by Megan Chance
“Let me walk you back,” he whispered when he pulled away.
I shook my head. “You go on. I think I’ll just stay here for a while.”
I didn’t watch him leave me. I went to the table where Lucius and Mr. Geary were, and I sat down, putting my face in my hands, and told myself I’d done the right thing. I’d done what I had to do. It was only until this was over anyway. It wasn’t forever.
But when I felt Lucius’s hand on my shoulder and heard him say, “He’ll come back, my sweet. I’ve never seen a man so besotted,” it was all I could do to force back my tears.
Chapter Thirty-six
I didn’t sleep well. The bruises hurt, and the ground was so damned hard, and I told myself it was that, and not the fact that I wasn’t with Sebastian. But all that sleeplessness had a good effect, I suppose, because lying there in the darkness, I thought of Penelope Justis and how Barnabus had seen Florence’s spirit in a crowd at a ball, just as Nathan had seen Ginny at Mrs. Wilcox’s, and that made me think of a plan for the spirit to appear at Much Ado, where Nathan would surely be because it was the debut of the Phoenix, and Ginny’s father too. I had to admit it was damned clever.
When she woke that morning, I told her what I’d come up with. She gave me a dubious look. “You’re certain? What about the rest of the company? Surely they would recognize me?”
“You’ll be wearing a mask. And they won’t even look at you,” I said—I was at least confident of that. I couldn’t have told you what any of the supernumeraries we used looked like. They were faceless crowds, servants with no lines, strollers in a park, passers-by. “It’s not as if you’ll be onstage, is it? I’ll steal a mask from one of the others. All you have to do is walk outside. Everyone will just assume you’re one of the company. I’ll lure Nathan outside, and you can appear to him and come back here.”
She still seemed doubtful.
“Do you have a better plan?”
“No,” she said. “We’ll need a doctor. To commit Nathan.”
I sighed. Another thing to do. “Yes, I suppose.”
“David Reynolds.”
I stared at her blankly. “Who?”
“The man who helped me put up this tent. The one who so admired you. I promised him tickets to the next show at the Regal.”
“So?”
“He’s a doctor, Bea. And one enamored enough with you that he might listen very hard to what you have to say.”
“Why … that’s a good idea.”
“All you must do is talk to him. His practice is on Front Street. He must have a tent there himself by now. Tell him you’re worried about a madman who’s been following you, et cetera. Make certain he’s at the show.”
“We’ll need two doctors, won’t we? To commit him?”
“If Nathan is at the play, my father will be there too,” she said, shaking her head. “Believe me, if he thinks Nathan’s mad, we won’t need another doctor. Papa will see that things are taken care of.”
So it was set. All I needed was to find her a domino. The mask part was easy; Mrs. Chace was making them, and she was distracted at best, it would be easy to borrow one before the show started. No one would miss it until the cue to go onstage, and I’d have it back well before then. The plan wasn’t perfect, but it was the best I could do.
Somehow I managed to get through rehearsal, though it wasn’t easy, because Sebastian was there as usual, and how you feel about someone doesn’t just stop because you want it to. I did my best to ignore him, and when rehearsal was over I watched him walk away and my throat closed up, and it was only by teasing Aloys about the filthy lace on his cuffs that I kept from crying.
“What ails our playwright this morning?” Jack asked, sitting down beside me and giving me this concerned look that I knew was all pretense. “He seems mightily struck dumb. Had I to guess, I would think him sick at heart. What have you done to him, my love?”
I rose. “Go to hell, Jack.”
I went to the dry goods tent where Aloys said they’d got the bunting for the curtain. They had a bit of it left, along with a packet of needles, and the woman there gave me what thread she could spare. Then I went to look for David Reynolds, M.D.
