Perfect Wedding

by Duncan, Alice

  Picking up his sword, Jason slashed energetically at a stage prop. “‘No, Frederic,’” he recited in response to Frederic’s invitation to return with him to civilization. “‘I shall live and die a Pirate King!’”

  And the orchestra struck the thrilling opening to the Pirate King’s special number, and Jason burst into song. Eyeing her supposed sisters, Marjorie noticed them all watching, enthralled. Well, they would. Even Ginger, subdued ever since the incident of Marjorie’s temper tantrum, watched with fascination, unmixed with sly glances at Marjorie. An improvement, that, even if it had come about as the result of a rather massive and unfortunate explosion on Marjorie’s part. Marjorie wasn’t accustomed to having temper fits, and that one still embarrassed her whenever she thought about it.

  “Oh, my, isn’t he in fine voice this evening?” said Kathleen O’Riley, the girl who’d been chosen to play Kate, slightly breathless.

  “Aye,” said Marjorie. “He’s good.”

  “Goodness, yes. He’s so good in the role,” whispered Kathleen. “I’ve always thought the Pirate King should have been the romantic lead.”

  “Yes,” sighed another smitten damsel.

  If she could have, Marjorie would have walked away. Gone home. Reprieved herself from this cult of Jason-adoration. It was too painful. Too awful. Too—

  Everyone backstage broke into applause along with the audience as Jason belted out the last note of the Pirate King’s song. Startled, Marjorie, after a significant pause, joined in. It wouldn’t do to let her emotions show, after all. Just because she was heartbroken and suffering from blighted hopes, she didn’t want the rest of the world to know it.

  She considered it a blessing that the pirates and Jason exited on the opposite side of the stage. With luck, he wouldn’t come to this side and pester her. Too bad her luck had been so putrid of late.

  A frantic rustling of skirts to her rear reminded her that as soon as Frederic and Ruth finished quarreling on-stage, Mabel’s sisters would appear. And they’d be singing before that. With a sigh, Marjorie stepped aside.

  And, as soon as Mabel’s sister Edith, played by Ginger Collins, sang, “‘Let us gaily tread the measure,’” she knew her luck was holding.

  “Marjorie, we have got to talk!” And there he was: the plague of her life.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Honestly, Jason, you do pick the least convenient times to conduct intimate conversations.”

  Her voice was as cold as the damned iceberg that had sunk the Titanic. Jason was so frustrated with her avoidance by this time that he could cheerfully have slung her over his shoulder and made off with her. Unfortunately for him, he valued the Proctors and this production of Pirates too much to remove two of the starring players before the final curtain.

  “Oh, Dr. Abernathy,” crooned Mrs. Proctor, attacking him from the rear. “You’re simply smashing as the Pirate King!”

  Damnation! Turning, Jason said, “Thank you, ma’am,” and tipped his piratical hat at her. Naturally, during this brief exchange, Marjorie escaped.

  Stomping softly, due to his aforementioned respect for the Proctors and Pirates, Jason set off in search of her. She couldn’t be too difficult to spot, this being a made-up stage and all. How big was a stage? How many places were there to hide?

  Stage or not, Jason didn’t find her.

  “‘Alas! There’s not one maiden here whose homely face and bad complexion have caused all hope to disappear of ever winning man’s affection!’” sang the chorus of Mabel’s sisters.

  Jason had searched everywhere. No Marjorie. But this was where she was supposed to be in order to make her entrance. He’d just wait here. She couldn’t elude him. She’d have to show up a few minutes before she took to the stage, damn it.

  Frederic, in despair, sang, “‘Not one?’”

  And the sisters chorused, “‘No, no. Not one!’”

  Again, Frederic crooned sadly, “‘Not one?’”

  The girls sang, “No, no—”

  And Marjorie, emerging from behind a curtain on the opposite side of the stage from which she was supposed to appear, strode onto the stage, threw out her arm in a dramatic gesture, and sang with amazing bravado, considering her mood, “‘Yes, one!’”

  As the entire cast of Pirates turned, surprised at her unconventional entrance, Jason muttered, “Damn!”

  A shocked gasp from Mrs. Proctor at his side prompted him to mumble, “Sorry.”

