House of Mirrors (26 page)

Jonah frowned. “How could he manage that?”

“I think he himself dived into the lake, dragged her out, and got rid of the evidence. He is—was a strong man, Edward. And perhaps he paid off anyone who might have noticed unusual marks on her wrists, legs, or neck. I don’t know how he managed it. My family has never been afraid to use its considerable resources to protect itself.” The scorn in his voice was even stronger than his obvious pain. “At any rate, the cause of her death was deemed an accident. The story was that Miss Thornton had been imbibing champagne and wasn’t used to the stuff. A late night walk, a stumble into the lake. That sort of rot.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jonah said and wished he could think of something else—something useful—to say.

Rafe didn’t appear to notice he’d spoken. “Once that verdict of accidental death was delivered, my mother tracked me down and begged me to return home. The unpleasantness—she blamed me for that, told me it had started with that note to the police—was over and all was forgiven.” He laughed again. “I couldn’t return. I never intended to go back. But now I must.”

“Do you ever regret leaving?”

“No. I do have some regrets, though. In New York a few years back, I happened across an article in a British paper about the dangers of horses. It mentioned a housemaid found dead, apparently from a horse’s kick. She was killed in our stables. Was it a horse or my brother? I’ll never be sure, but I knew I should have said more.” He drew in a shuddering sigh. “I should have told someone in England the whole story—our family lawyer, perhaps—so a watch could be kept on Edward. But here is the rest of it, the rest of the unpleasant truth. When that man in the Stetson appeared and told me my brother was dead, do you know what my strongest response was?”

Jonah shook his head.

“I was struck with grief. You’d think that with all I knew about him, I’d be relieved to know he was gone. But hell, no; I missed him. That sad excuse of a man, a murderer, and I missed him. It is pathetic, eh?”

He shook. It took Jonah, stupefied by drink and the story, almost a minute to understand that Rafe was sobbing. He wrapped his arms even tighter around Rafe and murmured comforting words, nonsensical phrases about how love was never wrong, about how there could be no right answer in such a terrible situation, about how God understood.

This couldn’t be what had made Rafe determined to treat their affection as trivial, could it? It seemed absurd to Jonah to think that the burden of this fearful story kept Rafe from allowing anyone close, but perhaps that was the reason he had refused to love. Perhaps telling the tale would break the spell. For the first time, he murmured the words aloud. “I love you, Rafe.”

But the other’s response was to stiffen even more in his arms.

“No. You don’t understand,” Rafe said. “In my family, we-we don’t truly love. We can’t. There’s only selfishness.” He tried to push him off, but Jonah held on like a limpet and continued the soothing words. Now he didn’t speak of his own love, but told Rafe about what a good man he was, described his loyalty, his friendship. “You are a fine person, Rafe,” he said for the hundredth time, then stopped because Rafe spoke again.

His voice was indistinct because of the sobs racking him and because his head was pressed to Jonah’s shoulder. “We—my family… I love the glitter and show, but not real life. I can’t face real life.”

Jonah wanted to cry too and try to comfort him with another barrage of reassuring words. But Rafe’s tears still flowed, and his despair didn’t abate. Jonah thought of Mindy and realized she’d be the best person to imitate.

“Would you shut your yap?” Jonah said. “Grimstone—or whatever your name is—do you honestly think what happened here with us, with Sam, with even poor Lancelot, wasn’t
real
? You might have only been part of a carnival, but would you ever be moron enough to call Claudia an unreal woman? Hell no. Everything here is as real as pain or love, you ass.”

Rafe’s sobs under his shoulder became half laughter. “Oh Jonah, do you know that was a pitch-perfect imitation of Mindy? God, I don’t know what I will do without you.”

“Huh,” Jonah said, but supposed this moment wasn’t the time to point out that he didn’t
have
to do without him. He rolled off Rafe’s body when he understood the storm had ended. He tried to move away, but Rafe grunted and hauled him close. “No. Stay.”

Jonah didn’t remind him it was his bed.

He no longer felt drunk, but the giddiness remained. He stroked Rafe’s hair and listened to his breath grow slow and deep as he fell asleep. Once Rafe was snoring softly, he burrowed even closer. Never mind the heat of the late August night. He needed to feel and smell as much of Rafe as he could.

