There was no music. Apparently the sound of Bill’s muscles straining and the occasional groan that he made as he pushed against the different metals was enough to keep people rapt.
In the first act, Bill entered the tent carrying a horse. Raven had at first been much taken aback to have Bill stand underneath his chest and heave. However, after much whinnying, the plucky horse had let Bill hoist him on his shoulders, and push his hooves together in front of him. It was not the first time that Bill had carried a horse; however, normally they were dead. Raven made his discomfort known in his very much alive state and Bill had not escaped without a few nips on his ears.
After lifting Raven, he would put the horse down in the corner and continue with the following acts. In the second act he ripped the playing cards apart. Short and sweet, yet it created a spectacular shower of ripped cards across the audience if all went well.
In act three, Bill bent a metal bar around his arm in the shape of a flower. He had painstakingly mixed together a variety of metals such that they were easy enough to bend for him, but not the ordinary man. He had even made some souvenir flowers in silver to sell at the end of the act.
Bill had hesitated about the last act. He could not decide between bursting a length of chains with his chest or lifting a ship’s anchor, some barrels and a member of the audience. As Dogman sat on a barrel on his shoulders Greta clapped and laughed. It seemed he had chosen correctly.
He threw down the anchor and lowered the barrel with Dogman on it slowly to the ground. Dogman stepped off a little unsteadily and walked back to the small seats they had set up in the tent.
Bill took a couple of gasps of air through his mouth. He had practiced all week, and was now in peak condition, although he had needed to strain to complete the whole act in a timely manner.
“So what do you think?” he said between gasps.
“Unbelievable,” said Dogman, pushing his hair away from his eyes. “As I sat on your shoulders I could barely feel you trembling, and yet I tried to pick up that anchor and couldn’t even shift it from the floor. Let alone the barrel and a man too.”
“I loved the card ripping,” Mary said.
“And not the way his muscles gleamed as he did so?” Greta said drily. “I liked the way you brought in Raven and set him down nonchalantly in the corner of the tent. Raven has just stood there throughout.”
“The flower bending was the most spectacular of them all.”
Bill smiled and handed Mary the bent metal rod in the shape of an elaborate flower. “Something to remember me by.” Mary blushed.
Greta squawked with laughter. “I’d hate to be in your shoes, Mary, trying to describe where you got that from to your husband.”
“Domus et placens uxor,” Bill murmured contemplatively.
“What?” Dogman shook his head.
“Pardon?” Bill stood back and leaned against the large anchor that he had put down.
“You just said something I didn’t understand. It sounded like Latin. It’s not the first time you’ve done it. It was one of the indications you weren’t who you said you were. Smiths don’t go around quoting Latin.”
“Oh. It’s from Horace. ‘Home and a pleasing wife’.”
“Wherever did you learn that?” Mary sat forward, clutching the metal flower.
Bill sighed. “I taught myself. My mother knew that my father was a lord but she didn’t tell me. I think she wanted me to take my rightful place in society as some point. She found an old Latin primer, and although barely literate herself, she would make me practice.”
“So how come you ended up quoting Horace but being a smith?” Greta clasped her three hands together.
“My mother died and I was sent to an orphanage,” Bill said flatly. “They had a copy of Horace there. No one wants a bastard orphan who can speak Latin. All the openings were for farm laborers and servants. When the opportunity came to be apprenticed to a smith I jumped at the chance. I was a large young man already by then.”
“That’s awful.” Mary sat back and contemplated the flower that Bill had made.
“Can’t be that awful, Mary,” Dogman declared. “Here’s Bill chasing after a notorious man for the Crown. They must have found him somehow and discovered his talents.”
“Ha.” Bill shook his head. “I was just in the right place at the right time. Brambridge, my home village, has always depended on trade with France to keep afloat. I captained a boat that brought in French brandy and other goods. The government found me a useful man when it came to making contact in France.”
“You speak French too?”
