The next morning, he mailed thirty dollars to the Becker family. Then he scratched out the owner’s name on the ball ticket and wrote in Mary D’Alroy’s before delivering it anonymously to the St. Charles.
Which brought him to this. Tonight.
The night of the governor’s ball.
Toulouse Street, down by the side of the French Opera House, was a jam of carriages and nervous horses. Men and women in spectacular finery were crossing into the grand old building. On the sidewalk opposite, a large crowd of people had gathered just to watch the arrivals.
Sayers walked on to the wing of the theater where the offices and dressing rooms were. There he joined a line of artistes and theater staff at the stage door. Some of the front-of-house people were in stiff shirts and tailcoats like his own. The line moved slowly as the doorkeeper checked off names under the eye of a private policeman. There was a lot of walking wealth in the French Opera House tonight, and nobody wanted any of it to walk off in some rogue’s possession.
Sayers was on the employee list; having no ticket of his own, he’d signed up as a waiter. His lack of experience wouldn’t matter. The moment he was inside, he planned to desert and join the revelers.
And so it went. Once backstage, instead of going to pick up his tray and an apron, he found his way to the pass door and entered the auditorium.
He had to stop and take it in. The opera house auditorium was a wide oval in shape, of extraordinary breadth. The house rose up in five gilded tiers to a high-domed ceiling of decorated panels. Sayers had never seen anything quite like it. It had to seat two thousand or more. Along with all the gilt the decor was crimson and white, and there were flowers set up everywhere. A temporary floor had been laid over the stalls, transforming the lower level into a ballroom. An orchestra was playing, and the dancing was under way.
There was enough jewelry on show to finance a small war. The men were all in dark evening wear rather better than his own, apart from a few in military uniform so gorgeous that it might qualify as fancy dress. The women wore the real plumage, and they glittered. Gems around their necks, diamonds on their wrists, jewels in their piled-up hair. As the couples danced, they swept by him in a wash of taffeta and expensive silk.
Sayers made his way around the dance floor, observing all the women as he went. After that glimpse of Louise in the entranceway of the St. Charles, he knew that he would recognize her. And this time he’d be better prepared. For a moment, she’d stopped his breath, and all but stopped his heart.
But he did not see her anywhere. At the back of the auditorium was a large foyer that was mostly used for promenading between acts. Now it was steadily filling up with new arrivals. As people came in, they spotted friends or groups of friends, or others that they merely wished to impress.
Sayers was conscious that he moved alone. Even the young men hunted in twos and threes. He felt a pang of envy for all of them: For years, he’d known no society other than the company of carnival folk, and even they’d merely accepted rather than embraced him.
When he finally spotted her, it was because she was a still point in all the free-flowing gaiety.
She was standing by a pillar, gloved hand raised to cover a small cough. Her effect on him was still powerful. Without taking his eyes from her, Sayers moved to a spot from where he could watch.
Louise.
Louise, Louise, Louise.
And no one to step between them.
Her gown was adequate for the occasion, but fairly plain. She seemed to be waiting for someone, and he found himself using this as an excuse to hold back for just a little longer.
Her manner was that of a person among strangers, aware of all around her, smiling briefly at anyone who met her eye. Sayers wondered who she might be waiting for. After a minute or so, she moved.
After watching her watch the dancing for a while, and then seeing her move again to another spot, Sayers concluded that she was alone and waiting for nobody. That was an act. She was changing her position lest it become apparent to all that she had no one to speak to, and nowhere in particular to be.
He was finally raising the nerve to approach when some man asked her to dance. She accepted with grace, but not before Sayers had seen her give a telltale glace around and beyond her would-be partner, as if checking for witnesses. They vanished onto the dance floor, and Sayers lost sight of her for a while.
He found her again about fifteen minutes later. Again, she was alone. The dance had been no more than a dance. The liaison had clearly not flourished.
Watching her was almost painful to him. Has this been your life, Louise? Your reward for the Wanderer’s burden? It was a strange kind of predator that waited to be asked.
He could hold back no longer, and moved forward from where he’d been standing.
He positioned himself on her eyeline, and waited to be seen.
FORTY-FIVE
Louise was idly studying the crowd all around her. For a moment, she was looking straight at him. Then her gaze moved on, and left him unrecognized.
Sayers started forward. He saw her become aware that someone was approaching. He saw her composing herself, the beginnings of a polite smile. Then he saw the smile fade as he drew nearer and recognition dawned.
“Tom,” she said as he finally stood before her.
No words seemed quite adequate to the moment, so he simply said, “I see that your eyesight hasn’t improved.”
She’d grown pale. “Tell me that this is just some incredible chance.”
He shook his head to assure her that it was not.
She went blank for a moment and then said, “You sent me the invitation.”
“How else would I catch you without a bodyguard?” he said, and then to reassure her he added, “I’m here alone.”
She studied him narrowly. He could see that she was trying to work out what his presence implied.
“How did you find me?” she said.
“Mary D’Alroy? The name of your part in
“You seem to have me where you want me,” she said, and glanced all around as if trapped.
“You don’t understand,” he said. No one was paying them any attention, but anyone close by might overhear their business. He said, “I’ve much to say to you. Can we go somewhere else?”
From the lobby behind the foyer, staircases led to all parts of the house. The various tiers were named in the French manner, from
The dance went on below. A few couples had come up here to rest and flirt. The great opera house stage loomed before them, its cloth painted and lit to represent a starry night sky.
She was tense and wary, but seemed to have recovered from the initial shock of seeing him. They took a couple of seats in an empty section but even as they sat, the Dress Circle was starting to fill. People were coming up from below in anticipation of the tableaux.
She said, “You’re looking well, Tom.”
“Am I,” he said, not really believing it.
“Yes, you are. I’m glad they didn’t hang you.”
“Not half as glad as I.”
She smiled for a moment, but it didn’t stay. “So, tell me,” she said. “Why, Tom? Why are you here?”
He hesitated, and glanced down at the dancers. Each couple moved with their own purpose but, seen from above, all combined into a swirling pattern like a stream passing over stones.
He said, “There’s something you have to know.”
“If you’ve chased me halfway around the world to declare your love for me,” she said, “don’t. It’s wasted on me. I can never deserve it.”
Sayers said, “I thought we were great friends, once.”