  But Marjorie was out there, and he was back here, and he’d lost another opportunity to talk to her. What was the matter with the woman?

  “I wonder why she entered on that side,” Mrs. Proctor mused.

  Although he could have, Jason didn’t enlighten her.

  Her husband, who was soon to make his own entry into the on-stage fray, rubbed his hands together and grinned hard. “I don’t know, but it was very effective. Did you see how surprised they all were? It was perfect. Perfect!”

  Perfect, my ass, thought Jason bitterly. He wouldn’t allow her to avoid him any longer, damn it. If she wouldn’t talk to him off-stage, she’d damned well have to do it when they were both on-stage.

  # # #

  Marjorie was quite proud of herself for managing to elude Jason so effectively. It was astonishing how much a heavy curtain could hide when used properly, even if it was a trifle musty-smelling and dusty. Must or no must, she was now on-stage, where Jason couldn’t get at her.

  Happy about this quick thinking on her part, and free from Jason’s intrusive presence for the nonce, Marjorie forgot her recent blue-devils and put everything she had into her role as Mabel.

  The audience was very receptive. When she sang the final notes of “Poor Wand’ring One,” the applause was deafening. And, as Frederic led her to the mouth of a cave, where the two of them were supposed to pretend to chat as Mabel’s sisters pondered what to do now that Mabel had butted in, Mr. Kettering whispered, “That was the best you’ve ever sung it, Miss MacTavish. Your voice belongs in grand opera.”

  “Och, pooh,” said she. But she was pleased. Terribly pleased.

  Until Jason, from inside the cave whence he had crawled, she supposed from the wings, hissed, “Psst, Marjorie! We have to talk.”

  “Och, ye bluidy blackguard! I’ll na talk to thee again in this lifetime!”

  Mr. Kettering, forgetting for the moment that he was the beauty-blinded Frederic, gasped. “Dr. Abernathy!”

  “Don’t pay any attention to me,” whispered Jason. “I have to talk to Marjorie.”

  “Well, ye canna,” said Marjorie, her Mabel-smile firmly in place. “That’s our cue to join the others.”

  It wasn’t quite their cue, but it was close enough. To Jason’s frustrated muttering, she took Mr. Kettering’s arm and led him back to the group of girls, who didn’t seem surprised to have them appear a trifle early. It was a stretch, but Marjorie managed to look like a dreamy maiden in love when she began her next number.

  “‘Did ever maiden wake from dream of homely duty, to find her daylight break with such exceeding beauty?’” She batted her eyelashes at Frederic, to the audience’s overt relish. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard the gnashing of teeth coming from the cave. Good. She hoped the vile deceiver was suffering. Not, naturally, that he was.

  Offhand, she couldn’t understand why he persisted in pursuing her with the intention of talking to her. It had become painfully obvious to Marjorie that it was Jia Lee whom he wanted and loved. She, Marjorie, had been merely a . . . what? A convenience, she guessed. How demeaning.

  And how comforting to have this opera into which she could lose herself with such abandon. The role of Mabel was exactly to her taste—and so, she had discovered, was acting. The good Lord knew she’d had plenty of practice in the art. Her whole life sometimes seemed to Marjorie to have been one long, insufferable act. At least this role was fun.

  Throwing her arms out in a gesture worth of Loretta Quarles herself, Marjorie sang with gusto, “‘. . . to
find her daylight break with such exceeding beauty?”

  Then Mr. Kettering took her arm to lead her off the stage as, at the same time, the pirates crept onto the stage behind Mabel’s sisters. Marjorie breathed a sigh of relief at having once again thrown off Jason’s determined pursuit.

  Her sigh was premature. The Pirate King was supposed to grab hold of Ginger Collins, playing the role of Edith. As Marjorie and Mr. Kettering passed Jason, however, he latched onto Marjorie’s arm instead.

  An undignified tug-of-war took place at the back of the stage while singing was taking place up front. The audience, believing it to have been staged that way on purpose, giggled. Marjorie finally wrenched herself away from Jason and scampered off-stage as if pursued by demons—which is exactly what she felt like.

  Shaking her arm, which hurt, she grumbled, “Daft gudgeon.”

  “I don’t understand, Miss MacTavish. Did Mr. Proctor change the marks?”

