Thalia frowned. “Stage magic takes more than an hour to learn.”
“No doubt it does, but I don’t wish you to teach her any. I want you to give her a clear idea of what life in show business is like for a young woman of character. Tell her what it truly entails.”
“She can’t leave the house,” Thalia pointed out. “How could she possibly go into vaudeville?” Not that Traders had any right to poke their noses into Solitaire professions like show business, she carefully did not add.
Ryker looked thoughtful. “Perhaps because Nell cannot yet leave the house, the idea of traveling from city to city on the vaudeville circuit appeals to her romantic nature. Soon the Board of Trade will set her ordeal. Given Nell’s character, I am sure she will succeed. Once she is mistress of her ability to Trade, she will be free to go wherever she wishes. I dearly hope she has changed her mind by then. She often does.”
“What level of compensation did you have in mind?” Nutall sipped his champagne.
“I would gladly pay Miss Cutler twenty dollars for her time, even if she is finished in half an hour,” said Ryker. “With a bonus of another twenty dollars if Nell takes your advice.”
“Thalia?” Nutall regarded Thalia with kindly interest. That meant the decision was up to her. He thought it was a good idea. Since twenty dollars would pay for a month at Mrs. Morris’s boardinghouse, Thalia thought so too.
Thalia put her fork down. “I’ll do it.”
“Wonderful.” Ryker beamed at her. “I’ll send a driver for you at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”
“Why not first thing in the morning?” Thalia asked.
“I want my sister to listen to your advice. Nell is not at her best first thing in the morning. She will be in a much more charitable frame of mind if we wait until teatime.”
* * *
After Delmonico’s, Ryker returned Thalia and Nutall to their boardinghouse with as much pomp as if they had been staying at the Astor. Ryker kissed Thalia’s hand and took his leave. Nutall held the door and Thalia entered the foyer to find their landlady gazing after Ryker’s carriage with awe.
“Well?” Mrs. Morris prompted. “Tell me all.”
“I saw Miss Lillian Russell.” Thalia knew Mrs. Morris was a devotee of the illustrated papers, Solitaire and Trader alike. “She was letting Mr. Cornelius Cadwallader admire her front.”
“That is not what I meant and you know it.” Mrs. Morris managed to look delighted and scandalized at the same time.
“We ate lobster Newburg and white asparagus,” Thalia offered.
“It’s the plain truth. Youth is wasted on the young.” Mrs. Morris gave Thalia’s shoulder a friendly swat. “You didn’t really waste your one night at Delmonico’s worrying about what you were eating, did you?”
“Who says it is my one night?” Thalia countered. “I’ll go back there when I’m a headliner. Tonight was more of an audition.”
“Then I hope you did well.” Mrs. Morris turned from Thalia to Nutall. “How was it really?”
“Oh, very glamorous.” Nutall hung up his coat. “Miss Russell was there, and the great Caruso too. I even saw the Skinner of New York, although he was just passing through.”
“Which one was he?” Thalia had a vague idea that Skinners were a kind of bodyguard, something to do with Traders and their natural enemies, and until now, Thalia had never given them a thought.
“The man with the big black hat,” Nutall replied.
The man whose glance had dismissed her as one of them. “Oh. Him.”
“You must think me a ninny,” Mrs. Morris said. “I meant what did your handsome young Trader want to discuss?”
“Mr. Ryker has engaged me as a tutor for his sister. Short-term employment at a reasonable rate.” No sense in telling their landlady exactly how generous Ryker’s terms were. Their daily rent might go up accordingly.
Nutall swept Mrs. Morris into an impromptu waltz step across the foyer and back, endangering a potted rubber plant as they went. “It was brilliant.” He released Mrs. Morris and bowed deeply, first to her, then to Thalia. “You were perfect. Tomorrow you will deal with his sister.”
Thalia bade Nutall and Mrs. Morris good night and went up to her room to think matters over. It had been an exceedingly long day.
Once Thalia had checked on the doves and the snake, once she was out of her stays and comfortable enough to think straight, she let down her hair and gave it her usual one hundred strokes of the hairbrush. As she brushed, she mused. If Ryker had only wanted someone to tell his sister the facts of life about show business, why had he taken them to Delmonico’s to ask for her help? He could have done it when he stopped her on the street outside the Ostrova Magic Company.
