Chapter Seventeen

 

“Honestly, Jason, you do pick the least convenient times to conduct intimate conversations.”

Her voice was as cold as the damned iceberg that had sunk the Titanic. Jason was so frustrated with her avoidance by this time that he could cheerfully have slung her over his shoulder and made off with her. Unfortunately for him, he valued the Proctors and this production of Pirates too much to remove two of the starring players before the final curtain.

“Oh, Dr. Abernathy,” crooned Mrs. Proctor, attacking him from the rear. “You’re simply smashing as the Pirate King!”

Damnation! Turning, Jason said, “Thank you, ma’am,” and tipped his piratical hat at her. Naturally, during this brief exchange, Marjorie escaped.

Stomping softly, due to his aforementioned respect for the Proctors and Pirates, Jason set off in search of her. She couldn’t be too difficult to spot, this being a made-up stage and all. How big was a stage? How many places were there to hide?

Stage or not, Jason didn’t find her.

“‘Alas! There’s not one maiden here whose homely face and bad complexion have caused all hope to disappear of ever winning man’s affection!’” sang the chorus of Mabel’s sisters.

Jason had searched everywhere. No Marjorie. But this was where she was supposed to be in order to make her entrance. He’d just wait here. She couldn’t elude him. She’d have to show up a few minutes before she took to the stage, damn it.

Frederic, in despair, sang, “‘Not one?’”

And the sisters chorused, “‘No, no. Not one!’”

Again, Frederic crooned sadly, “‘Not one?’”

The girls sang, “No, no—”

And Marjorie, emerging from behind a curtain on the opposite side of the stage from which she was supposed to appear, strode onto the stage, threw out her arm in a dramatic gesture, and sang with amazing bravado, considering her mood, “‘Yes, one!’”

As the entire cast of Pirates turned, surprised at her unconventional entrance, Jason muttered, “Damn!”

A shocked gasp from Mrs. Proctor at his side prompted him to mumble, “Sorry.”

But Marjorie was out there, and he was back here, and he’d lost another opportunity to talk to her. What was the matter with the woman?

“I wonder why she entered on that side,” Mrs. Proctor mused.

Although he could have, Jason didn’t enlighten her.

Her husband, who was soon to make his own entry into the on-stage fray, rubbed his hands together and grinned hard. “I don’t know, but it was very effective. Did you see how surprised they all were? It was perfect. Perfect!”

Perfect, my ass, thought Jason bitterly. He wouldn’t allow her to avoid him any longer, damn it. If she wouldn’t talk to him off-stage, she’d damned well have to do it when they were both on-stage.

# # #

Marjorie was quite proud of herself for managing to elude Jason so effectively. It was astonishing how much a heavy curtain could hide when used properly, even if it was a trifle musty-smelling and dusty. Must or no must, she was now on-stage, where Jason couldn’t get at her.

Happy about this quick thinking on her part, and free from Jason’s intrusive presence for the nonce, Marjorie forgot her recent blue-devils and put everything she had into her role as Mabel.

The audience was very receptive. When she sang the final notes of “Poor Wand’ring One,” the applause was deafening. And, as Frederic led her to the mouth of a cave, where the two of them were supposed to pretend to chat as Mabel’s sisters pondered what to do now that Mabel had butted in, Mr. Kettering whispered, “That was the best you’ve ever sung it, Miss MacTavish. Your voice belongs in grand opera.”

“Och, pooh,” said she. But she was pleased. Terribly pleased.

Until Jason, from inside the cave whence he had crawled, she supposed from the wings, hissed, “Psst, Marjorie! We have to talk.”

“Och, ye bluidy blackguard! I’ll na talk to thee again in this lifetime!”

Mr. Kettering, forgetting for the moment that he was the beauty-blinded Frederic, gasped. “Dr. Abernathy!”

“Don’t pay any attention to me,” whispered Jason. “I have to talk to Marjorie.”

“Well, ye canna,” said Marjorie, her Mabel-smile firmly in place. “That’s our cue to join the others.”

It wasn’t quite their cue, but it was close enough. To Jason’s frustrated muttering, she took Mr. Kettering’s arm and led him back to the group of girls, who didn’t seem surprised to have them appear a trifle early. It was a stretch, but Marjorie managed to look like a dreamy maiden in love when she began her next number.

