The Vespertine Page 5

  "None of them, likely," Nathaniel said.

  Newly pinned to the ground, I stilled. I believed, very much in that moment, that he had somehow slipped from the bonds of his skin to find me ethereally. My delusion of such an intimate connection was broken when Thomas looked past me, behind me, and said, "These ladies are in my charge, sir."

  "A noble task you bear admirably," Nathaniel said, coming round to stand in the street before us. He offered Thomas a thoughtful look and then his hand. "Dr. Rea's boy, are you not?"

  Restless, I ate up his details. This was my first glimpse of Nathaniel doing as he liked. And it seemed what he liked was lighting up a street by audaciousness alone. Gone was his staid, plum suit. Nathaniel stood there, bright as a poppy in winter. His coat was cut in green and gold tartan, and he'd pinned the pocket with a nosegay of tangerine silk.

  Thomas read a nod of approval from Zora, then took Nathaniel's hand. Still, Thomas kept his guard, his jaw tight when he replied. "I am. Are we acquainted?"

  "Once, I came to sketch an autopsy in your parlor."

  I shivered at that awful remembrance. Even though it was common for artists to draw bodies in repose, it unnerved me to hear Nathaniel say it so casually. But I suppose it was just me, because recognition lit Thomas from within. "Mr. Witherspoon, of course."

  Formality dispensed, Nathaniel said, "How did you find the show?"

  All but exhaling her entire breath, Zora clutched my arm and said, "It was terrifying."

  "And brilliant," I said. "The manifestations!"

  "All a fraud, you know."

  Unsettled as much now as I had been at dinner, I shook my head. "Were You there? Did You see?"

  With a quick glance, Nathaniel leaped onto the walk and gestured for us to follow. "Come along, won't you?"

  "We shouldn't," Thomas said.

  "On my honor," Nathaniel replied, "nothing will come of this but revelation."

  I think I would have followed Nathaniel anywhere, to see nearly anything. The promise I had made to myself, to keep my wits about me, dissipated the moment I felt his voice on my skin. Thomas resisted at first. He didn't move when Zora and I started to walk. Zora cast him an imploring look, and then he followed, too.

  Leading us through another alley, Nathaniel helped us over puddles of unmentionable provenance. I couldn't imagine what gave this passage a scent so pungent; it stung my nose and troubled my eyes.

  "Act as though you belong," Nathaniel advised, and we found ourselves at the back of the theatre. Someone had propped a door open with a little iron dog. I smiled at that bit of whimsy and watched stagehands come in and out. They carried painted parapets and a shaky balcony, all light enough to lay on their shoulders.

  Zora murmured to me as we watched an Egyptian column disappear into the theater, "There's an engagement of Antony and Cleopatra next week."

  Though I found the workings of a theatre interesting, its artifices sweetly humble in the broad of day, I couldn't fathom what revelation we were meant to take from this. A hundred papier-mache gods could march before me, and I would only marvel at their clever construction.

  "Patience, Miss van den Broek," Nathaniel said. His words stung like a silver kiss, a forbidden intimacy I would have refused had I known it was coming.

  Risking myself, I looked at him and said nothing. But I braved the blackness of his eyes and the wildness of my heart. I stilled my face, making it smooth, and then thought—clearly—to prove or disprove his command of my mind. Look away, I told him. Yield your gaze first.

  Did his expression change? Did his brow curve at the challenge, or did I simply wish it?

  I had no answer, for at that moment Lady Privalovna burst from the stage door, followed by her doctor. "I'm black and blue all over, and you want another show?!"

  "People complain, Peg." The doctor followed her, and I pressed my face against Zora's sleeve to keep from gasping aloud. In his left hand, a dancing, shimmering bit of blue fabric trailed—in his right, a silvery piece of the same.

  They curled and danced like smoke in the air, impossibly light. I had never seen a cloth that delicate, but I had seen two apparitions during Lady Privalovna's performance—one white, one blue.

  "Peg's complaining," Lady Privalovna exclaimed. She snatched one of the apparitions and twisted it. "They paid their money! They got what they come for!"

  The doctor twisted his apparition, and soon both graceful, fluttering scraps disappeared completely. "And three shows a day, look. Two shows is good-enough money, but don't you want to get married?"

