The Transformation of Bartholomew Fortuno: A Novel (31 page)

When Fish poked his head into the dressing room, Matina reached over and gave my arm a little pinch.

“Now what does
he
want?” she said, for a moment her old self.

“Attention, children,” Fish hollered, into the chatter of the room.
He pulled a piece of paper out from under his arm and waved it in the air like a flag. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow at lunch, take your questions and all, but for now—hep, hep.” He tacked the note onto the Notice Board with a piece of spirit gum, waggled a bony finger at us, and left as quickly as he’d come.

Ricardo reached the note first. He stretched one arm unnaturally long and snatched it before anyone else had a chance to get to it. We all knew Ricardo couldn’t read, but he pretended to be utterly engrossed, laughing and scowling until he tired of the game and passed the note on to Emma. Towering above us, she read aloud, one finger following each word as she reached it:

“ ‘On 4 July 1865, the great Phineas Taylor Barnum will celebrate the eve of the day of his auspicious birth by hosting a soirée beyond all others!’ ” Emma looked up. “That’s only a week and a half away.”

Zippy clapped his hands and spun around in his seat. The rest of us waited to hear more. However late in announcing it to us, Barnum always threw himself a birthday party. One year, he’d had the servers painted gold. Another, he’d packed the menagerie onto wagons and sent them up and down Broadway like a circus train, all the animals sporting party hats. And for his fiftieth, he’d roasted fifty giant pigs, each one branded with a number carved into its flesh, and served them on fifty silver platters pounded out in-house by an imported silversmith from Sheffield. That was a most astounding party. Many of the big impresarios of the day came. Aaron Turner, who, despite his legendary cheapness (he ran one of the first real circuses in America, reported to cost him less to show for a week than many circuses spent in a day), made an appearance, giving Barnum a full-grown ostrich. George Bailey, son-in-law and eventual heir to Aaron’s great show, brought him a hippopotamus. Even Seth Howes showed up with a dozen donkeys dressed in girls’ clothing—though Barnum didn’t seem to appreciate the joke. The war toned Barnum down a bit, and he’d canceled last year’s party entirely, claiming it was out of respect to our soldiers, though I suspected it had more to do with a paucity of finances.

The mere fact that Barnum was throwing a party wasn’t surprising. What was different was what came next. Emma held up a finger for attention, then continued to read out in her gravelly voice:

“ ‘As honored members of the Museum’s talented ensemble, your presence is requested at the behest of the generous Mr. Barnum. Come dance and drink away the separations that keep brother from brother, mother from son, and man from his blessed counterpart, woman.’ ”

He’d invited us to attend! Instead of working the whole night, amusing the bigwigs and their indistinguishable wives before slouching off to our rooms, we were to go as guests. It was unprecedented.

“Whatever will I wear?” Matina fretted, and even Alley showed a bit of enthusiasm, standing up and walking over to read the notice for himself. But I couldn’t imagine Barnum publicly treating us as peers, and I certainly couldn’t see his sacrificing the amusement of his guests to make us happy. I said nothing to my colleagues. Let them dream while they could.

“We’ll have to get the old buzzard a gift, you know.” Emma looked across the room. “Volunteers?” The room went stone quiet. “Then it’s straws.”

Nurse nodded her head, hustled off, and returned in a moment with straw from a kitchen broom. Together she and Emma measured and cut, and when they couldn’t find something to put the straws in, Emma asked Ricardo for his hat. He pulled his kitten out, turned the hat over, and we all drew straws. Matina came up short. She immediately turned to me, but I was out the door in a flash.

Just before I made it to the kitchen, Ricardo caught up to me.

“Fortuno, Mrs. Barnum wants to talk to you in fifteen minutes.”

The blood drained from my face. Here it finally was, then: dismissal.

“Did she say why?”

“Christ! How should I know?” Ricardo’s head began to wobble about like a nodding doll.

Just then, Matina came out the dining room door, her lacy shawl draped over one arm, her feet sausaged into a pair of cheap leather dancing shoes. When she stopped, she smiled at Ricardo, not me.

