We were almost ready to begin when the latest friend of the company appeared. Gil knocked on the door, then walked in with a shy smile and a bouquet of small sunflowers, not surprisingly from Naylor’s.
“I understand flowers are always appropriate at such times. Our lady witness from the trial told me these mean gratitude, to thank you for inviting me.”
“Lovely.” I took the flowers with an unavoidable blush and waved him in, glad that I was still in the lavender floral jacquard afternoon dress I’d worn to the theater. It was newer than most of my usual choices for such moments and featured some very pretty ribbon-and-lace trim.
Though I’m sure God has no problem with my lighting candles in doublet and hose, I don’t like to change until after the ceremony. Particularly when a gentleman whose opinion I value might be about.
Anna had set the candles in the holders, preparing to start the blessings. After Gil greeted her and moved on to Louis and Tommy, she shot me a grin. I handed her the matches with a wry headshake.
Marie did not scruple to send me a significant glance, either.
Gil and Tommy stood on either side of me as Anna began. Both bowed their heads, as good Christian boys do, while I shielded my eyes for a moment, as my mother had taught me. When I brought my hands down, I slipped one into Tommy’s, glancing over at him.
His eyes were a little too bright, and his jaw was a bit tight. I knew he was still mourning Jamie Eagger’s death, with the guilt and all else that meant. I hoped a few moments of spiritual comfort, and joy in our friends, might help. Tommy squeezed my fingers and nodded.
I felt a light touch on my other hand and glanced over to Gil, who laced his fingers with mine. He smiled faintly, and his eyes were very bright, too. Shabbat is a beautiful and moving ritual, even in the spare and simple way we do it.
We all stood there for a few moments in the light of the candles, silent, after Anna finished the last blessing. God in the room is really God in the people we love, I believe.
Finally, Louis let out a sigh. “Morrie is with his bubbe tonight, so we can’t bless him, so I suppose we should go get ready for vocalization.”
Anna nodded. “I miss him.”
Louis put a gentle arm around his wife. “I do, too. You’ll hold him tonight, when we get home.”
She sighed as they moved for the door.
“A pleasure to see you this evening, Your Grace,” Marie said, greeting Gil and me with a grin and an appreciative glance at our hands, still twined long after the end of the ceremony.
“A delight to see you, Madame Marie,” he replied with only a faint note of guilt as I narrowed my eyes a tiny bit at her.
Just then Tommy, being Tommy, took note of Gil as he let go my hand, and grinned. “It is a lovely ritual, isn’t it, Barrister?”
Gil nodded as he put his hands in his pockets, a minor violation of aristocratic protocol that meant he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. “Indeed. I’ve been to the Sabbath meal at my friend Joshua’s home a few times. I’m not sure if we are really feeling God in the room or simply joy in each other, but it’s surely a good thing.”
“A very good thing,” Marie observed as she swept on toward her dressing room.
I smiled at my men. “The effect is the same. Believe what you will.”
The two exchanged glances and smiles.
“Heller doesn’t trouble much with theology,” Tommy said with a shrug.
“No need, really.” Gil looked at the candles burning steadily on my vanity. “Best leave that to God. We mortals have quite enough to worry about.”
“Don’t we, though,” I agreed, thinking of gangsters, dangerous letters, and Richard IIIs.
“One-hour call, Miss Shane!” Booth called, knocking on the door. To the best of my knowledge, Booth, renegade son of one of those tent-revival ministers, would never dream of attending church, but he often comes for candle lighting. He stuck his head inside and looked, downcast, at the candles. “I missed it.”
“Sorry, Booth,” Tommy said. “I came to get you, but you were talking to the propman.”
“Reading him the riot, more like. One of Miss Shane’s swords went missing.”
“Missing?” Tommy, Gil, and I asked in suspicious unison.
Booth shook his head. “Damned if I know. Sorry, Miss Ella. It’s just the small one you wear as King Edward. We have a duplicate, of course. And I’ve locked away your King Henry sword. I’ll bring it to you when you change.”
“Good enough,” Tommy replied briskly.
“All right,” Booth agreed as he and Tommy nodded together, the sign that much more would be said about this after the show.
“Miss?” Rosa popped up from behind the dressing screen, holding King Edward’s doublet. “It’s time to get ready.”
“I know.”
Tommy and Booth walked out, clearly counseling about this latest problem.
Gil, the Sabbath glow gone from him, too, paused before me with a troubled expression. “Is this a matter of concern?”
“I don’t know that it’s ever happened before. We simply do not have thefts.”
His eyes narrowed. “With everything else that’s been happening . . .”
“It raises more questions.”
“Please be careful.”
“Always.”
He took my hand then and raised it to his lips. As my beau, with an “understanding,” he had every right to place a careful, respectful, and harmless kiss on the back of my hand, and this he did. Careful and respectful it was, but with his eyes burning deep into mine, and the attraction crackling between us, it didn’t feel harmless at all.
It was a good thing I had a show to do.
We stood there, hand in hand, for several measures, both likely wondering what might have happened if I hadn’t.
