Ten days later, Mr Chipchase sent Ned and me to the post office. He’d advertised for a showstopper in The Era magazine, and now he wanted the replies. Kitty hadn’t taken kindly to this news; her face was even more sour than usual, which was no mean feat. For once I knew exactly how she felt.
Yet today I was fed up for a different reason: I was waiting for Ned. He’d been standing across the street, nattering to some gent in a carriage, for what felt like the last five years.
‘Oh come on, Ned!’ I yelled. ‘Any time before Christmas would be grand!’
One question had gnawed away at me for days now. And I couldn’t settle till I knew the answer. If some stranger was to get the very job I wanted, then I had to know who, even if it did hurt like hell.
Ned ignored me. He kept talking and shrugging his shoulders as though he had all the time in the world. It occurred to me then that I didn’t have to wait. I could sign for the post myself! Far as I knew, there was no law against it. No one had died and made Ned king of letter collecting. I tied Pip’s lead to a lamp post so he wouldn’t wander off, then I went inside.
There was a single counter with bars across it and a blue sign saying ‘Telegrams’ on the wall. Straightening my shawl, I went up to the counter. Behind it was a bald-headed man in shirtsleeves. He wore an eyeglass, so I wasn’t sure where he was looking.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ I said.
‘You’re from the circus,’ said the postmaster.
So he was looking at me then, not the rack of writing paper to my left.
‘Yes, and I’ve come for our post, if you please.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ll have to sign for it. Write your own name, can you?’
‘I ain’t no idiot, sir,’ I said, trying my best to stay polite.
He grunted then slid a form and pen under the bars. I did a big squiggly signature and passed it back. The postmaster frowned at it, then turned to rummage among the shelves. I stood on tiptoe to watch.
How many replies did we have? Hundreds? Thousands? For who wouldn’t want to be the showstopper act at our circus?
I jiggled from one foot to the other. This man was even slower than Ned. He was intent on checking every single piece of mail.
‘Hurry up,’ I muttered under my breath.
The postmaster finally turned round. ‘Not much, I’m afraid,’ he said, passing me the letters.
I stared at them in disbelief. There were three measly replies. THREE. ‘Well, ta anyway,’ I said and stuffed them in my pocket.
Out in the street, Ned was still conversing with his gent. It didn’t help my mood. Nor did the sight of Pip, who’d wrapped his lead twice around the lamp post and looked about to choke on it. Quickly, I untied him and set off down the road. I’d had enough of waiting for Ned.
No sooner had I started walking than the fancy gent’s carriage rumbled past. It sent up a great cloud of dust. Ned then appeared at my side. ‘Where you off to?’ he said.
‘Got fed up hanging about for you,’ I spluttered, waving away the dust.
‘Missed me, more like.’
‘Hardly!’
Ned was a bit too smarmy these days. It was starting to get on my wick.
He stopped dead. ‘Knickers! We forgot the post.’
‘You might’ve. I didn’t,’ I said, waving the letters at him. He looked put out, which made me a tiny bit pleased.
We turned into the main street. A coal cart was parked up on the corner, and a boy jumped down from it with a bag slung over his back. He seemed in a hurry and soon overtook us on the road. He kept looking back over his shoulder too. Eventually, he disappeared out of sight.
‘What did that gent in the carriage want?’ I asked Ned.
‘Just asking questions. He was looking for someone. All sounded a bit odd. Anyhow, what about those letters?’
I showed him the envelopes again but didn’t let him take them, not yet.
‘Blimey, there ain’t many of them,’ he said.
By now, we’d left the village and were heading towards the river where the circus was pitched. Up ahead of us was the same boy who’d jumped off the coal cart, though my mind was still on the letters.
I pulled Ned into a gateway. ‘Let’s have a quick look.’
‘I dunno, Louie. They’re Mr Chipchase’s letters, not ours.’
‘Thought you’d be up for it.’
‘Just don’t blame me if he notices.’
Once I’d got a fingernail under the flap, the envelopes opened easy enough. My hands shook as I unfolded the first letter. It was a three-page missive in a tiny, spidery hand. I’d go cross-eyed trying to read it, plus I didn’t know half the words. Also enclosed was a proper studio portrait done on card, the carte de visite. Every star performer had one.
‘Oh my word!’ I gasped, showing Ned. ‘Look at that!’
The photograph was of an enormous woman in her undergarments.
‘Blimey! Is she real?’
The horror on his face made me giggle. ‘Dunno. What d’you think?’
He peered at the photograph then shook his head. ‘Nah! That’s a walrus in a corset, that is.’
We both fell about laughing.
The next one wasn’t much better. There was no letter, just the carte de visite. This time the photograph showed a man hanging on to a trapeze. He had a huge white beard and legs like string. He’d easily be ninety years old if he was a day. ‘A trapeze artist? At his age?’ I snorted.
‘I reckon he’s already dead,’ Ned said.
