Mistress - Amanda Quick [114]
“What’s going on back there?” Sands demanded. Footsteps echoed on the floor as he strode toward the heavy scarlet curtain.
“I believe the performance is about to begin,” Marcus said dryly.
The blond woman gave a small, disgruntled screech and turned toward the curtain. “What’s this? There be two of ’em out there?”
“Uh, yes,” Iphiginia murmured.
“Don’t ye dare touch that curtain,” the blonde yelled. She turned to Iphiginia. “Hardstaff didn’t say nothin’ about there bein’ two gennelmen gettin’ the classical treatment tonight. What’s ’e think I am? A genuine goddess?”
Marcus spoke up quietly. “If I were you, Sands, I would not interfere.”
“What the devil is happening here?” Sands sounded confused.
“I said, don’t ye dare touch that curtain,” the blonde roared. She peered at Iphiginia. “ ’Old on. Is that why yer ’ere? To handle the second gennelman?”
“Uh, yes,” Iphiginia whispered. “Yes, I believe so.”
“Well, I suppose that’s all right, then. Get yer cloak off and we’ll give these gentry coves their money’s worth. I’m Polly. What’s yer name?”
“Uh, Ginny.” Iphiginia slowly removed her cloak. She put it on top of the pedestal.
“Ye new at this?” Polly surveyed Iphiginia’s delicate white evening gown with a critical gaze. “Yer overdressed.”
“I’m sure I’ll get the hang of this quickly,” Iphiginia said. “I am an excellent student.”
“Enough of this nonsense.” Sands started toward the curtain. “Come on out here, you two. I have some questions to ask.”
“Stop,” Polly yelled. “Got rules against anyone comin’ back ‘ere before the performance, y’know.”
“Now see here,” Sands growled, “I do not intend to be ordered about by a cheap whore.”
“This is a theater, damn yer eyes,” Polly snarled back through the curtain. “And we’re bloody actresses, we are, not whores. And we ain’t cheap. Ye’ll do us the favor o’ treatin’ us with some respect or ye can just plain forget about gettin’ any o’ Dr. Hardstaff’s special treatment tonight.”
“I am not here to see your damned show,” Sands snapped. “I’m here to find someone.”
“Ain’t no one backstage ’ere except us professional actresses. Now either sit down to enjoy the performance or get out o’ ’ere.”
“The lady has a point,” Marcus said. “I would very much appreciate it if you would remove yourself, Sands. I paid good money to be entertained this evening.”
“Entertained?” Sands sounded disgusted. “You call this entertainment?”
“I was told it was somewhat amusing,” Marcus replied. “Inspirational, even.”
“We’re about to start the bloody show,” Polly announced through the curtain. “If ye two fine gennelmen want to get the treatment together, that’s yer affair. But I warn ye, it’ll be double the price.”
“Unless you’re willing to pay your share, Sands,” Marcus said, “it’s time to leave.”
“I am not leaving,” Sands said furiously. “Not until I can deduce what in blazes is going on here.”
“If yer stayin’, ye can make yerself useful,” Polly snapped. “Put out the lamp near the door.”
“I believe I will do that,” Sands said coldly. “Let us see just what is going on behind that curtain.” His footsteps rang out once more as he turned and strode back toward the door.
“About time. No respect fer professional work anymore.” Polly bent down to light a row of lamps on the stage. They flared to life.
Then she reached out and hauled mightily on a long, heavy cord.
The heavy red curtain moved to the side, leaving a very thin muslin drape in its place.
“Bloody hell,” Marcus muttered.
Iphiginia realized that the lamps on the stage were producing strong silhouettes of both herself and Polly against the gauzy curtain. She stilled.
“Interesting,” Sands said laconically. “How much did you say you paid for this, Masters?”
“Too much,” Marcus said. “I fear I may have been fleeced.”
“They’re all critics at first, y’know,” Polly said. “The whole lot of ‘em. But they change their minds soon enough.” She straightened and frowned at Iphiginia. “Get yer urn. ’Urry up, now.