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

Finally, she helped me out of the skirt. “Come back in one hour. It will be ready,” she said. “And here are your wig and spectacles. Don’t lose them.”


I left the wardrobe room and stood alone in the narrow hallway. I had an hour before I could pick up my costume, so I figured I should put that hour to good use. I combed every inch of the backstage area, trying to find places where someone could hide. I even hoisted my skirts and climbed a ladder up into the flies—that area high above the stage where backdrops and scene changes can be raised or lowered. I didn’t fancy walking out across the narrow, precarious walkways, but I saw that there were plenty of opportunities for someone with a good head for heights to stand directly above the actors. I should bear that in mind.

I made my way to the dressing room feeling somewhat daunted. It was so dark and gloomy back there, so many corners bathed in shadow, so many nooks and crannies for someone to hide, waiting to commit mischief. Now if I could just find out who might want to do so . . .

I jumped a mile as a hand clasped onto my shoulder. I spun around to see Desmond Haynes standing right behind me, glaring at me with those dark, intense eyes.

“And just what do you think you are doing?” he asked.

“Me? I’m just having a look around,” I said.

“Having a look around, are you?” He snorted. “You want to be careful, little girl. Theaters are not safe places. I don’t know why Blanche was persuaded to hire you. It’s not like her to go soft. But take this as a gentle warning. Do your job and stay out of trouble.”

“Maybe I should say the same to you, Mr. Haynes,” I said. I stared him straight in the eye.

For a moment we stood there, his fingers digging into my shoulder. Then he released me. “You should learn to be polite to me if you ever want to work again,” he said icily. “Old friendships only stretch so far in this business.”

I came away shaken. Desmond Haynes was definitely upset by my presence. Was I finally on the right track?

An hour later I was in the dressing room with the rest of the girls, putting on my makeup.

“So you managed to buy your own greasepaint,” Elise said.

“No, I didn’t have to. Luckily Oona had some to spare.”

A wistful look came over Elise’s face. “So it’s true what they’re saying, that you’re Oona Sheehan’s cousin?”

“Of course,” I said. “How else do you think I’d have been given a little part in the play?”

“It must be nice.” She sighed. “The rest of us have to fight for any part that’s going, and sometimes do things we’d rather not, just to be hired.”

I finished my toilette and put on the black wig and then the spectacles. It was amazing how different they made me look. With the pigtails and the girlish costume, I didn’t look much older than twelve.

At that moment the call boy announced overture and beginners. I made my way down to the stage with the rest of the girls. There was more tension in the air than the night before and whispered speculation about what might happen. The first act started and I noticed that the girls were decidedly alert, glancing around nervously as they sang and danced. But the whole act passed without incident. I was still busy making sure I stood on my exact mark each time and made my entrances and exits at the right moment. As the second act started everyone was more relaxed. The chorus ran off stage at the end of the bathing scene and rushed up the steps to change into the ball costumes for the finale. I didn’t have to change for the ball, so I stood behind the scenery in the wings, watching and waiting.

It was the big love scene between Miss Lovejoy’s character and Arthur, the penniless painter. Just the two of them alone onstage, singing one of the more memorable songs called “Just Two People.” The scene was an arbor overlooking the ocean, with a small table covered in a red-and-white-checked cloth, on which were set a jug of lemonade and glasses. Miss Lovejoy was standing on one side of the table with Arthur across from her when suddenly the most amazing thing happened. The jug of lemonade leaped up in the air, came flying toward Miss Lovejoy and hurled lemonade all over her.

Miss Lovejoy screamed. Everyone came running, trying to calm her and wipe away the liquid from her face and the front of her dress.

“Now you have to believe it!” she was screaming. “I told you it was a ghost but nobody believed me.”

Robert Barker came flying onto the stage, out of breath. “Blanche, my love. Are you all right?”

“You saw it, didn’t you, Bobby?” she shrieked. “Everybody saw it. I’m not imagining things. Something hurled that jug of lemonade at me. Well, that’s it. I’m not opening the show on Tuesday. I’m going to go home to Connecticut and forget about the whole damned thing.”