“‘Did ever maiden wake from dream of homely duty, to find her daylight break with such exceeding beauty?’” She batted her eyelashes at Frederic, to the audience’s overt relish. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard the gnashing of teeth coming from the cave. Good. She hoped the vile deceiver was suffering. Not, naturally, that he was.

Offhand, she couldn’t understand why he persisted in pursuing her with the intention of talking to her. It had become painfully obvious to Marjorie that it was Jia Lee whom he wanted and loved. She, Marjorie, had been merely a . . . what? A convenience, she guessed. How demeaning.

And how comforting to have this opera into which she could lose herself with such abandon. The role of Mabel was exactly to her taste—and so, she had discovered, was acting. The good Lord knew she’d had plenty of practice in the art. Her whole life sometimes seemed to Marjorie to have been one long, insufferable act. At least this role was fun.

Throwing her arms out in a gesture worth of Loretta Quarles herself, Marjorie sang with gusto, “‘. . . to find her daylight break with such exceeding beauty?”

Then Mr. Kettering took her arm to lead her off the stage as, at the same time, the pirates crept onto the stage behind Mabel’s sisters. Marjorie breathed a sigh of relief at having once again thrown off Jason’s determined pursuit.

Her sigh was premature. The Pirate King was supposed to grab hold of Ginger Collins, playing the role of Edith. As Marjorie and Mr. Kettering passed Jason, however, he latched onto Marjorie’s arm instead.

An undignified tug-of-war took place at the back of the stage while singing was taking place up front. The audience, believing it to have been staged that way on purpose, giggled. Marjorie finally wrenched herself away from Jason and scampered off-stage as if pursued by demons—which is exactly what she felt like.

Shaking her arm, which hurt, she grumbled, “Daft gudgeon.”

“I don’t understand, Miss MacTavish. Did Mr. Proctor change the marks?”

Glancing at Mr. Kettering as she rubbed her arm, Marjorie felt a wholly unjustified stab of guilt prick her. None of this was her fault, confound it! “Nae, he didna. Dr. Abernathy seems to be rewriting the script as he goes along.”

“How very odd.”

“Aye, it’s odd, all right.”

“What’s going on with the two of you?”

Turning, Marjorie saw Mr. Proctor, eyeing the stage and looking confused. As well he might. “I’m sorry, Mr. Proctor. I don’t know what’s gotten into Dr. Abernathy tonight.”

“Hmmm.” Stroking his chin, Mr. Proctor watched the stage with keen interest. “Perhaps he’s doing a little improvising on his own, as you did, my dear, when you entered stage left earlier instead of stage right. That went over very well, and his improvisations seem to be pleasing the audience, too.” He beamed at her. “The two of you are wonderful at this! We shall have to stage more Gilbert and Sullivan offerings for future missionary fund-raisers.”

Marjorie would participate in another opera if Jason Abernathy was in the cast when hell froze over and Queen Victoria rose from the dead. She didn’t say so, offering a noncommittal “Hmmm” in response.

Her next appearance would be tricky, since she’d have to be on-stage with Jason. She didn’t trust him at all any longer. He seemed willing to play any underhanded trick in order to get her to talk to him. But why?

She didn’t figure it out before she had to walk out onto the stage once more. The pirates had just decided to marry all of Mabel’s sisters, even though the girls didn’t want to marry them. Holding her arm out, palm up, in a “stop” gesture, Marjorie stepped boldly into the melee. “‘Hold, monsters! Ere your pirate caravanserai proceed, against our will, to wed us all, just bear in mind that we are Wards in Chancery, and Father is a Major-General!’”

And, for the rest of the act, Marjorie did her best to dodge Jason. Fortunately for her, one or the other of them was singing most of the time. As soon as the curtain fell—to thunderous applause—she dashed off-stage and headed straight to the ladies’ dressing room. He couldn’t get at her there unless he wanted to cause a real rumpus, and Marjorie believed, for all that he was an unconventional sort of person, that he wouldn’t dare cut up in a church.

She turned out to be right. Thank God, thank God.

“Whatever is Dr. Abernathy pursuing you for, Marjorie?” asked Kathleen O’Riley, the girl who was playing Kate.

