Page 29 of Harmonic Pleasure (Mysterious Arts #6)

LATER THAT EVENING

V ega peered through the curtain. Her first set had gone smoothly, and now she could watch Farran and his friends at the table.

The beginning of the second set had started well.

They’d worked out how to build out the introduction, so that there wasn’t a jarring contrast from the chatter of the pause to a full on performance.

Kevin Stafford, the guitarist, would come out.

He’d slide from tuning his guitar in little arpeggios that twisted deftly into a tune, his blond head bent over the guitar, entirely focused on what he was doing.

Then Harry, the drummer, would take his place, then the others in the band, one by one.

They moved into the music like they were picking up a conversation that had been going on for twenty years.

It had a friendly feel to it, comfortably worn in, without being either bored or boring.

Once they’d gone through a song or so, the dancers would come out, the dance mistresses and masters.

They’d had a few minutes of a break from dancing with guests.

This bit of the show wasn’t entirely choreographed.

For one thing, Madam Helena wanted each dancer to have time to show off a bit of their own particular talent.

It had them whirling in different patterns.

Then they’d find a place where Pasco could shift lights to illuminate couples pair by pair in the centre.

From there, they swooped off to take their place along the edge of the dance floor, keeping time with small but graceful movements.

Then it was time for the others. This time it was Ivy and Charles, coming out in a swirl of her skirts as Charles got her spinning across the dance floor.

They had more space to move, being the only couple dancing, and their set was full of lifts and twirls, getting delighted sounds and applause from the audience.

Farran seemed to enjoy it, but the woman next to him leaned over and touched his arm, so he turned and grinned at her. Vega pulled back from the curtain.

Of course, he had friends. People did. Should.

She did, even if she didn’t get to see many of them often.

Her family, the cousins she was close to, weren’t in London much or anywhere else she’d performed recently.

Her performer friends moved about in the peripatetic orbits of comets, coming near each other now and again.

And of course, it wasn’t as if they could go out for an evening on a weekend.

It was impossible, what with that being both their busy time and different contracts varying their nights off.

After Pasco’s illusions, there was this week’s special contract.

Vega enjoyed watching the trio of dancers, all sisters, who did acrobatics and high kicks.

Now, it was Vega’s turn. She strolled out toward the stage from the back, letting people take her in.

And letting the band play her up to her best face, too.

Once she turned around, Pasco’s light charm on her, she took a breath, and began to sing.

This set, she was doing a number of jazz favourites, with the illusions complementing the music.

They were impressionistic, but precisely on beat, making the underlying rhythms pop for even the most tin-eared listener.

She loved the added dimension it gave to a performance, the way it made people lean forward, all their senses engaged.

The only problem was that she saw Vandermeer.

He must have been seated since the last time she’d checked, at one of the small tables at the back.

Vega refused to let it throw her. She could have asked for him to be turned away, and she hadn’t, quite.

Not without talking to Madam Helena about it.

Vega should have done that after the note, last time, or this afternoon, or, well.

No use mourning the past. She put her all into the last two songs, not with her magic but with her heart, before retreating off the stage.

This time, instead of peering through the curtain, she went up to Madam Helena’s office, which had an interior window that overlooked about half the room. She knocked once, then heard the quiet “Come.”

As soon as Vega entered, Madam Helena looked up. “A problem, dear? I hope not with your particular guests?”

“No.” Vega took a breath. “The man who sent the note a bit ago now. Thomas Vandermeer. Table 10.”

“He ought not to.” Madam Helena raised an eyebrow. “He must have an illusionist on tap, or something of the kind. I gave instructions he wasn’t to be let in, and a clear description.”

“Oh.” Vega should have asked, but she sank into a chair. “You did?”

“I did not much like the feel of him, either. Or his magic. Something odd there. Besides, I value you rather more than such a guest.” Madame Helena stood, peering out the window, then glancing across. “Hmmm. That’s your particular friend, yes? Who’s the woman with him?”

Madam Helena was not looking straight down, it turned out, but at a mirror. It was angled to make it possible to see the entire room, at least with the help other mirrors. Vega blinked. “I hadn’t realised...”

“Oh, there are charms, too.” Madam Helena gestured at one wall, which suddenly had an image— fuzzy, but enough to make out individuals— projected on the blank white wall. “How else am I supposed to seem omniscient?”

That, especially Madam Helena’s tone, made Vega laugh, despite the seriousness. “So, um.” She glanced at the mirror again. “Farran asked if he might bring a friend and the friend’s sister.” The sister of a friend was, by some counts, a prime target for romance.

Farran’s note had mentioned the name, but nothing much about her. Though the same last name as the brother, so presumably unmarried. And the last name suggested it might be a Cousin line, though nothing she’d seen of Eleanor Norton had made that entirely clear. “What will you do about Vandermeer?”

“See if one of the sensible women will dance with him. Or...” She was about to say something else, before gesturing.

The current dance song had come to an end.

Farran made a slight bow as Maddie stalked off.

She had the walk of a woman with a purpose, toward where Vandermeer sat.

She said something to him, tilting her head, and then held out her hand.

Vandermeer stood a little more slowly than someone who actually wanted to dance might.

But then he led Maddie out on the floor, as the next tune started up.

“Have a chat with them. I can send drinks around to your dressing room after your last set. You’re early in the set, yes?”

As if Madame Helena would let that detail slip her mind.

“Third.” Vega agreed. They had maybe another song or two of the ordinary dancing, then they’d segue into the individual performers again.

“Lucella wanted the last spot, and I didn’t feel like arguing with her about it.

” She was the other singer at the moment, and certain that there was some trick that would mean people remembered her better than Vega.

