“I was there when that wish came true too,” Bess said darkly. “At the end of his afternoon performance, Dante surrounded himself with a wall of fire. I watched from the back of the tent as my father’s body seemed to catch fire and burn. I was terrified. Dante’s flesh melted into a steaming, bubbling pool. I screamed, and my mother found me and pulled me into her skirts. A moment later, she forced me to turn around and look toward the stage. The smoke had cleared and Dante was visible again, whole and unhurt, like a phoenix risen from the ashes.” Bess let out a long breath. “It was the most terrifying thing I’d ever seen. I had nightmares about it for years.”
Kitty nodded sympathetically. “I wasn’t there for that illusion, but I was there the next day when one of the performers caught fire for real. Thomas the juggler had been practicing his routine with flaming clubs. One of the clubs got away and landed at a female performer’s feet. Her long dress went up like a torch. It happened so fast, I just stood there in shock. Someone knocked her to the ground and rolled with her to extinguish the flames, but she’d been badly burned. They had to rush her off to the hospital.”
“I’m not sure why,” said Bess, “but in our mother’s mind there was some kind of connection between the illusion Dante had wished for and the accident. Maybe it was just because she was so shaken up. Those were difficult times for the whole country. World War I was raging in Europe, and Canada was shipping men overseas by the thousands. Dante was too old for military service, but many of the younger carnival performers had signed up. It was hard on everyone, waiting for news from the front to hear who was still alive and who was dead.”
“Our mother must have reached the breaking point when she found out she was pregnant again,” said Kitty. “She couldn’t do anything about the war, but she did try to get rid of Monsieur Lucien. She gave our father an ultimatum: Tell Lucien to take his rosewood box and go, or she’d pack us up and we’d leave the carnival.”
Bess shook her head. “And the foolish man chose to let Monsieur Lucien stay.”
“Maybe he thought your mother was bluffing,” Chloe offered.
“Dante wasn’t choosing Monsieur Lucien over us forever, Bess,” Kitty said to her sister. “It was supposed to be temporary. We were going to be reunited at the end of the season.”
“But it wasn’t temporary, was it?” Bess said angrily. “The carnival disappeared. We never saw our father again!”
“Something must have happened,” Kitty insisted. “He would have returned if it were possible. He didn’t abandon us of his own free will. I refuse to believe that, no matter what you say, Bess!”
The two old women glared at each other across the table.
“What did happen?” Chloe asked nervously.
Bess shook her head at last and turned to Chloe. “Dante was supposed to be home on the ninth of December. When he still wasn’t home on the eleventh, our mother went to the police. They waited a few days to take action, but when there was still no news of Dante, they visited the site of the carnival’s last engagement. They found a few posters and the painting that hangs on the landing, but nothing else.”
“That’s not true,” Kitty interrupted. “They also found Monsieur Lucien’s rosewood box.”
Chloe’s hand rose instantly to the key that hung at her throat. “Then you still have the wishing box?”
“Oh, no,” Kitty said, shaking her head. “Our mother destroyed it as soon as the police released it to her. I’m sure that’s why Bess forgot about it.”
Bess had pushed herself up from the table again. “I would forget the whole darn thing if you’d only let me, Kitty. I still don’t see the point in raking up the past.”
Kitty winked at Chloe the moment Bess was gone. “Don’t let her fool you. I knew she’d be back when I started telling you Dante and Magdala’s story. Bess wants you to know your family history every bit as much as I do.”
Chapter Eight
Nyssa showed up at the door after lunch. “What are you up to this afternoon?” she asked Chloe. “Want to walk into town?”
Chloe’s fingers were wrapped around the key at her neck. “Actually, I was just on my way upstairs.”
“To look for your mystery lock? Even better,” said Nyssa. “I’ve never been past the main floor. I’ve always wanted to see the rest of the house.”
When Chloe hesitated, Nyssa put up her hands. “I’ll be cool. I won’t say anything more about haunted houses, I promise.”
