Maggie thrust back her shoulders and lifted her chin. Before she could say anything that she might have come to regret, Philip took her arm and hurried her away, placating the seamstresses by calling back over one shoulder, “Mr. McKenna has left orders for Miss Chamberlin to be provided with an entire wardrobe. You might want to consider suitable colors and fabrics.”

Giving Philip a sidelong look, Maggie stopped in her tracks. “An entire wardrobe?” she whispered, awed.

Philip gave her a gentle pull to get her moving again, and soon they were entering a small office backstage, near the dressing rooms. “That surprises you?” he asked politely, closing the door behind them. “You’re his mistress, aren’t you?”

Maggie went a dull red. She supposed she was Reeve’s mistress, but it was role she didn’t like playing. “We’re to be married as soon as Reeve gets back to Sydney,” she said. “He promised.”

Philip was behind his desk, fussing with a stack of papers and politely averting his eyes from Maggie’s obvious discomfort. “Well, well,” he said without a shred of conviction in his voice.

“You don’t believe me?” Maggie challenged.

At last Philip met her gaze directly. “I think it’s unlikely that Mr. McKenna would permit any woman he took as his wife to pursue a career,” he said.

Maggie felt as though she’d just been punctured by a pin; all the spirit went out of her, like the air from a balloon. “Oh,” she said.

Philip’s look was a kindly one. “Maggie—”

“It’s all right,” she said too hastily, spreading her hands. “A-am I to have a dressing room?”

“Only the best,” Philip replied with an exuberant smile. Obviously, he was relieved that the subject of Maggie’s relationship with his employer had been dropped. “Come along—I’ll show you.”

The dressing room was spacious indeed, with gas-powered lights surrounding an enormous mirror and a bathroom of its own. There was space for an enormous collection of costumes and even a chaise longue, upholstered in dark blue velvet, for resting between rehearsals and performances.

Maggie was impressed, but she was also unnerved. This dressing room, she was certain, had belonged to Loretta Craig. Out with the old mistress, in with the new.

“I’ll give you a few minutes alone, then send in the costume people. Would you like some tea or something, Maggie?”

Philip was being so kind; Maggie had almost forgotten that it was his fault that she was in Australia in the first place. If not for him, she’d probably still be working in London. She shook her head. “Nothing, thank you.”

The moment the door had closed behind Philip, Maggie dashed into the bathroom and threw up.

Nerves, she thought to herself as she rinsed her mouth and splashed water over her face. Just nerves. Nothing to be alarmed about.