Perhaps his sister wasn’t quite right. Perhaps there was something more Ryker hadn’t seen fit to mention. There was really no telling with Traders. Thalia mocked herself again for ever believing she was like them.
If buying an hour of Thalia’s time was worth twenty dollars to Mr. Ryker, Thalia would oblige him. Money was going to be hard to come by until she and Nutall made their next move. A new act, one that didn’t compete with the odious Von Faber, was bound to cost money.
* * *
In a way, the distance between Mrs. Morris’s boardinghouse at Forty-Ninth and Ninth and the Ryker mansion on Riverside Drive was far greater than forty city blocks. Thalia, clad in her brown tweed suit with velvet lapels and a vaguely military hat with a touch of gold braid, could not have felt the sensation of going up in the world more vividly if she had been riding in an Otis elevator.
Ryker was as good as his word. At four o’clock sharp, his motorcar—to the delight of Mrs. Morris and her lodgers—had arrived to collect Thalia. The uniformed driver left the wheel to escort Thalia from the curb to the glassed-in passenger compartment, saw her seated comfortably, and tucked a fur lap robe over her knees as if he were driving a one-horse open sleigh instead of the latest in Pierce-Arrows. The vehicle pulled out with due ceremony and left the boardinghouse behind.
Thalia marveled at the smoothness of the motorcar’s passage. There was much more room in the passenger compartment than in a hansom cab. Fitted into the barrier between the passenger compartment and the driver was an intriguing set of brass-trimmed wooden panels. Behind them, Thalia found an inkwell, an ashtray, a humidor with two cigars in it, a drop-down writing surface complete with blotter, a pen with a golden nib, and a silver penknife.
Before Thalia had fully explored the possibilities of the passenger compartment, the driver turned off Forty-Ninth and headed north. Theaters, boardinghouses, and hotels were left behind for cleaner streets and newer buildings. When they reached Riverside Drive, a few turns later, the splendor increased. To the left, the world opened out into a vista of grass, trees, and the gleaming Hudson River beyond. To the right, the row of fancy new apartment buildings gave way to even fancier town houses and mansions. It was like driving past a wall of money.
What would it have been like to grow up used to such wealth, Thalia wondered. Would it eventually get boring? Thalia couldn’t conceive of such a thing.
At last, the Pierce-Arrow drew up at a stately building that could have doubled as a small palace, turned sharply, and drove between gates of spiked wrought iron into a small courtyard. As Thalia watched out of the back of the automobile, the gates swung shut after them. A metal bar, apparently magnetized, dropped into place, locking the gates securely. Only by looking closely did Thalia spot the clockwork gears that governed the mechanism. Clearly the Ryker family spared no expense when it came to protecting itself.
The driver opened the door for Thalia, removed the lap robe, and helped her emerge. Thalia shook out her skirts and patted a hatpin firmly back in place as she looked around. Every window gleamed. Every stone was scrubbed. The Ryker mansion was like a little city of its own, bustling with activity, fortified against the outer world.
The servants, Thalia judged, were ordinary Solitaires like her. No Trader would se
rve another. No Sylvestri would be engaged as servants, even if they took it into their heads to apply for positions so ill-suited to them. They were too different from Traders, too unpredictable in their behavior. Sylvestri cared more for a flowering tree than they did for any human’s comfort, even their own.
Once inside the great house, Thalia was intercepted by the butler, who had the long bony face and bright red hair she associated with the Scottish. He relieved her of her umbrella. “Mr. Ryker will join you shortly, Miss Cutler. He has gone for a swim.”
“A swim.” Thalia couldn’t keep the words back. “In April?”
“Indeed.” The butler showed her into a mirrored music room with a grand piano and many enormous potted plants. “It is Mr. Ryker’s daily custom to swim in the Hudson. Please wait here, Miss Cutler. Miss Ryker is not at home, but Mr. Ryker asked me to assure you he will not be long.”
