Mistress (35 page)

“I believe I will do that,” Sands said coldly. “Let us see just what is going on behind that curtain.” His footsteps rang out once more as he turned and strode back toward the door.

“About time. No respect fer professional work anymore.” Polly bent down to light a row of lamps on the stage. They flared to life.

Then she reached out and hauled mightily on a long, heavy cord.

The heavy red curtain moved to the side, leaving a very thin muslin drape in its place.

“Bloody hell,” Marcus muttered.

Iphiginia realized that the lamps on the stage were producing strong silhouettes of both herself and Polly against the gauzy curtain. She stilled.

“Interesting,” Sands said laconically. “How much did you say you paid for this, Masters?”

“Too much,” Marcus said. “I fear I may have been fleeced.”

“They’re all critics at first, y’know,” Polly said. “The whole lot of ‘em. But they change their minds soon enough.” She straightened and frowned at Iphiginia. “Get yer urn. ’Urry up, now.”

Iphiginia took a deep breath and forced herself to move. She picked up one of the large urns that had been positioned on the stage. It was surprisingly light. “Now what?”

“Strike yer pose. Don’t ye know anythin’ about this business? Dr. Hardstaff gets right cranky if the patients don’t get their money’s worth.” Polly picked up her urn and struck what she undoubtedly believed to be a classical pose.

It finally dawned on Iphiginia that she and Polly were performers in a transparency show.

The transparency curtain acted as a veil, concealing the details of her features while it revealed the clear outline of her figure.

The lamps, strategically situated behind the two women, produced a ghostly scene.

Iphiginia had seen a handful of such productions, but they had all been of an educational nature. The last one, which she had attended with Amelia, had featured an extremely edifying tableau illustrating the classical ruins of Herculaneum.

But the scene staged by herself and Polly tonight was clearly designed to be of a much less elevating nature. Iphiginia had a horrible suspicion that her gossamer white silk skirts afforded little or no modesty. The flaring lamps were placed so as to render Polly’s attire virtually transparent.

Iphiginia clutched her urn more securely and held it directly in front of herself. She prayed that it was large enough to cover a goodly portion of her torso. With any luck only a hazy view of her legs, head, and shoulders would be visible through the gauzy transparency screen.

“The goddess on the left isn’t bad,” Sands drawled with icy sarcasm. “But the one on the right is a bit slender for my taste. What do you think, Masters?”

Iphiginia flushed as she realized that she was the goddess on the right.

“I’ve never been fond of transparency shows,” Marcus said. “If I had realized that Hardstaff ’s famous production consisted of something this tame, I would have found other ways to amuse myself this evening.”

Iphiginia looked helplessly at Polly.

Polly winked. “Don’t ye worry. We’ll impress ’em.” She altered her pose to one that displayed her ample bosom to better advantage. “Personally, I’m real fond o’ the job,” she whispered. “Much easier on a girl than workin’ flat on her back.”

“I can imagine,” Iphiginia muttered.

“Give ’em a few good poses and they’ll go off ’appy as larks.” Polly shifted her urn slightly, arched her back, and thrust her bosom upward. “They always do.”

Iphiginia did not dare move. She kept her urn positioned firmly in front of herself.

“Seen enough, Sands?” Marcus asked. “I have. My curiosity is satisfied. Dr. Hardstaff’s miracle treatment is not nearly so entertaining as I had been led to believe.”

“I’ve seen more than enough,” Sands said roughly. “Now it’s time for a few answers.”

Footsteps sounded on the other side of the curtain again. Sands was coming toward the stage.

“Damnation”
Marcus’s bootsteps thudded on the floor behind Sands. “Don’t touch that curtain. You’ll upset the actresses.”

“Do you think I give a damn about these wenches? I want to know why someone sent me here tonight. I’m through playing games.”

Iphiginia saw Sands’s hand appear at the edge of the gauzy curtain. He grabbed a fistful of the fine fabric and yanked hard. The delicate transparency curtain ripped loose from the hooks in the ceiling.

Iphiginia and Polly were fully revealed.

“See ’ere now,” Polly scolded, outraged. “What do ye think yer doin’? Yer goin’ to pay fer that curtain, not us.”

Sands ignored her. He stared at Iphiginia, astounded.
“Mrs. Bright
. What the devil are you doing here?”

She smiled weakly. “Good evening, Lord Sands. I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

“Rest assured I know who you are, madam,” Sands said grimly.

