She could only imagine their delighted shock if they discovered their chaste new companion had been compromised by a scoundrel like Billy Darling.
With a wicked smile still playing around her lips, she swung open the door. So whats it to be tonight? she asked her waiting aunt. An opera? A supper party? A musicale hosted by one of the Belles?
Anne brushed past her, her color higher than usual. I believe youll find tonights diversion quite unique.
She gave her aunt a pleading look. Couldnt I just feign a nasty headache and stay home in bed reading one of those deliciously wicked romantic novels? After all, I only have a few more days to rest up for the masquerade ball Grandpapa is giving in my honor.
When Anne behaved as if she hadnt spoken, Esmerelda frowned. No, she hadnt been mistaken. Her aunt, a woman without a bone of vanity in her trim, spare body, was actually craning her neck to steal a glimpse of herself in the cheval glass. As Esmerelda watched, she even dared to twine a spit curl around her little finger. The iron-gray ringlet escaped with an impertinent bounce.
Esmerelda cleared her throat.
Anne jumped, her nerves of iron crumbling to rust before her nieces amused eyes. Come, dear, she said, plucking a mantle of braided cashmere out of the wardrobe and draping it over Esmereldas shoulders. The earls carriage is already downstairs waiting for us.
Oh, no! Not the earl again. Id rather be boiled in porridge than spend another moment in his company. Esmerelda dragged her slippered feet like a recalcitrant child. Cant you tell him I have amnesia? That I forgot we had an engagement?
Her aunt continued to tug her toward the door. If youll just come with me, my dear, I believe I can promise you an evening you will never forget.
Esmerelda no longer had any need to feign a nasty headache. Her head had began to pound in earnest almost as soon as theyd entered the crowded theater on Drury Lane. Although the electric arc lamps were a vast improvement over the smelly, smoky gas and oil lamps theyd replaced, the mingled perfumes of the elegantly dressed theatergoers jammed elbow to elbow into the tiered benches made her hunger for a breath of fresh air.
Aunt Anne sat on her left while the earl pressed close on the right, taking up most of his seat and part of hers. Esmerelda couldnt have said which was more intolerable St. Cyrs fawning attentions or the inane chatter of the Belles, who surrounded them above and below in a smothering cloud of organdy and lace. She winced as one of their shrill giggles seemed to drive a splinter of ice into her skull.
Care for a boiled peanut, mdear? the earl inquired for the fourth time, proffering a canvas sack.
No, thank you, she coolly replied, having watched him spit several of the shells back into the sack after hed divested them of their peanuts with his sharp yellow teeth.
Her aunt had refused to tell her what manner of production they were attending, insisting with uncharacteristic coyness that it remain a surprise. From the bales of hay that had been scattered around the circular arena, Esmerelda gathered that it must be a circus of some sort. Spotting a playbill in the gloved hands of a woman seated three rows down, she lifted her opera glasses in an impolite attempt to read over the womans shoulder.
Anne snatched the glasses away from her and pressed them to her own eyes. Oh, look, isnt that the Prince of Wales coming in?
Esmerelda squinted in the same direction. Not unless hes taken to wearing a bustle and feathers in his hair.
Unnerved by her aunts increasingly peculiar behavior, Esmerelda sighed and settled back on the bench. The arc lamps began to dim. The buzz of conversation dwindled to an eager murmur.
Esmerelda gasped and jumped just as high as the rest of the crowd when a stagecoach drawn by four black horses came rocking across the arena. A man in a tan shirt, trousers, hat, and red bandanna drove the team, a shotgun laid across his lap. As a near-naked Indian riding a sleek pinto thundered after him, tomahawk raised high, the Belles threw their arms around each other and let out an ear-piercing shriek.
The shotgun exploded with a mighty blast. The Indian leapt from pinto to stagecoach, wresting the reins from the drivers hands. After a brief but violent struggle, he hurled the driver to the ground and pounced upon him. The stagecoach went lurching back into the darkness as the Indian unsheathed a gleaming blade and drew it downward in a slicing motion. The driver slumped into a lifeless heap.
The savage sprang to his feet, his dazzling white teeth bared in a bloodthirsty grimace, and held up a trophy that looked suspiciously like a rat pelt. Several woman screamed, and one of the Belles groped for her smelling salts.
Before the scandalized gasps and horrified cries could die out, the driver bounded to his feet and took a bow, revealing that hed been bald as an egg the entire time. The crowd erupted in hearty laughter and thunderous applause.
A man garbed in an elegant top hat, frock coat, and shiny black boots strode to the center of the arena with a megaphone and intoned in a cultured English accent, Welcome to the show, ladies and gentlemen! Brought to you straight from the untamed wilderness of America the very first Wild West Extravaganza to tour England!
As the applause soared again, Esmerelda slowly swiveled around to glare at her aunt, rigid with fury. If this is your idea of a jest, she hissed through clenched teeth, you have a very sick sense of humor.
Her aunt simply stared straight ahead as if she hadnt spoken. Determined to endure no more of this nonsense, Esmerelda attempted to rise.
Oh, do sit down! We cant see! the Belles twittered as a chorus, all aflutter with excitement.
Down in front! boomed a masculine voice.
Esmerelda drove an elbow into the earls side, attempting to nudge him out of her way, but earned nothing but a distracted grunt for her trouble. He was already mesmerized by the sight of the covered wagon that came rolling across the hay-strewn floor of the arena.
Defeated for the time being, she sank back down on the bench, sulking like a child.
The same Indian on the same pinto began to race circles around the wagon, howling a fierce war cry. The plight of the family of settlers might have been more heartrending if one of the women hadnt boasted sideburns and a sandy beard. Her falsetto cries for mercy as the Indian jumped on the wagon and began to tear at her homespun dress soon had the audience rolling with laughter. Plagued by a nagging sense of familiarity, Esmerelda leaned forward, but the glare of the lights obscured the mans facial features.
The next sketch consisted of a mock cabin, more screaming settlers, and the same Indian leaping into one window, then running out the back door of the cabin, around to the front, and leaping into another, pretending to be a different Indian. By now, the poor fellow was clutching his side and gasping for breath.
Muttering their displeasure, several men and women rose and began to drift toward the exits. As one of the benches below them cleared, Esmerelda breathed a sigh of relief. Her prayers for deliverance had been answered. She didnt think she could bear another minute of this travesty. The west shed known was wilder than any of them could imagine, she thought, remembering Billys unbridled passion with a pang of loss and yearning.
She was already poised to make a mad dash for freedom when some unseen stagehands unfurled a painted backdrop of a street in a western town. Esmerelda was squinting at it, thinking that it looked strangely familiar, when the lights dimmed again. As a single spotlight brightened the darkness, the trickle toward the exits slowed to a halt. The mutterings ceased; the murmurs faded. Even the Belles lapsed into an expectant silence.
A lone man stepped into the circle of light.
The sinister black of his trousers and vest was relieved only by the startling whiteness of his shirt. The broad brim of his hat shadowed his eyes. The ruthless beam of the arc lamp cast a shimmering halo around him.