Chapter 27

Mr Wellbeloved didn’t take kindly to being roused from his bed.

‘What the BLAZES is going on?’ he cried, seeing me in the hallway with two thuggish types holding my arms.

‘We caught her messing with the rigging,’ said the watchman proudly.

Mr Wellbeloved glared at me. He wasn’t wearing his hat, though by now I was past caring.

‘Release her immediately,’ he said.

The men grunted in surprise. They let go of me and I swayed on my feet.

‘And the boy?’ Mr Wellbeloved demanded. ‘Was he with her?’

‘No boy, sir. Least there was one, but he went over the edge.’

I started to cry. Mr Wellbeloved breathed out through his teeth. It made a hissing sound.

‘Is there a body?’

‘No, sir, no body. River tends to spew ’em up further downstream. We’ll search the rapids first thing in the morning.’

I couldn’t bear to listen.

‘Until tomorrow then,’ Mr Wellbeloved said. And he sent the men on their way.

All I wanted was to get into bed and pull the covers over my head. I tried to sneak past Mr Wellbeloved, but he dragged me by the wrist back upstairs to his room. It was hot in there and smelled of sleep. Mr Wellbeloved leaned against the door, arms folded over his chest. My palms began to sweat. I didn’t like it when he blocked the way out.

‘Well?’ he said.

His eyes pinned me to the spot. I didn’t want to keep crying, but I really couldn’t stop. ‘We were only on a walk,’ I sobbed. ‘It was too hot to sleep, and then . . .’

Mr Wellbeloved rushed at me, seizing my face.

‘You silly little fool! A walk by moonlight, eh? How preposterously romantic.’

I tried to turn away but he held me fast.

‘And now Gabriel Swift is DEAD.’

I shut my eyes.

‘Look at me when I speak to you.’

I couldn’t do it.

‘Damn it, girl, LOOK AT ME!’

He yanked my chin towards him. As I forced my eyes open, at last I saw what his hat had been hiding.

Now I couldn’t look away.

He saw my shock and panicked. His free hand went up to cover his ear. It was too late; I’d already seen it. The top half of his right ear was completely missing. What remained was mangled. The edge of it was all wavy-shaped, like a person’s teeth might make.

Someone had bitten it off.

I didn’t get another look. Shoving me aside, Mr Wellbeloved snatched up his hat off a nearby chair and jammed it on his head. It looked ridiculous, especially as he still wore his night clothes. A muscle hammered in his jaw. But he didn’t come at me again.

‘So,’ he said, leaning back against the door. ‘What are we to do?’

‘It wouldn’t be right to perform, not now Gabriel is . . .’ I couldn’t bring myself to say ‘dead’. What I meant was that my heart wouldn’t stand it. But Mr Wellbeloved looked at me like I was speaking another language.

‘What, and let the ticket-buying public down?’

My face flushed hot. ‘It’s not fair.’

‘Fair? What has fair got to do with it?’

‘This isn’t my doing!’ And I wanted to say more, how he’d beaten every ounce of courage out of Gabriel Swift. He’d done that. Not me. But the words stuck in my throat.

Dismissively, he waved his hand. ‘Say what you will. Gabriel was too flighty. We’re better off without him.’

I stared at him. The man was a monster. A devil.

‘Don’t look so surprised. I’ve waited years for this.’ And he indicated the wall full of photographs.

I saw them properly now. How could I not have recognised them? Picture after picture showed a man with a pointed beard. Most of them I owned myself. They were stuck inside my scrapbook.

‘The Great Blondin,’ I gasped.

‘He had so many ways of wowing the crowds,’ said Mr Wellbeloved. ‘No one could better him. As a performer myself, I tried and I failed. But I never forgot him.’

He seemed almost wistful. And for a tiny, surprising moment, I understood how he felt. But I didn’t understand his jealous rage at Blondin and his daughter, or how he’d put Gabriel through a living hell. I shuddered uncontrollably.

