The Vespertine (5 page)

Her mood changed; I felt her soften. She tugged my braid and said, "They do what they like, I suppose."

I tried to imagine that—Nathaniel doing what he liked. It shouldn't have been hard. I wasn't caged myself. Lessons, yes, learning to turn out a hem and braise oxtail, indeed, but at Oakhaven I was given to my whims.

Any book in the library was mine to read. I had a pretty little charcoal set and new paper to draw on. There weren't any diversions to be had back home—no one my age to talk with—but I had no bonds, either. There in Baltimore, it seemed I could go calling, go promenading, even go dancing. Was that not doing entirely what I liked?

"I can't picture it," I said. I rubbed my throat, as if coaxing words from it. "Can I confide in you?"

"Of course."

A painful stitch caught in my heart, and I said, "It's like he formed from the mists on our doorstep and dissipated into them when he left. As if he only existed when he looked at me."

When Zora didn't answer right away, I worried. What a mad thing to say out loud, about a stranger, at that. But then, with another tug on my braid, Zora said, "You know he's really got no entrance to our circle, don't you?"

"Yes."

"But you wish he did, nonetheless."

Pressing my hands against the absurd ache in my chest, I nodded. "Yes."

Zora leaned her head on my shoulder, then laughed and bounced back to her side of the bed. The pretty lilac scent of her powder drifted across me as the sheets settled in her wake.

"Cheer up, then," she said, a smile in her voice. "We'll find a way."

I
WAS EMBARRASSED TO FIND
myself sitting in the last seat at Swann Day School. From my post, I admired the back of every head in class, including the glossy curls of a little girl who had two front teeth missing—she couldn't have been more than seven.

"Jumps," Miss Burnside told me as I watched Zora sweep to the front of the class, "may be earned on drills, each Monday morning."

As it was Thursday, I had no choice but to keep my wool manteau for warmth and haunt my sad desk in the dark. A round little boy recited his Latin—
amo, amas, amat
—elementary conjugations that nonetheless he stuttered when he tried to slip from present tense to past.

Since I read from Cicero fairly well, I didn't need that lesson. I tried to concentrate on one of the others and nearly dozed. I had little inclination to calculate and no one to write to, so I looked around for entertainment.

Zora sat in the head seat, working figures on her slate. Though she moved through them ably, I noted that the empty seat beside her drew her attention again and again. Her skin seemed pale against the sapphire collar of her gown, as if she'd bathed in milk and moonlight. Her pallor troubled me somewhat, just because it was so stark.

Yet, I reminded myself sternly, she was nothing but the picture of health when we were playful or misbehaving. Class work would hardly bring the same roses to our cheeks as a game of forfeits, would it?

When the door behind me swung open, a brittle wind reminded me that I sat very far from the wood stove, indeed. It would have been rude to twist about in my seat, but I was entitled, I thought, to look up when the intruder passed. Cold came off of Thomas Rea's serge coat; I smelled it on him—a crisp touch of winter.

He stopped very near me and bowed to Miss Burnside, his hat in hand. "Forgive me, ma'am. Dr. Rea needed me in his surgery."

What a melody his voice made, throaty like a mourning dove, full of weight and shadows. On hearing him speak, at last I understood why Zora pressed herself against his fences, his name an oath on her lips.

Touching the reciter's shoulder, Miss Burnside peered at Thomas with the coolest of considerations. "You have come just in time to depart again with your lunch pail."

"I left it at home," he said. "I'll work through, to account for missed lessons."

Miss Burnside clasped her hands together. Not alto-gether young, but not so terribly old either, she wore a cloak of weary irritation as she returned to her desk. "Am I to sacrifice
my
dinner because you couldn't join us at nine o'clock?"

Zora twisted toward Miss Burnside, and I could tell from the flickering at her temple that she had an admirable defense she longed to mount.

Beside me, Thomas curled like an autumn leaf and said, "Never, ma'am, I apologize. I'll come back on time on Monday."

Lifting my hand, I spoke out of turn. "Miss Burnside, may I challenge his seat?"

"I'm quite sure I was clear, Miss van den Broek. Jumps are made on Monday mornings."

"Beg pardon, ma'am, I know." I felt quite in the middle of it—like I had a thousand eyes on me, for how bare I felt. I rose to my feet because I couldn't bear ignoring that bit of etiquette, too. "But it's empty now and wouldn't it be punishment enough if he had to take mine?"

