“Howdoyou think of such clever things?” Rhoda said with admiration.
Unity shrugged. She couldn’t help but think of things. Her brain never stopped churning out new ideas.
Gladys shook her head indulgently and took her place on the stool. “You’re out of control, Unity.”
“Who wants to be controlled?” she replied pertly. “No, thank you. I politely decline.”
“You should have declined this position, too,” Gladys said. “You barely earn more than the maids who clean the chamber pots.”
“Which is an equally important post,” Unity pointed out. “How many rich nobs would find themselves in an amorous mood if the theatre smelt of—”
“Mrrgle fergle!” said Mabel.
“She’s right.” Rhoda leaned over Unity’s shoulder to watch her attach the first prosthetics to Gladys’s face. “You’re far cleverer than you are paid to be. Every day, I expect to hear that you’ve found a better position and we shall all be forced to work with some chit who wouldn’t know kohl from a cockerel.”
Unity reached for her glue instead of answering. If only acquiring a well-paid position was as simple as having the talent for it!
She would ratherowna theatre than be in charge of face powder in one. Unity dreamed of having her own building, her own business, her own life to direct as she saw fit. She wished she didn’tneedthe two guineas a month from the theatre. It was barely enough coins to clink together.
Worst of all, sheshouldn’tneed the theatre! Unity had twice turned someone else’s unprofitable disaster into an outrageous success, and all she had to show for it were the scars of betrayal.
Her fingers shook and she forced herself to take a calming breath. Shewouldclaw her way to financial independence. Someday. Somehow.
And she wouldn’t trust anyone but herself to get her there.
“I wish you could be an actress,” Rhoda said with a sigh. “We don’t get paid much more than you, but it’s something.”
“I’m a dreadful actress,” Unity said, though they all knew her lack of acting skills wasn’t the main impediment. Talentless beauties with a powerful enough “sponsor” were given fabulous roles every day.
People like Unity were rarely invited onstage. Not for the big parts. The theatre managers would rather paint up a white actor than give one with brown skin a starring role under the lights.
Women of mixed race, like Unity, often received preferential treatment for their lighter skin. But the most compassionate act the theatre had ever performed for her was to “allow” Unity to apprentice the previous cosmetics artist for a year and a half without pay, until she became skilled enough to replace a higher-earning employee for half of the salary.
Not that top billing was the primary benefit of playing a starring role. The more popular the actress, the wealthier her private patron, but any woman with brains between her ears could find a man willing to pay for her company. For many women, it was theonlyway to keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies.
Unity liked being some stranger’s momentary possession even less than living in her minuscule private room with its squeaky cot and wobbly wooden chair. It washers. And it was temporary.
Shewouldfind a way out.
“All right, Mabel. You can talk.”
“Thank God,” Rhoda said. “I am dying to hear all about the masquerade last night.”
Unity held a false nose to Gladys’s face. “Mabelattended the Duke of Lambley’s masquerade ball?”
She would have saved Mabel’s prosthetics until last, if she’d known. Lambley’s hedonistic fêtes were legendary. Unity longed to see what went on inside.
“Not me,” Mabel said. “Helene.”
Ah. Mabel’s sister Helene was Lady Macbeth, the lead actress. She’d paid for Mabel’s rented rooms for an entire year with the sale of a single trinket her protector had purchased for her. There had even been money left over for new boots and a fine coat.
All of the other actresses—and, yes, Unity as well—dreamed of asking Helene for an introduction, an invitation, anything. Even one minute inside that glittering world. But such invitations were either too dear to acquire for friends, or Helene simply didn’t wish to share the stage... even with her own sister.
“She said it was unspeakably decadent.” Mabel eyed her new face in a looking-glass. “It was only her second time to attend, but the footmen remembered her favorite refreshments from the first time and were always on hand with silver trays at the exact moment she craved fresh champagne or fine chocolate.”
“But if everyone is masked the entire time, how did they know who she was?” Rhoda asked.
Mabel shrugged. “It’s part of the magic. Lambley himself isn’t masked. They say he can see right through the masks of others. Perhaps his servants have the same power.”
