A Fatal First Night

by Kathleen Marple Kalb

  “But,” she said, “it would be terribly confusing to have the three or more different men who were actually there.”

  “Exactly.” I nodded and looked about a bit. “So did your chaperone enjoy the show?”

  “Oh, our chaperone.” Cousin Andrew’s besotted expression gave way to a beleaguered sigh, and he reached behind him. “Miss Ella, Tom, meet Miss Mary Grace McTeer, Katie’s sister.”

  Miss Mary Grace McTeer, a smaller and surlier version of her elegant sib, looked to be about twelve and seemed a little awed by me and Tommy and more than a bit annoyed with her sister’s beau. Someone had seen fit to force her into a rather elaborate frilled bright pink frock that did nothing for her complexion and probably less for her humor, complete with rosy bows on her dark braids. I guessed this was a hand-me-down from a much daintier sister, confirmed when she hissed at the senior McTeer, “My name is Mack.”

  “Your name is Mary Grace, whatever your school chums may call you,” Katie McTeer said to her little sister with a tiny trace of steel in her voice and gaze, likely all it took to control her primary-school cherubs. “Manners, dear.”

  Mack, as she preferred to be known, was no cherub, but she did look at least a bit sweeter when she smiled at me. “A wonderful show, Miss Ella. When can we come again?”

  “Mary Grace!”

  “You’re welcome whenever you like, Mack,” I said with a laugh. “We can always find a spot for a friend of the company.”

  Mack’s face took on a happy glow. “Thank you, Miss Ella. Is sword fighting as much fun as it looks?”

  “It’s actually an art requiring great skill and discipline.” I didn’t want the poor dear running after the other neighborhood children with a stick.

  “But she loves it,” Tommy put in with a diplomatic smile. “Would you like me to show you around backstage?”

  She clapped her hands. “Oh, yes. Please.”

  Tommy guided her out, bows and braids bouncing, and Cousin Andrew and Miss McTeer turned back to me.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Shane. Of course she won’t come again.”

  I shook my head. “She’s truly welcome. You two are, as well. We really enjoy having friends and family about. And we have plenty of paying customers.”

  “Well, thank you kindly. You may live to regret that. Mary Grace is a caution,” Katie continued. “She doesn’t seem to believe in rules or demeanor.”

  “Neither did I at that age.” I shrugged. “At any rate, I hope you are having a lovely afternoon out.”

  Cousin Andrew shot me a glance that meant it would be far lovelier without Mack, but nodded. “Indeed we are. I am going to take the ladies to the ice-cream parlor and deliver them safely home at a decent hour.”

  “An excellent choice,” I agreed. “No doubt young Miss Mack has homework to do.”

  “And my da likes to know I’m home before he goes to sleep at seven,” Katie said, betraying her family’s humbler origins by her name for her father. “He has to be up at two to bake the bread.”

  “McTeer’s Bakery?” I asked. “I knew it was a familiar name.”

  Katie smiled. “Yes. We all sometimes help in the shop. One Saturday afternoon, a friendly officer of the law wandered in.”

  The officer of the law blushed. “I haven’t bought a crust anywhere else since.”

  “As indeed you should not.”

  “If I hope to see my next birthday.”

  As they bantered, I caught the little crackle between them and realized that they really were well matched.

  “We often buy bread from McTeer’s, as well. It is truly wonderful,” I said. Mrs. G would forgive a small stretch of the truth in the service of true love.

  “Thank you, Miss Ella,” Katie said, still all asparkle from the little back-and-forth with her squire.

  “Thank you, Miss Ella,” Cousin Andrew echoed as he bowed. “We should go collect Mary Grace before she draws Tom into a duel.”

  “Probably true. Thank you for coming. Delightful to meet you, Miss McTeer.”

  “You as well. Thank you again.”

  “The pleasure is ours.”

  We all bowed once more, and Cousin Andrew followed Katie McTeer out the door.

  “If he’s not dead gone on her, I don’t have eyes.” Rosa laughed.

  “I think if you get your dictionary and look up the word smitten,” I said, joining her laughter “you will find a picture of our good detective.”

