The Bachelor Girl's Guide to Murder (21 page)

*
Mr. and Mrs. Herringford were far more accepting of Merinda's eccentricities than Jem's parents were of their well-bred daughter's. As such, Merinda enjoyed financial support as well as generous checks at major holidays.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

In order to ensure that the subject of one's heart's desire is aware of one's affection, a bachelor girl is encouraged to undertake a broad gesture. Men are often not as observant in this area as women would like them to be.

Dorothea Fairfax's Handbook to Bachelor Girlhood

L
a Mariage de Figaro
—Mozart's joyfully comedic exposition of marriage, love, lust, and masked confusion told in a colorful and zestily silly plot. Jem sat in her excellent side box taking in the buzz of conversation from the audience below. Gavin was dressed to the nines: coattails, a top hat he'd handed to the usher, a pristine white shirt, and gold cufflinks that winked in the bright electric lights.

She couldn't
believe
she had to spend another evening with him. When would Merinda let her end things with this cad once and for all?

“You know Jemima,” he was saying as the lights dimmed, “your eyes indeed rival the stars tonight. Bright. Just like gems.”

Jem nodded distractedly, even while feigning the smiles and nods that invited further compliment. “Thank you.”

He continued murmuring in her ear even as the opera began. By intermission, Jem was bored in spite of the Mozart and the glamour. She hadn't realized that one could get so tired of flattery. She sipped champagne and smiled politely at him until a dark figure entered the box and passed him a message.

Gavin read the note and rose. He said he would be late for the
second act but that Jem should go ahead and enjoy it until, upon his return, he would whisk her away for a cup of tea at the café.

Without Gavin weighing her down, Jem floated on air with Mozart. Gavin returned just as the prima donna received an immense bouquet and the curtain fell.

“That was a magical night,” she said as Gavin led her from the box. She could feel his hand on the small of her back. And instead of heading for the exit, Gavin steered her toward the wings beyond the gold sconces, ornamentation, gilded wall plasterings, and marble proscenium arch.

“A tour,” he said with a smile. “I thought you might want to see where it all comes to life. I'm a patron, you know. Perhaps we can meet the prima donna herself!”

“How wonderful!” Jem was elated and a little nervous as they ducked behind the russet curtain. It smelled of grease and smoke from the recently extinguished lanterns. A tangle of ropes hung from the rafters, and levers and pulleys adorned the black walls.

Several backstage workers tipped their hats to Jem, but they kept their eyes down from meeting Gavin's gaze. Jem surmised he had been back there before. Perhaps with some other woman?

He pulled her hand gently toward stage left and slipped the curtain open just enough so they could watch the last audience members leaving their seats and the orchestra packing up their instruments in the pit below. Gavin's arm tightened around Jem's waist.

“Would you like one of the stagehands to explain all of these mechanizations?”

A crack, a pop, a thud, and a figure emerged from a beam overhead and down a swinging ladder. Jem stared, recognizing Ray—who she had supposed was doing something investigative with Merinda while she entertained Gavin. But instead he was grinning and wiping his hands on his pants.

Jem felt her eyes widen. “Ray, what are you doing here? What were you doing up
there?
”

Ray tipped his bowler. “Miss Watts.”

Gavin drew himself up. “Ray DeLuca of the
Hogwash Herald.
What's the meaning of this? I could have you arrested for trespassing.”

Ray produced a notebook from his jacket pocket. “Press night,” Ray explained. “Opening night. I'm writing up the show. Free publicity. Is it my fault the producers forgot to send me my comp tickets?”

Gavin watched Jem watch Ray. His voice was angrier as he said, “Your sort don't get comp tickets. Your sort—”

“My sort what?” Ray challenged. And then he focused on Jem. Their eyes met. Her cheeks flushed.

Gavin eyed her sideways like he would a rare delicacy. “She's striking when she dresses correctly, isn't she? When she isn't bounding about after lost pocket watches.”

“Miss Watts would look striking in a burlap sack,” Ray said as Jem blushed further.

Gavin smiled wickedly at Ray. He put his arm around Jem and lowered his lips to the tendrils of hair dangling over the creamy skin of her neck. “I've observed something that interests me, DeLuca. You never describe Miss Herringford in your pieces. As far as the reader knows, she is a store mannequin. But Miss Watts here? The
Hog
readership knows all about her graceful curves and blue eyes. I wonder why that is.”

Even in the dim light, Jem could see Ray's cheeks flushing. Gavin smirked and pulled Jem back the way they'd come. “Come, Jem. That muckraking Italian's a menace,” he said, “and we have a tour to get on with,” he said. His hand found the small of her back again.

The three stood a moment, Jem's arms crossed over her waist, Gavin watching her, and Ray watching both of them with a question in his eyes.

“Mr. Crawley.” The heavy curtain pulled open and a messenger stepped forward. “Your man said you might be back here. You're needed on urgent business, sir.” He handed Gavin his second memo of the night.