The room stirred. Edwina Polk, one of the other girls our age in class, cast incredulous looks at Zora, who spread her fingers to cover her lips. Wills watched and Charlie smiled—only the littlest ones held their tongues. Their toes, instead, whisked the floor in a nervous rush.

With all grace one would expect of a lady, Miss Burnside said, "Perhaps You should like to teach my class?"

"No, I shouldn't like it at all, ma'am," I said, and flushed when laughter erupted. I hadn't meant to be impertinent. But I heard my smart tone, one I had always reserved for tormenting August. I bungled it all the more when I quickly added, "I only intended to have his seat."

Details turned sharp. Thomas' breath rattled as it drained out, and I heard Zora whisper, "Oh, Amelia." My manteau suddenly bestowed such heat that I longed to tear it off. Instead, I stood straight to await a reprimand.

Miss Burnside unstoppered her inkwell. She sat, reached for a pen, then pondered a moment. When she finally touched the nib to paper, its brass scratch seemed to claw my skin. I could scarcely imagine what terrible thing she needed to write at that very moment. I watched with a dawning terror as she tossed sand on the page to blot it, then blew it dry. Then she turned not to me, but to Zora.

"Miss Stewart, this is for your father," she said, folding her note in half. "You and Miss van den Broek are dismissed for the day. You too, Mr. Rea. Please show your selves out."

***

"Beg you forgive me," I said, clinging to Zora's elbow as we stepped into the cold.

The row houses had a curious effect on the wind—when it twisted between the brick narrows, it
cried.
How eerie a day so bright could be; how thoroughly I had ruined it trying only to help.

"Papa will..." Zora said, then trailed off. She looked down one way, then the other, taking off suddenly as she finished her thought. "Well, he'll find it amusing. Mama, however ... oh. I can hear her now."

I recognized our direction. She had turned us not toward Kestrels but toward the path we took last time, to spy on Thomas. Tugged along like a toy on a string, I followed Zora to the alley.

"I'll take the blame for it; it was my fault, not yours."

Dismissive, Zora said, "It gives us something to talk about. Thomas!"

Thomas stopped, making a tall shadow against the light at the end of the way. Perhaps I had infected Zora with my lapse of sanity, because I couldn't believe her. Where was the girl who'd introduced me to Thomas Rea behind the privacy of a fence? Why, she ran after him now—she called out to him!

When Thomas realized who called to him, he hesitated. I saw it in his step and the way he tipped his head to one side. Then finally, slowly, he approached us. It was a brave and dastardly thing to do, meeting a lady in an alley.

So that, perhaps, explains why he held a hand up to stop us a few paces from him. "Is something the matter?"

Zora slipped away from me. "I'm furious! Had you dawdled this morning, surely you'd deserve a reprimand, but working in the doctor's surgery!"

"No need to get inflamed about it," Thomas said. Then, his strange face turned with a smile. "Not so loud, either."

Softened by his remonstration, Zora clasped her hands together and said, more conversationally, "Miss Burnside's gone all twisted with power, and don't think I won't mention this to Papa."

"Please don't," Thomas said. He drifted nearer her.

"Why not?"

Closer still, as if a line between them tightened, Thomas said, "It was only an excuse, Miss Stewart. I held the man down and Dr. Rea had his tooth out well before eight this morning."

The clouds above us shifted, and lances of cool, clean light pierced the alley. Sounding betrayed, Zora asked, "Then why were you late?"

"I didn't care to sit her class this morning." Wickedly pleased with himself, Thomas started to say something else, but he took notice of me and turned formal. "We haven't met."

"This is my cousin, Miss Amelia van den Broek," Zora said. "She's come to stay the season. Amelia, Mr. Thomas Rea."

Remembering my wild flare of jealousy the night before, I kept my hands in my muff, offering a nod instead. "Good to meet you, Mr. Rea."

"Likewise." His eyes were green as glass. He looked from my face to Zora's, then said, "Now I understand."

Zora lingered beneath his gaze, her hands poised to raise her hood again but stilled in the moment. They seemed very like an etching, a modern-day Tristan and Isolde, whispering with their eyes.

But I ruined the atmosphere with my very presence.

Brought back to life, Zora arranged her coat and said, ordinary as anything, "Were taking a horse car to Old Drury, Thomas. Will You escort us?"

