Night Storm (7 page)

So she did the only thing she could think of—she retreated into their former banter style, acting as though she had never noticed his interest. “I must warn you, I’ve been practicing my chess game. Do not think my winning our last game was blind luck.”

He said nothing more until she was bundled and ready to leave. Dismissing Mrs. Hodder, he held the door open for her. “My uncle is having a few people round on Thursday evening. Would you come as my guest?”

Charlotte hesitated, and the reason she hesitated made her chest burn. Had Cameron not reentered her life a few days ago, she would think nothing of accepting Lachlan’s invitation. But she would not give Cameron control over her happiness again. She almost hadn’t survived the last time.

Resting her gloved fingertips on his arm, she said, “I’d be delighted to join you.”

A satisfied grin slashed across his face. “I’ll collect you at seven.”

“Until Thursday, Lachlan.” She made it only a few steps before he called her name. “Yes?”

“You don’t need any fancy French perfume. You have a beautiful scent all your own.”

Chapter Four

“Do you think we’ll have time to sneak in to see some of Felix’s audition?” Piper asked, a few days later as she transferred yesterday’s herb shipment into smaller containers to be housed in the cabinets behind the counter. Each container was labeled with the herb’s Latin name so that similar plants would not be confused.

“Barring any emergencies, I see no reason why we cannot.” Charlotte accepted a filled container labeled
Valeriana
and placed it in its alphabetical position on the shelf. “Did he appear anxious this morning?”

“I should say so.” Piper smiled. “For the first time ever, he awoke on his own and was out the door before I even rolled out of bed.”

“He’ll do fine. He’s been practicing his lines for days.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen him this happy since before Father left.”

“Then we’ll make sure he remembers this moment, always.”

The bell chimed over the door, heralding the arrival of Mrs. Dimwicker. One of the shop’s regular customers, the pleasant, kind-hearted lady battled a battalion of ailments on a monthly basis. Some imaginary, some extraordinary. Some all too real.

“Mrs. Fielding, thank goodness you’re here. I have a terrible pain in my stomach.” She pressed her fingers over her middle.

The bell chimed again, and a tall, well-dressed young man entered. Lord Stonecrest’s valet. Charlotte glanced at Piper, saw the color rise on the girl’s cheeks.

“Mrs. Dimwicker, would you mind stepping into the back room? Piper will ask you a few more questions while I take care of Mr. Evans.”

Assessing the situation with one keen sweep of her eye, Mrs. Dimwicker said, “Of course, take your time.” She rounded the counter. “Well, not too long. The pain, you know.”

“I’ll be with you in five minutes, ma’am,” Charlotte assured her.

The woman smiled before disappearing behind the curtain.

“Thank you, Mrs. Fielding,” Piper whispered with a croak in her voice. She cleared her throat. “But I’ll take care of Mr. Evans.”

Charlotte eyed the ornate wooden box she kept beneath the counter. Until this moment, Piper had avoided having anything to do with the contents of the box. Understandable, given the sensitive nature of their use. Only wealthy gentlemen, with certain needs, purchased the items that she kept stowed away from her regular customers. Or, sometimes, like today, they sent their servants to fetch a month’s supply.

“You’re sure?”

Piper nodded. “If I’m to have my own shop one day, I mustn’t be squeamish about such things.”

Squeezing her assistant’s arm, Charlotte went to the back room to see to Mrs. Dimwicker. She paused on the other side of the curtain, angling her head to listen.

“Good morning, Mr. Evans,” Piper said with only a slight quaver in her voice. “Your usual order?”

“Yes, miss.”

A sense of pride filled Charlotte like warm chocolate flowing into a cup. Even though only a few years separated her and Piper, there were times like this when she felt like the proud mama. Or, more appropriately, the big sister. Seeing that Piper had things well in hand, Charlotte went to talk with her best customer.

“Miss Scott thrives under your care.” Mrs. Dimwicker set down her reticule and removed her gloves. “She’s going to make a fine apothecary one day.”

Something clattered against the countertop in the other room. Charlotte met Mrs. Dimwicker’s eyes. They both clapped their hands over their mouths, stifling a knowing laugh.

“Poor thing must be as nervous as a virgin in a den of knaves.”

