Magic Under Glass (2 page)

2

That night, back in the bedroom I shared with Saraki, I took out my good dress, a drab plaid with small, sharply puffed sleeves and a draped skirt. It had never been very pretty, but it was also out of fashion. I cringed to think of wearing it to the Royale, but I hadn’t the money for something better.

Hard to believe, times like this, I had once had my pick of clothes: embroidered silk tunics the colors of saffron and jade, red sashes, dainty dancing slippers and sturdy walking shoes. I had bangles, beads, and headdresses for feasts and festivals; ribbons for my braids at school; and a quilted coat for cold days. That was before my family lost favor, before Mother’s death, before Father became the subject of every wagging tongue with his debts and affairs. He sold the bangles and embroidery and slippers, and we moved north, to Uncle Sancham’s farm. The quilted coat frayed at the elbows, and my feet had grown right out of the walking shoes. When I left Tiansher—the true name of my country, not
Tassim
—I had saved just one ensemble: Mother’s sky blue bird dancing costume and her embroidered wedding shoes. I had hidden them from Father when he sold our things. I still kept them, packed away in the valise at the foot of my bed.

Now I threw the plaid dress over a chair and slipped into my ratty nightgown. My bed creaked under my weight. A dozen painted birds looked down on me from the wall, plates torn from a book, while Saraki had arrayed her side of the room with calendars of comely girls and a yellowing poster for
Only a Maid,
starring Ethine May, Saraki’s favorite.

Saraki did not come to the room. This was not unusual. She often spent the night with Granden. I shuddered to think of her lying with him, but she cooed over him like he was a wet puppy: “Poor thing, poor little thing.” Granden attracted a certain sort of woman, for reasons I never quite understood.

One of Eila’s dogs started barking, rousing all the others to join in, and Polly shouted for them to shut up. I closed my eyes. I yearned to break free of this place, so distant from the serene rooms and lush gardens of my childhood.

Yet, a part of me wished the decision was harder, that the troupe meant more to me—or perhaps, most of all, that I meant more to them. No one was sitting up with me, helping me decide, telling me not to go because they’d miss me. I had tried to make friends, I had
tried
—I’d just never been good at it.

To entrust my fate to a gentleman brought risk. If a trouser girl went missing, no one would care. If a trouser girl cried for help from inside a gentleman’s carriage, no one would listen.

No, no—I mustn’t think this way. Granden
would
try to scare me into staying. Before Jane left the troupe to marry, he’d told her no man would marry a girl with a baby, a dancing girl from a show. Jane believed in love, and I only had to believe in business. If Mr. Parry paid even half again what I made with Granden, I could start putting some away and send a token home to prove I’d done well after all.

In the morning, I woke early and packed a few treasured books and the remainder of my scant wardrobe into my valise on top of Mother’s clothes and wedding slippers. I prayed, all the while, that I would safely unpack them in a new place. I left my stage costumes, assuming Mr. Parry would have his own ideas for my wardrobe in his show.

As the stairs creaked under my button-up shoes, Granden’s door opened. He rushed to the top of the stairs and clutched the rail. “Nimira!”

Foiled. Well, perhaps if I didn’t make a fuss, I could still slip out without incident.

“Good morning, Granden.” I nodded back at him and kept walking.

Granden had gone drinking after the show, as usual. He staggered down after me, clutching his head. His mustache drooped. Gray chest hairs popped out of the collar of his nightshirt. “Look at you! All prettied up. Are you going to meet
Parry
?” He sneered the name.

“Yes.” I tried to keep my voice calm, even as he veered close.

He made a grab for my hand. “I gave you those gloves.”

“You did not.” I yanked back. “I bought them myself.”

He seized my shoulders. He wasn’t tall, and dancing kept me strong and lithe, but he still had a man’s strength, and I had a woman’s clothes to hinder me. Hardly a fair contest.

His thin hands slipped to my arms. He tugged me close to him. His breath was rank—I hated few smells so much as last night’s alcohol on a man’s breath. “Haven’t I been good to you, Nimira? I’ve never demanded anything.”

“I sing and dance. You pay me. Of course you haven’t demanded anything. There’s nothing to demand.” I had trouble sounding forceful with him breathing on me.

He pressed me against the door. “Damned if I’ll let you go running off now.”

“Let go of me!”

Saraki and Polly stood at the top of the stairs now, Polly in a man’s nightshirt and Saraki in her corset and stockings. “What’s going on?” Saraki rubbed her eyes.

Granden turned, and I took the moment to shove him off me. I clambered for the doorknob. Granden grabbed my sleeve and yanked. The seam tore with a terrific rip.

“Lay off her!” Polly shouted, coming down the stairs. Polly was thin as a lamppost but a hair taller than him and tough when she felt like it.

I threw open the door and ran, past the postman with his bag of letters and the ragman making his rounds. Morning fog shrouded the way ahead. I narrowly missed being run down by a horse crossing Broad Street.

Only when my lungs strained against my stays and my head spun did I stop at the square, gasping. Granden hadn’t put up a chase. I inspected my torn sleeve for the first time, trying to tug it back into place. I couldn’t disguise the gap, bridged only by a few feeble threads.

Not only must I go to the Royale in an old dress and hat, but they’d think I didn’t even know how to keep my wardrobe tidy. Granden had this parting shot, but I’d have the last laugh when I worked for a gentleman!

I didn’t dare consider what I’d do if Mr. Parry had changed his mind.

