Resonance by Celine Kiernan Page B

small hands clenched. Their faces were very close. She smelled faintly of violets. After a moment she glanced up and met hiseyes. There was a real core of steel beneath her fear, a genuine ferocity that thrilled him in a way he had not felt in years. Vincent had no doubt that if he tried to touch her, she would fight.
    The thought made him chuckle. Drawing back, he gestured that he would like to pass. The girl pressed close to the wall, and he moved on.

    C ORNELIUS WAS JUST where Vincent had left him, sitting in the middle row of the dress circle, by the aisle. There was a tray with fine china cups, a silver coffee pot and good pastries on the seat beside him. They had not been there when Vincent had left for the stables. It would seem that the theatre was going all-out to fete their impresario.
    The stage manager was leaning over from the aisle, murmuring and pointing things out on the performance list, but Cornelius was only half-listening, his attention focused on the stage steps as if doggedly awaiting Vincent’s return from backstage. The stage manager continued to speak as Vincent approached, but Cornelius flung up a hand to silence him. The manager straightened, his face stiff with disapproval as Vincent slipped past him and reclaimed his seat at Cornelius’ side.
    ‘The next performances shall start within the hour,’ said the manager. ‘If that is to your pleasure, Lord Wolcroft.’
    ‘Auditions,’ corrected Vincent.
    The manager’s jaw twitched. ‘Beg pardon?’ he asked tightly.
    Vincent took his time, pouring himself a coffee and taking a pastry before looking at him. ‘They are auditions,Mr Simmons. We have not yet decided which performers shall be chosen – so they are auditions .’ He took a large bite of the pastry and chewed, holding the manager’s eye.
    ‘Be sure they do start within the hour,’ said Cornelius softly. ‘We do not have all day.’
    Vincent watched the manager leave, then spat the mouthful of chewed pastry into his hand and dropped it to the plate. He swilled the coffee around his mouth; savoured the almost forgotten process of swallowing.
    Cornelius eyed all of this with horror. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?’
    ‘I have never done anything in God’s name, cully.’ Vincent chanced another small mouthful of coffee and swallowed, suddenly in tremendously good form.
    ‘You shall make yourself ill .’
    ‘May chance, but you know, I believe I might actually have begun to enjoy myself.’
    Cornelius’ scowl made him grin. Nevertheless, Vincent placed the cup on its saucer and spread his hands in surrender. ‘I am done,’ he promised. ‘No more.’
    Cornelius eyed the cup as if he would like to smash it, and, despite his amusement, Vincent felt a pang of guilt. He knew this uncharacteristic shortness of temper was a direct result of Cornelius’ physical distress.
    Never mind, cully , he thought. Soon you will be home and this torment will end.
    Cornelius nodded tightly.
    I saw the little seamstress, added Vincent, attempting to soothe him.
    ‘And?’
    She is delightful.
    Cornelius brightened. I knew it! I knew you would enjoy her. Never fear, Captain, I shall obtain her for you.
    Vincent thought about this a moment, then waved his hand. No , he said. Leave her .
    Cornelius stared.
    Vincent struggled to articulate his reasons. The girl was, as Cornelius had described her, oddly moving. Caught in the chiaroscuro of that gloomy corridor, she had been arresting in a way that went beyond prettiness. It was almost as though she emitted an aura – a magnetic field, perhaps – and Vincent found it particularly compelling. It was foolishness to leave her behind. Yet … Vincent thought again of Raquel, of Raquel’s decline, the calcification of her once passionate, if fragile, vivacity, and he realised he did not want that vibrant girl diminished. He did not want her used. It was as simple as that. Besides , he thought to himself, she is Matthew’s