City of Ash (5 page)

Now I laughed. “What assumptions you all make! I’m certain Lucius will have something to say about it.”

“What can he say, except to anoint you in Arabella’s place?”

“It’ll be good for you, Wheeler,” Brody put in. “You’re always bitching about kissing Arabella. Now you shall have Bea to kiss instead.”

Jack rubbed his chin and gave me a lecherous wink. “Softer lips than that wrinkled old hag’s, I’ll warrant.”

“That’s not what you said two days ago,” Brody teased. “Bella was ‘radiant’—isn’t that what you said? I remember now: ‘I shall miss you as the sun misses the moon.’ ”

Jackson sighed heavily and sat down, crossing his legs, resting his cane against the chair’s arm. “Come, come, you know I am the basest hypocrite. Like any drone I have no choice but to pursue the new queen.”

“And I thought you loved me for myself,” I teased.

“I do, my dear, I do. But you must admit you’ve grown more attractive with your new crown.” Jack inclined his hand toward me. “Come now, Queen Bea, and give us a kiss for joy.”

I stepped over to him, and he unfolded his legs, gesturing for me to sit upon his lap, which I did, and then I leaned forward and quite mischievously gave him a long and lingering kiss. When I pulled away, Jack wrapped his arm about my waist and jerked me into his chest, saying, “My queen! Ah, take me now that I might die happy!”

The room filled with laughter.

“What’s this! Roman orgies in the greenroom? Please, children, I shall be collecting forfeits if you break rule number five!”

It was Lucius’s voice. I looked over my shoulder to see him sweep in, clad in a dark blue coat I’d never seen before, and a bronze-checked vest that glimmered in the gaslight. His face was ruddy, as if he’d come from a distance, though his office was just down the hall. Behind him came Marcus Geary, our prompter, a man who resembled nothing so much as a little monkey, and behind him, Stella.

There was something strange about that, you know, but I only thought it fleetingly, because she was beaming as she came in; of course she was—she was to be promoted as well. I took myself off Jack’s lap and smiled at her, and she ducked her gaze shyly.

Geary shuffled papers, the parts for the next play, and my excitement and anticipation rose. I imagined Lucius would start us off with something we hadn’t done in a while, something to showcase my skills, and I wondered which gown I would wear on my opening night, the old, deep blue satin with its bit of lace? Or perhaps, with the extra money I would make now, I could buy some new costume. I’d seen a green in a nearby secondhand store that I thought might work—

Lucius cleared his throat. He seemed flustered. “Are we all here? Ah, good, good. Well, as you must expect, I have something
to announce. Tomorrow we shall start rehearsals for
The Wickedness of Saints
, a new adaptation by myself, of course, to celebrate our new leading lady—”

I tensed, waiting.

“—Mrs. Stella Bernardi!”

His words fell on silence. There was this wretched, terrible moment when I tried to find my name in the sounds and couldn’t, and Stella flushed an unbecoming red, and Lucius cleared his throat again.

“What? Have we no congratulations?”

Suddenly Jack was up, pushing past me, and the others were murmuring platitudes. It was only then that I realized what she’d done. It was only then that I felt her betrayal, and I was so angry and sick it was all I could do to keep from rushing across the room to claw her eyes out. And the worst part was that I should have known better. I
did
know better. What a fool I was. I had never broken one of the three rules without regretting it, but some people just get what they deserve, and that morning, I was one of them.

“Mr. Welling has graciously agreed to fund the building of a new set,” Lucius said with a nervous smile, glancing at me, then away again quickly. “And I agreed with his choice for leading lady.”

“I am so grateful Lucius put his trust in me,” Stella gushed. “It shall be difficult to fill Arabella’s shoes, of course, but I trust I will not slip out of them.”

Every ounce of love I’d felt for her disappeared.

“I think you will all find something familiar in your parts,” Lucius said. “Our honorable heroine—”

“Why have Stella play so against type?” I asked loudly enough that they all went quiet. “She’d be so much better as Judas; at least there’s a part she knows.”

Stella’s smile was sickly sweet. “You know you shouldn’t frown so, Bea. It only makes those wrinkles on your forehead deeper.”

I would have launched myself at her if Jack had not stepped just that moment in front of me.

“Children, children,” Lucius said. “Let’s avoid a row, shall
we? Metairie, perhaps you would be so kind as to take our sweet Bea to luncheon after rehearsal. Have the bill sent to me.”

Aloysius inclined his head in agreement. He took my arm, which would have been comforting had I been inclined to be comforted, which I wasn’t. All I could think was how stupid I’d been, how wretchedly I’d mistaken her. I hated her, but I hated myself more, and when Aloys whispered in my ear, “Her paramour is paying the production costs, darling. One can’t fault her for playing her cards well,” it was all I could do to keep from crying.

Later Lucius shrugged and said, “Come, Bea, the part of the wounded doesn’t become you. Welling was insistent—what could I say?”

“That you had another in mind for the lead. I’ve worked hard for this, Lucius.”

“So you have. But she has worked equally hard, eh?” Lucius smiled. “A theater is always in need of money, my dear, as well you know. And I have given you the juiciest of the supporting roles. You shall chew well on it, I think.”

What was I to do? Where should I go? There was only one other troupe in town, and their leading lady was well established and not going anywhere soon, nor was their second. I had no hope of overthrowing either of them, and I hadn’t the funds to start my own company. And to do anything else … to be anything else … what else was I made for?

Brody said, “Might as well make the best of it, Bea. My guess is Stella ain’t long for the Regal. She’s got finer things in mind.” He gave me his bright, teasing smile. “And you ain’t an old hag yet. You maybe got a few months left afore you’re too well done.”