“All right,” said Chloe. She stepped back to let her friend enter. “We can cover more ground with two pairs of eyes anyway.” On their way up the stairs, Chloe pointed out the painting of the carnival on the first landing.
“This is it?” said Nyssa, leaning forward to get a better look. “This is the picture that keeps changing?”
Chloe nodded. “And now look, there’s a lake in the background. I swear that’s the first time I’ve seen the lake. No matter what you say about holograms or practical jokes, this picture still creeps me out!”
Nyssa studied the painting a second longer. “All right then, let’s see if this lake is still here when we come back downstairs.”
A minute later they were on the third floor, entering a storage room lined with cupboards and shelves and wardrobes. Garment racks filled most of the center of the room.
“Cool,” Nyssa said as Chloe unzipped the nearest garment bag and removed a long gown of gauzy white fabric. Nyssa reached for the handle of the mahogany wardrobe beside her. She was almost buried in the avalanche of garments that spilled out when she opened the door. “Wow. Did all these costumes come from Dante’s carnival?” she asked.
“All that stuff disappeared with Dante, I think,” said Chloe. “Kitty told me that her mother was a seamstress and costume maker for St. Mark’s.”
“Your great-grandmother made these?” said Nyssa, holding up a mermaid’s tail covered with glittering scales. “That is so cool.”
Chloe nodded. “I know. Both my great-grandparents were amazing. You wouldn’t believe what Dante went through to get what he wanted. It makes me feel kind of stupid. Dante would never have let something like stage fright stop him from doing what he wanted to do.”
“People get over stage fright, you know,” Nyssa said as she returned the mermaid’s tail to the wardrobe. “I know you say you have it bad, but it doesn’t have to be a life sentence.”
“I know, I know.” Chloe took a deep breath. “Actually, on that subject, I was kind of wondering—how late would be too late to put my name down for that talent show?”
Nyssa looked up. “You’re changing your mind?”
“Don’t get excited,” said Chloe. “I’m not committing myself to anything yet. It’s just, I’ve been thinking about how Dante never gave up. I don’t know. I’ve been reading his memoir, exploring his house—maybe some of his determination is rubbing off on me.”
“So do you still have your entry form?”
“I threw it away,” Chloe said sheepishly.
“No problem,” said Nyssa. “I can get you another one tonight.”
“Wait—” Chloe threw up her hands. “You have to understand. Just talking about this makes me feel sick. It’s like there’s this thing inside me, waiting to pounce when I even think about performing.”
“So do you want to do it or not?” asked Nyssa.
“I want to do it. I just need to take it in little steps.”
Nyssa shrugged. “All right, I’ll get the form then.”
“Thanks,” Chloe said, letting out her breath. “Guess I’ll have to start doing some serious practicing.”
“You’d better. You’ve only got a few weeks left. Sorry,” Nyssa added when she saw the pained expression on Chloe’s face. “Little steps. I won’t say another word.” Chloe and Nyssa worked their way through the storage room and two other rooms next to it, but they didn’t find the lock that went with Chloe’s tiny key.
They were on their way downstairs shortly before suppertime when Nyssa came t
o a halt on the first-floor landing. “Lake’s still there,” she said as she peered at the painting of the carnival.
Chloe stepped forward to look. “The lake hasn’t changed, but he’s moved.” She pointed at the snake charmer crouched beside a cage full of snakes. “And so has he,” she said, moving her finger to the magician seated on a crate beside the snake charmer. “Plus the fiery balls he was juggling are gone.”
“Are you sure?” said Nyssa. “It looks the same to me. I didn’t memorize all the details.”
Chloe shook her head in exasperation. “It’s different, really! Can’t you see that?”
“I don’t know,” said Nyssa. “Is it possible that you’re getting the details confused with something you dreamed about?”
Chloe folded her arms across her chest. “I didn’t dream it, and I’m not making this up. I know what I saw.”