  Chapter 15

  In Which We Enjoy a Quiet Morning at Home

  “Miss! The duke is here!” called Sophia as Gil walked into the parlor.

  “I gathered that.” I shook my head as she returned to dusting, straightening, and now minimally covering the proprieties as chaperone.

  I was relaxing on the chaise, with the newspaper, a book, and Montezuma keeping watch from the bookshelf, trying to recover my energy a bit after the stressful night of the benefit, followed so closely by the matinee. I’d awakened late and irritable, scowled at the autumn rain, donned a simple but pretty lavender-and-white floral de-laine day dress, and put my hair up without much care or style.

  Neither the dress nor a dab of my favorite rosewater hand cream had gone very far toward cheering me up, even though such girlish things often do. I will admit, though, that the sight of Gil, clearly delighted to see me, did much to improve my humor.

  “Alba gu Bràth!” As did Montezuma’s cheerful greeting of him, which earned birdie a bow before His Grace turned the table to me.

  “I’m not interrupting your rest?”

  “Not at all. I was just reading.” I put the mark in my book, then allowed myself a long look at him. Even in his usual simple suit and overcoat, he was perfectly turned out, with the same careful attention to detail I recognized in Tommy and Preston, but without even the little hints of flash they allowed on occasion. No red tie or flower in the lapel for him.

  Some might suggest his attire was a bit dull, but I appreciated the reserve. And the smile was quite showy enough.

  “I was in the neighborhood after taking care of some business up near Fifth Avenue and wondered if you might be about.”

  “Ah.” I knew the vague explanation had to do with whatever his other errand was, and decided to just let it rest. “Seizing the chance to see me, as it were.”

  “Just so.” He sat down on the chair by the chaise. “Is this how you usually spend a performance day?”

  “Mostly. I sometimes take a fencing lesson or go for a walk, but the comte is booked today, and the rain was a bit discouraging. What did you think of the show?”

  “Well, until the unpleasantness after, quite impressive.”

  “Connor has enemies.”

  “I gathered that.” Gil looked closely at me for a moment. “He will not be returning?”

  “I doubt it. He sent extravagant floral apologies to Marie and me and vowed that it won’t happen again.”

  Gil’s eyes narrowed a bit. “You like extravagant floral apologies?”

  “Not from Connor.”

  “I note that you call him by his first name.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “He grew up in the same neighborhood as we did. It’s difficult to revert to ‘Mr. Coughlan’ after you’ve yanked out a handful of someone’s hair.”

  “That wasn’t a joke?” Gil’s concern faded in amusement.

  “Not a bit. I used to help Tommy when the other boys picked fights.”

  “You would.”

  “He didn’t want me to, but I did.” I shrugged a little sheepishly, noticing Sophia’s shocked expression. “He was my protector, and God help anyone who tried to hurt him.”

  Gil smiled. “Even someone as dangerous as Coughlan?”

  “He wasn’t dangerous then. And really, still, he’s harmless—to us. But I would not want to be the person who fired at him.”

  “I rather imagine that person is past their earthly woes by now.”

  “Better for them if they are.” We nodded together, and
I quickly changed subject. More than enough of this. “Marie told me that Albert’s lawyer sent you the report?”

  He colored and shook his head. “He did. I haven’t had time . . .”

  “It’s all right,” I said quickly, knowing I would get nothing I wanted by pushing him. “When you have time.”

  “Yes. Soon, I hope.”

  I nodded. Perhaps just a light and pleasant talk now. “About The Princes . . .”

  “Magnificent. I’ll enjoy seeing it again when I can.”

  “Whenever you like. I told you, you’re now a friend of the company.”

  His serious mien gave way to a grin. “I rather like that.”

  “So do I.” I basked in the warmth of his gaze for a moment, then decided to put my in-house critic to work. “And as a friend of the company, you must give me some thoughts on the show and the cast.”

  “Well, Henry Tudor is especially gifted . . .”

  “Thank you, but I meant the others.”

  “Well, since I am calling on a lady, I should offer some compliments.”

