Dancing On Air

by Hurley-Moore, Nicole

  ‘Are you acquainted with this gentleman?’

  ‘Of course not. However, when has that ever stopped me from procuring what I desire?’ Anthony said with a smile. ‘You can stay here if you wish. I shan’t be long.’

  Evander scanned the busy street. A small eating house stood on the opposite corner. ‘No, I think I shall meet you in there,’ Evander said as he pointed across the road.

  Anthony wrinkled his nose at the tattered shop front. ‘Do you believe that is wise?’

  As if on cue, Evander’s stomach rumbled again. ‘Yes, I do,’ he said as he too stepped down from the carriage.

  Anthony turned his attention to the driver and ordered, ‘Wait for us here.’ Without another glance the two men crossed the street before separating once they reached the other side.

  Evander followed his nose. A tantalizing aroma of roasting meat beckoned him forward. He increased his pace and quickly walked up the three stone steps and through the scratched red door. The interior of the eating-house was dark and almost deserted. An elderly man stood in the doorway, which Evander could only assume led to the kitchen. He was a large man, in height as well as girth, with white hair and a large, snowy beard.

  ‘You are hungry?’

  ‘Yes,’ Evander said as his stomach rumbled.

  ‘Most of the food is not ready. I opened the door to allow the heated air to escape.’

  Evander halted. ‘Forgive me. I smelt the aroma and my stomach followed it.’

  The other man’s face broke into a smile. ‘Then sit down and I will do what I can. I have hot soup and freshly baked bread, if that will suffice.’

  ‘You have my thanks,’ Evander said as he sank into the nearest chair.

  The old man nodded before he disappeared through the doorway. Evander looked around the room. There were a dozen or so dark wooden tables in varying sizes surrounded by spindly wooden chairs. There were no damask cloths or table embellishments; just bare tables scrubbed clean. There was one exception: the small table that sat closest to the kitchen door had a cornflower blue cloth draped over it and a small vase of tiny flowers. Evander stared at it for a minute and wondered why it was different. A long sideboard was positioned along the far wall and above it hung a large watercolour of a village in the shadow of a mountain. Another minute ticked by and Evander’s stomach rumbled again. Then, when he had nearly given up all hope, the man walked back through the door carrying a tray.

  ‘Here,’ he said as he placed the big bowl in front of Evander. ‘It’s chicken soup and I brought you some bread. Enjoy!’

  ‘Thank you,’ Evander answered without looking up. The soup was thick with vegetables and barley; the aromatic steam filled his nostrils and made his stomach roar in anticipation. He took up the spoon and dipped it into the liquid, pausing briefly to blow on it before he let the contents slide into his mouth. It was hot and almost burnt his tongue. Evander wasn’t sure if he had just sampled the best soup he had ever had or if it was a result of his hunger. Greedily, he took another spoonful, and then another.

  He was halfway through his meal when he heard footsteps coming through the front door. He assumed that it would be Anthony, but as he raised his head to call out, his voice stopped in his throat. Two girls hurried into the room. Evander sat back in his chair and stared. The first girl was a pretty redhead but the second was breathtaking. It was her eyes that drew his attention first; even from halfway across the room he could see that they were blue. She had a beautiful face and there was a delicacy — or even a fragility — about her. Her dark hair fell in rippling waves almost to her waist. He wondered if it was as silky as it appeared and for a mad minute he had the urge to reach over and touch it. Evander’s eyes drifted over the girl’s body. Her dress was thin, as was her grey shawl but her beauty shone out like a beacon and Evander was captivated.

  ‘Uncle Hans, are you here?’ called the redhead as she passed Evander’s table.

  The old man stepped from the kitchen and leaned against the door jam. ‘And where else would I be?’ he said with a widening smile. ‘Come, come sit down and I will get you some soup.’

  The redhead glanced over her shoulder before grabbing the other girl’s hand. Evander watched as they sat down at the table with the blue cloth.

  ‘Thank you, Uncle. Madame Devoré insists that we prepare the costumes for tonight but Lisette has not eaten all day. So, I said we must come here first.’

