Steadfast (14 page)

•   •   •

She woke a little earlier than usual, feeling heavy, empty, and starving. Her eyes
were sore, her cheeks were sore, and every muscle felt cramped.

Not a good omen for a performance day . . .

“Oh Mother Mary,” she said, almost starting to weep all over again. Of all the things
she didn’t want to do right now, facing Lionel and Jack, much less a crowded music
hall, was at the top of the list.

But she didn’t have a choice. There were bills to pay. She needed to eat. And—

For one very brief moment she toyed with the notion of just packing up and fleeing.
Finding a job somewhere else . . .

But then, good sense came back to her, because really, where else could she go that
Dick wouldn’t have a good chance of finding her? Mary Small had sworn that Brighton
was the only place safe for her and . . .

And . . .

Mary Small said I had magic.

Could this have been what the old woman meant? Had Mary Small herself had a touch
of this—stuff? Her head began to spin. How many other people had this? Jack said he
and Lionel did . . . did Suzie? Anyone else in the music hall?

Oh God . . .

The gnawing in her stomach finally drove her out of bed. She washed her feverish face
in the basin on the dresser and bathed her eyes, hoping to take some of the soreness
out of them. She pulled on her clothing, wincing a little at the faint scorch-mark
on the bottom of the skirt. At least being left out overnight had aired the gunpowder
smell out. At least as far as she could tell . . .

Suzie had left some of her things behind, and one of them was a bottle of lavender-eau-de-cologne.
“I can’t bear lavender, you have it,” she’d said. So now, just to be sure, Katie sprinkled
it liberally on her dress before she put it on.

When she came down to breakfast, the entire table was abuzz—but not, as she had feared,
with the story of the miraculous escape of two people from a runaway firework, but
with rumors of a railway strike. Relieved that no one was going to be asking her about
her outing, she ate in a hurry and rushed out of the boarding house, only to find
her steps lagging, as she didn’t really
want
to go to the theater. . . .

And most especially, she did
not
want to face Jack.

She waited just outside the alley, though, for a big knot of the dancers to come.
They all shared the same boarding house—another, not unlike Mrs. Blair’s, but that
catered to dancers—and they tended to arrive and leave at the same time. Of all the
professions in the music hall, it seemed that men were under the impression that the
dancers had the most easily negotiated virtue. Of course . . . they were mostly right,
the men. The dancers weren’t paid very much, and it wasn’t as if they were going to
be able to put anything aside for their old age. Given that the general opinion was
that they were no better than they should be
anyway,
plenty of them figured they might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, and took
advantage of that reputation to get as much out of the stage-door beaus as they could.
But some were not particularly anxious to trade their slightly shabby virtue for anything
less than a wedding ring. Those traveled in packs of four to six, and
never
went out with men alone. Or at least, not until they found someone willing to marry
them.

One such pack came around the corner before she had waited too long, and she added
herself to it. She managed to get past Jack without him being able to do more than
see she was there, and into the dressing room.

And suddenly, surrounded by all the things that were normal and every-day, she started
to wonder if maybe she hadn’t imagined all of that. Perhaps she had fallen and struck
her head, and the entire incident had been a sort of fever dream. After all, as she
listened to the dancers chattering away, she didn’t overhear
anything
about a runaway skyrocket. Surely that should have been something of a sensation
by now. . . .

As she put on her rehearsal clothing, she started to feel embarrassed. Poor Jack . . .
what must he have thought, when she started babbling about lizards and birds? He surely
couldn’t
really
have told her all that nonsense about magic. He must have been trying to talk sense
into her . . . or maybe she was just imagining that there had been any sort of conversation
whatsoever.

She hurried out to the stage; thanks to waiting for the gaggle of girls, she was a
little late, and Lionel was looking a bit anxious when she turned up.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said.

“I heard about your—accident,” Lionel said, sounding unusually tentative. “Jack told
me. Are you all right?” She flushed.

