by Unknown
A tiny trill of excitement shivered through Marlena. She’d been surprised to receive Eloisa’s dinner invitation. It was her first personal invitation since she’d lived in Boston. A slow smile curled the corners of her mouth at the idea she might finally be melding into the world of Sarah Jeanne, the Opera Queen enough to earn some friends.
“Try to enjoy yourself tonight,” Sarah said as they parted ways outside the music room. “Perhaps you can at least get that right.”
In her room, Eloisa’s invitation rested on the nightstand and she read the words again. Maybe Sarah was right. Tonight may be the first night of her life as a peer, an equal among Sarah’s circle of families and friends. She would wear her best dress and prettiest smile. If her life in Boston was more than lessons-by-day and solitude-by-night, she might not miss her old life so much.
Her gaze drifted to the tiny wooden horse beside the invitation, and she lifted it in her palm, admiring Dalton’s craftsmanship for the hundredth time. He was the only friend she’d had outside of Jess, and though they’d not kept in touch over the years a tiny chuckle rippled through her with a flood of memories and feelings. He still frequented her dreams, inviting that familiar feeling of infatuation, but she wasn’t naive enough to believe a man like Dalton Cunningham was unwed. Likely had a child or two tugging on his trousers by now. That is, if he’d outgrown his rowdiness. He could still be the same brawler she’d known, balling his fists at every insult or sneer. After all, she’d expected to be a famous opera singer and married by the age of eighteen and that was certainly not the case.
She held the carving to her nose and imagined the scents of Virginia City, of home. What were all of her people doing at that exact moment? Was Jess out of breath from chasing her toddler boys or was she panting from another night of dancing around a bonfire at the Diamond Spur Ranch with Val’s singing and Morgan’s and Argyle’s fiddling? Were Ellie and Sandy there? Was Dalton? Val and Dalton had been good friends.
“Good evening, Miss,” her maid called as she entered the room. “Are you ready to dress?”
The mantel clock chimed and the fact she could hear it told her the rain had stopped. Just in time for her outing. “Yes, Mrs. Brock.”
She began the lengthy toilette that had Marlena looking like royalty. Boston Royalty, as Sarah put it, for that’s exactly what Sarah was. The Winthrops traced their lineage back to the original founders of the town and had helped shape, build and rule Boston for two hundred years. Among the elite in education, money and government, they were part of the closest thing to an aristocracy the country had. A fact Sarah never let Marlena forget.
How could I forget? Marlena pulled the lavender basque bodice made of French silk over her camisole and corset. The long pagoda sleeves belled at the elbow and forearm before giving way to layers of soft white lace that hung around the wrists. The v-shaped neckline exposed enough skin for her to feel young but modest. A shift in the fashion world put Marlena in a crinolette instead of the wide hooped crinoline she’d been forced to endure for almost five years, and the result was less squeezing through narrow doorways and more comfort and mobility.
After an hour of primping and a silent departure, she left the Withrop home. When she finally alighted on the doorsteps of the Hamilton’s, she took a moment to smooth wrinkles from her skirt and tuck every stray hair beneath her velvet hat. The butler greeted her and ushered upstairs to Eloisa’s bedroom. Four other women were there, each giggling with an anticipation Marlena didn’t understand.
“Thank you for invit-”
“Isn’t this positively wicked?” Eloisa cut her off, clasping her hands beneath her chin and flicking her gaze from one woman to the next. “I can’t believe we are actually going to do this. I’ve a change of clothes for everyone. I’ve already dismissed my maid and instructed her to leave us undisturbed for two hours, so we’ve plenty of time to go there and back.”
Marlena’s nervous gaze followed Eloisa’s from face to face. “I thought we were having dinner.”
The ladies laughed and Eloisa stepped forward to take Marlena’s hands. “I’ve got something far more exciting on the menu than food. Have you ever heard of The Museum?”
