Chapter 29

The crowd knew something was amiss. An uneasy silence fell. With all those faces looking at me, my mouth went suddenly dry. Right now I wasn’t a showstopper; I was a girl who wanted answers. And that needed a different kind of courage, the kind that faced the truth. What I did know was the power of a newspaper headline. Mr Chipchase had drummed it into me. Louie, he’d said, the pen is mightier than the sword.

The battle was about to commence.

In the very front row was the brown-suited reporter. I started with him.

‘You, mister,’ I called out. ‘You asked earlier how I felt. Well, I’m angry. Furious and proper angry. Got that?’

The reporter raised his eyebrows. The crowd muttered in surprise. On the steps, Mr Wellbeloved stiffened.

‘Why, young lady?’ the reporter said. ‘You’ve just done an amazing thing.’

‘I have,’ I agreed. ‘But to my manager that ain’t enough. He wanted a double somersault at the end. And that wasn’t all . . .’

‘Now just a minute,’ said Mr Wellbeloved.

The little girl looked up at him, terrified. He took a step towards me, but as the crowd grew louder he stopped. I waited for quiet. My hands were sweaty damp as I clasped them tight together.

‘But I said no. And that’s the most amazing thing I’ve done today.’ I paused. ‘Do you know what happens to folks who say no to Mr Wellbeloved?’

People exchanged glances.

‘He beats them.’

The crowd groaned.

‘And he horsewhips them.’

There were boos and hisses.

‘And,’ I said, braver now. ‘He threatens to keep them from their loved ones.’

‘’Tis cruelty!’ someone called out.

The little girl sobbed. I put my arm around her shoulders.

‘That’s not all. If they run away he hunts them down, and scares them so much they . . .’ My chin trembled. ‘That’s why Gabriel Swift ain’t here today. He found the courage to say no too.’

A great jeer went up. The reporters started scribbling madly. Mr Wellbeloved went white with rage. But now I’d started, I wasn’t going to stop.

‘I was asked who inspired me. And it was Blondin, once. Then I saw him put his own daughter in a wheelbarrow and push her across the rope. The poor girl was so terrified it changed everything for me. I never felt the same about him again.’

‘Shame on him!’ cried the crowd.

I pointed at Mr Wellbeloved, who looked ready to murder me.

‘That man didn’t think so. He says it was his own idea, and that Blondin stole it from him.’

Another jeer went up.

Mr Wellbeloved lunged at me. ‘Enough!’

I stepped back smartly. The little girl ducked between us and scarpered down the steps.

‘And that child there,’ I pointed after her as she disappeared into the crowd. ‘Ladies and gents, she was your big surprise this afternoon. Mr Wellbeloved here wanted her to walk the rope with me.’

Everything went hushed. Then a great surge of noise rose up. Fists punched the air in anger. People were chanting one word over and over: ‘No, no, no!’

It went on and on.

‘No, no, no!’

When I dared look at Mr Wellbeloved, his eyes locked on mine. With one finger, he patted his jacket pocket. The tip of the boat ticket poked out of it.

I gritted my teeth. ‘And about my training.’ Now I had to shout over the noise. ‘Mr Wellbeloved didn’t quite lie, because I have trained hard and I do have a talent. But there’s a part he didn’t tell you.’

The noise fell away. I clasped my hands to stop them trembling. This was the hardest part of all. My pulse beat so fast it made my throat go tight. I wasn’t sure I could even speak.

Courage, Louie.

I breathed slowly.

‘Walking the tightrope is in my blood. And as I found out today, there’s word that my own mother performed the high wire herself.’

More gasps from the crowd. The reporters’ heads were down, covering page after page with writing.

‘I don’t know the whole truth of it. But I do know she was here once, and it seems she might still be nearby.’

Someone called out, ‘Is she here today?’

It didn’t occur to me that she would be. But it went through the crowd like fire through a hayrick, everyone suddenly turning and pointing. Mr Wellbeloved stood silent, shaking his head.

You know exactly where she is, you devil, I thought.