Mopping perspiration from her brow and grabbing the frilly white peignoir and night cap in which she would appear in the second act, Marjorie said, “I have no idea, Kathleen. I think the man’s slipped a cog.” And, because she didn’t want to talk about it anymore, Marjorie threw the gown over her head and hoped Kathleen would be gone when her head emerged.

She wasn’t. “Hmm,” said Kathleen, slipping on her own peignoir. All the daughters would be thus attired throughout the Act II.

Marjorie went to the dressing table and sat down, trying to look as if she were adjusting her makeup.

That ruse didn’t work, either. Kathleen had a sly look on her face that Marjorie didn’t appreciate when she sat next to Marjorie on the dressing bench.

Frustrated, Marjorie demanded, “Well? Do you know more about it than I?”

Putting a hand on Marjorie’s shoulder, Kathleen said contritely, “I’m sorry, Marjorie. I don’t want to snoop into your business.”

“Thank you. I wish more people were of your stripe.” Once more, Marjorie’s old friend, guilt, reared its ugly head. “Sorry I snapped at you.”

“Think nothing of it.”

Kathleen proceeded to powder her nose. Marjorie dabbed on more lip rouge. There was a general buzz in the room, as all the Major-General’s daughters and Mrs. Proctor congratulated each other on what looked like a smashing success. Marjorie had almost calmed down when Kathleen blurted out, “I think the man’s in love with you!”

Marjorie goggled at her in the mirror.

“I do. And I think he’s wonderful and don’t know why you keep avoiding him.”

Unable to think of a thing to say, being thunderstruck, Marjorie just stared into the glass at the other girl’s reflection.

“Oh, I’m sorry again. I know it’s none of my business, but he seems like such a fine man, and you’re such a fine woman, and I just don’t know why you keep trying to stay away from him.”

“Um . . . .” But Marjorie was still unable to think of anything to say.

Kathleen’s eyes grew large and she gasped. “Unless . . . Oh, Marjorie, please don’t tell me that he’s a villain in disguise! Do you know something the rest of us don’t? All the Major-General’s daughters have been dying to have him pay us attention, but he has eyes only for you. Is there something we should know?”

“Er . . . no. He’s quite a . . . a good man. Most charitable, in fact.” Blast. She hadn’t meant to give the impression that Jason was anything but an upstanding gentleman—even if he was in love with another woman and had seduced and abandoned Marjorie without a second thought.

Or . . . perhaps that wasn’t exactly true. He’d certainly been giving her second—and third and fourth—thoughts this evening, curse him. And she didn’t want to hear his excuses, either. They’d only make her feel worse. If such a thing was possible.

Kathleen’s brow furrowed. She was very young. Probably ten years younger than Marjorie, whose chest twanged unpleasantly as the age different registered. Ye’re not getting any younger, Marjorie MacTavish. Perhaps you should have loosened up sooner after Leonard died.

Second-guessing was an unprofitable occupation. Loretta was forever telling Marjorie so. Besides, it wasn’t as if she could have overcome her fears sooner than she did. They were . . . confound it, they were phobias. Phobias were tough nuts to crack. Loretta had told her that as well. Time and time and time again.

“Then I don’t understand,” Kathleen said after a moment of thought. “He seems so fond of you, and if he’s an upstanding gentleman . . . . Well, it’s none of my business.” She laughed. “And I didn’t mean to upset you.”

A glance in the mirror told Marjorie that she’d begun to scowl. With effort, she changed the scowl into a smile. “You didna upset me, Kathleen. But, truly, there’s not a thing in what you say.”

“No?”

“No.” Marjorie’s voice was, perhaps, the tiniest bit too firm. “We’re merely acquaintances.”

“Oh, surely, you’re more than that!”

“Nae,” said Marjorie, deliberately stony this time. “We’re not.”

“Oh.” Kathleen stared at Marjorie for a couple of seconds, shrugged, and walked away.

Bother! Even in the ladies’ dressing room, she couldn’t get quit of Jason Abernathy. Marjorie powdered her nose with excess force, then sneezed as she waved powder dust away from her face with her hand.

It was all Jason’s fault.