Marlena’s smile dropped and her eyes widened. She knew of the place well, for it had been denounced several times by none other than Sarah’s brother, head of the newly founded Moral Order, a political organization bent on censorship and enforced morality. An intense clash between the ruling elite class and the working class simmered in the city. Elijah, with all of his political clout, had curfews put into effect and all plays banned unless the scripts were approved and altered by the Order. Poor William Shakespeare was likely rolling in his grave at how his beautiful prose had been butchered for the sake of Puritan morality.
A string of underground playhouses had sprung up to produce outlawed plays, and The Museum was the most notorious of them. Though Elijah and his comrades had been successful in rooting out such venues and closing them down, he’d failed to discover the location of The Museum. That failure drove his determination and he announced he’d see the place burn before summer’s end.
“You know where The Museum is?” Marlena asked. “Elijah has been searching for months.”
Eloisa straightened and stared down her nose at Marlena. “You’re not going to tell him, are you? Please tell me I won’t regret inviting you into our circle?”
Marlena would never do such a thing, but not for the reason Eloisa suggested. She believed Elijah and the Moral Order were shameful tyrants, though she’d never utter such an opinion aloud. She shook her head.
“I won’t say anything, but do you really think it wise to go? What if you’re seen?”
“You mean what if we’re seen? You are coming with us, aren’t you? I was under the impression you western girls had gumption.”
The ladies laughed and Marlena hesitated to answer. The Winthrops would be livid and the punishment severe if she were discovered. Her eyes scanned the expectant faces all pinned on her, waiting. What would it be like to have grand adventures with friends, to experience more than readings and sober dinner parties where she ate little and spoke even less? If these women were extending an offer of camaraderie, she would be a fool to turn it down. Her lips curved up and she nodded.
Eloisa handed around bits of clothing. “Change quickly, ladies, and hide your gowns in this bag. We are servant girls tonight!”
Thus disguised, the ladies filed out of Eloisa’s room and silently padded down the hallways toward the servants’ staircase, making their way out into the back of the house. They crept behind the hedges, holding their hems high above the wet grass until they reached the street. Traveling on foot, they reached a back alley surprisingly close to where Marlena lived. It gave her a chuckle to know Elijah scoured far and wide for a place hidden in his own neighborhood. The front façade had the look of an authentic museum, but through a back door a wide warehouse opened with a makeshift stage, and the crowd was so full that the ladies were pushed to the side wall near the dais.
In the throng, Marlena was separated from the group, so she pressed her back against the side wall and slid toward her friends. Soon, she was close enough to hear her name spoken.
“Marlena must have gotten lost in the crowd.”
“Who cares?” Eloisa said with a wave of her hand. “I only brought her to take the fall if we’re caught. My maid and butler can vouch that she came to my house and you four are witnesses as well that this was all her idea.”
The other ladies laughed.
“I’m surprised she came with us,” one said.
“I’m not,” Eloisa said. “These are her kind of people. She should feel quite at home among thieves and vagrants.”
“Honestly, what were Sarah and Elijah thinking, taking her in all these years? I know they’re charitable, but good Lord. ”
“I heard Sarah was grooming her to become a great opera singer.”
More laughter ensued before Eloisa spoke again.
“Can you imagine? Why, I’d never even heard her voice before tonight.”
“It’s true. She hardly speaks at dinners or parties.”
“I can see why, now,” Eloisa said. “Did you hear her voice? What a soft, mousy little thing. And I always thought she didn’t speak because she had no personality.”
“Or anything intelligent to say.”
Marlena’s eyes moistened with hot tears and she pinched her eyelids shut, unwilling to cry over the slight she should have seen coming. Her contempt for Boston was never so great as it was in that moment. There wasn’t a genuine bone in any body of Sarah’s acquaintance.
She cleared her throat, drawing the horrified stares of all five women. Her spine straightened and she leveled her eyes at each of them. “Good night, ladies.”
