Authors: Colleen Quinn
“All right, that’s enough. Griggs, I think Miss Carney’s found something frightening in her bed. Would you mind taking care of it? I’d suggest a long stick, although black snakes are not poisonous.”
The onlookers grumbled, obviously wanting more fun, but they obeyed and stumbled back to their tents, still chuckling to themselves. Zach whistled as he returned to his animals, the roustabouts laughed, and even Biddle couldn’t contain a smile. Only the newly recovered Clara seemed worried as she scurried back to her tent, eager to read the signs amid her potions and cards.
Michael hauled Rosemary into his tent, trying to defend himself the entire time against her well-aimed blows. He still couldn’t prevent his chuckles, and as he plopped her down onto his cot, he broke into renewed laughter at the sight of her lacy nightgown. Furious, Rosemary sprang to her feet, looking for something, anything, to throttle him with, but he grabbed her wrists once more and, taking a seat, pulled her closer to him.
“Come on, now, enough’s enough. You deserved it; admit it.”
“I’ll admit no such thing, you cad! You put that thing in my bed! How could you, how—”
“Could I frighten and humiliate you like that?” He grinned, one eyebrow raised mockingly. “I knew the snake wouldn’t hurt you.” His smile deepened wickedly as his eyes scanned the flimsy garment she wore. “What I didn’t anticipate was that Carney dressed in such a charming dishabille for sleep. Not that I’m complaining.”
There was something about the way he held her and the look in his eyes that made her senses spin alarmingly. Pulling out of his grip, she snatched up his blanket and, giving him a backhanded sneer, marched from his tent. She didn’t know just how beautiful she really looked, nor that, with her hair deliciously unbound and her slender body clad in a gown that was little more than a cloud, she enacted a revenge that would have done any clown proud. