‘Stop lettingonemistake define you – as though none of the nights before that ever existed. As though all the work you put in before that was meaningless. You were on that stage long before you took over your mother’s act, and you were always the first to rehearsal. The first since your mother to sell out the theatre.’ She raised two dark eyebrows towards Ava. ‘You should be proud of that.’
Ava let the words settle. Let them sink beneath her skin – for it wasn’t just within these walls she’d measured her worth on a tally of failure or success. It was in every corner of her life. She’d carved it into her shadow until it followed her every step – and each time something fell apart, it washerfault, and no one else’s. Each mistake wasn’t a moment in time – it was proof.
Proof that she wasn’t good enough.
Proof that she never would be.
But here, now, with Miss Fairchild, she realized that she wasn’t alone in that feeling. It made her wonder how much of her doubt had been real.
And how much of it had been nothing more than a shadow. A trick of the light.
‘I should be proud …’ Ava said, her voice low, as though testing the words on her tongue.
‘Yes,’ agreed Miss Fairchild. ‘You were incredible, Ava. And you still are.’
Ava’s lip twitched at the edge as she remembered those same words coming from Damien’s mouth. The way he’d looked at her as he’d said it.
You’re incredible.
‘Which is why I’m not sure it matters how good I get.’ Miss Fairchild’s tone was light, but her gaze serious. ‘How well I can mimic what you did up there. I don’t … I’m still not sure I’ll be able to best it.’
Ava looked at her for a long moment, her brow creasing. ‘You know, someone told me that if all you’re trying to do is replicate what another has done, then it’ll always feel like a lie. Always feel like a performance.’
Miss Fairchild turned, eyebrow raising. ‘So then … it’s meant to feel like this?’
Ava shook her head. ‘It’s meant to feel like it’syours. Instead of trying to twist yourself into another shape, shape it to fit you. Make it your own.’
Miss Fairchild blew a soft breath through her lips. ‘Make it mine,’ she murmured, turning to admire the way the obsidian silk rippled a little in the light. ‘Perhaps I’ll give that a try, too.’
And the smile she gave Ava felt like a start, at least. A … a truce of sorts.
‘You know,’ Miss Fairchild continued, voice lowering a little. ‘I saw that man of yours at the theatre. You know, the one you were shouting at? That day on the street?’
Ava frowned. ‘You saw himhere?’
‘Mmm.’
‘Outside the theatre, you mean?’ For his lodging housewasjust opposite.
‘No – in the passage. The one that leads to Houghton Street.’ Miss Fairchild looked up then, eyes flashing. ‘Perhaps he was looking for you?’
Ava hated how hope speared through her then – how all she could think was that perhaps Damien had come here to tell her that it hadn’t been a mistake, what had passed between them, no matter what she’d said afterwards. No matter that she’d told him to leave.
Perhaps he’d come to tell her that he’d felt it, too.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Out of desperation – or denial, perhaps – Ava had taken a walk back to the Rainbow Hotel, with its murky parlour, and the insolent young man at the front desk, and she’d asked to leave a message for the man in room 13.
‘Ain’t no one in room 13,’ the clerk had said.
‘Not even an O’Brien?’
‘No one.’
And it’d made the sensation that’d begun to thrum in her chest tick all the louder – even now, as she paced back and forth in front of the apothecary. For what if Damien wouldn’t come today, for their session? What if he’d left? What if that was why he’d come to the theatre – to tell that he didn’t wish to do their sessions anymore, didn’t wish toseeher anymore—
‘Am I late?’
