The Ringmaster's Wife (33 page)

“Why didn't you run? There are men everywhere who would have come to your aid. Jerry and Owen are always tinkering with wagons and things at the back of the lot. You could have gone to them.”

“Colin, I tried. I was hit from behind.” She shook her head, trembling washing over her like a wave. “And I wanted to fight back, but I didn't know who or what had hit me.”

Colin swallowed hard, willing like wildfire that anger wouldn't get the best of him. At least, not until he learned who was responsible.

“What else do you remember?” He encouraged her to keep going with a brush of his index finger over her hand that held the blanket over her shoulders.

“I shouldn't have been walking through the back of the lot alone. It was stupid. I'd gone to check on Ingénue before she was loaded on the train, and I was trying to save time by cutting behind all of the activity. I wanted to get back and board without any fuss of having to ask someone to go with me.”

“But why would someone need to go with you?”

Unless you were already afraid . . .

The answer popped into his mind.

“What are you not telling me, Rose?”

“I didn't want you to worry,” she whispered.

“I'm more than worried now.”

“It's just—” She paused. Embattled. Looking back at him with as much pain as he'd ever seen. “I thought you'd send me home if you knew. It's why I considered going back to Easling Park at Christmas. It seemed easier for everyone if I did,” she whispered, tears clouding the green of her eyes. “But I couldn't bear the thought of leaving . . . my life here.”

“What are you saying?”

She swallowed hard. “You were not wrong. Someone does want me out of the show.”

Colin's shoulders slumped at her admission. He dropped his head, running a hand through his hair, then exhaled in frustration. His eyes searched her face, begging her to refute it.

“It started with my costume the first performance. Remember? At the Garden?”

“But I thought you told me that was nothing. Things get damaged all the time.”

She shook her head. “It was done on purpose.”

“How do you know?”

“Because the same day you gave me the posters at the Cà d'Zan, I received another note threatening me if I stayed on for the 1928 season. A cut shred of the fabric was inside.”

“You should have told me, Rose! How do you expect me to keep you safe if I don't know what's going on under my nose?”

“You don't have to keep me safe. I can take care of myself.”

He did a double take, feeling the sting of her words deeper than he'd thought possible.

“Not by the looks of you right now. For God's sake—you're bleeding, Rose,” he fired back, not giving her an inch of leeway. “Where are the other notes?”

“They're in my tent.”

“I need to see them,” he answered automatically, sounding all business. “And I'll report this to the local authorities. But I can't do much more to help if I don't know what's going on around here. You keep things like that from me and you put not only yourself at risk, but every person and animal in this show. Rose, I don't need to tell you what could have happened to you tonight.”

“I know.” Tears formed on her lashes. “But I don't think they meant any real harm. They seemed to want to frighten me.”

“They?”

She nodded. “I heard men behind me. Two or three, maybe. And one of them whispered something and that's the last I remember.”

“What did he say?”

Her voice hitched ever so slightly, but she whispered, “I couldn't make it out . . . Just footsteps. Voices.”

Rose's bottom lip finally give way, and her eyes released the tears she'd been fighting to hold at bay. Colin responded by reaching out, resting the warmth of his hand on hers.

“I hope to God it's not who I think it is. But trust me, I'm going to find out,” he vowed, wanting to show the same solidarity he had with promises on the first day they'd met. “I don't know how yet, but we'll make sense of this.”

“But it doesn't make any sense.”

“I'm going to the authorities,” he began, causing an automatic shaking of her head. “But we'll have to keep this quiet until we know more. Can you do that?”

Relief was medicating in the moment.

They had no answers. And she must have been on edge for weeks—months, even. Why? Because of Bella? Because Rose wasn't certain she could trust him?

Colin exhaled. It felt like a sword to the chest.

Rose nodded. Weakly. He knew she'd given every effort to accept his promise. Then, finally, when the white-knuckled grip she'd kept on his hand proved ineffective, she fell against his shoulder, burying her face against his collar.

Colin cupped a hand to the nape of her neck, holding her still. Letting the release of tears come.

“Rose? Do you want to leave? Tell me the truth.”

“No.” The answer reinforced by a firm shake of her head against his neck.

“Good. That's all I needed to hear. So promise me one thing?”

“If I can,” she answered, her lips moving against the linen of his shirt.

“I can't do what I need to if I'm worried about you. Until this is sorted out, I need you to go back to the ring stock tent with Owen and wait for me there after your performances. I'll walk you back to your tent every night. And I'll make sure we have trusted eyes on you at all times. If I can't be there, then Jerry or Owen will. I'll even conscript Ward into security detail if I have to, though I worry he'd give up his post if it ran over into mealtime.”

She gave a faint smile. “It's not necessary, Colin. You have enough to do without watching over me.”

“It is necessary, Rose.” He leaned back to look in her eyes. “I need to know you're safe. And I need your promise that you'll do this for me. If anything happens on the lot, you'll go back to that tent and wait for me.”

“If you really want me to.”

“I need you to,” he countered, the words soft. Entreating her to listen.

“Then yes. I will.”

It was the only promise Rose had made to him that Colin feared she couldn't keep.

The threats were real.

And Colin had to consider who, of the circus family all around, was behind them. He now knew that if someone wanted Rose out of the show, they'd stop at nothing to accomplish that goal.

“Come on then. Let's get you to the train.”

He helped her stand, bracing her elbow until she nodded that she was okay.

“I don't want Bella punished for this.”

“Bella?” Rose's statement could have knocked him over with the brush of a feather. “What about Bella?”

The first thought in his mind was,
Why ever not?
Followed closely by every scenario in which he prayed it wasn't Bella Rossi's doing. He didn't want to imagine a star in their show could be so calculating. So callous and cruel as to strike a woman from behind.

