Saturday, October 13, 1888
As soon as I stepped backstage after the performance, I found a chair to collapse into and inhaled deeply the smell of dust, wax, wood shavings, and wine. I put my head back on the ripped and faded upholstery and looked up into the rafters, listening as the thrilled crowd filed out of their rows and went back to their real lives. I thought about the sound of their applause, holding it in my memory. I wanted to reach out with my palms and capture every clap like a firefly and keep it safe in a jar for always. I wanted to preserve every single one forever.
I closed my eyes as a tear slowly rolled down my cheek. It clung to my jaw for a moment before slipping off.
Miss Baudelaire found me, her cigarette holder between two fingers. “Good God. Are you alright?”
Smiling, I brushed at the tear trail and admired the smudge of black makeup that had transferred to my fingers. “I have honestly never been better.”
“Glad to hear it. You did very well, my girl.” She took a puff from her cigarette and forced a stream of smoke out of her painted lips. “You better get changed and clean yourself up. I’ve got some people who want to meet you.”
Before I could enquire what she was talking about, Mrs. Jones appeared with a dress hanging over one arm. I ran my hand over the heap of red taffeta, admiring its sheen.
“Where did this come from?”
“I found it in the same gutter Minerva pulled you out of.” She frowned at me. “I made it, you daft cow. Now let’s get this on you.” She nodded to a backstage dressing area. “Then fix your face. You look a fright.”
In any other situation, I would have glared at the woman for not knowing her place but I was too intoxicated on success even for that.
Once Mrs. Jones had me all laced in and looking presentable and I had removed my stage makeup, Miss Baudelaire was distracted by an acquaintance and they were chatting about the good old days. I slipped out of the backstage to go find Everett. Since the first clap from the audience had first echoed in my ears, I had wanted to tell Everett how blissfully happy performing had made me. I wanted to share my joy with him. I wanted him to know that him being in my life had led me here and that that meant something to me and I wanted him to know it.
The first thing I saw were Bella’s legs wrapped around Everett’s waist.
He stood in front of the stage, facing it, while Bella had been sitting on its edge. Her hands cradled his face, their lips pressed together, Everett’s fingertips brushing her bare knees.
I let out a quiet gasp and whipped around, trying to escape back to the safety of backstage before either of them spotted me but it was too late. I had seen them, and they had seen me seeing them.
“Cora?” I could hear Everett jump up on the stage. “Cora?”
I tucked away one of my curls in front of the mirror and his eyes met mine in the reflection. His guilty, guilty eyes.
“Sorry, were you looking for me?” I said to his reflection as I absentmindedly adjusted my necklace.
He lowered his eyes. “It’s not what you think.”
I blinked at him in the mirror. “You can do whatever you like.”
His face tightened. “Bella kissed me. I didn’t kiss her.”
“She is beautiful.” I smiled sweetly at him, ignoring the stinging sensation at the back of my eyes.
He opened his mouth but Miss Baudelaire appeared at my side before he could respond.
“Time to go, Lady Selene.”
Everett looked at my gown as if he had not noticed it before that moment. The pleading look in his eyes weakened my resolve, and I was close to forgetting what I had just witnessed.
A theater employee dropping something nearby startled me out of my haze and I fled to the hansom cab waiting outside. Once the cab pulled away, I took several deep breaths and placed my hand over my stomach, hoping to ease my nerves.
I had my chance. I have had a thousand and one chances. Surely he has had enough of me. I have no right to be possessive of him.
“Are you alright? You look terribly flushed,” Miss Baudelaire said.
“Yes, I am quite well.” I nodded frantically. “Just a lot of excitement for one evening.” I pretended my stomach was not still heaving beneath my corset. “So, who is this mystery person we are going to meet?”
“You are absolutely ravishing,” the tall man said, lifting my gloved hand to his lips. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Royal K. Wyndham.” A sly and handsome smile spread across his lips. “And, my dear, I would like to take you on an adventure.”