  “Not required, but much appreciated.”

  He shrugged. “They had no lilacs at the florist, so pretty words will have to do.”

  “Lilacs are very hard to get this time of year. I still don’t know how you managed to send me a bouquet for opening night.”

  “I have my ways. At any rate, the cast.”

  “Yes.”

  “Madame Marie is transcendent, naturally.”

  “If there is a better coloratura singing today, I do not know of her.”

  “She could probably spend her life in the best opera houses of the world if she wished.”

  “But then she wouldn’t have her happy home,” I reminded him. “It’s not a fair trade to her.”

  “No doubt.” He nodded. “At any rate, the rest of your cast is very good. The big ginger boy who plays Neville needs a bit of seasoning, but he’s holding his own.”

  “Yes, Eamon. You’re right. He is very green.”

  “But promising. And your Richard has a magnificent basso.”

  “Ruben is special,” I agreed. “I hope he can develop to his full ability.”

  Gil studied me carefully. “Is there a threat to that?”

  “Not exactly. But he’s overcome a great deal to get here, and some people might not give him a chance.”

  “Some people don’t like Cubans, do they?”

  “Cubans,” I agreed, watching his eyes. He knew.

  “Well, I have always believed that a man—or a woman, for that matter—should be judged on their abilities and actions, not their pedigree.”

  If I didn’t already like him a great deal . . .

  “I’m certain you already know that, Shane.”

  “I do. But it’s not a kind world for some people.”

  “True. This show should give him a good start, though.”

  I nodded. “Absolutely. And unless he’s otherwise engaged, we’ll take him to London, as well.”

  “That run will be good for the entire company.”

  “And its friends, as well, I think.” Our eyes met as I said it, and for perhaps half a stanza, we just gazed at each other.

  “So,” Gil said briskly, breaking the moment with a cool tone to cover whatever he’d been thinking. “What are you reading?”

  “A fascinating study of the Hawaiian Islands.”

  “Ah, a fantasy of the tropics on a gray fall day.” He picked up the book. “Would you perhaps like me to read to you?”

  “That would be lovely.”

  It was far more than lovely. I was utterly enchanted, as were Montezuma and Sophia, though likely for entirely different reasons.

  No one had ever read to me before, at least not that I could remember. In novels like Little Women, reading to someone is an improving sort of activity that one might do for a sick relative or one’s sisters while they darn stockings. Improving would not be the word I’d choose for this.

  Intimate, more likely. Gil read elegantly, as I would have expected, and his voice was low and liquid as he described the sights of the tropical rain forest as if he were really reciting some particularly romantic piece of poetry. As he read on, his precise London diction slipped a fraction and a bit of the North crept in, making him sound more like the dangerous border lord he actually was. I reclined on my chaise, watching him and enjoying the fact that he was performing just for me, a complete reversal of my usual role in the world.

  Whoever decreed that reading aloud was an acceptable activity for courting couples should really reconsider. Perhaps if the book is very dry and the reader not especially skilled. But an appealing man reading beautifully for an appreciative woman? One could quite easily see how this might lead to all sorts of trouble, even if one hadn’t had Marie’s glass of whisky and talk on the specifics of that trouble.

  As he finished a chapter, I sighed a little. “Oh, well done. You are very good at this.”

  “I have a very good audience.”

  His eyes met mine over the volume, and I had a sudden and very nearly irresistible desire to just throw myself into his arms and kiss him, never mind propriety, principles or, for that matter, the Hawaiian rain forest.

  “Good audience!” squawked Montezuma, and Sophia let out a little giggle just then, the two of them dashing some needed cold water on the moment.

  “Er, well.” He turned the page and fixed his gaze resolutely on the book. “Chapter Four, Volcanoes . . .”

  Now, there’s an apt metaphor.

  “Heller! You awake yet?” Tommy called, barreling down the stairs.

  “In the parlor!”

  “Wait till you hear . . . Oh, hello, Barrister.” Tommy looked from him to me to now blushing Sophia and back to me and smiled wisely. “Reading?”

  “Just so.”

