Page 133

He looked at her with troubled eyes. “It was probably safer,” he said at last.

“Perhaps,” she concurred, “but it was also a good deal narrower, and … I was lonely. Even this experience”—she shrugged—“I can benefit from. I can learn and grow.” She fell silent a moment, reflecting on this. “Mr. Ewell was not rough with me in any way, I promise. He was respectful in his word and manner.” She ignored Eddie’s snort.

“It was not his fault that I had no notion how to respond and … rather fumbled it. We have promised to remain friendly.” At Eddie’s dire expression, she added quickly, “Though of course not as we were before. But friendly acquaintances, in any case.”

He breathed out noisily through his nostrils. “You sure I can’t plant him a facer for his impudence?” he asked gruffly.

She shook her head. “I would be most distressed if you did.”

He straightened up looking regretful. “Well, if you’re sure.”

She smiled at him. “It is so nice to know I can count on your friendship, Eddie.”

He gave her a smile at that which served to transform his heavy, brutal features into something kind and rather sweet. Eddie’s idea of “being a lady” was rather vague and a good deal more flexible than either Clem or Vincent’s. He swore before her without compunction and once he had told her a very rude joke about a bishop and a barmaid.

She liked him ever so much, she realized. He had achieved almost the impossible that day and managed to cheer her up.

THIRTY-FOUR

Clem made it till just after twelve and then he broke. Ignoring Jim’s gaze, which followed after him, he headed toward the auditorium in search of his wife. He found Allsop there with a pair of vivacious redheads practicing a song and dance routine. “Theodora is here somewhere,” Allsop said, abandoning the piano keys and fumbling with his eyeglasses, “but Lil did not turn up for practice so I think she must be in her dressing room.”

Clem nodded and made his way back there without more ado. After a short knock on the door, he opened it and found Dora perched on a hard wooden chair, reading her brother’s play in total absorption.

“That seat does not look comfortable,” he said, shutting the door behind him and catching sight of her red-rimmed eyes. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” she replied quickly. Too quickly.

Clem regarded her a long moment before advancing further into the room and leaning against a side table. “Is Felix’s play a tragedy?” he asked carefully.

“Far from it. It is a vastly diverting comedy. Charming in fact.” She pulled a face, echoing her brother’s own words. “I never knew he had it in him.”

Clem ignored her diversionary tactics and focused on her pink eyes. Something had clearly happened between this morning and now. “I hear Lil did not turn up for practice,” he said slowly. “How have you spent your time this morning?”

“Mostly reading,” she said, stretching and wincing at her lower back. She needed an armchair in here, Clem realized belatedly. If she had her own dressing room, then that would make room for more furniture.

“I saw Allsop is practicing with a new act,” Clem said casually, keeping a keen eye on her reaction. Was that why she was upset?

“Ah yes, the Misses Stepsons,” Theo answered, drawing her shawl closer around her. It was a ratty old thing she only used backstage. She needed a new shawl too, perhaps in cashmere. “They are sisters apparently. He was telling me all about it.”

“No callers?” Clem asked, deciding the vivacious Misses Stepsons were not to blame. Was it only his imagination or did she pause slightly before answering?

“Barty Ewell called by,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “He—er—invited me to lunch, but I did not feel like it.”

“You weren’t hungry?” Clem probed.

“Er—no,” Dora said brightly. She closed the manuscript and set it carefully down. “In any case, I do not think I will be going to lunch with him again in the foreseeable future.” At Clem’s narrowed gaze, she added, “I have completed my study of him now so close association is no longer necessary.”

Jesus. “He made a pass at you, didn’t he?” he stated flatly.

Theo nearly jumped out of her skin, her frightened, guilt-stricken eyes meeting his. “No! I mean, yes, but probably not how you are thinking! Oh, please do not knock his block off Clem!”

Her impassioned plea should have been funny, but he wanted to fucking strangle Barty. “Tell me how it was then,” he said, his fingers tightening on the edge of the table.

“I won’t be close friends with him anymore. I told him as such,” she gabbled, “and he accepted it fair and square.”

“I’m still waiting.”

“He just asked if we had an arrangement about such things,” she blurted, “and that was it, honestly. He was very respectful and did not try to force his attentions in any way, I assure you. He … well, he just sort of intimated that if I was ever agreeable—” She choked on the words and directed an agonized look of appeal at him.