Chapter 2
Two
Logan stood at the back of the Capital Theatre’s carpentry shop and regarded the double flats critically. The newly constructed stage pieces, made of canvas stretched over ribbed timber frames, would soon be sent to the scene painters.
“We’ve never made ones this large before,” Logan commented to the pair of carpenters who had propped up the hinged flats for his inspection. “How will they be supported?”
“We thought it best to weight the braces in back,” the main carpenter, Robbie Cleary, replied. “That should keep them steady during the performances.”
Logan reached out with a broad hand to grasp a timber beam and test its sturdiness. “You’d better hook the back flat to a wooden rod and screw it to the floor. I don’t want any chance of it falling on anyone. It’s a damned heavy piece.”
Robbie nodded in agreement and walked behind the flat, surveying it closely.
The double flats had been constructed so that the front piece could be collapsed under its own weight to provide a quick scene change, revealing the second painted flat just behind it.
It was a tricky bit of work, requiring the right combination of skill and timing to avoid errors.
Standing back from the set of hinged flats, Logan tugged absently at the front of his hair. “Let’s see how the first one collapses,” he said.
“All right, Mr. Scott,” Robbie said doubtfully. “Though I should warn ye, I’ve yet to test the procedure.”
“Now’s as good a time as any.”
Jeff, the shopboy, darted forward to assist the carpenters, lending his slight weight to help hold the double flats in place.
“Let the front down,” Robbie instructed, and his assistants began to collapse the first scene.
Out of the corner of his eye, Logan saw someone enter the shop, a slender girl carrying a broom, a dustpan, and an armload of cleaning rags.
The new girl, Logan realized with a pang of irritation.
She seemed to be unaware of the demonstration taking place—and she was walking directly into the path of the collapsing flat.
“Watch out, damn you!” Logan said sharply.
She paused and looked at him with the inquiring eyes of a newborn fawn, while the timber frame toppled toward her.
Automatically Logan rushed forward and seized her, turning to shield her with his own body.
The heavy flat landed on his injured shoulder, resulting in an explosion of pain that made him curse and stagger.
For a moment he couldn’t breathe. Somehow he managed to remain on his feet.
He was dimly aware of Robbie and the others scurrying to lift the flat and drag it away, while the girl stepped back from him.
“Mr. Scott?” she asked in confusion. “Are you all right? I’m so terribly sorry.”
Logan shook his head slightly, his face white, his every bit of strength devoted to fighting back a tide of nausea.
He would not disgrace himself by losing his breakfast in the middle of the carpentry shop.
Always conscious of maintaining his authoritative image, he was never sick, never weak, and never indecisive in front of his employees.
“Oh, your shoulder,” Madeline exclaimed, staring at his shirt, where a few spots of blood from the reopened wound had begun to appear. “What can I do?”
“Stay away from me,” Logan muttered, finally winning his battle against the nausea. He took a deep, reviving breath. “Why in God’s name are you here?”
“I was going to sweep up the wood scraps and shavings, and clean the carpenters’ tools, and…is there something you would like me to do, sir?”
“Get out!” Logan snapped, a scowl pulling his face into harsh lines. “Before I throttle you.”
“Yes, sir,” she said in a subdued tone.
Any other girl in her position would probably have burst into tears. Grudgingly he gave her credit for keeping her composure. Everyone else at the Capital was terrified of his temper. Even Julia took care to give him a wide berth when he was in a foul mood.
Madeline glanced apologetically at Robbie. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cleary. I’ll come back later to sweep the floor.”
“That’s all right, lass.” The head carpenter waited until Madeline had left before turning to Logan. “Mr. Scott,” he said chidingly, “surely there was no need for ye to speak to the lass that way. She was trying to help.”
“She’s a walking disaster.”
“But Mr. Scott,” Jeff, the shopboy, said, “Maddy only seems to have accidents when you’re around. The rest of the time, she’s just fine.”
“I don’t care.” Logan held a hand to his shoulder, which burned like fire. His head throbbed and ached. “I want her out of here,” he muttered, and left the shop with determined strides.
He went to Julia’s office, intending to vent his annoyance.
It was her fault for insisting on hiring the girl—therefore it would be her responsibility to dismiss her.
He found Julia at her desk, her face wreathed in a frown of concentration as she revised the weekly schedule.
