In contrast, Lang had preferred a well-made suit in a nice charcoal, tan or brown. Navy twill was about as close to flamboyant as he ever got.
Bella had told herself it was his lack of interest in sartorial concerns which made his wardrobe boring to the point of shabby these last few years. More likely, he'd been unable to afford anything new. The knowledge grated on her nerves, already frayed by her encounter with the fortune teller. It was Lang's own fault of course. It must have been his inadequate management which had caused the company to slide into financial reversal in Perrault's absence.
Still, after her interlude with the Mirror, she couldn't ignore the fact that the circus' decline also coincided with her tenure as featured act.
She would need to set him on his heels quickly. Drive home his failures. Her future depended on convincing him that he could not afford to lose her right now. She'd attack his pride. She'd obliterate whatever trust he placed in his own judgment. It ought to be fairly fragile already, after years of calculated erosion on her part.
She'd remind him that without her, he couldn't keep the circus operating. She'd use each faded backdrop and broken prop, every patched rip in every tent, to condemn him as a failure. Then she would remind him of his worst failure.
She'd remind him of Neve Bianchi.
It would be her coup de grace. After years of allowing his ward to work like a drudge, was he now going to put the weight of the whole circus on her shoulders?
He was bound to have at least some little seed of guilt for expecting his charge to fix his failures. Bella would nurture that seed into a choking vine of regrets and doubt. It was too much to ask, too great a responsibility to place on her young shoulders. She'd convince him Neve would be happier if she were allowed to live a normal, carefree life. Surely, wouldn't Bianchi have wanted his little girl to have a better future than to repeat his own choices? Not to mention, life as a performer hadn't exactly ended well for him.
With a little bit of effort, she'd twist Lang's own fears till he was convinced the kindest thing he could do was to send the girl to some boarding school. Maybe she might not be able to convince him to send the girl away altogether. He'd replace her with the girl over her dead body.
Or better yet, over Neve's.
She rapped sharply at the door of the omnibus.
"Do come in," he called, probably delighted to have an opportunity to show off his new suit.
The door opened. His look of unconcealed dismay at finding her on the other side of it spoke volumes about how their relationship had changed. When she'd first joined the circus, his gaze had glowed with admiration. After Bianchi and Perrault had died, he'd practically worshiped her.
"Andrew! We need to talk."
She assumed her usual arrogant tone, hoping to throw him off his guard from the beginning. It had been a long time since she'd spoken with him from anything other than a position of uncontested power.
It hadn't just been her beauty which had lured him under her spell those years ago. It was her strength, her confidence and conviction in her own talent. Lang never wanted to come out from behind the scenes, but he needed inspiration, a muse, to keep things going. He'd needed someone to believe in, and for a while, it had been Bella.
Now, there was something in his look that unsettled her. He'd viewed her with dread for a while. She'd accepted it as a necessary, if unpleasant, result of keeping him firmly cowed and under control.
Tonight, she saw something in his eyes which had been absent for some time.
Pride.
Confidence.
Authority.
Along with these long-missing attributes, his expression held some elements she'd never seen before, at least not directed her way.
Anger.
Disdain.
Pity?
Oh, this was bad. This was very bad indeed.
He bowed her graciously into the room.
"I agree, Venezia. We have a few things to discuss, as a matter of fact." His ruddy face set into a firm expression.
There was a strength and solidity to his voice that had been absent a long time. The constant conciliatory whine had disappeared. A calculating look crossed Bella's face for a fraction of a second. She changed tacks like a seasoned sailor following the prevailing winds.
"Is that a new suit?" She metamorphosed the growl she'd began with into a throaty purr. Her hand stroked the lapel of his new jacket.
"Yes, it is." The chill in his tone could've frozen hot cider.
She smiled seductively at him.
"Well, you certainly deserve it. I've been meaning to come by and compliment you. It seems like you've finally taken my words to heart. I don't recall when the company has run so smoothly." She fluttered a hand in the general direction of one of the porthole windows.