Iphiginia blushed. “Yes, well, as you have no doubt guessed, I am part of the treatment Dr. Hardstaff designed especially for Masters.”

“His
treatment?”
Sands shot a scathing glance at Marcus, who raised his brows slightly but said nothing.
Sands turned to Iphiginia. “Forgive me, Mrs. Bright, but I find that a little difficult to believe.”

“But it’s true,” Iphiginia said quickly. She cast a quick, urgent look at Marcus, who offered no assistance. “Dr. Hardstaff stated that the results would be more immediate and far more dramatic if I assisted in the treatment.”

“Hardstaff is a damned quack,” Sands said. “Everyone knows that.”

“I didn’t,” Iphiginia said. She gave Marcus another urgent look, but he appeared bored by the entire affair. She began to grow annoyed.

“Come now, Mrs. Bright,” Sands said. “Every gentleman in Town is well aware that Hardstaff’s so-called treatments for impotence are nothing more than titillating transparency shows. They are staged by pretty little whores who make themselves available after the performance.”

“ ’Ere, now,” Polly snapped. “That’s a bloody lie, it is. I’m an actress.”

“That’s certainly one word for your profession,” Sands agreed.

Iphiginia concluded that, in the absence of any assistance from Marcus, she had no choice but to take an aggressive tack. “How would you know whether or not Dr. Hardstaff’s treatments were legitimate unless you’d taken one, my lord?”

“Aye, that’s a bloody good question,” Polly said. “And I ain’t never noticed you in this chamber o’ the Goddesses o’ Manly Vigor before. Stands to reason ye don’t know what yer talkin’ about.”

“Quite right,” Iphiginia said staunchly. “You’ve been forming your opinions on hearsay, sir.”

“It’s common knowledge that the treatments are at best a fraud,” Sands retorted furiously.

“Nonsense,” Iphiginia insisted. “We have every hope of a cure, don’t we, Masters?”

Marcus gave her a dangerous look.

Polly put her hands on her hips and glowered ferociously at Sands. “I know lots o’ fine gennelmen who was miraculously cured by one o’ these treatments.”

Sands narrowed his eyes. “Is that a fact?”

“Aye, it’s a fact, all right.” Polly lifted her chin proudly. “I’ve seen gennelmen come in ’ere what ’adn’t been able to raise the flag fer years. When they left, they was as stiff as a poker.”

“There, you see?” Iphiginia said brightly. “A testimonial from one who should know.”

“Enough of this nonsense.” Marcus finally deigned to intervene. He drew a handful of notes out of his pocket and thrust them into Polly’s hand. “You’ve given us a fine performance, madam. You may take your bows and leave. We won’t be needing your services any longer.”

Polly snatched the notes from him. “Are ye certain?”

“Quite certain,” Marcus said.

“Well, all right, then.” Polly smiled cheerfully at Iphiginia. “Nice workin’ with ye, Mrs. Bright. Ye’ve got some potential, in me ’umble opinion. With a bit o’ practice, I ’ave a ’unch ye’ll get the ’ang o’ this actin’ profession.”

“Thank you,” Iphiginia said politely. “I shall work hard to perfect my craft.”

“Reckon I’ll be on me way, then.” Polly sauntered to the side door.

Iphiginia, Marcus, and Sands watched as she let herself out of the chamber of the Goddesses of Manly Vigor.

A short silence ensued after the door closed.

Marcus broke the strange spell that seemed to have settled onto the chamber. He stepped onto the stage and walked along the row of stage lamps, turning them off one by one. “As the evening appears to have degenerated into a complete farce, I suggest we take our leave, Mrs. Bright.”

“Yes, of course.” Iphiginia set down her urn.

Sands scowled at Marcus. “I don’t understand any of this.”

“I think it’s safe to say that we have all been the victim of an unpleasant joke, Sands.” Marcus left the last lamp burning.

“It makes no sense.” Sands shoved his hands into his pockets and began to pace the chamber. “Who would do such a thing?”

“Someone who knows that you are suspicious of my long-standing friendship with your wife, naturally.” Marcus propped one shoulder against the wall, folded his arms, and contemplated Sands. “There are any number of people in this world who take great delight in stirring troubled waters. You know that as well as I do.”

Sands gave him a cold look and continued to pace. “But what did the villain expect to happen when I arrived here tonight and discovered that you were playing games with Mrs. Bright rather than Hannah?”

