It was the day of Jon Starr's performance. Tracey stood in front of Stateshire Theatre and fidgeted with her dress and necklace. Why did I let Mittie talk me into buying this? she thought. Imagine this! No collar! She was unused to wearing such formal wear. This was, in fact, the first performance that she had ever attended, so such attire was not a thing in her wardrobe. This is just for Mr. Porter, she reminded herself, as she reexamined her dress in the reflection of the theatre's windows.
The scoop neckline revealed a simple strand of pearls that Mittie had loaned to her. Her hair was styled into curls that piled high on her head, accented with similar-looking pearls. Her dress pooled to the ground, and its bows were so large, she thought it impossible for a dress to hold such weight. "I look ridiculous," she muttered. In her gloved hand was the golden ticket. "VIP...front row," Tracey read with a shudder.
Around her, people of all sorts, in equally formal dressing streamed into the theatre. Tracey scanned the crowd for any sign of the rest.
"See, it looks beautiful on ya!" Mittie suddenly said behind her. Tracey spun around to find Mittie approaching with Charlie and Harriet in tow.
Mittie wore a sweeping dress, studded with embroidery and framing a necklace. Her curly hair was braided into a large ornate updo, and a pair of dazzling earrings reached to her shoulders. Her face was radiating with excitement. Harriet wore a prim dress that stopped short of her ankles, revealing lace socks and white shoes, topped with little bows. Her hair was twisted into bouncy curls, and her face was flushed with joy. Charlie wore a prim suit of black, his jacket swung open to reveal a frilled shirt. His polished shoes were as black as the suit. His face was in a fixed grimace.
"Why do we have ta wear all this?" Charlie grumbled. "It's too stuffy."
"So we can blend in, Charlie!" Harriet said. "Besides," she added, "Didn't you always want to wear something so nice?"
"I guess," he muttered, tugging at the collar.
"You all look lovely," Tracey said with a genuine smile. "And thank you, Mittie."
"Where's Mr. Bentam?" Harriet asked, peeking around the crowds.
"Right here," he replied as he stepped from the theatre's entry. Bentam wore a sharp attire: his tuxedo matched the smart shoes, his vest as elaborate as his bowtie, and his neat hair peeked from underneath his top hat.
"You've been here all along?" Tracey said in alarm.
"Not quite, I was finding our seats," he coolly replied. "Shall we?"
"Wait!" Mittie said, holding up her hand. "Does everyone have their steamgear on them?"
Tracey nodded, touching the small device hidden behind her ears. Harriet and Charlie turned their heads and pushed back their hair to show theirs. Bentam pointed to his own, hidden by the hair and top hat.
"Good," Mittie said with a nod. "We'll stay connected to the same frequency 'til you and Charlie leave during the intermission, Trace. Since you'll be farther from the gear's transmitter," she continued, pointing to a hidden pocket on her dress, "the connection will prob'ly be a tad spotty."
"So then we connect to a private frequency, correct?" Tracey asked.
Mittie nodded. "The rest of us will stay and wait for the signal. Make sure that you connect to the main frequency when you do that. Bentam and I have the steamweapons, so we'll be on standy if you need us over at the Baldgrass Theatre."
"The theatre is but a five-minute walk from here, so it should be no issue for us to reach," Bentam added.
"Ok, so we check Baldgrass, find Mrs. Pinot, then go to her home, right?" Charlie asked.
"Spot on," Mittie confirmed.
"And then we begin our search for Mr. Porter," Tracey said.
"Right," Mitie replied. "And since Harriet and Charlie know her home so well, we should have no problem finding him."
"Sounds like a plan!" Harriet cheerfully said.
"The performance is about to start, let's go inside," Bentam said. They joined the crowd filtering into Stateshire Theatre.
Inside, the ceilings were encrusted with ornate gold, patches of fine art painted between. The chandelier caught the glittering details and illuminated the brilliant gold that followed down the walls. The carpet was a lush red, muting the crowd's murmurs to a pleasant hum. They weaved through the crowd, made their way through ornate wooden doors, and down the theatre's aisle. Down they went, past the hard wooden economy chairs, the slightly more comfortable economy chairs (equipped with steam-powered binoculars), and the standard plush chairs, before stopping beside a row of luscious, red velvet seats that were as encrusted in gold as the ceilings. They filed into the row.
