The Mirador (49 page)

Beyond that, the key scene between Semper and me was limping. It reminded me of a broken vase. We’d try gluing it together one way, and a piece would fall out someplace else. We braced that spot, and a chip leaped out of the rim. We put that back in place, and the shard we’d originally glued fell out. It wasn’t Semper’s fault—his other scenes showed that he was an actor perfectly adequate for the part of Edith Pelpheria’s doomed husband—and it wasn’t my fault. But between us, the thing just wouldn’t jell. Jean-Soleil was all but chewing the flats in exasperation, and he finally had the sense to let us go, turning his attention ferociously on Gordeny and Corinna. I jerked my head at Semper, and we fled to my dressing room.

“I’m sorry, Madame Parr,” he said, the instant the door was closed behind us. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“Don’t apologize, and for God’s sake don’t call me ‘Madame Parr.’ My name’s Mehitabel—Tabby if you find that too cumbersome.”

He blushed up to the roots of his hair.

I didn’t sigh, although I felt like it. But I had a duty here, not so much to Semper as to Jean-Soleil, and really not to either of them at all. To Gran’père Mato, who had insisted that all his children and grandchildren and every player who came into the troupe be taught to read so that they could understand the stories they acted out. And to the Empyrean. And to Edith Pelpheria , because it was a wrenching, brilliant play, and if we were going to do it, we had to do it right.

“Semper?”

“Yes?”

“Do you understand what that scene is supposed to be doing? ”

“I’m sorry?”

“Asline Wren put it there for a reason, you know.” What Mildmay called my governess-voice. And I was a good teacher. I’d taught Angora Gauthy how to factor an equation, although it’d taken me the better part of two weeks.

“Oh.” He frowned, as if that was an entirely new idea. “Then I guess I don’t.”

“Well, think about it. What do you think it’s there for? And sit down while you’re thinking.”

He sat obediently, his frown deepening. “I guess maybe that’s why I don’t get it. It doesn’t seem to me like it’s doing anything.”

“Why not?”

“It’s the only scene with Edith and Merrick together,” he said. “So it seems like maybe it should be showing how much she loves him. But it doesn’t.”

“No,” I said.

“But it can’t be showing that she doesn’t love him, because the rest of the play shows that she does. So you’re right, Ma— Mehitabel. I don’t understand it.”

“Do you know why Edith Pelpheria is such a famous play?”

“Is it famous? I’d never heard of it.”

“Bless the boy, is it famous! Yes, it is extremely famous. Edith is considered one of the greatest female tragic roles.”

“Oh. Father Ulixes doesn’t approve of plays.”

“That’s his problem,” I said tartly. “The reason that this is considered a great play—and that Edith is so important and so difficult—is the vigil scene in Act Three.”

“Oh,” Semper said, this time in tones of great enlightenment.

“That’s where we find out that Edith loves Merrick, and that’s why this scene is important.”

“I get it! Because it looks like it’s establishing that she doesn’t.”

“Exactly.” I shut my mouth and let him think about it.

After a while, when his eyes had refocused on his present surroundings, I said, “Your father asked me to talk to you.”

The shutters came flipping down across his face with the speed of lightning. “You know my father?”

“Neither well nor fondly. Nor, ah, intimately.” Semper blushed as he caught my meaning, and I forbore mentioning Antony. “But I promised him I’d tell you he doesn’t approve of you becoming an actor. He says he’ll take you into his household.”

Semper said nothing, his face bleak.

I said, “That’s all I promised him.”

