A Masque of Chameleons Read online

  “Couldn’t you have cast his wife as Bianca instead of Desdemona?” Will persisted.

  “She isn’t all that bad, you’ll see,” Hugh soothed. “You’ve seen actresses, and so have I, who read badly but play well.”

  “That wench is going to make me carry her on my back the entire way,” Will said glumly, still unmollified.

  “As well she might.” Hugh’s retort was tart. “The whole play was written for the parts of Othello and Iago. But look to your laurels, Will. Our Roberta outdid herself today. Do that when we’re actually playing to an audience, Robbie, and you’ll bring down the house.”

  “In Mexico?” Roberta asked incredulously.

  “We won’t be there forever, you know,” was Hugh’s enigmatic reply.

  “That brings up another point,” Will interjected. “Why are we doing Shakespeare if Mexicans speak only Spanish and maybe some French? Why not Molière?”

  “First of all, your French is execrable,” Hugh snapped. He never liked having his decisions questioned. “Secondly, we’ll let them know in Spanish what each scene is about, so it will be like a high-class pantomime. Thirdly, it will mean that upon our return we will have a major play ready to go with all of the snags ironed out. Fourthly, we have a sponsor who prefers to remain anonymous but who has been more than generous with his patronage. Does that answer your objections?” Determined to end the discussion, Hugh turned and walked away without waiting for a reply.

  Will and Roberta looked at each other. “Our unknown sponsor must have paid him a fortune,” Will observed thoughtfully.

  “I’ve noticed that whenever he uses the words ‘handsome’ or ‘generous’ in connection with payment, it means someone is giving him more than he dared ask for,” Roberta agreed.

  *

  As the week crept by, mornings taken up with Othello and the afternoons with the comic Robbers' Roost pantomime, the plunking of the guitar in the moonlight seemed increasingly real to her.

  “Robbie, for God’s sake pay attention!” Hugh said, his tone exasperated. “You’re supposed to enter here as Gavin tells the robber chief to keep his mother-in-law with his blessings. Let’s take it again. Jason, you got the robber chief’s expression just right this time — I hope you can remember what you did.”

  Jessica as the mother-in-law was superb. With a slight lift of one shoulder, a gesture of the hand, she could convey exactly the kind of woman she was: domineering, greedy, and ill-tempered. Jason was a perfect foil for her, by turns exasperated and incredulous as they gradually built up their relationship.

  “I’ve never seen that pantomime before,” Roberta said to Jason one day as they were rehearsing their movements backstage in their scenes together as Emilia and Iago. “I wonder where Hugh got it.”

  “I wrote it,” Jason answered somewhat absentmindedly as he moved toward her to stab her.

  “You?” Roberta asked foolishly, taken by surprise.

  His look was amused. “Why not? Somebody has to write them, and God knows it doesn't take too much intellect.”

  “It's just that you don't seem very — “ She broke off, embarrassed.

  “ — Humorous?” he said, smiling that curiously open youthful smile of his. “Some days are pretty grim, I’ll admit,” he went on, lighting a long thin cigar and sitting on a prompter's stool, “but when you've stopped being able to laugh, you may as well be dead.” He watched the smoke spiral lazily up from the cigar in his hand. “Roberta DuPlessis... I know a DuPlessis...”

  “It was my mother you met, I hope, and not my father.”

  “Why? Who is your father?”

  “Was, not is. When I was little, I thought he was terribly dashing. He wore spats and carried a sword cane and would sell you the Taj Mahal or cheat you at cards at the drop of a hat. That's why we had to leave France and come to the United States. He claimed that he hadn't had a civilized meal from the time we landed in New York. My mother was completely unsympathetic, but she must have loved him. She was an actress, too, and more often than not it was her income that allowed us to eat at all.”

  He regarded her with interest. “You seem to be able to talk about them readily enough. It couldn't have been easy for a child to have parents like that — children are such conventional little brutes, you know.”

  “I really didn’t see all that much of them. My father was always off pursuing some scheme or other and my mother was either sleeping or going to parties when she wasn’t actually on the stage.”

