Prima Donna: A Novel

by Megan Chance

  I would have flown at her myself then. I was gratified when Barret said, "I will not have you talking about my sister in that fashion," and Mr. Cone told Paolo, Gideon, Barret, and Follett to meet him in his room immediately, and told Mr. Wilson to send Renate to me, as I could no doubt use a woman's comfort.

  They all left, and Renate came and helped me undress and lay on the bed with me while I slept, though she was gone in the morning and I was alone, and very sore, and feeling exceedingly stupid. Which was only made worse when someone knocked on the door and I knew it was Barret and told him to come in, except it wasn't just Barret, but Gideon too, and I was embarrassed.

  I sat up in bed, clutching the bedcovers about me as Barret shut the door and asked how I was and his tone was so cold and mean, and I retorted angrily, "As well as someone who's been so grievously abused can be," and he said, "Leave off, Sabine. What the hell are you playing at?"

  I told him I had no idea what he was talking about and that he needn't be so pious as he'd been the one who had told me I should find another man to love and I was only following his advice. Barret looked confused and then horrified, and he glanced at Gideon and asked in a strangled voice if I loved Paolo, and I told him no, of course not, and that this was all an accident, and I began to cry and Barret asked if Paolo had taken any precautions?

  I didn't know what he meant, and said so, and then he swore. "Didn't you think what would happen if he got you with child? D'you really think we all sacrificed just so you could marry some second-rate garlic eater?"

  I was stunned. I told him marrying Paolo was the very last thing I wanted.

  Barret only gave me this terrible look and said that Papa must be contacted, and we would be lucky not to be called home, and I grabbed my brother by the shoulders and begged him not to tell Papa. I told him I wouldn't do it again, that I would do whatever he asked. I told Gideon to say something, to help me. He asked Barret for a moment with me and Barret was reluctant but I gave him my best pleading look and he said he would wait in the hall and Gideon had one minute only. When my brother was gone, Gideon sat down on the bed beside me, and took me in his arms, where I wanted so badly to be, and I sobbed into his shoulder and told him I had only been trying to forget him, that it had all gone wrong, and he pulled away and took my chin between his fingers and said, "Rinzetti was a mistake. Next time you'll listen to me. Now you must use your pretty little head. You're not a child anymore, Sabine. It's time to act like an adult and think of what is best to be done."

  I asked him what he meant and he asked what I wanted more than anything and I said to sing. He said if that was true, I must not let anyone take it from me, and was I brave enough to defy my parents? "Does the world still see you as a child who must obey her mama and papa? Must the Sabine Conrad that the Chicago Tribune loved do so?"

  Oh, what hope he placed in my heart! I clutched at him and he said that if I followed his lead he would see I became what I was meant to be. Then he stroked my cheek and kissed where my tears had fallen, and said I must be patient and trust him, and could I do that?

  Trust him? How could I not trust him? If I've learned anything from Paolo, it's how true my love for Gideon is. But I didn't say that, because there is still Willa to consider, and I know I must only love him from afar. His guidance must be enough. And so, although my heart was bursting, I said only that I would be his true and faithful student.

  Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a little bottle. He said it was a Portuguese remedy, and I was to use it as a douche, and that with any luck it would "take care of" any possible child. Then he asked if I knew what a douche was and I said of course I did, and he left, but I had been lying, and I had to ask Renate, who was very good to tell me, and then I was embarrassed that Gideon had been the one to bring it and that he'd known how it must be done.

  But Renate told me something else as well. She told me that Paolo had been released from his contract, and there would be a new tenor that night for me to sing with, because Mrs. Follett had gone as well, and Mr. Cone and Mr. Wilson were discussing whether or not Gideon should be released. If I am singing the prima donna roles then there will be no seconda donna and therefore no need for him, and Follett said that they must choose between her and me, and they did not pick her, and she is gone, and Gideon couldn't stop her, so they are angry with him.

  When Mr. Cone came later to tell me what Renate already had, I begged for him to keep Gideon, and he told me they did not need him, and then said that we must cancel the show tonight because Follett slammed the door on Mr. Wilson's hand and he cannot play. So I asked him why Gideon could not take Mr. Wilson's place at the piano and Mr. Cone said it was a good idea. Gideon was not happy as I expected. He said he would not be their trained monkey, that he was a singer and did they think he had studied all these years to not take his own place upon the stage? But in the end he agreed.

  In spite of what I told Gideon, I am still nervous about what is to come. I am ashamed over what happened with Paolo, but to pay such a price as this ... I could not bear to lose everything now that I know what it's like to sing this way. I cannot go back to what I was. But I have never disobeyed Mama and Papa, and if they send for me to come home, I wonder if I can be as brave as Gideon expects. I intend to be! Oh, I do! But I am afraid. Gideon could not stop Barret from sending the letter home, and now there is nothing to do but wait.

