City of Ash (59 page)

S
ebastian was gone already, so I was left to walk to the relief tent and rehearsal alone. I guessed he still hadn’t decided what he meant to do with me, and that was fine. If he was distant today, it meant I could be distant back, though the thought of it left a tight little knot in my stomach that drove my hunger away, and I hurt too much to eat in any case.

Ginny didn’t want me to go, but I wanted to be away from her too. I wanted some time to think about everything: last night with Nathan and what I’d seen in his eyes and how much it frightened me; what Sebastian had said to me and how it made what I meant to do so much easier.

I made my way to rehearsal, walking slowly because it hurt like hell to move, and that was going to be a pretty thing to explain to the others when I was hobbling across the stage. When I’d left Nathan that morning, he’d been sleeping, but restlessly. Last night I’d seen something that looked like murder in his eyes—or as near to it as I’d ever seen except those nights onstage when Aloysius was in good form. I hadn’t lied to Ginny—I
was
afraid that if Nathan ever laid hands upon her “spirit,” he would
try to choke the life out of it for good. And it frightened me enough that I’d thought again about ending this.

But every time I did, I also remembered that when it was over, she would be free, and so would I.

And that was the rub, wasn’t it? Because I knew how close we were, and that meant my future was about to change, and there was Sebastian DeWitt to consider, with his strange eyes and the stranger fact that I’d fallen in love with him. But some things you just couldn’t have, and for now, he had to be one of them.

I felt like one big bruise, not just my body, but my emotions too, but by the time I went into the Phoenix, I didn’t think anyone would have suspected I was hurt in any way at all.

The others were already onstage. Lucius and Mr. Geary watched from the makeshift benches; Sebastian was bent over the crate table. Lucius, who was sitting angled sideways, spotted me first. “Ah, there she is! You’re late, my sweet. That’s a two-dollar fine.”

There was no point in arguing it. I had no excuse but for the one I couldn’t tell them, so instead I just went to the stage. Sebastian looked over his shoulder at me, and just that one glance sent me into such confusion—desire and love and fear all tied up together—that I had to look away. And then I was mired in rehearsal, and I had to concentrate so hard on remembering my lines despite the pain that jarred up into my chest with every motion that I had no more time to think of what we would say to each other.

When the rehearsal was over, Lucius said, “Two more nights, my children, and then it’s opening night at the Phoenix!” and we all clapped like dutiful little servants and I didn’t feel the excitement I usually felt at the thought of opening night—and my first one as lead besides. As the others left, I stepped gingerly off the stage, slowly enough that Sebastian, who was gathering up his papers, could ignore me and hurry off if he liked. I was happy to play the coward today, even though there had to be a reckoning before evening.

But, of course, because I wanted him to flee, he waited. He buckled his leather bag and slung it over his shoulder and stood
there watching me come toward him, and it was all I could do to straighten my shoulders and keep from clenching my teeth in pain.

When I got close enough to speak, he asked nastily, “Too busy with schemes this morning to be on time?”

My temper flared. “Go to hell.”

“I’m already there,” he said—which was such a fucking writerlike thing to say that I laughed out loud—and then regretted it for the pain.

But I don’t think he saw it. I managed to say, “How clever. You must write mellies.”

“It feels lately as if I’ve been living one.” He sighed and gave me a wary look. “Let’s go.”

“I thought you were angry with me,” I needled.

“I am. But I’m willing to try to understand.”

And, you know, that would have been enough any other time. It was still more than I deserved, and don’t think I didn’t know that. I wanted to let him take me into his arms and back to the tent we shared. But then I thought of what he would see when he undressed me, and so I pushed past him and said, “That’s not good enough, Bastian.”

“Bea—”

He had taken my arm to slow me, a gentle touch, but it hurt so I had to work to keep from crying out in pain. I jerked away. “Don’t touch me.”

He frowned. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I’ll be getting my own tent this afternoon.”

He went still. “You don’t mean that. You can’t mean it.”

“Believe me, I do.”

He looked so damned confused that I hated it. He glanced around—only Lucius and Mr. Geary remained, but Lucius was watching like a vulture while pretending not to. Sebastian bent close, whispering in my ear, “What are you so afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Then why are you running away from me?”