# # #

Damn the woman! She was more elusive than a will-o-the-wisp. But she couldn’t escape him indefinitely. They were going to be on-stage together again at the end of the second act, and he’d by-God get her to marry him then or know the reason why.

After touching up his makeup, Jason did his best to avoid the rest of the men in the dressing room. He didn’t feel up to chatting, and they were all in a state of ecstasy that corresponded poorly with his own foul mood and frazzled nerves.

Finally, he got sick of the cursed ebullience going on around him and left the men’s dressing room to wander around backstage. If he could, he aimed to tackle Marjorie before she took to the stage, because they’d be pretty much separated after the start of act two until the final scene. He wasn’t sure his heart would hold out that long. At the moment it was thudding painfully in a combination of frustration, anger, and confusion.

“Jason!”

Mr. Proctor’s voice startled Jason into a leap of alarm.

The older man chuckled. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Feeling foolish, Jason muttered, “No, no. My fault. I was lost in thought.”

“Thinking about your role?”

“Er . . . yes.” Like hell.

“You’re doing a splendid job, my boy. Splendid! This is the best production I’ve ever been involved with. Isn’t Mr. Kettering doing well? And to think he only started learning his part two weeks ago.”

“Yes. Right.” What the devil was the man talking about? Oh, yeah. Jason had forgotten all about the vile Hamilton St. Claire, whose memory would be revered in San Francisco because nobody wanted to hear about his villainy.

Straining to come up with something approaching conversational aptness, he said, “Yes, Kettering’s doing a great job. He’s got a fine voice.” That had better be good enough, because he couldn’t concentrate on anything other than Marjorie for any longer than a second or three.

“Our Pirates is definitely a hit. Perhaps we should extend the run for another weekend.”

“What?” Jason hadn’t been listening.

“Another weekend. This seems to be such a success. We could make more money for the missionaries if we extended it another weekend.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess so.”

“But wait.” Mr. Proctor frowned. Jason wished he’d get on with it. “We’d run into the Christmas season if we did that. The choir is planning a cantata.”

“If we did what?” At the look of disapproval he received from Mr. Proctor, Jason made a huge effort and recalled the subject under discussion. “Oh. Christmas. Right. Not a good idea, I guess. Don’t people usually stage A Christmas Carol at Christmas time?” He was proud of himself for creating and delivering that speech without benefit of his brain’s involvement.

Ah, but look! The women were gathering. Jason watched intently. All the Major General’s daughters except Mabel would be on-stage at the beginning of the second act. Perhaps he’d have a chance to talk to Marjorie then. He’d have to work fast, because she was scheduled to take to the stage right after the first chorus.

“A Christmas Carol?”

Jason, who had no idea why Mr. Proctor had begun chattering about A Christmas Carol, glanced at the gentleman to find him looking at him with a questioning glance. What did this mean? “Er, A Christmas Carol?” Damn the fellow. Jason wished he’d go away and leave him alone. He needed to talk to Marjorie, curse it!

“You mentioned A Christmas Carol,” said Mr. Proctor.

He had? “I did?”

“Jason, are you feeling all right? You seem a trifle . . . er . . . unfocused. Are you nervous about the play, my lad? Because you’re doing a brilliant job.”

“Unfocused? Er, no. I’m fine. Well . . .” Damn it, how did he get himself into these verbal tangles? “I’m just going over lines in my head.” That was good. He should have thought of it sooner.

“Ah. I see.” Mr. Proctor bestowed a fond and benevolent smile upon Jason, which made him feel guilty. “Well, keep up the good work, my boy. You’re one of the best Pirate Kings I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you.”

The orchestra struck up the opening chords of the second act’s overture, and Mr. Proctor turned to gather his stage daughters together. “It’s time to take our places, ladies.”

Quiet tittering and the rustling of petticoats grated in Jason’s ears and upon his nerves as the women followed Mr. Proctor onto the stage, the backdrop to which had been changed and was now a ruined chapel by moonlight. Why was it that all the women in the world gabbled so much? Except Marjorie. She never gabbled. She—

There she was! With a hasty apology to the women into whom he bumped, Jason scooted through the throng of maidens only to discover Marjorie missing when he got to where she’d been. Damnation. Well, she couldn’t get around him forever.

Slinking sideways through the small space behind the back curtain, he made his way to the other side of the stage. Where she wasn’t. Damn it!

