Nine Buck's Row Read Free Page A

you did! Runnin’ in out of the fog like that—I was sure The Ripper was a-comin’ after me!”
    â€œBosh, Peters! A big, burly man like you? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of him too?”
    â€œAnyone in their right ’ead ’ud be afraid of ’im, Suzy girl, ’n that’s no joke. What’re you doin’ ’ere at this hour, and by yourself! ’Adn’t you got no sense at all ?”
    â€œI had to fetch Marietta’s cloak and bring it to her. I suppose she’s in her dressing room?”
    â€œThat she is, and in a tizzy if you don’t mind my sayin’ so. I took ’er a cuppa tea a while ago ’n she darn near threw a vase at me! She ’ad a fight with ’er maid and the poor girl came runnin’ out in tears. Now ’er Ladyship ’adn’t got anyone to ’elp her change costumes ’n she’s furious!”
    â€œOh dear,” I said, frowning.
    â€œI’d step easy if I was you, Miss Susannah. You know ’ow your aunt is when somethin’ goes wrong.”
    â€œIndeed I do. Well—wish me luck, Peters.”
    â€œI’d as soon face a cage fulla tigers,” he retorted.
    I smiled at his remark and moved on past. I knew exactly how he felt. A cage full of tigers would seem a mild risk when compared to Marietta in one of her states.

2
    Backstage was a flurry of activity. Chorus girls in wrappers and cold cream came clattering down the iron staircase, babbling like an aviary of nervous birds. The comedian in checked coat and bulbous red nose leaned against a stack of flats, gulping down a last pint of ale before going on to do his turn. I stepped over ropes and moved past racks of spangled gowns, loving this tawdry, earthy atmosphere. There was a smell of grease paint and dust, an aura of tattered elegance and bedraggled glamor. I could hear customers out front talking loudly and rattling dishes as the band played lively melodies in the pit.
    I waved at the stage manager and moved down the back hall. While the other performers had to make do with the tiny, drafty rooms upstairs, Marietta had a lavish suite of her own as befitted a star of her caliber. She had done her time in those jammed cubicles with their murky mirrors and icy drafts and now demanded something much more elaborate. The owners of Garrick’s had gone to great expense to satisfy her, and she had plush wine-red carpets and white furniture with gold leaf and many blue satin cushions for her velvet sofa. For all its splendor, the dressing room was always untidy, strewn with feather boas and vivid costumes, spilled powder dusting the top of the dressing table, pots of make-up and bottles of perfume littering its surface. Marietta herself was always perfectly groomed, but she left a wake of domestic destruction. Picking up after her could be a full-time job, as I knew all too well.
    I opened the door without knocking. Marietta was sitting at the gold-framed mirror, calmly applying a coat of scarlet paint to her lips. Andrew Crothers was leaning over her, his lips brushing her ear. Both looked up as I entered. Andrew seemed startled. Marietta merely arched an eyebrow and stared into the mirror with deadpan concentration.
    â€œI—I brought the cloak,” I said.
    â€œPut it down somewhere,” Marietta replied. “Andrew was just leaving.”
    â€œWas I?” he inquired.
    â€œYou were,” she said coldly.
    He scowled. Andrew was the tenor, a strikingly handsome man with a body of a soccer player and the face of a wicked archangel. Although not much of a singer, he was vastly popular with the female customers and had a rather scandalous reputation. Marietta had warned me never to let him catch me alone in the room. As his eyes swept over me now, I remembered her warning.
    â€œSusannah,” he said in his deep, seductive voice. “How charming you look. Getting prettier every day. That dress is quite