“At least we know we’re doing some good.”
“All we can do any day.”
* * *
The usual after-show scene was a bit different that night. Marie slipped out immediately after curtain because small Polly was just getting over a cold. I didn’t blame her; I was grateful she’d performed at all, considering. But of course she had, and like Anna and Louis, she had kicked in her share for the benefit, despite having never set eyes on Jamie Eagger or his family. That wasn’t the point for her.
Jamie’s mother and sisters, of course, came back to offer thanks, and Tommy and I were happy to greet them and catch up, even if their life in a somewhat nicer part of the old neighborhood was far different from our world these days.
Gil, newly promoted to friend of the company, seemed happy enough sharing a corner with Preston and merely observing the scene. All seemed amiable, if a bit crowded, until after Father Michael arrived to conduct the Eagger family back to their home, with Preston offering a little extra chaperonage for the grieving ladies on his way to the news office. But then a much less savory visitor came to offer his praises.
In neat black tie, his dark hair slicked back, Connor Coughlan could be any gentleman opera fancier, if you hadn’t grown up in a part of town where you immediately recognized the menace conveyed in the walk and the cold shamrock-green eyes. Those eyes were the last thing any number of people who crossed him in Five Points had ever seen.
At the moment, though, he was in a friendly and expansive mood, smiling at Tommy and shaking hands, then giving Rosa a cheerful grin, which made her blush a little. And then he got to Gil.
“Well, I don’t believe we’ve met,” Connor said.
“Gilbert Saint Aubyn.”
“British. Saint Aubyn. Where do I know that name?”
They sized each other up for a moment. Gil was a couple of inches taller, but Connor was wider, and clearly the more dangerous. I took a sip of my after-show mint tea and tried not to think about what might happen if this went badly. Didn’t matter. I, and everyone else, might as well have been invisible.
“Duke of Leith, as it happens,” Gil replied with a carefully modest shrug.
“Right. You related to the Saint Aubyn who stopped charging rents and gave food to his tenants during the Hunger?”
“My great-uncle.”
I hadn’t known about that, and he, of course, would never have told me, even though Father Michael was initially very leery of him, because most aristocrats had just let the Irish starve. The fact that his great-uncle had tried to help said a great deal about Gil’s family . . . and him.
“You’re all right, then.” Connor held out his hand. “Connor Coughlan, old friend of the family. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Gil cut his eyes to me as they shook.
“So it’s like that.” Connor caught the glance. “See here, you’re not sniffing around, thinking our Ellen is some bit of fluff for your pleasure—”
“Mr. Coughlan, I will thank you not to bring up such matters in front of a lady.”
Connor blinked once, then answered with a lightly menacing tone. “Just making sure. There are a lot of toffs who can’t tell the difference—”
“Between a soprano and a soubrette.” Gil nodded, using the line I’d thrown at him at our first meeting. “I’m well aware that Miss Shane is a respectable lady and an artist.”
“All right, then.”
“And I would also remind you, with all due respect, that my friendship with Miss Shane is a matter for her and at most her cousin. I’m sure you’re aware that Mr. Hurley has been known to have a word with anyone he finds unsuitable.”
Connor’s gaze turned truly icy. “If Tommy has a word with you, you’ll need a doctor. If I do, you’ll need a priest.”
Gil returned ice for ice. “How kind of you to take an interest in my spiritual welfare.”
For one long, terrifying second, their eyes held, the entire room tense and silent, as they assessed each other.
And then Connor laughed and patted Gil on the arm. “You’re not bad for an English stick, Saint Audrey.”
Gil opened his mouth to correct him, and I shot him a glance.
Connor turned to me and took both my hands. “Well done, Ellen. You and Madame Marie are in top form. You are making a recording for the phonograph?”
“Probably. It’s a bit of a pain, but we’ll likely at least do the death-scene arias.”
His green eyes lingered on my face. “I still have the old cylinder of the ‘Ave Maria’ you recorded for me years ago.”