"Oh really? Because it seems to me that I remember such a time. It was right before you joined the ranks."
"Oh, Andrew. I know losing Bianchi was a terrible blow, but do you really still blame me for that? The man made a mistake. Even the best of us can make mistakes. You act as if I was some sort of bad luck charm. I wasn't the only person to join the troupe before he died."
She played the wounded innocent to the hilt, hoping to find a handhold in his guilt to pull herself back on top of this exchange. A younger Lang would have fallen for it. But the man standing before her had somehow developed the ability to see through her charade.
"No, you weren't the only one to join before he died, but you were the only one to stay long after. You were perfectly happy to take his place."
"And who wouldn't have been? The headliner for Lang & Perrault's World Famous Circus? Any performer worth his chalk and tights would've jumped at that chance!"
Flatter and cajole him. He'll cave. He always does.
"But not every performer would've pushed someone else into the grave to get it!"
He knows! No, it's impossible. He might suspect, but only Max knows.
"Andrew! I'm shocked you could even say such a thing! To me of all people! Who stayed and carried this company, when everyone else deserted you?" She pouted, clutching his arm with her lacquered nails. For a moment, they looked like bloody claws when she spotted them out of the corner of her eyes. Lang jerked his arm free and turned on her.
"See, here's the funny thing about that. Over the years, I've caught up with a few of those deserters. It seems there was more than superstition and grief prompting them to leave. In fact, every one of them said the reason they left was you!"
He glared at her with reproach that had been building for nigh on a decade.
"They were jealous!" wailed Bella, eyes welling with crocodile tears. "You know how performers can be. They didn't get the top billing and they resented me for it. I can't help that. It wasn't my fault."
She batted her long eyelashes at him. Lang let loose with ten years of blazing anger.
"What about the accidents? Are you going to say those weren't your fault, either? How many injured performers have we lost to freak accidents in the last year or two, Bella? Well, I believe I have found the freak; I'm looking right at her! A freak so pathetic, so insecure, she couldn't stand to have the spotlight shine on another living soul!"
Bella recoiled from him. He'd struck too close to home. She snarled in response, unable to play the coquette in the face of his utter disregard. Flattery wasn't working, so she returned to bluster and manipulation.
"Andrew, you've gone too far. I've been patient because I understood you've been under a great deal of strain this year. It seems we're doing well now. Perhaps the sheer relief has made you a little delirious. But if you are going to continue heaping baseless insults and accusations at me, you'll have to find yourself another featured act!"
She rose from the settee dramatically, sweeping her wrap around her as if it were capable of deflecting his words.
He grabbed her arm and led her forcefully to the door of his omnibus.
"I've already found her, Bertha. I think we both kno
w she was right here waiting all along. And if you have any sense left, you'll avoid putting me in the position of having to find an opening act to replace her."
And with that, he slammed the door in her face.
Illusions and Misdirections
Gaslights illuminated the main street of Joliet in the Republic of Illinois. Neve stood on the threshold of the restaurant facing the wooden boardwalk, trying to remember when she'd had such a good time.
An automaton maitre d' rolled up to her on its monowheel, holding out her wrap. She accepted it and wrapped it around her shoulders. It was a fine lacy confection, purchased to match the new garnet-colored gown. A single ostrich plume was tucked into the back of her coiffure.
Her brass and wood wand was tucked secretly away in the garter belt of her stocking. It was her trade secret and the key to her unique act. She didn't like leaving it where it could be stolen.
The sun hadn't yet set and the evening breeze beckoned her to take a walk through the quiet neighborhood. A couple walked hand in hand, following a clockwork perambulator. In addition to powering the wheels, the machine's mechanics spun a fanciful mobile over the bonnet-covered head of its tiny passenger.
She nodded at the family as they passed, and they returned her greeting. She felt a tiny twinge of sadness.
