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Chapter 7 – A Few Words


Once Miss Harlan was gone, Mrs. Slookey held the dressing room door open and jerked her head to indicate that William should come inside.

William re-entered the room where his fondest hopes had been answered. He never imagined himself becoming engaged in such a place, but it had established itself as the dearest place in the world. “Mrs. Slookey, I want you to be the first to hear our happy news. I’ve asked Emma, I mean, Miss Harlan, to be my wife. I hope we have your blessing.”

Mrs. Slookey pointed at the stuffed chair. She seated herself at the dressing table and pulled a flask out of her apron pocket and offered it to William.

William pulled back with a look of horror. Miss Harlan’s mother drank hard spirits. He’d never seen a lady take a drink of anything stronger than a small glass of sherry. “No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself. Mr. Pratt, before you run off with my girl, I think we should have a few words.”

“I assure you I will do my best to care for Miss Harlan and do everything in my power to make her the happiest of women.”

She leaned forward with her hands on her knees. “I’m sure you would, but there’s some things you should know about Emma. She’s a fine girl, I’m sure you’ve noticed, and she’s got a fine talent. She’s going places. She’s got a chance to be rich and famous. Got a chance to marry a rich man, and no offense, young Pratt, you’re not him.”

William felt all the force of the raggedness of his collar, the dull sheen of his cravat worn too often, the worn edges of his coat lapels. The never ending bills for medicine, doctor visits and extra wood and coal to heat the house had left little money for new clothes. But, Miss Harlan must know that he wasn’t a wealthy man and she seemed prepared to accept him.

“I’m not rich, it’s true, but I have a respectable home which I share with my mother, and Emma will always have the things she needs.”

Mrs. Slookey patted William’s hand. “You’re a good boy. Better than most that come lurking around her, but you need to think about what’s best for Emma.”

After his talk with Mrs. Slookey, he was too upset to sit through any more of the show, even to hear Miss Harlan’s singing, so he went out into the alley to wait in the cold air. The sharp sleet stabbed his face and further dampened his mood. Mrs. Slookey hadn’t absolutely said she wouldn’t allow him to marry Miss Harlan, but she hadn’t given her blessing either. It was a disappointment, to be sure, but he hoped that Emma would choose him over her mother’s dreams of having her marry some rich man. Surely, being married to a man who loved her would be the best for her.

His own mother might prove more difficult to persuade. He would have to inform his mother tonight before they left for Scotland. It would be cowardly, but he would send a messenger with a note. That way, his mother wouldn’t be able to argue him out of his plans by reciting all the practical and moral reasons why marrying Miss Harlan was impossible. His mother wouldn’t approve of Miss Harlan, at least not until she got to know her, to hear her sweet voice and see how pretty and lively she was. William frowned. What if his mother never approved of Emma? He hadn’t considered that.

He knew nothing of Miss Harlan’s background, her family, her history. He’d only met her mother a few minutes ago, and Mrs. Slookey’s association with the theater, to say nothing of her habit of consuming hard spirits, would horrify his mother. As for Miss Harlan herself, any woman who performed in a music hall was considered questionable at best, and a fallen woman at worst. He couldn’t ask his mother to take a fallen woman into her house, not that he believed such a thing about Miss Harlan. She was good and pure. It was obvious. A sullied woman couldn’t sing with notes so clear and sweet as she did, couldn’t have a pure and lovely countenance and at the same time be wicked. It wasn’t possible. Not that it mattered to him. He didn’t want to know about her past. He was prepared to forget any thoughts or regrets he may have entertained on Miss Harlan’s previous activities, but his mother would not.

His mother wanted the best for him. He knew that, but she wouldn’t understand that Emma was what was best. Emma, who was warm and bright and lively, and not the cold and remote Cecily. What if his mother refused to accept Emma? He couldn’t bring Emma into his mother’s home without her permission, even if the house did belong to him. He had nowhere else to take Emma. What if they were forced to live apart while they waited for his mother to – no, he wouldn’t think of that. It was wrong. He couldn’t bear to be apart from Emma either, not now, now that he’d found the one woman who could make him happy. If his mother was dead --

He jerked on his collar. The sharp wings bit into his fingers. How could he think such a thing? His mother, who lived to love and adore him, who was sick and frail and had no one but him to support her in her final days, didn’t deserve such a heartless son. Here he was, wishing for her death so he could be married to a girl who would revolt his mother and cause her pain. What was he thinking?

William paced to the end of the alley and turned to walk back to the back stage door. Three figures lurked in the shadows outside the door. William froze. It was the dreadful man again with the yellow eyes and his two female companions. Who were they? Were they following him with some evil purpose? The blonde woman leaned against the brick wall of the neighboring building, raised her skirt and wrapped her legs around the man. Her lower leg was covered with a black stocking, gartered above her knee. Above the stocking, her thigh was grey and pale. The brunette woman raised a hand to man’s neck and embraced him. William couldn’t see her face. The man loosened his trousers and began having relations with the blonde woman. The man turned and grinned at William as he fornicated with the woman. His mouth was smeared with something dark and shiny.

William backed out of the alley, his face rigid with disgust. He returned to the street and the front of the theater. It felt safer out here under the circle of the gas lights and within sight of the passing carriages and horses. He breathed in the cold air and reached into his pocket for his handkerchief to wipe away the sleet from his face. As he opened the cloth, the tin bird rolled out of his hand and bounced into the street. He jumped out into the street to retrieve the bird, but he was too late. As he reached out his hand, a passing carriage wheel ran over the bird and flattened it. The wheel sloshed him with black, icy water and rolled down the street.

He picked up the bird and held it in his trembling hand. It was just a trinket. It didn’t mean anything. It had been bad luck from the start. He should have gone back to pay for it, but he’d been too cowardly. Now, it had been taken from him by some foolish coincidence and he had no right to cry over it. Besides, Miss Harlan was what mattered, not some silly Christmas ornament. He wrapped the torn bird in his black-edged handkerchief and shoved it back in his coat pocket.

A crowd poured out of the front door of the theater, laughing and bundling themselves against the cold rain. The show must be finished. He returned to the alley to wait for Emma at the back door. The yellow-eyed man and his women had disappeared and William sighed with relief, from what he didn’t know.

As he arrived at the door a gush of people shoved their way out, shouting and pushing each other to escape, their faces drawn with fright. A woman screamed and fainted. A stage hand caught her and carried her out into the alley. William fought his way against the crowd and reached Emma’s dressing room door. Mrs. Slookey was standing outside the door, crying and shaking.

He grabbed her pudgy arms and shook her. “What is it? What’s the matter? Where is she? Where’s Emma?” When he received no answer, he placed his hand on the door to the dressing room. It swung open and revealed a sight so horrifying that he was certain he would lose his mind in that very instant.

Miss Harlan lay on the floor with her neck twisted into an unnatural position. Her garnet velvet costume had been rucked up to her waist and her drawers torn away. A pool of blood circled the floor under her head where a great gash in her neck bled out onto the floor. Her necklace was broken and the paste ruby beads were scattered on the floor. The walls, the stuffed chair and the mirror were splashed with sprays of blood and the room reeked of death. William gently pulled her skirt down to cover her and straightened her head. Her once holly green eyes were dull and glazed.

He backed out of the room and wiped the blood on his pants before running out into the alley. He made no attempt to wipe away the tears that ran down his face.