I could hear Miss Lovejoy’s strident voice booming through the vast expanse of backstage as I came in through the stage door and signed the book. She had definitely seen the evening papers by the sound of it.
“Trouble tonight, Henry,” I muttered.
He nodded. “She came in with a face fit to curdle cream. If she finds out who let the cat out of the bag then one understudy better be ready to go on tonight. It couldn’t have come at a worst time, with opening night only two days away.”
As I went up the stairs to report to Miss Lovejoy, I encountered her storming down the hallway.
“When I find out, I’ll kill ’em,” she was screaming. She broke off when she saw me. “Oh, it’s you at last, is it? About time you showed up. You’ve seen, I suppose? All over the town. Couldn’t be worse.” She wagged a threatening finger in my face. “Who told the newspapers? I want you to find out which of them it was. I’m paying you to be my detective. You damned well better find out for me.”
“It may not have been anyone in the cast,” I said. “At least not deliberately. There have been reporters hanging around the stage door every night. Perhaps they managed to overhear conversations. The girls were pretty upset when they came out of the theater last night.”
“I suppose so,” she said grudgingly. “But it’s your fault. I thought you’d have found out something by now. I’m paying you to find out whether it really is a ghost that’s haunting me.”
“I’m not a miracle worker,” I said. “I kept my eyes and ears open last night. I ran to investigate as soon as that wind started and nobody was there.”
“So it is a ghost. It has to be a ghost,” she said, giving the most dramatic shuddering sob. “I knew it. The theater is cursed. My play is cursed. I’m ruined, ruined.” She started to walk down the hallway at a great pace. I had to break into a trot to keep up with her. “I should have hired a spiritualist to begin with. Someone who knows how to communicate with spirits. A spiritualist could find out why the ghost hates me so, what I have done that it wants to bring about my ultimate destruction.” Her voice was loud enough to be heard in the back row of the upper balcony. “We should find out who has died recently and died bearing a grudge against me.”
I tapped her on the shoulder as we came to the staircase. “So does that mean you no longer require my services?”
“What?” She turned back to me as if she was surprised to find me there.
“You say you’re going to hire a spiritualist to contact the ghost. So you no longer need me?”
“I suppose I still want you onstage, close to me,” she said. “I need someone to protect me.”
“I can’t protect you from a ghost,” I said. “And I don’t actually believe in ghosts myself. I’d like enough time to prove that your accidents are not caused by a spirit but by a real human who carries a grudge against you.”
“If only that were true.” She clasped her bosom. “But who could that be? Everyone adores me.”
I didn’t mention that half her chorus was not too fond of her, for a start.
“So you want me to go up to Madame Eva for my costume fitting, I take it?”
“Of course. Dress rehearsal at seven, as scheduled. The show must go on.” This was said loudly as several cast members were coming up the stairs. Then in a lower voice she said to me, “But first run down to the stage door and see if a package was delivered to Henry for me.”
I went back down and the package was there. As I carried it up to Blanche’s dressing room I heard the chink of bottles inside. Blanche was obviously going to bolster her confidence with her calming mixture and with bourbon.
Madame Eva must have been a miracle worker. She had a costume more or less finished. It was a black-and-white gingham skirt, a white blouse, and a big black bow to be tied at my neck. I put it on while she clucked and fussed around me, pinning furiously, poking at my lack of a corset and muttering, “Such a large waist. Well, there’s nothing I can do about that.”
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.”
She rushed off the stage with Robert hot on her heels. At the edge of the stage he turned back to the rest of us, who were standing white-faced and open-mouthed. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s all going to be okay, I promise. I’ll talk to her. The show will open as planned.”
As the other actors stood around in tight knots, whispering about what they had just seen, I went over to the table and examined it carefully. I picked up the jug, which had broken from the fall. There was nothing unusual about it. I looked carefully for a string or thread that could have jerked it off the table, but there was none. I searched the backstage area but there was nowhere close enough for anyone to have stood and made that jug move.
I was afraid I was beginning to agree with Blanche. Maybe it was time to call in a spiritualist.