I felt, rather than saw, Gil tensing a bit. While he knew, as almost no one else did, that I really don’t enjoy singing “Ave Maria,” because of my late mother and odd place between faiths, he couldn’t possibly know the rest.
I’d sung it at Connor’s mother’s funeral because she was a friend of my aunt Ellen, and the cylinder had been a sympathy offering, a small thing I could do to ease a terrible pain I knew only too well. Even before that, Connor had placed me on some mythical pedestal, the girl who escaped into a different world. If he’d been a bit sweet on me back in the old neighborhood, these days his romantic interests ran more to chorus girls and other types of women I’m not supposed to know about.
“I’m glad.” I smiled at Connor as he let go of my hands.
“Always good to see you, even if I always have a bit of a remembered headache from that fight on Orchard Street.”
We laughed. Connor and Tommy had been scrapping over some imagined but desperately important slight when I’d jumped on Connor’s back and yanked out a handful of his hair. I pretended now to take a careful look at his shiny black-Irish brown mane and smiled.
“Doesn’t seem to have done permanent damage,” I noted.
“Not at all. I have other engagements tonight, but I wanted to come back and thank you for the benefit.”
“We were glad to help.”
“Still the kindest heart I know.”
“Thank you.”
Connor made a formal bow, as graceful as any society gentleman, and turned to go. On his way out, he took one more hard look at Gil and nodded, as if making up his mind about something.
I hoped for Gil’s sake that meant he’d passed muster.
Tommy and Gil tactfully took their leave as Connor walked out. I’m sure it was as much to make sure he left as to give me a chance to change into the simple grayish-lavender shadow-stripe merino dress I’d worn to the theater. Rosa was just helping me into my coat—the nice purple one, of course—when we heard the unmistakable sound of a gunshot.
I ran, with her on my heels, to the stage door.
Outside, on the landing, Tommy, Gil, and Connor were standing together, trying to look unruffled and mostly succeeding.
“What on earth?” I gasped.
Tommy nodded to the fresh bullet hole in the brick wall, easily visible in the streetlamps. “Someone fired at the theater.”
“At the three of you,” I said, looking across the lot of them.
“At one of us, anyhow, Ellen.” Connor shrugged. “I can’t say it’s never happened before, but I’m terribly sorry it happened here.”
“We’re all safe,” Tommy assured him in a calm tone deeply betrayed by his eyes.
“Whoever it was,” Gil put in, looking at the divot from the bullet, “he’s a dreadful shot. Missed us by a yard or more.”
“And thank goodness for that.” I spoke with a brisk calm I didn’t feel. Connor brings a certain amount of unease with him, but he’s never brought actual danger before. Thank God Marie was safely home.
“I’m truly sorry, Ellen.” Connor stood before me, looking like the misbehaving street urchin he’d been, we’d all been, a couple of decades ago. “I would never want the dangers of my world to touch you.”
Tommy and Gil both glared at him with the righteous fury of a lady’s official protectors. It was all they could do, and they knew it.
“No harm done, thank heaven
.” I managed a neutral tone and patted Connor’s hand.
He nodded. “It won’t happen again.”
Tommy and Gil nodded.
“Please take care, Connor.” This time, my voice wobbled a tiny bit.
“I’ll do my best.” He bowed to me and cast a glance back to the others. “Leave this to me.”
Tommy first and then Gil, following his lead, nodded again, a small but very definite gesture. As Connor walked away, I supposed I might have entertained a glimmer of shock that my two gentlemen were apparently pleased to allow what would almost certainly be a terrible punishment for whoever had fired that shot. But I already knew Tommy had a hard side, which I rarely saw, and I wasn’t especially bothered to know that Gil might have one, too.
Chapter 14
Roses of the Wars
Matinee day is always a race to the finish, but one that pays off in some extra sleep or family time if all goes well.
After all the previous night’s drama, I straggled in with less than twenty minutes before vocalization, to find an extravagant arrangement of yellow roses, at least two dozen, taking up most of the dressing table.
