8
Théâtre Bohème Townhouse, 2 December 1870
Marie stayed on the front stoop and watched Doctor Radcliffe dart through the crowd around the fallen man. Some of them looked askance at his dark skin, but the intense expression in his gray eyes moved them out of the way. Patrick O’Connell followed behind him, as always, and eliminated any other obstacles. Maestro Bledsoe ran from the front of the theatre, and Marie shook her head, bemused. Now he was the one without a cloak, but she hung back, the impulse to play the role of premiere femme trying to take over. The muscles in her face settled into a haughty expression, and her shoulders straightened as if to show off her figure.
She closed her eyes. I am Marie St. Jean. I am not a premiere femme. I am an ordinary but haunted girl.
What had