  ‘You are ever wise, my little Sally. Lisette, you know you must eat. You work too hard,’ he said.

  ‘It is not work, Uncle. I love to dance,’ Lisette said to Hans’ retreating back.

  ‘That may be, but you are too thin. An autumn breeze could blow you away. You must eat so you have the strength to dance!’ Hans called out from the depths of the kitchen.

  The girl, Lisette, glanced across the room, straight into Evander’s eyes. He held them, daring her to look away. A hint of a smile curved her lips and her cheeks flushed before her friend gave her a playful shove, causing her to turn her head.

  Hans returned with their soup and the girls fell upon it. After a minute or two of silence they began to chatter again with Hans. Evander focused once more on his meal. He broke a crusty roll and smeared it with a little butter. Content to eavesdrop on the conversation, he took his time eating, now that his first wave of hunger had been sated.

  ‘Did you train with Madame Devoré today?’ Hans asked.

  ‘Yes, but I did not do well today,’ Lisette confessed.

  ‘That could not be true. You are an excellent dancer,’ Hans said.

  ‘Not today. I wobbled.’

  But before Hans could reply, Sally broke in. ‘And you paid for it! Madame Devoré slapped her again.’

  ‘Sally!’ Lisette exclaimed.

  ‘Well, she did.’

  ‘Your aunt is a hard woman, Lisette. A cruel woman,’ Hans said.

  ‘I know, but I still believe she pushes me so that I will one day succeed and be a great dancer.’

  ‘Perhaps, but that does not excuse her,’ Hans said.

  Evander felt anger spark in his gut. It was ridiculous. He did not even know the girl but the thought of someone abusing her did not sit well. He would very much like to speak to this aunt... This Madame Devoré. The girls continued chatting, then all too soon he heard the scrape of the chairs against the wooden floor as they were pushed back.

  Hans waited until the girls reached up and gave him a peck on the cheek. Then, with a bright smile, he said, ‘Both of you come tomorrow. Sally, I have your favourite beef stew. And Lisette, do not forget to eat!’

  ‘Yes, Uncle,’ the girls chorused as they hurried towards the door. As Lisette stepped over the threshold, she turned her head and gave Evander a hint of a smile before she disappeared into the street.

  Evander sat staring at the empty doorway. Unable to stop himself, he looked up at Hans. ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Those are my precious little birds. They are in the ballet chorus at the Imperial Theatre. I have been feeding them since they were children. They are the closest thing I have to granddaughters and I would hate it if something was to ever happen to them.’ Hans’ reply was accompanied with a stern look.

  Evander bit back a smile at the thinly veiled warning. ‘I meant no offence sir, I was merely curious. But while I have you here, I must say that this soup is the best I have ever had.’

  The stern look on the old man’s face faded into a smile. ‘Ah, the best. Well, my young friend, it appears you are a man of distinguished tastes and are welcome at Hearth Fire any time.’

  ‘Well, once again you have my thanks and I —’Evander was interrupted by Anthony sticking his head in the door.

  ‘Are you ready, Gainswith? The night beckons,’ he said with a grin.

  Lisette was energised as she danced across the back of the stage with a small group of the corps de ballet. Each performance gave her a freedom that she was otherwise denied. Here, the troubles and injustices fell away. Here she could be
what she truly was. The haunting music from the orchestra pit swirled around her and the glow of the footlights transported her to a magical world. For a few brief minutes, Lisette became one of the fairies in the wood clearing. The music swelled through her being and she danced each note as if it was an extension of herself. She waited as Florentia made her grand entrance.

  There was a flash of light and Florentia materialized at centre-stage. For the audience she appeared as if by magic; in reality she had arrived by the small trapdoor. She was a vision in white tulle, the skirt falling to just above her ankles. Florentia’s hair tumbled in long ringlets around her face. The jewels from the small tiara glittered under the lights, as did her sequinned fairy wings. As always, the theatre exploded into a wave of applause. Its noise broke Lisette’s spell and abruptly she found herself in the shabby theatre, standing on the worn wooden floor. Florentia dropped into a deep and elegant curtsy as she acknowledged the adulation of the crowd. Then, with a fixed smile on her face, she rose and took her position to dance.