Once she was alone, Thalia took a wary look around the music room. The grand piano, a Bechstein, fall board folded back to reveal the gleaming keys, was the heart of the lovely room. Perched on the bench, Thalia could see Riverside Park and the river beyond through the windows, open yet barred. Despite the river traffic that plied the Hudson, this place seemed very remote from the city. It felt like a castle in one of Nutall’s stories.
The breeze through the open window, although chilly, brought a delicious scent of fresh water and blossoming trees. The river water must still be freezing cold. Thalia was confident that Ryker wasn’t swimming in his human shape. He must have Traded. Would he come back smelling of fish?
Thalia touched middle C on the Bechstein’s keyboard.
Miss Ryker was not at home. Nonsense. She was under what amounted to house arrest. If she’d ordered her staff to tell people she was not at home, that meant Thalia was wasting her time. She didn’t count on Ryker compensating her for the visit if she never laid eyes on his sister.
Middle C, Thalia reflected, had filled the empty music room the way water fills a glass. She took off her gloves and played a scale. The Bechstein lured her on. She began one of the études she’d learned as a girl, when finger-dexterity exercises were far more important than musical training.
The Bechstein made it a pleasure to play faster, more precisely, moving from the simplicity of the étude to the pieces she’d learned from Milo. Thalia’s fingers had not forgotten. From nursery rhymes and hymns, she moved to her favorite piece, a Chopin nocturne.
“Dear lord, woman. Stop!” Ryker was standing immediately behind Thalia. “For the love you bear your own ears, if not mine, stop that row at once!”
Embarrassed, Thalia put her hands in her lap as she turned to face her host. “I didn’t hear you come in.” It had been rude of her to help herself to that glorious piano. Her face had gone hot. She was certainly blushing as if she’d been boiled.
Ryker, despite his language, did not look angry. He seemed to be suppressing some strong emotion, but Thalia couldn’t tell what it was. His spectacles glinted as he regarded her unsmilingly. He was wearing a serge suit in a deep gray that suited him perfectly, with a faultlessly pressed white shirt and a dark green cravat. His hair was still slightly wet and his face rosy with cold from his swim.
“Move over.” Ryker joined her on the piano bench. Thalia could not help noticing that he did not smell like fish. He smelled like fresh air and balsam spruce, probably from the pomade in his hair. It became clear to Thalia that the emotion he was fighting to hide was amusement. “Have you no heart, woman? It goes like this.”
Slowly, meltingly, the nocturne resumed. Thalia knew the notes. Clearly, Ryker did too. He drew the music forth much more slowly than Thalia would have done, as if it were a series of sighs. The music surrounded them, another glory of the Trader mansion.
A thought came to Thalia from nowhere. If Ryker’s hands could do that to the Bechstein, what could they do to her?
The last chord had faded before Thalia noted that Ryker had finished and turned his attention to her. She brought her thoughts firmly back under control. “Beautiful.”
“It’s called phrasing. You might try it sometime.” Ryker shook his head, marveling. “Where did you learn to play? On a mechanical piano?”
Thalia met his gaze with a marveling look of her own. “Mocking your guests. Is that the Trader way? Who taught you your manners?”
“I’m not mocking you.” Ryker’s smile reappeared, then vanished again. “My sister tells me that when I address a modern woman, frank honesty is the best way to show my respect. I’m doing you the honor of speaking to you as an equal.”
“Frank honesty, eh?” Thalia accepted the challenge. “My turn. My piano lessons were with Milo the Strongman. My father paid him a nickel for each lesson.”
“He earned every penny, then. What became of him?” Ryker asked.
“My father or Milo?”
“Either. Both.”
“My father died three years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
After they shared a moment of silence, Thalia continued. “Milo went west to seek his fortune in the Klondike gold rush. That’s when I had my last lesson.”
“If it’s been that long since your last lesson,” Ryker conceded, “I suppose you actually play quite adequately.”
“Where did you learn your manners? By correspondence course?”
“Frank honesty, remember? For someone in your profession, surely piano lessons would be a great luxury.”
“Music lessons were good memory practice. More than that, playing the piano is good for strength and dexterity.” From her little drawstring purse, Thalia drew out a silver dollar and made it run like a cascade of silver, first down the knuckles of her left hand, then down her right. “See?”
