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“Oh dear,” said Theodosia.
But ten minutes later, once Brittany had sponged on a light base coat, artfully powdered it down, then added some blusher to highlight her cheekbones, Theodosia started to feel a little better. And when Brittany gelled her brows and added eyeliner with a slight cat eye oomph at the outer corners, she peered in the mirror and liked what she saw.
“Not bad,” Theodosia said.
“See? You’re a natural,” Brittany said.
Meanwhile, Tina had sussed out a cute tangle of curls to peek out from under her turban.
“You live here, honey?” Brittany asked as she carefully lined Theodosia’s lips.
Theodosia nodded. “Born and bred in Charleston, South Carolina.”
“Quite the place,” Brittany said. “I’ve never seen so much historic architecture in my life. Then again, I’m from L.A., where anything before 1980 is considered ancient history.”
“Some of our homes and churches date back to the Revolutionary War,” Theodosia said. “There are churches that George Washington worshipped in, narrow alleys where duels were fought, and Fort Sumter, where the Civil War began.”
“This house must be plenty historic, too,” Tina said. “I mean, it sure is a spooky old place. Dark and drafty, practically falling down—it kind of gives me the creeps just being here. But I can understand why the location scouts chose this place. It’s the perfect set for a scary movie.”
“It does look the part,” Theodosia agreed. Even she’d been slightly put off by the dingy walls, threadbare rugs, dried-out woodwork, and bare wires dangling from the ceiling where a grand chandelier had once hung.
“It feels as if nobody’s lived here in years,” Brittany added.
“That’s because nobody has,” Theodosia said. “This place is known as Brittlebank Manor and it’s reputed to be haunted.”
“No!” Brittany cried. “Seriously?”
“Charleston is full of ghosts,” Theodosia said playfully. “We’ve got haunted houses, haunted hotels, a haunted dungeon, and even a haunted cemetery. Actually, two haunted cemeteries.”
Tina gave an appreciative shiver. “This place, Brittlebank Manor, is there some kind of legend behind it?”
“I don’t know all of it,” Theodosia said. “But apparently a woman was kept locked in the attic and then got killed when an enormous bolt of lightning struck the building.”
“Why on earth was she locked in the attic?” Brittany asked as she helped Theodosia into a long purple velvet coat emblazoned with silver stars.
“Not sure,” Theodosia said as Tina situated a turban on her head and gave a final touch to the swirl of hair that peeked out. “I never did hear the whole story.”
* * *
Back on set, Drayton had brewed a small pot of Darjeeling while lights and camera angles were being adjusted. And when Theodosia emerged from the makeup room, Helene Deveroux, one of the members of the Charleston Film Board, rushed up to greet her.
“Bless me to bits, Theodosia, I hardly recognized you!” Helene cried. “You’re all glammed up like a bona fide actress!”
“It wasn’t my idea,” Theodosia explained, patting nervously at her turban. “But the director wants me in the movie. You know, for a more authentic tea leaves read.”
“Can you do that?” Helene asked. She was forty-something and a tad theatrical with her mop of honey-blond hair, zaftig figure, and overly broad gestures. Today Helene wore a red silk jacket over tight black leather jeans.
“If I follow the director’s lead, then sure I can,” Theodosia said. “I mean, I guess so.”
Helene grabbed Theodosia’s arm and gave a conspiratorial wink. “Aren’t you glad Delaine set you up with this gig?” Delaine Dish was a friend of Theodosia’s and served on the Charleston Film Board along with Helene.
“I’ll let you know once we shoot this scene.”
Helene grinned. “Later, sweetie, right now I have to bounce.” She shook a handful of papers. “Gotta deliver these papers to the City Film Office.” And she was gone.
“Are you ready?” the director asked. He was suddenly in Theodosia’s face, looking a little anxious.
“Hope so,” she said.