“What are you saying, Rose? That you know it's her?”

“Not for sure. But I can't see it any other way. The first note I received, Colin . . .” Rose stared back, regret illuminating her eyes. “It was written in Italian.”

1928

P
ORT
H
URON
, M
ICHIGAN

Storm clouds rolled in across the vast fields in which they'd put up their tent city.

The sky was more than menacing, with a straight line of purple-gray that spanned the city's horizon and added a wide shadow behind the tips of the tall trees. Coupled with the kick-up of cool wind off Lake Huron and speckles of raindrops that sent intermittent pricks against Rosamund's skin, it created a sinister backdrop for the impending evening performance.

They were minutes away from show time.

Rosamund and Owen stood in the backyard area behind the tent, which was reserved for performers in the show, taking in the scene from the alley hidden away from the public eye.

The entire backyard area seemed shrouded in a blanket of darkness that had fallen without warning. The sun wasn't set to go down for another couple of hours, yet it was far too dark already to signal anything but a deluge headed right for them.

“I don't like the looks of it,” Owen said, reading Rosamund's thoughts.

The horses, too, seemed uneasy. They picked up their hooves,
jostling about as if they were taking turns stomping at ants on the ground.

“Shhh. Shhh,” she soothed, taking Ingénue by the bit. “Calm down, lady.”

“I think we should prepare for this,” Owen whispered, his eyes scanning first the line of ominous clouds, then the span of the tent city before them.

“You're thinking of the people.”

He nodded. “The animals too. Crowds can be directed. But big cats and elephants can be tricky to manage on the best of days. Even trickier when storms roll in. I'd rather we not take any chances with them.”

“I can already tell with the horses,” Rosamund muttered, adjusting a surer grip on Ingénue's bit. “They're far too anxious. I wonder if we should call it off tonight.”

“A little late to cancel, seeing as the show's already begun. But it'd be Colin's call to shut things down now. You seen him?”

Rosamund scanned the bustling back lot, looking for their boss's mop of dark hair standing out against the crowd.

“No. Last I saw him was more than an hour ago. He was pulled away to deal with something on the Midway. An altercation with some boys from town, so he shoved off to handle it. Said he'd stop in to check on us after the performance.”

“We ought to find him. And soon.”

Owen's forehead revealed a slight crease at the brow, and hard lines chiseled the skin around his stern mouth.

“You don't think we have that long.”

He shifted his glance her way, shaking his head. “We've seen storms on the lot before, but never like this. That sky is black as death.”

Rosamund swallowed hard, not liking his choice of words. “Okay. What should we do?”

“Batten down the hatches, I'd say.”

It looked like they already were.

All around her, the back lot bustled.

Rosamund saw Jerry trot by with a couple of men in tow. They'd obviously found the machinist to work out some problem with the circus diner concession wagon nearby, its goods quickly being caught up in the mounting gusts of wind. The men battled together, working to pull down the raised panels on the back while the concessioner tried to keep his stacks of popcorn bags from flying away.

Across the yard she could see Minnie's costume wagon and changing tents, the costume mistress gathering up brightly colored taffeta gowns, plumed hats, and sequined leotards while stealing glances up at the line of thick clouds. Clowns, too, were gathering their props and pulling down the rolled sides of their tents, should the sky open up while they were waiting for their part in the evening performance. A train of elephants ambled by, their trainers casting nervous glances at the storm clouds overhead. The lumbering beasts didn't look as surefooted as usual, and that was always cause for concern.

Rosamund couldn't see the lines at the main entrance from where they stood, as it was on the other side of the Big Top. She could, however, hear the generous roar of the crowd inside the tent. If they hadn't sold out that day, they'd come very close to it.

“How many do we have tonight?”

Owen clicked his tongue against his teeth with a
tsk tsk
sound, then said, “By all accounts, we're full up.”

The Big Top could accommodate up to fifteen thousand people.

God help us . . .

She shook her head. How could they find shelter for that many?

“Colin needs to know about this.”

“He already does, Rosamund. All he has to do is look up at
the sky. That man is two steps ahead of everything concerning this show. But I'd feel better if we were certain as to what he wants done.” Owen ran his hands over the nose of the horse nearest him. “We have protocol for this, but I'm not at liberty to set the wheels into motion without his say-so.”

“So what do we do?”

“Get these animals under cover. Now.”

“What do you say we get the horses in the back entrance of the Big Top? There's enough room. Once the flyers go into the last part of their set, we can march into the ring a little early. That way, we'll free up room for the elephants behind us, and no one will have to be left in a downpour. They'll still hear the storm, but at least they won't have to see what's happening. That would buy us some time, wouldn't it?”

“Good idea. I'd feel better knowing the elephants weren't watching the sky.”

Rosamund nodded and pulled the horses toward the Big Top, just as thunder rolled in a gentle rumble overhead.

“I wish we weren't either.”

T
HE
B
IG
T
OP WAS JUST AS LIVELY AS EVER, WITH ROARING LAUGHTER
as the clowns ran through their act.

Rosamund sat on Ingénue's back, scanning the crowd. She looked from the span of people to the openings in the tent in the back and the darkening sky behind them. It had begun to rain by then, a steady crying down of water that charged the atmosphere with growing anxiety. She felt a prickle in the hair on the back of her neck, as if a blast of cool air had just swept in to tease it.

She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, trying to keep Ingénue as calm as possible.

A sharp crack of lightning shook the canvas vault overhead, making the crowd gasp in unison. It seemed they'd been oblivious to the onslaught of rain and wind up to that moment. But any oblivion shattered after that. The air began to sizzle with nervous energy as the sky sent another crack of lightning to earth. And then another, the last one stirring the horses enough that several of them reared back.