other,” she said roughly. “Don’t think I don’t see it. Do you know, Mrs. Langley, it occurred to me tonight that you might be the only person in the world I can be honest with.”
“That would be disturbing if it were true.”
“What makes you think it’s not?”
“We hardly know each other.”
“Well, that’s the sad part, isn’t it? But who else can I trust? Not Lucius or Jack or Aloys. Not even Brody, really. No one in the company.”
“I think perhaps you underestimate them.”