  Whilst Florentia waited for her prince to appear, Lisette looked past the glare of the footlights and, from what she could see, the theatre appeared to be full. She looked up and saw that the private theatre boxes were crowded. She was about to drop her gaze when she saw him...the same man she had seen today at Uncle Hans’. He sat at the closest edge of the closest box and stared straight at her. Her pulse quickened. He was handsome, with his near-black hair, high cheekbones and defined jaw. But it was his eyes that first caught her attention that afternoon. They were the colour of rich sherry, warm and inviting. A sharp pinch on her arm grabbed her attention. Looking around she saw Sally giving her a stern look. It was only then she remembered the music. She had almost missed her cue...almost. She took a deep breath and ran to her appointed place and struck a pose. Then, looking at the handsome stranger, she began her pirouette. Using him as her point of reference she spun around and around. She planted her foot and finished cleanly, without a hint of a wobble. Lisette sent the stranger a smile. Then, leaving Florentia to her newly arrived prince, Lisette was swept up by the chorus as they exited the stage.

  Lisette stood in the darkened wings and tried to catch her breath. Exhilaration coursed through her. But she wondered what the cause was: the dance or the stranger?

  ‘Lisette, are you all right?’ Sally was standing next to her with a look of concern on her face.

  ‘I’m fine, really.’

  ‘I’ve never known you to almost miss your cue. You looked as if you were miles away.’

  ‘I was just dreaming,’ Lisette whispered before she gave her friend a bright smile. ‘Come, we must change for the next scene.’

  Evander was sitting on the red velvet chair in the box closest to the stage. From here he had the best view of the performance. The theatre box itself accommodated four people. It had a slightly rounded front which was decorated with a carved swag of Roccoco style gilt flowers. All the boxes were painted cream and were decorated with flowers or small cherubs. The colour scheme of the Imperial was cream, gold and dark blood-red. The original owners had wanted to give it a sumptuous feel that evoked the glories of the late Baroque period. However, many years had passed since its opening and now the paint was chipped, the velvet perished and the gilt more than a little worn. But time could not diminish the huge crystal chandelier that hung and shimmered over the audience, its crystal drops catching and reflecting the light from the gaslights.

  ‘I say, Evander, is she not sublime?’ Anthony asked as he nudged Evander in the arm.

  ‘Yes, yes she is.’ But Evander was not looking at the Imperial’s prima ballerina. His eyes had followed the slight figure of Lisette about the stage. She was poise, beauty and elegance rolled into one. Lisette was enchanting and he was already falling under her spell.

  ‘Isn’t that Lord de Vale across the way?’ Anthony gestured with his head.

  Evander scanned the crowd. ‘I do not see him. Not that I would particularly want to. The man is infamous.’

  ‘No, good Lord, Evander! Why would he be down there with the rabble? No, no... Look at the opposite box. See, it is him sitting behind Lord and Lady Roberts.’

  Evander leaned a little to one side. Looking past the matronly figure of Lady Roberts and her headdress of peacock feathers, he caught a glimpse of de Vale. He was an elegant man of about forty, with dark hair that was frosting along his temples. He was known in polite society for his handsome face, wit and charm. But beyond that the tales that had reached Evander’s ears were much darker. He knew firsthand that de Vale had a temper. It had been years ago, and Evander had returned from school. His older brother, Alistair, had fallen in with a fast and irresponsible crowd... One that Evander had worshipped. One night, Alistair had made the mistake of wagering with de Vale. He lost and de Vale insisted that he pay up immediately. When Alistair said that he had to get the money, de Vale had beaten him to a pulp. A lesson, he had boasted in impertinence. Alistair’s friends managed to get him away, but it took weeks for him to recover. To this day, he carries a small scar beneath his chin to remind him of his folly. From that time to this, Evander had sworn never to have anything to do with Lord Vincent de Vale.

  ‘It appears to be de Vale,’ Evander said.

  ‘I wonder what he is doing here?’