Without another word, she shimmied toward the back of the room and would have left, but the crowd hushed and the play began. Music played and actors leapt about in lavish costumes and before long, Marlena was grinning. As she stood in the audience watching the players, something inside her sparked to life. She saw herself on the stage, reciting those lines and singing those songs, making people laugh and cheer. It was what she’d come to Boston to do.
The singers weren’t perfect, but their influence was, and not a face in the house looked disappointed as Marlena scanned them. But her heart nearly stopped in her chest when her eyes landed on the face of Sarah’s tour manager, Harrison Brady. She dropped into a squat and shielded her face with a hand.
He blocked the only way out, and she couldn’t sneak by without being seen. Cold sweat lathered her palms and she slid them over her skirt. Plain dress or not, Harrison would know her instantly. As she squatted, the soft padding of footsteps pattered to her ears and she noticed a small gap between the side wall and the back wall. She followed the seam only to realize it was a door built to look like the wall panel. The steady hum of traffic on the other side of the wall told her it was a busy corridor. Built for the actors and stagehands, she assumed. She saw her only escape route and took it, pushing quickly through the door to land in a dimly lit hallway.
“What’re you doing back here?” A man asked in hushed tones. He was tall, burly, bald and had ears that stuck out like miniature flags. “No patrons allowed back here.”
If she hadn’t been so distracted by the size of his ears, she might have given an answer, but another man saved her from it as he sidled up beside them.
“Monkey,” he whispered. “What’s going on? Is this the girl for the audition?”
Marlena couldn’t help but giggle at the man’s name. How apt. She seized the opportunity presented her. “Yes, I’m here to audition.”
“Come on,” Monkey said, taking her by the elbow down a few more turns until depositing her in a private room backstage. “Wait here for Maggie.”
She sat, listening to the remainder of the play, wondering how she would get out of this scrape. Her mind spun all sorts of escape routes and lies to get her out of the situation, but one thought pulsed through her mind.
What if?
What if she could land a place on the stage here? After all, she’d come to Boston to perform. Perhaps it was time to take matters into her own hands. Sarah had told her repeatedly she wasn’t ready for the stage. No better way to know than trial by fire. Then, she’d know for sure if she had what it took to command a stage. Or if she really was some soft spoken, untalented pity case like Eloisa and her friends believed.
When footsteps approached, her body shook and she had to swallow three times to clear her throat. The door opened and Monkey walked in, followed by a tall, rotund middle-aged woman who stood in the middle of the room with legs apart and arms akimbo. A fat cigar hung from her mouth, its smoke filling up the tiny space.
“So, you want to perform on my stage, eh?” she said, appraising Marlena. “I’m Maggie. Stand up, girl and let me look at you.”
Marlena obeyed and felt the woman’s eyes roving critically.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“Eighteen.”
Maggie nodded. “You ever act before?”
Marlena glanced at the floor. Did living in disguise count? Finally, she shook her head. “No, but I sing.”
A raspy laugh hissed from Maggie’s lungs. “Your voice is as delicate as a whisper. You sure you can project enough to be heard out there? We pack quite a crowd.”
Marlena nodded.
“Well, let’s hear you sing something then,” Maggie said, folding her arms over her chest.
“Here? Now?”
“Why not? Go ahead, girl.”
Marlena cleared her throat and sang, watching the bright widening of both Maggie’s and Monkey’s eyes as she did so. The depth and range of her voice made the room seem too small, the roof too low. Soon, Maggie’s arms fell to her sides and she exchanged a smile and laugh with Monkey before signaling Marlena to stop.
“You’re hired,” she declared, plucking out the cigar and blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. “What’s your name, girl?”
“Mar…” she began, then decided it was best to obscure her identity. “My name is Penny Wallace, and my father is an innkeeper.”
“Sounds good to me,” she said. “Welcome aboard. Monkey will introduce you to everyone.”
“One thing, Miss Maggie,” Marlena called out, wringing her hands as she studied the floor. “I can only rehearse in the evenings and no one can see my face. My father doesn’t approve.”
