A Circle of Dead Girls Page 16

  On one of his rest breaks, Rees looked over to see Asher standing by the fancier of the carriages. Bambola leaned out of the open door and shook her head. Although Rees could not hear what they said, enough of the tone floated to him to persuade him they were arguing. He drifted toward them. As he approached Asher turned and spoke. ‘I think the women should go ahead, to the fair grounds. Do you agree?’

  Rees turned to look at the ropedancer.

  ‘Some of the women are afraid,’ she explained. ‘We don’t often meet a warm welcome.’

  ‘Persuade her, will you, Mr Rees?’ Asher clapped Rees on the shoulder and turned. ‘I’ve got to get back.’

  ‘I wanted to apologize for one of our members,’ Bambola said as Asher trotted away. ‘I believe you met Sarah?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘It is her wagon that broke down.’

  Rees recalled the strange incident. ‘The woman in black?’

  ‘Yes.’ Bambola waved Rees closer. ‘I saw her discourtesy toward you. You must forgive her. She has suffered mightily, poor thing.’ She paused for a moment and then added in a low voice, ‘She is a Jew and her experiences have left her frightened of strangers.’

  ‘That must make it difficult while traveling with the circus,’ Rees said in a dry tone. By now, without quite knowing how he got there, he had taken hold of the heavy carriage door and leaned in toward the woman.

  ‘She is a seamstress and stays at the back, in the camps. I doubt she sees many strangers from one month to the next. You do not seem, how shall I say it, shocked or appalled?’

  ‘That she’s a Jew?’ Rees shook his head. ‘I travel too, to New York and Philadelphia among other cities.’

  Bambola smiled. ‘Of course, you are more worldly than many we meet. Sarah wishes me to apologize to you on her behalf.’

  ‘You’re sure she was talking about me?’ Rees asked.

  ‘She described you, of course,’ Bambola said with a smile. Her sparkling eyes and mischievous grin told him the description had been less than flattering.

  ‘Big, red-haired devil,’ he guessed.

  Miss Mazza laughed. ‘Just so.’ Leaning forward, she rested her gloved hand on his arm. ‘We were fortunate to meet you. That was something we could never have foreseen.’ Rees felt the warmth from her fingers spread through him like a hot and tingling wave. He began to perspire. ‘Do you believe we’ll be safe if we go on ahead? To town, I mean?’ she continued. ‘I trust you and will do as you suggest.’

  ‘Um,’ Rees said, flattered. For a moment he couldn’t think. ‘The constable wants you in town. It’s daylight.’ Realizing he was stammering, he took a deep breath and tried to concentrate. As he shifted his stance, the sculpted metal horse on the door beneath his hand seemed to move and he stepped back. Removed a few paces from Bambola’s distracting touch, he was able to think more clearly. He was panting like a racing horse. After a few seconds, he said in a calmer voice, ‘Yes, I think you and the other women will be safe. Go on.’

  Bambola smiled. ‘Very well. Will you ask Mr Asher to send one of the men to drive my carriage? I must go first; the others will follow me.’

  ‘I’m here,’ grunted one of the laborers. As he climbed up and whistled to the horses, Rees leaned against the heavy carriage door to push it shut and stepped back. Bambola waved and the driver started forward.

  Excited and embarrassed – and also ashamed – by the feelings she called up in him, he was almost relieved to see her go. Turning, he started back toward the damaged wagon. Otto was standing a few feet away and watching Rees with a hostile expression. Rees approached the strongman, although after the passage of a week, he did not think he would see anything meaningful on Otto’s huge hands. And, sure enough, they were covered with new bloody scratches that occluded the older healing injuries.

  ‘I did not touch that girl,’ Otto said, so suddenly and so belligerently Rees took an involuntary step backward. Otto began clenching and unclenching his hands. Rees took another step backward, all the while keeping his gaze fixed upon the big man. ‘You are mixing in to something you don’t understand,’ Otto said. ‘It is not safe for you. Go home to your family.’

  And then, before Rees could manage even a word, Otto lumbered away.

  Rees realized he was shaking. He had no doubt at all that Otto was dangerous.

  ‘Rees,’ Asher called. ‘Come on.’