As I made my way along Front Street, there were dozens of men working among the ruins, great piles of twisted railroad track and huge metal cogs and other piles of charred planks and pilings. Smoke still rose from the coal bunkers beyond, and the whole harbor was veiled by its haze, so the masts of schooners and steamer smokestacks seemed disembodied, floating in a fog like some Gothic stage set, while seagulls dipped and soared, disappearing and appearing like ghosts—the world seemed full of them, my mind stuck on spirits.
I didn’t have to go far before I found Dr. Reynolds’s tent, bordered on one side by piles of ash and on the other by a lawyer’s tent. He’d painted DR. DAVID REYNOLDS above in black, and the tent flaps were wide open to show a cot and a table—which I supposed he’d been lucky to get. The man sitting on a crate before it looked just as Ginny had described, and when I stepped up, pasting a smile on my face, he leaped up so quickly from the crate that he dislodged it.
“Mrs. Wilkes!” he said, his smile so large I thought it might actually split his face. “How wonderful to see you! You look … well. Better than when I saw you last, I must confess.”
I smiled. “A bit cleaner, no doubt.”
“Please, sit down.”
I shook my head. I thought perhaps I recognized him; there were many people who came to the theater night after night, and his face looked familiar. But now I was pretending I’d been the one he’d spoken to at Fort Spokane, and so I said, “I hope you’re doing well, Dr. Reynolds. I haven’t seen you about the camp.”
“I’ve moved down here. It’s better to stay with my equipment, such as it is.”
“Well, I’ve been looking for you. To say thank you again, and also to tell you there will be tickets at the door for you when the Phoenix rises on Monday night.”
His smile broadened, as impossible as that seemed. “I would be there in any case, Mrs. Wilkes. I am your most devoted admirer. It was an honor to help you.”
I smiled again and motioned toward the cot. “No doubt you’ve been busy.”
“Yes indeed, though things have slowed this afternoon, thankfully. Burns, broken arms, that sort of thing.”
“I suppose it was lucky no one was killed.”
“Very lucky,” he said.
“I imagine some were quite”—I fumbled for the words—“undone by the tragedy.”
“Undone? Oh, I’d say so.”
“I have a friend … an admirer, like yourself. But since the fire, he’s been strange. Almost as if it … unhinged him.”
Dr. Reynolds clicked his tongue in sympathy. “It’s been a strain for many. Some have lost everything.”
“I’ve wondered, do you think … could it be a temporary illness?”
“In some, certainly. But I would have to see him to know for certain.”
“Oh, yes, of course. It’s only that he’s been quite out of his head.”
David Reynolds frowned. “In what way?”
“He’s been seeing things. Ghosts and such. And he’s been violent—”
“Has he threatened you in any way, Mrs. Wilkes? Do you think him a danger?”
I let out my breath in feigned relief and gave him my best strained smile. “I must admit I’ve been a little afraid. He’s very ardent, you see. I think he might be mad.”
“Who is he? Perhaps I can pay him a visit. To ascertain the extent of his condition.”
“Oh, I couldn’t ask it—”
“I’d be honored to serve. I don’t like to think of you in any kind of distress. If I can in any way put your mind at ease—”
I hesitated. “Well, I doubt he’ll like you paying him a visit, but I expect he’ll be at the show. Perhaps you could watch him. Discreetly, of course—”
“Of course.”
“—and tell me what you think I sho
uld do.”
“What does he look like?”
“I think you must recognize him,” I said. “His name is Nathan Langley.”
Dr. Reynolds looked taken aback. “The Nathan Langley?”
“Yes, I know. It’s very difficult, I’m sure you understand the situation. But”—here I wrung my hands in my skirt and tried to look distressed—“but I do think he might be dangerous, and I’m afraid.”
Reynolds said quietly, “Has he hurt you, Mrs. Wilkes?”
It was perfect, how well he played his part. I could not have asked for better. Carefully, I pulled up my sleeve to show the edge of the bruise that covered nearly my whole arm now, and I was rewarded by his little gasp. “That’s only the start of it,” I confessed in a whisper.
