Whistling for Pip, I went to Mr Chipchase right away. There was the smallest chance he hadn’t heard Ned’s great gob, and I’d far rather tell him myself. Yet the second I saw him my heart sank. He was standing at the top of his wagon steps. Last time he’d said no to me he’d been wearing the same red-spotted waistcoat. This time he was busy saying no to someone else.
A man and a woman stood below Mr Chipchase on the grass. In their stiff, dark clothes they looked like townsfolk. And they didn’t exactly seem happy. Bursting though I was, I knew better than to interrupt. As I stepped back their voices became raised.
‘A spectacle? It was horrific!’ the woman cried. ‘That poor man perished in front of five hundred people!’
‘He didn’t die, you foolish woman!’ Mr Chipchase retorted. ‘Jasper Reynolds survived!’
The man wrote something down in a notebook.
‘That’ll make the evening papers if we’re quick,’ he said.
So the man was a reporter. Mr Chipchase caught sight of me just then and his face went from red to pale.
‘Not now, Louie,’ he said through gritted teeth.
The reporter and the woman turned round. Pip trotted over, bold as could be. He sniffed the woman’s skirts. She tried to push him away, all the while staring at me like I was some sort of freak.
‘A child performer,’ she said. ‘I should’ve known.’
As I went to claim Pip, she started with the questions. Proper daft ones they were.
‘Have you been whipped, poor soul? When did you last eat? Are you forced to work all hours?’
Tucking Pip under my arm, I scowled at her. She was a do-gooder, I could tell by her dull grey coat and the sharp look in her eye. Types like her made things tricky for girls like me. They kicked up a stink about young performers. Any second now she’d insist I needed rescuing and put in a proper school.
Well, she could try.
She held out a gloved hand to me. ‘I’m Mrs Dorothea Grimstone, secretary of the Society for Moral Obedience.’
I didn’t take her hand. Unsure what to say, I glanced at Mr Chipchase. His face had gone red again.
‘Never mind Louie. She sells tickets,’ he said, which made me scowl even more.
The reporter eyed me up and down. ‘Really?’
‘I hardly think so in that costume,’ said Mrs Grimstone. ‘And she has striking hair. How unusual.’
Mr Chipchase marched down the steps. He stood between me and Mrs Grimstone, shielding me from her gaze. ‘We have no child performers here. If you’re set on investigating then try Wellbeloved’s Circus,’ he said. ‘Now good day to you both.’
As soon as they’d left he turned to me. ‘What are you playing at, you foolish girl?’
‘ I . . . I . . . was . . . um . . .’ I shifted Pip onto my hip. My moment of asking to be a showstopper had very definitely passed.
‘Do you realise the harm you could’ve caused?’
‘But I . . .’
‘The last thing we need is you all over the papers.’
I glared at him. ‘Me? They wanted to know about Jasper, not me!’
Sighing heavily, Mr Chipchase put a hand to his brow. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’
He went quiet and I thought he’d finished.
Not so.
‘Jasper’s accident has got people talking,’ he said. ‘With reporters and busybodies sniffing around, we need to watch our backs. There are people out there who hate the circus. An accident like this just gives them more to crow about.’
‘I was only . . .’
‘If that Mrs Grimstone thought for one second you really were performing here she’d try to close us down.’
‘She wouldn’t!’
‘Damn it, girl, of course she would! Times are changing. People want danger, but not if it puts a child at risk.’
‘What about Wellbeloved’s? You said they use children.’
He flinched. ‘The less you know about that circus, the better.’
Yet he’d brought up Wellbeloved’s, not me.
‘So the sight of you appearing dressed up like some . . .’ he rubbed his forehead, ‘. . . some child trapeze artist, well, it hardly helped.’
‘It ain’t dangerous if you train yourself properly.’
Mr Chipchase looked at me in disbelief. ‘Tell me you haven’t been training.’
‘Might’ve been.’
‘Oh great heavens alive,’ he groaned. ‘Training at what?’
‘Um . . .’ My mouth went dry. ‘The tightrope.’
His face dropped a mile.
‘I’m very good at it,’ I said, all in a rush. ‘Ned’s seen me and he says I’m . . .’
‘No,’ Mr Chipchase said firmly. ‘Not the tightrope. Absolutely not.’
‘Just watch me and then decide.’
‘No. That’s my final word.’
As he turned to walk away I grabbed his arm. ‘Please, Mr Chipchase, sir, it could be just what we need to get business going again.’
He shook his head. It made me think of Jasper’s leg: he’d not believed I’d helped mend that either.
‘I can do things,’ I said. ‘I’m not a dimwit.’
‘Really?’ He shrugged me off. ‘I want you OUT of the papers, not IN them.’
I blinked back tears. It wasn’t fair. I’d never be a showstopper at this rate. ‘Just give me a chance,’ I begged.
‘Did you not hear what that woman said? And the reporter too? The pen is mightier than the sword, Louie. If we put you up on a high wire, they’d roast us alive!’
‘But you said you’d find me another role.’ I started to get frantic. ‘And this is what I’m good at.’
‘I said NO!’
‘But I . . .’
‘Enough! Now get out of my sight!’
*
Back at our wagon Kitty Chipchase was waiting at the door. She was the last person I wanted to see.
‘What is it?’ I said, trying to hide the fact I’d been crying.
She thrust her silver tunic at me. ‘It’s split at the shoulder. Sew it better this time, weasel.’
Putting Pip down on the grass, I took it from her. My tears sprung up afresh. Stupid me for thinking I might walk the tightrope like Blondin. This was all I was fit for, mending Kitty Chipchase’s poxy costumes.
‘Is that it, then?’ I said, for she hadn’t moved off.
She put her hands on her hips. ‘Not quite. A word of warning to you.’
I tensed up. This wouldn’t be pleasant. It never was with Kitty. She seemed to begrudge me the very air, and I’d no idea why.
‘I saw you,’ Kitty said. ‘Just so you know.’
‘Saw what?’
‘I woke up early this morning. And guess what sight greeted me?’
I stared at my feet.
‘I saw you. On a tightrope. With Ned Bailey watching.’
My cheeks went whoosh with heat.
‘You were good. A bit too good. But don’t get above yourself, weasel. Papa’ll never make you a showstopper. You’ve had enough favours out of him already.’
I didn’t say a word. I went inside the wagon. Shutting the door behind me, I picked up my needle and thread and got to work like a good girl. But my mind was set. One day I’d walk that tightrope and the world would watch in wonder. I wouldn’t be put off, not by do-gooders, not by Kitty Chipchase.
Not by anyone.