1928
ALTOONA, PENNSYLVANIA
There was a chill in the night air . . . early spring’s last cool breath before summer.
Rosamund pulled the sweater tighter round her shoulders in response. She walked past an old barn behind the back lot, gazing at her poster image layered several times over against the planks of aged wood on its side.
It had taken some getting used to, seeing posters with her image plastered in railway stations and on country outbuildings everywhere they went. The circus’s advance team would always move into a performance stop to advertise days before the train pulled into town, papering every flat surface within a several-mile radius of the station. By the looks of things that night, they’d done their job with fervor.
The English Rose was everywhere.
Even in the shades of darkness that blanketed the back lot, the smiling and serene poster beauty floated through the air as Rosamund walked by.
A twig snapped behind her, drawing her notice from the span of poster art to the deserted back lot.
She stopped, half turning, feeling an edge of uncertainty creep up her spine. She heard distant cries from the animals and the far-off chug of the train whistle. No doubt the men were loading the Big Top pole wagons on the flat cars by now, and the show would be rolling out before too long.
Quickening her step toward the performers’ tents, she considered her nerves to have been pricked only by exhaustion after the show and long days and nights with little sleep. The sound of a twig snapping out in a tree-lined field was nothing out of the ordinary.
Until it happened again.
And she heard voices. Male voices that she didn’t recognize, muttering words she couldn’t quite make out.
“Hello?” she whispered, looking past the long trail of canvas to one side and the deserted back lot of field and trees on the other.
A gust of wind swept by, rustling the grasses of the field and whispering through the trees.
Instinct prickled at the hairs on the back of her neck, screaming at her to run.
She turned to sprint in the opposite direction, but something yanked on her sweater, pulling her from behind.
Rosamund knew she should have cried out, knowing that help couldn’t be too far away. But the sharp pain of an unexpected blow to the back of her head came so suddenly that the only thing she could do was fall to her knees. She punched out at air, trying to fight off whatever or whoever had attacked. As she gasped for breath, her vision blurred, sending her eyes to flutter closed on their own.
Blackness invaded like a wave and sleep became her friend.
“Where is she?”
Colin stormed into the tent, anger seething with every breath in his chest.
Rose looked up, meeting his glare from her sitting position on her cot. She tipped her head down away from him, trying to hide the fact that she was holding a linen cloth to it.
He’d had no idea what to expect when he got to her, but certainly not what he saw.
Rose had blood matted in her hair and dark smears of dirt caked on her costume and face. Her knees were cut so that they looked scraped raw. Even the woolen blanket that had been draped over her shoulders like a shawl couldn’t hide the fact that she shook uncontrollably.
“Bien, Colin. She’s okay,” Annaliese whispered to him, then patted Rose’s hand before stepping back out of the way.
Colin filled the void she’d left, kneeling down at Rose’s side. “What happened?”
“I’m all right,” she said, trying to produce a meager smile for him. “Truly.”
Colin reached out a hand and pulled down the linen, revealing a round circle of bright red. He clenched his jaw at the sight of it.
“You’re not. Nothing about this is all right,” he said, using his thumb to brush at dirt on the underside of her chin. He noticed the gentle trembling of her shoulders. “Are you cold?”
He pulled the blanket tighter round her collar and rubbed her upper arms to generate warmth.
“I’m not now,” she breathed out, offering him the tiniest smile.
It shredded his restraint.
Colin shot to his feet, blasting the audience in the tent with a furious glare.
Enzo and Marvio held back, silently eyeing him from the safety of the shadows. And Annaliese stood with Ward, wringing her hands as she looked back and forth between Rose and the men, positioned on opposite sides of the tent.
“You’d better have an explanation that will satisfy me,” Colin shouted, bounding forward to stand up to the younger of the two flyers, “or I’ll have you thrown behind bars for attempted murder.”
“We saved her! Found her and brought her here.” Enzo’s temper flared back. “You can’t accuse us of anything.”
Colin shook his head, fury barely restrained in balled fists at his sides. “I know what I see!”
“And what is that?”
“Do I need to spell it out for you? Someone is trying to put her out of the show.”
“Why would any of us do that? It hurts everyone if the show fails to bring in the crowds. If she’s out, then so are we.”
“Stand down,” Marvio said, easing in before tempers exploded and fists began to fly. “Both of you. This isn’t helping anything.”
“It’ll help me if I can put a fist through his jaw,” Colin shouted back.
“No,” Rose called out, silencing the tent. “No, Colin. Please. They helped me. They found me and brought me here.”
It couldn’t be. Not possible.
Annaliese stepped forward, bobbing her chin up and down. “Ward and I were walking back from the dining tent. We saw them pick her up and carry her across the lot. They found her knocked out in the field behind the performers’ tents.”
Ward stepped up next to Annaliese. “It’s true, Colin.”
Colin exhaled low. He kicked the straw at his feet, taking his anger out on the tip of his boot.
“I think you should tell him now,” Annaliese squeaked out, drawing the ire of Rose’s furrowed brow. She shook her head ever so slightly, trying to button Annaliese’s mouth before she said anything further.
“Tell me what?”
Colin’s anger subsided only long enough to show Rose the shock that he knew must have covered his face.
Enzo and Marvio stood back, looking genuinely surprised.
Ward closed his eyes and sighed over Annaliese’s admission. He slipped an arm over her shoulder, trying to edge her to the exit.
“Tell me what, Rose?”
She didn’t answer. Just looked at the rest of the faces in the room, then returned her eyes to lock with his.
Right, he thought. You want to be alone.
“Everyone out,” Colin ordered, not even looking over his shoulder to see if his demand was being carried out.
He heard shuffling feet. Annaliese whispered some cooing words before Ward dragged her away.
Colin stood still in the center of the tent, his hands braced at his hips until the sounds subsided and he was sure they were alone. He plucked a stool from Rose’s vanity table and pulled it up next to her place on the cot.
He sat, elbows resting on his knees. “What’s going on?”
In contrast to his stance when the others were in the tent, he knew he couldn’t show her the rage pumping through his veins. If he wanted the truth, she’d have to feel safe enough to tell him.
He lowered his voice to a rough whisper. “You can tell me, Rose. We’re alone.”
“I don’t know,” she started, chin quivering ever so slightly. “I was walking at the back of the lot, and I think there were some men from the village . . . I heard voices. I don’t know who they were, but they seemed to recognize me from the posters.”
“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.”