Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-Four

E va wasn't entirely sure how she had allowed herself to be dragged to the Haymarket Theatre again. It seemed particularly cruel, morbid even, to be forced to revisit the place that she had first fallen in love with dancing, been awoken to its possibilities…the first place that she had seen Josiah.

She had been simply floating along through the last few weeks. She went where she was told, dressed when it was time to, smiled and spoke when prompted. The rest of the time, when left to her own devices, she had taken to simply staring out the nearest window, sometimes for hours on end. When Kitty had arrived and found her in this state, Eva had been too tired to pretend to be happy.

Dream-like, she realised that it wasn't just Kitty that had descended on her in her room, but Lady Patience as well, and even the Duchess of Brandon, who carried a large box. Eva didn't understand what they were about as they smiled and spoke gently to her.

"Come along, Eva," Kitty said, gently pulling Eva from her chair. "You've been locked in here with your own gloom for too long. Let us cheer you."

"I'm not sure I wish to be cheered," Eva replied dully.

"Tish-tosh," Kitty said. "We are all your friends, and have come to help you. Look—the Duchess has even brought a gift for you!"

"I spoke to your modiste," the duchess said in gentle tones, pressing the box to Eva. "It should fit; I still have a good eye for measurements."

So Eva had found herself dressed in a gown of surpassing beauty, ivory duchesse satin with deepest blue robing. Her arms slid into long white gloves, and a cloak lined with satin and trimmed with fur was draped over her shoulders. She had gold and pearl earbobs screwed into her ears, and gold hairpins with heads shaped like starbursts pressed into her hair.

With Kitty holding her arm, Eva allowed herself to be pulled down the stairs. Everyone was in a jolly, festive mood around Eva, and it was almost enough to begin pulling her from the fog that had shrouded her heart. Things were momentarily halted, however, with the appearance of Lady Stanton, likewise dressed for the theatre and looking a little perturbed.

"Lady Stanton," the Duchess of Brandon said coolly, stepping forward. She was the oldest and highest ranking of them, and assumed the role of elder sister quite naturally. "I was not aware that we would have the pleasure of your company this evening."

"Your Grace, I don't find it appropriate to allow my daughter to go out unchaperoned at this particular juncture," Lady Stanton replied crisply.

"She has chaperones," Kitty piped up. "Three of them, to be exact. Well, five, if you count Lord Chester and the Duke of Brandon as well."

Lady Stanton slid a flinty glance to Kitty, which silenced her, but did not loosen her grip on Eva's arm. She couldn't quite articulate why, but Eva had the strangest feeling that she was being abducted.

"You've brought two carriages then, I take it?" Lady Stanton asked. The duchess nodded. "Then there shan't be a problem. We may all travel as one party to the theatre."

Everyone was packed into carriages, though in somewhat lessened spirits. Lady Stanton insisted on riding with Eva, sitting right next to her in the carriage. Kitty would not let Eva go, however, and pressed into the same bench, heedless of their gowns.

"Don't worry," Kitty whispered to Eva when Lady Stanton was distracted by searching for her fan in her reticule. "Your friends are here; tonight will be something you never forget."

Eva turned to inquire what, exactly, that was supposed to mean, but was silenced by Kitty squeezing her fingers. She felt like all the pieces to a puzzle were before her, but she wasn't able to fit them together. It was a curious feeling, as if she already had the answer to what was going on, but she couldn't remember it.

The ride to the theatre passed in a blur, with Eva not able to really recall how they had found their way into Lady Patience Chester's box seats. It was a bit of a squeeze, with all of them packed in. Lady Stanton, much to her annoyance and continued huffing, found herself relegated to the very back, quite near the door; if it swung open hard enough, it was entirely likely that she would be whacked with it.

Kitty and Patience arranged themselves around Eva, like some kind of frilly, powdered honour-guard. The Duchess of Brandon sat behind her, a calm and steady presence. Though Eva's heart ached to be back at the theatre where it had all begun, she found that her friends acted as a bulwark against the worst of it. She hadn't realised how lonesome and isolated she had been feeling of late, and slowly began to rouse herself.

The lights were dimmed, and the rowdy crowd began to settle by degrees. The performances began, little vignettes and warbly sopranos. There was a girl with dogs who could stand on their hindlegs and jump through hoops that earned the most enthusiastic response thus far. Even Eva caught herself smiling.

