The thought brought a shooting pain of tension to her temple. She pushed the mess of her hair away and massaged her head with one hand. From somewhere in the building, a baby squalled and from another corner, some male made big, hacking sounds.
Last night had been her opportunity to take the easy life.
“And you didn’t,” she reminded herself. “You would not.”
She could hear her mother shaking her head, tsking.
“I’m doing this my way,” she informed her mother’s ghost, and decided she’d best be on with it. She was fairly certain from the sounds of activity passing through the building’s thin walls that the morning was well advanced. The Naughty Review company members would have started gathering at the theater for their pay. One should never wait too long after a performance to be paid. After Geoff and Charles were finished with that task, they would be ready to talk to Sarah about her play. She planned to make it a productive meeting.
Bathing was always a challenge in her lowered circumstances. Water was collected from a pump further up Bolden Street. Sarah made the trek every day. First, because she believed in daily bathing and second, because she wished to appear her best for her meeting. The latter would be a challenge. She was certain she had huge circles under her eyes and placed the blame for her lack of decent sleep right where it belonged—on Baynton.
Throwing one of her serviceable dresses over her night clothes, she pulled on her shoes and, after giving her hair a brush, went to fetch water. She was back within the quarter of the hour and set about making herself presentable.
Sarah broke her fast with water, what was left of the bread, and a small piece of the dry cheese she’d been saving. She then dressed with care, choosing her forest-green walking dress because the color highlighted her hair. It was also the best dress she owned. She twisted her hair high on her head, pulling long curls to frame her face.
Today was going to be a damp day in London. She’d noted the low, gray clouds. She prayed she would make it to the theater before the rain fell.
She had only one hat and she took very good care of it. The material was a bronze silk trimmed in blue-and-green striped ribbons. Charlene had helped her choose the ribbon and Sarah liked the combination of colors, which was good since she could not afford new. Once her play was a success, then she would spend a whole afternoon picking out nothing but hats and ribbons and shoes. She could not wait to wear shoes with decent heels or stockings that had not been darned a dozen times.
She would also purchase cream for her face. Peering into the piece of mirror she used for her reflection, she was not happy with the lines beginning to show around her eyes. She was thankful her lashes were dark. So many with her coloring had light lashes.
Decked out in her best, she was finally ready to go. She set her hat at a smart angle, put on gloves, threw a cloak over her shoulder in case the rain started while she walked to the theater and then picked up The Fitful Widow from the stack of papers by her bandboxes. She believed it her best work.
The play was loose pages. She carefully placed them into a leather folder. She’d already started copying the pages for the different parts to give to the actors but she was out of paper and fearfully low on ink. She must talk about this with Geoff and Charles.
She’d also need to talk to them about a loan. She had waved aside payment for playing the Siren in order to have them agree to staging Widow. However, her rent was late and she had no desire to be tossed out of her current quarters, no matter how shabby.
There was also the inkling of a thought in the back of her mind that Geoff and Charles might let her serve as the play’s manager. Certainly, she had plans to be backstage and even on stage if need be. She believed she would make the perfect “Widow,” the female lead in the play.
But she definitely wished to be the manager. This story had been living in her mind for a good five years and no one knew it better. Or cared more. At last, she would find her place in what had often seemed to her an uncaring world.
The walk to the Bishop’s Hill was a good stretch of the leg. A bit of mist was in the air. She kept her cloak over the pages of her play and made her way.
As she came within sight of the theater, she was surprised to see a number of the last night’s company still milling around outside. They were obviously not pleased. Several stared at her as she approached. Few would know her. She’d worked hard to keep the identity of the Siren a secret.
William Millroy the tenor did know who she was and he came toward her. “If you are here to be paid, you might as well keep walking,” he informed her in his lovely brogue. “They’ve skipped on us.”
Sarah came to a halt. “They what—? Who?”
“Skipped. Run off. See the boards over the door. The landlord came by an hour ago and put them up. The buggers left him high and dry as well.”
“Are you talking about Geoff and Charles?” Sarah had to ask. “They made a fortune last night.”
“Yes, and apparently they took it with them,” an actress Sarah knew as Irene agreed. “When they didn’t show by noon, one of the lads went around to their quarters. The place is packed up. The neighbors said they heard them leaving in the night. They have flown.”
“No,” Sarah denied. She had difficulty wrapping her mind around what she was being told. “I’ve known them for years. They would not do such a thing.”
“Well, they have,” Irene countered.
“Bloody bastards,” the man who had played the shepherd in last night’s performance said. He took off walking. One of the actresses, the one with very curly black hair trailed after him.
“Where are you going? What should we do?” she called after him.
“Find a pub,” he answered, turning to walk backward but not slowing his step. “Coming with?”
She looked to the others.
“I’m due at the Covent,” one said.
