A Circle of Dead Girls Page 8

  Rees looked around. Asher had disappeared. But through the opening at the back of the arena stepped a figure in a black cloak. When he reached the center of the ring, he dropped the cape, revealing a jacket and breeches sparkling with gold embroidery and glittering gems. On his head he wore a tall conical hat. Although Asher’s mustache had been tamed and darkened, Rees recognized him. He suspected the rest of the audience, blinded by the resplendent clothing, did not.

  Asher made a big show of removing his white gloves and, talking all the while of the magic of metal, began with coin tricks. He delighted a child by pulling a shiny ha-penny from his ear – and delighted the boy’s father by letting him keep it. Pennies appeared from pockets and then from the air in a shower of copper. Rees, who had seen other street performers, admired Asher’s skill. But of course he had large hands. Unusually large hands striped with scratches. Rees stared at them in sudden surmise. Could this performer, who Rees had already begun to like, be Leah’s murderer?

  The magic with coins over, Asher gestured to someone at the edge of the ring. The tall heavy-set man with a bald head carried a table and a box of props into the ring. The magician took a metal stand from the box and placed it on the table. Although it had been polished until it shone and looked like silver, Rees didn’t believe it. What would a ragtag outfit like this circus be doing with silver props?

  A glass dome went over the stand and over that went a black velvet cloth. Asher put on his gloves. ‘I learned this feat of magic in the Orient,’ he said, pitching his voice a tone deeper than normal. ‘It was taught to me by a magician in the Chinese emperor’s court.’

  And not one word of that is true, Rees thought. But when he looked at the rest of the audience he saw they were completely entranced.

  Asher put a small dish before the shrouded glass dome and held up a goblet. The gems inset into the gold – probably paste, Rees thought – sparkled in the golden rays of the late-afternoon sun.

  ‘If my assistant would bring out a bottle of wine?’ Asher turned toward his assistant as he carried out the bottle. Again, speaking all the while about the excellence of this wine, the magician made a production of the simple act of opening the bottle. When it was open, he poured a bit of wine into the goblet and sipped, smacking his lips for effect. Laughter rippled through the crowd. Then he invited one of the farmers up to also take a drink. Rees could smell the wine’s heavy sweetness.

  ‘That’s wine all right,’ the sunburned fellow said as he returned to the audience.

  And probably better stuff than he’s ever had in his life, Rees thought.

  Asher poured a generous measure of dark wine into the small bowl. Instantly a cloud of steam billowed up from the dish, completely hiding the velvet-shrouded dome behind the white fog. The audience audibly gasped.

  As the mist faded, Asher said loudly, ‘From the secrets of the mysterious Orient,’ and whisked the black cloth from the dome. Oranges filled the dome to the top and when Asher removed the glass one of them fell and rolled across the table. Asher grabbed it before it could fall and with a flourish offered it to a boy at the front of the crowd.

  Thunderous applause followed the few seconds of shocked silence. And Rees, who accounted himself the most skeptical of men, was as flabbergasted as anyone.

  After many bows, Asher picked up his table and his stand and left the stage to a raucous ovation. Rees stared after him, two questions warring in his mind: how had Asher done that last trick and could he be Leah’s murderer?

  A roar of laughter brought Rees’s attention back to the center of the arena. He had missed the entrance of the dwarf clown and his animal companions. Now the dog was riding on the pig as she trotted around the clown in a circle. He held up a hoop and the dog jumped right through it and landed perfectly on the pig’s back. Rees heard one of the farmers wondering aloud if his pigs could be trained to carry a dog on their backs.

  But the shouting and loud clapping was nothing compared to that which occurred when the pig jumped over the dog and then went through the hoop as well. Bowing, the dwarf and his companions exited the ring.

  The dwarf winked at Rees as he went past him.

