City of Ash (14 page)

The frock coat suffered in the light. Cuffs and collar well worn, almost white at the elbows. A collarless shirt, no tie. A scuffed leather bag was slung over his shoulder. But now I saw
too what I hadn’t seen in the darkness of backstage. He had a truly lovely face, sharply planed, almost aristocratic, and beneath heavy dark brows were those light-colored eyes that regarded me with that same uncomfortably intense interest that had caught my attention at my dressing room door. His thick hair was a beautiful color, a rich dark brown with red woven all through it, long enough to brush his shoulders. That he was penniless was obvious. That he was a writer, more obvious still—his fingers were dappled with ink stains. You could have men like him for a dime a dozen, and they’d thank you for it, because that was still more money than they made in a year.

But, penniless or not, this was the man who had written the new play Nathan had spoken of. I gave Sebastian DeWitt my best smile and said, “The pleasure’s all mine, Mr. DeWitt. I hope you’ve written songs too. You can’t forget the songs.”

“I’ve written lyrics, but I’m no musician, Mrs. Wilkes.”

“I’ll take care of the music,” Lucius said, waving his hand dismissively. “The important thing is, Bea, this will be our first production without Mrs. Bernardi. La Stella’s leaving for better lit climes. She’s been offered a star turn.”

Here it was. I tried to pretend I knew nothing, because now I saw that Lucius was nearly bursting with trying to hold it in, and I could be generous and not ruin his pleasure at telling me. “She’s going? Finally?”

Lucius leaned forward, planting his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers. “I’ve already spoken to Langley. He forestalled the need for Mr. DeWitt to shop his play elsewhere by providing me with a ready influx of cash.”

I could hardly stand my impatience. “Lucius, please. Just say it. Am I the lead or not?”

“Now, now, child. Such impatience!”

DeWitt smiled. “She fits the part.”

“What part?” I asked, snappish with anticipation. “Lucius, I swear I’ll throttle you if you—”

“Ah, Mr. DeWitt, have you ever witnessed such a churlish temper in one so fair?” Lucius sat back with such a flourish he sent the many watch chains crossing his ample girth to shaking.
“Both Langley and DeWitt here seem convinced only you could play this part, and as I find myself in need of a new leading lady … well, it seems the line belongs to you. Congratulations, my dear—may your star burn as brightly as Stella’s has.”

I couldn’t help my squeal; it had been held in too long. I nearly threw myself across the desk to embrace him. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Lucius. You won’t regret it, I promise it.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt I shall at some point,” he said with a heavy sigh, though he laughed and kissed me before he halfheartedly pushed me away. “Don’t forget to thank DeWitt.”

I looked at the playwright over my shoulder. “Would you like a kiss too?”

He said, “Only if you mean it. But you should know: I wrote the part for you.”

That startled me. I turned fully to face him. “For me?”

He gave a short nod. “As they say: ‘two stars keep not their motion in one sphere.’ You’ve been eclipsed by La Stella ’til now. I thought you should have the limelight for a change.”

Imagine someone’s given you your heart’s desire. Now imagine they’ve said:
oh, and here’s something to top it that in all your dreams you never even thought might be possible
, and you’ll have a good idea of how I felt at that moment. I’d had admirers before, of course, but Sebastian DeWitt was much more than that. I’d never before snared a playwright enamored enough to write a play for me. I knew no one who had, though of course I’d heard of it happening. But to stars, people like Edwin Forrest or Clara Morris. Not to actresses like me, in second-rate companies. I leaped back through my memory, trying to figure out if I’d ever been rude to him—but no, I’d smiled at him, hadn’t I? Yes, of course I had.

I couldn’t think of what to say. “I—I’m flattered, Mr. DeWitt, truly I am. I … I’m sorry, I know you’ve meant to speak to me before now, but I … I didn’t realize.…”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t forward enough. And you’ve been busy with other … admirers.”

“Admirers that keep the cash flowing into the coffers, don’t forget,” Lucius said. “Couldn’t have bought the play without
Langley, you know. My sweet Bea, you’ve done doubly well. Better than Stella and Arabella both.”

“I feel stunned,” I said with a laugh. “I hardly know what to make of all of it.”