  Glancing at Mr. Kettering as she rubbed her arm, Marjorie felt a wholly unjustified stab of guilt prick her. None of this was her fault, confound it! “Nae, he didna. Dr. Abernathy seems to be rewriting the script as he goes along.”

  “How very odd.”

  “Aye, it’s odd, all right.”

  “What’s going on with the two of you?”

  Turning, Marjorie saw Mr. Proctor, eyeing the stage and looking confused. As well he might. “I’m sorry, Mr. Proctor. I don’t know what’s gotten into Dr. Abernathy tonight.”

  “Hmmm.” Stroking his chin, Mr. Proctor watched the stage with keen interest. “Perhaps he’s doing a little improvising on his own, as you did, my dear, when you entered stage left earlier instead of stage right. That went over very well, and his improvisations seem to be pleasing the audience, too.” He beamed at her. “The two of you are wonderful at this! We shall have to stage more Gilbert and Sullivan offerings for future missionary fund-raisers.”

  Marjorie would participate in another opera if Jason Abernathy was in the cast when hell froze over and Queen Victoria rose from the dead. She didn’t say so, offering a noncommittal “Hmmm” in response.

  Her next appearance would be tricky, since she’d have to be on-stage with Jason. She didn’t trust him at all any longer. He seemed willing to play any underhanded trick in order to get her to talk to him. But why?

  She didn’t figure it out before she had to walk out onto the stage once more. The pirates had just decided to marry all of Mabel’s sisters, even though the girls didn’t want to marry them. Holding her arm out, palm up, in a “stop” gesture, Marjorie stepped boldly into the melee. “‘Hold, monsters! Ere your pirate caravanserai proceed, against our will, to wed us all, just bear in mind that we are Wards in Chancery, and Father is a Major-General!’”

  And, for the rest of the act, Marjorie did her best to dodge Jason. Fortunately for her, one or the other of them was singing most of the time. As soon as the curtain fell—to thunderous applause—she dashed off-stage and headed straight to the ladies’ dressing room. He couldn’t get at her there unless he wanted to cause a real rumpus, and Marjorie believed, for all that he was an unconventional sort of person, that he wouldn’t dare cut up in a church.

  She turned out to be right. Thank God, thank God.

  “Whatever is Dr. Abernathy pursuing you for, Marjorie?” asked Kathleen O’Riley, the girl who was playing Kate.

  Mopping perspiration from her brow and grabbing the frilly white peignoir and night cap in which she would appear in the second act, Marjorie said, “I have no idea, Kathleen. I think the man’s slipped a cog.” And, because she didn’t want to talk about it anymore, Marjorie threw the gown over her head and hoped Kathleen would be gone when her head emerged.

  She wasn’t. “Hmm,” said Kathleen, slipping on her own peignoir. All the daughters would be thus attired throughout the Act II.

  Marjorie went to the dressing table and sat down, trying to look as if she were adjusting her makeup.

  That ruse didn’t work, either. Kathleen had a sly look on her face that Marjorie didn’t appreciate when she sat next to Marjorie on the dressing bench.

  Frustrated, Marjorie demanded, “Well? Do you know more about it than I?”

  Putting a hand on Marjorie’s shoulder, Kathleen said contritely, “I’m sorry, Marjorie. I don’t want to snoop into your business.”

  “Thank you. I wish more people were of your stripe.” Once more, Marjorie’s old friend, guilt, reared its ugly head. “Sorry I snapped at you.”

  “Think nothing of it.”

  Kathleen proceeded to powder her nose. Marjorie dabbed on more lip rouge. There was a general buzz in the room, as all the Major-General’s daughters and Mrs. Proctor congratulated each other on what looked like a smashing success. Marjorie had almost calmed down when Kathleen blurted out, “I think the man’s in love with you!”

  Marjorie goggled at her in the mirror.

  “I do. And I think he’s wonderful and don’t know why you keep avoiding him.”

  Unable to think of a thing to say, being thunderstruck, Marjorie just stared into the glass at the other girl’s reflection.

  “Oh, I’m sorry again. I know it’s none of my business, but he seems like such a fine man, and you’re such a fine woman, and I just don’t know why you keep trying to stay away from him.”

