Read Online Memory's Embrace by Linda Lael Miller - Free Book Online
Authors: Linda Lael Miller
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keep her word.
Roderick disliked sharing his quarters on the Columbia Queen with the likes of Johnny Baker, a common, pimply roustabout, but there was nothing for it. Work was work, and it was a rare enough quantity, for an actor at least. Nights like the one just past, spent in Derora Beauchamp’s bed, went a long way toward making life bearable, though he would have preferred to pass the time with the lady’s niece.
Tess. He smiled, mentally tasting the name, as he applied a blackface for the first performance. The roustabout stood behind him, watching the process with an avid sort of fascination.
“Last night must have been pretty good, huh?” leered the weasel. “I noticed you was gone.”
Roderick glued a bushy white eyebrow into place. “Nothing much gets by you, does it, Baker?” he asked, dismissing the man even as he spoke. He’d given EmmaHamilton two tickets to tonight’s performance, an indulgence that had cost him dearly. Would the little chit have the sense to offer the .extra one to Tess?
He glued on a second eyebrow. “I’d like this room to myself tonight, if it’s all the same to you,” he said to the pockmarked face reflected beside his own.
Baker looked lewdly delighted. “You bringin’ a woman here?”
Roderick resisted a temptation to roll his eyes in overt disdain. It wouldn’t do to offend the weasel, not now. “Yes,” he said, affixing a false mustache to his upper lip. The greasepaint made it hard to keep the thing in place. “Maybe you’d like to spend the night in town or something.” Or anything, he added mentally. Just so long as you’re gone before I bring Tess Bishop below deck.
“I ain’t got no money,” complained Baker.
Roderick sighed. He’d half-expected this development. “There’s a five-dollar goldpiece in my other coat. Take that.”
Baker’s unfortunate complexion was mottled with pleasure. “Thanks,” he said adoringly. Sometimes Roderick wondered about him.
“Think nothing of it,” Roderick replied, in blithe tones. What an actor you are, he said to himself, as Baker plundered the pockets of his extra coat for the last cent he had.
After the roustabout left, he checked his makeup, made minor adjustments to his cutaway satin coat. Damn, but he was handsome, even with his face blackened with greasepaint!
Tess and Emma boarded the showboat among a throng of other people, trying to appear casual. It was unlikely that they would encounter Emma’s staid and steady parents in such a place, but they could run into Derora, and that would be almost as disastrous.
The show itself was to be held in the vessel’s gaudily decorated salon, where there was a stage framed with elaborate gilt curlicues and draped in red velvet curtains. Paintings of nudes covered the walls, and there were crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling, where plump, painstakingly carved cherubs cavorted.
Rows of seats, upholstered in velvet to match the curtains, faced the stage, and Emma and Tess found themselves very close indeed—one good stretch and they could have touched the footlights!
“Front row seats!” whispered Emma, beaming. “Didn’t I tell you that Roderick likes me?”
Tess bit her lower lip. Even though Mr. Waltam had fixed her bicycle wheel—a kindly gesture indeed—there was still the fact that he had passed the night with Derora. That had to be borne in mind. “Emma, he’s an actor,” she retorted, hoping to dissuade her friend from further infatuation. “They are not reliable people, you know.”
“No, I don’t know!” snapped Emma, with spirit. “I’ve never met an actor before! Have you?”
The gas-powered chandeliers dimmed. “Yes,” she said tightly, after a moment of prideful hesitation. “My mother was an actress, in St. Louis.”
Emma was gaping at her, Tess knew that withoutlooking. “What?!” she hissed. “Tess Bishop, you never told me that before!”
“There are a lot of things I’ve never told you,”
Roderick disliked sharing his quarters on the Columbia Queen with the likes of Johnny Baker, a common, pimply roustabout, but there was nothing for it. Work was work, and it was a rare enough quantity, for an actor at least. Nights like the one just past, spent in Derora Beauchamp’s bed, went a long way toward making life bearable, though he would have preferred to pass the time with the lady’s niece.
Tess. He smiled, mentally tasting the name, as he applied a blackface for the first performance. The roustabout stood behind him, watching the process with an avid sort of fascination.
“Last night must have been pretty good, huh?” leered the weasel. “I noticed you was gone.”
Roderick glued a bushy white eyebrow into place. “Nothing much gets by you, does it, Baker?” he asked, dismissing the man even as he spoke. He’d given EmmaHamilton two tickets to tonight’s performance, an indulgence that had cost him dearly. Would the little chit have the sense to offer the .extra one to Tess?
He glued on a second eyebrow. “I’d like this room to myself tonight, if it’s all the same to you,” he said to the pockmarked face reflected beside his own.
Baker looked lewdly delighted. “You bringin’ a woman here?”
Roderick resisted a temptation to roll his eyes in overt disdain. It wouldn’t do to offend the weasel, not now. “Yes,” he said, affixing a false mustache to his upper lip. The greasepaint made it hard to keep the thing in place. “Maybe you’d like to spend the night in town or something.” Or anything, he added mentally. Just so long as you’re gone before I bring Tess Bishop below deck.
“I ain’t got no money,” complained Baker.
Roderick sighed. He’d half-expected this development. “There’s a five-dollar goldpiece in my other coat. Take that.”
Baker’s unfortunate complexion was mottled with pleasure. “Thanks,” he said adoringly. Sometimes Roderick wondered about him.
“Think nothing of it,” Roderick replied, in blithe tones. What an actor you are, he said to himself, as Baker plundered the pockets of his extra coat for the last cent he had.
After the roustabout left, he checked his makeup, made minor adjustments to his cutaway satin coat. Damn, but he was handsome, even with his face blackened with greasepaint!
Tess and Emma boarded the showboat among a throng of other people, trying to appear casual. It was unlikely that they would encounter Emma’s staid and steady parents in such a place, but they could run into Derora, and that would be almost as disastrous.
The show itself was to be held in the vessel’s gaudily decorated salon, where there was a stage framed with elaborate gilt curlicues and draped in red velvet curtains. Paintings of nudes covered the walls, and there were crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling, where plump, painstakingly carved cherubs cavorted.
Rows of seats, upholstered in velvet to match the curtains, faced the stage, and Emma and Tess found themselves very close indeed—one good stretch and they could have touched the footlights!
“Front row seats!” whispered Emma, beaming. “Didn’t I tell you that Roderick likes me?”
Tess bit her lower lip. Even though Mr. Waltam had fixed her bicycle wheel—a kindly gesture indeed—there was still the fact that he had passed the night with Derora. That had to be borne in mind. “Emma, he’s an actor,” she retorted, hoping to dissuade her friend from further infatuation. “They are not reliable people, you know.”
“No, I don’t know!” snapped Emma, with spirit. “I’ve never met an actor before! Have you?”
The gas-powered chandeliers dimmed. “Yes,” she said tightly, after a moment of prideful hesitation. “My mother was an actress, in St. Louis.”
Emma was gaping at her, Tess knew that withoutlooking. “What?!” she hissed. “Tess Bishop, you never told me that before!”
“There are a lot of things I’ve never told you,”
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