Royal K. Wyndham smelled of mint and money. Probably in his early forties, every piece of clothing on his person looked tailored to perfection. With hair the color of lemonade, Mr. Wyndham’s hairline had retreated into an aggressive widow’s peak and his understated moustache was neatly groomed. His smile and manner of speaking dripped with confidence without sneaking into arrogance. I liked him straight away.
“Well,” I said, “I have always wanted to go on an adventure with royalty.”
He let out a laugh. “Oh, I think you and I are going to get along very well.”
Mr. Wyndham offered me his arm and the three of us took a table at one of London’s most lavish eateries. Ordering a bottle of champagne for the table, he was unlike many of England’s wealthiest class in that he was generous with his laughter and smiles.
As the waiter filled my flute, Mr. Wyndham glanced at Minerva. “Miss Baudelaire, where have you been hiding this gem of a girl?”
Her subtle smile appeared. “Well, tonight was her first stage appearance.”
“Oh, yes, that’s right,” Mr. Wyndham smirked. “You are a natural on stage, Mrs. Pringle, if I do say so myself. I believe I have an eye for these things.”
“That is very kind of you to say, Mr. Wyndham.” I smiled at him through my thick eyelashes and reached for my champagne. “Tell me about yourself. Miss Baudelaire tells me you work with entertainers, but she would not provide specifics.”
“Well, I am an investor. I invest my time, money, and connections and take emerging and established acts—” He paused for dramatic effect, glancing at Miss Baudelaire. “—on tour.”
I let out a startled chuckle. I was lucky I did not drop my glass that very second. “On tour?”
“Yes, my dear,” Mr. Wyndham said with a sanguine smile, sitting back in his chair. “Have you been to Scotland?”
“No, sir.”
“Northern England?”
I gave a shy shrug. “I went to Sheffield once as a child.”
Mr. Wyndham nodded. “I think a tour around Britain will be just the thing for your career.”
“Are you sure?” I looked at Miss Baudelaire for confirmation. “My career has only just begun.”
Miss Baudelaire and Mr. Wyndham exchanged glances.
“The thing is,” she said, “we find that if an act has some name recognition outside of London, the act can bring in more money.” She paused. “However, we already have a tour scheduled for another act, but we want you to replace him.”
I looked back and forth between the two of them.
How long had these two been planning this before mentioning it to me?
“What act?”
Mr. Wyndham’s mouth twisted into a sideways frown. “Let’s just say that Magni the Magnificent is less than a magnificent draw these days. More like Magni the Menace. He’s more trouble on tour than he’s worth.”
Miss Baudelaire plucked up her champagne glass. “He was a good moneymaker a few years ago but a magician can only perform the same tricks so many times before the audience gets tired of them.”
I thought of my own act and took a sip of my drink.
What if I run out of ideas? What if my act becomes stale? Will Miss Baudelaire throw me to the wolves too?
“He is going to be furious,” I said to Miss Baudelaire, genuinely concerned. “Do you expect he will make trouble for me?”
“If he does, he can expect to be swiftly evicted from the Marvels and The Hemlock,” she replied.
“Well, of course I am thrilled you would consider me for the tour,” I said. “When would this be?”
“Next month.” He beamed.
“So soon? My goodness.”
“Strike while the iron is hot, my dear,” Mr. Wyndham said, finishing off his flute of champagne.
I was sitting on the edge of my bed, doing some mending, when there was a soft knock on my door.
“It’s me. Can I come in? I need your desk,” Everett said from the other side.
The image of Bella’s athletic limbs wrapped around him and their lips together flashed into my mind and I recoiled.
“Yes, come in.”
“Thank you,” he mumbled, coming in and leaving the door open a couple inches. He dropped some pages onto the desk and set to work.
After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, save for the scratches of his pen and the sound of thread feeding through cotton, I decided to speak to him.