“I clearly made a right fool out of myself,” she replied. “At least I can put that
down to a knock on the head rather than drinking too much—all we had were lemonades.
I’m fine now, and I’m ready to work.”

Lionel looked at her oddly, but didn’t say anything more, just started the run-through
of the act. For her part, she tried to behave entirely as if nothing at all had happened,
and aside from a couple little hitches with the equipment, the rehearsal went fine.

Well, fine except that Lionel kept asking if she was certain she was all right. It
made her nervous, and she wondered just what it was Jack had told him—and what she
had told Jack!

Finally, when she was helping him arrange the equipment in the wings for the matinee,
she asked, nervously, “Are you having second thoughts?”

“About?” He turned to look at her, his face surprised.

“About whether—I’m a good assistant—” she faltered.

He laughed, and it sounded surprised. “No, no, nothing of the kind. I just want to
be certain that you are feeling all right.”

“I’ll be better with a bit of luncheon,” she said, trying to sound perfectly well
and at ease. “I’ll be right back.”

She hurried into her street clothing and whisked past Jack a second time. She really
did
not
want to know, now, what had happened after that skyrocket . . . went awry. Surely
it could never have come too near them. Surely what had happened was that it had burst
too close over the water, and she had been startled, and fallen, and hit her head.
That was the only rational explanation.

And surely a good, strong cup of tea and a thick, commonplace sandwich would drive
the last of the boggarts away.

•   •   •

“Lionel, I need to speak with you!” A voice trained to bellow out slightly bawdy songs
so they could be heard all the way to the back of the uppermost gallery arrested Lionel
in his tracks as he hurried after Katie, intending to catch her before she escaped
the music hall. He turned.

Peggy Kelly ambled her way across the stage toward him, making her leisurely way,
the plumes on her hat bobbing, her ample bosom making her look like a ship in full
sail. It would have been unspeakably rude to just run away from her, so he waited,
but not patiently. He really needed to get hold of Katie, take her somewhere that
was quiet, sit her down, and make her understand that
none
of what had happened last night was due to a hit on the head! Of all the possibilities
he and Jack had discussed last night, this was not one of them!

But Peggy Kelly had other plans in mind. “Come along to my dressing room, you reprobate,”
she said, fondly, but in a tone that warned him she was not going to take any argument
from him as she took his arm. “I have a few things to discuss with you. And no, before
you ask, it cannot wait.”

Inwardly, he groaned, but he put a good face on it, and allowed himself to be towed
off to Peggy’s dressing room. It was one of the better ones here, as befitted someone
who was a “star turn.” Small, of course, but Peggy’s dresser and personal maid had
made the most of it. She motioned to him to take a seat on a surprisingly comfortable
chair, lowered herself onto a divan, and whisked a napkin away that was covering the
little table between the two. Somewhat to his mild surprise, there were two bottles
of beer there, and a plate of extremely nice pub sandwiches.

“Now, eat, and listen to me, and don’t interrupt me until I am finished,” she said,
helping herself to a sandwich and one of the bottles of beer. “That new assistant
of yours—she’s—”

“—I know, she’s a Traveler,” Lionel said impatiently, and started to get up. “Peggy,
if you don’t mind—”

“But I
do
mind, and you can set yourself right back down, my lad!” she said sharply, so sharply
that he did as he was told. “Now I
told
you not to interrupt me! That’s not what I brought you here to talk to you about!
You think
I
have anything against Travelers?” She snorted. “That little Traveler gel has herself
a very great burden of fear and troubles on her, and you need to know why, and you
need to know
now
before the troubles come here, as they might.”

Lionel listened, growing increasingly astonished, as Peggy laid out in no uncertain
terms all of Katie’s “troubles.” He was a little irritated that after all of his kindness
to her, the girl hadn’t come to
him
for help, but only a little. After all, he was a man, and he might be expected to
take the man’s part in this; it was more natural for her to confide in a woman, once
she knew she wouldn’t be condemned out of hand for running away from her husband.
And Peggy was well known to be a divorcee. It was logical for Katie to have gone to
the older woman, really.