“Sorry, Chloe,” Nyssa said with a shrug. “When you said the lake was different, that’s all I really paid attention to. I promise I’ll check it more carefully next time. Tomorrow, okay?”
Chloe made her way to the sitting room after dinner that evening. “This is for real,” she told herself as she closed the door firmly behind her and took a seat at the piano.
She stretched her fingers and ran through her scales first. When she’d completed the scales, she played a passage from Debussy’s Clair de Lune from memory. She worked at the passage until she was satisfied that her wrists and fingers were limber, and then she turned to the sheet music she’d discovered earlier inside the piano bench. Most of the music had proven to be too simple to hold her interest, but there were a few pieces that stood out from the rest. There was a Chopin nocturne and a handwritten arrangement called The Ballad of Petticoat Joe that had a number of challenging passages.
Chloe carefully arranged the pages of Petticoat Joe on the ledge in front of her. She tackled the piece in parts, playing first the right-hand part and then the left. Slowly, note by note, the piece began to take shape under her fingers. She tried playing it through with both hands, but it was a fast piece and the rhythm was tricky in a few sections. “It’ll come,” she told herself. She pushed a stray curl out of her eye and started again from the top.
Lying awake in bed later that night, Chloe thought about the story her great-aunts had shared with her. “Am I obsessed too?” Chloe asked herself. Dante had wanted the whole world to recognize him; she just wanted enough confidence to appear in front of an audience without humiliating herself. That wasn’t so much to ask, was it?
“You’re a perfectionist,” her piano teacher had told her. “Aiming high is good, but don’t set the bar so high that you can never be satisfied with yourself.”
In the dark and silent bedroom, Chloe grimaced. She wasn’t setting the bar very high this time. All she wanted was to get through the next recital without freezing up entirely. All she wanted was to survive it.
Outside on the landing, the grandfather clock struck the first hour of midnight. Chloe’s thoughts turned to the painting of the carnival that hung beside the clock. “And what’s that about? she whispered. She’d sounded like an idiot in front of Nyssa that afternoon, but the painting had changed, no matter what her friend thought.
Chloe felt a sudden overwhelming urge to check the painting before she fell asleep. She rose from her bed and crept down the hallway. A faint whispering sound made her pause at the foot of the stairs, but when she held her breath and strained to hear the sound again, it had stopped. Only the rhythmic ticking of the tall clock remained.
Chloe forced herself to continue up the stairs.
There was just enough moonlight coming through the windows on the second floor for Chloe to make out the rectangular shape of the painting on the landing. It was too dark to see details, but as she leaned in, she saw the silhouettes of tall trees—a forest that hadn’t been there the last time she looked. And the sky…it was almost glowing with—Chloe drew her breath in sharply. There were tiny sparkling stars all over the painted sky. This morning the painting had displayed a daylight scene. Now it was unquestionably night.
Chapter Nine
“It’s changed,” Chloe insisted as she led Nyssa up to the landing the next morning. “I’m not imagining things, I’m not making it up. The painting is totally different. Just look!”
Nyssa stared at the painting, her eyebrows lifted. “Weird. It’s got to be a different painting.” She shook her head. “All I can say is that someone sure is going to a lot of trouble to mess with your head.”
“I don’t get it,” said Chloe. “Who would want to do that? And why—what’s the point?”
Nyssa shrugged. “My dad said he’s heard your great-aunts were real practical jokers when they were younger. Bess especially.”
“Bess?” said Chloe. “Maybe sixty or seventy years ago, but now? I don’t think so. Even if she had a reason to, there’s no way she could lift a painting this size off the wall.”
“Maybe your aunts’ housekeeper is in on it. Or maybe the housekeeper is doing it all by herself.”
“Abigail?” said Chloe. “Okay, what’s her motive supposed to be?”
“Maybe she’s bored,” Nyssa said. “Maybe it’s a prank she plays on every houseguest. You did say she was hinting about weird stuff going on in this house.”
Chloe shook her head. “It’s not Abigail.”