Gavin's face darkened as he read it. “I have to go, Jemima.” He dug into his pocket and placed some bills in her hand. “Take a taxi and I'll
call 'round in the morning.” He tilted her chin, kissed her cheek possessively, and strode away.

Jem bit her lip and looked at the money in her hand.

“Crawley's a cad,” Ray said. “But you already know that. He left you at the drop of a hat without an escort in the back of a very dark theatre with a strange man.”

“Not a strange man, Ray. Just you.”

“And no tour.”

“Ah, well,” Jem picked up her skirt and began to walk toward the stage door and the exit.

Ray walked with her. “Now Crawley won't be showing you off to the actors and waxing eloquent about his patronage.”

Jem soured slightly. “I hope the whole thing ends soon.”

“You don't have to bait Crawley, you know.”

“I'm safe enough.”

“He treats you horribly. Perhaps I could give you a tour.”

“You?”

“Upstairs.”

“There upstairs?” Jem inclined her head.

“Jem, this is a double-decker. Did you know that?”

“What does that mean?”

“There is another theatre on top. A new one. Not even used yet. Tertius Montague modeled it after the best theatres in Chicago and New York. They are all doing it these days.”

Ray led her out from backstage but, unlike Gavin, he didn't step behind her or press his hand into her back. His hands stayed in his pockets and he strolled several paces ahead. He gestured toward a side door beyond the exit to the street and propped it open for her. “There are those pretty new lifts in the foyer. But ‘my sort' takes the fire escape.” They stepped into the murky darkness of Victoria Street.

Jem hiked her skirts up, not trusting her hem against the rattling metal as they climbed. “Did you really watch the show from the rafters?”

Ray let her ascend first. “Best seat in the house. You see down on
the top of the actors' heads. The music is just as beautiful, and you can see maybe the first two or three rows of the audience in their silks and feathers.”

“Do they catch you often?”

“No one's beat me off with a broomstick yet.”

When they reached the top of the fire escape, Ray instructed Jem to push the door open. Inside was darkness. She stayed near him.

He gently gripped her elbow. “The wonderful thing about Toronto, Jemima, is that there is always something hidden. It's all tunnels and trap doors and hidden stories.” He reached into his pocket for a matchbox and located a discarded lantern. He flicked the match and lit the lantern. A stream of light filled the dark bower.

“Close your eyes,” Ray said.

She shut her eyes and let him guide her forward. She heard the click of a light switch, and she could sense that the room around her had become brighter.

“Now, open up.”

A secret garden fairyland surrounded her. Overhead, a forest of plants, vines, and leaves intertwined. The walls were elaborately painted in woodland splendor and vines hung from the ceiling. The colored lanterns specked the ceiling like a rainbow of stars.

“It's beautiful,” Jem breathed. She ran her fingers over the intricate detailing and park benches rimming the back of the theatre.

“Its grand opening is set soon. Montague says he wants anyone who cannot leave the city in winter to have summer brought to them.”

“Can you imagine?” She spun and looked at Ray. “You sit here and you feel like you are in a garden. The world has disappeared.” She held out her hand, deftly tracing the outline of a gold-embossed design twirling around a pillar that was sculpted like a tree. It soared up to a painted night sky. “I had no idea this was up here. I pass the theatre every day on my way to work and never knew this was inside.” She stood so close to Ray that their shoulders brushed. “It makes me want a garden.”

He lingered there, their shoulders touching. “And what would you do with your garden?”

“I would plant all sorts of wonderful things.”

“You'd need a… ” he stumbled for the word. “A house that is green.”

“Greenhouse.” She smiled. “A greenhouse to incubate the flowers in winters. Yes. I would build a swing and sit on it and sip lemonade and watch the birds.”

“Would anyone sit with you? Gavin Crawley, perhaps?”

Jem's neck was suddenly warm under her collar. “You know that's just a ruse.”

“Do I?”

“Y-yes! Merinda has me going out and—”

“Didn't look much like a ruse tonight.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“I could see you! Before the curtain even lifted, smiling into him. You're a better actress than the ladies onstage.”

“Did you come here tonight to write up the opera or did you come to spy on me?”

“I don't trust that man. And you shouldn't either.”

“I don't!”

“But you allow him all sorts of liberties, Jem. Why didn't you pull away?”

“You're angry with me?” Her eyes went wide. “Are you jealous?”

“You can admit you're attracted to Gavin Crawley, Jem. Handsome, well-dressed. Makes a lot of sense that a girl like you would fall for a guy like him.”

Jem Watts falling for Gavin Crawley? Didn't he know? How daft could Ray be? Here she thought she was being so obvious, unable to keep her eyes from drinking in his profile. Unable to stop her hands from trembling whenever he spoke.

Gavin Crawley, indeed! She'd just have to do something to prove that… that… She thought a moment. Wouldn't the romantic buoyancy and winsome spirit that propelled the heroines she read of in books into their lover's eager arms guide her next move?

She knew then she was going to kiss him. She just didn't fathom she would do it so poorly.