Tell Me, Pretty Maiden (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #7)

“So what’s this I’ve been hearing about a ghost?” I whispered as the girl dabbed a final coating of powder onto my face. “Is it true that the theater is haunted?”


She laughed nervously. “Well, none of us has actually seen the ghost, but we did see that table tip over and the candle almost catch Miss Lovejoy’s skirt on fire. And we were backstage, waiting in the wings to go on, when that scenery fell. And I can tell you there was nobody near it when I looked. So it’s definitely odd. And it’s always Miss Lovejoy.”

“You don’t think anybody could be trying to frighten her, do you?” I asked.

She looked surprised. “As a joke, you mean?”

“More serious than a joke. To make her leave the play, maybe?”

“Who would want to do that? Miss Lovejoy doesn’t allow outsiders during rehearsals and all of us just jumped at the chance to be in a play at the Casino.”

“Has Miss Lovejoy any enemies that you know of?”

The girl laughed. “Plenty, I expect. When you’ve been as famous as she has, I expect she’s trodden on toes and offended heaps of people. But everyone here wants this play to be a hit, especially Miss Lovejoy. She hasn’t had a hit in years and she’s turning forty soon. So if she decides to call it quits, we’re all in trouble.”

At that very second there was a loud rap on the door that made me jump. Then the callboy’s voice, “Overture and beginners in fifteen minutes.”

The girl got up from her stool. “That’s us,” she said. “Come along. I’m Elise, by the way, and I know you’re Molly.”

I smiled. “Thanks for your help, Elise.”

The girls were crowding toward the door, pausing for one last glance in the mirror, patting at their hair and smoothing their dresses. I could feel the tension had mounted, as if this was a real performance and not just a dress rehearsal. And suddenly I picked up that tension. I was about to go onstage, with only the faintest idea of what I should be doing. My stomach twisted itself into knots. Why did I get myself into these crazy situations, I wondered. Why couldn’t I find a nice normal job, in a bookstore or a ladies’ tea room—even as a governess. Anywhere safe and ordinary and away from danger.

I didn’t have time for any more thoughts because I was swept downstairs with the tide of people, as the leading actors mingled with us schoolgirls. There was complete silence and our feet on the iron treads echoed through that lofty backstage area like the sound of an invading army. I followed the girls around to the far side of the stage and stood at the back of the line as they waited to go on. It was chilly back there, and drafty, too, with wafts of cold air swirling around my legs. I could see why so many of the actors wore woolen wraps. As we waited I had time to examine my surroundings. The backstage area was cavernous. I couldn’t even see the ceiling, but looking up I could pick out various walkways and ropes and pulleys disappearing into the blackness, looking like parts of a monstrous spider’s web. All sorts of opportunities for someone who had managed to sneak into the theater with mischief on his mind.

“Beginners onstage,” came the call and the girls marched out to take up positions. I had my book open and went to my designated spot against the wall. I also remembered not to lean on that wall as it was only made of painted wood and canvas. It was bright as day onstage and quite warm, too. Beyond the curtain the orchestra struck up the overture. I found it hard to breathe. Thank heaven I didn’t have to say any lines or I would have opened my mouth and nothing would have come out. After what seemed an eternity the curtains opened. Spotlights glared down on us. The girls came to life.

“We’re learning how to make a smash, how to win the game of love,” they sang. The song was all in tennis vocabulary, but cleverly angled to reflect the game of life. I kept my head down and my eyes on my book, as instructed, but I found that I could see quite well around me. The song concluded in a dance number, then the maid appeared, clapping her hands briskly.

“Madame the Countess is waiting for you for your deportment class, you naughty girls,” she announced. “Off with you.”

The girls ran off. I waited for a fraction of a second then followed the last in line, not looking up from my book. I thought I heard a chuckle from the orchestra pit. I had survived my first scene.