City of Ash (45 page)

“And then?”

“It’s all a ruse. She merely wants Barnabus to think Florence’s spirit is abroad. She enlists Marjory to pose as Florence at one of the Cadsworth balls, but only to flit about the windows, to make Barnabus believe he’s seeing a spirit.”

“That’s … how diabolical.”

Impatiently, he said, “As I said, she’s a villain.”

“What happens next?”

He drew himself up so that his face was even with mine. “What happens next is that I make love to you. Because I haven’t thought beyond the ball. That’s all I have. Now … I believe you made me a promise?”

Well, so I had. What else was there to do but honor it?

Geneva

I
had grown heartily tired of waiting, of the infinitesimal movement of a sun that seemed perpetually suspended in a single position. I’d spent the day hiding behind the stable and dodging the couple who lived there, wondering where Mrs. Wilkes was and what she was doing that was taking so long. I had never liked inaction, and I was no more patient with it now.

It was twilight when she suddenly came around the edge of the stable, and in the moment before I recognized her I started from my bored, half-asleep state, thinking I was caught.

“Dear God, you frightened me,” I said.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I only just got away.”

From Sebastian DeWitt, no doubt. I noticed how clean she looked. Washed and
satisfied
, while I hovered behind a stable like some vagrant, stinking, with my hair tangled about my face. I almost hated her in that moment. I could not keep it from my voice. “I’ve been waiting for hours. I’d quite thought you’d decided to abandon me.”

She ignored that. She glanced over her shoulder. “Are we safe here?”

“The husband fed the horse an hour ago. I don’t expect to see them again tonight.”

She sat beside me. “I came as soon as I could. I wasn’t sure he would let me go.”

“You mean Mr. DeWitt, I take it.”

She nodded.

“How nice for you,” I said snidely, unable to help myself.
“Much better than sitting next to a manure pile behind a stable, I’ll warrant.”

“I need to keep him happy, Mrs. Langley. Especially now.”

She was spending time with him;
she
was the one he wanted. I managed—barely—to hide my jealousy. “Did you get a tent?”

“Not yet. It was all I could do to leave long enough to come here.”

“How glad I am that you managed that.”

She ignored my sarcasm. “We have a rehearsal in the morning. It should be no trouble for you to stay in Sebastian’s tent until afternoon. There was a search party looking for you there this morning, so I doubt they’ll be back, but be careful. I’ll return at midday to get a tent for you, and no one will be the wiser.”

“And what am I to do until then?”

“I suppose … stay here. I would stay with you if I could, but Sebastian.…”

“Of course,” I said. “Very well. I’ll go down to the little tent city in the morning.”

“His is four rows back, at the very edge. You’ll know it—he’s got a writing desk made of a Singermann crate.”

“Four rows back. I’ll find it. What about our plan? Did you discover anything to help us?”

She smiled a little. “I’ve discovered our next step.”

“Which is?”

“In the play, the first time Barnabus sees Florence’s spirit is at a ball. It’s Marjory disguised as her, but he only sees her from a distance. I know there won’t be many balls just now, what with the fire—”

“Never underestimate the philanthropic impulse,” I said drily. “There will be several balls. For charity. To help the fire victims. And all this talk of statehood won’t stop. Politics will go on as usual. There will still be suppers and speeches. Plenty of opportunities, I’d say.”

She drew up her knees. “Well, that makes it easier, doesn’t it?”

“It’s the only easy part,” I agreed. “How will my spirit appear to Nathan without anyone else seeing it? Unfortunately, I am quite corporeal.”

“We have an advantage, don’t forget.”

“What would that be?”

“First off, I’m an actress, and you’ve some talent too. Secondly … look at yourself, Mrs. Langley. Look at me. I always wondered why Nathan chose me instead of Susan or anyone else. It’s obvious he was looking for someone who looked like you. He’s been planning your downfall for some time.”