# # #

That had been a close call. Marjorie had nearly suffered a spasm when she’d seen Jason chatting with Mr. Proctor after she’d finally dared leave the ladies’ dressing room. Quickly, she darted off the staging area, muttering about having forgotten something. She lurked there, intending to bolt if Jason sought her anywhere but backstage.

He didn’t. It came as a great relief to her when she saw him slide behind the curtain and make his way to the other side of the stage. By the time he realized she wasn’t there, she’d be on-stage again, and they wouldn’t have to share it again until almost the final scene. Good. She needed a rest. All this constant vigilance was quite nerve-wracking; it was making her tired.

Sure enough, Marjorie had just stepped out onto the stage when she glanced off-stage and saw Jason glaring at her. Let him glare; Marjorie had a song to sing. As Jason glowered from the sidelines and Mr. Proctor drooped pathetically on what was supposed to be a decrepit tombstone, Marjorie belted out, “‘Dear father, why leave your bed at this untimely hour?’”

And the audience lapped it up. When the policemen showed up and Mabel sent them off to glory by dying in combat gory, she could hear the roars of laughter even through her solo. Encouraged, she put all of her formerly suppressed dramatic skills into her role, mentally thanking Loretta for teaching her how to make broad, sweeping gestures that were typically antithetical to Marjorie’s more reserved nature.

Not that night. That night, Marjorie was Mabel, the open, good-hearted, unrepressed daughter of Major General Stanley, and one, moreover, who knew her place in the world and what to do about it. In other words, Mabel was about as unlike Marjorie as a female could get.

At one point, when she was singing, “‘Go to death, and go to slaughter; die and every Cornish daughter with her tears your grave shall water,’” she thought about Dr. Hagendorf.

By heaven, this was practice! She was practicing how to be open and unrepressed so that, perhaps, she could become more open and unrepressed in her life. How funny.

The next scene, in which the Pirate King tells Frederic that, since he was born on February 29, he wasn’t actually twenty-one years old yet, but only five-and-a-quarter, was a huge hit with the audience. Watching from the wings, Marjorie’s heart twanged painfully as Jason swashed and buckled all over the stage. He really did make a perfect Pirate King. She wondered why she’d not noticed his particular flair for the dramatic and comical until now.

“He’s wonderful,” a voice whispered in her ear.

Turning, Marjorie saw Kathleen, her hands clasped as her bosom, watching Jason as if enraptured. “Aye,” she said. “He’s vurra good.”

And why the devil was this young girl mooning over Jason Abernathy, who had to be in his mid-thirties, at least? By all the laws of God and nature, the chit ought to be pining for Mr. Kettering. Silly creatures, girls.

Scanning the group of stage sisters at her back, Marjorie sought out Ginger Collins. Ah, there she was, the ninny, still behaving well, as if having learned a salutary lesson. And a good thing, too.

Mrs. Proctor, as Ruth, sang, “‘Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!’”

Jason sang, “‘Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho!’”

The audience roared.

Kathleen sighed in Marjorie’s ear. Vexed, Marjorie whispered, “And isn’t Mr. Kettering doing a fine job?”

“Who?” Kathleen looked at Marjorie and then back at the stage. “Oh, yes. Mr. Kettering is doing very well. And he learned the role in such a short time, too.”

Not much interest there, obviously. Fool girl didn’t know what was good for her. She had no idea that Jason Abernathy only allowed himself to love Chinese women.

Marjorie’s heart gave a hard, painful spasm. She pressed against it with her palm and told it to stop doing that.

The rest of that scene went splendidly. By dint of quick maneuvering, Marjorie managed to barely avoid Jason as he exited the stage and she entered. She saw him standing in the wings, scowling at her, when she spoke to a woebegone Frederic. “‘All is prepared, your gallant crew await you.’”

And so it went. And the audience went with them. As Frederic and Mabel sang about him returning in 1940, when he’d at last be able to celebrate his twenty-first birthday, the audience laughed so hard, both Marjorie and Mr. Kettering had trouble controlling their own humor. A glance at the wings helped Marjorie; it was difficult to maintain one’s glee when one was being stared at so hatefully by the man one loved.

Confound it, she did love him. It galled her to admit it, since he was so utterly unworthy an object of her love.

