a day once when I was on a case. But I don’t think I’ve ever had to work as hard as that day with Houdini. He was a perfectionist himself and demanded perfection.
“Again,” he would say, clapping his hands as if I were a performing animal. “No, never turn your back on the audience. Wrong hand. This way. Now, cross the stage. No, not like that. And don’t stick out your behind when you wheel in the cabinet.”
Over and over it we went until I was so tired that I felt close to tears. He only released me just before six o’clock to take a cab to pick up my costume.
“What about makeup?” I asked.
“You can use Bess’s tonight.”
So there I was, dressed in my new costume, my face made up, my hair piled up with an egret’s feather ornament in it, and feeling absolutely terrified. I was about to go out there, in front of all those people, with one of the most famous entertainers in the world.
“Don’t let me down,” he said, as we made our way down to the stage.
It was interesting to watch the reaction of the other theater folk. Old Ted had only frowned when I had arrived in the morning to rehearse. But when I came back for the performance he said, “So that was what this was all about—trying to wangle yourself into a job? At least I suppose it’s better than what some young ladies will do to be cast in the theater.”
“I’m only helping out because Bess Houdini isn’t well enough to go on,” I said. “Let’s just say I was in the right place at the right time.”
“If that’s what you say,” he said, clearly not quite believing me.
The stagehands had reacted with astonishment and amusement when they saw me rehearsing. And after they had gotten over their surprise at seeing an intruder turned into part of the show, I provided good entertainment for them as I stumbled my way through learning the physical positioning of the act. And Mr. Irving, the theater manager, had come stomping onto the stage as we were in midrehearsal.
“What’s this I hear about some new girl?” he demanded. “What is this?”
He frowned as he stared at me. “You’ve been hanging around for a few days.”
“That’s because I’m Bess Houdini’s friend,” I said. “She invited me to the show, and then she begged me to take her place when she wasn’t well enough to go on and she knew that Houdini needed an assistant.”
“So you’ve done this before?” Mr. Irving snapped. “I run a top-class house here. I’ve no time for amateurs.”
“Do you think I’d permit an amateur to work with me?” Houdini stepped between us with the kind of flourish only he could produce. “If she hadn’t been up to par, there is no way I would have considered having her onstage with me. You’ll see. She’ll be all right on the night.”
“She better be,” Irving muttered, “or you might find that you’ve just broken the terms of your contract.”
So now I had the added worry of not disgracing Houdini so that he actually got paid for the performance. I didn’t have a chance to see the other performers before I went onstage as I was up in the dressing room, thinking that I was about to be sick. Why did I put myself through these things? Then I remembered that I had promised Daniel this would be my last case. At that particular moment I thought this was the best idea in the world.
We made our way downstairs to the backstage area. A thought struck me.
“Where is the key to the trunk?”
“In my jacket pocket,” he said.
“A lot of good it will be in there, if you’re trapped inside,” I said.
“In case you haven’t been watching properly, I hang up my jacket before they truss me up and put me in the bag,” he said. “So the key will be hanging from the coatrack. But it won’t be necessary. I have yet to find anything that can hold me.”
At that moment I heard the announcer’s voice, booming out in dramatic tones, “And let’s put our hands together in a rousing welcome for the lovely Molly, who has graciously agreed to take the place of Bess Houdini until she is well again.”
“You’re on.” Houdini gave me a shove. And I stepped out onstage, my heart racing and my eyes blinking in the strong lights. I hadn’t realized how bright they would be. Out in