“What on earth?” I turned to Rosa, but Booth walked in just then.
“Madame Marie got one, too. Do you suppose it’s related to last night’s unpleasantness?” he asked.
I picked up the card, a plain white rectangle from Naylor’s Florist. The key witness in Amelie Van Vleet’s trial might indeed have constructed the bouquet, which really was lovely. The creamy yellow roses were large and filled the room with their fragrance. I usually find the scent of rose bouquets cloying, but these flowers had an appealing freshness.
The card was not nearly so pleasant. Unsigned, with two simple lines: My deepest apologies. It will not happen again.
Connor.
I knew, as any sensible person would, what that second sentence meant, and I couldn’t repress a shudder.
“I see I’m not the only one to get a floral tribute,” Marie said when she appeared in the doorway, a furrow at her usually smooth brow. “I understand there was a bit of excitement after I left last night.”
“And not the good kind,” Booth put in dryly.
“How true.” Marie gave me a sharp look. “Do we assume this is all related to Connor Coughlan?”
“I’m reasonably certain.”
“Well,” Booth said, nodding at the flowers, “then this is the safest show in the history of opera.”
The furrow in Marie’s brow eased a bit. “How so?”
“He’s right.” I twisted the card between my fingers. “Knowing Connor, he not only eliminated the threat but also put out the word that we are under his protection.”
“I’m not sure I like that.” Quoth the lawyer’s wife. “Will he want some consideration?”
“Not at all,” I reassured her. “He would see protecting us as his duty in return for endangering us last night.”
“Exactly.” Booth bowed to us. “I’m sorry, ladies, but I need to check on the prop table, or I’ll be in danger.”
We smiled as he took off in his springy long-legged walk, waving at the propman.
“Seriously, Marie, if the scourge of Five Points is looking to our well-being—”
“We’ve never been safer. I know.” She nodded and looked at the roses for a second, then turned back to me with a faint smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “Those flowers are quite a statement. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such a large bouquet. Are yellow roses some sort of calling card for him?”
I knew the answer to that and chuckled. “Not a bit. I know you haven’t been courted in more than a decade, but it’s the language of flowers.”
“Oh, of course. Paul brought me enough Canterbury bells to build a cathedral.” She smiled at the memory. “They mean constancy.”
“Part of that campaign to win your trust.”
“Precisely. So what is Mr. Coughlan telling us?”
“Forgive and forget.”
She nodded. “Well, we’ll forgive, but I’ll warrant he won’t forget.”
“He never does.”
Marie nodded, and the twinkle returned to her eyes. “I remember something else from the language of flowers.”
“What?”
“Lilacs. The purple ones. Do you know what they mean?”
I glared at her. “They mean my favorite flower, and a color I wear often.”
“Not a bit of it.” She grinned. “First emotions of love. I wonder if your duke is trying to tell you something.”
“He knows I like lilacs. Full stop.”
“Full stop, indeed. Has he come up to the mark yet?”
“Of course not.” I glared at her. “Far too early for that.”
“You say. He came all the way over here to see you.”
“Not to see me.”
“Oh?” She sat down on the settee. “Tell.”
“I don’t rightly know why he’s here. But I know it’s more than me.”
“Yes?”
“Some sort of business is all I know.”
“And you . . . ?”
“Merely a pleasant aside.”
She shook her head. “What are you going to say when he asks?”
“He’s not going to ask.”
“Oh, he is.” Her eyes were suddenly sharp on mine. “Just don’t say no, all right?”
“Marie.”
“Ella, men keep asking after the first no only in books. In real life, if a man, especially someone like your duke, actually asks you to do him the honor, only to be rejected, he won’t try again.”
I heard something in her voice and returned her sharp glance.
She nodded and smiled ruefully. “Voice of experience.”
“Really?”
“I actually had to ask Paul again. I’d told him no, told him I couldn’t see a way for us to manage my career and a family life, and told him that wasn’t going to change.”