“Yes, of course, but I fail to see—”

“Mrs. Langley,
think
, if you would. Nathan sees your ghost in the crowd. It’s you
—he
knows it’s you. But when others look, all they see is me.”

“We switch places.”

She nodded. “Now you see.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “Dear God, Nathan
would
believe he was going mad. What then? Very well, so I flit by at a ball. After that, then what?”

“I don’t know. Sebastian hasn’t written that part yet.”

I imagined it: Nathan’s startled face, his confusion when it was revealed to be not me at all, but her.

“But we’ll need to keep you out of sight the rest of the time. Anyone who sees you up at the camp will only think you’re me, and I’ve seen no one I know well enough to say differently but for Sebastian.”

“I’ll need to stay well out of his way,” I agreed. “Especially as I’m supposed to be dead.” I hesitated, not wanting to ask the question that nudged at me, but I could not help myself. “He believes it too, doesn’t he? Mr. DeWitt? He believes I’m dead?”

She didn’t look at me. “He doesn’t know for certain.”

“Yes, but does he …” I could not bring myself to say the rest.

She turned to me, her expression hard in the half-light, her eyes like flint. “No one would be happy to find you dead, Mrs. Langley. Bastian’s no exception.”

Bastian
. So intimate. And her words were not quite what I’d hoped for, though I could not say what else I’d wanted. Some expression of grief, perhaps. Something to let me know that I’d mattered to him. That he’d seen in me the same kindred spirit I’d seen in him.

But perhaps he had not. Perhaps he was too enraptured by Mrs. Wilkes’s pragmatic little soul—or, no, I thought uncharitably, no doubt his fascination lay in her more
physical
charms. I could not help feeling another twinge of jealousy, and I wished for this plan of ours to be done, to return to my life again, where I could talk and drink wine with Sebastian DeWitt and have my salons and feel alive again. Suddenly the need to be rid of Nathan now, sooner rather than later, was a fire within me. I had wasted too much time already.

Sharply, I said, “Well, I hate for anyone to mourn needlessly. When do we begin?”

“As soon as we discover Nathan’s plans for the next few days,” she said. “Before long, Mrs. Langley, you’ll be sleeping in your own bed.”

“Thank God for that,” I said.

T
he next morning, I woke early and went to the camp. I found it easily, dozens of tents spread over a vacant lot, though my heart sank at how coarse it was. Campfires, for God’s sake. Like some old-fashioned Methodist camp meeting. There were vacant lots on either side, one half-cleared, one nothing but trees and brambles, and I went there and drew back into the shadow of a scraggly cedar and a vine maple, salal and blackberry vines tangling at my feet, catching at my skirt. I found a relatively clear spot and sat down, confident that I was hidden from any casual eye, and I watched and waited for the two of them to emerge.

The morning was warm already, my skin felt coated with an unpleasant mix of sweat and dust and ash, itching beneath the corset I had not removed in days. I would have given my soul to bathe; the moment I saw them come out of the tent, I wished them to be gone. Mrs. Wilkes glanced around as if she expected to see me standing there. I waited until they were well away, and then I left my hiding spot and crossed the street.

Others were awake and about; hardly anyone spared me a glance. Two men lifted their hats to me respectfully and walked on; children ran about without heed; a woman or two acknowledged me with a nod. No one I knew—of course not. The newly homeless in the city were none I would have had anything to
do with. I went inside the tent. It smelled of camp smoke and rubberized canvas and a deeper, muskier scent that I knew. I tried to ignore the image that leaped into my head.

The bedroll was at one side, in the middle a crate with an oil lamp and a pail. A towel hung on a nail in the tent pole. I went to the pail, which was half full of brackish water that still felt cool and good against my hands, and I undressed. It was not easy; I could not stand fully, and I’d dressed the morning of the fire with the help of a maid. I took off everything until I stood naked in the middle of that tent, and then I washed every inch of myself. There was not enough water to wash my hair; instead I sat on the bedroll and used my fingers to get the tangles from it. Bits broke off in tiny splinters of soot. It would be easier to just cut it off, but even had I scissors, I knew I could not take the risk of altering my appearance so radically. I still had one more great part to play as the old Geneva Langley.