“What are you writing?”
“I am working on my play.” He glanced back at me quickly before putting pen back to paper.
“Ah. The muse finally returned, has it?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps.”
I tied a little knot and snipped the thread. “You did not say much after I told you about the tour.”
“And you didn’t say much when I told you,” he hesitated, “that Bella kissed me.”
Before I could respond, my attention was stolen by an argument downstairs.
“You miserable hag,” Magni yelled. “You can’t do this to me, I need this tour!”
“It was Mr. Wyndham’s decision, not mine,” Miss Baudelaire said calmly. “Try not to take it so personally. It’s just business.”
“Oh, yes. I am sure that’s it.”
“It’s the truth. Your last tour did not do as well as expected. We’re all in this to make money. A tour is not worth doing if we lose our investment.”
I was impressed that Minerva’s tone was so calm in response to Magni’s thunderous and threatening shouts. She must have dealt with it before, I realized.
Everett and I glanced at one another as the argument continued. I listened keenly as he went back to scribbling.
“The tour will make money, Minerva! That’s what I do and that is what I have always done—make money.” He scoffed. “Well, I make money for you and Mr. Wyndham. I can’t say I see much of that cash myself.”
Miss Baudelaire did not take the bait on that one. “Now is probably a good time to tell you I’m making Cora the headliner for Friday’s show.”
I winced, preparing for the impact of Magni’s head exploding.
“Five years, I have been a member of this family. Five years,” he said quietly, almost so quietly that I could barely hear him. “That whore walks into this house and suddenly she is your star?”
Everett snapped his head up at that comment. I waved a hand at him and he reluctantly went back to his task. Not that I appreciated being insulted but I knew Magni would certainly best Everett if it came to fisticuffs between them.
“Why don’t you go take a walk? You need to calm down,” Miss Baudelaire said. “Go have a drink somewhere, find a pretty lady to spend your coin on.”
“This is preposterous,” he said, his feet heavy on his way to the door. “Unbelievable.”
He was likely still muttering to himself as he walked down the street to, I assume, his favorite brothel. I set my sewing things aside and closed the door as gently as I could before returning to my spot on the edge of the bed.
“You found my performance satisfactory then?” I forced a sweet smile.
Everett’s pen halted. He turned in his chair to look at me, his eyes soft and serious. “Of course. You were wonderful. I knew you would be.”
“Really?” My heart felt so full I thought it might burst.
“You were invited on a national tour after a single performance,” Everett said. “How do you think it went?”
“I suppose it went well.” I sighed. “Oh, Everett. It felt incredible up there.” I bit my lip. “Perhaps I will speak to Miss Baudelaire and Mr. Wyndham about you joining me on the tour.”
“You will do no such thing.” He took my hands in his, surprising both of us I think. “This is an incredible opportunity and I don’t want you to risk it so you can bring a friend along. Besides, we’ll make more money with me here helping with the Marvels than on the road with you.”
“Do you not want to come?”
“Of course I do, but not if it means making less money.” As Everett said this, his thumb brushed over mine, but he did not realize he was doing it right away.
Our eyes met and we both sat motionless. I wanted him to kiss me so much my stomach ached. He slowly lifted my hand to his lips and laid the most gentle of kisses on my knuckles. The breath left my lungs as he kissed my hand again, this time further down on my finger and then again, so carefully, on my fingertips. My heart seized in my chest as he slowly lifted his gaze to meet mine. The agonizing yearning in my abdomen drummed fiercely.
A knock at the door nearly startled me half to death. Everett immediately dropped my hands, gave a groan, whirled around in his chair, and went back to his messy pile of papers on the desk.
“Sorry to disturb,” Mrs. Jones said from the other side of the door. “Mr. Wyndham is here to discuss the tour.”
“Thank you. I will be right down straight away.”
Curse you, Mr. Wyndham. Why did you have to come here now?