In front of the first row was a golden railing, blocking guests from the drop to the orchestra pit below. Slightly above that was the stage, just low enough so that the front row had the optimal view, and not so high that it couldn't be seen.
"Polished chrome!" Charlie said in awe as he sunk in the seat.
"It feels like clouds!" Harriet sighed.
Mittie beamed at the stage. "I can't wait for it to start!"
"You won't have to wait long," Bentam replied from his end seat as the audience filed into their respective seating. The gas lights dimmed.
Behind herself, Tracey felt someone tap her shoulder. She quickly turned, startled. "I'm sorry, ma'am, didn't mean to disturb you," an older woman whispered, her mouth curled into a small smile. "But I would just like to compliment you on your family!"
"My...family?" Tracey echoed.
"Oh, yes! Your two children and husband, and oh! Look at her hair, how lovely," she said, admiring Mittie's hairstyle. "Is she a family friend of yours?"
"Ah...," poor Tracey sounded, uncertain of what to say.
"Yes, she is," Bentam said, turning around as well. "She's a very good friend of ours and we wanted to treat her to a performance of Jon Starr."
"Marvelous!" the woman gasped. "You have very good friends," she said with a friendly tap on Mittie's shoulder.
"Oh...thank you kindly!" Mittie haltingly said.
"Enjoy the show," she replied, settling back in her seat.
Tracey turned back to look at Mittie and down the row to Charlie, Harriet, and Bentam. "So we're a family now?" she whispered as the orchestra began to tune their instruments.
Harriet looked enthusiastically between the two of them. "Are we really?" she asked.
"If it helps our narrative," Bentam evenly said, his gaze fixed on the empty stage. "The guise of being a family makes us less suspicious, don't you think Ms. Higgenbottom?"
Tracey grit her teeth at the sharp tone of his saying her name, but said nothing. "Look, they're startin'!" Mittie said, excitedly tapping Tracey's arm.
The tuning of the instruments fell silent, and a quiet buzz of anticipation filled the room. Even Tracey could feel the tinge of excitement as the lights dimmed even more. The curtains raised.
There, in the center of the stage, with the spotlight shining upon him, was Jon Starr. He wore the same attire that Tracey had seen him wear when they last met. He stood at the center of the stage, his eyes fixed to a point past the audience. Slowly, silently, the music began. "Is the summer's eve the time of utmost joy?" he quavered. "For I..." Jon paused and leveled his eyes to the crowd. "I find it as the time of utmost sorrow. Of whence one dizzily stumbles upon lines... of grief and betrayal, joy in the dawn yet...shunned by friends and called shameful by the day's end. By the summer's heat and the sweat of the sun, once words were given it could not be undone. Never was forgotten, never forgiven. Yet in the summer's eve—ah— cries of remorse then."
With those words, the curtains closed once more, and the audience broke into polite applause. "Those were the opening lines," Mittie whispered, leaning over to Tracey. Tracey noticed her eyes were watering.
"Are you quite alright?" she whispered back in alarm.
"Of course! He's just so...touching! O-oh," Mittie straightened, her attention to the stage once more. "they're starting with the first act."
The first act began with similar lengthy speeches, dramatic acting, and of course, many tears. Jon Starr, fittingly named, outshined the rest of the actors with his natural charisma and acting skills. Before Tracey knew it, the curtains fell and the lights brightened once more. "How'd ya enjoy it?" Mittie asked excitedly, turning to everyone.
"I've never seen anything like it!" Tracey said, still staring at the closed curtains.
"He was wonderful," sighed Harriet.
"Was alright," shrugged Charlie. "Kinda lengthy if ya ask me."
"Exceptional as always," Bentam said approvingly.
"I loved it," Mittie said. "To think we got front row!"
"I do think that he looked at us as the curtains were closing, though," Tracy said, standing. "I think we need to leave before the intermission ends. Come along, Charlie."
Tracey guided Charlie from the aisle, before being stopped by the older woman once more. "Really, a lovely family!" she said, shaking Tracey's hand.
"Y-yes, thank you—."
"Do tell me, do you live here in Mondon?"
"Well—."
"I would love to invite your family and friend for tea someday! Please, let's sit and talk about the performance and our favorite parts!"
"What's with this lady?" Charlie quietly hissed to Tracey. Tracey discreetly kicked his foot.
"They were just heading to the powder room," Bentam said, stepping behind her. "But us three here would be more than happy to talk with you."