‘Eventually, the crowds grew bored of him,’ said Mr Wellbeloved. ‘They wanted more danger. And he had none left to give. But I did, or at least my act did.’

‘How?’ I said, unsure I wanted to hear his answer.

His pale eyes glittered. ‘Two people on the rope – you know how hard that is, Louisa. It was my great idea. Then Blondin copied me. He copied me, the swine. Can you believe it?’

I couldn’t. Not any of it.

‘Anyway, my idea proved . . .’ he rubbed his jaw, ‘. . . difficult to arrange.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Eventually, to fulfil my dreams I had to cast my net further afield. It took years. I thought I’d found the answer in the Swift brothers. Alas, it wasn’t to be.’

I was more confused than ever. Hadn’t the trick that killed Albert Swift been copied from Blondin? Or was it the other way round? It was all too much. I shut my eyes. But the horror of it didn’t go away.

‘So, you’re my last hope, Louisa. Tomorrow I’m expecting somersaults galore. And at the end, you’ll challenge a young person in the crowd to join you on the rope.’

My eyes flew open. Was he completely mad?

‘I won’t do it,’ I said.

‘Two people on the rope, that’s the deal.’

‘But . . .’ I could hardly get the words out. ‘The punters won’t like it. They’ll just leave. They won’t . . .’

He seized my face again. ‘You’ll do it.’ His tone was deadly. ‘Every last bit of it. This is my show and you will do as I say. You won’t go home to England until it’s done.’

A sob broke from my mouth.

Then someone knocked at the door. ‘Mr Wellbeloved, are you there?’

It was Mrs Franklin. I was ridiculously glad to hear her voice. Mr Wellbeloved rolled his eyes. ‘What is it?’ he said, letting go of me to open the door a sliver.

‘Two gentlemen of the law are downstairs wishing to see you,’ she said.

Mr Wellbeloved stepped out onto the landing. He still held the door handle, trapping me inside. From the wall, Blondin stared down at me. I couldn’t bear to be here. There had to be another way out of this room.

I tiptoed across to the windows, trying each one. They were all locked. In despair, I faced the door again, thinking I’d have to barge my way out and hope Mrs Franklin might save me. It was then I caught sight of the desk.

It was still a great mess of papers; contracts, I supposed, and letters of business. In among them was something red. It stood out like a scream. I glanced at the door. Still shut. With shaking fingers, I reached towards the desk.

It was a tunic. The fabric was silky smooth, of the type a performer might wear. As I held it to the lamplight, I went hot. Then cold. It couldn’t be, could it?

The door swung open. I whisked the tunic behind my back.

‘To bed,’ Mr Wellbeloved ordered.

By some stroke of luck, he didn’t look at me again. He simply held the door open wide for me to pass.

*

First light, I drew back the curtains. My eyes were raw from crying and I felt oddly light, like I was hollow inside. Already down by the river’s edge there were men with dogs, searching for Gabriel. There was no Pip here to comfort me. No Jasper to offer kind words. I stepped back from the window, quite unable to watch.

Then I remembered the red tunic, and laid it out on my bed. There was a hole near the shoulder. Just as I’d suspected, it was shaped like a heart. I fumbled under the pillow for my scrap of red taffeta and placed it over the hole. The fit, the colour were a perfect match.

My eyes couldn’t make sense of it. My brain neither. This was Mam’s tunic. My mam’s tunic. When at last my head cleared, I saw what it meant. My hunch had been right, and here was the proof. I’d found her.

Or part of her.

Could it really be true?

Mr Wellbeloved seemed to know me from times gone by. And in tracking down Gabriel, he’d found me again by chance. With a shiver, I wondered how long he’d been looking, and why.