“Oh, I feel sure it will come to you soon enough,” Lucius said wryly. “We’ll begin rehearsals in three days. Mustn’t make Stella feel as if we’re rushing her out, you know. Now go on. You’ve a performance to prepare for.”

I went to the door and stopped, turning to look back at him. “What kind of a part is it, Lucius? An ingenue? Royalty? I need to know for costuming.”

Lucius waved his hand dismissively. “Take DeWitt with you. He can explain it.”

Obediently Sebastian DeWitt followed me out into the hallway, closing Lucius’s door behind us, and I’ll admit I was nervous and there was a part of me that believed I might ruin everything if I said the wrong thing. His gaze came to mine; he had the oddest color eyes. I couldn’t decide if they were gray or blue.

He said, “You know you’re even more beautiful offstage.”

That set me at ease. Flirtation was second nature. I laughed. “You’ve been around actors all your life, I can tell that already. You know just what to say.”

He grinned. “In this case, it happens to be true.”

“But a waste of your time to say it. You had my attention already.”

“In my experience, flattery is never wasted.”

“Ah. Well, then, how am I to judge how sincere you are? How do I stand in comparison to all the other subjects of your compliments? Do you write a play for every pretty actress you see?”

“You’re the first.”

“Am I really? Should I believe you?”

“Why shouldn’t you?”

“Because you seem a clever enough fellow to know it’s what I want to hear.”

“Well, then, I’ll leave you to determine my veracity,” he said. “Quiz me all you like, and see if you find the answer.”

He was amusing; I liked him, though of course I had plenty
of reason to. “But I don’t know you well enough to tell if you’re lying or not. That could take months.”

“I’m at your disposal, Mrs. Wilkes,” he said, smiling again. “I have months, if you require it.”

“You’d be my own personal playwright, then?”

“I suppose that depends upon the payment.” Again, his eyes caught mine.

I saw his desire. I heard what he didn’t say. But even if there hadn’t been Nathan to consider, I wasn’t going to fuck Sebastian DeWitt—at least not until he proved himself. Selling a single play did not a success make, and he looked just the type to think sex and love were the same thing, and I didn’t need that kind of trouble, at least not from someone who looked as if he rarely managed to afford a meal.

But I could keep him happy enough without that, I knew, at least for a time, so I smiled to ease the change in subject and said, “Tell me about this play.”

“It’s called
Penelope Justis, or Revenge of the Spirit
. It’s a drama. That is, it
was
a drama.”

“Was?”

“I think Greene has some changes in mind.”

“Lucius loves a spectacle.”

DeWitt winced. “Yes, I’ve gathered so.” A sigh. “Well, I shall do what he requires.”

I didn’t think I imagined his reluctance. An
artist
, on top of everything else. How well I knew the kind. I managed to keep from sighing myself. “Well, you’re lucky it’s Lucius. He always knows what an audience wants. Is this your first play?”

“I’ve written one or two others. Unfortunately, they weren’t great successes. But I’ve high hopes for this one. I’ve never been so directly inspired.” Again, a challenging glance. “You seem made for melodramas, Mrs. Wilkes.”

“Really? Do I seem such a mewling innocent?”

“Oh, hardly.”

“Is that an insult or another of your compliments?”

“I only meant that I see a kind of … purity … in you.”

“Purity?”

“Which is not the same as innocence. Or chastity,” he said wryly. “My Penelope has that quality too. Your Mrs. Bernardi would make a hash of her. But you’ve more subtlety than that.”

“Yes, well, Stella’s fond of playing to the gallery.”

“And she’s very young.”

I wasn’t sure whether or not to be offended. I settled on not being so and said, “I don’t want to talk about Stella. Tell me more about your play.”

“I’ll do better than that.” He flipped open his bag, reaching inside to pull out a sheaf of papers, which he handed to me. I saw the title written upon the front page in a hand that was at the same time scrawling and easy to read.

“This is it?” I asked.

He nodded. “Greene already has one he’s having copied.”

“I’ll read it tonight and have this back to you tomorrow,” I told him.

He smiled at me. “I don’t want it back. I copied it out for you, Mrs. Wilkes.”

It was very thick. It would have been an effort to make an extra one for me—the entire play, not just the scenes I was in, as our prompter Marcus Geary would do. I looked at him in surprise.

DeWitt leaned over me, thumbing through the pages I held. “I’ve made notes for you here and there that aren’t in Greene’s copy. A few things … not many, but they’ll help you understand.”

