Chapter Six
IN FORTY-FIVE MINUTES, THIS month’s Spectacular would commence.
Alice snapped her watch shut and, rubbing her temple, contemplated all the thousands of small tasks to be completed. The final list of props remained unchecked, the musicians had yet to set up, and Violet and Gertie were running around in their unmentionables rather than their costumes.
Lacing her hands before her, she exhaled. Before every performance, she fretted and fussed. She needed to calm herself. For nigh on four years she’d done this to herself, as if making herself all anxious would result in the Spectacular being a success. And after each was over and done—and all her worrying was for nothing—she promised herself she would remain calm with the next.
But she never did.
It could go so wrong, so quickly. They were only as ever good as their last show, and if the folk out there hated it, word would spread like wildfire. In little more than a couple of days, all that had taken years to build could be destroyed. So she fretted and she fussed, and she made sure nothing would go wrong.
“Miz Reynolds!”
Billy’s shrill voice bounced around her brain. Wincing, she raised her hand to her head to combat the pounding. It didn’t work.
The boy didn’t seem to notice the effect he had on her, shifting from foot to foot as if he needed to partake of the outhouse “Miz Reynolds, Miz Polly says her dress is ripped and Mr Steddler reckons the second act ain’t been structured right, and Matilda says the whole backdrop has been messed with, and—”
The rest of the boy’s words dissolved into a mad rush, so fast she couldn’t make head or tail of his speech.
“Billy!” Grabbing his shoulders, she forced him to stillness.
Eyes wide, Billy fell silent.
Taking a breath, she forced herself calm. She breathed. In. Out.
Finally, she looked Billy in the eyes. “Now, say it all again. Slower.” Everything in her—the jitters, the thoughts running round and round—disappeared. She focused only on Billy, and whatever it was he had to say.
His thin chest expanded before a steady stream of words erupted. “Miz Polly’s dress is ripped something awful, and Mr Steddler reckons the second act ain’t right, and Henry-who-works-in-the-pits says the gas lights ain’t lighting properly, but they did at practice today, and Miz Pearl was gonna fix it, but she’s occupied with the costuming of Miz Marie and Miz Flora, and she said for me to come and tell you, and she said also to tell you she’s sorry for directing this trouble your way.” Triumphant he’d imparted his message, he grinned.
Pinching the bridge of her nose did nothing to dispel the ache in her head. It took her a moment or more to decipher such a spiel. “Thanks, Billy. You go back to Miss Pearl and tell her I’ll take care of it.”
The boy nodded and dashed off.
If it weren’t one thing, it were a million more. Walking to the wings backstage, Alice dodged the stagehands who scurried to install the backdrops, sets, and props required for this evening’s show in order. The opening number’s set was already in place, the backdrop of a Parisian nightclub rippled at the rear of the stage.
A warm glow made her pause a while. It had been the first scene she’d imagined, way back at the first Spectacular, and now she used the scene to open each performance. One day, she would see such a scene in reality, when she made her way to Paris.
A crash and the curses of the stagehands returned her to reality. A scurry of men righted the set and continued on with their tasks as if the accident had never happened. The last four days had been consumed with like accidents and mild calamities, such that this morning she was certain nothing would need to be done once night fell. Well, more fool her. There was always work to be done, and minor disasters to fix. As she looked down, the schedule blurred under her regard. This month, she also had the dubious pleasure of being distracted by a dark-eyed Englishman, and his determination to bedevil her into the ground.
She scowled. Damn it, she’d promised herself she wouldn’t think of him. Couldn’t she keep one promise to herself? Clearing her throat, she forced her thoughts back to where they ought to be—only on the Spectacular, with none left over for him.
The Spectacular was her passion, the one thing in all the world she could claim as truly her own. Seth had never gone over for the idea, and she’d kept her passion to herself while he’d been alive. It had felt a betrayal of a sort when the first show had premiered a year after he’d been buried, but she had tried to deny herself. She truly had. In the end, her passion was too strong, and the first Spectacular had limped onto the stage. A colossal failure that had been, and one more spectacular she couldn’t imagine. It was part of the reason why she’d incorporated the word into the name of her show—The Diamond Theatre’s Variety and Burlesque Spectacular, better now than the first spectacular disaster.
Arriving in the wings, she cast her gaze around the stalls. The audience would soon fill those tables and chairs set in ordered rows. The candles had just been lit, lending a warm glow to the area, and it seemed to her the glow extended, encompassing all surrounding her and lodging inside her chest.
She grinned, some of her worry lifted. For all her gripes and complaints, she wouldn’t trade this for the world.
Bringing her thoughts back to where they should be again, she focused on the schedule held securely in her hands. The opening number incorporated all the girls, dancing and seducing the crowd in front of the Parisian backdrop. Pearl would enter, perform her song, and make all the men in the audience fall in love with her once more. The second song was a composition of Alice’s own, and while her talent was small in that area, it was enough to enthral the men of Ironwood.