"He can't," I gasped. "Miss Burnside sent us home."

Zora sniffed and said, "On the contrary. She dismissed us and gave me a note to carry. She demanded no receipt."

"I shouldn't," Thomas said.

With a great rustling of satin and wool, Zora gathered herself, performing that most remarkable trick of making her pixie delicacy fill the space all around us. "Amelia and I chaperone one another. It's just that Holliday Street is so close to the Inner Harbor. I'd hate to fall to prey for want of a gentleman's protection. But certainly I understand if you don't care to offer it."

With that, she took my elbow and made me walk with her, a formal march betrayed only by the nervous flutter of her lashes. Halfway down the alley, she whispered to me, "Is he following us? I can't hear over my head's rush."

I tossed a look over my shoulder and smiled.

Of course he followed. After a performance like that one, how could he resist the encore?

***

"They should tear this place down," Zora said, leaning into my seat to avoid a steady drip from the roof.

Though the marquee proclaimed this ramshackle mess the Holliday Street Theatre, it had earned the appellation
Old
Drury quite honestly. A moth-bitten rug lined the way from doors to stage, but several floorboards were missing.

That made the walk to our seats far more exciting than it had to be. And poor Thomas, he'd done his utmost to keep a respectable distance, only to find himself handing us down the aisle.

Grateful for the padding my skirts made, I still winced when my cracked seat threatened with a groan. "Honestly, do they light those sun burners?"

"They do." Thomas draped his coat over Zora's chair, to soak up the offending pool of water. His seat was none better—he sat at the edge, his knees pressed against the row in front of him. "And the pots onstage. There's an arc light up top, too. It gets black as the devil on Sunday nights, from all the smoke."

It was very nearly that black now, but mainly because the theatre had no windows. Recessed alcoves on the walls boasted gas taps furnaced in glass. Their glow lent just enough light to make out the crowd. A ribbon of incense tickled my nose, sweet over the rank cologne of mildewed theatre and damp wool.

"I hope Lady Privalovna manifests," Zora said. "Miss Avery was a disappointment."

"Aren't they all?" Thomas replied.

I think Zora would have said something more, but the ushers appeared. Their hard steps echoed through the theatre, and they shushed us as they turned the gas lamps low. Once they did, we would have been lucky to find our own hands in the resulting dark.

How exhilarating to be away from home, guarding our own virtue, in a pitch-black that surrounded us with strangers—with men! I felt a new fever in my blood; my skin hummed with it, and I murmured aloud in pleasure when a crack of lightning illuminated us.

From a hanging curl of smoke, Lady Privalovna appeared.

Then a blinding light from above spilled on her, and, oh, what a strange beauty she was! How shameless! Her loose hair cascaded over her shoulders like flaxen waters, bare and unpinned for all to see. And then, oh! Her figure was quite accentuated by the robes she wore.

She shunned her corset, letting silk follow her body, rather than forcing her body to follow the silk. Thus, when she came to the front of the stage, all her flesh wavered, shockingly unrestrained.

Gold and silver hoops weighted her bare arms. I thought at first they were made of some incredible singing metal, but then I caught a glimpse of her bare feet. She wore bells!

"Zora," I murmured, slipping my hand into hers. Lady Privalovna was the most provocative creature I'd ever seen. I felt quite glad I couldn't see Thomas' face, for I feared I would have been shocked to see a boy's reaction to such excess.

She answered my touch with a reassuring squeeze.

"I hear you," Lady Privalovna squeaked, brushing at the wild thicket of her hair. Her eyes opened until the whites shone all around the irises, and she rushed to one side of the stage. "I hear you, friends, spirits, guides! I await!"

Any murmurs left in the crowd melted away. Though I wondered that someone named Lady Privalovna should have no accent at all, I was enthralled. Incense grew thicker as she ran to the center of the stage again. She threw her arms out. Her head fell back, and she made a guttural noise that raised the hair on the back of my neck.

"Take this vessel!"

Rocking and rocking, Lady Privalovna became a pendulum. The silken tassels that pinned her gown to her shoulders washed back and forth, mesmerizing points between the flash of her bracelets. Her bells sang; her chest heaved with deep breaths. I couldn't look away. I couldn't imagine that anything else existed but this pale and terrifying medium.