He was right, of course. I had no choice but to settle in.

But I’d learned my lesson too, the lesson I thought I’d already known. Friends were for people who had nothing to lose. And now that Stella wasn’t my friend …

Well … let’s just say I knew just what to do to get what I wanted.

Geneva

I
had not known what to expect from the town Nathan and I were now to call home. Nathan himself knew little about Seattle, and what he did know he had been reluctant to speak of during the long journey, saying only, “There’s a town there, Ginny, and society, of a sort. We’ll do well enough, I think, if they haven’t heard of your scandal.”

My scandal
. As if it were underlined and italicized, tagging along like an unwelcome but apt nickname, a definition one could neither escape nor explain without embarrassment. I began to feel as if it were somehow emblazoned across my forehead, the first thing people saw when they looked at me.

Beyond comments like that, Nathan seemed content to silence. His temper had been mercifully absent—the only evidence of his earlier rage was the healing scab on his hand. In a way, I preferred his anger—something I was used to. The punishment of his silence was worse.

There had been plenty of time to reflect upon things on the journey west. I’d thought myself accustomed to my banishment; as we passed each mean little station and wild landscape and tiny town, I had been at first horrified and then, gradually, accepting. I tried not to think of Claude or my ill-conceived plans. I had failed, and I must be a good wife now and try to salvage my marriage, to act with dignity and restraint. I could not risk Papa’s further displeasure. If I ever had a moment of doubt of my ability to do so, all I had to remember was how much more my miscalculation might have cost me, of Bloomfield Estates.

And surely … there had once been so much passion between Nathan and me—it could not
all
have been a lie. It must be possible to find it again. But Nathan had little to say to me and seemingly no interest in starting over, and I knew it was up to me to prove to him—and my father—that I could be the wife he needed here. I had no other choice after all. If I could not do so, my life would be unbearable. I vowed to be at my most charming. I vowed to make Seattle love me.

But when Nathan escorted me down the wet and slippery steamer ramp to a town knee-deep in mud and tidal stink, my resolve wavered in the face of a crushing disappointment. Seattle was astonishing in the depth of its plainness. The elegance of Chicago was gone; I’d seen only one block of brick buildings, the rest were all wood, some painted, most not. Boardwalks ramped up and down to meet doorways that had been built without regard to one another, some six feet off the ground and some only three. Puddles beneath pilings, sagging awnings, streets paved with wooden planks that sank into the mud or warped and split, horses and people splashed with mud. Hollowed-out logs that served as sewer and water pipes, elevated on stanchions, snaked past saloon windows.

There were signs of modernity in the midst of the ugliness. Telegraph wires stretched over everything, looping from pole to pole, and when Nathan told me there were telephones too, I hadn’t believed him. I was amazed to see electric streetlamps. But those things were far more the exception than the rule. Instead of my bright streets lined with shops and well-dressed, well-bred women, there were too many men dressed in coarse trousers and collars open to show their underwear and Indian women camped on the street corners, stinking of rotting fish, selling clams and baskets and speaking some odd sort of patois I didn’t recognize.

I felt out of place in my military-styled traveling suit of deep plum; I’d seen not a single other woman of my class as Nathan helped the driver load our trunks onto the back of the carriage. Even that had been a mean thing, shabby seats and springs so stiff Nathan and I were jounced from one side to another as we made our way to our new home.

“I shall have our own carriage sent for,” Nathan informed me; it was the most he’d said to me in an hour.

In that moment, I missed Chicago and my life there wretchedly. “Dear God,” I murmured, looking out the window, seeing nothing but blurred buildings past the gauze of rain. “How does anyone survive here?”

We had barely arrived at the house we’d leased when we discovered the scandal
had
followed me here. As if blown by the wind or deposited by birds flying overhead. As isolated as Seattle was, it was only a steamer journey away from San Francisco and with a vibrant trade between them. There was even a newspaper with a society page waiting on the table for us when we arrived, as if someone had set it there helpfully.

Nathan stood staring at the paper in his hands, his face pale, and I crossed a parlor too sparsely decorated for my taste and still,
still
, in 1888, lit by gas. I meant to touch him, but he flinched before I could, and I let my hand fall again and said softly, “I’m sorry, Nathan. But I will overcome it. I promise. They’ll see nothing untoward in my behavior tonight.”

He gave a short nod and said only, “You’d best get dressed.”

We’d been invited to a welcoming supper hosted by Emery Brown, who owned the Brown part of the new Stratford-Brown Mining, and with whom Nathan would be working, and although I was tired from the last leg of our journey, I was also anxious to meet those who would be my new friends. I took care with my appearance, wearing one of my best Worth gowns, a lovely deep blue embroidered with butterflies in golds and burgundies, its
skirt draped and caught up over a bustle that ended in a train. I’d had matching hairpins made—butterflies of sapphires and rubies. No one could fault my elegance at least. They would recognize the Stratford breeding in my bones.

It was not far to go. Only four blocks until our carriage was before a home that was small by Chicago standards. Like ours, it was on a hill overlooking the city and surrounded by other houses, one of which was very large, and a vacant lot. There was a stable in the back and a cow beyond in a fenced enclosure. The pathway was unpaved; my slippers, which had been dyed to match the gown, were filthy by the time we reached the front door.

At least they had servants, I thought, as a woman in an apron opened the door and ushered us inside. I’d been afraid Mr. Brown’s wife might answer herself. She took our cloaks and Nathan’s hat and said, “The other guests are waiting for you.”