The woman herself came hurrying toward her, an apron tied haphazardly over her costume. “Boss lady!”
Damn it, she wished Pearl didn’t find such a label so amusing. “What is it? Something else gone wrong?”
“’Course it has. I’ve just had words with Marie, and she’s still insisting she hasn’t been ably compensated for her contribution, such as it is.”
She scowled. “For chrissakes, and she’s got her timing down pat, don’t she?”
Marie and her snake dance were the third act up, and was enough of a crowd-pleaser as to make the woman think she was entitled to extra payment. It was the second thing on her list to address, and underlined besides. Marie had been caterwauling about such for too long, and would be made to understand the overly-generous payment she already received was compensation enough, or she could take her snake dance to another company.
The throb in her temples increased. She rubbed her forehead. “How bad is it? From one to ten, ten being her actually following through on her threat.”
Pearl shrugged. “About a three.”
“So she’ll still go on. As long as that occurs, the rest can be taken care of tomorrow.” Dropping her hand, she tapped the list against her thigh. “What’s this about the lights?”
“The gas ain’t working again.”
Hell and damnation, just once she wanted things to go smooth. It wasn’t too much to ask, was it? “The gas doesn’t work on a regular basis. I don’t know why they even bothered to install it. Gather the candles and put them in the recesses, or get Henry to do it.”
Bobbing a curtsey, Pearl bowed her head all deferential-like. “Yes, ma’am, Miz Reynolds, ma’am.”
Damn. Her words had been curt, and rude beside. “I’m panicking, aren’t it?”
Pearl grinned. “Yep.”
“It’s just I want it to go well.” The pounding increased.
Grin dimming to a fond smile, Pearl rubbed her shoulder. “I know.”
She wrapped her arms about herself. “We’re only as good as our last show.”
“I know, Alice.” Pearl hugged her. “Don’t fret so. The show will be magnificent, you’ll see.”
Pressing her chin into her friend’s shoulder, some of the tension melted away. “Have I ever told you how glad I am you chose to come out to Ironwood?”
“Every show.” Giving her an extra squeeze, Pearl pushed away. “Now, go be magnificent.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She watched Pearl disappear behind stage. She squared her shoulders. There was still much to do.
A murmur of voices told her the doors to the theatre had opened. Panic had her scrambling for her watch. Had half an hour passed already? It must have, otherwise the doors would still be closed. Well, that meant she had less than fifteen minutes to finalize everything...but she couldn’t resist a peek at who had chosen to attend.
A steady stream of men entered the room, seating themselves at the tables with bottles of ale or whiskey. They all appeared to have cleaned themselves up some, a recent state of affairs she was heartily grateful for. Though she would not turn away any paying customer on account of their dress, the gradual increase in the quality of men who attended meant she could raise the entry price, and who could be glum at that?
A smile pulled at her as her gaze tripped over each man and it became apparent this month would be another sell-out. Then, her gaze tripped over Llewellyn. Her stomach plummeted to somewhere around her shins.
He had come.
Quickly, she shook herself. Of course he would come. Every able-bodied man within a five mile radius made sure to attend the Spectacular. If they didn’t come for the quality of the show, the fact the girls bared most of their flesh at one point or another was a dead sure selling point. Llewellyn was no different from any other man, no matter what he’d have her believe. Besides which, he’d told her he would come, and she was a damn idiot for construing meaning when there was none.
She hadn’t had occasion to speak to him since the incident in the alley, four full days ago. Of course, she’d made it mostly by design they hadn’t met. She had too much to trouble her, with the Spectacular and the claim, to cloud her mind with thoughts of the Englishman and his contradictions. However, now he was here...
As if it occurred again, his lips were upon hers, hungry and demanding. His hair, soft and tangled in her fingers. His body pressing into hers and sensation rioting through her. For all he’d acted the fool after, she’d liked what had happened. No, she’d loved it. And, if she spoke a truth, she couldn’t wait until it happened again. Maybe she would even make it happen tonight.
A smile flirted with her lips. Tonight, she would kiss him again, and she wouldn’t let him pretend to be a fool. Tonight, maybe, she would push him for more than just a kiss.
Her smile faded. But only after the Spectacular was a resounding success.
***
LOUNGIN IN HIS SEAT, Rupert watched the stage.
He’d chosen a table toward the back of the theatre, a small one with only one other chair. The candle placed upon its centre flickered weakly, adding little in the way of illumination, and around him men shuffled to the tables, sitting two, three, or four a piece.
The stage loomed before them, framed by rich velvet curtains—red in colour and with gold fringe, as all the best theatres had. The whole thing put him in mind of a Parisian cabaret, which he’d been privileged to enjoy a time or two before making his way to America. He could imagine Alice perusing magazines and extracting descriptions of French burlesques, applying her newly gained knowledge to her Diamond Theatre. It seemed all that was missing was a crystal chandelier, though he had confidence within the year one would grace her theatre.
