A Song Across the Sea (34 page)

Tara dabbed at her eyes with a kerchief. “Thank you for that, Roxanne. It’s very kind of you.”

“Say, I just thought of something. A comic I shared a bill with a few times gave me tickets to a Broadway show tomorrow night. ‘Hands Up,’ it’s called. A musical. He’s in it. Finally made it to the big time. Turns out I can’t use the tickets. Would you like them?”

“A Broadway show! You don’t mean it?”

“Here.” Roxanne dug into the pocket of her camel-hair coat and produced two tickets, which she handed to Tara. “Look for my friend in the show. I don’t think he’s got a very big part, but he’s quite funny. His name is Will Rogers.”

Months of not hearing from or hearing of Muldoon emboldened Tara to take advantage of the tickets and go out on the town for an evening. It turned out to be worth any risk. Broadway was everything she imagined: bigger, better, more lustrous than vaudeville. “Hands Up” delighted her and Roxanne was right. Mr. Will Rogers
was
quite funny. Tara took Sheila with her and the two girls actually had a pleasant, quarrel-free night out. Sheila had some trouble fitting into her one good dress, though, and made a little joke about eating too many leftover pastries Cook regularly brought up to the servants’ quarters.

“Hands Up” made Tara greedy for more. She couldn’t afford Broadway shows so on her one evening off a week she began sneaking in through the back entrances of theaters disguised as a stage hand, in black trousers, a black shirt and suspenders borrowed from one of the Millinders’ chauffeurs. Knowing the layouts of theaters as she did, it was easy for her to find and climb up a ladder used for hanging lights and from there onto a catwalk high above the audience, on which she’d perch to watch the show.

She saw comedies, musicals and thrilling melodramas, like “La Mort de Cleopatre,” starring Miss Sarah Bernhardt. She was able to watch most of “The Cohan Revue of 1916” before being discovered and escorted out of the theater.

Being ejected in so rude a manner did not stop her. She’d more successes than failures, and there were so many shows to see! Musicals were, naturally, her favorites. Variety revues like the “Ziegfeld Follies,” with the fat and famous W.C. Fields and the inimitable Miss Fanny Brice reminded her of her beloved vaudeville.

It was with great annoyance, then, that she received word that her customary night off the following week was to be canceled. The Millinders needed all of their staff on duty. They were hosting a masquerade ball.

O
ne of the Marie Antoinettes, giddy with champagne, was showing off the latest dance crazy, the Bunny Hop. She improvised some reckless new steps and accelerated, ever more riotously, until she outpaced the orchestra’s music as well as every other dancer on the crowded ballroom floor. For her finale, she threw her arms up with a theatrical flourish and fell backwards into the arms of Uncle Sam, her dance partner. He gallantly righted her and pushed her powdered white wig back into place on her head.

Father Christmas, in ermine-trimmed red velvet robes and a crown of holly, stood at one of the many buffet tables lining the walls. He heaped boiled fresh salmon with shrimp sauce and sliced cucumbers onto his plate while in one corner of the room, next to a huge, fluted pilaster, a lively argument was taking place. Diana, goddess of the hunt, had to be restrained from slapping a woodland fairy who’d danced too many dances with Diana’s husband, a red Indian.

“Kitty!” Mrs. Beecham’s habitually tense expression was out of place amidst this exuberant revelry. “Bring more roast beef au jus from the kitchen. And some sweetbreads sauté. We’re running low.”

“Yes, Mrs. Beecham.” Tara skirted around a wizard in a long, star-bespeckled gown and tall pointed cap. A harlequin doing the Turkey Trot with one of the Marie Antoinettes bumped into her when she walked past but she kept a tight grip on her tray and managed not to let any of the champagne flutes tip over, ever mindful of Mrs. Beecham’s watchful eye.

It was a grand party, even if she was a server at it and not a guest. A 16-piece orchestra played waltzes and ragtime music in the ballroom, but there were also smaller ensembles scattered throughout the mansion for those guests who sought out less crowded climes.

A feast for the eyes it was, too. The brass-and-crystal chandelier dangling from the coffered ceiling scattered constellations of light over the party guests, bathing them in a surreal golden glow.