  CHAPTER 5

  Seattle, Washington Territory--February 1881

  T hat night, the Palace was full, the way it always was when word got around that we had new girls. Even when the girls weren't yet ready to perform, the novelty lured the men in, and that was good, that was what I liked, because it kept me busy and made it easy to ignore the agitation that lurked just below the surface, ready to leap up whenever Sally challenged me with too bold eyes or when Emma faltered over the words of her song and then broke into laughter onstage and I saw her pupils were tiny as pinpricks from the laudanum she'd been drinking. The new girls helped too; I had to show them around and introduce them to the customers and make certain they were holding their own. Sarah Wilcox would do fine; she was an adept flirt, and Duncan was nearly falling over himself to help her. The three I thought of as Girl one, Girl two, and Girl three were adequate enough. Girl two spilled four drinks out of nervousness, and Girl three had a braying laugh that seemed to echo through the saloon and set my teeth on edge whenever I heard it. And as for Charlotte Rainey ...

  I'd been aware of her the moment she stepped into the Palace, and that awareness hadn't eased since. It was because she was so tall, taller than the others, and easy to spot in the crowd. And too, she walked with a kind of proud dignity that drew the eye, though she wasn't cold--she smiled readily and I saw her laugh with real gusto more than once. She went to the boxes three times that night, and each time the men were grinning when they returned. And she was good at selling the drinks too.

  I was leaning on the bar, watching her, when Johnny came out of his office. He came up to me, leaning close to say, "How're the new girls tonight?"

  "Some better than others. Sarah should do well."

  "I see Duncan's kept a close eye on her."

  "She'll be in his bed before the week is out," I agreed.

  "What about the others? What about that one?"

  I followed his gaze. "You mean Charlotte."

  "She seem a bit long in the tooth to you?"

  "I believe she's about my age," I said dryly.

  He smiled. "Well, you ain't a whore."

  My discomfort pricked. Deliberately, I said, "No one seems to mind it. She's doing very well. Her drink totals are as good as Annie's."

  "Good," he said. I heard the intake of his breath, slow and wary. "How you doing tonight, honey? You seem good."

  "Oh, but I've been warned I'd better be. And you know how well I follow direction."

  "Margie," he said quietly.

  I shrugged away from his hand where it rested on my hip. "I'm fine, Johnny. You can fuck S
ally tonight without worrying that I'll be pining for you."

  "I don't mind you pining for me."

  "You seemed to mind it last night."

  "Not the pining," he said. "What I mind is the fact that you don't."

  He stepped away then, moving to Duncan, whom he spoke to for a moment before he poured himself a glass of whiskey and went back into his office. I felt the urge for a drink myself, but I remembered his warning and left it. As always, Johnny left me feeling somehow less than, as if he expected more from me, as if I failed him in ways I didn't understand. I disliked the feeling, but more than that I disliked the loneliness it left in its wake. He wouldn't be coming with me to the boardinghouse tonight, and I would be alone, and the rest of the night seemed to race pell-mell toward that conclusion, the hours spinning by in a blur of color and sound until suddenly it was nearly 4 A.M. The girls and the orchestra had gone home, and the newest scrubwoman was cheerlessly cleaning up, and it was time to make my weary way back to the boardinghouse and my cold and empty bed.

  Johnny was nowhere to be found, and it occurred to me as I grabbed my cloak from his office that I hadn't seen Sally leave either. They must have gone off to his room when I wasn't looking. It wasn't that I was jealous--Johnny had had his favorites before, and the truth was that I was mostly relieved at it, because I knew he loved me, and I didn't want the responsibility of having to love him back. But not having the guarantee of him frightened me. Johnny at least was easy; he understood me, he knew his place in my life and the role I meant him to play. If he'd really meant what he said about not obliging me any longer, what was I to do without him?

  Duncan was shrugging into his coat as I came out of the office. "You ready to go, Marguerite?"

  I nodded and put on my cloak and together we went out. The light from the nearby streetlamp seemed to shiver and shift in the rain. It was a moment before I saw the shadow within it, the person lurking in the corner where the lean-to butted up against the saloon, and I went still in sudden fear. So this was to be the night....

  Duncan stopped, one hand on my arm, the other sneaking to the gun he kept in his pocket. "Who's there?"

  "It's only me," a voice said, and then the shadow lengthened and grew as the person stood and stepped from the corner.

  It was Charlotte. She was wearing a threadbare coat, too big, obviously once a man's, and no hat. Her hair was plastered to her head, dripping into her face. Her eyes were enormous, her lips colorless with cold. I swallowed my relief. Not tonight, after all. Thank God.

  "I got no money yet," she said. "There's no place else to go."

  Duncan said, "You can't stay out here. Johnny won't have it."

  "Look, I only need tonight--"

  "Sorry, but you got to move on." Duncan was adamant.

  "Where the hell should I go?"

  "That ain't my problem."

