pearl buttons. Mercy smoothed down her dark poplin skirt, and pulled at her sleeves to hide her yellowing gloves.
Eloise wore a sapphire blue gown that matched her eyes. Her white gloves glowed in the near dark and had tiny sparkly buttons at the wrists. Mercy shifted in her seat. She loved her friend and knew Eloise didn’t care a fig for the state of Mercy’s finery, or lack thereof. Mercy scolded herself for her vanity and studied the program.
Trent leaned close and she felt his warmth. “My sister is the one facing all the perils.”
“How frightening for her.”
“And me,” he grumbled, sitting back in his chair.
The music swelled in a crescendo that seemed to last forever and then dropped to a quiet hush as Chloe, dressed in soft gray traveling suit, took the stage. The audience stamped their feet and roared in approval.
“She’s lovely,” Mercy whispered to Trent. “You must be very proud of her.”
Trent shot her a surprised look and murmured something that sounded like sinister sisters. Mercy lips twitched. She could tell from Trent’s behavior that he not only loved his sister, but that he hated her receiving so much male attention. He cringed with every wolf whistle and cat call.
“Just being on stage takes tremendous courage, let alone acting a part--” Mercy’s voice trailed away as the organ crashed into a minor key and a man dressed in black and twirling a cane took center stage.
“In case we are too dim to realize it on our own, the music heralds the villain,” Trent told her.
“He looks very dastardly,” Mercy said, noticing the man’s dripping moustache, oily black pompadour, and arrogant strut.
Trent looked pained. “That’s his name, actually.”
“No.”
“Yes, because the music and dialogue isn’t enough of a clue. Our villain is named Mr. Dastard.”
Mercy bit back a smile as Mr. Dastard took center stage and said, “My dear, I shall never forget the first day we met. Overcome by your beauty, I didn’t perceive your desperation.” He twirled his mustache.
Chloe, dressed in virginal white, touched her finger tips to her lips in an exaggerated surprise. “Desperation, sir?” She swung her valise in front of her as porters bustled around the mock train station.
“What else but extreme anxiety could bring about this madness.” Mr. Dastard leaned on his cane and motioned to the valise and train station. “The dreadful feeling of the time running out, like the sands of an hour glass, the surety of the world’s cold indifference --”
Mercy’s face grew warm when she saw Mr. Steele. He sat five box seats away and watched the stage with a sneer that someone might mistake for a smile. Beside her, Eloise sat a little straighter and Mercy knew that her friend had also caught sight of Mr. Steele. Eloise held a small vial in her hands. No bigger than her pointy finger, the vial held clear liquid.
The organ paused and then tore into the prelude, indicating the beginning of a song. Trent leaned forward and looked a trifle ill as his sister began to sing.
Chloe trilled. “Where I come from
Nobody goes;
And where I'm going
Nobody knows.
The wind blows,
The sea flows
And love will surely follow.”
“She’s darling,” Mercy whispered to Trent.
He scrunched the program in his hand. Mercy fought to the temptation to pat his knee. He leaned back in his chair and pushed his hair away from his face.
Dastard waited for her song of adventure to end and the crowd’s applause to die before he said, “Your courage will fade fast, like a sudden fire without fuel to feed its blaze. You’ll return without hope or friends.”
Chloe laughed and lifted her chin in the air. “My friends will not desert me.”
Dastard grabbed her hand. “I will be your one true friend. I will stand beside you.”
Trent whispered in Mercy’s ear, “As long as her inheritance waits in the bank.”
Mercy’s attention wandered back to Steele. Although she didn’t worry that he’d
Eloise wore a sapphire blue gown that matched her eyes. Her white gloves glowed in the near dark and had tiny sparkly buttons at the wrists. Mercy shifted in her seat. She loved her friend and knew Eloise didn’t care a fig for the state of Mercy’s finery, or lack thereof. Mercy scolded herself for her vanity and studied the program.
Trent leaned close and she felt his warmth. “My sister is the one facing all the perils.”
“How frightening for her.”
“And me,” he grumbled, sitting back in his chair.
The music swelled in a crescendo that seemed to last forever and then dropped to a quiet hush as Chloe, dressed in soft gray traveling suit, took the stage. The audience stamped their feet and roared in approval.
“She’s lovely,” Mercy whispered to Trent. “You must be very proud of her.”
Trent shot her a surprised look and murmured something that sounded like sinister sisters. Mercy lips twitched. She could tell from Trent’s behavior that he not only loved his sister, but that he hated her receiving so much male attention. He cringed with every wolf whistle and cat call.
“Just being on stage takes tremendous courage, let alone acting a part--” Mercy’s voice trailed away as the organ crashed into a minor key and a man dressed in black and twirling a cane took center stage.
“In case we are too dim to realize it on our own, the music heralds the villain,” Trent told her.
“He looks very dastardly,” Mercy said, noticing the man’s dripping moustache, oily black pompadour, and arrogant strut.
Trent looked pained. “That’s his name, actually.”
“No.”
“Yes, because the music and dialogue isn’t enough of a clue. Our villain is named Mr. Dastard.”
Mercy bit back a smile as Mr. Dastard took center stage and said, “My dear, I shall never forget the first day we met. Overcome by your beauty, I didn’t perceive your desperation.” He twirled his mustache.
Chloe, dressed in virginal white, touched her finger tips to her lips in an exaggerated surprise. “Desperation, sir?” She swung her valise in front of her as porters bustled around the mock train station.
“What else but extreme anxiety could bring about this madness.” Mr. Dastard leaned on his cane and motioned to the valise and train station. “The dreadful feeling of the time running out, like the sands of an hour glass, the surety of the world’s cold indifference --”
Mercy’s face grew warm when she saw Mr. Steele. He sat five box seats away and watched the stage with a sneer that someone might mistake for a smile. Beside her, Eloise sat a little straighter and Mercy knew that her friend had also caught sight of Mr. Steele. Eloise held a small vial in her hands. No bigger than her pointy finger, the vial held clear liquid.
The organ paused and then tore into the prelude, indicating the beginning of a song. Trent leaned forward and looked a trifle ill as his sister began to sing.
Chloe trilled. “Where I come from
Nobody goes;
And where I'm going
Nobody knows.
The wind blows,
The sea flows
And love will surely follow.”
“She’s darling,” Mercy whispered to Trent.
He scrunched the program in his hand. Mercy fought to the temptation to pat his knee. He leaned back in his chair and pushed his hair away from his face.
Dastard waited for her song of adventure to end and the crowd’s applause to die before he said, “Your courage will fade fast, like a sudden fire without fuel to feed its blaze. You’ll return without hope or friends.”
Chloe laughed and lifted her chin in the air. “My friends will not desert me.”
Dastard grabbed her hand. “I will be your one true friend. I will stand beside you.”
Trent whispered in Mercy’s ear, “As long as her inheritance waits in the bank.”
Mercy’s attention wandered back to Steele. Although she didn’t worry that he’d
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