Verity Sparks and the Scarlet Hand Read Online Free PDF Page B

was on Della’s package. What was in it? Twice the length of my hand, slightly wedge-shaped, it was light yet hard. Trying to be discreet, I slipped the wrappings off. It was a fan. There was a tiny clicking sound as I unfurled it, then my fingers tingled briefly. The darkened balcony seats, the footlights and the orchestra disappeared …
    I was in a small room. There were flowers everywhere, in vases and in bunches strewn on the furniture. Their perfume was overpowering. A woman was sitting on a stool and gazing intently at her own reflection in the mirror. It was Mama. An old lady with grey hair and a hooked nose was fussing with my mother’s hair. I recognised her. It was Victoire – Mrs Vic – Mama’s nurse.
    “What do you think?” asked Mama.
    It was only then that I saw the gentleman sitting in the corner. He was tall and rather fat, with red hair. His face was red too. He was scowling as he opened and shut a delicate lace and ivory fan.
    “Honestly, Penny–”
    “I have changed my name, remember? It is Isabella now.”
    “If you’ll just come back with me … You’ll have everything you want – flowers and jewels and pretty dresses. You can sing. No one will stop you–”
    “We’ve been through all this before. I’m sorry. The answer is no.”
    There were footsteps and a knock at the door. “It’s time, Miss Savage,” said a voice, and then the footsteps went away again.
    “I must go. But at least stay and hear me sing,” said Mama.
    The man nodded, and Mrs Vic beckoned to him.
    “Come this way,” she said. I seemed to follow as she led him through a maze of corridors, up some dark stairs and onto a small balcony that jutted out from the side wall. A great wave of clapping and shouting boomed around the theatre. Mama walked through the chorus to the edge of the stage. She looked out at the audience, her gaze moving from the stalls to the dress circle and the balconies all the way up to the impoverished music lovers sitting in the gods. Her eyes, large and dark and shining, seemed to find each and every person there. A hush fell. It was as if the whole theatre was holding its breath.
    Then she began to sing.

6
I WANT WHAT IS MINE
    Applause rose and fell in waves of sound around me. Clapping, stamping, shouting. Dazed and bewildered, I looked down at the stage.
    Papa stood up and thumped his hands together. “Bravo!” he cried.
    Where had Mama gone? Who was that plump lady in the purple robe? Why was the skinny little man holding her hand? Only when the house lights were turned up did I realise where I was: back in the Princess Theatre in Melbourne. In the real world.
    But I didn’t want to be, not yet. I wanted to keep Mama in my mind’s eye. She’d held me and loved me when I was a tiny baby, yet I had no memory of her. Now, magically, I’d heard her voice, pure and clear as birdsong. I’d seen her smile, her eyes, the way she moved. As if she were real. As if she were here … My heart swelled with grief and longing for all I’d missed. Oh, Mama!
    “Verity, it’s interval. Would you like to come and take some refreshments?” asked Papa.
    I blew my nose and tried to stop my voice from shaking. “No, thank you, Papa; I will just sit here.”
    “Will I bring you a lemonade?” said Poppy. “’Cos you look a bit wore out. Opera is ’ard work, don’t you think?”
    “I do. Thank you, Poppy,” I said.
    Gradually, my feelings calmed and I was able to examine the fan. It was made of cream-coloured lace scattered with tiny red sequins. The sticks were ivory and the ends were wrapped with red silk cord and finished off with a tassel. In the dim light I could see that a name was carved into the ivory. I traced the letters with my finger.
Isabella Savage
. It was identical to the one in my vision. Why had Della given it to me? Did she somehow know about my gift?
    “Here’s your drink, Verity.”
    I shoved the fan into my pocket and took the glass from Poppy.
    “What do you think of