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As Laurent shrugged, Rex growled, “Are we going to just stand here all night or?”
Laurent noted my hesitance before replying, “We can go now, Rex.” He motioned me to the other end of the platform and asked, “Shall we?”
I kept thinking about Mr. Grey’s final warning, and I couldn’t forget his accusatory finger pointing at me and the two brothers... almost as if we were equal in our standing. I was certainly the star of the circus now, but how had I earned such a distinction?
Chapter Four
Before my attempted getaway, I might have considered having my own private tent a huge blessing.
As well as I got on with the rest of the troupe, there were plenty of times when sharing my sleeping quarters with so many people became an inconvenience. It was especially true when I needed to slip out in the night on my trips to the ebony caravan. Never mind all the times I wished I could sleep a little longer or, those unlucky nights when I failed to sleep at all. Naturally, all the instances of personal business that one takes for granted inside a private home, such as having a personal privy or changing room, are reserved as a luxury when one travels with the circus.
Despite that, getting relegated to a tent all by myself made me once more recall the wisdom of my mother’s homily:be careful what you wish for. Not that it was uncomfortable, not in the least. The cot was actually of better quality than even the best in the communal sleeping tent. Nearly all the possessions I’d left behind in my run for Iowa were also present and accounted for. I even had my own full-length mirror to see my reflection as I changed into my nightgown or stage clothes.
But even this seemingly cozy domicile had no more character than a hotel room. All my possessions, both new and old, occupied very little space inside the vast interior. Most of it was empty. I wished my friends from the previous shows were there to share it with me.
During the first tour, I’d met Halfreida, the bearded lady who’d looked after me like a loving aunt, and then there was the more impersonal, Valida—the snake-charmer who became oddly overly protective of those she was fond of. My last tour had introduced me to newer friends: the tattooed Lady Liberty, the long-haired sisters, Bernice and Vernice, and Madame Jiang, an Asian woman with extremely long fingernails, a pet monkey, and very few words. My heart skipped when I thought of Amelia too. But they were all gone now, and that knowledge made my new quarters as cold and impersonal as Ned’s steel revolver.
Speaking of Ned, I was pleasantly surprised to find he wasn’t still watching over me, especially after Mr. Grey’s final remarks on the train platform. But if Laurent planned to put Ned in the show, he’d want this cowboy-for-hire to have plenty of time and space to practice his sharpshooting act. So, I was guarded by a pair of stagehands, who did no more than patrol the outer perimeter of my tent. It was easy to surmise I was allowed to go nowhere and see no one.
The gravity of my situation landed on my shoulders and instantly depressed me. At this point, I would have welcomed even Greta, the World’s Largest Woman, for company which was saying a lot because dear Greta snored like a saw mill. My thoughts centered on Liberty, the two sisters and Jiang. Once more, I worried they’d been caught helping me escape. And if so, I hated to imagine the harsh punishment that awaited them for being so kind to me.
Oddly enough, I found it difficult to imagine either Laurent or Rex meting out any form of punishment though. I guessed any severe treatment for rule-breakers would be executed by none other than Mr. Grey, himself.
I argued with myself because that made no sense. Laurent had already proven more than once what a slick liar and opportunist he was on several occasions. And I’d witnessed enough instances of Rex’s unmitigated anger to believe that brutality was well within his repertoire. Yet I still longed to find a way to explain, absolve or forgive them for the harm they did to me or anyone else. Beyond all sense and reason, I still hoped they’d turn out to be better men than they seemed.
And that just proved how completely stupid I was.
My confusion regarding Laurent and Rex and my feelings towards them only exacerbated my general unhappiness. How could I seek the answers to the circus’s dark mysteries while being trapped inside my tent and constantly observed? Laurent could insist on calling me the star of the show just like he had with Brandeis when she was the star. But now she was gone. And I was here.
I felt like a trained monkey confined to a gilded birdcage, just like the one in my act. Even though the gold bars shone and twinkled in the lights, I was still being held captive against my will.
As that thought crossed my mind, I heard a soft cooing coming from the shadow at the back of the tent. It sounded remarkably familiar. I looked up in alarm, fearing my persistent brooding was giving me auditory hallucinations. My alarm increased when I saw something silently creeping out of the shadows with another soft coo as it came closer. It was a tiny, human-like shape but its gait dispelled that assumption. When I caught sight of his tail and face, I relaxed and smiled as I opened my arms to him.
“Samuel!” I whispered as quietly as I could, scooping up the little monkey and putting him in my lap. I gave him a heartfelt hug and whispered, “I’m so happy to see you!”
The precious, little monkey, Madame Jiang’s ‘co-performer’, wrapped his furry arms around my neck, cooing and soothing me. He sealed his hug with a soft kiss on my cheek, which I returned by planting one on his forehead.
When I finally looked at him, it was with a combination of hope and dread. Jiang and Samuel had collaborated in my escape. Samuel’s presence here made me think Jiang was still alive, or at least, I hoped such was the case. Then again, it could also mean that she was gone, and he’d been banished to the fate of a roaming fugitive.
“How did you even find me?” I asked even though it was a silly question because it wasn’t as though Samuel could speak. Still, he was smarter than your average monkey. So I asked him, “Do you need a place to hide?” I considered my travel trunk at the foot of my cot.
Samuel shook his head a couple of times before handing me something. It turned out to be two things: a fountain pen and a small, folded-up piece of paper. Although I could make out very little of the message in the sliver of dim moonlight, I knew the quality of the fine paper was a clue as to whom it came from. I had to angle the paper just right to see what was written on it. The missive was simple and artistically written in flowing script:
“Next rehearsal, bring this—Jiang.”
I had to smile with relief. Owing to her outlandish fingernails, Jiang’s hands were rendered practically useless. She compensated by using her feet to do a vast number of everyday tasks. That included handwriting. I took her note as the first sure sign she was safe.
When I looked away from the note, Samuel snatched it from my hand as though it were a fresh peach. “Samuel, wait!” I called, but he’d already leaped from my lap and disappeared into the shadows without a sound. Waiting for the footsteps of the nearest stagehand to pass him by, Samuel flipped the tent flap to the side and darted out of it.
My eyes landed on the fountain pen. I initially assumed it had been provided so I could write some sort of message back to Jiang. But Samuel’s swift retreat made me wonder otherwise. Why would Jiang have given me this pen and told me to bring it to tomorrow’s rehearsal?
***
Laurent made a frustrated cry in his throat and shook his head. “No, no, no, Bindi!” he called out, his voice echoing under the big top. “You keep defaulting to the old routine! Come out of there and try again, please!”
It took every bit of my waning self-control to restrain the urge to tell Laurent what he could do with his “request.” But I was already a virtual prisoner, so it was less than wise to follow that course of action. For once, I heeded my good sense and slowly extracted myself from the tight birdcage that had become the staple of my act. Getting out of it was far from speedy. Every muscle in my body had to be stretched, and every limb positioned perfectly to avoid injury. By slow degrees, I eventually emerged from the cage and stood at my full—if modest—height on the ground. Then and only then could I give my full attention to the ringmaster.
“You expect me to execute my act perfectly after justonerehearsal?”
