“Time and past, Mr. Briggs!” complained the smaller of the two women, giving Maggie’s dress a truly rueful look. “My goodness, but that’s ugly!”
Maggie thrust back her shoulders and lifted her chin. Before she could say anything that she might have come to regret, Philip took her arm and hurried her away, placating the seamstresses by calling back over one shoulder, “Mr. McKenna has left orders for Miss Chamberlin to be provided with an entire wardrobe. You might want to consider suitable colors and fabrics.”
Giving Philip a sidelong look, Maggie stopped in her tracks. “An entire wardrobe?” she whispered, awed.
Philip gave her a gentle pull to get her moving again, and soon they were entering a small office backstage, near the dressing rooms. “That surprises you?” he asked politely, closing the door behind them. “You’re his mistress, aren’t you?”
Maggie went a dull red. She supposed she was Reeve’s mistress, but it was role she didn’t like playing. “We’re to be married as soon as Reeve gets back to Sydney,” she said. “He promised.”
Philip was behind his desk, fussing with a stack of papers and politely averting his eyes from Maggie’s obvious discomfort. “Well, well,” he said without a shred of conviction in his voice.
“You don’t believe me?” Maggie challenged.
At last Philip met her gaze directly. “I think it’s unlikely that Mr. McKenna would permit any woman he took as his wife to pursue a career,” he said.
Maggie felt as though she’d just been punctured by a pin; all the spirit went out of her, like the air from a balloon. “Oh,” she said.
Philip’s look was a kindly one. “Maggie—”
“It’s all right,” she said too hastily, spreading her hands. “A-am I to have a dressing room?”
“Only the best,” Philip replied with an exuberant smile. Obviously, he was relieved that the subject of Maggie’s relationship with his employer had been dropped. “Come along—I’ll show you.”
The dressing room was spacious indeed, with gas-powered lights surrounding an enormous mirror and a bathroom of its own. There was space for an enormous collection of costumes and even a chaise longue, upholstered in dark blue velvet, for resting between rehearsals and performances.
Maggie was impressed, but she was also unnerved. This dressing room, she was certain, had belonged to Loretta Craig. Out with the old mistress, in with the new.
“I’ll give you a few minutes alone, then send in the costume people. Would you like some tea or something, Maggie?”
Philip was being so kind; Maggie had almost forgotten that it was his fault that she was in Australia in the first place. If not for him, she’d probably still be working in London. She shook her head. “Nothing, thank you.”
The moment the door had closed behind Philip, Maggie dashed into the bathroom and threw up.
Nerves, she thought to herself as she rinsed her mouth and splashed water over her face. Just nerves. Nothing to be alarmed about.
The seamstresses, who turned out to be sisters from northern England, kept her busy the rest of the morning. They measured and draped and pinned until Maggie thought she’d faint if she weren’t allowed to sit down.
An unexpected visitor served to revive her. “Maggie!” Loretta Craig sang as though they were the oldest and best of friends as she swept into the dressing room without bothering to knock. She was a vision in emerald-green velvet trimmed in black braid, carrying a matching parasol and wearing an elegant little hat with a green feather affixed. “How nice to see you again!”
The sisters from the north of England fled, leaving a trail of measuring tapes and pincushions behind them.
Maggie drew a deep breath, preparing herself for what would undoubtedly be a difficult interview. “Hello, Miss Craig,” she said, stepping regally down from the stool on which she’d been standing. Keeping her dignity was no easy matter, since she was wearing only her camisole and drawers and petticoat.
Loretta sat down on the foot of the velvet-covered chaise with a pretty little sigh and began tugging off her dyed-kid gloves.
Maggie could bear it no longer. “What are you doing here?” she asked forthrightly.
Loretta smiled a charming smile. Maggie might even have gone so far as to describe it as dazzling. “Why, I’ve come to help you with your lines and such, child. Being by far the more experienced actress—”
“I don’t need any help with my lines,” Maggie interrupted firmly. “I can practically recite the entire play.”