  “Um . . . .” But Marjorie was still unable to think of anything to say.

  Kathleen’s eyes grew large and she gasped. “Unless . . . Oh, Marjorie, please don’t tell me that he’s a villain in disguise! Do you know something the rest of us don’t? All the Major-General’s daughters have been dying to have him pay us attention, but he has eyes only for you. Is there something we should know?”

  “Er . . . no. He’s quite a . . . a good man. Most charitable, in fact.” Blast. She hadn’t meant to give the impression that Jason was anything but an upstanding gentleman—even if he was in love with another woman and had seduced and abandoned Marjorie without a second thought.

  Or . . . perhaps that wasn’t exactly true. He’d certainly been giving her second—and third and fourth—thoughts this evening, curse him. And she didn’t want to hear his excuses, either. They’d only make her feel worse. If such a thing was possible.

  Kathleen’s brow furrowed. She was very young. Probably ten years younger than Marjorie, whose chest twanged unpleasantly as the age different registered. Ye’re not getting any younger, Marjorie MacTavish. Perhaps you should have loosened up sooner after Leonard died.

  Second-guessing was an unprofitable occupation. Loretta was forever telling Marjorie so. Besides, it wasn’t as if she could have overcome her fears sooner than she did. They were . . . confound it, they were phobias. Phobias were tough nuts to crack. Loretta had told her that as well. Time and time and time again.

  “Then I don’t understand,” Kathleen said after a moment of thought. “He seems so fond of you, and if he’s an upstanding gentleman . . . . Well, it’s none of my business.” She laughed. “And I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  A glance in the mirror told Marjorie that she’d begun to scowl. With effort, she changed the scowl into a smile. “You didna upset me, Kathleen. But, truly, there’s not a thing in what you say.”

  “No?”

  “No.” Marjorie’s voice was, perhaps, the tiniest bit too firm. “We’re merely acquaintances.”

  “Oh, surely, you’re more than that!”

  “Nae,” said Marjorie, deliberately stony this time. “We’re not.”

  “Oh.” Kathleen stared at Marjorie for a couple of seconds, shrugged, and walked away.

  Bother! Even in the ladies’ dressing room, she couldn’t get quit of Jason Abernathy. Marjorie powdered her nose with excess force, then sneezed as she waved powder dust away from her face with her hand.

  It was all Jason’s fault.

  # # #

  Damn the woman! She was more elusive than a will-o-the-wisp. But she couldn’t escape him indefinitely. They were going to be on-stage together again at
the end of the second act, and he’d by-God get her to marry him then or know the reason why.

  After touching up his makeup, Jason did his best to avoid the rest of the men in the dressing room. He didn’t feel up to chatting, and they were all in a state of ecstasy that corresponded poorly with his own foul mood and frazzled nerves.

  Finally, he got sick of the cursed ebullience going on around him and left the men’s dressing room to wander around backstage. If he could, he aimed to tackle Marjorie before she took to the stage, because they’d be pretty much separated after the start of act two until the final scene. He wasn’t sure his heart would hold out that long. At the moment it was thudding painfully in a combination of frustration, anger, and confusion.

  “Jason!”

  Mr. Proctor’s voice startled Jason into a leap of alarm.

  The older man chuckled. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Feeling foolish, Jason muttered, “No, no. My fault. I was lost in thought.”

  “Thinking about your role?”

  “Er . . . yes.” Like hell.

  “You’re doing a splendid job, my boy. Splendid! This is the best production I’ve ever been involved with. Isn’t Mr. Kettering doing well? And to think he only started learning his part two weeks ago.”

  “Yes. Right.” What the devil was the man talking about? Oh, yeah. Jason had forgotten all about the vile Hamilton St. Claire, whose memory would be revered in San Francisco because nobody wanted to hear about his villainy.

  Straining to come up with something approaching conversational aptness, he said, “Yes, Kettering’s doing a great job. He’s got a fine voice.” That had better be good enough, because he couldn’t concentrate on anything other than Marjorie for any longer than a second or three.

  “Our Pirates is definitely a hit. Perhaps we should extend the run for another weekend.”

  “What?” Jason hadn’t been listening.

  “Another weekend. This seems to be such a success. We could make more money for the missionaries if we extended it another weekend.”