Charlotte recalled all too easily the embarrassment of selling her first French letters to a gentleman. Pounding pulse, shaking hands, flaming face, and all. She also knew negotiating such a mortifying transaction wouldn’t be the worst thing Piper would face in her chosen career.

# # #

After eating a light luncheon at Hamlin’s outdoor café, Charlotte and Piper made their way to Russell Street and strolled beneath the theater’s long colonnade. They came to a set of wide double doors, and Charlotte let them into the dimly lit passage that led to the backstage entrance.

“Can they not afford to light another lamp?” Piper complained, glancing behind them.

Charlotte shared her assistant’s apprehension. One lamp illuminated the entire corridor, leaving much to shadow. The dark corners alone weren’t enough to excite her imagination. It was the unclaimed sounds echoing down the dark passage that threatened her unaffected façade.

“Most people arrive through the main entrance,” Charlotte said, adding a lightness she didn’t feel to her tone.

“I still don’t know how you managed to get us inside. I’ve heard the theater manager is rather selective about who’s allowed to see any part of the play before opening night.”

Although Charlotte charged a modest fee for her services, some clients still could not afford payment. In these instances, her clients would offer an exchange of some type. A loaf of freshly baked bread, a door repair, a backstage view of
The Sacred Tree
. Charlotte didn’t mind. The exchange allowed her clients to maintain a sense of dignity, and she always received something special in return. “I’m quite certain Mr. Riordan knows nothing of our visit.”

Soon, they came upon the theater’s interior door. Following her source’s directions, Charlotte tried the handle and found the door locked. She checked her timepiece. One fifty-five—they were right on time. “Peter said he’d be waiting for us.”

A few months ago, Charlotte had been called to the Stephensons’ home to care for Peter’s eleven-year-old sister. She’d come down with a horrible cough, making her throat too raw to eat anything but broth. Charlotte had prescribed a decoction of hyssop, rue, and honey, and within a few days his sister was consuming solids again.

Ten minutes and four bruised knuckles later, the door finally opened and Peter Stephenson emerged in the passageway. Of medium height and stocky build, Peter performed a number of tasks at the theater, which made him an excellent person to help them find an unobtrusive hiding spot.

“Apologies, Mrs. Fielding,” Peter said, chest heaving as if he had been running. “Have you been knocking long? One of the lads needed help with a heavy prop.”

“Not at all,” Charlotte lied. “Peter, this is Piper Scott. Felix’s sister. We were beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten us.”

He glanced between Charlotte and Piper, lingering on her assistant a telling moment longer. “Sorry, Mrs. Fielding. With this being the first call for auditions, everyone needs something or another. I haven’t stopped moving for hours.”

Peter appeared tightly coiled, ready to bolt. He shifted from foot to foot and couldn’t seem to stop from peering over his shoulder.

“Is everything else all right?”

Raking a hand through his dark red hair, he lowered his voice, “Mr. Riordan’s a bit…agitated today.”

“Does that mean we won’t be able to see my brother’s audition?” Piper asked.

“No,” he said quickly. “We have to be extra careful to keep you out of his sight, is all. I want to do right by you, Mrs. Fielding, but I can’t lose this job.”

“Understood, Peter. We’ll take extra care.”

Warily, he nodded. “Follow me, ma’am. Miss.”

Charlotte followed, her mind more on Peter’s odd behavior than on seeing Felix. His reaction to the theater manager’s mood carried an edge of fear rather than concern. Though she wouldn’t want to get the stagehand in trouble, she almost wished she’d run into the manager to see why one gentleman’s bad day could affect his staff in such an emotional way.

Peter guided them around crates, wooden rows of turbulent imitation seawater, and twelve-foot-high Roman columns. He paused at a wrought-iron spiral staircase, eyeing their narrow skirts. “If you don’t think you can make it up these stairs, we have a regular staircase farther back.”

“How is the view from this one, Peter?”

“About halfway up, you can see the entire stage and audience.”

“Oh, can we, Mrs. Fielding?”

“I’m up for the challenge if you are,” Charlotte said in what she hoped was a convincing voice.

“Brilliant!”

“Why don’t you follow Peter up?” Not one for heights, Charlotte had no intention of allowing anyone, including Piper, to witness her undignified climb.
One, two, three, four…

For the first twenty-four steps, she looked neither left nor right or down, but kept her focus trained one step above her head. Then Piper whispered, “I can see why Felix loves it here so much. It’s all so grand.”

An enormous red curtain sporting gold tassels at the bottom opened, revealing the dark wooden planks of the main stage and rows of matching colored benches. Five balconies stacked one on top of the other rose to mind-boggling heights. At the crest of Gothic-style arches loomed an intricately carved dome.

Charlotte had frequented theaters before, but none this majestic. Every inch of the Augusta was a feast for the eyes. “Indeed, Piper.”

“We’re almost there,” Peter cut in.

The rest of the climb was near unbearable, and Charlotte wanted desperately to swivel around every few feet. She dared not. One wrong move could cause her head to swim and her world to tilt. She would not survive a fall from the distance.
Forty-six, forty-seven—

“Here we are, Mrs. Fielding.” Peter held out a hand to assist her from the last step.

Relief swept through her—until she looked down. Her grip tightened on his hand. She saw his brows scrunch in confusion. Then he saw something in her expression and pulled her hand through the crook of his elbow, not releasing her as he guided them to two box crates overlooking the main stage.

Once she was seated, the tension slowly ebbed. “Thank you, Peter.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am. I’m sorry I can’t offer you better seats.”

“Oh, Peter,” Piper chimed in. “These seats are lovely. I can see the entire stage from here.”

They sat two levels above the stage, amid thick ropes, bull’s-eye lanterns, jangling pulleys, and narrow catwalks. Activity bustled all around them. Charlotte had failed to notice the hum of activity before now, with her thoughts so focused on surviving the next step up. But even with the excited shouts, clacking heels against wood, and other noises Charlotte could not identify, their private niche felt worlds apart from it all.

“Piper’s right,” she said. “This is absolutely perfect.”

The stagehand’s face took on the same reddish hue as his hair. “I’ll send Felix up for you once his audition is over.”

Piper laid a hand on the young man’s sleeve. “Thank you, Peter.”

“Any time, Miss Piper.”

Two rather flimsy-looking wood railings separated their niche from a two-story fall. Piper rested her forearms on the top railing and peered way over to get the best advantage. Charlotte fisted her hands in her lap, holding back a motherly scold. When Piper’s bum came out of her seat, Charlotte’s control snapped. “Piper, for the sake of my nerves, would you please stay on this side of that less-than-substantial barrier you’re leaning on?”

Her assistant’s eyes sparkled. “I had no notion heights affected you so.”

“That is because there’s never been an occasion for me to reveal such weakness.”

“I don’t consider it a weakness. Everyone is unnerved by something.”

Charlotte did her level best not to smile at the mature quality to Piper’s statement. “Oh? What unnerves you?”

“Cockroaches.” Her whole body shuddered. “Nasty, sneaky little creatures. I cannot bear to be in the same room with them—not even to eradicate them.”

Charlotte chuckled. “In that, I cannot blame you. I have a similar aversion to mice.”

A hum of anxious murmurs sounded from below. Moments later, a silent group of men and women of various ages marched single file to the middle of the stage. Each of them carried a single sheet of paper. Charlotte spotted Felix’s mop of blond at the end of the line. Only one other among the group appeared to be his age.

As if reading her thoughts, Piper asked, “Do you think he’s up against only one other actor for the part?”

“I’m guessing as much.”

One by one they turned toward the audience. Some wore confident expressions, some wore arrogant expressions. Most seemed ready to bolt. Felix appeared a little scared, but determined.

A smartly dressed gentleman strolled with quick, sure strides onto the stage. “Welcome to the Augusta Theatre. For those who don’t know me, I’m Mr. Riordan, the manager here.”

With his hands behind his back, he paused center stage. “We are in the final stages of casting for
The Sacred Tree
, with only three more characters left to cast. When it is your turn on stage, wait for our instructions and begin with your prepared monologue. There will be a brief moment of silence as we talk among ourselves. You may be asked to do a passage from your sheet, or you may be asked to leave.” He walked the line, assessing each actor or would-be actor with a critical eye. “If you do not get a part in this production and wish to try for another later on, accept our decision graciously and exit the stage. Argue with us at your peril. Understood?”