  Laughing, Lady Privalovna—or, it seemed, Peg—took something from his hand and brushed past him. "I heard that about a hundred times now. It don't look like I'm ever gonna be done with this, so I say two shows a day and you get rich at my pace. Where are those butterflies?"

  "Search me," the doctor said flatly, making no move to follow her back inside. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pipe as his gaze trailed to us in the corner of the yard. "What of it?"

  "Are these the auditions for the chorus?" Zora asked quickly.

  The doctor shook his head. "They take auditions at the office, around that way."

  Sweeping her skirts in a curtsy, Zora said, "Thank You," then turned to us. "Shall we, then, to the office?"

  Nathaniel admired her with a smile, and my belly twisted once more with uncharitable jealousy.

  ***

  We walked to the far end of Holliday Street, where Nathaniel said we'd more readily find a hansom cab to take us home. Though the horse cars still ran, daylight had shifted, casting long shadows to the east and washing us with the sharp, revealing light of afternoon. Our adventure, not yet finished, had to end nevertheless.

  "All right, I grant the manifestations were showmanship," Zora told Thomas' back, as he and Nathaniel went before us on the street. "But surely the fit..."

  Thomas stole a look over his shoulder. "Hysteria, I imagine. Father treats it with patents and a clockwork percuteur. "

  Dubious, Zora said, "That's an illness, then? You can't pretend an illness."

  Nathaniel dissolved into a fit of coughs, and just before I could lay my hands on his back in a panic, he sprang up again, spreading out his arms to present himself, entirely well.

  "Sufficiently motivated," I said, fighting back an open smile on the street at his theatrics, "I suppose one could pretend nearly anything."

  "Not that," Zora insisted.

  The same spirit that took me to challenge Miss Burnside rose again, and I said, "I wager I could."

  "Ladies don't gamble," Thomas said, and was startled when Zora burst out laughing in response. To recover himself, he almost smiled and amended, "Well, they shouldn't."

  Perhaps not, but I was beginning to appreciate a certain thrill found in misbehaving. Due all, I realized as that peculiar warmth spread through my veins again, to Nathaniel Witherspoon's timely appearance.

  "Here's a cab," he said, jolting me from my shameless considerations.

  And there was, indeed, a brand-new hansom pulled by a fine Arabian. The driver had taken special care—silver bells jingled on the horse's tack, and its mane was gaily braided with ribbons.

  "Take this one, please," Thomas said, standing at the step and offering Zora his hand. "We'll find another."

  Nathaniel squinted at him. "It's all the same direction."

  "These are ladies," Thomas replied, and though he often seemed to shrink into himself, at that moment he rose up. "Have care of their reputations."

  Settling into the seat, Zora gazed down at Thomas, fairy lights in her eyes again. She seemed like liquid ivory, her pretty face poured into the sweetest fondness for Thomas' gentility.

  I probably should have been sweet on him and his fine manners. But, I admit, it thrilled me when Nathaniel gripped my hand too long, then reached inside the cab to settle my hems.

  "Do forgive me," he said, eyes meeting mine as he brushed gloved fingers over my boot. "I've no reputation of my own, and I forget they
matter."

  ***

  "We should have a picnic Saturday," Zora said.

  Brush in hand, she smoothed her hair, letting it tumble down her back in glossy waves. Undressed to her corset and framed in the window, she seemed so very like a water nymph from Des Nibelungen that I expected her to reclaim the ring at any moment.

  Thimble in place, I bent over my mending. "I thought we danced on Saturday."

  "Not in the afternoon." She switched her brush from one hand to the other, reaching for another thick length of hair. "It could be too chilly."

  "If today was any indication, I agree entirely."

  "How can you be so driven by the cold?" Zora asked with a laugh. Slipping to her feet, she swayed toward me, taking soft, dancing steps to a melody she alone could hear. "Papa said Maine was ice from September to May, with a grudging admission of rain in the middle."

  "I'll have you know, our summers are lovely," I said loftily. "For the entire afternoon that they last."

  Twirling past, Zora reached for her house gown. "If it was archery, we could coincidentally practice near the pond."