Loretta arched one raven-black eyebrow. She really was beautiful, Maggie thought to herself, and far more sophisticated than a nineteen-year-old raised in a traveling circus could ever hope to be.
Apparently, Loretta had already spotted Maggie’s weakness. “You are very young for the part of Kate, I must say. I could see you as Bianca, but—”
There was a rap at the door, and Maggie snatched up her discarded woolen dress and dodged behind a changing screen, pulling the garment hastily over her head.
“Hello, Loretta,” Maggie heard Philip say. “To what do we owe this—pleasure?”
From the rustle of velvet Maggie discerned that Loretta had stood up. As she buttoned the front of her dress, she heard the older woman say wearily, “I had planned to offer the benefit of my training and experience. Apparently, Miss Chamberlin feels no need for the guidance of someone wiser.”
“And older,” Philip added wickedly.
Maggie peeped around the edge of the changing screen just in time to see Loretta level a killing look at Philip and then walk, with imperial grace, out of the dressing room.
“Do you think this is going to happen often?” Maggie asked, coming out from behind the screen.
Philip chuckled. “I doubt it—Loretta has a role of her own, at another theater.”
Maggie felt like throwing up again. “One that belongs to Mr. McKenna?”
“Actually,” Philip began somewhat reluctantly, “title to the other theaters has been transferred to Loretta. It was a parting gift, of sorts.”
Maggie wondered sadly what Reeve’s “parting gift” would be to her once he grew tired of their romance. She brought herself up short, however—Reeve had asked her to marry him. She was not going to be his mistress, but his wife. “I see,” she said.
Rehearsals began shortly thereafter, and Maggie found that while Philip Briggs was gentle at all other times, he was a hard taskmaster when it came to the blocking of scenes and the delivery of lines.
The actor playing the role of Petruchio was an Englishman named Samuel Fairmont, and Maggie found a friend and mentor in him. Tall and blond and very handsome, Samuel was the perfect hero.
When the work had ended for the day, he walked Maggie to her dressing room door. “You really are very good,” he said gently.
Maggie was exhausted and quite discouraged. All this time she’d prided herself on knowing the play so well, but Philip had railed at her from the beginning—everything she’d done had been wrong. “Thank you,” she said in a dispirited voice.
“May I buy you supper?” Samuel asked, lingering at Maggie’s elbow.
At first she was inclined to refuse. But then some inner spark of rebellion struck itself against the possibility that Reeve might indeed be planning to keep her as he had kept Loretta, and Maggie’s pride ignited. Besides, her doubts about the sincerity of Reeve’s marriage proposal aside, a simple supper with a new friend seemed innocent enough, and it sounded like fun. “I’d like that,” she said.
“Excellent.” Samuel smiled. “I’ll wait for you at the stage door.”
Maggie ducked inside her dressing room and made quick work of straightening her hair. There was nothing to be done with her dress, really, but she gave the stiff skirts a rueful shake and went out.
Samuel was prosperous for an actor; he took Maggie to one of the nicer hotel dining rooms and ordered roast duck for them both, along with wine.
“You will make a marvelous Kate,” Samuel said, lifting
his glass to Maggie in a graceful toast. “You have the spirit, the fire—”
“I think Philip sees me as Bianca,” Maggie confided wearily. “That was the role he originally intended me to play, you know.”
Samuel smiled, looking dapper in his rust-colored waistcoat. The soft gas lighting flickered in his wheat-blond hair. “What changed his mind?”
Maggie couldn’t bring herself to tell Samuel the whole truth, of course. What would he think of her if he knew that she was Reeve McKenna’s woman, playing the part only because the owner of the theater had chosen to favor her with the role? “I don’t know,” she lied. And then, to change the subject and because she was honestly curious, Maggie asked, “How did you come to be in Australia, Mr. Fairmont?”
“Please,” he reprimanded her gently, “my name is Samuel. And I’m in Australia because I wanted an adventure. After I’ve earned my passage I’m going on to America. Always wanted to see the place.”
For a moment Maggie felt a terrible, keening homesickness. She put it down immediately, for it was silly to be lonely for a place where one had no family and no friends. “That will be exciting,” she said.