Everett looked at me over his shoulder, his full lips curving into a weak smile. “Forgive me. I don’t know what came over me.”
I shook my head quickly, eager to ease the new awkwardness between us but all useful words evaporated. I adjusted my hair quickly in the mirror, smoothed my skirts, and left the bedroom.
Mr. Wyndham stood by the front door, smiling up at me as I came down the curved staircase. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Pringle.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Wyndham. How lovely to see you.”
Mrs. Jones brought tea in for Miss Baudelaire, Mr. Wyndham, and I. Afternoon faded into evening as we discussed dates, venues, and a few local performers who might act as openers during our various stops.
“Right now we’ve got you booked for Brighton, Birmingham, Manchester, and Glasgow,” Mr. Wyndham said, reading from a ledger while thinking out loud. “I’m still working on a few dates for Scotland. Perhaps we could squeeze a show in at Bristol…”
“This is all so exciting,” I said.
Miss Baudelaire smiled demurely. “Hopefully your next tour will include Paris. I will certainly be joining you for that one.”
I blinked. “You are not coming with us on this tour?”
“No, my girl. Do you expect these animals to manage themselves without me?”
Mr. Wyndham checked his gold pocket watch and gave a sideways frown before looking back up at me. “I have a table waiting for me at this lovely new place in Marylebone. Would you care to join me?”
If I had been dazzled by the dining establishment Mr. Wyndham had taken me to the previous night, I was entirely overwhelmed by that evening’s destination. The golden chandeliers sparkled high above us as we were led to a table for two. Tall marble pillars inlaid with carved flowers lined the walls. The wait staff wove around the tables, the patrons and one another with precision, like dancers performing their choreography to perfection.
Going to dinner with Mr. Wyndham alone could easily have been uncomfortable, but strangely it was not. Mr. Wyndham was an excellent conversationalist and knew how to put one at ease. He was friendly and pleasant and seemed genuinely happy to be assisting in my career.
As we sat, I could not help but look around at the elegant eatery. When I looked back at Mr. Wyndham after a moment of shameless gawking, I was surprised to see him watching me. I immediately looked down at the row of glimmering silverware.
“Forgive me, I should not be staring,” I said. “It has been too long since I have been in a restaurant like this.”
“No need to apologize. Half the people in here come in to people watch anyway,” Mr. Wyndham said. “Besides, with so many patrons looking at you, why shouldn’t you look back at them?”
I tittered.
“I am quite serious,” he said. “It is difficult to keep one’s eyes off of you.”
“Mr. Wyndham—”
“Please, call me ‘Roy,’” he said, smiling with his eyes. “I have a question for you, my dear. Are you and Mr. Rigby romantically involved?”
Before I could answer, our waiter came by with two menus. My mind raced, barely thinking about my dinner.
“The salmon here is quite good,” Mr. Wyndham said casually as if he had not just asked me anything at all.
“Is it? Excellent.” I nodded and continued to hide behind my menu.
Eventually the waiter returned, and I had to give my hiding spot back to him. Mr. Wyndham raised an eyebrow at me as the waiter left us alone again. He was waiting for an answer.
“Well,” I said, “why do you ask?”
His face was awash with guilt.
“Well,” he chuckled, “I do not want to step on anyone’s toes.”
“I am afraid I do not understand.”
A grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “Well, if you do not object, I would like to get to know you better. I would like to … court you, as it were.”
“Oh,” I said. “Mr. Wyndham, I—”
“If you are not interested, I assure you, I am content with keeping our relationship professional,” he added quickly.
He is lovely. He is a gentleman. He has money and influence and he can make you famous.
“I, uh—”
Do not throw away this chance. What kind of life could Everett Rigby ever provide for the two of you?
“Cora?”
It was not Mr. Wyndham who had said my name, startling me. My head jerked up to see Viola Lockhart walking towards our table, her eyes wide in surprise.