In the crowd, shoulders started shrugging. People shook their heads. Seeing their faces, I felt myself go red.

Fancy her own mother not coming to see her, those looks seemed to say. Eventually, a reporter confirmed it. ‘No, it seems she isn’t here.’

And they wrote that down too.

A wave of tiredness hit me then. My legs swayed.

‘Let the girl go,’ said an official. ‘She looks ready to faint.’

As I took my weary bows, the crowd clapped for a good five minutes. It was sweet music to my ears. Yet my heart seemed to lag behind. This still wasn’t finished, even now.

For starters, Mr Wellbeloved still blocked the steps. The only other way out was the tightrope behind me. For a split second, I was torn: Gabriel’s way out, or face Mr Wellbeloved?

I straightened my shoulders and stepped forward.

‘Excuse me,’ I said.

He didn’t move. Behind him, I sensed the crowd bristling. It made me braver.

‘I’d like to pass,’ I said.

He still didn’t shift. I stared at his chest, all tailored in a fine, striped coat with that boat ticket sticking out of his pocket. It made me think of gates on board ship, of locked doors and windows. I’d got through them all eventually. I’d kept following the trail of crumbs. Yet Mr Wellbeloved himself once said that sometimes you had to wait for a gate to open.

So I folded my arms. And waited. The crowd jeered. They didn’t stop until he stepped aside.

*

Mrs Franklin took me away in a carriage. Back at the lodgings, she made me hot chocolate, then ordered me to bed. I was glad of her just in case Mr Wellbeloved returned. But news soon reached us that he’d taken the first train out of town.

‘A wise move,’ said Mrs Franklin, as she sat beside my bed. ‘Those evening papers won’t paint a pretty picture of him.’

Lying back against the pillows, I felt truly exhausted. And oh so glad I’d never have to face Mr Wellbeloved again, except he’d vanished without paying me a single penny. I’d done a very brave thing today. Yet what did that matter if I didn’t have a ticket home? Suddenly, I felt overcome.

‘What is it?’ said Mrs Franklin as I sobbed.

‘I just want to go home. But I can’t.’

‘Aha! Yes you can.’

‘How? I can’t even pay my passage.’

She patted my hand. ‘A hat was passed round today and people gave kindly, don’t you fret. There’s money enough to get you home.’

‘Oh my word!’

Mrs Franklin pushed the damp hair off my face. ‘You need your mother first though, don’t you dear?’

Which set me off crying even harder.

‘But she’s in her nice hotel. She won’t want to see me.’

The tears kept coming till my throat ached. When at last I stopped and wiped my face, Mrs Franklin was staring at me strangely.

‘Hotel?’ she said. ‘What do you mean, hotel?’

‘That Golden Hill place.’

Mrs Franklin took my hand. She looked very grave indeed. ‘Louie, Golden Hill Retreat isn’t a hotel. Mr Wellbeloved sent your mother there when she, well, she . . . attacked him.’

I stared at her. ‘Attacked him?’

Mrs Franklin nodded, eyes shut.

‘What did she do to him?’

It couldn’t be that bad surely, not half as bad as what he did to other people. Yet, eyes open again, Mrs Franklin looked decidedly queasy.

‘She bit off his ear, here in this room. And then spat it out into the fireplace.’

‘That’s hideous!’

I didn’t know whether to laugh or heave up. It was so . . . shocking. No wonder Mr Wellbeloved kept his hat on, especially in front of me. A million thoughts all charged my head at once.

My mam was violent.

My mam was brave.

And yet to bite a man’s ear off . . .

‘Why did she do it?’ I asked.

‘She had her reasons,’ said Mrs Franklin. ‘You’ll need to hear the truth from her.’

‘So, should I go to her?’ The idea made me nervous.

‘Yes, dear.’

‘Can’t we invite her here to tea instead?’

She shook her head sadly. ‘My dear, Golden Hill Retreat is a hospital,’ she paused, ‘for the temperamentally unwell. Mr Wellbeloved had her locked away. Your mother couldn’t leave if she tried.’