  His eyebrows went up. “You raised yourself?”

  “No, there was Margarita. She was a Mexican maid my parents picked up when they made a previous forced stay in the United States. She was really my mother in everything but name. That’s how I learned Spanish. When I had a nightmare, Margarita was the one I cried for, she was the one who comforted me when I skinned a knee. She was the one who said over and over again that I must never give myself to a man until I was married.”

  “I’m surprised you chose the stage as a career then.” Roberta shrugged. “With that family, I could hardly pretend to being a lady, and anyway, acting’s a step up in my book from being a governess or a teacher.” She shuddered. “This way I travel and I’m important in my own world even if everyone from Hugh on does treat me like a half-witted child.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-two,” she answered defiantly.

  A shadow crossed his face. “I’d almost forgotten anyone was ever that young,” he said.

  “Your wife isn’t much older.”

  “Ah yes, my wife. You’re right, you know. I must keep that in mind.”

  He was being sarcastic, which unaccountably bothered her. She had a feeling that she had somehow trespassed. “Let’s run through it all again,” she said hastily and jumped down off the piece of scenery on which she had been sitting.

  Hugh rehearsed them mercilessly, constantly honing their performances until he was satisfied he had gotten as much out of them as they were capable of producing. Carmelita remained wooden no matter what Will and Hugh did, and she had trouble learning her lines as well, which didn’t help. Hugh was exasperated and finally when she admitted, pouting prettily, that she had trouble memorizing, he asked her why she’d become an actress.

  “Because people like to look at me,” she replied calmly, effectively shutting him up.

  When Roberta related the exchange to Will, who had gone off to pick up some costume pieces from the seamstress, he laughed and shook his head. “You can’t help liking her, but at the same time I sometimes feel I’d like to really strangle her, not just as Desdemona.”

  Roberta took some comfort in his words, for with the unerring feeling of the rejected lover, she had sensed a spark between them.

  “And you, lass?” Will asked gently. “How goes it with you and Gavin? You could do worse, you know, and one day he should make a fine actor.”

  “When I’m in need of matchmaking, I’ll let you know,” she said sharply.

  “Step on a toe, did I? I wouldn’t be your age again for all the tea in China — much too painful.”

  “And it isn’t painful for you now?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

  “Touché,” he murmured with a lopsided grin. “I didn’t think it showed.”

  “Oh, Will, I - ”

  “Hush, lass,” he said, putting his hand gently on her mouth. “As long as nothing’s said, nothing’s changed. Young Gavin’s not yet spoiled, and God willing he never need be.”

  The feel of his hand burning across her mouth, she watched him, her face reflecting pain and shock.

  “The hardest lesson for anyone to learn,” he went on, “is that there are some things — no matter how hard you want them — that are simply not meant to be.”

  “How — how did you find out?”

  His expression was rueful. “According to Jessica, I was the last to know.”

  “Jessica! She was jealous — “

  “Don’t natter on concerning things
you know nothing about,” he said roughly. “What’s between Jessica and me is none of your business — nor anyone else’s, either.” His tone gentled then. “If things were different, lass... There’s been many a wench I’ve tumbled who was sweet on me, but never you, Robbie. I care too much for you.”

  She stood there looking after him long after he had disappeared into the gloomy rabbit warren of back-stage dressing rooms.

  “A touching scene.” Jason’s voice was mocking. How long had he been there?

  She whirled around and met the always startling blueness of his gaze. “Eavesdropping is a filthy habit,” she lashed out at him. “I had no idea you were so despicable.”

  Jason waved his hand impatiently, as if sweeping aside a mosquito. “Watch out for him, lass.” He deliberately used Will’s affectionate manner of address for her. “He left the door wide open at the end, and just when I thought he was really going to be noble after all.”

  Words failed her, she was so angry. All of her frustration and feelings of rejection and ugliness poured into that burning, cleansing anger. “You’re hateful,” she finally managed. “It isn’t only your face that’s scarred.”