The final letter was from a man and his dancing bear. At least, I supposed the man had written the letter, though it could’ve been the bear since the writing was worse than a child’s.
‘Mr Chipchase doesn’t do exotics,’ said Ned, meaning the bear. ‘And can you imagine living with that brute?’
The bear didn’t look savage. He looked plain miserable. In my eyes it was the man with his big whip that was the brute. And by now I’d seen enough. I folded all the letters again. Sealing them the best I could, I gave them to Ned. ‘Mr Chipchase’ll be disappointed,’ I said.
‘Don’t look so glum. It might work out for you, this.’
‘How, exactly?’
Ned raised one eyebrow, then the other. I didn’t laugh. But I did cotton on. The applicants were useless. Anyone could see that. It might just strengthen my case. ‘You’re a cunning creature, Ned Bailey.’
‘Let me put in a word for you,’ said Ned.
But I still didn’t think it would help. ‘It’s them do-gooders.’ I sighed. ‘What with them banging on about child performers and me looking a bit young. I’m scuppered before I even start.’
‘Then I’ll tell Mr Chipchase I’ve seen you perform.’
I shook my head. Things weren’t that easy. The Great Dog Detective act had gone from bad to worse, so I was hardly flavour of the month. And since Jasper’s fall, every single show had lost money.
‘Do let me tell him,’ Ned pleaded. ‘I’ll say how brilliant you are, that you’ll be the best showstopper he’s ever seen.’
‘If anyone’s doing it, I’d rather tell him myself,’ I said.
Ned kept on. ‘He does listen to me . . . well, sometimes. So just leave it to me, Louie. I’ll sort it out for you. You’ll be charming the crowds in no t— . . .’
‘Stop!’ I cried.
It was too much. This was my business. My dream. I didn’t want it becoming something else. Ned looked at me like I’d slapped him. I suspected he fancied himself as my knight in shining amour. But I didn’t need one of those.
‘Buck up.’ I gave him a playful nudge. ‘Now, which of these three gets the job?’
Soon we were joking again about the walrus woman and the dead man swinging from the trapeze. As we turned into the showground, I stopped mid-laugh.
Standing by the ticket booth was the same boy who’d walked past us on the road.
‘Who d’you reckon he is?’ I asked Ned.
‘Come for an early ticket, I expect.’
‘I’d best find out.’
Ned went off to Mr Chipchase’s wagon, whistling and slapping the letters against his thigh. I prayed he’d keep his good words to himself. Then I turned my attention to the boy. He crouched down to greet Pip first, and did so like a person who truly loved dogs. This softened me a little. It also gave me a chance to size him up. I reckoned he was older than me, though only just, and tidily dressed in a collarless shirt, dark jacket and trousers. He had summer-blond hair and freckles across his nose. His chin was a bit too sharp and his eyes a bit too green, but all together it was a very nice face.
‘You wanting something?’ I smiled in what I hoped was a friendly way.
The boy stood up and took off his cap. This made me smile more. People didn’t often take their caps off for ticket sellers like me.
‘The man in charge, if you please.’
He was a flattie, a not-from-the-circus person. Or at least he spoke like one, all posh and proper. He had manners too, and he looked at me when he talked.
‘Mr Chipchase is the gaffer here,’ I said.
‘Very well. Then that’s the fellow I wish to speak with.’
‘Who shall I say’s asking?’
‘Gabriel Swift.’
I giggled. ‘That’s a fancy name, that is!’
He stared at me like I wasn’t right in the head. I stopped giggling at once.
‘Wait there,’ I said.
Pip sat down next to Gabriel Swift’s bag. ‘Not you, you great ninny,’ I said and dragged him away by his collar.
First stop was our wagon to get rid of my pesky dog. Next stop, Mr Chipchase.
I found him at his desk, looking sullen. Kitty was there too. They’d clearly just had a barney; half of it still hung in the air.
‘What’s she wanting?’ Kitty said as I came in.
There were three scrunched-up envelopes on the floor. So Mr Chipchase hadn’t thought much of the replies to his advert either. Maybe Ned was right, that this would work out. I felt suddenly braver. Once Mr Chipchase had seen to this boy, I’d ask him outright. I’d make him listen. I’d show him what I could do.
‘What is it, Louie?’ Mr Chipchase said irritably.
I’d almost forgotten why I was here. ‘Oh . . . yes. Some flattie person wishing to see you, sir.’
‘Well, I don’t wish to see anyone,’ he said, and went back to his paperwork.
‘Says he’s called Gabriel Swift.’
Mr Chipchase went still. Then he sat forward in his seat. Kitty’s face fell.
‘But what about me, Papa?’ she wailed. ‘Can’t you consider me?’
He held up his hand to silence her, then turned to me. ‘Gabriel Swift, you say? The Gabriel Swift? Didn’t he have a brother?’
‘Dunno, sir. How many Swifts are there?’
Mr Chipchase didn’t answer. He was already halfway out the door.