The hair rises along my arms at the rich, sensuous sound of her voice. All my thoughts of murders, grief, and fear fall away. There is only Kate, lit by a single limelight, luminous as the sun, her voice falling over me like starshine. She begins another verse, and her eyes lock with mine as she sings. My belly swoops and I slowly begin to understand that my infatuation with the person in front of me has nothing at all to do with her outward presentation to the world, and everything to do with her essence. Her energy. Her light. I’ve never longed for someone more. It’s as shocking to me as it is delightful.
But when the song changes, her eyes drift to another in the crowd, a pretty dark-haired woman dressed in yellow. As Kate sings directly to her, I see the woman’s shoulders droop, see the color rise on her face. My jealousy flares. I will Kate’s eyes back to mine, but they never return.
After two more Italian arias, she finishes her performance and descends the stage, pausing to greet the woman in yellow with a kiss to each cheek. They share a few words, and then Kate comes my way. When she brushes past me, her hand grazes mine. My stomach tumbles at her touch. “Meet me outside,” she whispers. “I’ll collect my pay, then we’ll go.”
Flummoxed and agitated by my tumultuous feelings, I rise, smoothing out my skirts. I glare at the woman in yellow, who is completely oblivious to my presence. She leans her head on the shoulder of the well-dressed man sitting next to her, who seems unaware that “Varina” just seduced his beloved right under his nose.
I go outside and wait beneath the café’s striped awning, my foot tapping on the pavers with impatience. The chill in the evening air cools my blazing cheeks, but does nothing to soothe my jealousy. But I must master my emotions if I’m to remain with Kate. My situation is precarious, and now that she knows who I really am, I don’t want to make her doubt my gratitude or give her any reason to turn me out. Angel’s Rest now feels like my home, and I long to stay.
Kate emerges from the alley a few moments later, her gown falling off one shoulder, exposing the faint freckles there. She winks at me. “Well, what did you think?”
“You were spectacular,” I say, meaning it. “Your audience loves you.”
“Well, it pleases me to entertain. I was born for it.”
“Who was the woman in the yellow dress?” I ask the question lightly, with a smile to disguise my jealousy.
“Barbara Kincaid. One of my patronesses. She and her husband have me for parties sometimes. She’s hired me for next Friday evening, matter of fact.”
“I see. To sing?”
“Yes.” Kate gives me a puzzled look. “To sing.” She pulls me by the hand into the adjoining alley, out of sight of the street. “I can tell you’re wondering about Varina. About what I do. And I don’t want you getting the wrong idea. I know what people say about actresses. Singers. That we’re loose. Easy. That we sell ourselves. And some do fall into prostitution. But I am not one of them.”
Her eyes are limpid, blown-out pools, but there’s a sharpness there all the same. “I flirt, Lillian. I perform. I give them what they want to see, because that’s how I survive. But I have never, ever been forced to sell my body. That alone is mine to give.” She tilts her head down, her breath smelling sweetly of raspberries and mint. “Do you understand me, darling?”
I’m too breathless to answer, but manage to nod. She’s so close to me that if I tilted my chin up, her lips would be against mine. I’ve only ever been kissed once, by William, on the evening of our betrothal. He was poor at it, his tongue slipping into my mouth and startling me with its intrusion. I didn’t enjoy the sensation. I wonder how different it would be, to kiss a woman.Thiswoman. The nearness of her body is a firebrand. I long to feel her pressing against me, like she did this morning, when I knew her only as Alex. But as reckless bravery takes hold of me and I tilt my chin up to seek her lips, she pulls away.
“Let’s go home. You’re tired, and your leg must be in an awful state by now,” she says.
She’s not wrong. My leg is throbbing by the time we reach the wharves where we moored our shallow skiff. We row across the Cooper in silence under the full moon, then up the snaking, narrow tributaries to Angel’s Rest. On the front piazza, a small stringer of drum lies next to the door. Kate picks up the fish and leaves a handful of coins in their place for Ruby and Noah. “I’ll fry these for us tomorrow,” she says.
I follow her up the path to the kitchen house. She places the fish in the sink, then lights an oil lamp, the flame illuminating her face with glancing light. She places it on the kitchen table, then stokes the embersin the cookstove. “I’ll draw you a bath. I’ll just need to change clothes and fetch water from the well,” she says.
“You don’t have to do that. The bath.”
“Nonsense. It’s no trouble. The warm water will ease your pain. Now sit and rest your leg. There are some things we need to discuss when I get back.” Before I can protest further, she leaves. I settle into one of the hooped-back chairs to wait, wondering what she wants to discuss. A few minutes later, I see her through the window, lantern bobbing in the underbrush. When she returns, carrying two buckets of water, she’s dressed in men’s clothing—trousers with suspenders and a billowing white shirt. The blond wig is gone. Her dark hair hangs in unkempt waves above her shoulders. After her performance as Varina, the change in her appearance is jarring, but I have a feeling this is Kate at her most honest—somewhere between Alexander Mayhew and Varina.
She sets to work, placing a large stockpot on the stove and pouring the water into it. She fills the teakettle, then sets it next to the pot to warm. “Would you like some tea? Chamomile, to help you sleep? I drink it myself, every night before bed.”
“Only if you’ll read my leaves after I’m finished,” I say, trying to lighten the tension between us.
“You know that’s just a parlor trick. A game. But all right.”
Once the kettle has boiled, she places a cup in front of me with crushed, earthy-smelling flowers and leaves covering the bottom. This is the other component to her distinctive scent, then. Camphor, menthol, and chamomile. She joins me at the table, crossing her arms over her chest as she studies me in her calculating way. “If I’m to help you, and if you’re going to be staying here, under my roof, I must know everything about you, Lillian. And I do mean everything. About your past. Your family. I read the article in the paper this morning. It mentioned that you poisoned your sister. That you were due to be hanged for her murder. I remember hearing about all of that now. Did you kill her?”
“No,” I say. “I promise you. I did not.”
Kate studies my face and then smiles “Well. Then that would be thefirsthonest thing you’ve told me.”
“I don’t know who killed Rebecca. Not really. I have my ideas. But they’re ... risky.”
“In what way?”
“If I told you, it would imperil someone I love a great deal.”
“Who?”
“I can’t tell you that, either.” I blow across the surface of the tea and take a tentative sip. It’s light and warm, like sunshine on green grass.