  Asher, once again in his white trousers and scarlet jacket, ran through the curtain and took up a position in the center of the arena. ‘Still to come,’ he announced swinging his arm in a grand gesture, ‘our world-famous equestrian who will amaze you with his horsemanship.’ Rees stared at the ringmaster’s hands but they were now gloved and told him nothing. ‘From Europe, the strongest man in the world. Prepare to be astonished by Otto. He is so powerful he can lift a full-grown man.’ A rumble of disbelief greeted this assertion. Asher smiled. ‘Otto is so mighty he can lift a full-grown cow but, since we have none here, he will prove himself with a pig and one of you. If someone here is brave enough to volunteer.’ He stared for a long moment at the audience before continuing his oration. ‘Then, for your wonder and pleasure, Bambola the rope-dancer. Trained in Italy and as graceful as an angel, she will prance across the rope no bigger than your thumb over your heads. Finally, we will close with an inspiring pantomime.’

  Rees suddenly wished David were here to see these marvels. What was the boy doing now? Milking must be almost over.

  With a wide expansive gesture, Asher shouted, ‘First our equestrian.’ A male rider in tight white trousers rode in and, like the female riders, rose to a standing position on his horse’s saddle. He was just a boy; slim and no taller than Lydia. As the gelding began galloping around the ring, the performer shifted his weight to his right leg and elevated the left behind him. He bent from the waist over the horse’s head and spread out his arms as though they were wings. A murmur of astonishment rippled through the audience. Rees, who had seen Boudreaux ride, was not impressed. The Frenchman rode as though he and his horse were one. After a few minutes watching the less skilled rider, Rees’s thoughts drifted to Asher and his large hands. Scarcely aware of the rider and horse and the tricks that drew forth gasps of admiration from the others in the audience, Rees did not come to full attention until Asher introduced Otto the strong man.

  The large man – and he was both exceptionally tall and heavy – lumbered into the ring. He had none of the flash of Asher or the charm of the clown. Otto was dressed in gray breeches and a loose gray shirt, limp and faded from many launderings. Although he was not the kind of easily remembered figure, Rees recognized him. He had brought out Asher’s props and worn a clown’s costume in the parade. The backs of his large hands were marked with old scratches. Rees stared hard at them.

  Otto began with a pallet of bricks. Rees had seen other men lift the heavy wooden square with its even heavier load, although no one had handled it with such ease. The silence from the rest of the audience told Rees that the other men were as unimpressed. They were all accustomed to heavy work.

  Asher wheeled out a cart. Otto struggled for a few seconds before he arranged the vehicle to his liking. Then, with Asher steadying the back end, he lifted the cart over his head. Rees grunted in involuntary surprise. The heavy wood and iron-banded wheels weighed several hundred pounds at least.

  When Otto lowered the cart, several men pushed out a blacksmith’s anvil. It left a long groove in the soil. But Otto, once he put his hands underneath, brought it first to his chest and then, not so easily as the first two items, over his head. Someone whistled in surprise and scattered applause broke out among the audience.

  Asher pulled a pig into the ring. Although this pig had no identifiable features Rees guessed it was the clown’s pig. She stood there patiently while Otto lifted her over his head and held her there for several seconds.

  ‘Will you look at that?’ someone from the audience said in amazement.

  At the same time Rees admired the man’s strength – the pig had to weigh five hundred pounds or more – he was very aware of those massive hands under the pig’s belly. Subduing Leah would have been easy for Otto.

  When the strong man lowered the pig to the ground Re
es had an opportunity to study the wide palms and long fingers. His fingernails, although jagged and rimmed with dirt, were long. They could have cut the crescents in Leah’s skin as he held her down.

  Otto required further and more intensive investigation.

  In a heavy accent – German, Rees thought – Otto called for a volunteer. Several farmers stepped forward. He pointed at the heaviest. After some initial arm-wrestling contests, which Otto easily won, he directed the farmer to the cart. When the man was securely seated, Asher lifted the back end of the vehicle. Otto slid his hands underneath. For a few seconds he moved them around, adjusting them, and then he nodded at Asher. As the ringmaster backed away Otto lifted the cart – and the man – high above his head. This time he grunted with the effort and perspiration popped out on his forehead. After a few seconds he lowered the cart, almost dropping it the last few inches. The farmer climbed out with alacrity. Rees could see the man was trembling.

  Now the applause went on and on. Otto bent from the waist, as stiff as a wooden toy. And he never smiled. Rees thought that was odd. After two reluctant bows, Otto put the anvil in the cart and pushed it from the ring.

