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

I had to admire her courage. She was obviously really shaken. We all were. Some of the chorus girls really looked as if they really had seen a ghost. They moved around like mechanical toys, some of them holding hands for support. Even the men in the cast glanced at each other warily. I went back to my seat in the corner.

The show ended with no more interruptions. We lined up to take our bows. I was embarrassed to find that I’d get a featured player’s bow with the gardener, the cook, the messenger boy, and the dressmaker. I’d have much rather not taken a bow at all, but Blanche insisted. I don’t suppose for a moment it was to reward my talents. She wanted me near her onstage until the very end.

We were a subdued bunch as we trudged wearily up the stairs to the dressing room. Once we were safely inside everyone made a fuss of Irene, the girl whose skirt had caught on fire. They helped her undress and found that she did have burns on her hands and the hair had been scorched off her arms.

“Go home and put butter on them,” Lily instructed. “You were lucky, Irene. I thought you were a goner.”

“Abe and Joe were so quick. They put the flames out right away,” Irene said, with admiration in her eyes. “They were wonderful. I don’t know how I’ll ever thank them.”

“Oh, I expect you’ll find a way,” someone said, getting a general laugh and making me realize that chorus girls weren’t all little angels.

I watched how the other girls removed their makeup and followed suit. Somehow I’d have to buy the necessaries of stage makeup before the next dress rehearsal. I wondered if I could ask Blanche for expenses over and above my fee. This little jaunt could turn out to be an expensive business.

Beside me Elise had taken off her ballet shoes and was attending to her feet. She was unwinding bandages and pulling pieces of cotton wool out from between her toes. One of the pieces of cotton had blood on it.

“Oh no. Did you hurt your foot?” I asked.

She looked up at me, amused. “We’re on our toes a lot in this show. It’s hell on the feet. Look.” And she showed me a dainty foot with bruised, blistered, and bloody toes. “All part of the job,” she said. “Some dancers have worse feet than mine.”

“I’m glad I’m not expected to dance then,” I said. Those girls had looked so dainty and ethereal as they glided over the stage on their toes. I had no idea that they paid such a price for that delicate motion.

As we came out of the stage door, we were met by a crowd of young men. At first I thought they might be suitors but one of them came up to us as we emerged, his notebook at the ready. “So what happened tonight, girls? Did the phantom strike again?”

“We’re not allowed to talk about it,” one girl said and walked primly past him.

“So something did happen!” the reporter said, eyeing the rest of us for the one most likely to spill the beans. “There might be something in it for the girl who gives me a hint.”

Lily slipped her arm through his. “Take me out to supper, ply me with wine, and I might very well let down my guard,” she said.

Elise leaned close to me. “Miss Lovejoy will kill her if this gets out,” she said. “If she asks you, don’t rat on Lily, okay? Act innocent. Pretend we know nothing.”

“All right.” I nodded.

“And just wait until it’s a real performance,” Elise went on. “You won’t believe the crowd you’ll find out here. You have to positively fight your way past the admirers. And you never have to buy your own supper, you know. There is always some stage-door Johnnie waiting to take out a chorus girl. It’s nice, really. Of course some of them want payment for the supper, if you know what I mean. I never let it go farther than a kiss or two, but some of the girls are rather free with their affections. Every season one or two of them wind up in trouble. Just make sure you’re not one of them.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” I said. “I have a very jealous beau of my own. He doesn’t like the idea of my being on the stage to start with. If he hears about the stage-door Johnnies, he’ll be standing by that door waiting for me every single night.”

“You’re lucky to have someone like that,” she said wistfully. “I keep hoping one of those rich young bucks will take a shine to me. But I’m too wholesome looking. They go more for the flamboyant types, like Lily. And Miss Lovejoy herself, of course. She has her pick. Or she used to have her pick when she was a little younger.”

I went home deep in thought. Whether Miss Lovejoy liked it or not, news of what happened in the theater tonight was going to leak out. And another thing struck me. The one person we hadn’t seen tonight was Desmond Haynes. Mr. Barker had been watching from the stalls, so it was possible that Desmond was also out there, but I hadn’t seen him, and he hadn’t come through to the stage after the calamity.





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