  Though he smiled, the scar turned a livid red, and angry as she was, she was sorry she had said it. “I guess I deserved that,” he said quietly. “It’s only that I know the Wills of the world so well. He means his grand renunciation now, but he’s weak and he’ll never stick to it. Jessica Stanhope is a great lady, and if it weren’t for her propping him up — “

  “How could you possibly think that?” she demanded incredulously. “If it weren’t for that drunken old wreck, Will wouldn’t drink himself. He’d have his own company and be a great director as well as a great actor.”

  His eyes narrowed. “That drunken old wreck, as you so prettily put it, is the finest actress you or I will ever see. Her fault is that she loved unwisely and too well. Your precious Will destroyed her.” As she started to protest, he put up an impatient hand and plunged on. “Oh, he didn’t mean to, his kind never do, but he destroyed her all the same. And you who call her a drunken old wreck, you who are plenty old enough to know better, you’re lusting after what doesn’t belong to you, to put it bluntly. He acts as he must because it’s his nature, but you — “

  “You sound as if you’re jealous!” she exclaimed triumphantly. “You’re afraid he’s a better actor, aren’t you?”

  He looked at her silently for a moment. “Do you think he is?” he asked conversationally at last.

  It was her turn to be silent.

  “Well?”

  “Iago is one of the juiciest parts in the theater,” she said hurriedly. “It’s a far better vehicle than Othello.”

  “Is it now? Is that why all the actors who really have the talent, and God knows how many who don’t, want to play Othello?”

  “Well, I think Will would be as good at Iago as you are. If you weren’t so vain, we wouldn’t be having this disgusting discussion.”

  He grinned, suddenly looking years younger. “You're right, we’re both acting like children. Tell you what, I’ll say ‘you’re another’ and then let’s call a truce. I’ll stop maligning Will, and in return you stop throwing yourself at him. A deal?”

  “Why, you insufferable — “ she started to say angrily, then stopped and looked a little sheepish. “I guess it’s been pretty obvious, hasn’t it? All right, for his sake I’ll try.” She smiled crookedly. “We don’t always seem to be able to pick the people we ought to love, do we?”

  *

  It was the day before they were due to sail that she blundered onto Will and Carmelita engaged in a passionate embrace that was nowhere in the play. Even beyond the pain that squeezed her heart and threatened to throttle her very breathing, she found herself hoping that Jason would never find out how right he’d been.

  CHAPTER II

  The steamboat Samson, her horn bellowing, cast off the tow on the sailing packet and put about toward land. The packet passengers lining the ship’s rails cheered and waved as the sturdy vessel steamed back past shores flaming with autumn colors, among which were scattered the boxlike white houses of Staten Island. The wind was sharp with the premonitory chill of winter and streamers of gray cloud streaked across a pale blue sky. The air was tangy with spray whipped off the heavy chop that built up as they left the coastline behind.

  “Look, there’s the Sandy Hook lighthouse,” Will said, apparently unaffected by the cold or the ship’s pitching, which had already sent Gavin tottering off green in the face.

  “How long does it take to reach Havana?” Roberta asked.

  Will shrugged and called to Jason. “You’ve been there, cock — how many days to Havana?”

  Jason made a sour face. “If our luck goes bad, it could take weeks. I can’t think why St. Clair didn’t book us on a steamship. He’d better stop pinching pennies and opt for steam from Havana to Veracruz, though. Getting into Veracruz between northers is a brute for any vessel.”

  The sun set pale through the scudding clouds, and Roberta reluctantly went below to change for dinner. In contrast with the light, clean aspect of the deck, the staterooms were small, dark, and noisome with all too identifiable odors. Rosemary, with whom she was sharing the stateroom, was reclining palely on the lower bunk, a handkerchief soaked in eau de cologne pressed to her nose.

  “How am I ever going to stand a week of this?” she moaned. “Going to France was nothing like as bad, and we’ve only just begun.”

  “You’ll get used to it by tomorrow,” Roberta tried to comfort her, though the airlessness and smell were beginning to make her feel queasy as well. “They tell me it’s the heavy deck cargo that’s making us roll so. What rotten luck to end up on this old scow...”