“Barthy? Why did you run out like that? I wanted to talk to you.”

“How lovely you look, Miss Matina,” Ricardo said, twisting backward and then bending over to gaze at her through his legs. He plucked at her skirt hem.

Matina acknowledged this liberty with a shameless tilt of her chin.

“Ricardo was just leaving.” I scowled down at him and he righted himself, bumping into me as he passed.

“Emma’s rooms. Don’t be late.”

“Ta-ta,” Matina sung after him. She turned to me, smiling. “He’s so sweet since he found that cat.”

“Why would you let that rubber creature near you? I don’t understand you at all.” Had Matina also succumbed to the will of the Barnums? That might explain her barely speaking to me for a week and now being so chatty and flirtatious. And all this with Mrs. Barnum waiting for me upstairs.

Matina stepped around and blocked the sunlight; her shadow swallowed me.

“I want you to come with me to buy a present for Barnum. Alley told me about this little curio shop in the Bowery.” Rays of light splintered past her as she shifted position. “I’ll take up a collection this week.” She gazed wistfully into the sky, one finger playing with a strand of yellow hair, and drew in a long breath. How could I say no? Most likely, I’d be fired before then anyway, and I wouldn’t have to worry about carrying it through.

“As long as it doesn’t take forever.”

“Really? You’ll go with me?” Matina gave me an overblown smile, not entirely real.

“Seven o’clock, Sunday evening,” I told her, watching Cook run down the hallway, a dead goose in her hand. “I’ll order a cab and we can leave together.”

W
HEN
I knocked on Emma’s door that night, Ricardo threw it open with a flourish.

“The scarecrow is here, madam,” he yelled over his shoulder. “The magnificent, the wondrous—blah, blah, blah. May I take your coat, sir? May I take your hat?” He made great show of pulling my hat from my head, dusting it off, and overstretching his arm to place it on top of an armoire near the door. “Wait here,” he ordered.

To steady my nerves, I tried to study Emma’s sitting room. The small space was stuffed full of large furniture—a ten-foot sofa, a bureau almost as wide, and a massive chair. I’d expected her decor to be Gothic or religious but, instead, red streamers hung from the ceiling and bowls of cut daisies overflowed every available surface.

Ricardo beckoned me into the room, and though I feared my legs would not move, I somehow advanced. Mrs. Barnum sat on the bench of an upright piano along the back wall, Emma the spy perched right next to her.

“So.” Mrs. Barnum waved me forward. “Again we meet.”

It felt as if someone had stolen all the air from the room. As I stumbled toward her, Mrs. Barnum dangled her legs off the bench, her practical shoes knocking into each other. She did not ask me to sit.

Mrs. Barnum turned to Emma. “Why don’t you go and make some tea, my dear? Mr. Fortuno and I have some difficult things to discuss.”

This wasn’t good. I threw a desperate glance at Emma, but she grunted and moved away at Mrs. Barnum’s order. It took no more than the flick of a hand for Mrs. Barnum to send Ricardo scurrying from the room as well. When she turned her attention to me, every muscle in me went rigid.

What if I ran? No, no, that wouldn’t do. If she was going to harm me in some physical way I might as well get it over with. I suspected that my work hiatus had been on her order, though sharing my bedroom with a foul-smelling tumbler would have been far worse. Had she somehow found out about my last trip to the Chinaman’s? Oh, what I wouldn’t have given for a bit of the root right then. But the root still lay buried, and Iell still needed a protector. I would simply have to find a way to appease Mrs. Barnum.

“Good afternoon, madam. Let me tell you right off that, since we last spoke, I’ve done exactly as you asked.”

“Have you now?”

I glanced furtively toward the door, calculating how long it would take me to grab my things and make a dash for it, until she said, “I’m here to discuss a different matter today, Fortuno.”

“Madam?”

“I’ve actually come to ask for your help.”

My heart slowed, but my hands went damp.

“A little birdie told me that you’ve continued your friendship with that new abomination of my husband’s,” she said.

