City of Ash (52 page)

When I reached Sebastian’s tent, I lifted the flap and stepped in, and there he was, slumped over the papers on his makeshift
desk, sleeping, his shirt open, his pen still in his hand, the oil lamp burning.

I glanced at the pages beneath his head—more of
Penelope Justis
, a new scene. It was all I could do not to read it right then. But there would be time enough for that later. What I wanted now was something else.

I lowered the flame until it was quiet and dim. Then I lifted the pen from his fingers, setting it aside. I pushed aside his hair and leaned close to whisper in his ear, “Bastian.”

He stirred, licked his lips, blinked once, and then his eyes were open, blue tonight in the half-light. He straightened, raking his hair back. “You’re here. What time is it?”

“I don’t know. After two, I think.”

“How was the party?”

“Boring.”

“And the tableau?”

“The high point of the evening, of course. Everyone was very entertained. And inspired enough to donate.” I pushed the crate aside and pulled up my skirt to straddle him. His hands went to my waist, pulling me close.

“Was Langley there?”

“Of course he was. Why do you ask?”

“Because you’re not with him.”

“No.” I kissed his jaw. “He was drunk and grieving.”

“And you couldn’t comfort him?”

I kissed the corner of his mouth. “I’d no wish to try. I’d rather be here with you.”

He laughed softly. “ ‘For ne’er was flattery lost on poet’s ear.’ ”

“It isn’t flattery. It happens to be true.”

“What really happened tonight, Bea? I think it wasn’t as boring as you pretend. You’re practically vibrating. Besides, I know you’d never lose an opportunity to keep Langley close.”

I pulled away, disconcerted. “How grasping you think me.”

“How grasping you are,” he said, pulling me back, tightening his hold on my waist. “Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing. Nathan was too upset. He told me to go home.”

“Upset over what?”

“As I said, he was grieving.”

“With all his peers about, commending him for sponsoring such a charitable enterprise? I doubt it. And he’s a politician.”

“Which means he doesn’t mourn?”

Impatiently, Sebastian said, “Langley’s never shied from appeasing his vanity or his desires. And after such a self-congratulatory night, I’d think he would be looking for a reward. Which would be you. And given that you’ve never said no to anything that advanced you—”

“That’s not true!” Though it was, of course it was, and I admit it bothered me that he knew it. Or perhaps it bothered me that he didn’t seem to mind.

“Has he thrown you over then?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why did he turn you away? Come, come, out with it. I’ll hear the gossip from someone else anyway. Why was Langley upset tonight? Was he so struck by the profundity of my tableau?”

“He barely stayed to watch it,” I admitted sullenly. “He left just after Jack succumbed to the Indianola hurricane.”

A deep sigh. “He’s a philistine.”

“We all can’t be Ruskins,” I said nastily.

He raised a brow.

“I do read, you know,” I snapped. “In spite of what everyone thinks.”

“Everyone?”

“Mrs. Langley, you …”

“You spoke with Mrs. Langley about reading?” He looked puzzled.

Oh, perfect, Bea
. I bit off the curse that rose to my lips and said quickly, “I didn’t have to. She made it abundantly clear what she thought every time she looked at me.”

He frowned. “Bea—”

“I don’t want to talk about her.” I leaned close, easing my hands past his open shirt, running them up his bare chest, over his shoulders, shoving his sleeves down his arms until his shirt pooled on the ground. I pressed against him and heard his little intake of breath.

“You can’t distract me,” he whispered.

But I could, and we both knew it. I took his hands in mine, and he did not resist me as I guided them beneath my skirt, and then he moved of his own accord, easing beneath the ample folds, running up my thighs to my hips, undoing the ties of my drawers, and I rose to let them fall and kicked them aside, and he undid his trousers and then I was straddling him again, and he jerked my hips down and worked me until I was moaning. He never took his gaze from mine, and it felt as if he was teasing my thoughts loose, tangling them, pulling them out to read for himself until I put an end to it and bent to trace the strong muscles of his throat with my lips and my tongue. Then his breath came short and his fingers dug into my hips and he groaned, and I cried out a little because it was over, and I didn’t want it to be. Nothing had abated, and I was afraid of that. I was afraid of what I wanted from him, of what he would demand.

