I gave her a nod, a gentle squeeze, and a sendoff. When she hurried away, still intoxicated by the thrill of the night, the sudden loneliness of my life settled over me.
Then there was a small whoosh of warm air behind me, a few footsteps, and a voice. “Will I do? For an escort home, that is.”
I spun and there he was, stepped down from the portrait. “Mr. de Silva.” Hot and cold whooshed through me at the sight of my father so close.
He strode into the greenroom with a quiet sense of ownership and came to stand before me, looking me over with unsettling thoroughness. “It occurred to me after our last meeting that I hadn’t any idea about your circumstances. It was all rather sudden and ... perhaps it’s best if we talk. Come, I’ll walk you home.”
I simply stared at his elegant figure, trying to wrap my mind around this image of my father. He held out his arm and I accepted it, my legs trembling as we crossed through both sets of corridors and out the alley door toward the boardinghouse.
33
Forgive me for behaving so abominably before.” We had been silent for the first street and a half, but now the dark timbre of his voice interrupted the night. “When you tried to tell me who you were, I’m afraid I misunderstood. But then at the meeting at Fournier’s when I realized ... well, it was quite a shock.”
I let the moment go by without forgiveness or question.
“I never cared for Delphine—that is, Jane Fawley—even though every other living person seemed to adore her. She was devious. A schemer. When you approached me and indicated that you were her daughter, I couldn’t help but see Jane Fawley in that moment, with her coy smile, hand outstretched to receive whatever bauble she’d elicited from some poor sap.”
“But ... my mother.” I gulped. This was important. “You lovedher,at least, yes?”
“More than my own life.” His voice shuddered and I felt the tension in his arm. “Our lives were stitched together, and something in me ripped irreparably when she was torn away.”
My head spun. I hadn’t expected this. I hadn’t any idea whatI wanted to know at this point, or what I dared ask. Many parts of the story made sense ... except the ending.
He kept his gaze down. “What became of my Viola after the fire? How did she...?”
“It’s true, Mum escaped the fire, but not without harm. She had burns on her arms, face, and neck for the rest of her life. Yet nothing dimmed what was inside her.”
He gave a quiet “hmm,” as if the last part pleased him, but his sadness ran deep.
“She died three years ago of cholera. She was weak after the fire, and never left the house. Never had fresh air, save what came through the window. She simply couldn’t recover when it hit.”
He paused on the busy walk, letting throngs of people pour around us from either side. “Why wasn’t I told?”
I shuddered as he voiced my own question. “She wouldn’t let us tell anyone that she’d survived that fire. She kept herself a secret from the world, for as long as I can remember.” That, and some other reason. Something between them that could not be moved. I had no idea what. I could only settle in my heart that she knew more about it than I did. She alone had lived in her shoes. I looked up at him, at that lightly lined face. “Did you set the fire?”
His arm flinched under my hand, but his face remained the same. “I suppose you don’t know me, do you?” A pause, a deep sigh. “We did argue that night, and she stayed to learn the new flying contraption, refusing to come home with me. She had a soft voice, but she knew how to use it, that one.” His voice was tender, as if we’d broached a sacred subject.
I swallowed.
“I left after the argument, quite put out with her. It wasn’tuntil I reached home that I received the dreadful news ... of the fire...” His voice began to break. “Many were quick to accuse me. And I ... well, considering my final parting words to her, the weight of guilt settled, and I could not refute it. Couldn’t help but feel equally responsible.”
“But you weren’t even there.”
He shrugged. “I told them, but I had no proof about the timing. I came home to an empty flat and lay by myself until the knock on the door.”
“Everyone assumed it was Delphine who was in the fire—Jane Fawley—but it wasn’t. It was Mum, and she was only the stand-in, wasn’t she? Not the real Delphine.”
He spun on me in the street, grasping my shoulders. “You mustn’t think that. She was no fraud. She was a magnificent dancer, beyond compare, and I’ll not have you look down on her.”
I nodded, and we continued walking. “Why did she tell me, then, that she had been Delphine?”
“Because shewas.She was no stand-in.” We turned onto Bow Street, taking the long way around, and the London air grew thick with noise and smells. “Years ago, Jane Fawley coined the stage name Delphine Bessette and created quite a stir with her dancing. When she was injured, a tendon in her heel, I believe it was, it was rather a shock, and a blow to Craven. We had no idea if she’d dance again. Tickets had been sold at exorbitant rates for the entire season, hinging on Delphine Bessette dancing there. Craven had already arranged a tour afterwards too, all around England and on the continent, and they’d be bankrupt if they refunded all those contracts and tickets, so they scrambled to find a stand-in. A slightly younger rising dancer not yet known in the theater who was highly trainableand moldable. One who looked passably like the original, at least from the stage.
“They pulled her in, slathered in cosmetics so the other dancers wouldn’t know under the stage lights, but I saw the difference immediately. I was Jane’s partner.” His voice quieted, his steps slowing. “The moment I spotted your mother dancing on that stage late one night, I sensed a beauty that radiated from her core. A deep kindness and a purity that she could not help displaying in her every movement. This was not Jane Fawley, I said to myself, but someone rare and beautiful and interesting.
“They told the other dancers she would be practicing and training separately, only onstage for the performance, because of the risk of another injury. Most believed it, I think. But I, her partner, knew the truth from that first night. And I fell deeply in love with the replacement.”
So that was it—two complete Delphines, one picking up the threads as the other had to lay them down. Emotion shuddered through my frame. “So that’s why you kept your marriage a secret. Everyone thought you hated Delphine, and you had to keep her secret. Craven’s secret.”