I interrupted. “Abomination? Madam,
please
. You shouldn’t use such a word to describe Iell. She’s a perfectly decent sort, I assure you.”

“On a first-name basis now, are we?”

Mrs. Barnum’s gaze was unwavering. My heart began racing again, and from some unseen place, Ricardo’s cat mewed. I swallowed and waited as Mrs. Barnum resituated herself on the bench, stretching her legs down until the tips of her toes touched the floor.

“Now, if this were true,” she continued, “it would distress me greatly.”

I had to force myself not to look away. She needed to see that I could protect myself and, if necessary, Iell as well. I pulled my jacket open as if in a casual gesture, hoping to remind Mrs. Barnum of my many gifts.

“I will be frank with you,” she said, ignoring my efforts. “My husband seems to have special plans concerning this person, and though it’s not at all unusual for him to take to an act with special enthusiasm, I find this particular affair unacceptable. In fact, it’s an embarrassment to me. So I am preparing new arrangements for Mrs. Adams, and when I present them to her, I hope she will see the wisdom of change.”

“Why worry yourself so? She’s only here until summer’s end.”

Mrs. Barnum laughed. “Mrs. Adams has no intention of leaving. My husband has made her a private offer, which I believe she will accept.”

I could have kicked up my heels and done a jig, inspired by the
knowledge that the beautiful Iell wasn’t about to disappear from my life.

“Mr. Fortuno? I suggest you take this conversation a bit more seriously.”

Had I shown too much delight? I fixed my expression on the piano behind Mrs. Barnum, using my reflection in the polished wood as a steadying device.

“I assure you—”

“The favor I would ask of you,” she interrupted, “is a simple one. Do not get in my way. That woman will leave on schedule. Once I tell her what I have in mind, she’ll see the wisdom of my plan. But I believe she will leave much more readily if she has no internal allies. Therefore, you’re not to befriend her further or help her in any way. Is that clear?”

“I’ve no intention—” I began, but Mrs. Barnum interrupted me again.

“Are you enjoying your recent freedom? Much nicer than sharing your rooms, as we spoke of before. You still have your privacy, and now you’ve extra time as well. And of course, this vacation can always be extended.”

So the schedule change had indeed been her idea: and now this new threat. She was suggesting dismissal, and Barnum could not be counted on to protect me. He’d already admitted to Iell that he’d used me, and hadn’t he himself threatened me with expulsion? But I still had my popularity to bank on. My gift. Barnum was a businessman, first and foremost, and I was a valuable asset.

“Your husband would never allow me to be permanently removed.”

Mrs. Barnum all but laughed aloud. “Oh, goodness, he has bigger battles to fight than protecting you, sir. And as for Mrs. Adams, I’ve no desire to harm the woman. I simply wish to see her moved elsewhere before my husband does something we might all regret. She’s quite desirable to other establishments, you know. They will pay highly for her. And should a new position displease her in any way, I’d see to her future comfort. I have done so before.”

Before? Was she was referring to the acrobats who had disappeared years ago?

“Do not befriend this person any more than you already have, Mr. Fortuno. The result would be disastrous for you, simply disastrous.”

The sound of Emma lurching back into the room halted our conversation. I gathered my wits as Emma staggered past with cookies and minuscule teacups teetering on a tray no bigger than the palm of her hand. She balanced the tray on the end of the bench next to Mrs. Barnum.

“I think a single cup will be sufficient, my dear. Mr. Fortuno, unfortunately, cannot stay for tea.”

Under the diversion of the rattling of china, I followed Emma to the front door.

“I’m assuming the
little birdie
Mrs. Barnum referred to was no other than you,” I said. “You told her about Iell’s scarf after all, didn’t you? In fact, you’ve been in her service for quite some time.”

“You’ve no idea how much I’ve been privy to, Fortuno, not that it matters. But Mrs. Barnum needed another set of eyes as much as her husband did, and in exchange I got some very privileged information.”

“What kind of information?”

“Never you mind. If the good Lord wants you to know more, more will be revealed.” And she all but shoved me out her door.