“Do you ever miss your own country?” Samuel asked softly, holding a glass of shimmering purple wine in his hand.
Maggie nodded, lowering her eyes. “Yes—but I have no one there anymore.” Briefly, she explained her unorthodox childhood and the loss of her parents later on.
Samuel sighed. “It’s a lonely world we live in, Maggie, a lonely world indeed.”
Maggie felt uncomfortable and concentrated on eating what remained of her dinner. Samuel was right, in a way; there were so many people in the world, but few of them touched one another’s lives in any lasting way. “Yes,” she said.
Before the conversation could go on, Philip appeared beside the table, looking frustrated and annoyed. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?” he demanded of Maggie in an agitated whisper, sparing narry a look or a word for Samuel.
Maggie felt too tired and too subdued to be angry at Philip’s intrusion, as she would have been at any other time. “I’m having dinner,” she said, stating the obvious.
Samuel had risen to his feet; he was quite tall and muscular and the look he’d turned on Philip was not a friendly one. “I trust that you have some reason for imposing so flagrantly,” he said.
Philip was trying to be brave, though it was clear that Samuel’s superior size intimidated him. He glared down at Maggie and said through his teeth, “We are leaving, Miss Chamberlin. This very moment!”
Maggie flung down her napkin. “I beg your pardon!” she hissed, conscious that people were turning to stare. This kind of attention she could do without.
Philip studiously ignored Samuel, who looked as though he’d like to strangle him. His face was red, and his amber eyes were fairly crackling with vexation. “You have caused enough gossip for one night, Maggie,” he said evenly. “Don’t make it worse by creating a scene.”
Maggie sighed. She had no idea what Philip was talking about, but suddenly her appetite was gone and she felt extraordinarily tired. “If you’ll excuse me, Samuel,” she said, rising from her chair.
Samuel rose, too, making no protest, though his gaze swung toward Philip again, dangerous as a lance. “We’ll discuss this, Briggs,” he warned.
Philip nodded dolefully. “So, unfortunately, will the whole city of Sydney,” he said as Maggie placed her hand on his arm. “Good night, Mr. Fairmont.”
Samuel made a disdainful sound and sat down to finish his roast duck and his wine.
Outside in the street Philip fairly dragged Maggie toward a waiting carriage. “Do you want to find yourself scrubbing floors or wiping a lot of snotty noses in some nursery?” he demanded without preamble.
Maggie stood stubbornly still on the wooden sidewalk, furious. “Exactly what are you saying?” she cried.
“I’m talking, you little idiot, about your reputation. And about your—your status with Reeve McKenna. If he comes back and hears that you’ve been seen in public in the company of another man, he’ll be livid!”
Maggie’s mouth dropped open. “That’s what this is about?”
Philip gestured for the carriage driver to stay in the box, and opened the door for Maggie himself. “Yes,” he answered on a sigh.
Maggie refused to be stuffed into the carriage and dispensed with quite so easily. “Of all the unmitigated gall—Samuel is my friend!”
“Samuel is a womanizer,” Philip argued flatly. “He will take advantage of you and of your position in Reeve McKenna’s household if he can.”
“You’re a fine one to be pointing a finger, Philip Briggs. If you hadn’t taken advantage of me, I wouldn’t even be here!”
With surprising strength Philip took Maggie by the waist and forcibly lifted her into the carriage. “No,” he said through the window, “you would probably be dying of consumption in some back-alley room in the West End. Go home, Maggie, and don’t make the same mistake again—I’m warning you. Mr. McKenna will not tolerate philandering.”
“Philandering?!” Maggie cried, outraged, but the carriage was moving by then and there was no way to carry on the argument, save shrieking insults after Philip like a fishwife.
The great house near the bay was lonely that night, with Reeve gone away, and Maggie could not bear the prospect of traipsing off to his room to sleep in his bed like a good little mistress. She would go there only to fetch the things the maid had carried in that morning.
There was a tiny package, gaily wrapped in silver paper and tied with a red bow, resting in the middle of the neatly made bed. Maggie was sure it hadn’t been there before, and she approached it warily.