The police contingent entered, and Mabel and her sisters urged them on to defeat the pirates. A tricky situation was upcoming, and as she sang, Marjorie attempted to think of a way to stay away from Jason while they were both offstage at the same time.

Nothing worthwhile had occurred to her as she launched into her last bit. “‘He has done his duty. I will do mine. Go ye and do yours.’” And she had to leave the stage.

Blast. She didn’t see Jason anywhere. That meant he was going to pounce as soon as she was free of the audience’s scrutiny.

Sure enough, Marjorie felt her arm seized in a grip like iron just as the Sergeant of Police started in on “A Policeman’s Lot is not a Happy One.”

She hissed, “Ow! Unhand me, you brute!”

The sergeant sang, “‘When a felon’s not engaged in his employment.’”

“Damned to that. I’m going to make you listen to reason, Marjorie MacTavish.”

The policemen sang, “‘His employment.’”

“Leave me be. This is my favorite song in the whole opera. I want to hear it.”

“‘Or maturing his felonious little plans.’”

“You can hear it tomorrow. Right now, you’re going to listen to me.”

“‘Little plans.’”

“Am not.”

“‘His capacity for innocent enjoyment.’”

“Are too.”

“‘’Cent enjoyment.’”

“Let me go!”

“‘Is just as great as any honest man’s.’”

“Damned if I will until you listen to reason.”

“Jason.” Mr. Proctor tapped Jason on the shoulder.

“Damn!” But he dropped Marjorie’s arm.

Marjorie instantly scuttled away, listening to what Mr. Proctor was telling Jason. Could the dear man honestly be attempting to rescue her?

“You’ve got to start singing off-stage with the rest of the pirates on the other side in a minute.”

Oh. Of course. Mr. Proctor was only reminding Jason that he had to take his spot. Nobody would ever rescue her. She was unworthy of rescue.

Marjorie sensed that she was being irrational, but she was too angry to worry about it right then. Shooting her another black scowl, Jason stalked behind the curtain to the other side of the stage. She repressed an urge to stick her tongue out at him. Bluidy damned man.

She continued to think black thoughts as she went to the ladies’ dressing room, adjusted her white peignoir and frilly night-cap, and picked up her candle for the last scene. She couldn’t even come up with a smile for Kathleen, who was likewise employed. Marjorie thought she probably ought to be shocked to be appearing on-stage in a frilly night dress, but she was too miserable. She shuffled back to the sidelines to watch the proceedings on-stage with a heart that felt as if it had gained ninety pounds.

A barrage of applause interrupted her brooding, and Marjorie heard the chorus of pirates singing from the other side of the stage. Good. She could avoid Jason forever now. Well, except for one point when he’d be off-stage at the same time she was. But she could hide in a curtain then. And then there was the very end of the opera, when they would be on-stage together, but surely not even Jason would disrupt the opera’s finale just to badger her. She hoped.

Codswallop. She would cope; that’s all there was to it.

The notion of having to cope through another several performances of the opera made her heavy heart twinge unpleasantly, but Marjorie told herself to take one day at a time. It wasn’t as if she could do anything else.

Unless she killed herself.

That thought so shocked her, she squared her shoulders and told herself that no man was worth that much. Her heart would ache for a while, and then she’d get over it. She’d gotten over Leonard, hadn’t she? Well . . .

Bother.

She watched and listened glumly, anticipating a nerve-wracking couple of weeks. But at least she could go home and hide after each performance. And be with the bairns. Her heart went all soft and gooey when she thought about Oliver and Olivia.

“I think we have a hit on our hands, Miss MacTavish.”

Turning, Marjorie saw Mr. Kettering. She smiled at him. “Aye. I think so, too.” He was such a nice boy.

Boy?

With a deep sigh, Marjorie agreed with herself. He was a boy. Unlike Jason, who was a man. Ah, well . . .

Titters erupted from the audience when the police tiptoed down the stairs and into the sanctuary to crouch in the aisles as they hid from the pirates. Frederic, the pirates, and Mrs. Proctor assumed their marks behind the decrepit chapel’s ruined window, through which they stepped a moment later.