He leaned his forehead against my breast. When he lifted his head again and said quietly, “Let’s to bed,” I saw with dismay that his questions hadn’t gone, and I felt this little clutch in my stomach that I tried to ignore. He wasn’t going to pursue it now, but he would, and what the hell was I to do then?

But I went with him to the bedroll, and we undressed and I let him hold me and when he was asleep I was still staring up at the canvas ceiling above, no closer to sleep than I’d been at the start, and so finally I eased away from him. I took his shirt from the floor and put it on, and then I sat down at the desk and picked up the newest pages of
Penelope Justis
.

I slept barely at all. After I’d read the new scenes Sebastian had written, it was all I could do to keep from rushing to Ginny’s tent to tell her what we must do next. When Sebastian finally woke, I yawned and pretended to just be waking myself and crawled from the bedroll to dress. “I’m going to the privy,” I told him when I finished buttoning my dress, and he nodded as he stumbled to the bucket to wash and I was out of the tent within moments. I had to force myself to remember to head off toward the privy, but the moment I made the turn I doubled back, hiding myself between the rows of tents. When I got to hers, I plunged in.

She was still wearing her chemise and sluicing her face with
water. I said, “I haven’t got much time. I know what we must do next.”

She was very quick. “The play? You’ve read more?”

“Last night. Penelope tells Barnabus that her sister’s spirit must be put to rest, and because he hopes to exorcise her, he agrees to host a séance. But it doesn’t work. Instead, the séance only brings the spirit more fully into this world.”

She frowned. “How are we to do that?”

“I don’t know. But I have some ideas. And the first, unfortunately, means that I have to meet with Nathan to convince him to have a séance.” I took a deep breath. “I played a medium once. Delphinia Beaumont in
Heaven’s Awakening.
”

“A character in a play. It’s not the same thing as
being
a medium.”

“No, of course not. But at least I know what to do. How hard could it be just to light a few candles and say things like: ‘Can you hear me, Geneva Langley? Speak if you be with us.’ ”

She gave me a thin smile. “You have truly found your calling.”

“I only need to convince Nathan.” I sighed. “Lucius means to pay us something this morning for our efforts last night. Hopefully there will be something more than bread to buy with it. I’ll see what I can find to bring back to you.”

“Thank you, Bea,” she said softly. “That’s very kind.”

Said so sweetly. I tried to shrug it off, but I felt the heat of a flush. I said brusquely, “I need you to play your part, don’t I? I don’t think spirits swoon from hunger.”

She laughed. “I suppose not.”

Her laughter stayed with me as I left the tent and crossed the camp to Sebastian’s. Fearless. That’s what she was, and I liked that about her, and envied her for it too, though I suppose it was easy to be fearless when you had plenty of money to catch you when you fell. But I didn’t feel the resentment I usually felt at that thought. Instead I remembered the things she’d told me last night, and the promises we’d made each other, and it made me laugh to think of Seattle society once she was set loose upon it, once there wasn’t Nathan or her father to contend with, once she was free.

Then I stopped thinking of her, because when I stepped inside Sebastian’s tent, he was gone, along with his ancient frock coat and his bag. Gone to breakfast and rehearsal without waiting for me, and my heart started racing and all I could think was
how long was I gone?

Whatever appetite I’d had disappeared. And then I grew angry at myself because—if I was going to admit it, which I wasn’t—it was easier to be angry than to be afraid. I cursed myself silently all the way back down into the burned district, and then I spent the blocks until I reached the Phoenix trying to come up with some lie to tell him, and that only made me angry again.

By the time I got to the Phoenix—early, which must have been the first time—I was so touchy that even Mr. Geary’s “Good morning, Mrs. Wilkes” made me bristle.

Lucius looked up from a script he was going over. “I sense a productive rehearsal,” he said wryly.

Before long Jack and Aloysius arrived, joking with each other as they came inside, Brody and Susan behind them.

“Only four more rehearsals,” Lucius called out. “Our first show, children, is scheduled for seven o’clock on Monday. I have already placed an advert in the
P-I
. So there is much to do, and little time for nonsense.”