Then the strangest thing happened: The dark red curtain was drawn closed, and remained that way for some time. The crowd quickly began to become restless and agitated, with some calling for the orange girls to be brought back out so that they might at least have some refreshment in the pit seats. A few hisses and whistles began to ring out, and Eva looked about, wondering what, exactly, was happening.

There was a kind of flailing behind the red curtain, and poor Knots, still batting the curtain out of the way, was thrust out into centre stage. Even from their seats in the box, it was clear that the poor man was sweating buckets. He took a deep breath, which put the buttons on his weskit under so much strain that it wasn't entirely sure how they held on.

"My lords, ladies, and gentlemen," he said, his voice cracking on the word "ladies," which earned him a round of laughter. "If we might beg your indulgence," he continued gamely, "there will be a slight alteration to the programme tonight."

There was a general murmur of dissatisfaction at that revelation. Knots, face reddening, whipped out an oversized handkerchief and began blotting at his forehead. This action upset the absurdly small wig on his head so that it was now sitting at an angle.

"It is our great pleasure t-t-to present in an inaugural performance, Apollo and the Rites of Spring ," Knots stammered. Seemingly at a loss, he made a quick bow, which sent his wig flying into the musicians' pit. Knots, his face nearly as red as the curtain, slapped one hand to his gleamingly bald head and dashed off the stage to a round of hoots and laughter.

The musicians, determined to restore some sort of dignity to the proceedings, began to play, softly at first. It was a haunting melody, full of loss and grief, the notes floating through the auditorium and striking the audience in the heart. An uneasy, reverent hush fell over all the spectators, Eva included.

The curtain was parted, revealing the stage bathed in shadows and cool light. A forest of dead trees, black and twisted, rose up from a mist on the stage. It was a desolate, blasted landscape, devoid of life and light. Though the theatre was kept at a civilised temperature, it was as if the stage radiated a chill, the winter outside brought within.

A figure, obscure and hidden, began to move among the trees. It was so subtle, that at first it was impossible to determine if it was, in fact, a person, or simply a trick of the light. It was as if one of the trees had come to life, and was sombrely, deliberately, surveying the black trees. All the while, the musicians continued to play, the music becoming more insistent.

The figure came closer and closer, tall and imposing, but wearing a dark shroud, as if prepared for burial. As one, the audience leaned back unconsciously as the figure stepped to the forefront of the stage, appearing to survey them. Eva, however, leaned forward, placing one gloved hand on the railing of the box. Her heart began to beat more rapidly, as if being brought back to life. She couldn't explain it, but she knew the moment the figure on the stage looked at her, saw her.

Her breath caught. The music stopped.

In a flash of phosphorous, the shroud was thrown back, and standing before all, like a literal god, was a man dressed in gold silk, his face hidden by a gleaming mask in the shape of a sun. He stood proudly but perfectly still, his head high and shoulders thrown back, one leg elegantly poised. The effect was almost blinding, startling in execution and aesthetic. The audience cried out, some gasping, others exclaiming.

Eva did neither; she felt as if all of the air had been pressed out of her. She stared down at the stage, transfixed. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't move. Though his face was hidden, there was no mistaking him: It was Josiah, his long hair loosed and shining silver-gold in the stage lights. Eva felt cold and warm all at once. She grasped the railing tightly, afraid that she might faint if she let go.

Silently, Josiah-as-Apollo began to stride across the stage, stopping before a tree. Lightly, he tapped one of the branches. To the audience's delight, it began to bloom in colours that defied expectation. A harp began to pick out a melody, joined by a wooden flute, growing and other instruments joining in as Apollo wove his way through the trees, leaping and turning, arms stretching.

As the trees bloomed, the cold light was banished, warm golden light shining from behind the trees. The effect was sublime, the natural world brought within. It was beautiful and modern and old all at once, hard to articulate, but astonishing to see.

For Eva, the world had narrowed to this one stage, to only Josiah. As he danced, first fighting against the winter bleakness, then revelling in the warmth of spring, it was like he was speaking a language to her that only she could understand.

It was impossible to say how long the performance lasted, as everyone seemed to be under a collective spell. When at last the dance ended, Josiah/Apollo took his place at the very edge of the stage where he had begun, and surveyed the audience again. The music abruptly cut, and the audience sat in stunned silence for a few moments. Slowly, like a trickle of water from melting snow, applause began to spread through the theatre until nearly everyone had risen and was clapping, some stamping their feet in approval.

Except for Eva. She remained seated, staring directly at Josiah, and she knew that he was staring right back at her. She was breathing hard, unshed tears in her eyes.