“Because you don’t trust me.”

“Then show me I can. I want to believe you, Bea. Explain things to me.”

“There’s nothing to explain.”

He let out his breath in exasperation. “I know you’re lying to me. I
know
it. What I don’t understand is why.”

I made myself think of Ginny. Of money. I made myself think of my own company. The future we’d planned. I made my voice as even as I could. “I think it’s best if we—”

“Don’t say it.”

“—if we part. Until things settle.”

His gaze riveted to mine. “Until things settle? What things?”

“I don’t know, Sebastian. Please. Just … let me go. This has all been so … so much. I need some time.”

They were the hardest damn words I’d ever said, and he did nothing to make it easier. He just looked at me in that way he had—as if I was suddenly illuminated to him.

“Very well,” he said quietly. “You want time. I can give you that.”

I didn’t know what to say. I’d expected more of an argument. Once again, he’d managed to disconcert me. And when he looked away, I felt as terrible as I’d ever felt, and yet relieved too, that he was letting it be so easy.

But then he turned back to me again, taking my chin, tilting my face up so he could kiss me, and it was soft and lovely, like the first kiss we’d shared, and I thought of my room and the whiskey and the apricots and suddenly the taste of them was strong in my mouth and I couldn’t bear it.

“Let me walk you back,” he whispered when he pulled away.

I shook my head. “You go on. I think I’ll just stay here for a while.”

I didn’t watch him leave me. I went to the table where Lucius and Mr. Geary were, and I sat down, putting my face in my hands, and told myself I’d done the right thing. I’d done what I had to do. It was only until this was over anyway. It wasn’t forever.

But when I felt Lucius’s hand on my shoulder and heard him say, “He’ll come back, my sweet. I’ve never seen a man so besotted,” it was all I could do to force back my tears.

I
didn’t sleep well. The bruises hurt, and the ground was so damned hard, and I told myself it was that, and not the fact that I wasn’t with Sebastian. But all that sleeplessness had a good effect, I suppose, because lying there in the darkness, I thought of
Penelope Justis
and how Barnabus had seen Florence’s spirit in a crowd at a ball, just as Nathan had seen Ginny at Mrs. Wilcox’s, and that made me think of a plan for the spirit to appear at
Much Ado
, where Nathan would surely be because it was the debut of the Phoenix, and Ginny’s father too. I had to admit it was damned clever.

When she woke that morning, I told her what I’d come up with. She gave me a dubious look. “You’re certain? What about the rest of the company? Surely they would recognize me?”

“You’ll be wearing a mask. And they won’t even look at you,” I said—I was at least confident of that. I couldn’t have told you what any of the supernumeraries we used looked like. They were faceless crowds, servants with no lines, strollers in a park, passers-by. “It’s not as if you’ll be onstage, is it? I’ll steal a mask from one of the others. All you have to do is walk outside. Everyone will just assume you’re one of the company. I’ll lure Nathan outside, and you can appear to him and come back here.”

She still seemed doubtful.

“Do you have a better plan?”

“No,” she said. “We’ll need a doctor. To commit Nathan.”

I sighed. Another thing to do. “Yes, I suppose.”

“David Reynolds.”

I stared at her blankly. “Who?”

“The man who helped me put up this tent. The one who so admired you. I promised him tickets to the next show at the Regal.”

“So?”

“He’s a
doctor
, Bea. And one enamored enough with you that he might listen
very hard
to what you have to say.”

“Why … that’s a good idea.”

“All you must do is talk to him. His practice is on Front Street. He must have a tent there himself by now. Tell him you’re worried about a madman who’s been following you, et cetera. Make certain he’s at the show.”

“We’ll need two doctors, won’t we? To commit him?”

“If Nathan is at the play, my father will be there too,” she said, shaking her head. “Believe me, if he thinks Nathan’s mad, we won’t need another doctor. Papa will see that things are taken care of.”

So it was set. All I needed was to find her a domino. The mask part was easy; Mrs. Chace was making them, and she was distracted at best, it would be easy to borrow one before the show started. No one would miss it until the cue to go onstage, and I’d have it back well before then. The plan wasn’t perfect, but it was the best I could do.