“My mother,” he said after a moment. “She loved him very much. She was always watching for him when she knew he was at Copal Carnifex—and sometimes even when she knew he wasn’t—hoping he’d come by, just to talk or just so she could see him. He never did, not once in seven years. Even when he took me away, he sent his steward to Moldwarp to fetch me. The first time I ever saw him was in the great hall at Copal Carnifex. It’s only about a quarter of the size of the Hall of the Chimeras, I suppose, but the effect is very much the same.” His mouth twisted wryly. “Especially when you’re seven and scared out of your mind. He looked me over and said, ‘I expect you not to shame me at St. Kemplegate.’ That was it. The steward whisked me away. I spent the night in the kitchen with the scullery boys and rode to Shatterglass the next day in the carriage with Lady Beatrice’s dresser and my—and Lord Philip’s valet. They despised me, too.” I saw the moment when his mind caught up with his mouth; that look of stark horror would have been hard to miss.

I said mildly, “I have no good opinion of Lord Philip to lose.”

“Thank you,” he said, blushing again.

“Would you like me to take a message back to Lord Philip?”

He thought about that carefully. “If I wrote a letter . . .”

“Yes, of course. I think I’ve even got some sealing wax you can use.”

His smile was radiant. “That would be splendid. If you’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. Now, mind you, I wouldn’t care to make a habit out of it . . .”

“No, no, of course not. But just a short letter?”

I couldn’t help laughing. “Make the letter as long as you need.”

“Thank you, M—Mehitabel. I’ll go write it now. If I give it to you tomorrow, is that all right?” He darted out, barely waiting for my affirmative.

Something to look forward to, I thought dourly, and went out to tell Jean-Soleil that I thought we had the scene licked.

Mildmay

I knocked on Rinaldo and Simon’s door. Rinaldo opened it.

“You,” he said.

“Me,” I said. “Just me. I mean, Felix ain’t around the corner or nothing.”

“That is some comfort. Do you wish to come in?”

“Not if you’re gonna be giving me the hairy eyeball the whole time. I ain’t responsible for Felix being an asshole.”

His mouth twitched. “Good point. Come in.”

Simon and Gideon were sitting by the fire. They both looked nervous when they saw me.

“Don’t get excited,” I said. “It’s just me.”

“Where’s Felix?” Simon asked.

“Fucked if I know.”

“Get him a chair, Simon,” Rinaldo said behind me. “At least, I assume you’re staying?”

“Um, yeah, I mean, I . . .” Powers, Milly-Fox, could you sound stupider if you tried?

“Do you need something, Mildmay?” Simon said, dragging a chair forward.

“Um, sort of.”

“Not to do with Felix?”

“Nah. It’s, um . . . well, it’s about Jenny.”

“Your friend in the Ebastine,” Rinaldo said.

“Yeah.” I sat down. “I, um, I think I got to go talk to her. But it’s gonna take some really fast talking, and I . . . well, I could use some backup.”

“You want me to come with you,” Simon said.

“Yeah.” I didn’t let myself wince, because I knew better than that, but I was all tied up like a piece of string inside waiting for what he’d say.

He looked at Gideon, kind of sharp. Then he said, “Gideon wants to know if he can come, too.”

“You . . . I mean, don’t . . . I mean . . . oh fuck it. Of course you can come. If you want to.”

Gideon nodded and gave me something that was almost a smile.

Simon said, “Then I’m in, as well.”

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks. I’ll, um . . . is tomorrow afternoon okay?”

Gideon kind of shrugged and nodded at the same time, and I knew what he meant, but Simon made a face. “It’d be better for me to wait a couple days.”

“Sure,” I said. “Kennel ain’t going no place. I’ll come by when I can get away—you know.” I got up.

“You don’t have to leave,” Rinaldo said.

“Yeah, I do,” I said. I didn’t mean to look at Gideon when I said it, but my eyes slid that way anyway.

“Gideon says he isn’t upset with you for anything,” Simon said.

“Thanks, Gideon, but I know how Felix would feel about me being here. And, I mean, you can’t exactly want me around. I’ll just go.”

Rinaldo said, “You said, accurately, that Felix is not your fault.”

“Yeah, but I got to drag him around after me anyway. I mean, I can’t get rid of the binding-by-forms. I’m sorry, Rinaldo. I guess I lied.”