He’d been given a gift with that confession—evidence of Rafe’s complete trust. Though he’d stopped believing this newfound closeness meant they had a future together, he’d accept the gift gratefully. Tomorrow he could press for more. Should Rafe disappear from his life, certainly he’d curse him soundly. But he vowed he would never disparage tonight’s closeness, no matter how temporary, by calling it an illusion. That was Rafe’s flaw, not his.

Jonah sighed and wished he could wake Rafe. He wanted to do more than hold him. He longed for a kiss, and there were so many more questions. What sort of nobility was he? What would he do with his days—and nights—once he returned to England? Would he ever be part of a show again? Rafe was a showman to his core. Could he simply banish that part of himself?

Of course he could, but what a sad reflection on the world that he’d have to give up passion and love to go into that family of…influence.

Jonah felt sorry for himself at the moment, because chances were he’d soon never see Rafe again. But he felt sorrier for Rafe, who’d leave the life he loved and that suited him to return to the empty heart of his family. And worst of all, he seemed convinced that emptiness dwelled in his own heart. He hadn’t said the word “love” back to Jonah, but Jonah didn’t need it for now. He understood.

He didn’t remember falling asleep.

When he woke, his mouth and stomach felt as if he’d dug up and swallowed poor old Lancelot. His spirits dived lower because, even before he reached for Rafe, he knew he was gone. The wagon felt entirely abandoned, empty of life.

Jonah hauled himself up and went to the door. The sun pounded down mercilessly, but he could squint into it and see the horses grazing. Chaucer was gone.

A “Signortori” daughter was doing cartwheels across the clearing. Most children would throw themselves into it; she was slow, methodical, and beautiful. Jonah waited, not wanting to interrupt her practice session. Her older brother watched and corrected her mistakes.

“Excuse me, but have you seen Mr. Grimstone?” Jonah asked when she stopped for a minute and wiped her hands on her front, leaving a smear of dirt.

“He took off, my ma says.” Her voice was far too loud, and it slammed into Jonah’s head and ricocheted around in there.

He winced. “Thanks.”

“You look like crap, Mr. Talbot,” her brother said.

“Doesn’t your mother tell you not to use words like crap?”

The boy grinned. “Maybe. But at least I didn’t say you look like shit, did I?”

“There is that,” he said. He nodded, winced again, and gently closed the door.

He made his way around Sam’s wagon—he’d always think of it as Sam’s. No note, no sign that Rafe had even been there, holding him through the night. He looked down at his shoulder but saw no sign of Rafe’s tears. It would have been nice if there’d been something.

He sat down on the oversize chair and stared off into space. A future without Rafe. He hated the thought but forced himself to push through the panic and then the sorrow. A future without Rafe.

He wasn’t going to come through the other side of the burden of sorrow this morning, but he still would make plans. New York, he decided—once the season ended.
Jonah
wasn’t going to abandon the show.

But come October, he’d try his hand at real acting. He loved taking the speeches and making them his, letting his body and voice become someone or something else.

He closed his eyes and gave in to the misery of loss and the pounding headache for a minute, but not too long. He had to drink water, find coffee. There had to be ways to drive off the effects of the night before. Parinsky would know. There was work to be done. In the carnival, there was always work waiting.

He allowed himself a minute to think about his life and what he should do with it. New York. If he was good enough—if he could act in New York—well… They had theaters in England, didn’t they.

He pushed up from the chair and wobbled into the future.

A future without Rafe
. The words mocked him again.

Chapter Twenty-three

Parinsky sat on the steps of his patent medicine wagon. He was pale and in need of a shave. He grumbled a hello at Jonah, and without being asked, held up a silver flask.

Jonah shuddered. “Never again.”

“It’s not just the hair of the dog,” Parinsky snarled. “Drink it.”

Wordlessly Jonah took the flask. Whatever it contained burned his throat, but the world looked less dark around the edges after two swallows.

He sat down next to Parinsky, still feeling infinitely weary. “What is our schedule?”

“A show tonight. You ready?” Parinsky sounded dubious.

He nodded. Of course. “Mindy will have to cobble something to replace Miss Jamie.”