When I was clean, and my hair was braided and pinned loosely with the few pins I’d had in my pocket, I glanced at the pile of clothing I’d abandoned and did not think I could bear putting any of it back on. I smelled their stink from where I was. But I had no choice. When I was fully dressed again, I could not think of what to do. I’d had a sleepless night, and I was exhausted, but I was afraid to fall asleep here. I was afraid that I might sleep so deeply I would not wake in time to get out before they returned. I also had to visit the privy, but in spite of what Mrs. Wilkes had said about my being mistaken for her if I were noticed at all, and the little attention paid to me when I arrived, I was nervous about being seen.

Finally, I could wait no longer. I snuck out, warily, hesitant, until it became clear no one cared to notice me. Even so, I nearly ran to the privy, and I didn’t relax until I was safely inside its odiferous confines.

But when I stepped out again, and a child waiting slipped past me to go inside without a word, I began to feel that perhaps Mrs. Wilkes had been right. No one would notice me here—

“Mrs. Wilkes!” someone called.

I jerked, panicked at the thought that she was back again so soon, twisting to look behind me, expecting to see her and Mr.
DeWitt striding into the camp, but instead I saw a man standing there, a man I didn’t know. He tipped his hat to me and took a step backward.

“Oh, I am sorry that I startled you, ma’am. It’s all right, I’m not going to.… It is you, isn’t it? Mrs. Wilkes? The actress at the Regal?”

My first reaction was to deny that I was her, but I stopped myself in time. We’d both hoped for this. But it felt frankly disconcerting and a bit … insulting … that I had sunk so low I might be mistaken for her, despite the fact that it was necessary.

I managed to smile at the man and say, “Yes. Yes, of course I am.”

“I thought so!” he said with satisfaction. “I saw you standing here, and I thought: that must be Mrs. Wilkes from the Regal. And then I thought I should come over and pay my respects. You are the best thing about that company, ma’am.”

“Thank you, sir. You’re very kind.”

He was about my age, with a round face and a thin mustache and brown hair. “I had tickets to see
The Last Days of Pompeii
the day of the fire.”

I tried to think of what she might say. I tried to remember what she’d said about the Regal, about Mr. Greene and his plans. “I’m sorry for that. But Mr. Greene means to set up the Regal again in a tent.”

“I’ll be sure to go.” He paused, and I smiled and waited for him to take his leave, but then he asked, “Are you staying here at Fort Spokane?”

“Fort Spokane?”

“That’s what they’re calling this place.”

“Oh. Yes. Well, that is, I hope to. If I can still get a tent.”

“I believe they’ve still got a few at the army wagon.” He pointed to a wagon I just now saw, parked at the edge of the lot. “Some bedrolls too. I … I’d be pleased to help you with it, if you’d allow me.”

“I hate to impose.”

“No imposition,” he said with a very broad smile. “I’m happy to do it.
Black Jack
was some of the best hours I ever spent.”

It felt very odd to thank him again, to let him assume I was
the one who’d given him those happy hours, to pretend that I had been the one with the pretty voice who’d sung a ribald song and cursed Black Jack the bandit border lord. But it wasn’t unpleasant. I found I enjoyed it. Three days ago, I would have laughed had anyone told me I would like becoming Beatrice Wilkes, but now I played her role as if I’d been born to it.

“I would appreciate that greatly, sir. Believe me, I feel quite helpless going about it myself.”

That was all it took. Within moments he was across the camp, procuring a bundle of rubberized canvas and stakes and a bedroll. We found one of the only bare spots left, a place only a few tents away from Sebastian DeWitt’s, but it was out of the way of both the privy and the barrels of water, and I doubted he would have reason to pass by it.

He worked very quickly, far more efficiently than I ever could have hoped of doing myself. “It must be hard to remember all those lines,” he said as he worked.