Somewhat unexpectedly, the man smiled. “Ah, excellent.” He gestured at someone inside. “Jack, could you take Miss Vega’s party back?”
Another man came out onto the steps, then nodded. “This way, sirs, ma’am.” They handed over their overcoats and Maddie’s cape to the coat check, and Tony tucked the claim tickets away in his inner pocket. The table in question turned out not to be front and centre— those were for larger groups— but with a direct line to the stage. Once they were seated, Jack nodded. “I’ll be bringing a bottle for the table, at Miss Vega’s request, and our chef’s suggestions for the evening. The performances will begin in about a quarter hour, with dancing between.”
Maddie inquired about where the loo was, and was directed off to a door in the far corner of the room. Jack went off to see about those unexpected offerings. Tony leaned back, taking the place in. “Nothing quite like this in Trellech.” Then he added. “She thinks well of you, and the people here think well of her.”
“I’d noticed that.” Farran hadn’t made note of it the first night, of course, but he could see the little shifts now he was watching for it. The staff moved smoothly, waiters bringing drinks and plates of food, women in bright dresses began circulating. “Those are the dance mistresses, if you’d rather not dance with Maddie. A few men, too.”
“What would you do if I made a bet about you getting a dance with Miss Vega, then?” Tony said.
“She needs a break between sets. For her voice, if not for her feet.” Farran would not push. “If she offers, I’ll certainly say yes.But this is her work, as well as her joy. She gets to measure out how she spends herself.”
Something in the way Farran put it made Tony blink and lean forward. But before he could say anything else, there was a bottle of wine on the table. Maddie reclaimed her seat, and they needed to focus on what the chef recommended. Farran went with those suggestions, because he suspected Vega had a hand in the idea. He wanted to tell her what he’d thought.
That done, Tony let the subject drop, choosing instead to watch the other people, and hear Maddie’s comments on the various frocks and jewellery on display. It was a pleasant chatter, and it let Farran think more about what he wanted to say to Vega when he got a chance.
Chapter 25
LATER THAT EVENING
Vega peered through the curtain. Her first set had gone smoothly, and now she could watch Farran and his friends at the table. The beginning of the second set had started well. They’d worked out how to build out the introduction, so that there wasn’t a jarring contrast from the chatter of the pause to a full on performance.
Kevin Stafford, the guitarist, would come out. He’d slide from tuning his guitar in little arpeggios that twisted deftly into a tune, his blond head bent over the guitar, entirely focused on what he was doing. Then Harry, the drummer, would take his place, then the others in the band, one by one. They moved into the music like they were picking up a conversation that had been going on for twenty years. It had a friendly feel to it, comfortably worn in, without being either bored or boring.
Once they’d gone through a song or so, the dancers would come out, the dance mistresses and masters. They’d had a few minutes of a break from dancing with guests. This bit of the show wasn’t entirely choreographed. For one thing, Madam Helena wanted each dancer to have time to show off a bit oftheir own particular talent. It had them whirling in different patterns. Then they’d find a place where Pasco could shift lights to illuminate couples pair by pair in the centre. From there, they swooped off to take their place along the edge of the dance floor, keeping time with small but graceful movements.
Then it was time for the others. This time it was Ivy and Charles, coming out in a swirl of her skirts as Charles got her spinning across the dance floor. They had more space to move, being the only couple dancing, and their set was full of lifts and twirls, getting delighted sounds and applause from the audience. Farran seemed to enjoy it, but the woman next to him leaned over and touched his arm, so he turned and grinned at her. Vega pulled back from the curtain.
Of course, he had friends. People did. Should. She did, even if she didn’t get to see many of them often. Her family, the cousins she was close to, weren’t in London much or anywhere else she’d performed recently. Her performer friends moved about in the peripatetic orbits of comets, coming near each other now and again. And of course, it wasn’t as if they could go out for an evening on a weekend. It was impossible, what with that being both their busy time and different contracts varying their nights off.
After Pasco’s illusions, there was this week’s special contract. Vega enjoyed watching the trio of dancers, all sisters, who did acrobatics and high kicks. Now, it was Vega’s turn. She strolled out toward the stage from the back, letting people take her in. And letting the band play her up to her best face, too. Once she turned around, Pasco’s light charm on her, she took a breath, and began to sing.
This set, she was doing a number of jazz favourites, with the illusions complementing the music. They were impressionistic, but precisely on beat, making the underlying rhythms pop for even the most tin-eared listener. She loved the added dimensionit gave to a performance, the way it made people lean forward, all their senses engaged.
The only problem was that she saw Vandermeer. He must have been seated since the last time she’d checked, at one of the small tables at the back. Vega refused to let it throw her. She could have asked for him to be turned away, and she hadn’t, quite. Not without talking to Madam Helena about it. Vega should have done that after the note, last time, or this afternoon, or, well. No use mourning the past. She put her all into the last two songs, not with her magic but with her heart, before retreating off the stage.
This time, instead of peering through the curtain, she went up to Madam Helena’s office, which had an interior window that overlooked about half the room. She knocked once, then heard the quiet “Come.”
As soon as Vega entered, Madam Helena looked up. “A problem, dear? I hope not with your particular guests?”
“No.” Vega took a breath. “The man who sent the note a bit ago now. Thomas Vandermeer. Table 10.”
“He ought not to.” Madam Helena raised an eyebrow. “He must have an illusionist on tap, or something of the kind. I gave instructions he wasn’t to be let in, and a clear description.”
“Oh.” Vega should have asked, but she sank into a chair. “You did?”
“I did not much like the feel of him, either. Or his magic. Something odd there. Besides, I value you rather more than such a guest.” Madame Helena stood, peering out the window, then glancing across. “Hmmm. That’s your particular friend, yes? Who’s the woman with him?”
Madam Helena was not looking straight down, it turned out, but at a mirror. It was angled to make it possible to see the entire room, at least with the help other mirrors. Vega blinked. “I hadn’t realised...”
“Oh, there are charms, too.” Madam Helena gestured at one wall, which suddenly had an image— fuzzy, but enough to make out individuals— projected on the blank white wall. “How else am I supposed to seem omniscient?”
That, especially Madam Helena’s tone, made Vega laugh, despite the seriousness. “So, um.” She glanced at the mirror again. “Farran asked if he might bring a friend and the friend’s sister.” The sister of a friend was, by some counts, a prime target for romance.
Farran’s note had mentioned the name, but nothing much about her. Though the same last name as the brother, so presumably unmarried. And the last name suggested it might be a Cousin line, though nothing she’d seen of Eleanor Norton had made that entirely clear. “What will you do about Vandermeer?”
“See if one of the sensible women will dance with him. Or...” She was about to say something else, before gesturing. The current dance song had come to an end. Farran made a slight bow as Maddie stalked off. She had the walk of a woman with a purpose, toward where Vandermeer sat. She said something to him, tilting her head, and then held out her hand. Vandermeer stood a little more slowly than someone who actually wanted to dance might. But then he led Maddie out on the floor, as the next tune started up.
“Have a chat with them. I can send drinks around to your dressing room after your last set. You’re early in the set, yes?”