“My dear Mrs. Wilkes.” He looked absolutely shocked and horrified.
“It’s all right.” I shoved the sleeve down again. “He was out of his head when he did it. I—I’m hoping it’s only that the fire, and the loss of his wife—”
“I think you should stay away from him. Until I have the chance to observe him for myself.”
“Then you’ll be at the performance?” I asked.
He nodded, his smile completely gone now, his mouth a tight line. “I would not miss it.”
So that was done, and I was relieved as I made my way to the relief tent for a meal and then back to the tent city, carrying my pile of bunting and the needles. I didn’t see Sebastian at either place—another relief, though I missed him, and that was not something I was used to.
Ginny was waiting in the tent, of course, lying on the bedroll and staring up at the ceiling, and I could tell the moment I came in that she’d been thinking, because what else did she have to do all day but that? I gave her the bread I’d brought, but she didn’t open the packet, just stared down at it unseeingly.
I sat down opposite from her and pulled out the needles and the thread and began to sew the domino. “I spoke to the good Dr. Reynolds this afternoon. He’s so ready to see Nathan as mad I think he might do so even without observation.”
Her gaze came up to meet mine. “Do you think this might do it? Do you think this could be the end of it?”
“Perhaps. And Ginny, you’ve got to keep your distance from him. I mean it. Promise me you will.”
Something came into her eyes then, some quick flash, and she thinned her lips the way she always did when she was readying to do something that mattered to her, and it shook me that I knew her well enough to know it. “My father will be there. Nathan wouldn’t dare hurt me.”
“I suppose not,” I said reluctantly. “But promise me all the same.”
She nodded. “I promise.”
She said it quickly, and with enough emphasis that I should have been reassured. But there was something else there too, her delight in risk, that edge that made her impossible to predict, and it made me think once again of Macbeth, the forest marching on the castle, the unexpected turn, and I was suddenly afraid.
“Just follow the plan, Ginny,” I told her.
She gave me a slow smile. “Of course I will. What else would I do?”
And it was stupid, I know, to be comforted, to bask in that smile of hers, but I was, and I did, and when I finally finished that domino, and we went to sleep, I’d forgotten all about that strange foreboding.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Usually dress rehearsals were just short of tragedy in the sheer scope of disaster that accompanied them. We’d never had a dress rehearsal where it didn’t look like the show itself was doomed: people sticking, flats falling over and splintering, wrong backdrops, doors not opening as they were meant to … you name it, and it happened. But the one for Much Ado went off without a hitch, and that should have been my first clue that opening night itself would be a disaster.
Had it been any other performance, I would have known to expect it, and I had no excuse for ignoring it this time, because so much depended on it, and that alone should have raised an alarm. But the truth was that as nervous as I was that everything should go as it was supposed to, I was also excited—not only because of what Ginny and I meant to do tonight, but also because that was how I always was before a show, and it was hard to separate my excitement and dread from the nervousness I felt over our plan. This was my first performance as lead, besides, so there was that too. And it had been weeks since I’d been in front of an audience. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it.
I’d sent a note to Nathan early that morning asking if I should save him tickets for the show, and he had sent the boy back with a yes. I hadn’t seen him for two days, and I hoped it wasn’t too long, that he hadn’t somehow found his sanity again in that time.
So given all that, I suppose it’s not too hard to imagine how much trouble I was having keeping a straight thought as I went down to the theater. Ginny was going to meet me there later, behind the tent, where the set carpenters had piled the crates and pieces of wood and barrels that they’d managed to collect. Easy for her to hide in and around. She had the rough domino I’d fashioned, and when I got to the Phoenix I saw the masks Mrs. Chace had made hanging from a nail in the tent post—not as elaborate as they would have been any other time, just painted papier-mâché on a stick, stuck with what looked like seagull feathers, which were never hard to find. Everything was as it was supposed to be. As I dressed in the butterfly gown and put on my makeup in the makeshift backstage space, my whole body seemed to hum; even my bruises didn’t hurt.