Alice. A smile lifted the corner of his mouth. He’d thought of her often these last few days, even more so for the glimpses he’d had of her around town. Those glimpses had never been long enough to engage her in conversation, so he’d had to make do with polite nods and smiles before she’d hurried by him, always about some errand or the other. He was determined to speak to her tonight after her Spectacular was done, when she could have no excuse for avoidance. And he meant to see if the delight he’d found in her arms could be replicated.
There were dangers involved in such a pursuit, he’d no doubt of that. She alone seemed to see through his act, and even if she didn’t, she was much too quick to fool for long. She would have to be told of his purpose in Ironwood, though his contract with Wyoming Coal didn’t allow for disclosure. If he were to court her, spending time getting to know her and she him, he’d have need to discover a loophole and quick. She deserved to know, as soon as he could manage it.
The theatre doors closed. Murmurs, already started, grew louder. Rupert maintained his lounging position, but he had to admit the excitement in the air had also laid claim to him.
At the side of the stage, the piano player began his art. The men cheered and catcalled, though no one yet graced the stage. The music, majestic in its ordinance, forced the excitement higher, and then a fiddle joined the song, driving a madcap rhythm.
His heart felt as if it had left his chest and taken residence in his throat. Just when he thought the tension would never break, the piano and fiddle silenced. A moment, another, and Alice walked onto the stage.
The men hollered and whooped, and Alice smiled, curtseying deeply, clearly enjoying every moment. But he, dear God. He could only stare.
Bloody hell. Bloody hell.
Alice wore black. Nothing unusual about that, she always wore black, but now she wore black with an eye toward sin. No gown covered her embroidered black corset, pushing her breasts up and cinching her waist to tininess. A kind of black lace fichu flirted with the gentle swells, spanning her shoulders and arms even as it left her breasts and stomach bare, while buttons marched up her throat and bound her wrists, as if the see-through garment sought to deceive them all into believing it proper. A slim skirt hugged tight to her hips and fell to the floor, decent enough but lacking in bustle and petticoats.
His gaze drifted up. Her black hair was gathered neatly at the back of her head with no curls to distract from her face and, bathed in candlelight, her golden skin appeared warm and touchable against all the black. To top off such decadent garb, the faint smile on her blood-red lips invited one to sin.
She stood there, allowing all who wanted to look. Then, she held up her hands.
Rupert drew in a lungful of breath and only realised then he had stopped breathing. Christ. She had literally stopped his breath.
The men around him hushed, each one hanging on her every move.
Standing in centre stage, she slowly lowered her arms. Clasping her hands before her waist, she levelled her gaze on the crowd and waited. An agonizing moment became two. Three. Another. Again.
Finally, she spoke. “Welcome! Welcome to The Diamond Theatre’s Variety and Burlesque Spectacular!”
The crowd broke into cheers.
Awe filled him. Bloody hell, but Alice knew how to play a room.
Gliding to the front of the stage, she leant forward as if inviting the audience into a secret. “Tonight, for your edification and delectation, a series of acts, each more splendiferous than the last. In this hallowed hall, see the death defying antics of the Tranmere Twins, sword-swallowers and fire twirlers! Marvel at the bravery of Marie Hernandez as she performs her world-famous Snake Dance! We have singers and dancers, the magical stylings of the Great Waldino, and our own priceless jewel, Pearl la Monte!” Her expression turned knowing, as if she extended an invitation to every man in the theatre. “And, my dear sirs, as always we have for you—the Diamond Dancers!”
Women exploded from either side of the stage in a magnificent whirl of feather and spangles. The men around him guffawed and whistled, and the girls on stage winked and flirted, ramping their excitement.
Alice, of course, knew all this. Her knowing smile widened. “Without further ado, I bring you direct from her sold out performance in San Francisco—where she performed for the likes of the Prince of Milan and the Countess de Glace von Stratten—our very own precious jewel, Pearl la Monte!”
The titular Pearl la Monte swanned onto the stage, her red hair flaming in the light, the emerald green gown wrapping her body displayed her rather impressive bosom.
A grin wide on his face, Rupert leant back in his chair. Good god, this would be fun.
Alice held up her hands. The audience quieted, expectation thick in the air.
Her smile now slight, she cast her gaze over the crowd. “And so, our stage is set. We have our players. Shall we begin?”
The men yelled out an agreement.
“I said, Shall we begin?”
A roar of affirmation answered her.
“Then, without further fanfare, I give you—The Diamond Theatre’s Variety and Burlesque Spectacular!”
The piano burst into life. The dancers kicked and twirled, and the beginnings of a chorus started. Pearl la Monte moved to the centre and began to sing. She had a pleasing voice, but he hardly noticed. Instead, he watched Alice as she faded to the background, her grin changed to one full of happiness. Another step, and she disappeared into the wings.
Propping his ankle on his knee, he stared at the space she had left. Bloody hell, she was magnificent. How could he not want to hold her magnificence in his arms, feel her passion and fire?
After the performance, he would find her, and he’d see if she would share her passion with him.