Mr. Geary rapped on the stage with some stick he’d found somewhere and called for the scene, and though I didn’t feel any enthusiasm, I didn’t need enthusiasm for rehearsal, and I followed the others to the stage.

Sebastian showed up fifteen minutes late. He glanced at me as he stepped inside, but I was in the middle of a line, and I couldn’t tell by his expression what he was thinking. My stomach did a little lurch, and I stumbled over the line so Jack whispered, “Focus, my love.” Sebastian sat at the makeshift table—a couple of scorched crates—with Lucius and Geary and bent his head to work, and I made myself concentrate on ignoring him, which became harder when, in the middle of the act, I glanced up to see Nathan Langley come inside. I expected him to call for me, but instead he went to where Sebastian sat. He said something in a low voice to Lucius and Mr. Geary, and then Sebastian
nodded and straightened, and the two of them left the table and went to the corner.

I was so startled that once again I stuck, and Geary had to prod me twice with a cue line before I could continue. Even so, I could hardly take my eyes from Sebastian and Nathan. I couldn’t hear anything, of course, but they were talking so intently I felt a little sick. What the hell could the two of them have to say to each other?

Nathan was Sebastian’s patron, I told myself. It was nothing. No doubt something about the new play. Or about the revisions to
Penelope
. Or maybe even the tableau Nathan hadn’t paused longer than a few minutes to watch. There were a hundred things the two of them might have to discuss. But that sick feeling didn’t go away, and when they finally broke apart, and Sebastian went back to the table, I sent him a questioning glance. He ignored me. But Nathan stood watching, and when the act ended, he applauded.

“I’ve come to see how my investment progresses,” he said, walking past the pile of benches the carpenters were cobbling together from whatever bits of wood they could find. Now that he was closer, I could see he looked tired; his eyes were red-rimmed and he was pale, almost gray. His bonhomie was only an act. “And to see the reason for my investment, of course.”

I felt Sebastian watching us, but I ignored him. I’d meant to hunt down Nathan today, and whatever had brought him here, I wasn’t about to waste the opportunity. So I stepped off the stage and went to Nathan with my hands outstretched, even though all I really wanted was to know what the hell he and Sebastian had spoken of.

“How lovely to see you.”

Nathan took my hands, clutching my fingers hard, and said to Lucius, “Might I steal her away for a few moments? Is there some scene you can rehearse without her?”

“But of course,” Lucius said with an obsequious little bow. “We are at your disposal, sir.”

Nathan led me from the tent and around the corner, where one of the carpenters was tearing apart a scorched cask, and
made a little imperious gesture that had the man scurrying off to give us privacy.

“What is it?” I asked, and I meant to ask him about Sebastian, but before I could, he kissed me, long and lingeringly, and that was so surprising I didn’t know what to do but kiss him back. Nathan had never spent much time on such things; I always had the sense that he found kissing me to be more a task he meant to get through than any source of pleasure. His hands crept down to my ass, jerking me closer—which was much more like him—and then he lowered his mouth to my throat and whispered against my skin, “Is there somewhere we can go? I find I’ve much need of you.”

“I can’t leave for that long. We’re in the middle of rehearsal. And Lucius has scheduled our first show for Monday.”

He made a little sound of frustration. “I’ve missed you. I hardly slept last night.”

“Not for want of me, surely,” I said.

“Too many dreams,” he murmured. “Nightmares. I think if you were there to exhaust me, I would sleep.”

“Nightmares? About your wife? Did you see her again?”

He went still, and then he pulled away. “I dreamed about her. I can’t seem to stop. I’ve hired crews to dig for her everywhere. Near the docks, at the jewelry store … I think everyone half believes I’m mad. But I’m determined to find her body.”

Now was my opportunity. I put my hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps there’s an easier way.”

“What would that be?”

“Perhaps you could … ask her spirit.”

“What?”

“Don’t you want to know why she’s haunting you, Nathan?”

He dragged his hand through his hair, which only showed how disconcerted he was because his hair was usually well slicked into place. “I don’t see how—”

“A séance,” I said.

He stared at me as if he didn’t understand the words. “A séance? Are you mad? I can hardly be seen to indulge in such foolishness. There’s no one I could ask who wouldn’t … who didn’t—”