I straightened, firm in the knowledge that I looked very littlelike my fair-haired mother. “You must have mistaken me for someone. I’ve only just arrived.” She couldn’t have seen the slippers. They hadn’t even come all the way out of my bag. I attempted to comfort myself with that notion.
She inched closer, wonder on her bright little face, as if she hadn’t heard a word. She reached gnarled fingers that shook with a sort of palsy and touched Mama’s starfish pendant hanging from a black ribbon at my throat, her nails clinking against the metal jewelry. “I told them you were a survivor. No one ever listens to Maymie Dobbs now, do they?”
I held perfectly still, breathing in the scent of lye and talcum on her hands as my insides quaked. I had the sensation of approaching the mouth of a mysterious cave, and I had only to wait and blink as my eyes adjusted to see what lay in the gloomy dark. “Who are you?”
Then a man stepped near with the slick air of polished boot leather, positioning himself between me and the old woman. “A new one, are you?” He was playful and silky, his voice low. The older woman crouched out of the way, collecting her basket of slippers and hurrying away. I nearly reached out to touch her shoulder, but she was quick.
The man before me tipped his head toward me with interest. “Care for a—”
“I’m not for sale.” I met his stare. I would not be brought to some discreet flat and made to belong to some stranger just for the sake of favorable standing in the ballet.
One eyebrow jerked up. “Just a friendly welcome. Perhaps you’d care for a small token of my admiration.” He dug in his pockets, but I didn’t wait to see what would emerge.
“What part of no wasn’t clear?” I lowered my voice, pushing past him to run through the doors. I glanced about thegaslit corridor for the woman, old Maymie Dobbs, but she had vanished.
Returning to the greenroom with a pounding heart, I stood at the barre, back stiffly to the others. A golden-haired dancer who had been watching from her chaise lounge untangled herself from her companion and approached. She arched one arm overhead and stretched her heel to the barre, evaluating me thoroughly. “That was quite the performance.”
“I didn’t care for his behavior.”
She cocked an eyebrow in a way that made me feel utterly found out. “Where on earth have you come from? Haven’t you ever danced in a theater before?”
“I trained in Paris.”
“Certainly our men are not as base as the French.”
“Men are men in every theater. That doesn’t mean I enjoy it.”
“Why ever not? Doesn’t it flatter you just a bit?”
“I’m not one for the attention of strange men.”
“They’re only strange until you let them close.” She winked. Somehow she reminded me of Lily, which made me like her and fear her at the same time. “Oh come, don’t look at me that way. I’ve formed an attachment with a count and I merely keep civil with the others. Attracting more bees with honey and all.” She watched me with stunning blue eyes that refused to be ignored, her mouth pert. “I’m Minna Frank, by the way. How did you come to Craven? You seemed to appear out of nowhere. The others are mad with curiosity.”
“I’m Ella Blythe. And ... I’m here by sheer good fortune.” I edged my chin up and returned to pliés, hands crossed over my pounding heart.
Her smirk was knowing. “Which gentleman came to your aid?”
“None.” Well, not inthatway.
“With whom did you train, then?”
“Coulon.”
Her rosy lips parted. “Of the Paris Opera House?” She looked me up and down. “How ever did you manage that?”
It was a stroke of bad fortune for Craven that had led to a stroke of very good fortune for me, in the form of a scholarship. A free pass into some of the best training on the continent, followed by a promised contract to dance as a soloist, a member of thesujet, for Craven and no other theater. I still didn’t completely understand how it had all come about. I’d never had anything free in my life. Even though I’d worked harder than anyone to keep up in Paris, I’d felt like a guilty cheat.
I opened my mouth to offer some vague answer, but a familiar figure crystalized in my distant vision. The breath left my lungs—there he was. Philippe Rousseau’s easy manner set him apart from the lecherous men around, and it flooded my being with a cool mix of relief and pleasure to know he was as I remembered him. If only he’d come closer.
“Well, look at you, blushing like a girl in the schoolroom.” She examined me with amusement sparkling in her eyes, now that she’d at last gotten the upper hand. For a moment, anyway. I couldn’t tell yet if she had pegged me friend or rival. Perhaps a mix of both. “Where did they keep you in Paris—a priory? Why, you’ve barely begun to live, it would seem.”
“I live every time I dance onstage.” I leveled a weighty glance. “I’d hate for anything to ruin that.” There was a clause in my contract, one that had implanted itself upon my mind. If I was associated with the least bit of impropriety, I would be dismissed from the contract with no help in the future, no place in the theater world.
Her lips pinched, one eyebrow arching. “Indeed.” By the look on her face, I was a riddle to solve, and one she wouldn’t let rest.
Yet it didn’t matter, because he was coming. Philippe Rousseau was striding toward us with those powerful legs that had carried him in unforgettable arcs across the stage that night so many years ago. No doubt they still did. Butterfly wings tickled my chest.
He flashed a warm smile at my companion as he neared and bent to kiss her fingertips. “Minna. You’ve made a fine recovery, it seems.” His voice was low and weighted with calm. “You’re prepared to dance again?”