A long time ago, she had been the baby fixed firmly between two loving parents. They were gone, but at least she had warm memories of them and a bright future of her own now.
It had taken a lot of coaxing from Brendan to convince her to go out for a night on the town.
It seemed like such a luxurious indulgence. But the circus was doing much better. At last, Andrew Lang had told her what he'd been hiding all this time. The secret of her inheritance had left her stunned and speechless.
Lang had invited her to tea earlier this week. She'd been surprised to see another gentleman in the parlor of the omnibus. He'd introduced himself as Mr. Constantine Parillo, her father's estate attorney.
In all the years since her father had died, she'd never once asked about her inheritance. Everyone who'd known her father was convinced he must have left her a small fortune, but she'd been afraid it had already been spent paying for her upkeep. As it turned out, she was now a woman of independent means.
Lang had settled her into an overstuffed armchair, and she'd sat in stunned silence as Mr. Parillo explained the details of her inheritance, comprised of three parts. The first part consisted of some of the money her father had accumulated as a star performer. Her mother also left her a small sum from the sale of her grandparents' dry goods store. Those two amounts had been kept in a trust, which even Lang had known little about and which she could now claim.
The third part was a complete surprise: a one-third stake in Lang & Perrault's Ltd. She had glanced out the window of the omnibus, as the news slowly permeated her brain. Everything out there, each booth, tent and wagon, partly belonged to her. All these years of caring for animals and mending costumes, she hadn't been merely preserving her father's memory. She'd been caretaking his legacy.
The news took her breath away. It was a long time before she could speak. Her eyes kept clouding with tears as she signed her name what seemed like a million times on various forms.
Once all the paperwork was completed, Mr. Parillo excused himself and left his card. His offices were in nearby Chicago. She would soon have to visit and make her introductions to the bank, in the event she'd like to withdraw any funds. However, he'd taken it upon himself to bring what he called "a small stipend" to leave with her, should any financial need arise.
It was more money than she'd ever held before.
When Mr. Parillo left, Neve had a long and heartfelt talk with Andrew Lang.
"I'm so sorry I didn't try harder to find out what was bothering you sooner," she'd said. "I was afraid you'd come to see me as a burden."
"Burden? Oh, Neve. The only burden I felt was my own guilt. I was afraid I'd lost most of your inheritance. Your father was a much smarter businessman than I'd ever supposed. I didn't know the amount he'd invested in the company was only a small portion of his savings. And I knew nothing at all about your mother's legacy. Can you ever forgive me? I should have called Parillo months ago. I've been a fool."
Her own fears seemed foolish now. She hoped he realized his worries about her leaving were just as groundless. They'd both assumed the worst, and neither had taken the other's genuine affection into account.
Both of them could have been spared so much worry. If she'd known what was going on sooner, maybe it wouldn't have taken her so long to reveal her talent. She'd had no idea of the strain he'd been under, convinced he'd lose everything he cared about.
She'd been acting like a child. Trying to hide behind the tents and wagons, as if that could postpone becoming a grown woman.
Before she'd started performing, Lang had been terrified. He'd been convinced she'd demand the cash value of the share when she learned the truth.
It would have meant the end of the circus. Their savings had been depleted. He'd have needed to sell the whole thing in order to pay her.
The poor man was afraid Neve would take his livelihood. He wouldn't have blamed her. So he'd been avoiding her, dreading a discussion which had actually been the furthest thing from her mind.
Meanwhile, she'd been convinced he'd grown tired of being responsible for her, and planned to turn her out at the end of the season.
Now, she stood smiling into the evening sky, arrayed in a fine dress rivaling anything she'd worn as a little girl.
Since she'd transformed into the Amazing Bianca, everything else had transformed around her.
The circus was flush with cash. She'd reassured Lang that she had no reason or desire to leave.
