by Evelyn James
“And Buffalo Rock,” David said. “That seems important.”
“Yes,” Clara nodded. “Only Clark doesn’t recall it and my current investigations have not offered a clue. We even got an atlas out and tried to look up the place, but it seems it was not worthy of the map-maker’s attention.”
David gave a knowing smile.
“I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful,” he said. “But I can’t bring to mind the place either. I didn’t travel that extensively in America.”
“You don’t have to apologise,” Clara told him warmly. “Just concentrate on feeling better.”
At that moment there was another knock on the door of the caravan.
“I imagine that is your breakfast,” Clara said.
She opened the door and on the step was a young, plump girl with a rather simple expression on her face. She stared at Clara with no curiosity and then stepped passed her and plopped the tray of breakfast on David’s lap, before turning around without a word and departing again.
“Kicked in the head by a horse as a child,” David whispered once the girl was walking away in an unhurried fashion. “Knocked her wits out of her head. But she does as she is told.”
Clara said farewell to David and headed out herself. She wasn’t sure what to do next, but having promised to meet Tommy, she could not go home. Instead she decided to wander around and see if any spark of inspiration in the case came to her.
She was wasting time by the shooting gallery, studying the wooden duck targets that were in desperate need of a lick of paint, when out of the corner of her eye she saw someone she recognised. She turned her head and caught sight of a man in dull brown clothes – brown loose trousers, faded brown worn and scuffed boots, a ragged brown coat and a flat cap of indeterminate pattern, though that too had taken on a brown hue. Considering the fellow’s skin also retained the light traces of a summer tan, (from working outside, not from leisurely reposing in the sun) he seemed wholly carved from the wood of a chestnut tree. How anyone could manage to so coordinate their clothes and skin tone by chance amazed Clara. She also knew who he was at once.
“Good morning, Harry.”
Harry startled at his name. He shot his hands behind his back, but Clara had already noticed they contained a pair of apples.
“Oh, Miss Fitzgerald.”
“I did not realise you were working at the funfair,” Clara said amiably, knowing full well he was not working there, but deciding to offer him a chance to excuse his presence.
Harry shuffled his feet, considering whether to accept the opportunity she had offered him or not, then he concluded he owed Clara a touch of honesty.
“I don’t precisely work here,” he said. “I was taking a look around.”
To see what valuables and money might have been left unattended, Clara added in her head, but she only smiled.
“Fortuitous I saw you; we must arrange a meeting. I was going to send a message to your uncle, but this is far better.”
“You have spoken with Chang?” Harry asked, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
“I have and he is willing to help. All we need do is arrange the details, he has even organised our ‘victim’,” Clara was slightly alarmed to realise how much she was enjoying the challenge of arranging this kidnapping operation. When had she become so criminally inclined? “As I say, we just need to get everyone together to discuss the details.”
Harry looked relieved, as if until that point he had feared nothing would come of his desperate plea to Clara. He produced his hands from behind his back and looked at the apples, one clutched in each palm. Finally, he proffered one to Clara.
“Would you like one?”
Aside from the fact she would be helping to dispose of stolen goods, Clara was not hungry.
“No, thank you. I have eaten and, to be honest, I have lost my appetite over the trouble here at the funfair.”
“I heard about that,” Harry nodded. “It’s all over Brighton. Someone taking out the acts one-by-one. Some of my mates are coming tonight just to see if they can catch a glimpse of the next victim.”
“How morbid,” Clara grimaced.
“Not really,” Harry shrugged. “World’s rough, everyone is a loser, so you sometimes take pleasure in someone else being knocked down rather than yourself. Not that I do, of course.”
Harry was shuffling his feet again.
“You won’t mention you saw me to those security chaps, will you?”
“You mean Gunther and Vladimir,” Clara repeated the names, thinking what they would do to Harry if they found him stealing. “No, I won’t, but you ought to be careful.”
“Man like me has to take his chances,” Harry shrugged. “Trouble is, these funfair folks are damn cautious, excuse my language, miss. They have all their money locked up tight and most of the rest of this stuff ain’t worth a penny.”
Clara glanced at the tatty duck shoot stand and had to agree with him.
“I see your point.”
“I thought there might be something worth…” Harry caught himself before he said ‘stealing’. “I thought the side exhibits might contain something decent, but they are all old things, some of them bloody creepy. You know, I’m rather gutted I couldn’t have got hold of that horse that was killed. I could have sold that meat on for a pretty penny.”
Poor Gung-Ho, it seemed everyone was only interested in what could be gained from the creature, not that it had perished in such a nasty fashion. Perhaps the only person who truly cared was Clark and even he had largely forgotten who Gung-Ho was.
“Is it true someone threw a noose around a woman’s neck and dragged her around the main tent?” Harry asked, eyes widening.
“It was a lasso and I don’t think she was dragged, but certainly throttled.”
Harry whistled.
“These travelling folks are a whole different world. Have you seen that painted lady? More tattoos than my Uncle Reg, and he was a merchant seaman.”