I stood up, immediately realizing I did not know how to greet her now. We had not been friends for quite some time. To my surprise, she took my hands and kissed my cheek, like we were close acquaintances.
“It is lovely to see you, Cora. How are you?”
I snapped out of my stunned silence and smiled at her. “I am quite well, thank you. How are you?”
Across the room, Dr. Lockhart and another couple from my old social circle craned their necks to see me.
“I am well.” Viola touched my arm again. Her fake friendliness repulsed me.
Smelling the money on him, Viola glanced at Mr. Wyndham, obviously looking for an introduction.
“Viola, this is Mr. Wyndham. Mr. Wyndham, this is my friend Mrs. Lockhart.” I plastered a sweet smile on my face, the same one I used to wear so often. “I have not seen her in several months.”
Viola ignored that remark and gave an annoyingly placid smirk. “It is nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Wyndham. How do you know Cora?”
You just had to ask, you wretched witch.
“I am organizing her tour,” he said coolly. “It’s going to make Lady Selene a household name.”
I gulped and slowly looked back at Viola.
“Lady Selene?” She looked at me. “What—”
“A lot has happened since we last spoke,” I blurted. “Perhaps we can discuss everything over tea sometime?”
“Of course.” Viola reluctantly nodded. “We are still living at the same house in Mayfair, I trust you remember the address. Send me a note next week and we will arrange something.” She gave me another quick peck on the cheek and scurried back to her table to fill them in on our uncomfortable little rendezvous.
I took my seat again and let out a breath.
Mr. Wyndham bit the corner of his lip, trying to restrain his amusement. “You two seem close.”
I laughed louder than I meant to. His shoulders shook as he laughed along with me.
That night when I returned to The Hemlock, Miss Baudelaire was waiting for me in the front parlor, smoking alone in the dark on the chaise.
“Did you mean to startle me, Miss Baudelaire?”
Mrs. Jones took my coat as I shrugged it off into her arms.
A stream of smoke filtered out of Minerva’s nostrils. “How was dinner?”
“It was fine,” I said, letting my inflection linger on the last word. “Mr. Wyndham seems a good man to do business with.”
“Mmm.” Her eyes narrowed in that very specific manner of hers as she sucked on her cigarette holder. “Did he bring you home in his carriage?”
“Of course.”
“Did he suggest the two of you have a relationship outside of the business?”
“‘Suggest’ is likely a weak word for it, but yes.”
“And how would you feel about that?”
I sat on the chaise across from her. “Have I been sold into an arranged marriage? If I have, I would like to at least be aware of it.”
One corner of her bow-shaped lips curled up. “My girl, I want you to tread carefully with Mr. Wyndham. He is important to my business and I must keep him happy.” The area between her eyes pinched. “He has never shown an attraction for any of my girls before, so this must be dealt with delicately.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “What specifically are you asking of me?”
Miss Baudelaire’s lips tightened and she let out a small sigh. “This may seem sudden, but I need to know if you could potentially see yourself in Mr. Wyndham’s bed.”
My eyebrows popped up. “Well, that is sudden.”
“If not, you need to speak up now before he becomes emotionally invested,” she said. “You need to keep him happy.”
“He is a charming man who could provide a woman with a good life,” I said. “I would be a fool to not encourage his attention, so why wouldn’t I?”
“Why?” she repeated. “Perhaps the fellow we have staying in the attic?”
I dropped my eyes from hers for only a moment. “What does Everett have to do with this?”
Minerva rolled her eyes.
“The poor boy deserves better than to be strung along by you forever. I do not know how the pair of you ended up together but it’s clear you are not a good match.” She shook her head at me. “Mr. Wyndham would be ideal for you and your career.”
I looked at her.
She went on. “He has connections, my girl. If you ever wanted to, say, explore a career as an actress, well, Mr. Wyndham could do that for you.”
My heart fluttered. “Really?”
Cora Wyndham, Leading Lady of the London Stage?