  Evander gave his friend a look of disbelief. ‘Watching the ballet, I suspect.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s not what I meant. Rumour has it that he has a taste for ballerinas — poor girls!’ Anthony said with a hint of exasperation.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That the man loves ballerinas...to an inch of their lives.’

  ‘What?’

  Anthony leaned in and lowered his voice. ‘He showers them with gifts and then he makes them bleed for it. Anyway, that is what the rumours say.’

  ‘The man is despicable and if there is any truth to the stories, it is just another reason to shun his company,’ Evander said before turning his attention back to the stage. A flame of anger shot through him and it was tinged with a little apprehension. Dear Lord, don’t let De Vale notice Lisette.

  Lisette was lined up, ready for her next entrance. She had changed out of the diaphanous fairy skirt and was now dressed as a princess. Her pale blue dress fell to mid calf length, the bodice was jewelled and she wore a small gold crown on her head. She was one of the potential brides for young Prince Gregor, who was, in reality, Charlie Evans. He was the principal male lead and had wandering hands, thinning hair and should have retired at least two years ago. Despite him standing too close, he had a cheerful and an infectious laugh. Lisette had always regarded him as a slightly eccentric and harmless uncle of sorts. Lisette stood in the wings and watched as Florentia leaped into the air before landing into the waiting arms of her prince. Florentia could be temperamental and demanding but when she danced, she was perfection.

  The music stopped and there was a roar of applause. Charlie bowed deeply to the audience. He straightened and then, turning to Florentia, he began to clap. She sank ever so gracefully into a curtsy and waited for Charlie to stride across the stage. He held out his hand and she took it but before she could stand, Charlie raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. The gesture was staged — Lisette had seen the same kiss night after night — but the crowd loved it. They clapped, they bellowed and some threw roses at Florentia’s feet. Charlie helped her up and then he picked up a rose and presented it to her. Then he swept her up in his arms and carried her off stage.

  The stagehand, Dan, pulled the rope that drew the large red velvet curtains across the stage. The sound of applause thundered through the theatre, as the audience was still enwrapped in the love story of the fairy and her prince. Behind the velvet was another story; the stagehands raced about placing props and dropped another backdrop into place. The magical forest had been replaced by a castle ballroom. As Charlie reached the wings, he unceremoniously dumped Florentia back on her feet.

  ‘Have we been indulging in o
ne too many of Monsieur Lambeth’s pastries, my dear?’

  Florentia’s dark eyes narrowed dangerously as she flounced away from him. ‘Pig!’ she said as she passed Lisette. ‘Oh Lisette, my pet, perhaps you and Sally could assist Charlie to his dressing room. At his age I would hate it if he took a fall.’

  ‘Bitch!’ Charlie spat.

  Florentia swept into a bow. ‘Play with fire, Charlie, and you burn.’ She stood up and blew him a kiss. Then she turned around and walked down the corridor with a swing of her hips.

  ‘John! Where’s John?’ Charlie called out. ‘I almost lost the bloody wig. That bitch knocked it when I caught her!’

  ‘Here, I’m here, Mr Evans.’ John was a small man of about sixty years old. He hurried forward carrying a royal blue coat.

  ‘Damn it, man! You know this is a quick change. Now hurry,’ Charlie said as he took his frustration out on John. He stood still as John slipped the costume on him. The little man fussed and primped over Charlie until every detail met with his approval, including his wig.

  ‘That’s enough. The curtain is about to go up.’

  John stepped back and Charlie walked out on stage and took his position. The last of the standing candelabra were being set in place when Bessie Rafter arrived. As she pushed past Lisette, she gave her a dirty look.

  ‘Out of the way, or you’ll make me miss my entrance.’

  Lisette rolled her eyes but said nothing. Bessie had been a member of the chorus until recently. She had a pretty, almost doll-like face and was a good dancer. However, since she had been given a larger role, she had been insufferable.

  ‘Yes and we all know how you managed to get that part,’ Sally said. A ripple of muffled giggles ran down the line of waiting girls.

  ‘You’re all jealous,’ Bessie said with a shake of her blonde head. She swung around and looked out towards the stage. ‘I got the part because I dance better than the rest of you.’