  “It’s a good book.” Tommy looked at me with a wicked twinkle in his eye. “You’ll especially like the chapter on volcanoes.”

  “No doubt.” Gil handed the book back, very careful not to even brush my fingers, and stood with a polite bow. “I’ve probably kept you from your rest too long.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Coming to the show tonight?” Tommy asked him.

  “Not tonight. Perhaps tomorrow, if I might.”

  “Of course.” I very deliberately didn’t ask more, choosing to offer a test of a different kind. “We light Sabbath candles in my dressing room at sunset before the show.”

  I waited to see his reaction.

  A smile. “Are friends of the company welcome even if they are not of the tribe of Abraham?”

  “Anyone of goodwill, Barrister.” Tommy nodded approvingly. “You may have noticed we are not an especially doctrinaire group.”

  “ ‘Doctrinaire!’ ” Montezuma echoed. For some reason, the word doctrinaire is a favorite of his. Also crustacean and fortissimo.

  “One of your best qualities.” Gil turned to me, diplomatically ignoring the bird. “I am honored to be asked.”

  Another bridge safely crossed. “My pleasure.”

  We smiled foolishly at each other for a measure or two, before Tommy broke the silence.

  “Well, before you go, let me share our good news.”

  “Good news?” I asked.

  “I’ve added up the receipts from the benefit night—and we raised enough to pay off the mortgage on the Eaggers’ house, with a bit left over.”

  “Wonderful, Toms!” I clapped my hands.

  “Wonderful indeed.” Gil, who had quietly taken Tommy aside to make his contribution before curtain time, gave him a vigorous handshake. “Well done.”

  “Everyone pitched in, of course, or it wouldn’t have happened.”

  “But you organized it,” I pointed out.

  Tommy shrugged modestly. “It was what I could do.”

  “I assume Mr. Coughlan made a generous gift?” Gil asked.

  “Oh, Connor,” Tommy said with a twist to his mouth. “He did, not that any of us were
happy to take his money.”

  “Why? The gunshot?” Gil’s jaw tightened as he asked.

  “That was just the final insult.”

  “Ah.” A slow, cautious nod from Gil.

  “Lord only knows what horrible things he does to get that money.” Tommy shook his head. “I don’t know all of what he’s into, and I’m glad of it.”

  “As are we all,” I added.

  Gil took a long look at me. “He does seem to admire you.”

  Tommy caught the glance. “No, Barrister. Connor thinks she’s some kind of angel on a pedestal.”

  “Really?”

  I swallowed the giggle at Gil’s faintly jealous expression.

  “Connor’s well supplied with companionship.” Tommy’s brows arched faintly as he looked at Gil, but he didn’t elaborate. A message among men, of course. “He worships Heller from afar because he knows she’d never have him, even if he weren’t the scourge of Five Points.”

  “I see.”

  “Barrister, you’re the first man she’s ever given the time of day.”

  “Tommy!”

  “Heller!”

  “ ‘Heller!’ ” Montezuma added, breaking the tie for Toms, as is his habit.

  Gil laughed. “I don’t wish to cause any unpleasantness between you two. Three?”

  “Don’t worry, you’re not,” Tommy said, shooting me a victorious smile. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “Good day, Shane.”

  “Alba gu Bràth!”

  Gil bowed to me again and let Tommy play host. I put down the book and took up the feature section of the Beacon instead, wondering uncomfortably what might happen if my men—and parrot—started conspiring against me.

  Chapter 16

  A Friendly Tea

  Friday mercifully started with rest and quiet. I lingered long abed, enjoyed my coffee in my room, put on a simple skirt and plain pale violet shirtwaist, and took a brief but refreshing walk to the newsstand for the newest issue of a fashion book. It is true, I do enjoy reading about clothes, but I would never, ever expect dear Hetty to do the writing!

  I returned to find Tommy in the midst of a most congenial discussion with our latest visitor. While I am not at all in the habit of entertaining multiple gentlemen, Cabot Bridgewater has fallen into the pattern of coming to tea with Tommy and me on occasion. We all share similar interests in literature, history, and improving our current society and enjoy lively conversations.