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

The rest of the first act was a blur. On stage, then off again. Stand against the wall. Sit on the stool in the corner. Follow the girls. Wait for Miss Lovejoy to call for me. It all became a jumble of confusion. I was exhausted by the end of the act and glad to go up to the dressing room. The other girls were making more quick changes and it made me glad that I’d be wearing one outfit for the entire play.

Then we were summoned for act two. Not so many scenes this time, as the real action, the love story between the countess and the penniless painter, had really taken over. I wandered onstage once at the wrong moment, because I thought the scene was over, but they were still in the middle of an embrace. I looked horrified and hurried off again, getting a laugh. Then we were all onstage for the big ballroom scene. The countess has discovered that one of her paintings is worth a fortune. She will be rich again and gives a ball to celebrate. I had to sit at a table to one side, my head, as usual, in my book, completely ignoring the jolly scene going on around me.

In the middle of a silly song about what every girl should know, suddenly the lights flickered and a cold wind crept around my shoulders. I shivered and looked up from my book. Others on the stage had noticed it, too. I could hear the tension in their voices as they spoke their lines. Then suddenly a violent burst of wind blew across the stage, sending candelabras and potted plants crashing down, blowing off hats, tablecloths, anything that wasn’t firmly anchored. A candle fell onto a chorus girl’s skirt and the flimsy fabric went up like a torch. Two of the actors dived onto the girl, rolling her on the ground to put the flames out. Girls were screaming. I dashed to the side of the stage, fighting the strength of the wind coming at me full in the face. Nobody was there.

Suddenly there was a great shout from the auditorium. “Everybody stay where you are. Nobody move.”

And Robert Barker came storming in through the pass door.

“This has gone on long enough,” he bellowed, making a lot of noise for such a small man. “I aim to get to the bottom of this right now.”

He stomped across the stage and saw me standing in the wings.

“It’s coming from this machine,” I said. “Do you know how to turn it off?”

“Simple,” he said, and disconnected the electricity. The wind died immediately. “A wind machine,” he said angrily. “Some damned fool’s idea of a practical joke.”

“I came out immediately after it started,” I said. “There was nobody here. Besides, the whole cast is onstage for this scene.”

“So what were you doing out here?” He was glaring at me.

“I told you, I ran out to see if I could catch whoever was doing this. Miss Lovejoy told me about the ghost. I thought I’d keep an eye out for it.”

He went on staring as if he was trying to read my mind, then he pushed past me onto the stage. “Stop that blubbering,” he snapped to some of the chorus who were clutching each other in fear. “It’s all explained. It was the wind machine. Some fool connected it to the electricity by mistake. Nothing to get upset about.”

“But who connected it?” Blanche asked in a trembling voice. “You know the whole cast is onstage for the final scene. Who could have done it?”

“Wally!” Robert Barker bawled. The stage manager appeared. “Were any of your crew on this side of the stage just now?”

“No sir,” Wally replied. “We were all working on that tree that you said didn’t have enough leaves. All back in the props room, except for Tommy, who had to work the final curtain.” Tommy stuck his head out from the other side of the stage to acknowledge his presence.

Barker checked the boys who manned the spotlights. They were all in their places.

“You see,” Blanche said, her voice taut with fear, “it isn’t human. It’s a spirit, a malevolent spirit and it’s determined to wreck my play. How can we possibly open when this kind of thing could happen at any moment. It wasn’t just aimed at me this time. That poor girl could have been burned to death if those dear boys hadn’t acted so rapidly and bravely. As it is, her costume is destroyed. Look at it.”

The girl in question was now sitting on one of the chairs, sobbing quietly, while the young men still attended to her. One side of her skirt was a charred brown mess.

Blanche smoothed down her own ballgown. “The show must go on,” she said in a firmer voice. “We will not let it daunt us.” She turned to the girl with the burned skirt. “You, child, are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so, Miss Lovejoy,” the girl answered with a trembling voice.

“Then we will pick up where we left off. Maestro, if you please, we’ll take it from the top of the song. Henry, have those props stood up again. Places, everyone.”