The name on the tag was her own. Her fingers trembling, she opened the package and found a little black velvet box inside. She held her breath as she lifted the tiny lid, gasped when she saw the gleaming diamond shimmering and twinkling in the dim light.
“It came while you was out, miss,” a female voice said, and Maggie whirled to see a maid standing in the doorway of what was probably the bathroom, a stack of neatly folded white towels in her arms. “I’m sure the master had it sent.”
Maggie sank down on the side of the bed, her knees too weak to support her. “Did he—Mr. McKenna—ever give Miss Craig such a ring?”
The maid’s short black curls bobbed as she shook her head. “No, mum. But then, he never meant to marry her, like he does you.”
Suddenly, all Maggie’s confusion fell away. She felt like whirling around the room and singing, but, of course, she didn’t. She took the magnificent ring from its bed of black velvet and slipped it onto her finger. “Wait until Tansy sees!” she whispered, forgetting that she wasn’t alone.
“Tansy, miss?” the maid asked, a lilt in her voice. “Do you mean Tansy Quinn?”
Maggie nodded. “She’s a very good friend of mine.”
The young girl’s face was suddenly wreathed with smiles. “Ain’t that somethin’! She’s coming by this very evenin’, mum, to play whist with the rest of us.”
Maggie beamed, admiring the flash of her engagement ring. “Could I play too?”
The towels went tumbling gracelessly to the floor, and Maggie realized that the maid was staring at her in shock. “Play, mum? Play cards in the servants’ quarters? The master would have a thing or two to say about that, once he found out!”
“He won’t say anything at all,” Maggie answered blithely, helping to pick up the towels and even to refold them. “I want to see Tansy and, anyway, I like a good hand of cards now and again.”
“Yes, miss, but—”
Maggie assumed a fierce look. “What is your name?” she demanded.
“Caroline, miss. It’s Caroline. You won’t be getting me into dutch, now, will you, for droppin’ the towels like I did?”
Maggie couldn’t sustain her glowering expression. She laughed, full of joy because Reeve really meant to marry her and because she was going to see Tansy agai
n. “Of course I won’t, silly,” she said. “But I’d better be invited to that card game!”
Caroline paled and backed out of the room, the towels clutched to her flat little bosom. “Yes, mum, whatever you say,” she prattled, and the moment she was through the doorway, Maggie saw her burst into a breakneck run.
Later that night, the long, austere room shared by all the maids employed in that house was abuzz. Everyone fell silent the moment Maggie walked in.
It was Tansy who recovered first. Bounding off” one of the cots, where she’d sat cross-legged, she hurled herself at Maggie and cried, “Ain’t it good to see you, though! And you almost the mistress of this grand ’ouse!”
Maggie laughed and hugged her friend. “I’ve missed you,” she said, blinking away the mist that had gathered in her eyes.
Tansy returned the hug and then whirled to face half a dozen wide-eyed maids. “I told you, didn’t I?” she reprimanded them good-naturedly, spreading her hands wide of her body. “She’s a regular sort, our Maggie! We’ve nothin’ to fear from ’er.”
The other girls, Caroline among them, did not look convinced. “She’s the master’s lady,” one of them, a very plain girl with acne-scarred skin, dared to say.
“I ain’t so sure she’s a lady,” someone else put in, and there was a twitter of giggles.
Tansy, as insulted as if the remark had been directed at her, bristled at Maggie’s side. “Is that ’ow it is, then? You’re too good, the lot of you, to play a ’armless game of cards with me friend?”
Another girl came forward, shyly, with a faltering smile on her lips. “My name’s Shirley,” she said, offering a friendly hand to Maggie as her eyes took in the tired gray dress. “Ain’t he goin’ to fix you up properlike, like he did Miss Loretta?”
There was a communal groan at the mention of Loretta, and then Caroline piped up. “You all know he’s gotten Miss Maggie a ring—I told you at supper!”
Tansy’s eyes were wide as she turned to face Maggie. “A ring, is it? Let me see!”
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