“I do see.” Ryker drew an inch closer on the bench. “I suppose you must play to your strengths. There’s a composer newly rediscovered who might suit you well. J. S. Bach. Look into him sometime.”
Thalia still had the sense she was being laughed at, and she didn’t like it. “Your sister is not at home. That’s a neat trick for someone who’s not allowed to leave the house. So why have you issued this invitation?”
“Frank honesty,” Ryker assured her. “My sister can be moody. I apologize for that. Give me time. I hope to persuade her to meet you after all. Don’t worry about the money. I’ll pay you either way.” He broke off to move six inches farther away on the piano bench, but he held her gaze. “I confess, this is rather awkward.”
Thalia surprised herself with how willing she was to take what she thought was a rather obvious clue. Ryker’s expression was now one of intense interest. “It doesn’t need to be awkward.” She leaned toward him and let her lashes flutter once as she closed her eyes, waiting for the kiss. “Frank honesty,” she reminded him.
The kiss did not come. Ryker sprang to his feet as Thalia opened her eyes. He had turned red. All his interest and amusement had disappeared behind a stiff facade of propriety. “My sister,” Ryker choked. “I have expressed myself poorly. I apologize for that.”
“It is forgotten.” If only that were true. Thalia was blushing so hard she felt dizzy.
“Certainly.” Ryker started again. “My sister is determined to go on the stage.”
“Yes, so you said,” Thalia responded crisply.
“Nell has sworn herself to a career treading the boards,” Ryker continued. “It was no difficulty when she wanted to play Shakespeare. Amateur theatricals are rather amusing. We were in no danger that any theater management would confuse Nell with the Great Bernhardt.”
Amateur theatricals were never rather amusing. More like excruciating. Thalia had been preparing to say something scathing about Traders in show business, but the reference to Sarah Bernhardt, the artist who Traded between her identities as a tigress and as the greatest actress in the world, stopped her. Caruso was a Trader too, she remembered belatedly. Never mind, plenty of other reasons for a Trader to avoid the profession. “I imagine not.”
“For a friend
’s recent birthday party, bodyguards were engaged and Nell and her friends attended Von Faber’s show. Now Nell is determined to become a stage magician instead.” Ryker’s disgust was unmistakable. “Nell doesn’t just want me to pick a card. That’s not good enough. She wants to go onstage to do her tricks. Next she’ll want one of my top hats to put a rabbit in.”
“Dear me,” said Thalia, in her best imitation of Nutall’s tone. “How distressing.”
Ryker missed her sarcasm completely. “It is! You’ll make her see sense, won’t you? You’ll make her understand what it means to live among Solitaires, to be a woman in show business.” Ryker all but spat the words. “No reputation, no morals, no future—”
“No more talk.” Thalia rose from the piano bench and paused to put her gloves on. Smoothing the seams with care soothed her and gave her something to look at besides Ryker. So much for wondering what his expressions meant. So much for guessing at his stupid moods. She had been brought here as a cautionary tale, a horrible example for a spoiled little Trader girl to learn from. Nothing more. “Your sister wants to do something with herself. How can you blame her?”
“I don’t. I am the Ryker, the head of the family trust. I have the family business to run. It’s only fair she should have interests of her own.” Ryker ran both hands through his hair. “She’s always been adorable. But Nell isn’t twelve anymore. She’ll destroy her reputation before she’s even attempted her ordeal.”
With his hair on end and his eyes hollow at the thought of his sister’s wayward behavior, Ryker actually looked better to Thalia than he had before. What a shame he was disgusted by Thalia’s very existence. What a shame that Thalia had been too stupid to notice his innate distaste for her, too drawn to him to read him accurately. “Why are you so concerned with reputation and morals? Hiding some interests of your own? Never mind. I don’t care. I’ve had quite enough frank honesty.” Thalia turned for the door.
Ryker was quick. He edged between two enormous potted plants as he came around the grand piano and reached her as she opened the door. As his fingers brushed her shoulder, Thalia drew her elbow back hard and caught him in the solar plexus. “Get off me!”
The Glass Magician Page 7