Appeased, the woman sat in her seat and began to engage in conversation with them. Bentam subtly nodded to Tracey, and the two made their escape out of Stateshire Theatre.
"Testing the steamgear," Tracey said as they stepped outside. "Can you hear us?"
"We can hear you loud n' clear, Trace!" Mittie cheerfully replied. "I'm in the phone booth right now, seemed to be the safest place to wait to hear from you. I'll keep this on, and we're all listening. Just let us know when you find Mrs. Pinot and we'll see ourselves out."
"Got it," Tracey replied.
"Well, now that that's out of the way...," Charlie said. He suddenly pulled out Mr. Porter's book from his shirt.
"Charlie! Were you carrying that the whole time?" Tracey gasped.
"Sure! The ruffles did a good job hidin' this!" he cheerfully said. "Didn't want to be bored on the walk over, y'see?"
"No, I don't."
"I'm going to try open this an' see if there're any more clues that we could use on the way to Mrs. Pinot's," he continued, ignoring Tracey's quip. The two slipped into the evening, away from the lights of Stateshire Theatre and towards the lights of Baldgrass Theatre.
⚙️⚙️⚙️⚙️
By the time they reached Baldgrass Theatre, Charlie had stuffed the book back into his shirt in frustration and claimed that "it's impossible to open!"
"Check if your steamgear's working, Charlie," Tracey said before they opened the doors.
The two took a few quick seconds before determining that they needed to connect to the private frequency.
"We're signing off, everyone," Tracey said into the piece.
"Ok, be safe," came back Mittie's delayed response.
"Let's go," Tracey said as she swung the doors open.
The atmosphere of Baldgrass Theatre was starkly different from the atmosphere of Stateshire Theatre. Although it was ornate, it was noticeably simpler than Stateshire, and the lights were too dim to see far. Perhaps the most noticeable difference was the appearance of the audience.
Their attire was far less formal than those of the other theatre, some even there in work uniforms. Tracey and Charlie looked at their own outfits. "Tracey, we stand out like a sore thumb," he said.
"We do," she agreed.
Surprisingly, however, the guests were not focused as much on Tracey and Charlie as they had feared they would. Instead, they were gathered around what looked like a ticketmaster, angrily yelling at him. "What do you mean Jon Starr isn't here yet?" a man roared. "The performance was supposed to start at 8!"
"I was here from 6 in the morning!" another person yelled. "Gimmie back me money!"
"Can't believe I fell for one a' these scam performances!"
"I'm sorry," the ticketmaster calmly replied. "No. Refunds."
"Oy! I say that we ransack this place and get every penny back!"
"Riot!"
"We won't stand for this!"
"Now now," the ticketmaster interjected. "Let's not riot shall we. I promise, if you refrain from rioting until at least...hm...10, you will see Jon Starr and each get an autograph."
The crowd broke into a humming murmur.
"...really?" someone finally replied.
"Yes, but not so much as a peep from any of you," he said. "We apologize for any inconveniences this may have caused."
The audience parted, disgruntled. Tracey leaned over to Charlie. "Charlie, be careful. I'll check the powder room, and you check this foyer. Check the crowds, and if nothing, we'll go into the auditorium."
Charlie nodded and was off. Tracey slipped into the powder room and scanned the women within. All of them were huddled in front of the mirror, quietly chattering to each other. A quick scan proved that Mrs. Pinot was not one of them. As Tracey turned to leave, however, someone called her back. "You there, miss!" one of the women said, waving to her. "That's a pretty dress you got there."
"Thank you."
"We're talking about how we're going to get back our money. You look like you might have influence."
"No...no I do not—,"
"Sure you do," another one interrupted. "With a getup like that, anyone would have influence."
"I'm just looking for a friend."
"Of influence?"
"...no." Tracey sighed. "Look, just call the constables if you want your money back."
The women broke into chortles of laughter. "And get ourselves arrested? No thank ya, miss!"
"Excuse me," Tracey said as she slipped out, closing the door on the cackling.
"Fond her?" Charlie said, weaving through the crowd towards Tracey.
"...no," she replied.
"I actually glanced in the auditorium. There wasn't anybody in there, 'cept for one man." Charlie frowned. "He kept askin' me where the refreshments were. Kinda scary y'know? Like he was gonna riot on me if I didn't give him any refreshments. Do I look like a server to you?"
"No," Tracey affirmed. "Everyone here is a bit...strange."