  She nodded and began to move off, and suddenly I remembered my first night in Seattle, the cold wet and the despair that had led me to sell myself for a bowl of chowder. I thought of her today in Johnny's room, that evasion, that understanding, and all of it tangled with my fear of going to my empty room, of being alone, and I found myself saying, "You can come with me."

  Duncan jerked to look at me. "What?"

  "She can come home with me," I said again, and then, at his disbelieving expression, "I didn't put all this time into training her today just to have her murdered in the street."

  Duncan shrugged. "Whatever you want. Come along then."

  Charlotte fell into step beside me. "Thank you," she said quietly. That was all, just thank you, but it was sincere and she didn't grovel and I didn't regret that I'd made the offer. Instead I felt comforted. I didn't ask myself why that was; all I cared about was that I wouldn't be alone.

  None of us said much on the walk to the boardinghouse. We sloshed quickly through the mud because the night was cold and wet and still full of other, less benign shadows. Charlotte was shivering so I could feel it. When we reached McGraw's, Duncan let us go with a "Good night, ladies," and then, as I stepped back to let Charlotte go first up the ramp, he touched my arm and asked, "You sure? You never done this before."

  "I'm sure," I told him. Then I patted the pocket where I kept the derringer. "I've got a gun if she gets too hard to handle."

  His white teeth flashed in the darkness as he laughed. "I won't worry then. Good night, Marguerite."

  I hurried after Charlotte to the door. "This way," I told her as we went inside and I led her up the stairs to my room. I unlocked the door and she was still shivering as she went inside. The room was cold as it always was, not even the breath of the furnace to heat it now; it had been banked for hours. At least Tessa was quiet in the room next door.

  Quickly I hurried to the bedside table and lit the candle. "You'd best get those wet clothes off so you can get warm. Though I guess it might take a while in this place."

  She nodded and slipped out of her coat before she sat on the edge of the bed to take off her boots. She cursed softly as she fumbled with the laces. I knelt on the floor beside her and batted aside her dead cold hands and made short work of it, though the laces had been broken and knotted many times. I eased them off her feet. Her stockings were soaking as well.

  "How long were you out there?" I asked.

  "Only a few hours," she said. "Johnny told me to go around two, I think, when things started to die down."

  "Your drink sales were good tonight. Better than some of the girls who've been there a while."

  "The work ain't hard."

  "You don't think so?"

  She shrugged. "I've done worse."

  I got to my feet, and she rose as well, reaching back to try the buttons on the gown. I gestured impatiently for her to turn. She still wore the dress I'd given her at the Palace. Even as cheap as the satin was, the rough skin of my fingers caught on its smoothness as I undid the buttons one after another. It was as wet as her coat had been; I peeled it from her shoulders to reveal her corset, the pale skin of her back, which the candlelight burnished to a smooth gold, seemingly unblemished by the gooseflesh I felt there. She bent her head forward, her muscles flexing beneath the soft down of fine, light hair at the nape of her neck that trailed down her spine to disappear beneath the grayed muslin of her chemise, as old and cheap as mine. When I loosened the laces of her corset I heard her sigh at the release the way I always did.

  I stepped back. "Take off your stockings and get into bed. You'll find it's best only to wear them at the Palace. They'll just stay wet otherwise."

  "I know," she said, pulling up the skirt of her chemise to loosen her garters, rolling the rough dark stockings down her legs. "I was just trying to keep warm. I used to live in Portland."

  "It rains there too?"

  She tilted her chin to look at me, obviously amused. "More than here, I think."

  "I didn't know that was possible."

  She draped her stockings over the dresser, and then she took down her hair, plaiting it into a thick, fat braid with clumsy fingers. She motioned to the bed. "Which side?"

  "What?"

  "Which side is yours?"

  "Oh. I don't care. Just climb in before you turn to ice."

  Obediently, she crawled beneath the blankets which were old and thin but for the thicker wool of the Hudson's Bay blanket, which Johnny had given me the first night he'd brought me here and for which I'd been grateful ever since. She burrowed in, shuddering, the sound of her breathing a steady and comforting sound in the silence.

  I took off my own boots and undressed, hanging my cloak and dress on the peg beside the door, and took down my hair, not bothering to brush it, twisting it into a rough braid, and by the time I was done her shuddering had stopped and her breathing had become soft and heavy. She was already asleep, but when I lifted the blankets, she shifted and muttered, making room for me, as if she were used to doing that too, and I crawled into bed beside her, careful not to disturb her.

  Her body had warmed the be
d even in that short a time; she was a soft presence beside me, perfumed with rain and dirt and the soft musk of her sweat. If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine that it was another time, another place.

  Almost.

  THE NEXT MORNING I woke to the sound of splashing. I jerked up, startled at the unfamiliar noise until I saw her at the basin, her shoulder blades jutting sharply beneath the straps of her chemise as she bent to wash her face. My sleep had been deep and even, untroubled as it was whenever someone else was here. I felt rested for the first time in days. I lay back upon the mattress, staring up at the ceiling, waiting.

  She said, "Sorry. I tried to be quiet."