A fearsome statue of a lady bearing a sword guarded the square, where the market sellers were putting up umbrellas and stacking apples and other fruits, some I still had yet to try since arriving on these shores. They smelled sweet and fresh now; as the sun peaked, the aroma would turn cloying. Already, the women came, some chattering rapidly, gossiping in clusters, hands waving for emphasis, others scolding the children who played at their feet. Many wore dark shawls around their heads, no matter the weather. They carried their babies on their backs. A barefoot little girl offered me a flower, just two cents, and I had to shake my head no.

As the towers of the Royale rose into view, so did my doubts. Would they even let me in, looking as I did? I crossed a bridge, an elegant span of arches and white stone. Gentlemen in tall hats and striped waistcoats flicked their eyes to me and away, as if to say, “What foul wind carried over this piece of trash?”

From a distance, I watched the doorman in his sharp uniform standing outside of the Royale, opening the door now for a pair of ladies in fine hats decorated with giant false roses. They spread their parasols as they came down the steps and circled around the fountain. I didn’t usually envy the frippery of Lorinar’s wealthy, but for a moment, how I yearned for a fine hat and parasol.

“She said it would be no trouble, but that was before she saw the place!” one exclaimed, laughing. They passed me by without notice.

I began the long march to the hotel steps, stopping to peer at my wavering reflection in the fountain pool. My old black feathered hat perched on my head like a dead crow. I heard mockery even in the genteel sound of steadily falling water.

Really, I needed only a big smudge of dirt on my cheek to complete the image.

The doorman regarded my approach with slightly pursed lips. “
May
I
help
you?” He almost shouted, enunciating each word.

“Yes, sir. I’m here to see Mr. Parry.” I held up the card.

He looked surprised I could even speak the language but quickly recovered. “We do have a dress code at the Royale.” He hesitated. “Wait here a moment, girl. I hope you’re telling the truth or I’m sure Mr. Parry will not be pleased.”

I waited as he ducked inside. The hour chimed nine, the bells of Lorinar’s cathedrals ringing through the air. I wondered if Mr. Parry was even awake. Gentlemen kept late schedules sometimes, so I heard.

The doorman stepped out again, followed closely by another man, dark and severe from his mustache to his shining shoes. He gave me only the briefest glance. “I don’t know what you think you’re up to, girlie, but I must laugh to think of you setting foot in the Royale.” He said this, of course, without anything resembling a laugh.

I hardly knew how to respond, with my worst fears unfolding before my eyes. I knew I hadn’t dreamed my encounter with Mr. Parry, but how could I convince them? “Please, sir, Mr. Parry asked me to come here. I don’t know what else to do.”

“Look, I’m not sure what went on with you and Mr. Parry; it’s not my business. But I am quite sure”—he spoke so precisely that his white teeth flashed at me—“that he would not ask a girl of your sort to come
here
. If you don’t leave these steps right this moment, I will summon the police.”

Shame filled my cheeks with heat, but I couldn’t give up yet. “If you’d only let Mr. Parry know I’m here, he’ll tell you!” I cried. “I’m no liar!”

My words bounced off unsympathetic faces. I couldn’t bear my own reflection in their eyes: a girl dirty and disheveled, shouting nonsense. They thought I was a fallen woman.

The doorman tried to grab me then, but I ducked from his grasp. If I had to go, I’d let my own feet carry me, not be hauled off like an unruly drunk outside the pub. I had not taken two steps when I heard my savior speak.

“I’m told someone’s asking for me?” Hollin Parry appeared through the hotel doors. He was hatless today, in an ordinary short sack coat, and he looked expectant. My knees fairly buckled with relief.

“No, sir,” the severe man said. “It’s no one. We’re taking care of it.”

“Miss Nimira,” Mr. Parry said, eyes roving to my torn sleeve. “What on earth happened?”

When he said my name, the doorman and the severe gentleman took their notice of me so fast it was almost comical.

I forced a bright smile. “Good morning, Mr. Parry, I’m fine. It’s only that these gentleman didn’t believe the legitimacy of your card.” I flashed it through the air.

“Oh, no, no,” the severe man said. “It isn’t that, not at all; I didn’t see the card—”

Mr. Parry held up a hand, his demeanor icy. “I understand all too well. It’s lucky for you that some young lad on your staff saw fit to inform me; I shall certainly tip him accordingly.” He nodded at me. “Well, come on up to my suite and we’ll discuss terms.”

Mr. Parry strolled through the lobby without a hint of shame at my company, although I knew very well that my torn plaid dress and horrid hat didn’t belong between the lush carpets and the ornate gasolier. In the corner, a man played a slow, gentle tune on a grand piano. Stubby palms surrounded overstuffed furniture trimmed in fringe that hid the feet. Bouquets of pink and white flowers perfumed the air.

We stepped into an elevator—I knew of them but had never ridden inside one. It reminded me of a gilded birdcage. A uniformed attendant stood within. To his credit, he didn’t blink at my appearance as he shut the doors on us. “Top floor, sir?”

“Yes.”

The attendant operated a handle, sending us climbing. I counted the floors as we passed. It helped distract me from the unsettling sensation that the elevator pulleys could snap loose and plunge us to the ground. We came to a stop at the seventh floor, and the attendant opened the doors. “Watch your step, sir. Miss.”

Mr. Parry opened the door to his penthouse suite and gestured to a chair upholstered in ivory damask. My dress rustled against it. A fire crackled gently in the hearth. The room smelled of breakfast, and I tried to ignore my own hunger and look at ease. Mr. Parry sat down across from me and draped one leg over the other.

“Miss Nimira.” His gaze was even. He didn’t blink much. “Now tell me. What happened outside? I’ll lodge a complaint.”