Somehow I managed to get through rehearsal, though it wasn’t easy, because Sebastian was there as usual, and how you feel about someone doesn’t just stop because you want it to. I did my best to ignore him, and when rehearsal was over I watched him walk away and my throat closed up, and it was only by teasing Aloys about the filthy lace on his cuffs that I kept from crying.

“What ails our playwright this morning?” Jack asked, sitting down beside me and giving me this concerned look that I knew was all pretense. “He seems mightily struck dumb. Had I to guess, I would think him sick at heart. What have you done to him, my love?”

I rose. “Go to hell, Jack.”

I went to the dry goods tent where Aloys said they’d got the bunting for the curtain. They had a bit of it left, along with a packet of needles, and the woman there gave me what thread she could spare. Then I went to look for David Reynolds, M.D.

As I made my way along Front Street, there were dozens of men working among the ruins, great piles of twisted railroad track and huge metal cogs and other piles of charred planks and pilings. Smoke still rose from the coal bunkers beyond, and the whole harbor was veiled by its haze, so the masts of schooners and steamer smokestacks seemed disembodied, floating in a fog
like some Gothic stage set, while seagulls dipped and soared, disappearing and appearing like ghosts—the world seemed full of them, my mind stuck on spirits.

I didn’t have to go far before I found Dr. Reynolds’s tent, bordered on one side by piles of ash and on the other by a lawyer’s tent. He’d painted
DR. DAVID REYNOLDS
above in black, and the tent flaps were wide open to show a cot and a table—which I supposed he’d been lucky to get. The man sitting on a crate before it looked just as Ginny had described, and when I stepped up, pasting a smile on my face, he leaped up so quickly from the crate that he dislodged it.

“Mrs. Wilkes!” he said, his smile so large I thought it might actually split his face. “How wonderful to see you! You look … well. Better than when I saw you last, I must confess.”

I smiled. “A bit cleaner, no doubt.”

“Please, sit down.”

I shook my head. I thought perhaps I recognized him; there were many people who came to the theater night after night, and his face looked familiar. But now I was pretending I’d been the one he’d spoken to at Fort Spokane, and so I said, “I hope you’re doing well, Dr. Reynolds. I haven’t seen you about the camp.”

“I’ve moved down here. It’s better to stay with my equipment, such as it is.”

“Well, I’ve been looking for you. To say thank you again, and also to tell you there will be tickets at the door for you when the Phoenix rises on Monday night.”

His smile broadened, as impossible as that seemed. “I would be there in any case, Mrs. Wilkes. I am your most devoted admirer. It was an honor to help you.”

I smiled again and motioned toward the cot. “No doubt you’ve been busy.”

“Yes indeed, though things have slowed this afternoon, thankfully. Burns, broken arms, that sort of thing.”

“I suppose it was lucky no one was killed.”

“Very lucky,” he said.

“I imagine some were quite”—I fumbled for the words—“undone by the tragedy.”

“Undone? Oh, I’d say so.”

“I have a friend … an admirer, like yourself. But since the fire, he’s been strange. Almost as if it … unhinged him.”

Dr. Reynolds clicked his tongue in sympathy. “It’s been a strain for many. Some have lost everything.”

“I’ve wondered, do you think … could it be a temporary illness?”

“In some, certainly. But I would have to see him to know for certain.”

“Oh, yes, of course. It’s only that he’s been quite out of his head.”

David Reynolds frowned. “In what way?”

“He’s been seeing things. Ghosts and such. And he’s been violent—”

“Has he threatened you in any way, Mrs. Wilkes? Do you think him a danger?”

I let out my breath in feigned relief and gave him my best strained smile. “I must admit I’ve been a little afraid. He’s very ardent, you see. I think he might be mad.”

“Who is he? Perhaps I can pay him a visit. To ascertain the extent of his condition.”

“Oh, I couldn’t ask it—”

“I’d be honored to serve. I don’t like to think of you in any kind of distress. If I can in any way put your mind at ease—”

I hesitated. “Well, I doubt he’ll like you paying him a visit, but I expect he’ll be at the show. Perhaps you could watch him. Discreetly, of course—”