“Miss?” Rosa chirped finally, and we broke apart, quickly returning to our appropriate demeanor.
“Have a very good night, Shane.”
“Thank you. I hope you enjoy the performance.”
“I actually have another engagement. I came only for the candle lighting.”
“You did?”
“It seemed a rather appropriate time to see you.” He suddenly looked a little shy again. Adorably so.
“A very sweet gesture.”
“I will come for the show tomorrow night, if I may . . .”
“Friends of the company are always welcome.”
“I am honored to be a friend, then.”
“And I am honored to have you as one.”
We bowed to each other, and he walked away without a backward glance.
I closed the door and let out a bit of a sigh.
Rosa pulled me behind the screen and started unbuttoning my dress. “Oh, miss, he’s something else.”
I bit back my smile with an attempt at a stern look. “That’s rather unbecoming slang, Rosa . . .”
She just looked at me.
“And also undeniably true.”
Chapter 18
Women on a Wheel
When we are cursed with a chilly autumn in the City, that rare sunny and warm day draws everyone out to enjoy what might be their last chance at pretty weather until spring. And so it was that Saturday, when the sun and the temperatures rose early and swiftly. I made a quick call to Hetty, and though her night had been no less late than mine, she was delighted to bring out her velocipede for one more run though Washington Square Park.
By ten, we had scrambled into our sports costumes, suits with ankle-length split skirts for safety and modesty, hers gray, mine navy blue, both topped with sweet little straw boaters, and started steaming down the paths. Everyone we saw was in the same joyful mood we were, soaking in the warmth and light for that last happy time before the snows descended.
Even poor Mrs. Early seemed to be a little less sad, offering a tiny smile when I gave her the coins as she sat in the sunniest spot on the bench. I tried not to think about how much cold she might suffer before spring came
again. Many other ladies and a few gentlemen were also out on their wheels, and for this one gorgeous day, there was a distinct decline in disapproving glances. Even though velocipedes are hardly the sign of an adventuress these days, cyclists do still draw the disgust and disdain of those who believe nice women should sit quietly in the house, waiting for something to happen. Or, more likely, for the next demand of their menfolk.
Today, though, even the older couple from MacDougal Street who make a point of glaring at Hetty and me most days managed to simply nod and walk on. An elderly lady I recognized from Sunday mornings at Holy Innocents gave us a friendly wave, and a knot of young men, college students from their dandyish clothes and carefree air, actually cheered us.
“Don’t you have studying to do?” Hetty called back at them with a laugh.
“We like studying you!” replied the tallest one, a dark-haired fellow who wasn’t half bad looking, if you prefer boys to men, which I do not.
Hetty, however, appreciates male attractiveness in all its forms and favored him with a flirtatious smile before moving on.
“Looking for a pet?” I teased.
“He’d probably be more fun than our old cat.”
“Yes, but Lord Tennyson is house-trained.”
“And you can at least count on him to keep the mice away.”
We laughed together.
“It’s so good to be out this morning. It’s been pretty tough sledding in the news office since the trial. Winter fashions, holiday needlework, and yet more hats.”
“No good follow-up stories?”
She sighed. “No one will say it on the record, but the sense I get from the prosecutor is that he’s quite sure she did it, and equally sure that no jury will convict her.”
“No justice for anyone.”
“No. And she just flounces away.”
As I watched Hetty’s face tighten in irritation, I wondered again what was so awful about the woman. “Why does she bother you so much?”
“I wish I knew. You know we are very, very careful not to allow our biases to creep into our work.”
“Of course. You’re a professional. It’s the code.”
“Exactly. But we’re also taught to listen to our instincts. And there’s something off about that woman.”
“What?”
“Ah, if I could tell you that, I could unravel this whole mess. But I can’t. And so she’s free, spending Hosmer’s lovely money and probably up to some very unlovely business besides.”
“Probably. But you won’t have to think about her again.”
“True.”
We rounded a corner, to see Teddy Bridgewater and Mama B promenading slowly toward the fountain. People rarely recognized me on my wheel, since it is really an unexpected activity for a diva. But I was not to be so fortunate today.
“Oh! Miss Ella!” he cried, clapping his hands. “How delightful to see you and your friend.”
We slowed enough to offer a brief greeting, all that propriety required, and to absorb a scorching glare from Mama B, who, as usual, refused to speak to me.
“I’m glad I don’t have admirers,” Hetty said as we pedaled on. “That one gives me the creeps.”
“They’re not all that bad.”
“No?”
“Some are worse.” It was probably the only time I had ever laughed at the thought of Grover Duquesne. We grinned together.
“The mother’s a piece of work, too.” Hetty shook her head. “Half the time, women do worse things to each other than men would ever come up with.”
I nodded, thinking of all the society matrons who came backstage and delivered words of praise with condescension I was not supposed to appreciate and could not acknowledge. “As much as we think we’d do a better job running the world, I’m not at all sure.”
“I’d like to take my chances for a while.” Hetty watched the path reflectively for a few turns. “Really, men aren’t so bad, if only they’d work with us instead of against us.”
“Some do. Tommy does.”