  Asher walked into the ring and waited until the clapping subsided. ‘Now,’ he said, pitching his voice so low the audience had to strain to hear him, ‘the jewel of our company. Prepare to be amazed by our own ropedancer – Bambola.’

  Clad in her sparkling beaded gown, Bambola rode sidesaddle into the ring. She circled the arena, waving to the crowd and, to Rees’s combined embarrassment and pleasure, throwing a kiss at him. When she dismounted on one side and her horse was led away, two tumblers ran in. As they turned somersaults in the air, threw balls and pins and finally flaming torches to one another, two men climbed the ladders to tighten Bambola’s rope. They took turns stepping on the rope, testing the bounce, until finally the tautness met with their approval. Then they climbed down from the poles and nodded at the ropedancer. To raucous applause, the tumblers disappeared through the back.

  Even Rees held his breath as the young woman, whom he had just seen engaged with a pack of fancy cards, climbed the ladder to the rope. Like the equestriennes, her costume ended at the knee. She picked up a parasol and, twirling it above her head for all the world like a young miss on a stroll, stepped upon the rope. Rees’s heart began pounding in his chest; he was so afraid this girl would fall and plunge to her death upon the ground. Delicately she traversed the narrow line to the other side and turned around. She curtseyed to the enthusiastic applause. Rees clapped so vigorously his hands began to sting.

  Smiling, Bambola waved at the men below her. She dropped the parasol to a waiting companion. He lifted a long pole with two baskets dangling from hooks. She tied them upon her feet with ribbons over the ankles. Then, her short skirt swaying and every bead sparkling, she danced out upon the rope. Rees could hear her singing, some foreign air that directed her delicate steps. Except for the tinkling of her voice, there was not a sound within these wooden walls. It seemed to Rees that everyone held his breath, just as he held his.

  Once at the landing on the other side of the rope she removed the baskets and passed them to a man below. He lifted up a small wheelbarrow. She placed it upon the line and then, balancing the tool, she began pushing it to the other side. Rees gasped as she navigated the narrow line overhead and, when she reached the safety of the landing, he burst into spontaneous applause. Shouts and whistles of approval erupted from all sides. Rees realized he was bathed in clammy perspiration, just as if he had run a race around the track. How could this young woman traverse a narrow rope, dancing and performing these tasks so effortlessly?

  Bambola curtsied gracefully from her position on the high and very small platform. She waved at him before beginning her climb down the ladder. Rees could not help the small flush of pleasure that swept over him. Once on the ground Bambola, smiling and waving at the men around her, danced across the ring toward the back. Asher began extolling the wonders of the next offering, a pantomime with an uplifting message, but Rees doubted anyone was listening. He certainly wasn’t. When he glanced around him, he saw every face turned toward the ropedancer disappearing through the curtain at the back.

  Wait. Was that David? It couldn’t be. But when he looked at the battered straw hat, the shabby vest and breeches that had been washed so many times they were faded and worn, he was sure it must be. Those were David’s clothes. But the face did not belong to David. It was Lydia. And she was staring at him in hurt dismay.

  THIRTEEN

  When Lydia saw Rees looking at her, she turned and fled through the crowd.

  What was she thinking? Rees wondered as he stared after her. Now he realized why she had so cheerfully seen him off; she – and probably Jerusha as well – had planned this. Loud cursing and a few slaps revealed Lydia’s squirming path through the crowd toward the back exit. Rees pushed his way toward the curtain and waited until she reached him. His expression must have been ferocious. She gulped and visibly straightened her shoulders. He held the curtain open for her and followed her through it. ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded as soon as they stepped into the yard.

  Asher, who was congratulating Bambola, stopped mid-word and turned to look. Lydia, her face flaming, frowned at her husband.

  ‘What were you doing?’ she hissed. ‘Besides ogling the rope-dancer, I mean.’

  Asher nodded at Bambola and hurried away. Smiling, she approached Rees and Lydia. ‘How did you enjoy the performance, Mr Rees?’ the ropedancer asked, her dark eyes resting with unexpected sharpness on Lydia. ‘And this must be Mrs Rees.’