She glanced up at him, and her face turned blank with surprise.
“Logan, what happened? You look as though you’d just been trampled beneath a team of six.”
“Worse. I just had another encounter with your little protégée.”
“Madeline?” Julia frowned in concern. “What happened?”
Grimly he told her about the scene in the carpentry shop. Instead of reacting with the concern and dismay he expected, Julia seemed to find the story vastly entertaining.
“Poor Logan,” she said, laughing. “No wonder you’re in an ill temper. Well, you can’t blame Maddy.”
“Can’t I?” he asked sourly.
“It’s only her first day. It will take some time for her to find her footing around here.”
“Her first day,” Logan said, “and her last. I want her gone, Julia. I mean it.”
“I simply don’t understand why you find Madeline Ridley so objectionable.” Julia settled back in her chair with a speculative expression that infuriated Logan.
“She’s a green girl who knows nothing about the theater.”
“We were all green at one time,” Julia replied, and gave him a glance of gentle mockery. “Everyone except you, of course. You must have sprung from the womb knowing everything about the stage—”
“She doesn’t belong here,” Logan interrupted. “Even you can’t argue that point.”
“Perhaps not,” she conceded. “But Madeline is a sweet, intelligent young woman who has obviously landed in some sort of trouble. I want to help her.”
“The only way to help her is to send her back where she came from.”
“What if she’s run away from a dangerous situation? Aren’t you the least bit concerned? Even curious?”
“No.”
Julia sighed in exasperation. “If Madeline doesn’t work here, who knows what circumstances she’ll find herself in? I’ll pay her salary out of my own pocket, if you prefer.”
“We’re not running a charity, damn you!”
“I need an assistant,” Julia said. “I have needed one for quite some time. Madeline is exactly what I require. Why does that pose such a problem for you?”
“Because she…” Logan closed his mouth abruptly.
The problem was, the girl bothered him for reasons he didn’t understand.
Perhaps it was because she was so ridiculously open and unguarded…
the antithesis of his own nature. She made him damned uncomfortable, reminding him of everything he didn’t want to be, of all the things he had struggled to change in himself.
However, he wasn’t about to provide such information for Julia’s entertainment.
It had always irked her that he managed his life and his emotions with apparent ease.
“Logan,” Julia said impatiently, failing to read his thoughts in the silence, “you must be able to offer some explanation.”
“The fact that she’s a clumsy fool should be enough.”
Julia’s mouth fell open. “Everyone has an occasional accident. It’s not like you to be so petty!”
“I say she goes, and I’ll hear no more about it.”
“Then you be the one to dismiss her. I’m sure I would choke on the words.”
“I’ll have no such problem,” Logan informed her. “Where is she?”
“I sent her to help Mrs. Lyttleton with the costumes,” Julia snapped, turning away from him to riffle through a pile of papers on her desk.
Logan left Julia’s office, determined to find the girl immediately.
The costume shop was located in a building set a small distance from the others, as it constituted more of a fire hazard than any other part of the theater.
There was a better chance of containing a fire there and preventing the rest of the Capital from burning.
Mrs. Lyttleton was a cheerful mountain of a woman topped with a pile of brown curls.
Her massive hands moved with dexterity as she created the most exquisite costumes seen on any stage.
She employed a half-dozen girls to help in the task of sewing and maintaining the huge collection of garments that filled rack after rack.
The look of a production at the Capital Theatre was uniquely lavish, and the actors and audience alike were aware that no expense had been spared to create the effect.
“Mr. Scott,” the seamstress said jovially, “what may I do for you? Is the shirt you wore last night still too short in the sleeves? I’ll let them out again if necessary.”
Logan didn’t want to bother with small talk. “There’s a new girl—Miss Ridley. I want to see her.”
“Ah, she’s a pretty slip of a thing, isn’t she? I sent her out to the back with some baskets of costumes to be specially laundered. The silk on the gowns is too delicate to hang in the city air with all its soot, so the baskets will be taken to the country, and the washing and drying done there—”
“Thank you,” Logan interrupted, having little interest in the intricacies of laundry. “Good day, Mrs. Lyttleton—”
“After she takes the baskets to the laundry cart,” the seamstress said, “she’s to go to your office with the costume sketches for Othello.”