Bill nodded. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, but so much contact with French spies and smugglers had given him a more than competent knowledge of the language. The base in Latin had helped.
“Goodness.” Mary sat back. “And I thought we were the interesting ones.”
“It’s always the quiet ones you should watch.” Greta nodded her head. “We spilled all of our secrets to Bill before he had even revealed anything of himself to us.”
“I’m not sure whether we should be impressed or annoyed.” Dogman stood and slapped his thigh. “All we can do is wish you luck in finding this man and his father.”
“Don’t you have a lady friend who is worried about you?” Mary stared at Bill in concern. “If you were my husband I would be wondering where you were every hour of the day and hoping that you were not in danger.”
“I have a friend and she is a lady,” Bill said carefully. Although he wondered if Victoria was really worried about him. She was perhaps more worried as to why he hadn’t turned up with the list that was still burning a hole in the pocket of his discarded coat. In the week in which he had been rehearsing his routine, he had taken out the list many times. And now, although the paper was well thumbed, he had only managed to add two more reasons to the list.
3. Lady Colchester would have something more to do with her time.
4. Mr. Standish would provide Lady Colchester with a place of her own to stay in Brambridge instead of staying with her brother.
Bill was quite pleased with the fourth reason. With Henry now married, he could not see how Victoria, his sister, would be as welcome in his home as before. Victoria had gone from being the hostess to a displaced relative. At least Bill’s manor in Brambridge was next door, and she could redecorate to her heart’s content whilst visiting her brother and reputed best friend. That would give her something to do with her time.
But it still wasn’t thirteen reasons. And he was damned if he was going to turn up on her doorstep without the list. She could just wait. Victoria had made him wait a year after all. He still wondered what she was doing. There was only a limited amount of shopping a woman could do, wasn’t there?
It hadn’t taken long to chase Pablo Moreno’s troupe to London. Bill had thought constantly of the list as Raven had eaten up the miles from Beaconsfield. There were many reasons he wished to put down, but they were all about why he wanted to marry her, not why she should marry him. And even those reasons were dangerously close to what he suspected were feelings that he didn’t want to articulate even to himself. As he had cradled her body in Freddie’s front room, he had experienced a strange solace, his disquiet about his displacement in society and doubts about talent briefly at rest. But her strong effect on him made him feel uncomfortable. He held on grimly to the fact that he wanted to marry her for what she would give him, the place in society that he had never had. It was his due. He wouldn’t need to worry about his lack of talents compared to his peers then. Perhaps that was what the peaceful feeling had heralded?
He arrived late in the evening to the beginnings of the Bartholomew Fair that surrounded the outskirts to the City of London. The troupe’s tents were already set up around Cloth Fair; banners above each tent proclaimed the show inside. Raven blew through his nostrils hard after the long ride, and fell upon the bucket of water that Bill procured for him. He had taken care not to wash Raven or clip his coat.
Equally he himself had worn his old clothes from Brambridge, far from the smart coat and breeches that he had taken to wearing once he had taken possession of Brambridge Manor.
It wasn’t hard to find Pablo Moreno’s tent. It was the biggest of them all. A surly man carrying a mop and bucket pointed it out.
“Can’t you tell which one is the Master’s? Don’t expect to find him there, though. Been empty for weeks. He comes and goes as he pleases.” The man darted a look left and right. “Looking for work, are you? My advice, leave well alone and get away as far as possible.” He nodded and spat on the ground.
Bill caught his arm as the man spun away. “Who should I go to if he isn’t here?”
“Persistent, are you? Despite my warning?” The man sniffed and put down his bucket. “Jimmy Carandel runs the troupe in his absence. Although you wouldn’t think it since the young man has shown up.” He spat again. “Good thing he’s away as much as the master. Ain’t had nothing but trouble since he arrived.”
“Where’s Jimmy Carandel’s tent?”