“Kitty!” Tara, on her way out of the kitchen with a fresh supply of beef and sweetbreads, turned back.

“You’d better check on the chocolate meringue glace and orange cream cake,” Cook said anxiously. “Come back here if there’s not enough.” Even with five extra helpers on duty, Cook had her hands full tonight.

Henry VIII was helping himself to libations from an embossed sterling silver punch bowl on a mahogany table in the hallway when she re-entered the ballroom. Enraptured by the details of his costume, Tara almost didn’t notice the tall man in a black mask who was easing through the revelers in the hallway and making for the stairs.

But he noticed her.

“Tara!”

She looked up, startled. No one in the mansion except Sheila knew her real name. A masked man in a white tie and tails was threading his way through the crowd toward her. The set of his shoulders, his sun-streaked hair… As he came closer she was sure that it must be… Could it be?

He reached her and seized her by the arms. “Tara! I can’t believe I found you!”

Instinctively, she pushed him away, just as she’d been pushing him out of her thoughts all these months. Must…catch…her…breath. Must try and cool the blood that was racing through her veins like hot lava. Why, oh why did he have to be
here
, of all places? Just when she thought she would recover from the devastation of loving him and having her love unreturned. She could have dealt with it in time but here, in this awful frozen moment, his mere physical presence renewed the terrible need she felt for him.

“It’s grand to see you again, Reece,” she choked out, trying to make her voice sound normal. “You’re well, I hope”

It was hard to read his expression, behind the mask. She struggled on with the pretense. “Are you well?”

“Don’t do this,” he said at last. “I’ve been frantic. Searching for you all this time—ever since you disappeared. I know I’ve been a fool, but don’t be this, this polite stranger to me, Tara. I love you. I’m telling you, here and now, that I love you. And I dare to think that you feel something for me, too.” He paused. “I hope you still do.”

She kept her expression neutral, although it felt as if he were twisting a knife in her.

“And how is your wife?”

“There is no wife!” he ground out fiercely. “I didn’t marry Miriam. I couldn’t. That’s what I’m trying to tell you, and I’m making a bad job of it.”

Henry VIII was eavesdropping on their conversation with considerable interest. So were several other partygoers.

Reece belatedly lowered his voice. “Will you meet me later? In the gardens? I’ll explain everything to you. Please. You must promise me. I won’t let you go now that I’ve found you. You must give me a chance to explain.”

“Why not now? I’m listenin’.”

“I must try and speak with my mother tonight. It may be my only chance for…a long time.”

A whisper of recognition passed through her. Of course. The greenish-gold eyes, so like her son’s brown-gold ones. The stubborn, well-shaped jaw that was a feminine version of his own. Tara smiled at the irony of it.

“Your mother is Adrienne Millinder.”

“Yes.” He looked puzzled. For the first time, he seemed to take in the uniform she was wearing. “You work here? As a maid? For my mother?” He laughed out loud. “My God, that’s rich. I looked all over New York for you and the whole time you were right here, in my mother’s house.”

“Not the whole time,” she said soberly, remembering the awful tavern in the Bowery.

His face darkened. How well he could sense her emotions! “I want to hear about what happened to you. Everything you’ve been though—and I’ll find a way to fix things. Will you meet me at two, by the ocean fountain? The party should be over by then. Let me explain. Make things right. Just give me that chance, Tara.”

Sure, and she was three kinds of a fool, but her heart went sailin’ on ahead of her sense when he kissed her, his silk mask pressing against her face. She’d be waiting by the fountain in the wee hours of the morning even though Reece Waldron probably wouldn’t be there, for she was half-sure she’d imagined the entire episode.

•  •  •

Reece left Tara and bounded up the grand staircase, feeling as if he could topple mountains. He’d found Tara! She was here, nearby! The hopelessness that imprisoned him like dull, heavy armor fell away. He was suddenly a new man, with a new life full of possibilities. Now he would square things with his mother. Surely she’d listen to him. Now that some time had passed, her anger at him must have dissipated.

He’d already looked throughout the first floor, among the party guests. Given the lateness of the hour, she would probably be in her sitting room, which was what Reece was counting on. If he could just speak with her alone, without Millinder’s interference…

“Did you really think that mask would disguise you?”