  ‘Amazing,’ Rees began.

  But Lydia stepped forward, not at all abashed that Bambola had recognized her as a woman and began speaking. ‘Truly the most incredible performance I have ever seen,’ Lydia said in a syrupy voice. ‘Captivating. Astonishing.’ Rees, who had never heard his wife speak in such a manner, turned to stare at her.

  ‘I’m so happy you enjoyed it, Mrs Rees,’ Bambola said. The two women sized each other up.

  ‘How ever did you learn how to do that?’ Lydia asked. ‘So unusual to see a lady performing before a crowd of men.’ Her pointed insult was barely disguised by her sweet tone. Rees’s eyebrows shot up but Bambola simply chuckled.

  ‘I am from a circus family, Mrs Rees. My mother was a ropedancer before me. You might say I was born to this life.’ She extended a gloved hand. ‘Lucia Mazza. How lovely to meet you.’ Nothing in her voice or manner revealed any awareness of Lydia’s rudeness.

  ‘Lydia.’ She swallowed. When she spoke again she sounded more like herself. ‘How difficult is it to learn such a craft? Is everyone here born to the circus?’

  A faint frown shadowed Bambola’s expression. ‘Learning these skills takes time. But no, many of our performers were not born for the circus. Many came to this country as refugees. You know that Corsican general for the French Army attacked Italy, do you not? That Bonaparte?’ She almost spat the name. Lydia took an involuntary step backward. ‘He is a monster,’ Bambola continued. ‘I weep to see what he has done to my country.’ She took a breath and when she spoke again she was calmer. ‘Others among us, such as Billy, have no other place to go.’

  ‘Billy?’ Rees and Lydia asked in unison.

  ‘The clown with the pig. Even his parents didn’t want him. But he has found a place here. We are his family now.’

  Another roar of approval sounded from the arena and Bambola tipped her head toward it. ‘The pantomime is soon beginning. I must change. Forgive me.’ Inclining her head, she turned to go. But before she’d taken a step, she looked back over her shoulder. ‘I hope you return. Please, accompany your husband one day. I must do a reading for you.’ She smiled up at Rees. ‘And another for you, I think.’

  As Bambola walked quickly away, Lydia turned to her husband. ‘What does she mean? A reading?’

  ‘She tells fortunes with cards,’ Rees explained. ‘Total nonsense.’ Taking her arm, he hurried her to the wall
of circus wagons. None of the other costumed performers paid them the slightest attention. Some of the circus folk were already lining up for their few minutes in the ring while others talked to themselves, running over their roles. Rees urged Lydia through a gap in the wall of circus wagons and back to ordinary life once again.

  Once on the other side, Rees turned to his wife. ‘How could you do this?’ he asked, gesturing to the boy’s clothes. Calmer now, he was able to speak quietly.

  ‘I thought it might be my only chance to see something so exotic,’ Lydia said. ‘Instead I saw my husband exchanging kisses with a ropedancer.’

  ‘It meant nothing. She is a performer,’ Rees said dismissively. ‘What you saw was just part of her act.’

  ‘No wonder ladies are not permitted to attend if this is what the performers do,’ Lydia said. ‘Flirt with all the men.’

  ‘It meant nothing,’ Rees repeated. Seeking to distract her, he asked, ‘How much of the show did you see?’

  ‘Almost all of it.’ She sighed with happiness. ‘I arrived just as the magician was beginning his act. It was enchanting. I will never, ever forget it.’

  ‘Yes, it was,’ Rees agreed. He too felt as though he were leaving a brighter and shinier country. He sighed. Back to the dull and gray world of farming chores for him.

  ‘It must be so difficult for your trick rider to languish in jail,’ Lydia said. Rees directed a look of surprise at her. ‘He is accustomed to traveling all the time. Now he is penned in a ten by ten square. It must be torture for him.’

  ‘You’re right.’ He paused. ‘Maybe I should visit Boudreaux while we’re here.’

  Lydia hesitated. ‘May I come?’

  ‘Of course. What else would you do? I’m not leaving you here, by yourself.’

  She smiled and together they began walking toward the jail. Just a man and a boy walking in the dusk.