I said directly, "Is Miss Olivia Svenson here?"
The man looked surprised.
"I think you must be calling in error, sir," he said. "We have no one here of that name."
"I'm sorry," I said, remembering just in time that we had used her mother's maiden name. "I meant to ask for Miss Wenscombe. Would she be here?"
Again the man shook his head, politely and correctly.
"There is no Miss Wenscombe here, sir. Maybe you should enquire at the Post Office in the High Street."
"Yes, indeed I shall," I replied, and, no longer wanting to draw attention to myself, I beat a retreat.
I went back to my vigil in the coffee shop and waited there for another hour, by the end of which Borden and his wife returned to the house.
12th September 1898
With no further sign of Olivia returning home, I took the pass she had given me and went to the box office of the Leicester Square Theatre. Here I claimed a ticket for Borden's show. I deliberately selected a seat near the rear of the stalls, so that my presence might not be noticed from the stage.
After his customary opening with Chinese Linking Rings, Borden quickly and efficiently produced his assistant from a cabinet. It was of course my Olivia, resplendent in a sequinned gown that glittered and flashed in the electrically powered lights. She strode elegantly into the wings, whence she emerged a few moments later, now clad in a fetching costume of the leotard type. The blatant voluptuousness of her appearance quickened my pulse, even in spite of my intense and despairing feelings of loss.
Borden climaxed his show with the electrical switch illusion, performing it with a flair that plunged me further into depression. When Olivia returned to the stage to take the final bow with him my gloom was complete. She looked beautiful, happy and excited, and it seemed to my troubled gaze that as Borden held her hand for the applause he did so with unnecessary affection.
Determined to see the thing through, I raced from the auditorium and hurried around to the Stage Door. Although I waited while the other artistes filed out into the night, and until the doorman had locked the door and turned off the lights, I saw neither Borden nor Olivia departing the building.
18th September 1898
Today Olivia's maid, whom I have retained in the household for the time being lest Olivia should return, brought me a letter she had received from her erstwhile mistress.
I read it anxiously, clinging to the hope that it might contain a clue as to what had happened, but it merely said:
Lucy—
Would you kindly make up packages and cases of all my belongings, and have them delivered as soon as possible to the Stage Door of the Strand Theatre.
Please be sure that everything is clearly labelled as being for myself, and I will arrange collection.
I enclose an amount to cover the costs, and that which is left over you must keep for yourself. If you require a reference for your next employment Mr Angier will of course write it for you.
Thank you, &c
Olivia Svenson
I had to read this letter aloud to the poor girl, and to explain what she had to do with the five-pound note Olivia had enclosed.
4th December 1898
I am currently engaged for a season of shows at the Plaza Theatre in Richmond, by the side of the River Thames. This evening, I was relaxing in my dressing room between first and second performances, just prior to going out to find a sandwich meal with Adam and Gertrude. Someone knocked on the door.
It was Olivia. I let her into the room almost without thinking what I was doing. She looked beautiful but tired, and told me she had been trying to locate me all day.
"Robbie, I have gotten you the information you want," she said, and she held up a sealed envelope for me to see. "I brought you this, even though you must understand that I'm not going to be coming back to you. You have to promise me that your feud with Alfred will end immediately. If you do, I'll let you have the envelope."
I told her that as far as I was concerned the feud was already at an end.
"Then why do you still need his secret?"
"You surely know why," I said.
"Only to continue the feud!"
I knew she was touching the truth, but I said, "I'm curious."
She was in a hurry to depart, saying that already Borden would be suspicious of her long absence. I did not remind her of the similar wait I had had to endure when this endeavour began.
I asked her why she had written down the message, when she could as easily have told me in words. She said it was too complicated, too intricately devised, and that she had copied the information from Borden's own notes. Finally, she handed over the envelope.
Holding it, I said, "Is it really the end of the mystery for me?"
"I believe it is, yes."
She turned to go and opened the door.
"Can I ask you something else, Olivia?"
"What is it?"
"Is Borden one man, or two?"
She smiled, and maddeningly I glimpsed the smile of a woman thinking of her lover. "He is just one man, I do assure you."
I followed her out into the corridor, where technical staff were loitering within earshot.
"Are you happy now?" I asked her.
"Yes, I am. I'm sorry if I've hurt you, Robbie."
She left me then, without an embrace or even a smile or a touch of hands. I have hardened myself against her in the last few weeks, but even so it was painful to be with her like that.
I returned to the dressing room, closed the door and leant my weight upon it. I slit the envelope at once. It contained one sheet of paper, and on it Olivia had written a single word.
Tesla.
3rd July 1900
Somewhere in Illinois
We departed from Chicago Union Street Station at 9.00 promptly, and after a slow journey through the industrial wasteland that surrounds that most vibrant and thrilling of cities we have since been moving at a fair speed across the agricultural plains to the west.
I have a splendid sleeping berth, and a seat permanently reserved for me in the first-class saloon. American trains are sumptuously fitted and magnificently comfortable in which to travel. The meals, prepared in one of the carriages entirely devoted to being a galley, are large, nutritious and attractively served. I have been travelling for five weeks on American railroads, and I have rarely been happier or better fed. I dare not weigh myself! I feel I am ensconced securely in the great American world of convenience, plenty and courtesy, while the terrific American realm slips by beyond the windows.
My fellow travellers are all Americans, a mixed bunch in appearance, friendly towards me and curious about me in equal measure. About a third of them, I hazard, are commercial travellers of the superior kind, and several more appear to be employed in business in one way or another. In addition, there are two professional gamblers, a presbyterian minister, four young men returning to Denver from college in Chicago, several well-to-do farmers and landowners, and one or two others I have not yet been able to pin down exactly. In the American way we have all been on first-name terms from the moment of meeting. I have long ago learned that the name Rupert attracts amused inquisitiveness, so while I am in the United States I am always Rob or Robbie.
4th July 1900
The train stopped last night in Galesburg, Illinois. Because today is American Independence Day the railroad company gave all first-class passengers the choice of staying aboard the train in our cabins or of spending the night in the town's largest hotel. Since I have been sleeping in many trains in the last few weeks I opted for the hotel.
I was able to take a brief tour of the town before turning in. It is an attractive place, and possesses a large theatre. A play happens to be on this week, but I was told that variety shows ("vaudeville") are frequent and popular. Magic acts often appear. I left my card with the manager, hoping for an engagement one day.