Lucy looked around with interest. The back of the box was shadowed, and hung with deep red velvet drapes.
Arden leaned on the balcony and looked down at the crowded stage. The bickering of the actors could still be heard, but since they weren’t speaking too loudly the words were indistinct.
“So, tell me, what else do you know about this Phantom?” Lucy demanded. “Is he tall or short? Stocky or slim? Does he have a beard or mustache? How big is his mask?”
Arden turned, shaking his head at her barrage of questions. “By all accounts, he’s of average height, maybe a little taller than most, and as to his build, he’s neither fat nor overly lean.”
Lucy gave a huff of frustration. “That’s not very helpful. That could be half the men in London.”
“He always wears evening dress; black jacket and breeches, white shirt and cravat. His mask is black, and fitted to cover the top half of his face. His mouth and chin are visible, and those who’ve seen him say he’s clean shaven. He’s also dark haired, although it’s possible he’s wearing a wig.”
Lucy frowned. “I assume people have already tried the obvious, like waiting for him outside the door, once they see he’s here in the box?”
“Of course. But the Phantom is wonderfully elusive. He seems to have the ability to vanish into thin air.”
“Like the actors in Shakespeare’sTempest,” Lucy murmured absently.
“What?”
“Oh, Prospero, I think it is, says something like that at the end of the play. ‘Our revels are now ended. These our actors . . . were all spirits and are melted into air, into thin air’.”
Arden shook his head. “You’re a fan of Shakespeare, I take it?”
“I am. I took hisComplete Workswith me on my travels. Caro, Lenore, and I used to act them out, playing all the parts between us. I make an excellent Lady Macbeth.” Lucy turned in a slow circle, then crossed to the walls and began sliding her hands over them.
“What are you doing now?” Arden’s sigh was thick with resignation.
“Looking for a hidden entrance. Perhaps the Phantom sneaks in here from a hidden closet, or escapes via a secret passage.” She tapped the walls, listening for a change in tone that would indicate a hollow space, then looked behind the curtains.
Arden perched himself on the gilt arm of the settee and watched her with the air of someone humoring an inmate from Bedlam.
“There are passageways all over this place, actually. They allow the production team and actors to move about the theater without being seen by the audience. The stage itself has at least three different trap doors that let into the space below, and there are cellars and store rooms down there, too.”
Lucy gave a frustrated huff as her search for a hidden door yielded nothing. She pointed to the decorated ceiling of the main auditorium.
“What’s above us?”
“The roof, naturally, but also a huge attic space between the rafters that’s used for storing costumes and scenery.”
“Can you get down to the street from the roof?”
He nodded. “Since the last three theaters burned down, there are now multiple means of escape for people in the case of fire. There are metal rungs attached to the outside of the building that can be climbed down to the road.”
“Perhaps that’s how the Phantom arrives, then.”
He gave a derisive snort. “Sounds like a lot of hard work.”
“I suppose you have a better idea?”
His lips twitched at her irritated tone. “All I’m saying is, why go to such drastic lengths? Half the men who come here dress in evening wear. The Phantom could just arrive with everyone else and mingle with the crowd with his mask off until he’s about to enter the box.”
“That wouldn’t be possible if he’s as scarred as everyone says. He’d be too recognizable. People would be bound to notice him.”
“Maybe he isn’t disfigured at all? Maybe the mask is just to hide his identity. He might simply be some bored aristocrat out for a lark.”
Lucy frowned. Those were all definite possibilities.
Arden stood, and despite the fact that he was on the lower tier, the top of her head still only came up to his nose. Her heart started to pound at his nearness. She’d been too preoccupied looking for a secret door to realize quite howsmallthis box was. How intimate. She only had to stretch out her arm and she’d brush his hand, or his thigh.