“An animal act,” Parinsky said. “Hate those damn animals. But she left two of her dogs and, of course, the ponies behind. Some sort of artiste is that, leaving behind the animals it takes forever to train. One of Signortori’s kids—the oldest boy—is off practicing already.”

He rubbed at his unshaved face and yawned. “Once Grimstone returns, we’ll head to our next destination.”

Jonah’s heart did a slow flip, just as spectacular as any carnival artiste. “Grimstone?”

“Sure. Last night our advanceman was beaten to a pulp and tossed out—we got to do something. Someone has to go to the next town. Grimstone is the best bet, and he can make sure Treanor didn’t screw things up intentionally. With all the nonsense like too many canceled bookings this season, it wouldn’t be a big surprise. Grimstone’s gonna have to spend a day or two there. Maybe we’ll meet him; maybe he’ll come back. Mindy hasn’t bothered to tell me that.”

Rafe hadn’t left forever. He’d only gone to the next stop. “But he was on his way—he has to go back to England,” Jonah said.

“He said he’d send a telegram and give the show another two weeks to recover. Makes sense to me. If his fiefdom or earldom or whatever hasn’t fallen apart in the months since his brother dropped off the twig, it can wait another couple of weeks. Or a fortnight as he’d say.” Parinsky gave another click of disgust and got to his feet. “Got more batches to brew. Shame I never got to hypnotize you after all. I wonder what secrets you didn’t want me to find out.”

Jonah laughed, but he would have laughed at anything at that moment. The world had real color again. Rafe was coming back, if only for a short while.

* * *

The evening went beautifully. Mindy drafted Parinsky to be master of ceremonies, and he relished the role. Sitting on his perch, Jonah could occasionally hear his deep bellow across the crowds.

Jonah had thought the treachery of Treanor and Jamie would cast a pall—it only brought the remaining artistes and other showmen together.

After the show closed for the night, Mindy banged on Sam’s wagon’s door. “Talbot, you lazy slacker, you in bed?”

“Of course not. I’m hungry. Care to share some of my food?”

She refused to go inside Sam’s old wagon, so Jonah came outside to listen to her report. They ate the sandwiches he’d made as she told him about the new animal act. “That ‘Signortori’ brat is an artiste to his toenails. What a pro. One of the damn dogs lost interest and jumped down from its pony. Goddamn thing trotted off into the crowd. Did Junior panic or try to pretend nothing was going on? No sir. He made it a comic turn. Now if only I could find a guy who could do half of Treanor’s tricks with a soft felt hat, and maybe rig a gaff or two—he was an evil son of a bitch at the games—we’d be sitting pretty.” She rubbed her hands together and smiled at nothing in particular. “That’ll show those bastards—and Orcully too.”

“Sam would be proud.”

She sniffed and spat. “Sure,” she said. “You bet he is.”

She spotted a rube lurking at the edge of the site, trying to peer into a closed exhibit, and she strode off to do battle.

Rafe appeared during setup in the next town. Jonah caught sight of him helping unroll a canvas. For a moment their eyes met. Rafe smiled and mouthed the word hello.
Thank God Rafe is back
. It didn’t seem sacrilegious to utter that silent prayer, Jonah reflected. God was love, and this man was his embodiment of love. The simple discovery of that truth rolled through him, leaving him as flattened and breathless as that dive he’d taken off the horse.

Later he’d examine the meaning of this revelation. Joy, he expected. Relief to have found his way back to an understanding of God. But for the moment he simply raised a hand in greeting and went back to help Claudia set up the freaks’ exhibit. He sang as he pulled the curtains into place.

* * *

Rafe had two more weeks. A reprieve. A holiday.

He’d sent the telegram to England and then plunged back into work, trying to reassure the sheriff of Franklin that his shocking appearance was because he had fallen off a horse and not gotten into a bar fight. The manners and air of an upper-class Englishman seemed to impress some of the town’s fathers, but the sheriff was a tough nut even with a reasonable bribe to grease the wheels. But he’d gotten the show straightened out, posted the bills, and left discreet marks on various trees and telegraph poles for Mindy to follow. On less busy parts of the route, he marked the way with a pile of grass or leaves in the middle of the road. He smiled as he imagined telling Jonah the Gypsy word for that sort of trail—
patrin
. Jonah would silently mouth “patrin” a few times, then smile as if Rafe had given him a gift.