Reserved for the Cat

Once there, she paced like a caged lion, restlessly, trying to think of a way to undermine the girl. She could not do so on the basis of talent, that much was clear. The girl had made far too many friends in that theater to do so there, too. Why could she not have been a scheming, vituperative shrew? Why hadn’t she been arrogant, cold, heartless? Why had she spent time and money distributing little favors to the stagehands? Why hadn’t she had furious arguments with the orchestra?

Furthermore, there were not even rival lovers to set against each other, nor was there a hint of scandal to excite the interest of the press and outrage the public! Why hadn’t the girl had the decency to take up with a married man as his lover? That sort of thing was shrugged at on the Continent, even expected, but it could have brought her down completely in so-proper England!

Well there was no use in lamenting what had not happened. Nina needed to think of something that could.

Well . . . there was the possibility of creating a scandal out of nothing. She could find someone utterly unsuitable who wanted to be the girl’s lover, make him think that the girl reciprocated his feelings, then inform the wife . . . that would take time, however. And a great deal of effort.

Well it would certainly do to at least start that project. She could begin by finding such a man. One of the imposter’s many admirers, who crowded her dressing room, no doubt, was of the proper stuff to turn into a man obsessed.

But in the meantime . . .

She shook her head. She was famished, and not for mortal food. She had not drained anyone since that street urchin, and he had been relatively unsatisfactory. There had not been a great deal of life in him; it had gotten beaten and starved out of him by the streets. There were two kinds of people that provided her with a satisfactory repast. First and foremost were those rich old men, who were fat with abundant living and experiences. All those memories, all the things they had accomplished—it was like a multi-course meal created by the finest of chefs.

And then there were the young men, full of passion, dreams, hopes, and desires. Everything about them was sharp, new, flavored with high emotion. She could not have said which were her favorites. . . .

But tonight, on such short notice, it would be much, much easier to find a young man.

She summoned her manservant. Tonight she would be taking another long walk.

11

THE show was coming together. In fact, it had progressed far enough that the entire score was complete, and Arthur was rehearsing the orchestra in their parts, Maestro Ciccolini and Ninette had finished their choreography and Ninette was rehearsing her numbers, as well as dancing in the evening. At first, Ninette had been worried that her act would get stale—music hall audiences were used to seeing a different bill every week, after all. But Nigel assured her that Blackpool, at least in holiday season, was very different. The audience changed every week, so to them, the revue was entirely new. And he was right.

Ninette’s admirers had gone from a handful to a young army. None of them were what she was looking for, but then, she was no longer looking very hard. It seemed that the more she danced, and the more audience acclaim she had, the more she craved the applause. It was no longer thinkable that if she ever did find a protector, she would give up dancing. She might have felt alarm at this, except that she came off the stage every night feeling invigorated rather than drained.

Not that any of the gentlemen who filled her dressing room with flowers were the sort to offer the kind of arrangement that suited her. Still, some pleasant things came from all these admirers. Not just flowers, which were delightful and kept her flat scented sweetly—there were some more permanent presents. Nothing spectacular, nothing so enormously expensive that accepting it would have implied certain expectations that would have to be fulfilled . . . no, these were pretty, but more modest tokens. A pair of garnet and tortoiseshell combs, a handsome set of enameled gold necklace, bracelet and earrings in the Egyptian style, any number of less remarkable pieces of jewelry, pairs of gloves, fans, lace handkerchiefs—all tokens of esteem, mute pleas for preference, but not demands for attention. The one time a rather remarkable sapphire bracelet had appeared on her dressing table, it had been very firmly given back to the one who had proffered it.

There were also many pleasant suppers, and a few parties—all of them in the company of other members of the company, of course. Usually Nigel came along, in fact. And if she was not the first to leave these affairs, she was certainly never the last.