The man pointed with a mop in the direction of a gaily painted tent that stood slightly apart from the rest. “He should be in there.”
Bill tried to thank the man, but he merely picked up his mop and bucket, and walked away while Bill was still talking. Raven nudged Bill on the shoulder; his bucket was empty and the great horse was hungry. Bill scratched Raven on the mane. “Just a bit longer, lad.”
He loosely tied his reins to a railing and walked across to the tent. The tent flap was closed, although a light shone underneath the canvas, and loud voices escaped into the night air.
“He’s done it again, Jimmy. He’s not been back six months and old Bertino has caught yet another cold and is complaining that he cannot and will not go out as the Grande Salvatore.”
“Damnit, Fred. Every year we have this. We were lucky that year that Pablo coerced that young girl into throwing the knives for us. We haven’t been as lucky since. Bertino has us over a barrel. He knows that he is the number one act in this troupe. And he knows that as Moreno has been away so much he can play up all he wants. We just won’t give into him this time.”
“He says that if you make him do it, he’ll walk. He won’t stay with us.”
“That is a problem. He’s never threatened that before.”
“He says that the troupe is changing. That there are new acts he doesn’t like.”
“Bloody Pedro. It’s him that Bertino doesn’t like. Bertino was around when there was that unfortunate incident with that girl that the boss tried to sweep under the carpet. Everyone knows it was Pedro. The boss says his son has sworn he’s changed. If you ask me he’s got rose-tinted spectacles on. I mean, my god… the bite marks…”
“I think Bertino can’t stand the fact that Pedro’s act when he cares to show up is stealing all the crowds.”
“He’s just not reliable. God knows what he is doing when he’s not here. And the boss ain’t around to ask either.”
“That still doesn’t help us with Bertino…”
Bill coughed, and waited. There was a small silence. The canvas flap of the tent was thrust upward and a small face appeared.
“What do you want?” it said brusquely with the voice of Fred.
“I couldn’t help but overhearing that you have a problem with one of… some of your acts.”
“Yes, and?”
“I thought I could help.”
The small face brightened considerably. “You can throw knives?”
Bill shook his head, and Fred’s face fell. “No. But I have a replacement act which I guarantee will pull in the crowds.” He crossed his fingers behind his back. At least that is what Dogman, Greta and Mary had said.
“What is it?”
“Look, let me in to speak to Mr. Carandel and I’ll show you.”
“Hmmph. I suppose you can come in.”
Fred pushed back the tent flap further to allow Bill to duck in. The tent was sparsely decorated on the inside, though packed full of crates that had indecipherable markings on the side. Fred perched himself on a pile of boxes. “Jimmy, this man thinks he can provide us with an act that will draw in more crowds than the Grande Salvatore.”
“I didn’t quite say that…”
“What is it?” Jimmy Carandel was a very tall man with skeletal features. His voice boomed low from his body. He frowned darkly as Bill took in the piles of crates.
“It’s a strongman act.”
“Oh yes?” Jimmy turned to look at Bill for the first time, revealing a lopsided face, only half of which moved.
“I do a variety of things that show how strong I am.”
“Strong man acts are two a penny,” Jimmy said flatly, the immobile half of his face giving him a menacing air.
Bill could feel the opportunity slipping away from him. “How about if I show you?”
Jimmy smiled with one half of his face. “What good timing. You won’t have to show just us. Mr. Moreno would be delighted to observe too.”
Bill turned on his heel to face back towards the entrance to the tent. First an outsize top hat appeared, and then the rest of a man with shaggy white hair and blue eyes.
His resemblance to Pedro was unmistakable.
CHAPTER 21
Celine could not tell Victoria anything more about the involvement of Edward Fiske with Mr. Durnish. She became visibly distressed as Victoria tried to probe further. It was only after half an hour that she managed to persuade the woman to leave. That just left Mrs. Prident to deal with.