“I do appreciate that you’re not grasping about it.

” Madame Helena said it amiably. “Lucella’s rubbed a few others the wrong way.

” That was a neutral statement, but being given the information certainly wasn’t neutral.

“I’ll send your party back once you’re done.

You can talk until we lock up.” It would give a couple of hours if they needed it.

“Thank you.” Vega ducked her chin. “I’m sorry to bring a bit of trouble.”

“You didn’t. The trouble brought himself, and I’m sure he ought to know better.

But I’ll see if I can find out anything else.

If so, I’ll let you know.” She waved her hand, a little dismissal.

Vega went back down to her dressing room to freshen up, do a few vocal exercises, and prepare for the last set of her evening.

It went well enough, though she felt it wasn’t her best performance.

Fortunately, they’d already agreed on the mood and songs.

This was a series of jazz numbers of Albion itself, with some clever and demanding puns on various bits of magic.

It got a reliable laugh, and it sounded good without being too much of a strain.

Seven minutes after she’d made it back to her dressing room, there was a tidy knock on the door. “Miss Vega? Your party.”

“Please come in.” Knowing they’d be coming, she’d quickly wriggled out of her performance dress and into something comfortable and not nearly as decorative.

Then she’d pulled one of her more voluminous and slightly gaudy wraps over it.

People had expectations. The door opened, and Farran came in, stepping to one side, followed by his friends.

The woman was perhaps a little older than Farran, and rather lovely in feature.

Seeing her close up, Vega was more certain the brother and sister were also Cousins, though of a more distant generation than Vega herself.

They had that edge of vitality that sometimes made Cousins a hair more eye- catching, which Vega certainly had herself. Now she nodded, glancing at Farran.

“Anthony Sturgis, Tony. My best friend since Schola. And his slightly older sister, Maddie. They’ve several others.” Farran closed the door, then said, “Maddie has some new information for us. We didn’t want to discuss it out among everyone.”

“Oh!” Vega shook herself out a little. “There’s wine here, or if you want something else. We’ve a bit of time. I’m done for the night, though they’ll want to lock up eventually. An hour or so. Please, sit.” The two siblings took the small sofa, leaving Farran one ottoman, and Vega for the chair.

“That is not a man I would want anywhere near me. And he’s a lousy dancer.

Stepped on my feet twice, though I admit he was a bit distracted.

Farran’s much better. You should dance with him when you get a chance.

” Maddie’s commentary came out like a burbling stream, and with several points that Vega wanted to think about later.

Including the fact that Vandermeer was not the sort of smooth dancer she’d expected from him.

Or at least not with Maddie. “There’s something definitely off about him. ”

“What sort of off?” Tony asked, in the sort of tone that Vega knew from her cousins, someone patiently getting someone to explain something obvious to them.

Well-worn. He added, “Maddie’s a researcher, usually working with a client for a few months on some project.

She’s met rather a wide selection of slightly creepy academics. ”

“This was different.” Maddie sounded insistent, and she leaned forward, elbows on her knees.

Vega rather liked the determination. “I think he is looking for something. That sort of looking, maybe more active sorts. Farran didn’t explain what he’s helping you with, other than that it’s some object, and because it’s him, some sort of art object.

I don’t think Vandermeer is an art historian.

And while he tried to come off like a businessman, I don’t think that’s it, either. ”

“Why?” Tony asked before Vega had to figure out how to word it. “Explain yourself, please.”

“He’s American, yes?” Vega nodded. She could clarify in a minute. “There might be differences in terms. But he didn’t speak like a businessman. More like there was a face he put on.”

“We believe he used an illusion to get into the club. The owner had taken some precautions,” Vega offered. “Previously, he’s said he was American, and he sounds like an American.”

Farran nodded, focusing directly on Vega. “Look, I can ask Vivian to do some more research and see what she can find out. But I think we can assume he’s quite likely interested in whatever you’re looking for. Or something closely related. And that’s a problem.”

“What about leading him on a bit of a false trail?” Tony suggested. “Go somewhere that’s not relevant.”

“It’s London,” Farran pointed out. “It’s actually rather hard not to trip over something the right period without meaning to. Even if it’s not actually the most relevant period, most places.”

“Well. Somewhere you’re pretty sure isn’t the right place. The Tower, maybe? You said you were focusing on earlier, didn’t you?” Tony was quick, Vega realised. Also, it was interesting to see the way he and Farran went at things. Like Farran had with her, but also a little different.

She cleared her throat. “I think the Tower might be a good idea. There would be plenty of people around. There are Beefeaters if he tries to do anything odd. A museum might do, but that’s more complicated. If we wanted something in a museum, we’d go about it differently.”

Farran met her eyes for a moment. “As you like. It’s Thursday night. Saturday, perhaps? It’s something we can do in an afternoon.”

“Saturday.” Vega nodded firmly. “We can sort out where to meet.” Then there was a knock on her door, and a murmur that the performances were done. “If you want to get out the stage door without too much fuss, this is a good time. Or if you could give me a little cover.”

“Of course.” Farran said. “Get you into a cab safely, your favourite cabbie.”

That, naturally enough, got Maddie asking how that worked, a series of interested questions about the process.

It took up the time until Vega had changed stockings, into comfortable shoes, a jumper, and an ordinary coat.

As the others went out, Farran paused, holding the door for her.

“I’d love a chance to talk a bit, Saturday, too. When we get a bit of quiet?”

“Me as well.” She offered a smile, the best she could give him, to be reassuring. “And I like your friends.”

The smile she got back, now, that was worth having set aside her nerves about whether Farran might already have an interest in Maddie.