“But how will you manage it? You’d have to change nearly every character’s dynamic and reaction throughout the entire piece.”
His gaze focused in on her lithe figure standing alone near the drawn-back curtains while all the other dancers milled about in groups. “Perhaps she’s invisible to everyone but the hero.” His voice was low. “Yes, I think she is.”
Together the watching dancers all hurried off the stage as the next one peeled off her calico gaiters and prepared to dance.
“A star who cannot see its own glow.” This came from Fournier, the rocky old hill of a man who’d been mostly silent through the performance. His face mirrored everything Jack had felt in the dance, as if Ella Blythe had invited them all to experience the music along with her and only the two of them had accepted.
They filed out, still seeming unconvinced, but Fournier remained. He leveled a steady gaze at Jack that seemed to say,You see it too, don’t you?
“What do you say? May I write the extra part, Fournier?”
The owner’s face remained impassive as he turned to stare at that stage for endless moments. “I’ll fire you if you don’t.”
Jack suppressed a wry grin. “I’ll make you proud.”
Fournier shook his head and looked at the now-empty stage. “Other dancers love to perform. This one ... she merely loves to dance. And at long last, she’s begun to figure out how to getout of her own way.” He hesitated, leaning on the seat back. “It seems you finally managed it. You’ve more than won the bet. You shall have your reward, as promised.”
Jack gave one firm nod. “I’ll hold you to that, sir.”
Fournier straightened his jacket, checked his pocket watch. “I haven’t seen the rest of the ballet yet, Dorian.”
“And neither shall you—until the opening night. It’s to be a complete surprise how the mystery is resolved.” To the audience ... and also to him.
Fournier’s brows lowered dangerously, and a rumbling growl came from his chest.
“Very well, very well. I’ll have it for you soon enough. I have a lead I must follow up on today—right now, if you’ll permit me. Even when we do have the answer, it shall remain a secret outside of this theater. Give the public a tease of what’s coming, but let them wonder and speculate until the highly anticipated opening night.”
His pointed beard twitched, but he gave a single nod. “See that you get it written within forty-eight hours.”
Jack tipped his hat. He’d make his stop at a certain records office in Gretna Green to look over a few marriage certificates, if they existed, then there should be time enough to scratch out the rest of the ballet. He’d use one of his made-up scenarios if he couldn’t find the truth.
But he’d find it. They were close.
30
Iperched on the edge of a flowered damask chair later that day in Balthorp House, watching the drawing room doors for her willowy form. The maid had promised Lady Gower would be down to meet me shortly, but it had already been—I glanced up at the clock—ten whole minutes? They felt like an hour each.
Perhaps I should have told Jack about Lady Gower’s invitation to tea, but he wouldn’t have let me go alone. The man felt the need to manage and protect through every minute of the day, and right now I wanted neither. She would speak differently with only me present, I was certain, and I was hungry for whatever she wished to reveal to me.
The darkness between the slightly open doors beckoned me. After fidgeting for another minute and a half, I sprang up and went to them, slipping through and peering around in the vast tiled emptiness. There was a flutter and clink of distant activity in the kitchen and footsteps echoing on wood overhead. My heart beat out of my chest as I moved step after step into the great hall and toward another corridor. At the end, a door opened to a music parlor, with a harp on a rug and a shiningebony piano. I moved through it to another door on the opposite end and walked into a gallery, two stories high with walnut railings on the second floor. A winding staircase led up to the balcony.
In awe I made a slow turn, scanning the pictures for anything familiar. Then my eyes locked on a bit of red on the wall, my chest tight. There, hanging from their knotted ribbons, were Mama’s famous scarlet ballet slippers. Hardly daring to breathe, I approached in the dimness and ran a finger over their satiny sides, touching the familiar leather soles, the darned toes. Yes, it was them.
A door slammed, echoing through the house. I spun and hurried back, heart racing my thoughts, and stopped short in the great hall. Lady Gower stood there in the deepening shadows, a column of poise in the midst of the great openness. Just past her, a man’s green hat perched on a hook in the entryway. It caught my eye and I couldn’t look away.
“Begging your pardon, Lady Gower. I was lost.”
“In a drawing room?”
I stood, bearing the weight of her glare in silence.
She took two steps closer. “You didn’t ask a single question in the garden the other day, yet you seemed intensely curious. I thought perhaps we ought to have our own conversation.”
“We told you already of my involvement.” My voice croaked. “The ballet.”
“I want to know whyyouare interested. Enough to go traipsing uninvited through my home. The true reason, Miss Blythe.”
I hadn’t given my name before, had I? Holding her stare, I backed into the shadows, feeling every bit out of my element. Trapped. “I knew her once. Before she died.”