“Well?” Peggy asked, watching him shrewdly when she had finished.

“Well, clearly we are going to have to help her,” Lionel replied, a little nettled
that Peggy would doubt his support. “You needn’t ask, we shall. By Jove, when I think
of a brute of a man beating that poor little thing that must have been half his weight,
well, it’s a damn good thing that I can’t get my hands on him, that’s all.” He felt
his lip curling with contempt.
And it is a damned good thing for me that my powers wouldn’t extend to harming him.
However provoked, Alderscroft would hunt me down like a mad dog if I used them that
way.
“I think that explains why she was so happy to wear a mask on stage—she doesn’t want
to chance anyone recognizing her.” He licked his lips. “Divorces aren’t cheap, are
they?” he ventured.

The plumes on Peggy’s hat bobbed as she nodded. “Not cheap, no. And if she’s not going
to decide she needs to starve herself to save for it,
you
will need to find a way for her to make a bit more money.” Peggy made it quite clear
with her attitude that he had
better
come up to the mark and do so quickly, or he would be answering to her.

“Of course, of course. . . .” That was the least of his concerns. He didn’t think
that Katie was overreacting by wanting to wear a mask on stage. She knew this fellow
better than anyone, and she would also know exactly how possessive and persistent
he would be when his “property” bolted. “Peggy, just how much of a brute was—is—this
fellow, could you tell from what she told you?” He was actually rather anxious to
know the answer to that question. He might have to find a way to restrain Jack from
hunting the man down and shooting him when the doorkeeper found out.

“Not as bad as my second,” Peggy said complacently, and turned her sandwich around
a bit in her plump, pink fingers so she could bite a corner off of it. “It sounds
as if he only knocked her about a little bit; it was his strength that did the hurting.
But she’s right terrified of him, and I think he’s brutish and stupid enough that
if he’s drunk or in a temper, he’s quite likely to try and kill her for running away.
At the very least, if he’s drunk or angry, he won’t hold back his strength, and might
kill her by accident. I’d keep that from Jack, if I were you. He’s taken a fondness
for her, and she for him, if my old bones are right.”

“Oh your old bones are not wrong . . .” He chewed on his lower lip, took a drink of
beer, and finished his own sandwich. “Well, let me think this over. Really the best,
first thing we can do is get her free of this brute. Since that takes money, well,
then money we must find. Maybe something will turn up in the way of an extra job for
her. She’s already in the chorus, but that pays almost nothing . . .”

“You’re a good lad, Lionel. You’ll think of something.” She patted his knee and finished
her beer, the lace flounces on her sleeve fluttering like the wings of a butterfly—or
a sylph. “Now you run along back to your dressing room. We’ve a matinee to get ready
for.”

“Good gad, is it that late?” he asked, startled, and looked at his watch. He’d entirely
missed a chance to get Katie alone. There would be absolutely no time between the
matinee and the evening performance. He would never be able to catch her after the
evening performance if she decided to bolt back to her boarding house. “Blast. It
is. Well . . . thank you, Peggy.”

“You just do right by that little gel,” Peggy warned him. “No woman deserves to be
knocked about like a stray dog. I won’t hear of it. She’s your responsibility, now
that you know what’s what.”

“I will,” he promised.

Back in his dressing room, he looked up to see a sylph perched on his mirror. “Well
now what do I do?” he asked the little thing, who cocked her head to peer down at
him. “The girl has talked herself into believing none of what she saw is real.
And
we have to figure out a way for her to earn
quite
a bit of extra money. I don’t suppose you have any ideas, do you?”

The sylph shrugged, and vanished in a
poof
of sparkling magic. He sighed.

“Of course not,” he grumbled, applying himself to the business of getting on his makeup.
“And it’s not as if I was one of those poncy Masters with pots of money sitting around
like Alderscroft. God above knows
that
would solve everything, one way or another.”

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