Marjorie actually smiled at their exaggeratedly cautious skulking as they sang, “‘With cat-like tread, upon our prey we steal.’” Mrs. Proctor and Mr. Kettering were quite comical as they peered around, searching for enemies and making a terrible racket.

Then there was Jason. Marjorie had never seen anyone throw himself so whole-heartedly into a part. He was absolutely perfect.

She sighed again. For a little while there, she’d believed he was perfect for her, too. Which only went to prove, if more proof were necessary, that she was a bluidy baffin. But she didn’t have time to dwell upon her many failings and idiocies. Jason would soon be exiting stage left, and Marjorie had to hide.

Far sooner than she would have liked, she was forced to leave her refuge inside the dusty velvet curtain and join the rest of the women for the last scene. Sticking as close to Ginger and Kathleen as she could, she managed to duck past Jason, although she did have to arrive on-stage a trifle early in order to do so. Nobody seemed to mind. Well, except for Jason, who was plainly grinding his teeth and seething.

Marjorie told herself she didn’t care. She wished it were so, even as she and the other women started singing. “‘Now what is this, and what is that, and why does father leave his rest at such a time of night as this, so very incompletely dressed?’”

Not much time left. At the end of this song, the Pirate King and Frederic would reappear on-stage, and the final scene would commence. Then there would be bows, and then sweet escape. Marjorie was very tired.

Aye. There he was, with Mr. Kettering and the fellow who was playing Samuel, another pirate.

Tossing aside the staging directions, Jason marched over to stand beside Marjorie as he sang, “‘Forward, my men, and seize that General there! His life is over.’”

As the pirates grabbed the general, Jason hissed at Marjorie, “What the devil is the matter with you? Why are you avoiding me?”

Marjorie and the girls sang, “‘The pirates! The pirates! Oh, despair!’”

The pirates sprang up, singing, “‘Yes, we’re the pirates, so despair!’”

“Because you used me, you horrid creature,” Marjorie hissed back.

“I did what?” Nobody watching would know that Jason was shocked, but Marjorie could tell he was by the tone of his whisper.

The Major-General sang, “‘Frederic here! Oh, joy! Oh, rapture! Summon your men and effect their capture!’”

Marjorie cried, “‘Frederic, save us!’” Under her breath, she added, “You used me. You love Jia Lee, and you . . . used me.” Even though everyone else was paying attention to the play, she couldn’t make herself admit in public that she’d lost her virtue to Jason Abernathy, who was in love with another woman.

With wonderfully comical zest, Mr. Kettering sang, “‘Beautiful Mabel, I would if I could, but I am not able.’”

The pirates sang, “‘He’s telling the truth, he is not able.’”

“You’re crazy! The only woman I love is you!” Then with gusto Jason once more broke into song. “‘With base deceit you worked upon our feelings!’”

Marjorie gaped at him. Had she understood him correctly? Had he just declared that he loved her? Her? Marjorie MacTavish?

Since she was, at present, Mabel, she didn’t stick her finger in her ear to clear it of fluff, but she felt every bit as wild as Mabel must have done when she clutched her hands to her bosom and cried, “‘Is he to die, unshriven, unannealed?’”

The girls in the chorus sang, “‘Oh, spare him!’”

At the same time, Marjorie arched her brows in a question for Jason, who had drawn his sword and was about to run General Stanley through with it. He saw her question and answered it with a vigorous nod. Marjorie felt rather light-headed as she sang, “‘Will no one in his cause a weapon wield?’”

“‘Oh, spare him!’” the girls chorused.

The audience bellowed with laughter when the police contingent, who had been lolling in the aisles, suddenly jumped up and sang, “‘Yes, we are here, though hitherto concealed!’”

Marjorie pointed at her bosom and mouthed, “You love me?”

The girls sang, “‘Oh, rapture!’”

As a struggle between the police and the pirates commenced and the police sang, “‘So to Constabulary, pirates yield!’” Jason maneuvered himself over to Marjorie again. “Well, of course I do! What the devil did you think?”

Right before he was wrestled away from her side by a policeman once more, Marjorie whispered, “But you held her in your arms!”

For a few seconds Jason was too busy staging a fight that the pirates eventually won to respond to this allegation. Eventually, he managed to get himself close to Marjorie again. “Damnation, you can’t hold that against me,” he hissed furiously. “She threw herself at me! I couldn’t very well drop her, could I?”

