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She, whom I had once thought invulnerable, particularly in matters concerning
men, was rapidly disabusing me of my childish notions. To say she was deeply
distressed was an understatement. Vasily Vladovitch should be ashamed of himself,
I thought.
"I hope he at least keeps his promise to give you your partnership in the Vein," I
said. "I think you more than earned it. For that matter, so did I."
"Oh, yes, of course, he will keep his promise. Have you any idea how many lawyers
there are waiting to dig gold in Dawson right now? Besides, I I know he loves me.
But why has he taken to her? Why will he not give me the oh, never mind, my
friend. It is far too complicated to explain. And I might shock you."
Could Vasily Vladovitch be some sort of perverted monster? Though I had
secondhand knowledge of a great many intimate practices taking place between
man and woman that could have been considered linked to procreation only by the
wildest stretch of the imagination, I was not unshockable. Anything above and
beyond what I already knew about had to be dreadful indeed. Just thinking about it
was going to make it difficult for me to meet my employer's eye. But what seemed
stranger to me was that Sasha Devine seemed convinced that he was practicing
whatever practice it was upon Giselle instead of her and was deeply disappointed
and feeling wronged. Shouldn't she feel delivered instead? Now, I am trained to ask
rude and embarrassing questions, but, naturally, we of the press do not stoop to
that sort of topic. Had we done so, we would have enraged the churches and the
Women's Temperance Union and enlarged our circulation beyond our wildest
dreams.
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"And I don't even have my new c-clothes," she said. "They were all on the raft "
"Mine were, too," I reminded her. "And I don't have a lovely coat and a nice
luxurious room I don't have to go outside to get to. And may the saints preserve me
if, if I did, I let some two-bit floozy move into it because I had my feelings hurt. The
room, as I understand it, goes with your job, not with your position as Vasily
Vladovitch's mistress. Stick to your rights, woman."
I paused for breath. My Irish had, unaccountably, gotten up. "In fact, if you intend
to take over my bed because you're too busy feeling sorry for yourself to throw her
out, I'll go do it myself and take over your place."
But to Sasha's credit, her moment of romantic weakness was short. Her eyes slitted
and glittered, she straightened the mess of hay her iron-curled hair had become at
some point during the night, and pulled on the parka.
I felt a little ashamed of myself. "I really didn't mean it," I said. "I'm flattered that
you confided in me and, of course, you're welcome to stay, it's just that "
"Vahlenteena, dahling," she said with a trace of her old smile, "you said I possess
admirable intelligence, and this quality enables me to understand good sense when
I hear it. I go to reclaim my stronghold. Adieu." And she ceremoniously bussed me
on each cheek and, flinging the door open against the wind, swept imperiously out
into the storm.
CHAPTER XII
« ^ »
Having solved Sasha's problems, I spent valuable sleep time upbraiding myself for
failing to solve my own. I was not writing, I was not discovering a way to explain the
constable's murder, and most of the time I was not even keeping warm. My
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assumed language barrier kept me as isolated as if my new persona had been
deliberately designed to do so. I could do nothing but listen to random
conversation, could ask no incisive questions, and without proper clothing, could
not move about town except in cases of dire necessity. There were only three people
with whom I could discuss this sad state of affairs, and two of them I had already
met tonight, both so preoccupied with their own affairs that they had succeeded
somehow in totally occupying me with them as well.
Lurleen was unavailable, not because she was selfish but because she was so giving
that she nearly always had company while I was awake and in the cabin. The rest of
the time she seemed to be sleeping. Nevertheless, I vowed to myself, punching up
one of the hides to form a pillow, this sad state of affairs would not continue much
longer. I had had a bellyful of practicing the ta-ra-boom-de-ays in the drafty
backstage area simply to keep warm while the other girls performed. I would
confront Vasily Vladovitch on the morrow and demand the salary promised me for
my assistance in the journey north. And if he used my misfortune as a pretext to
refuse, I would enlist Sasha's aid.
But, as the Scottish mountie, Destin, might have told me, my plans, like the best-
laid schemes of mice and men aft do, were to gang agley.
The least of my problems manifested itself as soon as I entered the Vein. Sasha was
waiting for me. "The cancan steps, you know them?" And before I could deny it, she
added slyly, "Maisie tells me your kick has become quite as high as hers this week."
Wondering if there was a law against a spinster on the wintry side of thirty-five
attempting feats intended only for eighteen-year-old girl athletes, I nodded
cautiously.
"That Giselle is not only a slut and a witch, she is also a lazy malingerer. She
pretends to be ill tonight, so the chorus line is short. I myself must oversee the
house. You will take her place, yes?"
And without waiting for my response, she handed me just what I'd been wanting,
another costume, Giselle's cancan frock. In what strange ways our prayers are
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answered. I struggled out of my costume and into this new one. It was not as hard as
I thought. I had dropped an inch or so during the week. I started to look daggers at
Maisie, but she grinned and squeezed my arm.
"Isn't this just like those stories about the theatre, where the star breaks her ankle
and the understudy has to go on in her place?" she asked breathlessly. "Oh, honey, I
just know you'll do great!"
Realizing that Maisie was a frustrated legitimate actress who thought she was doing
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