Page 22 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

‘Not everyone has somewhere to go,’ Lucien offered. ‘Where would we go, if they come here?’

‘They won’t come here. Why would they? What do we have that they would want?’

‘They want whatever they can get their hands on. My wine. You know I have started to hoard my wine, my best bottles? Hidden them here and there so if they come, they won’t find them!’ Lucien laughed.

‘Indeed, he has hidden them. Hidden them so well, in fact, that he cannot remember where half of them are!’ Isabelle lightly cuffed the back of Lucien’s head.

‘How will you get to Saint-Émilion? The nearest train station is in the next town, but I think you may have to go back to Paris to get the connection.’ Lucien lit a pipe and sucked until the fragrant tobacco burned slowly.

‘I can’t go back. The stations were full of people trying to get away; packed like animals. I was lucky – a friend helped me to stow away.’

‘A stowaway? Ha! I love it. Just like I used to dream of doing as a child,’ Lucien said. ‘When I was bad, which was often, I would pretend to run away. Had a stick with my little handkerchief tied on the end, filled with a toy and a piece of bread. I had the idea to jump on a train and go somewhere new – see wild animals, explore jungles.’

‘A train wouldn’t get you to the depths of Africa!’ Isabelle laughed.

‘I didn’t know that then. It was a sense of adventure; that outside this little village there was a magical world just waiting for me.’

‘Did you ever succeed on your quest?’ Michel asked.

‘Never. I once got close to the train tracks and I waited for an hour or so, but nothing came, and I got bored and went home. Papa hadn’t even noticed I had gone!’

‘There were wild animals on the train I hid on.’ Michel leaned forward, as did Lucien and Isabelle. ‘I heard a roar – a lion. There were all sorts of people on there too – a giant, a dwarf, a monkey!’

‘A monkey! Oh my!’ Isabelle exclaimed.

‘He was a tiny monkey; stuck his tongue out at me as I walked past him.’ Michel stuck his own tongue out at the pair, who fell about laughing.

‘You are joking, of course,’ Lucien said.

‘Not at all. Hand on heart, I am telling you the absolute truth. It was a circus troupe – they even had a bearded woman!’

‘Ha! They should employ you, my dear.’ Lucien stroked Isabelle’s chin where a few grey and white hairs stuck out.

Isabelle swatted his hand away. ‘You’ll pay for that. I’m off to bed. You with your silliness.’

‘Ah, come now. I am sorry, my dear!’ Lucien called after her. ‘She’ll be fine, don’t you worry. I’ll buy her a gift tomorrow, and all will be well. She knows I am just joking.’

Lucien poured the rest of the white wine into Michel’s glass. ‘You told me of the circus people, the train you were on. There is a story I know from my childhood about a great magician, who they say is still alive today.’

‘That wouldn’t be possible,’ Michel said, and smiled at Lucien, whose cheeks were a darker hue than the Burgundy he had drunk at the café.

‘No! It is true. I saw him myself at a fair, and I tell you now it is true. Listen to me, Michel. His name was… wait, I forget his name, but he was a magician, a wonderful one. He was from Paris, they say, and he joined circuses or fairs and would entrance anyone who paid to see his tricks.’ Then, one day he fell in love with a beautiful young woman who worked at the same fair as him. They became lovers, but she was promised to a merchant who would give her a home and a title. The woman, rather than marry the merchant, threw herself from a bridge, and the magician, angered by his love being taken from him, travelled the world thwarting young love wherever it bloomed. They say he took a different form each time – that was his magic, to appear as someone else, so no one would ever be able to catch him.’

‘And you met him?’ Michel asked, yawning, his eyes closing.

‘I did.’

‘And?’

‘And…’ Lucien dropped his voice low, moved closer to Michel. Michel leaned in, awake now.

‘He was… Isabelle’s father!’ Lucien cackled and slapped his knee with mirth.

Michel joined in, but mostly from politeness.

‘Lucien!’ Isabelle stood in the doorway, her hair in a net, her nightdress glowing white in the darkened room. ‘Enough. Bed.’

Lucien nodded and followed his wife up the small staircase, Michel behind them. ‘Your room is there.’ Lucien pointed to a door across from theirs.