Cinderella Six Feet Under(58)

Miss Flax hitched up her skirts and barged after them.

“Where are you going?” Gabriel called after her. “We really ought to take this matter to the police.”

A dignified lady in pearls threw Gabriel a shocked glance. He closed his mouth. Miss Flax escaped.

*

For once, Ophelia was one step ahead of Professor Penrose. It felt marvelous. He had been confused by the theater jargon in the note, but Ophelia knew exactly what it meant. Garde-robe, or wardrobe, didn’t refer to a piece of furniture; it meant the backstage chamber where costumes were stored. And Ophelia just happened to know that La Sylphide was the name of a ballet, because Howard DeLuxe’s Varieties performed ballets from time to time. After a fashion. Le Papillon was most likely the name of another ballet.

Grant and Madame Babin intended to murder someone between the garment racks where the costumes for those two ballets were stored. And it was up to her, Ophelia, to save their next victim.

*

Gabriel considered following Miss Flax. She had gotten a good start, however, and he couldn’t begin to think of what she was doing.

Because, surely Miss Flax did not suppose that Grant or Madame Babin were off to deliver a note to someone threatening action at nine o’clock when it was in fact—he glanced at his pocket watch—mere minutes to nine o’clock already.

“Lord Harrington!”

Gabriel turned to see Prince Rupprecht. “Ah. I was just about to return to your box.”

Brandy fumes emanated from Prince Rupprecht’s very pores. “Come on then, old man, yes? I’ve got a new box of cigars that are from Spain but taste like they are from paradise.”

“Splendid.” Surely Miss Flax would go straight to the prince’s box to find him, once she realized her folly.

*

Ophelia followed Caleb Grant and Madame Babin backstage, but she lost sight of them when they passed by the stage right wings. Too crowded. Dancers in costume rushed around, finding their Act Two positions onstage or in the wings. From beyond the closed curtain came the sound of the orchestra sailing through the second act overture. Onstage, stagehands were making last-minute adjustments to the mechanical garden set. Ophelia recognized the big pumpkin-coach contraption.

From beyond the curtain came applause, and the huge, red velvet curtains rolled open. Act Two had begun.

Ophelia knew the wardrobe would be somewhere in the more remote regions of the theater. She only hoped she could find it in time.

Except—she stopped in her tracks.

Except that there was Madame Babin, hands on hips, in one of the wings. She was scolding one of the ballerinas in French. The prima ballerina Polina Petrov, as a matter of fact, in her raggedy Cinderella gown. Caleb Grant was nowhere in sight.

Ophelia crept closer and hid herself behind one of the curtains that formed the wings.

Dancers in flower and mouse costumes twirled across the stage. Madame Babin’s voice pierced the sounds of the orchestra. Polina was silent.

Ophelia peeked around the curtain. Polina was in costume. She would soon dance the scene in which the fairy godmother magically transformed her rags into finery. This meant that her costume looked like rags on top but had a version of the embroidered ivory tulle ball gown underneath.

Madame Babin lunged for Polina and lifted her ragged gown to expose the ball gown costume.

The stomacher flashed in the brilliant stage light. Was it the false, beaded stomacher of the ballet costume? Or was it, for some unfathomable reason, the real, diamond stomacher?

Polina tried to tug herself free, but Madame Babin would not stop pulling on her.

Ophelia’s heart sped.

Madame Babin wanted the stomacher. She was prepared to kill for the stomacher. There was no choice in the matter.

Ophelia sprang from her hiding place and found herself in the midst of a three-lady tussle. Madame Babin spat French words that didn’t sound too nice and left off tugging at Polina in order to claw at Ophelia instead. Polina got away; Ophelia caught a glimpse of her taking one last horrified glance over her shoulder before leaping onstage to a spatter of applause.

Madame Babin was all elbows and hisses and nipping fingernails.

“Get off me, you wretched critter!” Ophelia whispered. She felt like yelling, but she’d hate to ruin the show.

Madame Babin grabbed a handful of Ophelia’s coiffure and gave it a hard twist.

*

“That one has got legs like a chicken,” Prince Rupprecht said. He pointed to one of the ballerinas down on the stage. The second act had begun only moments earlier, yet Prince Rupprecht had already evaluated the dancers as efficiently as a farmer at a livestock auction.