  Rees went down the slope to join Asher, saying as he approached, ‘Bambola is going to the fairgrounds.’

  ‘Good. The women will only get in the way here.’ Asher gestured at the broken wagon. ‘They need you.’

  By the time the wagon reached the fair grounds it was almost noon. The men deposited the vehicle on the very edge of the field. No one had the strength to move it any further. Rees joined the line for water and after gulping down several dippers full, he looked around for either Asher or Rouge. He spotted them finally, talking to one another, and crossed the muddy field to join them. As he approached, he heard Asher saying in irritation, ‘Of course I’ll stay in town. I can’t very well leave until the wheel is repaired.’ He walked quickly away, in such a temper he brushed past Rees without acknowledging him.

  Rouge nodded as though satisfied. ‘I have to return to the tavern,’ he said. ‘I’ve left it too long as it is.’ He glanced at Rees. ‘You going home?’

  ‘Probably,’ he replied. The reluctance in his voice sparked a quick glance from Rouge but he said nothing. With a wave, he started across the muddy field. Rees sighed. He knew Lydia would be cross. He hadn’t finished the weaving yet, as he’d promised, and he had to begin planting and there were still the lambs to attend to. Then he’d disappeared from the farm for the entire morning. Oh yes, Lydia would definitely have something to say. And Rees did not want to hear it.

  ‘Why, Mr Rees,’ said Bambola from behind him.

  Rees turned with a clumsy bow. ‘Miss Mazza.’

  ‘Thank you for your assistance.’

  ‘You’re welcome. But I did no more than most of the men.’ Rees’s expansive gesture included circus workers, townsmen, and the few remaining farmers who’d been involved in the transport of the wagon.

  ‘May I perform another reading for you?’ She smiled up at him from under the brim of her hat. ‘We owe you that much, that and much more.’

  ‘I really should go home,’ he said, not moving.

  ‘It will take only a few moments,’ she coaxed.

  He looked at the sky. Noon already; no doubt his family had already begun eating dinner. ‘I’ll be late anyway,’ he said. He didn’t believe in magic but the reading would pass a few minutes of pleasure before the drudgery of his life began again. Besides, he was curious. Bambola’s first reading had struck close to home on several points – unsettlingly close. How had she guessed all of that?

  The little table had already been set up. The box that held the cards rested on one side. Rees guessed she had been doing readings for some of her fellow circus performers. As she took out the colorful squares, Rees sat down in the chair across from her. ‘Shuffle them,’ she directed. This time she removed her gloves. She had smooth white hands with long carefully tended nails. ‘And think about what you want to know.’

  ‘The murder, of course,’ he said with a chuckle, shuffling with single-minded intensity. He wanted these cards to come up randomly so they meant nothing. Bambola watched him with a smile and he suspected she knew exactly what he was doing. At last he handed her the deck. She dealt the cards, in the same strange configuration as before. She turned over the first card. Seven circles incised with pentacles.

  ‘You are working hard,’ she said. ‘But you need to work harder.’

  ‘Discouraging,’ he said.

  Catching the mockery in his voice, she darted him a quick glance. ‘Perhaps this next card will help,’ she said, turning it over. She stared at the pictured moon. ‘This one offers a warning. Be careful of dishonesty. You’ve met someone who is attempting to mislead you …’ Her voic
e trailed away.

  Rees stared at the card but quickly dismissed his quiver of surprise. Of course he was dealing with deception; when one investigated a murder one had to expect it. There was no great talent in seeing that.

  Bambola glanced at him from under her lashes and turned over the next card. Five golden chalices marched across the pasteboard.

  ‘This speaks to your past, a more distant past. Something happened to sever a relationship but see, it is reversed, so there will be a reunion. It is possible that this relationship can be repaired.’

  She flipped the next card. Rees stared at the hanged man and repressed a shudder. She smiled. ‘This is not always a dangerous card but one of change. Before any reconciliation can occur, you need to make some effort to transform. It is important for you to step back and consider yourself.’

  ‘What relationship is this?’ Rees asked.