“No,” Rinaldo said. “But I think I understand how you feel. Go if you think you have to. We will see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” I said and left without looking at either Simon or Gideon again.

Mehitabel

I heard the knock, but thought nothing of it until Lenore came in and announced, “Lord Felix Harrowgate, miss.”

Oh hellfire, I thought. I put my book down. “Please, show Lord Felix into the sitting room and tell him to make himself comfortable. I’ll be with him in a moment.”

I hadn’t been expecting anyone and so had unpinned my braids and taken off my shoes, and I was glad of the time to collect myself. When I came out of my dressing room, I saw, through the open antechamber door, Felix alone in the sitting room and clearly not expecting me yet. He’d sunk into a chair; his left elbow was propped on the chair arm, and his head sagged against that hand as if it were too heavy for him to hold upright. I had a clear, fire-lit view of his profile, his blue eye clouded and all his habitual façades and masquerades dropped. He looked deathly tired. I backed away from the door before he noticed me; I couldn’t deal with that Felix. When I started forward again, I was noisy about it, and by the time I came into the sitting room he was on his feet and smiling.

“Tabby,” he said, “do I kiss your hand?”

“No, thank you,” I said. “I hardly think that courtesy necessary among friends.”

He seemed somehow to brighten. “Do you really think of me as a friend?”

“Of course I do, sunshine,” I said, and gave him a real smile. “And anyway, at least I know you’re here for me.”

“I see. Heavy lies the, er—”

“No, don’t go on from there,” I said, and we both laughed. “Sit down instead and tell me to what I owe the honor.”

“Am I that transparent?” he said, with an odd sideways glance at me; the yellow eye was merely mocking, but the blue eye looked worried and anxious.

“I do know you. And I believe a lady is supposed to receive her gentlemen callers in the afternoon.” I made a very small production out of looking at the clock, and was half alarmed, half delighted when he blushed and bit his lip and looked away.

“Yes, well, no one can suspect me of having designs on your virtue. And I did want to ask you something, but . . . I wanted to find out if you would see me.”

“I’ve forgiven you worse things,” I said.

His face stayed still, but his hands flinched a little. “Yes, I suppose you have.”

“What did you want to ask me?”

“It’s about Vincent.”

“Vincent?”

“Vincent Demabrien. You remember?”

“Lord Ivo’s catamite.”

“Yes.” Unlike Isaac, he didn’t balk at the word.

“What about him?”

“Lord Ivo is disinclined to let him associate with undesirables such as myself.”

“And?”

“He won’t want to offend you, not now.”

That was elliptical, but I thought I saw the light. “You want me to invite Vincent Demabrien here?”

“Would you?”

“Stephen is not going to marry Zelda Polydoria.”

“No, of course not.” "Won’t this look like, er, collusion between Vincent and me?”

“Will it? Does it matter if it does? The gossip is flowing thick and fast in all directions anyway. Will one more crosscurrent matter? And you’re welcome to tell Stephen it’s all my fault.”

“I’d tell him that anyway. Is this Vincent Demabrien so important to you?”

There was a pause. He’d looked away from me, down at his hands, at the tattoos and garnet rings. When he looked up again, his face was calm and rather remote. “Since I came to the Mirador, ” he said, “which was when I was sixteen, I have seen no one whom I knew in my childhood. Most of them are dead. Finding Vincent again . . . I don’t know. It’s like getting a chance to talk with the dead. I don’t suppose that makes any sense, but I will be damned if I let a two-centime pantomime vulture like Ivo Polydorius get in my way.”

I sighed—and let him hear it—and capitulated. “What do you want me to do, invite him to tea?”

“Dinner would be better,” Felix said. He gave me one of his blazing smiles, the sort that made even people who knew better forget to distrust him. “My afternoons are so busy.”

“All right,” I said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“You are a saint,” he said. “Shall I light candles for you?”