Maggie waited until Marlena raised her eyes and then nodded. “We can work with that.”
With a wide smile, she left The Museum through the back alley and ran home, forgetting her dress at Eloisa’s. Knowing she couldn’t enter the house looking like a servant, she employed the old oak on the side of the house, using its knots and gnarled limbs to ascend to her window.
Sleep came easily that night. Forgotten was the bitter prank of Eloisa and her comrades. Set aside was her fears and worries over Sarah’s criticism. For the first time in years, she went to sleep with a smile on her lips, for she could finally call herself a performer.
Chapter 3
Dalton slid a finger between his neck and the stiff collar of his dress shirt, trying to loosen the cinch of the black bow tie pressing on his Adam’s apple. His mother swatted his hand away and seared him with a scowl as they shuffled along the marble-floored lobby of the Boston Opera House. After two hours of boredom, he couldn’t wait to taste the cooler night air. Out in the moonlight, he removed the top hat and took a deep breath, tugging the bow tie off. “Thank God it’s over.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” his mother cooed, laughing at Dalton’s public and unabashed disrobing.
“It wasn’t Marlena,” he returned. “And that’s who we got all dressed up to see. What happened? You said she was supposed to be on stage.”
Her shoulders rose. “Jess told me she performs at the Boston Opera House each Monday, Wednesday and Thursday.”
“Perhaps you should have double checked prior to purchasing seats.”
Juliet sighed and placed her fists on her hips. “Dalton Cunningham. Stop acting like a squalling infant. It was a lovely opera, despite some misinformation.”
“The opera was several things, Mother. Lovely wasn’t one of them. The Opera Queen seemed a bit vacant, don’t you think? And isn’t she Marlena’s patroness? I thought I recognized her.”
“Yes, that’s her,” Juliet confirmed. “And I agree she did seem a bit distracted, but still. You can’t deny her talent.”
“I don’t deny it. I just don’t find it particularly palatable.” He hailed a carriage and instructed the driver to their inn. “Pity we wasted an evening there and didn’t even see Little Miss.”
“I am certain the innkeeper will know where to find the residence of The Opera Queen. I’ll send a note to Marlena and ask her to dine with us.”
“Why not just call on her yourself?”
Once inside the cubicle his mother pinned him with her cool blue ey
es. “You know very well why. It isn’t proper, and as much as I don’t mind a slamming door in my face, I know you will take offense and I don’t want to upset you.”
He studied her appearance. She was adept at disguising herself when the need arose. Her hair, dyed a scandalously bright red, was stuffed beneath the opulent garnishes of a Parisian headdress festooned with tule and plumage. Her normally rouged cheeks were pale as porcelain and her lips remained their natural nude color. She looked every inch the lady. But he wouldn’t ask her to go on in disguise. He loved her for who she was, and believed others should, too.
He pursed his lips as he wondered. “Why doesn’t it offend you, Mother?”
“You have to have pride to be offended, and you have to abandon your pride to make a living as a woman alone. So, I abandoned mine years ago. We all go through life bargaining with the talents granted us. As women, our options are few. We’ve got wife-ing, whoring, and a palm full of career opportunities. Only one of those was a true option for me. But I am not ungrateful. I have more money, freedom and authority than I would have otherwise, but I have no illusions that it’s a respectable line of work.” She reached across and squeezed his hand. “There will never be a society where whoring is shameless, and there shouldn’t be. And that’s not really what you want anyway.”
He felt his brow scrunch in confusion, but she went on.
“Sooner or later, you’re going to have to acknowledge it bothers you that I’m a whore, instead of being angry that it bothers everyone else.”
He gritted his teeth. “You’re not a whore, Mother. You gave up paying customers years ago.”
She leveled her eyes at him. “Dalton, I run a brothel.”
He blew out a hot breath. “All right, Mother. I’ll admit it. You’re right. I wish you weren’t a…a…”
“Whore,” she supplied with an amused grin and he huffed in anger.