Clockwork Phantom

Chapter 3-1

3

Rue de Gris, Paris, 1 December 1870

That evening, Marie paused outside Corinne’s apartment building. Situated in an older part of Paris, it didn’t match the bright, sparkling nature of the actress who lived there.

But how many of us match on the outside what we keep within?

Marie found Corinne in a flurry of packing. She raised her eyebrows at some of the dresses the woman had laid out—silk and satin, which she’d either had since before the siege began or had made from materials flown in by airship during the cover of night—but didn’t say anything. She was here to cajole, not antagonize. In any case, they were much more expensive than an actress, even the premiere femme of the Théâtre Bohème, should have been able to afford.

Ah, right, she has been seen with the marquis…

“I am not coming back,” Corinne said and flung ribbons, gloves, and stockings into a trunk. “I don’t care if the Prussians shoot us down. I am leaving Paris.”

“Is something else going on?” Marie asked. “I’ve never known you to turn down a part, especially not a lead role.”

Corinne sat on the chaise, and her face crumpled. It wasn’t a pretty crying face, so Marie suspected the woman’s tears were real this time.

“Today was not the first time I’ve seen the angel of death.”

“Oh? When else did it appear to you?”

Corinne shook her head so vigorously hairpins clattered to the floor around her. “He has never appeared to me before today. But I have seen him. Yesterday in my dressing room, he was in the mirror beside me, but when I turned, no one was there. And I didn’t hear the door open.”

“In your dressing room.” Marie knew that room well. The door squeaked horribly no matter how many times they oiled it, and it opened on to a busy corridor. Even if someone had managed to go in or out quietly, they would have been seen, and a person in a death costume, even if there was one in the current production, would have been remarked upon. Plus there was the irritating issue of the fact the costume had been sold and not replaced for weeks.

“Si, and last week, he appeared in the hall where the musicians come and go from the stage.” She lowered her voice. “He came out of one wall and walked straight into another one.”

“Have you been drinking the marquis’s brandy again?”

“Non.” Corinne stood and put her hands on her hips. “If you have just come to mock me, I will not speak to you. How do I know this wasn’t a trick for you to get to play Henriette, and now you are here to gloat?”

“Because I am not interested in taking the stage again.”

“Why not?” Corinne leaned forward, her eyes wide and nostrils flared, a predator on the hunt for gossip. “You keep saying that, but I don’t know whether to believe you. You were once Fantastique, the greatest actress in the city.”

Marie didn’t care to explain, especially not to someone who wouldn’t understand. “I’m just trying to figure out what happened so I can convince you to come back. You’d make a much better Henriette than I. I’m too tall. Poor Gerard will have to wear lifts in his shoes.”

Corinne wrinkled her nose. “Yes, all the tall ones have gone to war. You would think Death would be busy enough at the front without having to bother a poor actress like me.”

Or even a good one. Marie didn’t voice the thought. “So about you returning…”

Corinne stood, all trace of warmth gone from her face. Marie wondered if she’d been taking lessons on expression severity from Lucille.

“You can ask all you want,” Corinne said and placed a slender hand on her not-so-slender throat. “I will never return to the Théâtre Bohème lest Death claim me once and for all.”

“But how do you know it’s truly Death?” Marie asked. “It could be someone playing a prank on you.”

“That is a good prank, Mademoiselle St. Jean, if a man can walk through walls.”

Marie bit her lip. She and Lucille knew of the myriad secret passages that riddled the theatre, but they’d agreed to keep them secret. Who else could know? “There are many tricks that can be done with mirrors,” she said.

Corinne’s look would have skewered a lesser man or woman. “Mirrors. You are not serious.”

“Yes, I am. Perhaps you only saw the reflection of someone in the hallway.”

“And yet I did not see my own reflection? I do not understand how this could be done. No, it was the specter of Death come to haunt the theatre. Mark my words, Mademoiselle. You will all be doomed, even the delightful Maestro Bledsoe.”

“What does he have to do with—?” Marie stopped when she saw Corinne’s lips spread into a smug smirk. “Oh. I didn’t know you had a relationship.”

“Some connections do not require the empty promises and doomed commitments of a relationship.” Corinne tossed her yellow curls. “We have an understanding. That is all.”

“What sort of understanding?” Marie hoped jealousy didn’t bleed through in her tone.

“One based on mutual interest. Now, this interview is over.” Corinne stood. “Begone with you. The marquis said he would help me leave on tonight’s airship, and I have to choose what is most important to pack.”