Iphiginia flushed. “We were not playing games, sir.”

Sands’s mouth curved derisively. “You may call this nonsense whatever you wish, madam. It is entirely your affair.”

Marcus studied Sands’s pacing figure. “I expect whoever sent you here was hoping that you would spread the tale of this night’s events far and wide.”

“What do you mean?” Sands demanded.

“I suspect that the real target of the jest was not you, but my friend Mrs. Bright,” Marcus said in a very soft voice. “I intend to see that the culprit pays for it.”

Iphiginia stared at him. It was obvious that Marcus was very serious.

Sands paused abruptly. He swung around and considered Iphiginia intently. “You believe that someone wished to see Mrs. Bright humiliated?”

“Yes.”

“But why?” Sands asked.

“Because whoever it is does not want me to marry her,” Marcus said simply.

“Marry her.”
Sands stared. “You’re going to marry Mrs. Bright? Your, uh, very close friend?”

“Yes.” Marcus looked at Iphiginia. “We have not yet made a formal announcement, however, so I trust you will remain silent for the time being?”

Iphiginia opened her mouth to argue but closed it again when she realized that any protest would only cause Sands to ask more pointed questions.

Sands frowned. “I had heard the rumor that you were going to announce your engagement. But I naturally assumed you would offer for one of the young … ah, er, never mind.” He coughed discreetly and inclined his head at Iphiginia. “Please accept my best wishes, Mrs. Bright.”

“Thank you.” She glowered at Marcus, furious with him for forcing her into the awkward situation of verifying the marriage. “Let us hope that Dr. Hardstaff’s cure takes effect before we celebrate our wedding night.”

Sands grinned. He suddenly looked much younger and a good deal more likable. “I shall wish you the best of luck in that regard, also. By the bye, you need have no fear that I will tell anyone about this evening’s events.”

“I appreciate that,” Iphiginia said.

“I doubt anyone would even believe me. Whole thing is too bloody outrageous.” Sands started toward the door. “Do you know something? I believe the two of you were made for each other. Now, if you will forgive me, I’ll be on my way.” He cast a derisive glance at the paintings on the walls of the chamber as he opened the door. “Unlike yourself, Masters, I do not have any need of Dr. Hardstaff’s therapeutic treatments.”

“How very fortunate for you,” Marcus said.

Silence fell once more as the door closed behind Lord Sands.

Iphiginia and Marcus listened to his receding footsteps as he went down the hall and opened the outside door.

A moment later they heard the door close.

Iphiginia heaved a sigh of relief and then she rounded on Marcus. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Lord
Sands will be waiting for the notices of our marriage to appear in the papers. How could you?”

“I supplied him with the only answer that was guaranteed to distract him.”

“But what will he think when he never sees the formal announcement? He’s bound to wonder if you lied to him. Perhaps he’ll conclude that he was duped.”

“I shall worry about that later. In the meantime, I have a more pressing problem on my hands.”

“Oh, really?” Iphiginia planted her hands on her hips. “And just what might that be, pray tell? Perhaps you would care to explain what you’re doing in this very odd chamber, my lord?”

The side door opened, cutting off Iphiginia’s tirade. She stared at the newcomer in shock. She had never been properly introduced to Lady Sands, but Zoe had once pointed her out at a ball.

Hannah, covered from head to foot in a dark cloak, walked out onto the stage. She smiled at Iphiginia with sad apology.

“I believe Marcus is referring to me, Mrs. Bright. I fear that I have been a nuisance to him for some time.”

Before Iphiginia could respond, the chamber door swung inward with a small squeak. Lord Sands walked back into the room. He carried his shoes in one hand.

“As long as Masters is going to explain matters,” Sands said in an icy voice, “he may as well explain them to all concerned. And when he has finished, he can explain them again to me at dawn over a brace of pistols.”

Hannah stared at him as though she were seeing a ghost. “Dear God, no.” Her hand went to her mouth. And then she crumpled to her knees, sobbing.

“Lady Sands.” Iphiginia hurried toward her.

“Hannah.” Sands dropped his shoes and started toward his wife.

“One would think,” Marcus said to the room in general, “that one would be able to get a simple medical treatment done with some degree of privacy.”

L
ADY SANDS, PLEASE, YOU MUSTN’T CARRY ON SO
.” Iphiginia pulled a hankie out of her little white satin reticule. She bent down and thrust it into Hannah’s shaking fingers. “Everything will be fine.”