Maybe Mr Chipchase had been expecting him and my mam . . . The circus’s constant moving on, the clown suits, the plaited hair, they were all Mr Chipchase’s way of keeping me hidden. He had his reasons for not making me showstopper; I saw that now. It had little to do with do-gooders. He’d been trying to keep me safe from danger of a very different kind. Gabriel was right: he really did care.

For quite a while I simply sat, head in hands. It was too much to take in. More than ever, I just wanted to go home.

Yet things weren’t finished. I’d not come this far to turn my back on a dream. I’d walk that rope today. And walk it like a true showstopper. Not for Mr Wellbeloved and his twisted motives, but for me, for Gabriel and for Mam.

A soft knock at the door brought me up sharp.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s me, dear,’ said Mrs Franklin. ‘May I come in?’

My first thought was Gabriel: she’d come with news. As she bustled in with hot water and an armful of linen, I felt ill with dread. Setting it all down, she faced me. Something was wrong. She twisted her wedding ring, and opened and shut her mouth like a fish. I couldn’t bear it.

‘They’ve found Gabriel, haven’t they?’ I said.

She looked taken aback. ‘No, dear. There’s been no sign of a body.’

My legs went wobbly. I sank down on the bed. No body. No sign of him. So no proof that he’d perished. Yet.

The tiniest flicker of hope grew in me. Gabriel was a master of the tightrope. Perhaps . . . just perhaps . . .

Mrs Franklin hadn’t moved.

I sighed. ‘So what is it, then?’

She glanced at the door, then back at me. From her pocket she pulled out a long white envelope.

‘I have some information for you. I think you’ll be pleased, though what’s inside will be a shock to you.’

She handed me the envelope. It was addressed to ‘Mr Gideon Wellbeloved.’

‘Didn’t you collect this from the post office yesterday?’ I said, taking it from her.

She nodded. ‘Bills. Every month they send them. He never collects them himself, and he never reads them either.’

I’d no idea who ‘they’ were or what the bills were for. Clearly Mrs Franklin did, for she was twisting her ring again. It made me nervous.

‘All these years, he’s sworn me to secrecy. Said he’d make life hell for me if I told anyone.’ Her voice wavered. ‘But I never liked what he’d done. It wasn’t ever right. When I realised who you were, and what he’d brought you here to do . . .’

‘I don’t understand,’ I said. I’d not known Mrs Franklin, not until two days ago. How did she know who I was?

‘You’ve your mother’s fine looks,’ she said. ‘And I knew your first name. Goodness knows I’d heard it enough within these four walls.’

‘So was she here?’

‘Many years ago, yes. Then she went away. You have a right to know where she ended up.’

My mother.

All this time she’d been an image in my head. Now she was taking shape before me, and I felt overwhelmed.

I picked up the letter. Courage, Louie. I tore open the seal and unfolded a piece of white paper. The page was a list of dates and numbers. Some of it was written in red. At the top was a name: GOLDEN HILL RETREAT. Beneath it was a little ink drawing of a house. It looked a grand old place with tall windows and steps leading up to the door. It was all very nice. A bit too nice.

I gazed at those three words in a kind of stupor. Golden Hill Retreat. It sounded like the name of a hotel. An awful nice hotel. The sort of place you’d never want to leave. My hand fell to my side.

So much for promises.

Mam said she’d come back for me. Mr Chipchase was expecting her. Instead, she’d found somewhere better and not given any of us another thought.

‘You’re upset, dear,’ said Mrs Franklin. ‘It’s quite a shock.’

‘Am I? Is it?’

I didn’t know what to think. Before I could make sense of it, the door swung open. Mr Wellbeloved strode into the room. He glanced suspiciously at Mrs Franklin, then at me. I’d hidden the piece of paper behind my back just in the nick of time.

‘Let’s not dally ladies,’ he said. ‘Louisa’s to be downstairs in ten minutes.’

With a touch of his hat, he left us again.

‘We’ll talk more of your mother later, dear,’ whispered Mrs Franklin.

I didn’t answer.

I was done with talking about Mam.