“How do you know it’s not her?” Nyssa asked. “Have you got a webcam hidden in her room?”
“I just don’t believe it’s her.”
“C’mon, Chloe,” said Nyssa. “It’s like you want this painting to be magic.”
“Close your eyes,” said Chloe.
“What?”
“Just close your eyes. There is something going on in this house. If you close your eyes and stay quiet, you can feel it. It’s like there are strange vibrations in the air.”
“Oooh, I think I can feel them,” said Nyssa, pretending to shiver.
Chloe opened her eyes and punched her friend lightly in the shoulder. “I’m serious.”
“Ouch,” said Nyssa. “I’m serious too, Chloe. I’m seriously concerned that you seem to have a thing about ghosts and magic paintings.”
“So what if I do believe in them? It’s not like anyone has proved they don’t exist.”
“That’s not true,” said Nyssa. “There’s a rational explanation for every single supernatural phenomenon that’s ever been investigated by real scientists. Sometimes they’re products of weather or geography, but mostly they’re hoaxes. I’m just finishing a book about Harry Houdini. Do you have any idea how much time and energy he spent going after all the spiritualists who were around back then?”
“Spiritualists?”
Nyssa nodded. “You know, mediums. People who claimed they could talk to the dead and make tables levitate and all that stuff. The spirit cabinet trick is a classic example. That’s the one where the magician is gagged and tied up tight inside a narrow wooden wardrobe-thing.”
“I know the one you mean,” said Chloe. “I read about it in Dante’s memoir.”
“Right. Well, when a spiritualist performed that trick, people actually believed they saw a ghost’s hands and heard spirits knocking and playing musical instruments. Of course it was really the man inside doing everything. He didn’t have any supernatural powers—he was just very good at slipping in and out of the ropes that were supposed to be securing him. It was what he knew about knots, not spirits, that counted.”
“And your point is?” said Chloe.
“My point is that everything they did was a hoax. They were scam artists, going after people’s money.”
“No one’s going after my money here,” Chloe pointed out. “Not that I have any.”
“I’m just saying there has to be an explanation for this painting. How about this? Maybe someone’s trying to distract you from this stage fright thing you’ve been going through.”
“That is truly the lamest explanation you’ve come up with so far,” Ch
loe said as she turned away from the painting.
Nyssa followed Chloe back down the stairs. “So how is the stage fright thing going? Have you started practicing for the talent show yet?”
“Yes, I’ve been practicing. I practiced for three hours last night. And I practiced for an hour before you showed up, and I’ll practice again when you’re gone, thank you very much.”
“Don’t let me keep you then,” Nyssa said cheerfully as they reached the front door.
“Seriously,” Chloe said, taking a deep breath. “In a few days I’d like to do a mini-recital for you and my aunts and Abigail.”
“Really?” asked Nyssa. “You’re that close?”
“I will be—I hope.” Chloe bit down on her lip. “Here’s how I’m looking at it—I’ll either get through it and be fine, or I’ll have a heart attack and die. In which case it will all be over and I won’t have to do the talent show.”
“Cool. So can I bring my dad’s digital camcorder?”
Chloe smiled at her friend. “If you don’t mind me feeding it to you, you can.”
“All right,” Nyssa said, putting her hands up. “I’ll come unarmed.”
A few afternoons later, Chloe’s guests assembled in the sitting room.
“This is quite an honor,” Kitty said as she took a seat in one of the two armchairs. Bess was already seated in the other chair. Abigail and Nyssa were perched on the chintz-covered love seat across from the elderly sisters. All four faces were turned toward Chloe.
Chloe took a deep breath and tried to will her pounding heart to slow down. “Tide in, tide out,” she whispered to herself. She inhaled and exhaled slowly. Then she lifted her hands to her thighs to wipe her sweaty palms on her shorts. Her voice broke on the first word of her introduction, and she had to clear her throat and start again. “My first piece is one I found inside the piano bench. It’s called The Ballad of Petticoat Joe.”
When the Curtain Rises Page 6