City of Ash (13 page)

“Enough?” I whispered.

“I’ve spent years trying to make you into something you’re not, instead of enjoying what you are, as I once did. All that foolishness with the salon … I could not admit to myself that you were right. It was influential; it could have helped. I should have embraced it, especially as it made you so obviously happy. But I was too angry, and stubborn.” He met my gaze. “Perhaps I am equally responsible for what happened with … Marat. I should not have neglected you as I did. And for that I
am
sorry.”

They were the words I’d been waiting months for. Years, even, if I was honest with myself. “Nathan, I—”

“Please, let me finish. You have gone too far, over and over again, Ginny. But I realize also that I could be less … restrictive. I have thought lately that perhaps we can come to some sort of compromise.”

“I would like nothing better,” I said honestly.

He smiled—a smile I had not seen for so long. He met my gaze, and something passed between us, some understanding I had thought never to experience with my husband again.

He said, “I want you to be happy.”

It was what I wanted him to say. I wanted to believe he still loved me, that he wanted back what we had lost, that my suspicions of him had been wrong. In that moment, I
did
believe it.

“Take DeWitt as your cause
du jour,
” he went on. “Let me worry about what will help or hurt my career.”

I did not know what to say. I managed, “Thank you.”

Nathan smiled. “You’re very welcome, my dear.”

Beatrice

N
athan collapsed upon me with a final groan, breathing hard, sweating. I wished he would get off me; he was heavy, and there was a bruise on my hip from how hard he’d held me that hurt like the devil. He’d been rough tonight, as if he were stewing about something and taking his anger out on me, or maybe it
was
me he was angry with, though I didn’t know what the hell I’d done. All I knew was that he’d been here three nights in a row, and I was tired and I wasn’t getting lines learned as long as he insisted on seeing me after every show.

I heaved a little, just enough to hint that I might like to breathe, and he made a sound deep in his throat and leveled himself onto his elbows—which meant the bone of his hip pressed hard enough into my bruise that it brought tears to my eyes.

He didn’t seem to notice. Instead his hand went to one of the hairpins he’d given me, his latest gift, which he’d made me wear and then wasted no time in loosening from my hair. It dangled near my ear, and he pulled it free; the sapphires and rubies caught the light from the oil lamp on the bedside table, and he dangled it so the butterfly wings seemed to dance. “I like the way they look on you.”

He dropped the pin to the table and rose. I pulled the other one from my hair and laid it beside its partner. They were pretty things, and obviously expensive, and I liked them, just as I liked the other gifts he’d given me, but Stella was still at the Regal, and I was still the first soubrette, and though I never missed a chance to compliment Stella or tell her she belonged on better
stages, she seemed determined to stay, and I was beginning to wonder if I’d made a mistake, if French candied fruit and pretty hairpins might be all I ever got from Nathan Langley.

He went to the window, open now to let in the night air, though there wasn’t any breeze and the only thing that came in was dust. He looked lost in thought, and I wondered if it had something to do with the way he’d been tonight, and the sheer fury he’d put into fucking, and that made me ask, “Did I do something to displease you?”

He glanced at me as if he’d forgotten I was there. “Displease me? No, of course not, why do you ask?”

Now I wished I hadn’t said anything. “I don’t know. You seemed … distracted.” A pretty way to put it.

“Did I?” He looked back out the window again. “Yes, I suppose I am. My wife, you know.”

No, I didn’t know. And I didn’t want to. All I knew about Mrs. Langley was that she had dark hair and wore pale blue to see
Black Jack
, and even that was too much information as far as I was concerned. But that he’d even mentioned her was strange; he never had before.

I didn’t know what to say, whether to ignore his words or pretend he hadn’t said anything, but I didn’t have to decide, because he laughed and said, “She needs a firm hand. That’s what I told everyone when I married her. That all she needed was a firm hand.”

Well, what the hell was I supposed to say to that? I mean, here I was, splayed upon coarse sheets with
his
seed drying sticky on my stomach, and he was talking about his wife’s misbehavior. I settled on “Did she?”

He spoke as if he hadn’t heard me. “I thought, moving here, things could be different. I thought.… But it’s obvious they’ll never accept her, and she’ll never change. Now she’s taken on some new
artist
—you should see the way she fawns over him. Christ, she practically had him there on the dining table. She’s so damn predictable. She’ll have the whole city talking within days.”

“Why don’t you tell her to stop?” I asked.

He laughed again, and it was mean and unpleasant, and it
made me think of how he’d fucked me tonight. “Oh, I’m long past telling her to stop. But, believe me, this time I’ll have what
I
want—” He stopped himself, pressing his lips together in a self-satisfied little smile that made my skin crawl. “Well, let’s not speak of her.”

That was a relief. “I wasn’t.”

“No, you weren’t, were you?” He smiled at me. “Poor Bea. What kind of a gentleman am I, to talk of my wife when I’ve you there waiting for me? But I think I’ve something to make up for it.”

I saw the way he looked at me and I had to swallow my dismay, because I knew that look and I knew that I wouldn’t get out of spreading my legs for him again tonight. But still I played the part he’d given me; I gave him as hopeful a look as I could manage, one that said I liked nothing better than to have him heaving about on top of me, though what I really wanted was for him to leave and let me go to sleep.

He said, “Don’t you want to know what it is?”

I leveled myself up on my elbows and waggled my fingers at him and said in my best lascivious voice, “Why don’t you come and show me?”

His expression creased in irritation. “We’ve something to celebrate.”

That was different. I frowned and sagged back to the bed. “Celebrate what?”

“Your ascension. What else?”

Not so fast, Bea. Maybe he doesn’t mean what you think
. “My ascension? But … Stella—”

“La Stella’s leaving. Off to San Francisco in two weeks.”