The two rounded the corner and went down a dark hallway. "Up ahead!" Charlie said, pointing.
There, up ahead was a door marked "BACKSTAGE—STAFF ONLY".
"It looks like it's opened," Tracey said, reaching to open the door. Upon trying to open the door, however, she was met with resistance. "Why won't it open further?"
The door remained ajar, with no amount of budging or pushing to open it. "Let me slip in and see what I can do," Charlie offered.
"I don't like the idea of that, Charlie." Tracey scarcely said those words before he was struggling to get in.
"This book," he grumbled, taking it out from his shirt and thrusting it to Tracey. "Hold this for me, will ya?"
"Charlie, wait—."
Charlie slipped through the gap in the door. "Huh," he said. "The lock's on the hinge, Trace! Neva' seen this before."
He tried several more moments of jiggling and shaking before sighing.
"If I had my lockpickin' kit on me, I could'a done this. I could barely fit the book with me as it is with this rusty outfit."
"Charlie," Tracey said, warningly. "Let's just go. I'm sure we can find another way in."
"I think we'll get caught if we try any otha' way to get back here Trace..." Charlie replied. "And this might be our only chance at findin' Mrs. Pinot."
"...Ok," Tracey finally relented. "But don't do anything risky!"
"No I won't!" he said, waving out a hand before disappearing deeper into the area.
"What do you see?" Tracey asked after a few moments.
"Nothing so far," Charlie said. "But then again, there's a lot of rooms. Let me check down...oh, no it's just a dead end."
"It would be much faster if we were both in there," Tracey lamented.
"Lemme check this room—gears! All these costumes! Wonda' if I could change my out—."
"Stay focused, Charlie." Tracey said. She sighed, looking around at the dismal hallway. She could hear the crowd beginning to riot again out in the foyer. "They're getting pretty unhappy out there."
"I'm hurrying!" he replied. "Oh, a pirate's hat!"
"Charlie, are you still in there?"
"Sorry, sorry!" Charlie said. "It's really big in here, though."
"What makes you think that she'd be in a costume room?"
"I dunno...maybe for a nice...hat?"
Tracey sighed. "If only we could have found a key..."
"Hold on, I think I hear her! I'm hearing some voices 'round the corner."
"You do?"
"Yeah—," Charlie paused. "Wait, Tracey, I think they're coming this way."
"What?"
"Lemme hide."
Tracey could hear some rummaging noises.
"Charlie? What's that sound?"
"Tryn'a find a good hindin' place. These costumes in this area are kinda sparse."
"Are you hidden?"
"Yes," he replied, even quieter than before. "I hope. Oh, that's not Mrs. Pinot..."
"Who is it?"
"It's—." Charlie abruptly stopped. From her end, Tracey picked up the sound of heavy footsteps getting louder. It stopped.
"Will you look at that," a gruff voice sounded. "Got ourselves a hide'way!"
"The cook!" Tracey gasped.
"And what's this here?" the voice grew louder and the mic suddenly muffled with sounds of struggle. "A little steam talker? Isn't that just the polished chrome," the cook boomed. It sounded as if his mouth were right on the speaker. "Hellooo, who's there?"
Tracey held her breath.
"Neva mind that. What do you think we should do with the boy, Hassan?"
"Don't you think the funhouse sounds like a wonderful idea, Rollo?" Tracey heard Jon's butler say, his voice somewhat more distant.
Rollo chuckled. "Of course. Well, boy—."
"Let go of me!" Charlie yelled.
"Charlie!" Tracey shouted.
"Oh, we got a voice!" Rollo said, his voice once again loud. "Look here miss, we've got the boy. Drop whatever you're sniffing 'round in, and we might let 'im go."
"Lay a finger on Charlie, Rollo, and—," Tracey fumed.
"And what? It is too late," he said with a triumphant laugh. "And, it's Mr. Nicolson to you."
"Rollo Nicholson...? So you are RN!"
"Whatever ye mean by that...RN are my initials, yes?"
"That means that—."
"Look here, I'm not here to chit-chat or solve some puzzle with you or whatever. I've got places to go, people to see. All the best with...whatever, you're up to."
"Wait, what about Char—!"
Tracey was interrupted by a loud crunch before hearing sickening static come from the other side. She sat for a few seconds. Another kidnapping? she thought in disbelief.
Numbly, she turned the dial on the device to connect to the main frequency.
"Charlie's gone," she said, "They got him."