35
Jane was ecstatic. She had been ecstatic all evening, since first peeking out at the audience for the night’s performance. It was packed. The house was full. And knowing this, she had played to them with all the passion in her soul. Now, the final curtain lowered, Jane curtsied to the sound of the house’s applause.
Yet it was no standing ovation. Also, it was curiously lacking in thunder, in resonance, in enthusiasm. There was something restrained about it, something polite. Jane sensed a great gap between herself and her audience, one she could not understand, yet as she bowed again, she did not let the smile slip from her face. With the house so full, why was this ovation so routine, so lacking in passion? A rose fell at her feet. Automatically, gracefully, she retrieved it, waving and blowing a kiss to the front rows. A man in the aisle below center stage called her nickname fervently, “Angel, Angel!”
Jane turned to go, spirits starting to sink. And then she heard a clear shout: “Where is the Angel’s Lord of Darkness?” This from a woman heckler.
She froze briefly, half turned away from the audience, then continued from the stage, slipping behind the curtains. And there she stood stock still, hearing the chant of “Angel, Angel,” but she also thought she heard his name—Darkness, Dragmore, Darkness, Dragmore …
Oh, God!
She clutched herself, suddenly terribly afraid.
“Jane, you were fantastic,” Gordon cried, taking her hands.
Jane’s soul was numb, although her mind was functioning. Someone, or some persons, had been shouting his name—her husband’s name. Hadn’t they? She hadn’t imagined it, had she? No! Impossible! She was a professional actress, and such ribaldery would not occur here. She was imagining things.
The press were waiting for her in the corridor in front of her dressing room, and her heart leapt in anticipation. She knew them all now, and managed a big smile, still shocked, but her gaze was anxious, searching from one to the other. She saw avid, leering interest—at least, she thought she did.
“Jane!” cried the man from theStar.“You were great tonight! So marriage suits you?”
A woman shoved past. “How did you two meet? Was it love at first sight? Aren’t you afraid of him?” And she shuddered theatrically.
Jane recoiled.
TheStarreporter pressed forward. “Why the secret marriage? When did he propose? When did you two decide to get married? Did he kill his wife?”
“Enough!” Jane cried, suddenly aghast and sickened. She used Gordon as a buffer to hurl through them and into the sanctuary of her dressing room.
But the woman’s voice carried. “Did he kill his wife? Aren’t you afraid he’ll tire of you and kill you too?”
Gordon slammed the door in her face.
Jane stood frozen, shaking. She was as pale as death. “Oh, God!”
“Forget it,” Gordon said decisively. “It’s not a big affair. It’s just not every day that a famous actress marries a notorious lord.”
Jane was clutching her throat. “They’re bloodthirsty barbarians,” she whispered. “And the audience—did you hear them? They shouted his name tonight.”
“Curiosity—” Gordon began.
“Curiosity!” Jane screeched, hysterical. “They came tonight because of curiosity! Am I a circus now?” Tears filled her eyes. “I’ve worked so hard, so damn hard, I’ve paid my dues, more than paid, and they come to see the Lord of Darkness’s new wife! Not to see me, Jane Barclay!”
“You’re exaggerating,” Gordon said. “Calm down, Jane.”
“Attendance has been dropping steadily. Yesterday we got married, this morning it was plastered all over the papers! ‘London’s Angel Weds the Lord of Darkness!’” She cried bitterly. “They only came to stare at a freak show tonight! I knew something was wrong when I heard the applause!”
Gordon rubbed her shoulder. “You are exaggerating, Jane. Maybe a few of them came to gawk, but most came for the performance.” Yet his voice held a note of doubt.
Jane swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, pulling away. “I hate him,” she whispered. “He’s ruining me!”
Gordon said nothing.
Trembling, angry, distraught, Jane sat and began abruptly removing her makeup. She ignored the sherry Robert handed her. “How will I overcome this?”
“It will die down in a few days,” Gordon told her. “You’ll see.”
Jane stared at her pale reflection in the mirror. This, at last, made sense, and offered hope. She rubbed her temples. They throbbed.
