Extraordinaires 1 Read Free Page A

‘Sundry other distractions.’
    â€˜Distractions.’ Kingsley’s jacket and trousers were a mess. His turban had collapsed and he unwound it slowly, pocketing the brass medallion with which it had been pinned. ‘ You dropped the curtain? Why?’
    â€˜To save you.’
    â€˜And why would you do that? Even if I needed saving, which I deny utterly.’
    â€˜You’re my project.’
    â€˜I beg your pardon?’
    She took his hand. ‘We really should go. If Billy finds us while he’s still in a state, we’re doomed. But if we let him seethe a little, I’m sure I can talk him around.’
    â€˜Billy? Mr Bernadetti? The stage manager?’
    She gripped his elbow. ‘Billy owes me more than a few favours, but he’s liable to forget them if he’s in a temper.’
    Kingsley was teetering. He saw his entire stage career vanishing before his eyes. Should he stay and see if he could talk his way out of the situation? Or should he throw in his lot with this extraordinary young woman?
    â€˜Are you sure you can make him overlook this?’
    â€˜I have my ways,’ she said darkly. ‘Trust me.’
    He did, immediately and instinctively, at a level he suspected had something to do with his wild self. ‘Thank you, Miss . . .?’
    She cocked her head. ‘You are a piece, aren’t you? I’ll wager you don’t know the names of any of the other performers.’
    â€˜Not the ones after me on the program.’
    â€˜Stephens. Evadne Stephens. Now, look sharp and we’ll exit, stage right. Or what remains of stage right, anyway.’

    Kingsley and Evadne joined a stream of performers and crew barging towards the stage door, laughing and chattering at the unexpected turn of events. Evadne took his arm and Kingsley hunched, trying to keep his imposing stature as discreet as possible. He was grateful for the towering headdress of Madame Olivansky (‘the Bird Whistler’), just in front of him.
    â€˜Mr Ward! Mr Ward!’
    Kingsley quailed, but it was only Todd, the ancient and perennially doleful Stage Door Manager, gamely struggling towards him through the crowd with one hand thrusting an envelope above his head.
    Todd reached Kingsley. He clung to him very much like a drowning man finding a life preserver, while Doran and Bedlow (‘the Merry Jokers’) pushed past, arguing about punchlines. ‘Mr Ward,’ Todd panted. ‘A letter for you.’
    Evadne plucked at the old man’s sleeve, and raised an eyebrow when the ancient cloth parted under her fingers. ‘Todd,’ she said, after a momentary pause, ‘have you seen Mr Bernadetti?’
    Todd’s face grew even more doleful. ‘He’s in the foyer, miss, shouting.’
    â€˜At anyone in particular? Or is he just practising?’
    â€˜He’s with the theatre owners, miss. They’re not happy about the way the performance has gone.’
    â€˜Oh.’
    Kingsley hardly heard this exchange. He was re- reading the letter Todd had given him, slowly. ‘I have to go to London.’
    Evadne shook her head. ‘You’ll do no such thing. I’ll need you around when Billy has calmed down and I can go to work on him, which may be–’ Evadne stopped herself and scrutinised Kingsley. ‘What is it?’
    â€˜It’s from my foster father’s valet.’ Kingsley was already planning. What time did the last train leave? He sighed. This wasn’t a good time for such a thing. ‘My foster father’s gone missing. He hasn’t been seen for weeks.’
    â€˜Todd,’ Evadne snapped. ‘Tell Mr Bernadetti that I want to speak to him later.’
    â€˜Yes, miss.’
    Kingsley pushed towards the door, easing past a knot of stagehands, and was startled to find Evadne keeping pace with him. ‘What are you doing?’ he said, as they emerged into a narrow lane that smelled of cats,