Millinder’s words hit Reece like blunt bullets. The man emerged from the shadows of the hallway and stood in front of the door to Adrienne’s suite like a guard.

“What are you doing here, Reece?”

Reece removed his mask and let it fall to the floor. “That’s no concern of yours.”

“Your mother doesn’t wish to see you. I think she was clear enough on that point. Need I have you thrown out?”

“Can’t you do it yourself, Emory? Must you involve the servants in this unpleasantness?”

Emory, sensing danger, took a step backwards. “You’re no gentleman, Reece.”

“So you already told me. Now move away from the door or I’ll give you the thrashing of your life. If my mother still doesn’t want to see me, she’ll have to tell me so herself.”

“Haven’t you caused her enough pain already? When I told her about your deplorable conduct, about how you killed that poor man, her condition worsened terribly. It was weeks before she left her bed.”

Reece was beyond listening. Millinder stood in his way. It occurred to him that Millinder had been standing in his way for a long, long time. He grabbed his adversary by the lapels, swung him around and slammed him into a wall.

“I’ll bet you relished telling her, too. So don’t pretend to be concerned about her. You’ve got hold of her money, Millinder. Isn’t that enough for you?”

Millinder tried helplessly to shove him away. Reece loosened his grip and stepped back, waiting, brimming with long-burning rage.

The other man aimed a punch at him. Reece ducked it easily then drove his fist into Millinder’s solar plexus. Millinder bent over double and grunted hoarsely in pain. Reece dropped him to the floor with a sharp, satisfying blow to the back of the shoulders.

His adrenaline pumping, Reece coiled and tensed like a wild animal, waiting for the kill. When Millinder took too long to struggle to his feet, Reece grabbed him by the arms and threw him against the wall again. “C’mon!”

Millinder cowered and covered his face. “Go ahead! Kill me like you did that other man. It’s what you’re good at, isn’t it? How a fine woman like your mother ended up with a thug for a son I’ll never know. You’re nothing but a criminal. A murderer.”

Reece staggered backwards as if he’d been struck. My God, he thought. I
do
want to kill Millinder! He took a deep breath and steadied himself, his anger ebbing away when he thought of Tara. What a fool he was! A shining new future had been delivered into his hands tonight and he’d nearly thrown it away because he couldn’t control his anger. With or without a reconciliation with his mother, he had Tara. He had something to lose now.

Reece left Millinder and walked back down the stairs, leaving behind him the self-loathing that had been his detested compassion for so very long.

•  •  •

Adrienne opened her door and found Millinder, ashen-faced, in the hallway.

“Why, Emory, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“It’s nothing. No need for you to trouble yourself.”

“I thought I heard some noise out here.”

“Some ruffian tried to crash the party. We had words. I’m afraid I had to get a little rough with him.”

“Are you all right?” she asked, her tone anxious.

“Fine, Adrienne. I’m fine. It was a minor affair. Do go back to bed. The party is winding down now. It was a great success, I think.”

“I hope they understand about my retiring early.”

“Of course they do. I’ll go and see to the others.” He hurried back downstairs.

Adrienne rolled her wheelchair forward and reached down to pick up a black object she saw lying on the floor. It was a black silk mask, flattened on one end, as if it had been stepped on. Some guest must have left it behind. Or perhaps it belonged to that fellow Emory had run off.

Oh, well. Whoever it was, he had no more use for it now.

•  •  •

If you watched them long enough, she thought, let yourself be lulled by the hypnotic streams of water jetting over them, you could almost see them move. From a magnificent five-ton block of marble in the center of the fountain a tableau of carved figures emerged into seeming life. Dolphins leaped. Mermaids wearing seaweed necklaces rode giant snails through unmoving waves. A mysterious serpentine creature twined himself around a marble rock, lurking, maybe waiting, as she was.

Suddenly Reece was beside her, a dark form silhouetted by the distant lights from the mansion. They came together breathlessly as the mermaids looked on. In his arms at last, Tara finally knew the end of a long, bitterly felt hunger. There was no strangeness in his kiss, although it had been so long since their last one. It was the familiar, waking dream she’d been living ever since she met him.

After a long time, Reece said: “There are some things you must know, Tara.”