“Tommy, as you well know, is the treasure of the world. And there’s only one of him. Even if he were the marrying kind, we couldn’t all have him.”
“No, but we can send good prospects to him for training.” As she returned my smile, I decided not to press that any further, since neither of us needed to chew over romantic complications in the midst of such a lovely outing.
“Perhaps. In the meantime, I need to stop thinking about how unfair it is that Amelie Van Vleet is walking away free and start looking for a new exposé.”
“Absolutely. But first, we still have some time and sunshine.” I turned onto another path, enjoying the breeze and the warmth, the sweeter for knowing it might be months before I felt them again.
At the next turn in the path, we were speculating about whether we might get one more pretty day before the cold returned when she looked at the watch pinned to her bodice.
“I can’t believe we’ve been more than an hour. Soon back to the newspaper.”
“Soon back to the dressing room.”
“But at least we got to enjoy the sun.” She had a downcast look, which suggested she was sad about far more than the coming cold.
I turned my wheel toward the gate to the street. “Come on. I’m sure Mrs. G can fortify you with some kind of baked good before you head off to the office.”
“And back to hats.”
“Hopefully, just for now.”
“Your lips to God’s ears.”
Whether it was the sunny day or just a flurry of activity as we rounded the corner before our final week, Saturday afternoon found many of us at the theater early, for any number of reasons. I had made a quick and very successful stop at the bookshop nearby, having found a marvelous copy of Volcanoes of the World in the window. It would make an entirely appropriate, if somewhat cheeky, gift for Gil. One can always give one’s swain an improving book, after all.
Ruben was coming out of the music shop a couple of doors down, and we walked the last few blocks together, chatting about the books we planned to read when we had time and concentration after the run. As it happened, we shared an interest in the courts of the English Renaissance and traded reading recommendations.
As we stepped backstage, I had one of those odd moments where you feel someone’s eyes on you and turned to see Edwin Drumm, the hand who’d been glaring at Ruben during his first practice as King Richard. I met his scowl with a cheerful smile and a hello, usually the best way to lighten such moments, and he mumbled a greeting and went back to moving a set piece.
Strange. Maybe a tinge menacing. Not that I had time to give it much thought at that exact moment.
Marie was in the costume shop, having her dresses taken in a touch more, with the slimming effect of several weeks of performing. I would have been concerned, except that she explained it to me as the last little bit of remaining weight from her confinement with Joseph and promised she was quite delighted.
As he did many Saturdays, Paul had taken the two older ones to the library, leaving Joseph in Marie’s charge, and ultimately mine. Not a difficult chore at all. Master Joseph Winslow, very nearly one year old, was a pudgy ball of happiness. Admittedly, he got into quite literally everything, but since I caught him before he’d had his late-afternoon nap, it was safe enough to take him into my dressing room, let him play with my charm bracelet for a few moments, and rock him to sleep.
It is not unusual for me to play fairy godmother or amiable auntie to the wee Winslows. Marie has observed that unlike most women who have chosen not to marry, I not only acknowledge her children but also enjoy them. That has been true since big brother Jimmy was born; he, Polly, and Joseph are all sweet, happy babes, far different from the cranky, snotty creatures my younger cousins were when I had to play nursemaid as a girl.
In the past few years, I suppose it’s become rather more than that. I’ve gradually come to the conclusion that I might not mind having a child of my own. If I didn’t have to
give up everything else in my life in return, that is.
My thoughts were running in that direction as I watched Joseph drift off, less imp and more angel as he settled into his baby dreams. I was more than a little tired myself from all the late nights of the run and from the fresh air and sunshine of my velocipede ride. While I might usually have read the Beacon or an improving book of some sort, I was just as glad to hold the little fellow and half doze myself for a few minutes.
For this one brief moment, only between wee Joseph and me, I wondered what it might be like to hold one of my own. And allowed myself to come to the conclusion that it would be a very nice thing indeed to feel the unexpectedly heavy weight of a fuzzy small head on my shoulder and the warm grip of a starfish hand around my finger.
But such pleasures come at a terribly high price, if they come at all. My throat tightened a little, and my eyes prickled with the beginning of tears.
“Shane?”
Gil, knocking on the half-closed door. Why now, of all times? Embarrassed, I blinked hard and turned, to see him gazing down at me and tiny Joseph with an expression I’d never seen before. Transfixed or shocked perhaps.
“Oh, hello.” I tried for a cool tone, but it came out sleepy and husky.
“I didn’t know you were in the habit of babysitting in the theater.”
I sat up very carefully, and the baby just stirred in his sleep and snuggled closer into me. “Marie’s having a fitting. I’m seeing to Joseph for a while.”
“He seems to like you.”
“He’s a sweet little thing.”
Gil sat down beside me on the other end of the settee, a proper distance still between us, the door wide open so we were not inappropriately alone. “An appealing vision.”
I smiled at him.
“I read a rather interesting article on Mr. Darwin and heredity not long ago,” he began.
“Really?”
“I don’t believe all the swill about white master races and so on, you know, but some scientists have rather intriguing theories about how features are passed on.”
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