“I have. Her name is Mary.”
“Someone told me she has a Bible passage written on her but… written on her skin.”
“I can’t say,” Clara was smirking a little, imagining what Harry had almost said. “Maybe you should ask her.”
Harry gave another whistle, this one to emphasise how alarming an idea that was.
“I prefer not to upset such a feisty lass. Any woman who is prepared to have tattoos all over her body has to be somewhat crazy.”
Clara was not going to argue with that, it was hard to imagine most women even considering a single tattoo, let alone having them on their face.
“Now, about this meeting,” Clara returned to their previous topic. “It should be soon.”
“Tonight,” Harry offered. “I can get everyone together tonight and it is better that way. Less likely someone might accidentally let it slip what we are doing.”
Clara frowned.
“Don’t you trust your friends?”
“Implicitly,” Harry said, affronted by the suggestion and drawing himself up in indignation. “But they are not always good at remembering to keep their mouths shut. I mean, they won’t say a word about this kidnapping lark, but they might accidentally mention they are going somewhere if they have too long before the meeting. Some of them have women in their lives who don’t like secrets.”
“Ah, and these women might wear them down into telling them what they are up to, if they are given the time?” Clara understood.
“Exactly. Worse, they might start trying to talk them out of it. Anyway, better to get this meeting over and done with, pretend it is just a trip to the pub, or what have you.”
“All right,” Clara said, though now a touch concerned. “Name a place and time and I shall make sure Chang is there.”
Harry paused a moment to consider where he could suggest they go. He rubbed an apple on his chin, since he could not scratch at it with his fingers.
“I think we should meet beneath the old pier,” he said. “No one
goes there, except for some homeless fellows. High tide is at ten tonight, and the water will be right up to the planks of the pier this time of year.”
“Very well, then shall we agree to meet at eight?” Clara suggested.
“That sounds good,” Harry agreed. “It’s a quiet place, and easy to see people coming. That means we can watch out for trouble.”
Clara felt a pang of anxiety creep into her chest. It was all very well talking about these things, but when they started to become a reality, when she was actually making a stand against Jao Leong’s gang, then things started to become scary. She was not going to back down, however.
“I shall let Chang know,” Clara promised.
Harry gave a slight nod of his head, then bit into his apple thoughtfully.
“Any idea where this Mr Maven has his caravan?” He asked, glancing around him.
Clara wasn’t going to help him that much in his thieving, she might have sympathy for the man and his plight – poverty was hard, especially in winter and the odd lost apple was not worth hanging a man over – but she also knew that the funfair folk were far from able to afford losing their belongings or money. Maven might have money in his caravan, but it would largely go on the wages of his performers and on keeping the funfair running.
“He has a guard dog,” Clara told Harry, thinking of the aging terrier that could probably still give a good nip to the ankles.
“Really?” Harry groaned. “That’s a nuisance.”
“Actually, I think that could be Vladimir coming this way,” Clara casually looked over Harry’s shoulder, at no one in particular.
“Damn!” Harry repeated, darting past Clara as fast as he could.
Clara watched him go, wondering if she should mention his presence to anyone, then deciding to leave it be. Harry had enough problems to contend with as it was.
Chapter Twenty-One
Tommy found Clara near a stand that sold cheap novelty ornaments, the sort that were slightly saucy or which made a play on old sayings. There was a poorly sculpted kitten crying over spilt milk, and a gentleman walking with a young woman past a bush where a pair of robins sang, the phrase beneath – a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. The sort of ornaments bound to raise a slight chuckle and tempt people to part with a few pence.
Clara had been conversing with the stall owner, a woman of decadent proportions who was trying hard to sell Clara a figurine of a rosy cheeked woman carrying a basket of apples, the slogan beneath declaring an apple a day kept the doctor away, when Tommy arrived. Clara gave him a look of relief as she extracted herself from the woman, having come perilously close to paying ninepence for a cheap piece of ceramic.
“Any luck?” She asked Tommy.
“The telegram is sent, but we shall have to patient for a response. There is a time difference,” he answered.
“Well, we can only hope for a swift reply. Someone must know what this Buffalo Rock is all about.”
They paused at the sight of Maven stalking across the funfair grounds with a face like thunder. Clara felt in no mood to disturb him.
“I’m worried about Mary,” Clara said after a moment. “The way I see it, she is the only one of Clark’s friends to have not suffered an attack.”
“And, logically, she is next,” Tommy nodded.
“I want to be wrong about that, but it is hard to see things any other way.”
Clara glanced across the funfair in the direction of Mary’s tent.
“She has no one looking out for her,” she said anxiously. “And I don’t think she is taking this whole situation as seriously as she should.”
“I don’t think anyone has taken it seriously in the way you and I mean,” Tommy snorted. “Maven is only concerned that he is losing trade, and it strikes me the others are seeing this as a nuisance rather than a real threat. They won’t change their habits to help us.”