“Prompting cues?” I asked.

“Character cues,” he said, and then his voice deepened and went soft. “There’s no reason you couldn’t be brilliant in this, Mrs. Wilkes. If you’d care to try.”

I could not help but stare at him. Suddenly I didn’t know what to make of him. I hardly knew what to say.

He didn’t wait for me to say anything. He reached into his pocket and drew out a battered tin watch, glancing at the time. “I’m off, I’m afraid,” he said, giving me a quick smile. “You can tell me if you have questions at the rehearsal.”

“You … you’ll be at the rehearsals?”

“Cutting and rewriting at Greene’s request.”

He said good-bye, and then he was gone, striding down the hall, his frock coat flapping.

A
s it turned out, I couldn’t read
Penelope Justis
right away, much as I wanted to. There was that morning’s rehearsal to attend, and then a crisis over a set, so that some scenes of
Divorce
had to be reblocked before curtain call, and then it was too late; I had to dress and put on makeup for the show. I put the script in my costume trunk and tried not to think about it—because there would be no time tonight either, as I saw Nathan watching from one of the boxes when I delivered my final lines. I resigned myself to putting off
Penelope
until tomorrow.

Nathan did not like to be kept waiting, and so I didn’t delay or loiter about with the others as I made my way to my dressing room after the show. Susan Jenks was already there, taking up the one mirror.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry tonight?” I asked her.

Susan smiled. “Tommy’s waiting for me.”

Her latest conquest. A miner who spent most of his wages on whiskey.

“Why do you waste your time on men like that?” I asked, turning to her to undo the buttons up my back. “He’ll never be able to help you.”

“But he fucks like God’s own angel,” she said with a grin, making quick work of my gown. “And I guess I don’t need him to do more, if the rumors I hear are true.”

“What rumors?”

She gave me a sly look. “Why, that I’ll be first soubrette before the end of the week.”

I tried to keep a straight face. “You will? Do you mean to kill me off then?”

“Don’t tease, Bea. Everyone already knows Stella’s leaving and you’re to have the lead.”

“Has Lucius said something?”

“He doesn’t have to. Stella’s been hinting about San Francisco all week. Didn’t you hear her at rehearsal today? ‘I shan’t have to stand a prop boy’s insolence where
I’m
going.’ ”

Susan mocked Stella’s style perfectly. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“How long before Lucius tells us?” she asked me.

“I think tomorrow,” I said. “But pretend to be surprised, will you, please? I don’t want him thinking I said anything.”

Susan threw her arms around me. “Oh, I’m so glad! And not just for you either. It’ll be nice to have a leading lady who can act.”

I thought of Sebastian DeWitt.
“There’s no reason you couldn’t be brilliant in this.…”
I glanced anxiously at my trunk.

But just then there was a curt knock on the door. “Mrs. Wilkes? Mr. Langley’s waiting.” The voice of Nathan’s driver.

I sighed and called back, “I’ll only be a minute!”

Susan laughed and twirled to the door, waving at me before she went out, and quickly I changed and put up my own hair, angling the butterfly hairpins, two above one ear. They sparkled in the gaslight, the jewels trembling as if they were alive. Nathan’s driver was outside the door, and I found myself looking past him for Mr. DeWitt. But he wasn’t lurking in the shadows as he’d done nearly every night the last weeks. I followed the driver to where Nathan waited, at the top of the stairs leading to backstage, looking impatient and mildly annoyed.

“There you are,” he said. His glance swept me approvingly, and then he shook out something he’d had folded over his arm—a cloak of fine blue wool, a beautiful thing that he put about my shoulders. “Perfect,” he said, standing back to look at me while I preened in the cloak—I had never had anything so fine, and with it and the hairpins I felt as grand as Pauline in
Lady of Lyons
. His driver opened the carriage door and helped me inside. And then Nathan climbed in, and we started off.

“Did Greene move you up?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “As soon as Stella leaves.”

“Excellent,” he said, sitting back. “You no longer doubt me, then?”

“I never did,” I told him.

“He gave you the new play too, I take it?”

“Yes. I met the playwright.”

“Ah.” A pause. A passing streetlight shone through the open
window, momentarily illuminating his face. “I understood him to be talented.”