Jane Bites Back_ A Novel - Michael Thomas Ford [73]
It was all over a minute later. As soon as the stage manager called break, Jane rushed offstage. Away from the lights she felt a little better. She had just started back toward the greenroom to get some water when Joy walked by.
“Goddamn knife,” she muttered as she went past. “Why didn’t somebody tell me it was sharp?”
The smell of blood trailed Joy like the tail of a kite. Jane’s nose twitched. She really had to get something to eat. She watched as Joy went into her dressing room. Then she looked around. Everyone involved with the show seemed to be busy. Even Comfort was signing autographs and talking to some audience members. Jane looked again at Joy’s dressing room door.
I’ll just have a little something, she told herself. Just to tide me over.
Chapter 25
She looked at the page before her. Line after line of words written in her hand covered the creamy paper. It had taken her the better part of the evening to compose them. Now, in the light of the fire, she read them to herself. They were fine words, filled with meaning and beauty, and they brought her story to a most satisfying conclusion.
—Jane Austen, Constance, manuscript
IT WAS RAINING LIGHTLY WHEN JANE ARRIVED AT LA MAISON DES Trois Soeurs in the French Quarter. The damp air carried a faintly swampy smell, which, combined with the warmth of the day, made Jane feel as if she were wrapped in a very wet wool sweater. Worst of all, it was doing nothing for her hair, which hung limply around her shoulders.
She paid the cabdriver and carried her two bags into the hotel. At the check-in desk a round-faced young man wearing small steel-rimmed eyeglasses greeted her with a sleepy “Afternoon. May I help you?”
“I’m checking in,” Jane informed him. She gave him her name and waited as he looked through an old-fashioned ledger book filled with handwritten notations. There wasn’t a computer in sight, she noted. In fact, everything in the lobby was a hundred years out of date. Gaslights flickered on the walls, and the solid wood furniture squatted atop the well-worn carpets like enormous beasts wearing pink velvet saddles. It’s really quite lovely, Jane thought.
“Here we are,” the clerk said, making a star next to what Jane assumed was her reservation in the book. “I see that you’re in town for the conference.”
Jane nodded. “Are there many of us staying here?” she asked.
“A few,” the man answered. “Most of the attendees stay at the conference hotel. But some like to stay here because it’s more out of the way. Also, they enjoy the authentic atmosphere.”
“It certainly is lovely,” Jane remarked as she was handed an actual key instead of the electronic card she was used to getting in hotels. Like everything else in La Maison des Trois Soeurs, it was old, its metal worn smooth from unknown fingers.
“You’re in room number nine,” said the clerk. “It’s through the drawing room and up the stairs. Second floor. Would you like some help with your bags?”
Jane shook her head. “I can manage,” she said. “But thank you.”
“I’m Luke,” the man said. “Let me know if there’s anything you need.”
Slipping the key into her pocket, Jane picked up her bags and walked through the lobby and up the stairs to the second-floor landing. The stairs continued up to the third floor, but a hallway lined with doors stretched out to the right. Jane walked along it until she came to a door with a small brass 9 affixed to its mullion. The key in her pocket fit neatly into the waiting keyhole, and the door swung open with only the faintest groan of protest.
The room was larger than she’d expected. Against one wall was a brass bed covered with an antique quilt in the traditional Jacob’s ladder pattern, all in shades of blue. Directly opposite it was a dresser with a large mirror atop it, as well as a comfortable-looking armchair upholstered in deep blue. To the left a door led into what Jane assumed was the bathroom. The far wall was lined with floor-to-ceiling