“They can’t afford to lose the money,” Clara replied. “I understand that, but I just wish Maven would hire some extra security. He mentioned it, but as far as I can tell only Gunther and Vladimir are on site.”
“Extra security means extra expenses,” Tommy said knowingly.
“Exactly,” Clara grumbled, she had started to walk in the direction of Mary’s caravan, passing the carousel once again. “I really must take a ride on that.”
Tommy glanced in the direction of the huge ride with its wild-eyed horses and golden decorations.
“Did you not the other night?”
“John and I were about to, when the misfortune with Clark occurred,” Clara shrugged. “Still, there are a few nights to go as yet before the funfair moves on.”
“Do you think Annie would like to ride the carousel?” Tommy asked thoughtfully.
Clara gave him a sidelong look. Tommy smiled sheepishly.
“Yes, quite right. Just asking Annie might risk a tirade about the dangers of mechanical things.”
“I love Annie dearly, but she is a very dogmatic soul at times,” Clara chuckled. “I think it is safe to say that funfair rides are not her idea of a pleasurable experience.”
They were just turning the corner of a tent, walking past the oddities display Clara had spent far too much time around the night before, when Clara stopped Tommy with a tug on his arm. He looked puzzled, until she nodded her head towards Mary’s caravan. The painted lady was stood on her steps, arms folded over her chest, glaring down at Clark who was talking to her in a soft voice.
“He said to me earlier that he could not fathom why a man would choose Polly over Mary,” Clara explained to Tommy. “And I don’t think he was being sarcastic.”
Tommy pulled a frown, trying to make out the scene.
“It takes all sorts, I suppose,” he said.
“I wonder how it is going? Will he win her back?” Clara was smiling to herself. “Oh, but then I shall feel sorry for Polly. Oh dear. And is Clark worthy of being returned to Mary’s affections after he ditched her?”
“Does she have many other options,” Tommy said drily.
He received a sharp elbow to the ribs as a result.
“That is not nice,” Clara hissed at him. “Come on, let’s leave them in peace.”
She hustled him away and they walked back in the direction of the entrance.
“What is the plan for tonight?” Tommy asked. “Shall we come here again?”
Clara felt a pang of guilt that her other arrangements meant she could not come to the funfair and try to protect Mary from harm. She had also failed to mention anything about her kidnapping scheme to Tommy. In fact, he knew nothing about her association with Brilliant Chang. Keeping him in ignorance, she hoped, would protect him from any trouble Jao Leong or Chang could dream up, it was probably a vain hope, but it seemed wisest to keep him unaware of her plans.
Besides, if Tommy knew about her plotting, he would be bound to interfere, to tell her she was getting herself into dangerous waters and try to stop her. Trouble was, she had found herself in those dangerous waters just by trying to keep out of this gang business. No, she could not stop what she was doing, she could not run away, because this trouble would come and find her.
She didn’t like tricking her friends, deliberately keeping secrets from them, but sometimes it was necessary, and right then that was certainly the case. When this was all over, she would make a clean breast of things.
Probably.
“We weren’t much use last night,” Clara muttered.
“We made the assailant work harder,” Tommy pointed out. “Don’t be hard on yourself. Annie is being very harsh about this all, blaming herself for what happened.”
Clara did not like the sound of that.
“I never meant for Annie to get embroiled in this in such a way. I don’t want her feeling that she has let any of us down. She could not have known.”
“No, but she keeps puttering about ‘if she had not gone for that sugar David would never have been hurt’. She is taking it hard, that’s all.”
“If anyone is at fault, it is me for putting this responsibility on Annie,” she insisted. “I must have a word with her and explain that.”
“She takes things to heart too much,” Tommy said. “David should never have left his stand. If he had not, this would never have happened.”
“I suppose he was trying to be helpful, just as Annie was. This assailant was playing on their innate kindness, which is horrid.”
“So, are we coming back tonight?”
Clara felt the pressure of that question mounting up on her. What could she say to excuse herself?
“I have a meeting tonight. About the pageant being held at the pavilion. As a member of the pavilion committee, I have a duty of responsibility to ensure everything has been properly arranged,” Clara lied, surprised how smoothly the deceit came from her lips. “The town council is responsible for the actual event, but we must make sure that everything is in order and no one is likely to take liberties with the pavilion. Remember that function organised by the mayor where one of the guests thought they could walk away with a piece of the ornate plasterwork?”
“I remember you nearly had steam coming out of your ears in fury,” Tommy laughed. “Wasn’t that guest a lady or something.”
“A baroness,” Clara corrected. “Not that that mattered to me one jot. I recall she was nearly in tears by the time I had finished with her. That is the trouble with the very rich, they think they can get away with anything.”
Clara had started to tense up at the memory of the stolen plasterwork and the restoration expense required to return it to where it belonged though, fortunately, she had extracted that cost from the said thieving baroness.
“The woman said she just wanted a souvenir of the occasion and thought it would not matter as the place was so very old,” Clara groaned.
Tommy smiled at her sympathetically.