  Bambola shrugged and fixed him with her dark eyes. ‘I don’t know. But there is something in your past that you need to reflect upon.’ Her forefinger tapped the card. ‘The Hanged Man is reversed; that speaks to a certain unwillingness to change.’ She turned over the next card. This one was a king framed by seven sticks and a lion. ‘You’re strong and you keep after something until it has been completed to your satisfaction. You are honest and dependable but also very stubborn. Don’t allow your stubbornness to prevent you from seeing the truth. Only by conquering your obstinacy will you succeed.’

  Again, Rees experienced that flash of discomfort that she had so clearly seen a part of his personality.

  She revealed the next card, a knight with more of the five-pointed stars. ‘This card reveals something about you. The Knight is a responsible fellow. He always sees his projects through to the very end.’ Her brows drew together, almost as though this card dismayed her. She quickly flipped the other card: a magician with a wand and a chalice. She bit her lip.

  ‘What?’ Rees asked in spite of himself. ‘What’s wrong?’

  She smiled. ‘Nothing. This is another warning. You need to be careful whom you trust. Deception and trickery are all around you.’ She turned the next to the last card and said under her breath, ‘Judgment.’ Rees stared at the angel. ‘You need to forgive someone. Only then can you move forward.’

  ‘What does that have to do with the murder?’ Rees asked. ‘And who am I supposed to forgive?’

  ‘The cards don’t say,’ she said. ‘But something is unfinished. And it is affecting your investigation.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ Rees said.

  ‘We’ll see.’ She smiled slightly, her sharp white teeth catching at her lower lip. ‘Remember what the cards said – I think you may find they foretold the truth.’ She turned over the final card and said to herself, ‘Seven of swords.’

  Rees was glad to see this card seemed fairly benign.

  ‘You will be partially successful in your quest,’ Bambola said. ‘You will not achieve something that you currently seek.’

  ‘Any idea what,’ Rees said.

  The ropedancer shook her head. ‘The cards are only a guide. It is up to you to take their message and heed the lesson.’

  Of course, there was no true information. These tricksters always resorted to hints. ‘Uh, thank you,’ Rees said insincerely. He rose to his feet. ‘I must leave now. My wife will be waiting for me.’ His angry wife.

  Bambola darted him a quick glance from her velvety eyes. ‘Please bring her with you some time. I’d like to do a reading for her as well.’

  ‘Of course,’ Rees lied. He had no intention of bringing Lydia here. Ever. Why, the whole scene was an exercise in foolishness and one he hoped never to repeat. He had allowed his attraction to Bambola to sucker him in. She had managed a couple of lucky guesses, that was all her reading had been. There could not possibly be any truth to it.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  As Rees crossed across the muddy field he spotted Asher and detoured to meet him. Asher paused. ‘You know that your constable is an ass,’ he said by way of greeting. His shirt was streaked with mud and dirt rimmed his bitten fingernails.

  ‘He can be,’ Rees agreed. In this case, though, he thought Rouge was right to keep the circus nearby.

  ‘You looked unnerved while Bambola was doing her reading,’ Asher said, peering into Rees’s face. ‘Surely her parlor trick didn’t frighten you.’

  ‘Of course not,’ he said, not altogether truthfully.

  ‘She truly believes those paper squares have mystical powers,’ Asher said with fond dismissal.

  ‘You don’t believe?’ Rees asked.

  Asher laughed. ‘Of course not. But she enjoys it. It’s a harmless pastime.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ Rees said, his mind returning to the previous summer. Lydia had been accused of witchcraft and some believed it because she had once been a Shaker. ‘She should be careful,’ he said now. ‘There are those who still believe in witchcraft.’

  ‘Witchcraft!’ Asher shook his head. ‘Some men will believe anything.’

  ‘Her readings are sometimes unsettlingly close to the truth,’ Rees said.

  Asher lifted one shoulder in a shrug. ‘Even a broken clock is correct twice a day. Besides, Mr Rees, you are not that complicated. I’m sure she tells you facts about yourself that anyone would know.’

  Rees stood there in silence, feeling like a total fool. Asher was right; Bambola’s predictions were only clever guesses.

  ‘Are you haring off, still bent on discovering the identity of the murderer?’ Asher asked.

  ‘Why did you run away?’ Rees, stung, responded with a question of his own. ‘You must have known that hasty departure would make you look guilty.’