  Putting my sewing aside, I looked up at her. "Dare I guess the reason we should want to practice near the pond?"

  "They fish, you know," Zora said, sweeping past me again, the dark cloud of her hair washing all around her and making her nearly exotic. "And sail toy boats, like they're children, and throw stones at their boats to sink them, like foolish children."

  I smiled. "Thomas does, you mean?"

  "All the boys. Overgrown and boisterous, the whole lot. The Fourteenths, too. I've seen them."

  Oh, a hot, flashing grasp overwhelmed me, evident even in my voice. "An opportunity, then, to be seen."

  "And incidentally socialize," Zora said. "They eavesdrop, and should we happen to mention there's a dance at nine o'clock, and where it might be..."

  The grip round me loosened a bit, and I turned back to my thimble and thread. "And directions to the back doors and masks to disguise themselves."

  "Show some spine," Zora said.

  I laughed, for hadn't I? "Your mother didn't care much for the spine I showed our teacher."

  "But Papa laughed and said it's no matter. Thus, it's no matter."

  "Do you give your mother fits, I wonder?"

  Zora tugged her robe closed and graced me with a smile. "I do hope it's so, for I'm very like her. She married for love, you know."

  "I didn't."

  "And now you do," she said, and gazed out the window.

  When her lashes slipped low and her lips parted on a breath, I could see no reason why Thomas shouldn't propose at once. I wondered if I could ever be so polished, so ideal. I felt very far from that ideal, and I longed to approach it. But then a sudden, contrary fire lit inside me. What good did goodness do me? Nathaniel had no use for it...

  "Do you think we'll come to our senses?" I asked suddenly.

  Raising one finger to touch the glass, Zora traced a Z in the fog there and murmured, "I hope not."

  Seven

  I WAS BOTH ASHAMED and shameless to find myself offering Mrs. Stewart a lie. Though I trembled with an anxious rush, I looked right in my cousin's eye and said, "I'm only worried that if I wait until later, it will rain."

  Mrs. Stewart glanced at the dark clouds, then turned to me. "I don't know about this."

  "But it's just a block or two, isn't it?" I clutched the whole family's mail, holding it against my chest. "I've been remiss; I haven't mailed a single letter home yet."

  "Will You be telling them you got sent home from school the first day?"

  Heat stung my face, and I quailed. Truth was, I'd written half a page about nothing in particular, except that I had arrived and the Stewarts were very fine people, indeed. Trying to guess at what answer she expected of me, I finally said, "I wouldn't want to worry them."

  Cruel as cruel, she let me hang there a long moment in silence. Then she squinted at the weather again and relented. "Straight to the corner, a right, and then the next left. If You should get lost, ask a lady to direct you."

  "Yes, ma'am," I said, half out the door.

  "Take my umbrella. And don't speak to any men!"

  Her warning echoed behind me, and my nerves were so excited, I almost tripped over my feet. Though the sky hung heavy over me, I felt impossibly light beneath it. Look at me, I wanted to cry—I wanted to spin in circles on the curb and laugh. I'm doing what I like in the city!

  Plainly, I would have been drunk on my freedom, anyway. But the secret truth of my errand was still more intoxicating. Minding Mrs. Stewart's directions, I found the post office in short order and reveled in going into it alone.

  How simple I must have looked, but I was entranced by the drawings of outlaws posted to the walls. As I waited in line, I lost myself to reading the descriptions of their wicked deeds. Murders, bank robberies—all terrible and, for their novelty, fascinating to me. Thunder rolled, atmosphere for my scandalized reading.

  "I'd like to mail these," I said, when it was my turn to approach the window.

  "See, you, get out!" the clerk shouted.

  My face flamed. I turned to go, when he reached a crabbed hand out to catch my wrist.

  "Not you," he said, leaning to peer around me. "That one!"

  I turned just in time to see a little boy make a very rude gesture. He hardly reached my waist; I couldn't believe he was out of short pants, let alone loose in the city on his own watch. This was my first walk alone, and I was barely sixteen!

  The boy hopped onto a bench, puffed with tiny bravado. "It's raining out there, innit?!"

  "Then go lay about the telegram office!" The clerk hesitated and then slammed a CLOSED sign on his window. He disappeared, only to burst from a door with a broom. "This here's the federal government, you gibbous brat. No loafing! Out!"

  I clapped a hand over my mouth to silence a gasp. But the clerk didn't just threaten with the broom—he used it! He hit the boy with the brush end of it and swept him into the rain-dark streets. Then he returned to his side of the counter and smiled at me. "Where was we, hon? Posting some letters?"

  With a nod, I pushed my bundle toward him. "There's one to Maine, the rest are Baltimore."

  Mumbling to himself, he pulled out a measure and a tray of vulcanized stamps to get to his business. With him busy marking his ledger, I asked as innocently as I could, "Oh, sir, could you tell me how to get to Mount Vernon Place?"

  I felt effervescent, a bubble that swelled as I waited for his reply. As I waited for directions that would take me to Nathaniel Witherspoon's door. I didn't intend to use them. Of course not, but I savored the wickedness in the asking.

  "Halfway between here and the Inner Harbor," he grunted, pulling out a great mechanical stamp. He used all of his weight to work it, slamming the handle down to cancel the postage on each letter. "North Avenue car to Calvert Street. Visiting the Stewarts, areya?"

  Shivering, I wondered how he could know. Then, instantly sheepish, I realized—didn't he have my mail in his hands? "Yes, sir."

  "Mr. Stewart's office is down about that ways."

  The rain outside roared, and my heart pounded to match the thunder. My wicked bubble popped, and I swallowed nervously. What if the clerk mentioned my inquiry? How could I explain wanting directions that I didn't ask the Stewarts for? Oh, horror, I was so caught in the idea of the city that I forgot a neighborhood is no more than a small town in it.

  Fishing my purse from my coat, I fumbled a few thick coins onto the counter. "Thank You kindly, sir."

  "Enjoy Your stay, hon," he answered.

  The stamp crashed down again, filling my ears as I slipped, considerably dimmed, into the rain.

  ***

  Complaining bitterly, Mrs. Stewart herded Zora and me into the dressmaker's shop.

  "After that performance at school, you're lucky I don't throw you in the cellar to grow eyes with the potatoes," she said, hooking her umbrella on the coat stand.

  Since Zora kept h
er tongue, so did I. The trouble and the blame were all mine, and I couldn't argue that I deserved leniency for such bad behavior. And yet I got the most distinct impression that we were not so much contrite as making ourselves deliberately deaf.

  The prismatic glory of a full wall of fabrics beckoned us near. I joined Zora in front of it, and we rubbed corners of velvet and serge, marveling at weight and hue. The variety staggered our senses. Sedate colors seemed to fade to shadows, because the upper selections screamed brightly with the new aniline dyes.

  "Can't you just see a sheath of this," Zora said, touching apple-green satin, then reaching across to caress a cream brocade patterned with violet and pinks, "under a polonaise made of this?"

  I nodded, but the sunny oranges and yellows drew my eye. They were so lush that I wished I could soak in all their warmth just by rubbing my cheek against them. Before I gave it serious consideration, the dressmaker came to greet us.

  The script on the front window proclaimed that this shop belonged to Mademoiselle Thierry, but the woman who parted the narrow shop wasn't a miss at all. She wore her silver-shot hair in a tight crown of braids. Lines gracefully marked her walnut face with age. She nodded to Zora and me, but welcomed Mrs. Stewart with wide, gracious arms. The woman was no fool. She knew we were nothing but the mannequins to be dressed.

  Her voice lilted, a marvel of an accent not quite French, but not quite Maryland, either. "What a day for necessaries, mm?"

  "And one just started," Mrs. Stewart agreed, walking with her toward the back of the shop. "You got my note about our cousin Amelia?"

  Mlle. Thierry nodded, pulling a huge book from beneath her counter. It landed on her cutting board with a thump, splitting open to the middle-most pages without bidding. "Mais yes, and I marked out these on your budget. It's the lace that troubles me."

  "I have two yards besides on reserve," Mrs. Stewart said, which put that strange conversation to rest.

  "Then all I need is my tape and"—Mile. Thierry's voice rose, plainly intended to draw my attention—"this little missié to come to the back room. 'Zelle Stewart, you've kept that seal cape fine as the day it left my hands."