No separate dressing rooms here; there was barely room to move. We were practically falling over one another. The others were laughing and talking in low voices; we could hear the audience arriving, Lucius’s hearty voice as he welcomed them and collected the tickets. The tent could not hold even a quarter of the number of people we would usually have had on an opening night, and we were sold out within minutes. When I crossed the stage to peek through the curtain, I saw lumbermen and miners, one or two merchants I recognized. Dr. Reynolds about halfway. Sebastian standing at the back. I made myself look away, to find Nathan—ah, there he was, come just as we’d hoped, third row from the front. The oil lamps serving as footlights were lit, the reflection casting onto his face, but even allowing for that, he looked terrible, his eyes red-rimmed, the circles beneath them deep, shaded pockets. No macassar in his hair; in fact, it looked unbrushed, and his tie was so messy as to be nearly undone. He sat between two men who looked prosperous—one should have been Ginny’s father, but neither looked old enough.
I backed away from the curtain. It was time to meet Ginny. I stepped off the stage, through the others—a few other supernumeraries standing about looking nervous, Brody and Susan snapping at each other as they always did, Aloys glancing up idly as he read the newspaper, Jack too busy trying to put on kohl by a tiny shaving mirror to pay attention. I grabbed one of the masks and slipped out the back. The sun had set, the shadows were growing. She was there, near the pile of salvaged wood.
She came from her hiding spot and glanced around nervously. “Is he here?” She was wearing the cape and had drawn the hood up over her hair.
I handed her the mask. “Yes. How old is your father?”
“Fifty-eight. Did you see him?”
“No. But I suppose he and Nathan might not be sitting together.”
She frowned. “Of course they would. He must be there somewhere.”
“I suppose you’re right. I wouldn’t know him anyway.” I looked her over. “Are you ready?”
Again, that expression I was beginning to recognize. “More than ready.”
“Then it’s time.”
I left her there and went back inside. One of the stagehands shouted, “Five minutes!”
I grabbed the prop boy, who was darting furiously about. “Peter, go tell Mr. Langley to meet me outside.”
He gave me an impatient look. “Bea, it’s five minutes, didn’t you hear? I don’t got time—”
“Just do it. I can’t go on without seeing him.”
>
Peter halted and sighed. No one checked an actor’s obsession with good luck; he was used to stupid little requests, strange whims; we all had them.
“All right,” he said sullenly and went to deliver my message.
I slipped out again, past the dark shadow of her huddling against the pile of wood pieces. She reached out a hand, and I grabbed it and squeezed, and then she released me and withdrew deeper into the shadows, and I went around the corner to the side of the tent, out of sight of any last-minute stragglers. The night was warm, the talk loud, the tent pulsing with lamplight and bodies. My mouth was dry with nerves.
It seemed I waited forever, but it could not have been more than a few moments before Nathan came around the corner. His eyes still looked haunted, which reassured me. Whatever the two days apart from me had given him, peace was not it.
“What is it?” he asked. “The boy said you needed me.”
“You’re my good luck charm,” I said, drawing him close. “I wanted a kiss.”
Obediently, distractedly, he kissed me.
I said, “How are you? It’s been two days. I was worried.”
He looked away. “No one believes me.”
“About what?”
“That I keep seeing her. And my nightmares … they’ve grown worse.”
I noticed then that his hands were trembling. “I’m certain they’ll fade when her body is found. Has her father come? Is he here?”
Nathan shook his head. “His train was delayed. He won’t arrive until tomorrow.”
Not as we’d planned. I felt the change like a little jump. I tried to think … what to do? We needed him. There was no second doctor. Perhaps it would be better to postpone this, to tell Ginny to wait—
And just at that moment, with his usual impeccable timing, Sebastian came around the corner. “Bea, they’re ready to—”
Ginny swept out.
Sebastian stopped short. Beside me, Nathan froze.