Despite her misgivings about his past, she was intrigued by the prospect of a future with Brendan. Both he and Lang believed she had the potential to become as great a box office draw as her father.
All the performers were being paid regularly, some with bonuses in appreciation for times when payment had been slow in coming. Invitations to perform were rolling in from cities and republics all across the continent. Glowing reviews circulated on the aether wires.
Lang was even considering wiring his European connections about a Mediterranean tour this winter, and a short spring run in Paris and London.
It all seemed like a dream.
She'd said as much to Brendan, who'd told her nothing solidified a feeling of financial security quite like a shopping excursion.
So taking his advice, she'd spent the morning at the dressmakers and the haberdashers. Her closet now contained a few dresses and hats unsuitable for wrestling monkeys or grooming show horses. Monique had squealed with delight when she'd stopped by the costumiere's tent to show off her new wardrobe.
"Ah, ma chere! Vous êtes si belle! Your papa, he would be so happy to see you now!" The older woman had dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief, overwhelmed by the sartorial display of Neve's success.
She'd never say so for fear of inflating his already dirigible-sized ego, but Brendan was often completely right.
After shopping, and after the carnival was set up for tomorrow's opening day, a group of the troupe and crew had all gone downtown together. Everyone seemed intent on celebrating their newfound success.
Shockingly, both Bella and Big Max had decided to come along. Bella was arrayed in turquoise silk, dripping with glass beads of sapphire blue. Max surprised everyone by wearing a suit, although he kept continually tugging at the tie around his enormous neck.
They kept mostly to themselves, but every so often one or the other would smile and nod. Neve hoped it was an indication they were genuinely pleased with the circus' success. After all, it benefited them as much as it did everyone else.
Brendan had accompanied her the entire evening. He'd regaled the group with stories of his childhood near Limerick. The tales included one about the ongoing war between the village priest and his extraordinarily st
ubborn donkey. The donkey had a clockwork mechanical leg, a replacement after losing one to an accident. The ungrateful beast had taken great pleasure in destroying much of the priest's property with it over the years.
After that, Lang began telling stories from earlier years of the circus. After a few glasses of port, he was snickering and recounting the time Bianchi had pulled a prank on Perrault.
"Poor Charlie!" Lang guffawed by the end. "He never would go near the carousel after that!" Neve chuckled in surprise. She'd never known her father had such a mischievous side.
By the time dinner was over and the group was ready to depart, they were all flushed with laughter and filled with good food and high spirits.
As the large party left the restaurant, they broke into smaller groups. Some wanted to look around in the local shops, a few others were intent on visiting the saloon. A few including Lang were ready to head back to the circus in Highland Park and turn in for the night.
As for Brendan and Neve, they strolled down the street together, seemingly with no particular destination in mind, fingers intertwined.
The evening so far had been spent planning an exciting future, enjoying the present, and sharing happy memories.
Before the night had ended, her past and present would take a grim turn, and her future would be plunged into shadows and doubt.
Dark Machinations
Bella and Big Max disappeared into an alley for only a moment. There, a man in tattered and filthy clothing waited, nervously smoking a cheroot. A battered straw hat was pulled low over his brow. He smelled as though he hadn't had a bath in years, if ever.
"This is the best you could find me?" Bella's snide tone was designed to punish Max. They needed someone reliable. Not some wastrel who looked like he could barely stand up under his own power.
"He was just released from the local prison this week. He's broke, desperate, and the last person on earth anyone would believe if he's stupid enough to get caught."
Max Grosvenor puffed his chest out. She supposed he was right. Finding someone willing to do a job of this sort on short notice was probably not an easy request to fulfill. Of course, it had been less a request, and more a demand fueled by blackmail. She doubted she'd really needed such inducements. Max would never betray her. He'd always done whatever she needed him to do. Why would he waver now? What was the old saying? In for a penny, in for a pound.
Mirrors and Magic: A Steampunk Fairy Tale (The Clockwork Republic Series) Page 9