My heart raced. “She is? How do you know? She didn’t say anything to me.”

“I wasn’t aware you were confidantes. It was Greene who told me, this morning. He’s moving you to lead.”

I had waited for those words so long that now I couldn’t believe he was saying them. “He’s said nothing—”

“No doubt he will tomorrow.”

I tempered my excitement. It wasn’t that I doubted Nathan, but I did doubt Lucius, who would say anything to get what he
wanted. And you know, he’d betrayed me before and probably would again and I knew better than to believe something before I heard it from his lips.

Nathan frowned at me. “I thought you’d be happy. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“Yes of course. But … are you certain?”

“You don’t trust my word?”

“It’s only that Lucius has promised things before—”

“But he has never promised them to
me,
” Nathan said.

I wasn’t imagining his irritation. Nathan
was
a powerful man. Lucius would not dare go against him. “Yes, of course. It’s … I can hardly believe it. To be the lead … I’ve been working for this for so long.”

“All your dreams come true,” he said wryly. “There’s to be a new play too, to introduce you as the Regal’s leading lady.”

“A new play?” Oh, that was clearly too much. Too much to hope for, too much altogether.

Nathan nodded. “I paid dearly enough for it, so I hope you like it.”

“Oh, how could I not?” I couldn’t help my smile. I saw when it took him aback, when he looked at me as if he’d never quite seen me before, his interest piqued once again. His gaze slid to my breasts and downward.

I was so happy I didn’t care when he stepped over to kneel on the bed, or when he took his cock in his hand and pulled me toward him, pushing me down, his fingers digging hard into my shoulder. “I’m glad it pleases you. Now why don’t you show me how grateful you are?”

T
he next morning, I woke and washed in a hurry. I didn’t bother with breakfast; instead I opened a box of glacéed fruit and took out one of the apricots I hoarded. Nathan brought the candy often now that he knew how I loved it, but I’d lived too long pinching and saving, and though I never denied myself the figs or the cherries whose taut skin popped beneath my teeth, I saved my favorite apricots for last.

Now I treated myself to one—no cutting it in pieces to savor
and save, but the whole thing, in celebration. I licked the syrup from my fingers and told myself it wasn’t too hasty to celebrate, but you know, the doubt I’d managed to get past last night sneaked back, and I was nervous. I knew Lucius much better than did Nathan, and I didn’t trust him. But Nathan had been so certain. And the news about the new play … if Nathan had paid for it, he would want me in it. It was that simple. Even Lucius couldn’t wiggle out of that.

As I made my way to the Regal, I wondered what the play was about, what it would require costumewise. Whatever money didn’t go to room and board went to my costumes, and I had a decent enough selection for lead roles. A cheap blue satin gown that could be made to look expensive if you dressed it up with the bit of lace I’d salvaged from a secondhand store (not too tattered, and as gaslight made everything look yellow, its age didn’t matter). Another gown of pale yellow I’d embroidered myself with rosebuds about the neckline and trim that was perfect for innocent ingenues. I had a bustle I wore only onstage to keep it nice, and a dressing gown a friend had given me when she gave up acting, and that I’d dyed to hide the tea and food stains. There was a piece of white flannel I’d embroidered with little black tails so it looked like ermine, for royalty. I had a few other things: trousers and a waistcoat and a man’s shirt for when I’d had to play trouser roles and two simple calicos and an apron. The bulk of it, however, I’d been gathering in anticipation of today. No one in the company was more prepared than I to be whatever the part called for.

I took a deep, full breath of dusty air and lifted my face to the sky, which was grayed by the clouds of ash from the forest fires in the hills above the city that came, as always, with the late spring, but my mood was so good I didn’t see anything but blue.

When I got to the Regal, I opened the back door and stepped into the still, close darkness. It was hot, and the fumes from the gaslights and fresh paint and glue made my eyes burn. I heard the sounds of the carpenters building new sets above, and Aloysius chanting his lines in his dressing room below, his voice deep and perfectly villainous, as befitted the part he was to play tonight.
Stella’s favorite play,
Divorce
—stolen wholesale from Augustin Daly this time, not that Lucius gave a damn about that—because it showcased her ability to cry, and Stella had never met a broad gesture she didn’t like.

I took the stairs to the stage, coming out from the wings to see Brody sitting on the edge of the proscenium, licking his fingers as he finished off an apple. Behind him the painters were putting the last touches on a flat.

“Hiya, Bea,” Brody said, flipping back his dark hair in that way that made most women swoon. “Lucius is looking for you.”

Again, I felt that little jump of joy in my chest. “Where is he?”

“Dunno. In his office maybe.”

I tried not to show my excitement and went back down the stairs to Lucius’s office, knocking on the door, calling through it, “Lucius? Brody said you were looking for me.”

“Sweet Bea,” he boomed from inside. “Was there never a lovelier flower? Come in, come in, my dear. I’ve been waiting for you.”

I turned the knob and stepped in. Lucius’s office was cluttered as the rest of backstage, littered with scripts and promptbooks, bits of costume, a dress dummy, props. He sat behind his desk, leaning back in his chair, his broad, florid face red with the heat, his mustache drooping.

At his side stood a man I recognized: pale eyes, old frock coat, the same man who had been nearly a constant presence in the hallway outside my dressing room the last weeks, though I had never spoken to him.

“Oh, forgive me,” I said. “I didn’t realize there was someone—”

“My dear Bea,” Lucius said. “I’d like you to meet Sebastian DeWitt. I’ve just bought his newest play. Genius, my dear, simply genius! Even Harrigan couldn’t do better than this. A heroine of most uncommon virtue, an ingenious villain, revenge … my God, we’ll have them cheering in the aisle!”

“Mrs. Wilkes,” DeWitt said, stepping forward. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”