free, not just of my family’s expectations, but completely free. Now I learn that Jack was a Trader. He must have been, or you would not be able to Trade at all, no matter how strong your mother’s heritage.”
Thalia demanded, “Father knew he was a Trader and never said?”
“Oh, no. I’m sure he never knew. He had no family. He never, ever Traded.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“I am. I knew him as he knew me. We broke every rule to be together. I can’t regret it, but I am sorry that our secret is something that hurts you now.”
Thalia knew it was childish to feel resentment, yet she did. She did her best to conceal it. Nutall had never been in such a forthcoming mood before. She ought to take advantage of it. She knew she should ask for more details about his life with her father. Yet Thalia, most profoundly, did not want more details about that. She wanted not to know more about their life together behind her back. “Mrs. Viridian said Nutall is only an alias you use. What’s your real name?”
“Muir.” Nutall looked sad. “I was named David Muir.”
Thalia asked, “What happens next? The trial?”
“This may be the last time I see you outside a courtroom. That is why I burden you with truth you may not be ready to hear. Thalia, you still have your whole life before you. It is a different life than the one you expected, that’s all. Embrace your heritage. Trade bravely, deal honestly, and plan a solo act.”
“If I must. But I’m going to prove you innocent.”
The light in the room dimmed, as if the sun had gone under a bank of clouds. The door opened. Mrs. Viridian stood waiting.
“Goodbye, Thalia,” said Nutall gently.
Thalia sprang to her feet. “No! Now that we don’t have the noncompete clause to worry about, I just want to get back onstage as soon as possible. I’ll work out a solo act, but I’ll still need you. You are my manager.”
“Not anymore.”
“You can stay behind the scenes. You can prompt me from the wings.”
“Forget about me. You have problems of your own and you can’t solve mine. No one can.”
“That’s enough.” Mrs. Viridian peered coldly at Thalia through her pince-nez. “You must leave now.” To Nutall, she said, “You’ve had your time.”
Nutall rose to his feet slowly, as if it hurt him to move. Thalia embraced him carefully. How old was Nutall, anyway? He seemed much older than she remembered.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Thalia told Nutall. “I’ll send a message if I find out anything useful before then.” She turned to Mrs. Viridian. “You let him read his letters from now on.”
“Let it be,” Nutall murmured in her ear. “Leave it.”
“Never.” Thalia refused to let her emotions go free with the likes of Mrs. Viridian watching. “Until tomorrow.”
“If you think you must,” sighed Nutall.
Thalia left him there, in the once-sunny room. Mrs. Viridian marched her out through the cleverly decorated corridors. Despite the beauty of the place, despite the fact that she was leaving her oldest, closest, and most trusted friend behind, Thalia found herself restless and eager to leave. This was not the place for her. Perhaps nowhere built by Sylvestri would ever feel natural or comfortable to a Trader.
Chapter Fourteen
The doorman, looking peeved for some reason, accepted Thalia from Mrs. Viridian’s custody, and so she found herself back on the doorstep, put out like a cat.
Ryker and his motorcar were exactly where Thalia had left them. Had it been an hour before? Thalia was usually good at estimating time, but something about the Dakota had thrown her off. The doorman’s displeasure, it became clear, stemmed from Mr. Ryker’s refusal to move the car from beneath the sheltering canopy of the porte cochere.
There was another motorcar waiting behind Ryker’s, a gleaming black Mercer with its distinctive cylindrical hood, reminiscent of a steam locomotive. Unlike Ryker’s Pierce-Arrow, the heavier Mercer looked solid and secretive. Even as Thalia watched, the driver opened the rear passenger door. The well-dressed white Solitaire who emerged, radiating impatience, was Cornelius Cadwallader, head of the Cadwallader theatrical syndicate, himself. He brushed past Thalia, and the doorman admitted him to the quiet elegance of the Dakota without a word of challenge.
“Does Mr. Cadwallader come here often?” Thalia asked the doorman.
“Go away,” said the doorman. “Take that car with you.”
“Is he here to get his letters of transit to take the train to the West? Or is he here on some other business?”