“Mrs. Prident, could I ask you to go back to your post just for a little while longer? I wish to make sure that no other girls go missing. I have been told that some girls go back to streetwalking as it gives them a good income and not such a bad life.”
“I certainly will, Lady Colchester,” Mrs. Prident said, prodding Brutus with her foot. “But I must tell you that neither Rosie nor Maisie were streetwalkers. They were poor dairy maids who came from the country to seek their fortune and ended up in the pauper house. They had very little knowledge of men. It was evident in the way they gossiped.”
Victoria nodded as if to agree, but was totally at sea. How would a woman gossip differently if she did have a lot of knowledge of men? She had to confess that her relationship with her husband had not been of that kind. It was hard to describe it as a relationship at all. And yet when she was with Bill she felt like she could float away. Perhaps that was what Mrs. Prident meant.
“Brutus, move,” she commanded, clicking her fingers at the big dog. The wolfhound clambered slowly to his feet, releasing Mrs. Prident, and trotted slowly to Victoria’s chair. He laid his big head on her lap, and a protective paw over Ponzi’s small body.
“The big lump really likes you, doesn’t he?” Mrs. Prident said with her first smile of the day.
“I’m not sure,” Victoria said softly. “Oh, you mean the dog?” She pushed her fingers through his shaggy mane. “I think he likes me because he has to. He is more interested in Ponzi than anything else. He knows that if he treats me well he gets a position in the household.”
She blinked.
Was that it? Had she inadvertently stumbled on the reason that Bill wanted to marry her—because he wanted a position in society, just as his dog wished for his place in her life? And he had left her hanging because he knew that that reason would be unpalatable to her?
“I had better go. You will contact me, won’t you?” Mrs. Prident said anxiously.
“Yes, of course.” Victoria continued to stroke Brutus’ head as Mrs. Prident was escorted out by Carruthers.
The point about position in society had reminded her of her unpalatable meeting with Mr. Durnish, formerly Paul Butterworth. There was no coincidence that Mr. Cryne had been in his hallway. The entry under Cryne in the book of secrets, and the activity described by Celine all pointed to a joining up again of old cronies.
But until she found page thirty one of the secret book, she would not understand ho
w they were all connected, apart from the too coincidental appearance of Mr. Durnish every time a girl disappeared from the pauper farms, and the activities of Mr. Cryne junior in spiriting away Rosie and Maisie.
Unfortunately, apart from the book and her marital painting, there was nothing left of Colchester’s belongings in the house in which he would have hidden page thirty one. He hadn’t been a reader, so there hadn’t been any books to get rid of. All the rooms had been cleared and refurbished with Victoria’s taste. Even the servant’s quarters in the attics had been done out.
There was no use in getting that book out again. She had read it clearly each time. There was nowhere the page could be.
It wasn’t as if Lord Colchester had had any friends with which to deposit such a document. Was she being too hasty, however? Rule number six said don’t jump to conclusions. They all could have had their individual reasons for being connected.
Oh goodness. The rules. Mr. Durnish knew all about the rules. She couldn’t ignore it very much longer. She could no longer tell herself that the connections were just coincidence.
Victoria had already once broken the rules that day by letting too many of her true feelings show with Celine. Perhaps it was time to break the rules again. There was no way that Mr. Durnish was going to tell her everything himself. She would need to confront him directly.
“You have another visitor, my lady.” Carruthers did not even bother to poke his nose in at the door this time. But the obvious lilt to his voice heralded that the visitor was someone different.
A tinkling laugh resounded in the hallway. “Thank you, Carruthers. As proper as ever.”
“Lady Anglethorpe, it is my pleasure,” Carruthers said with feeling evident in his voice.
Victoria sighed. On any other day a visit from her good friend would have been a pleasure. They so rarely had any time together. But three visitors in the morning was rather tiring. She pushed Brutus’ head off her lap and stood up.
Reckless Rules (Brambridge Novel 4) Page 17