As Jason and the pirates began singing their victory song, Marjorie mulled over his explanation, trying to recall that awful sojourn at the police station. She hadn’t been in the best condition to make judgments, she guessed, having suffered horribly, both physically and mentally, before, during, and after her plunge into the ocean. The mere recollection made her shiver, which went well with the operatic conditions prevailing at the moment.

As Marjorie mulled, the sergeant of police was leading up to a mighty climax. “‘To gain a brief advantage you’ve contrived, but your proud triumph will not be long-lived.’”

By Jupiter, Jai Lee had been the one to precipitate that embrace!

Jason sang, “‘Don’t say you are orphans, for we know that game.’”

And Jason had held on to Jia Lee as she’d cried. Marjorie frowned, that remembrance not sitting very well with her. But, she now recalled, he’d looked at Marjorie the whole time the Chinese girl had been sobbing in his arms.

“‘We charge you yield, in Queen Victoria’s name!’”

Jason sounded suitably baffled when he sang, “‘You do?’”

“‘We do!’”

Perhaps Marjorie had been the least little bit overzealous when she’d assumed that Jason was in love with Jia Lee. She supposed that, under the circumstances, when the poor girl had thrown herself at him, it had made sense that he hold onto her. After all, she’d been through an ordeal, too. Probably a worse one than Marjorie’s, actually, if you removed Marjorie’s phobia from the equation.

The pirate crew all knelt and bowed their heads in submission. “‘We yield at once, with humbled mien, because, with all our faults, we love our Queen.’”

Was it her imagination, or was Jason singing that song to her? He was supposed to be gesturing at the statue of Queen Victoria that stood in a corner of the stage. Marjorie felt herself blush.

“‘Yes, yes, with all their faults, they love their Queen.’” The policemen all took out big white handkerchiefs and started sobbing into them. The audience bellowed with glee.

Mrs. Proctor took to the stage then, holding her arms up in a dramatic gesture. “‘One moment! Let me tell you who they are.’”

Somehow or other, Jason had again managed to get himself close to Marjorie. “How the devil did you come up with the notion that I love Jia Lee?” he whispered harshly from the side of his mouth. The other pirates tried to ignore him.

Caught somewhere between total confusion and absolute joy, Marjorie stammered, “Well . . . but you embraced her.”

Jason rolled his eyes heavenward the moment before Marjorie joined in the chorus, singing, “‘They are all noblemen who have gone wrong.’”

Mr. Proctor warbled, “‘No Englishman unmoved that statement hears—’”

“I can’t believe you thought I loved that woman. I felt sorry for her, for God’s sake.”

“‘Because, with all our faults, we love our House of Peers.’”

As Jason knelt in mock solemnity before the statue of Queen Victoria, Marjorie wondered if she’d been mistaken when he’d declared his love for her. She’d like to ask him, but her pride held her back.

Mr. Proctor sang energetically, “‘I pray you, pardon me, ex-Pirate King! Peers will be peers, and youth will have its fling.’”

With head bowed, Jason again spoke to Marjorie in a grating whisper. “For God’s sake, I love you.”

She hadn’t been mistaken! Rapture filled Marjorie’s bosom as the Major General sang, “‘And take my daughters, all of whom are beauties!’”

Her heart full to bursting, Marjorie sang, “‘Poor wand’ring ones! Though ye have surely strayed, take heart of grace, your steps retrace, poor wand’ring ones!’”

How she managed to sing her final solo, Marjorie never did know, but sing it she did, and the audience loved it. And then, as the entire cast robustly sang the final chorus of “Poor Wand’ring One,” and she was supposed to waltz across the stage with Frederic, she suddenly found herself in the arms of Jason Abernathy.

He, who was supposed to be waltzing with Ginger Collins, sang directly to her. “‘If such poor love as ours can help you find true peace of mind, why, take it, it is yours!’”

And, as the orchestra struck its final chord and the audience leapt to its feet, clapping wildly, Jason Abernathy and Marjorie MacTavish kissed each other. Right in front of God, their audience, and the entire cast of the Pirates of Penzance.

Marjorie was sure she heard Loretta’s voice above the rest, shouting, “Brava! Bravo!”