“And?”
“He stopped coming around.” Her face turned sad and wistful as she remembered. “It took me a few weeks to realize what an idiot I was. There he was, a man who wanted me enough to allow me to have a career, and I’d handed him his hat. I was singing the Queen of the Night in a Magic Flute in Philadelphia, and I was just miserable. I sat in my room and cried when I wasn’t in the theater.”
“Terrible for the voice,” I offered, hoping to get a smile.
“That too.” She did smile. “Finally, I came home on a Sunday night and took a hansom right to his rooms. Absolutely inappropriate.”
“And . . .”
“Only my first violation of propriety that night.” The smile became a grin. “I marched up the stairs, knocked on his door, and asked if his offer was still good.”
“And it was.”
“And so was everything else.”
My eyes widened a bit.
“No, no. He bundled me right into a cab and talked to my father the next morning.” Another grin. “Whatever were you thinking?”
“Um, nothing.”
“But yes, I didn’t really need Grandma’s whisky, though I was quite glad for the talk. You will be, too.”
“I don’t need—”
“One-hour call, ladies!” Booth knocked on the door. “Sorry to interrupt the hen party, but we do have a show to do.”
We turned on him as one, and he ran off before we could throw things. Smart man.
Matinees tend to draw somewhat different audiences, especially parents who are hoping to give their children a bit of cultural polish. We also see some courting couples from strict families who do not approve of evening outings. I had been surprised and amused when Cousin Andrew the Detective asked if he might bring Miss McTeer and a chaperone to today’s matinee but had happily made arrangements.
Given Father Michael’s progressive and open-minded attitudes, I assumed that Miss McTeer’s family was the old-fashioned one. After the curtain fell, I was quite looking forward to meeting her and seeing what s
ort of dragon chaperone her clan might have sent with her.
I was surprised on all counts.
Cousin Andrew squired his lady to my dressing room with a proud and joyful smile. He’d clearly made a significant effort as to appearance, his good gray suit perfectly pressed, his tie knot precisely placed, and his red hair fancily slicked back, betraying the time he’d spent. If that was not enough to make clear his feelings for Miss McTeer, the expression of absolute adoration with which he gazed at her would have done so.
Gazed up, I might add. Miss McTeer had a good three inches on him, but he didn’t seem either aware of or interested in that fact. And no wonder. A classic black-Irish beauty with creamy skin, dark curls, and striking dark green eyes, she’d dressed up her best black dress with a garnet velvet spencer and matching glass drop earrings. She looked like a queen.
Queen of Cousin Andrew’s world, at any rate.
Needless to say there was no mention of the previous night’s incident or any other police matters. I’m sure he knew about the gunfire, and I’m equally sure he forgot every scrap the minute those lovely eyes landed on his.
Our lawman blushed as he presented his prize. “Miss Ella, Tom, I’d like you to meet Miss Katherine McTeer.”
Katie McTeer smiled shyly and shook hands. “Lovely to meet you. A wonderful show.”
“Thank you,” Tommy and I said in unintentional unison, doing our best to maintain demeanor for Cousin Andrew.
“Katie here is a teacher at the primary school,” the detective proclaimed. “She graduated top of her class at the Normal College.”
Miss McTeer blushed, which only enhanced her loveliness. “I was fortunate to get a scholarship. Teaching is—”
“Not just any scholarship. The award for top girl at Saint Brigid’s.”
Tommy and I very carefully did not look at each other as Cousin Andrew warmed to his topic. No doubt he would start listing all her many virtues if we did not intervene.
“How wonderful,” I said quickly. “I always wished I had been able to go to college. What did you study?”
Miss McTeer, no fool, took the lifeline. “Education, of course, and history. Which is why this show was such a treat.”
“We do try to be as accurate as we can,” Tommy agreed. “The character of Neville isn’t entirely true to the real Neville, of course.”
A Fatal First Night Page 11