  As Roberta came up on deck again on her way to the dining room, she very nearly changed that opinion. While she had been below making Rosemary as comfortable as possible and putting on another dress, complete darkness had fallen. There was a white half moon silvering the slopes of the waves, and the bellied curves of the sails which in daylight looked stained and dingy now appeared to be pale magic wings driving the ship over the gilded water. She saw Jason standing at the rail staring out at the ocean landscape, and walked over to him.

  “It all looks different now, doesn’t it?”

  He nodded, still looking out across the tossing sea. “You’d never know, would you, that out there somewhere is suffering and famine and violence and plague and greed...”

  They watched the field of tossing silver in silence for a moment. “What would you wish for if you could have any one wish you wanted?” she asked him suddenly.

  Surprised, he looked at her then. “I don’t know,” he answered slowly. “I suppose I’d have to ask for an end of man’s cruelty to man. That in itself would take care of most ills.”

  “How extraordinary!” Will’s voice was mocking. “A man who wishes nothing for himself.”

  “Oh, Will, you’re always teasing.” She laughed. “As if I didn’t know what you’d wish.”

  “Do you then, lass? I can see the playbill now: 'Will Castle presents the smash new comedy...’”

  Jason, who had pulled a sour face at Will’s sudden arrival, now laughed. “You’re honest, anyway. And you, Robbie, what would you choose?”

  She looked at Will quickly, her face in the moonlight a mask of longing. Then she sighed and turned back to Jason. “I wish for a long and happy life,” she pronounced.

  “That’s two wishes,” Will protested. Robbie agreed and chose to have a happy life.

  “Don’t you want to change your wish, cock?” he asked Jason.

  “If my wish ever came true,” Jason said grimly, “I’d have a happy life.”

  “What was it like,” Will asked curiously, “fighting the greasers? Are they cowards the way they say?”

  “I grew up with the ‘greasers,’ as you call them,” Jason said mildly. “They’re like anybody else: some good, some bad, some brave, some cowardly. Proper
ly led, their cavalry especially is formidable.”

  “If they’re so formidable, why did they have to surrender at San Jacinto? Why isn’t Texas still Mexican?”

  “I said, if they were properly led. Santa Anna is hardly my idea of a proper leader.”

  “What’s he like?” Roberta asked, seeing that Jason didn’t seem to mind talking about the Texas war.

  “Santa Anna? He’s a moral cretin, one of the most vicious, greedy, corrupt men I’ve ever encountered. I cannot understand why Sam Houston didn’t execute him when heliad the chance.” Jason’s voice was bitter.

  “Perhaps Houston didn’t want to be as bad as Santa Anna,” Roberta offered.

  “When you see a scorpion or a snake that’s going to bite you, you kill it,” Jason replied shortly.

  “Why has he been President of Mexico all this time, if he’s so bad?” Will asked idly.

  “He hasn’t. They threw him out after the Texas debacle, and it wasn’t until last year that he managed to wriggle his way back into power.”

  Will shook his head. “I’ve a hard enough time making head or tail of our politics without trying to sort out theirs. They’re all crazy, as far as I am concerned.”

  “That’s going to make for a delightful tour for you, isn’t it?” Jason observed dryly.

  “Will’s just teasing,” Roberta explained quickly. “In France he spoke French so badly they couldn’t understand him, but I noticed it was Will who was off drinking with the men and flirting with the women. Heaven only knows how they communicated.”

  Will laughed. “I’ll tell you, lass. Wine and love have international languages. It’s a fair treat what you can get across with sign language and a grin.”

  “He got all his Britishisms from a barmaid in Liverpool,” Roberta said primly. “Too bad the French girls were so poor at teaching.” She didn’t mind his womanizing wherever they went because she knew why he did it. If Jessica were only out of the way...

  Will threw back his head and laughed delightedly. “Got a tongue on her, hasn’t she? Well, my girl, in France I was too busy to be doing much conversing.”