  Asher nodded. ‘I did. But you must understand …’ He hesitated. ‘This new country welcomes both Catholics and Jews.’ He forced a smile. ‘At least by law. That is not the same as tolerance, of course. But the Old World carries on a long history of persecution. Especially toward the Jews.’

  Rees nodded. Although there were no Jews in Maine, as far as he knew, there were many Catholics. Like Constable Rouge they kept quiet about their faith. As Asher had just said, the law was not the same as tolerance.

  ‘They expect the same persecution here,’ Asher continued. ‘Several of the people who travel with us are from Austria and France. And now that Bonaparte is pressing into Italy, we’ve acquired some Italians. It’s all right for Miss Mazza; she belongs here. She’s from a circus family. But some of our number are refugees and expect only the worst.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘You mark my words, Mr Rees, no country is safe from that Corsican madman.’

  ‘The circus hardly seems a safe haven,’ Rees said, feeling vaguely ashamed. How many times had he complained of being an outsider? At least he spoke the language and knew the customs of this country.

  ‘True,’ Asher said, nodding in agreement. ‘We must keep on the move. In some towns we are accused of all manner of vile crimes before we’ve even parked our wagons. But at least those who have found refuge with us have a family and some protection of sorts.’ He shook himself. ‘Does that answer your question, Mr Rees? That is why we fled, leaving behind one of our own, a man who is like a brother to me. We were afraid. Still are.’

  Rees could think of nothing to say. When Asher walked away, Rees continued to his wagon, his thoughts so jumbled he could scarcely string two coherent ideas together.

  He was almost at the corner when he saw a tall and lanky man watching him from the alley across the street. Disguised by the shadows, unshaven, and wearing a battered straw hat pulled down well over his brow, he nonetheless looked very familiar. He looked like Brother Aaron. Rees started to cross, threading his way through the wagons and other vehicles thronging the road. A large carriage rattled by in front of him, just narrowly missing him, and causing him to jump back. When the way was clear again, the man had vanished. But Rees was sure he had just seen Aaron. And what was he still doing in town?

  By the time Rees returned home it was well past d
innertime. ‘Wash your hands,’ Lydia said, her face stiff with annoyance.

  ‘I’ll finish the weaving today,’ Rees promised as he dipped his hands in the basin of tepid water. They were quite dirty after a morning spent heaving rollers around and lifting wagons. He saw with dismay that his shirt and breeches were also streaked with grime.

  Lydia dipped her head a fraction and lifted the lid from the kettle. The steam carried with it the fragrance of cooking chicken, onions and sage. ‘Fricasseed chicken,’ Annie said in satisfaction, distributing the plates around the table. ‘With dumplings.’

  ‘My favorite,’ Rees said truthfully, keeping one eye on his wife. She did not appear mollified.

  ‘I’ve fed the children already,’ Lydia said as she filled the plates from the kettle and brought them to the table. Rees could barely control himself; he was so hungry it was all he could do to keep his hands from his fork. He raced through saying grace and earned another frown from Lydia.

  ‘Where are the children?’ he asked as he picked up his fork.

  ‘Napping,’ Annie said, shooting a quick glance at Lydia.

  ‘This is an unexpected treat.’ Rees tried again to start a conversation. ‘Chicken? And mid-week too.’

  ‘The hen was no longer laying,’ Annie said when Lydia still said nothing.

  ‘Well, I’m glad of it,’ Rees said, aware as soon as he began speaking that he sounded far too hearty.

  Annie looked at him and then at Lydia. ‘We weren’t sure when you would return from town,’ Annie said, sounding puzzled and uncomfortable both.

  ‘The circus is back,’ Rees said. ‘They pulled into town on a broken axle. Me and Rouge and most of the men from the circus had to manhandle the wagon to the fairgrounds. It took longer than I expected.’ He was glad to see Lydia’s expression soften.

  ‘I’d love to see a performance,’ Annie said wistfully.

  ‘Oh, I don’t believe they’ll be here long enough for that,’ Rees said, trying to console her. ‘They’ve come to fetch Mr Boudreaux. And now, of course, they’ll remain until the wagon is repaired.’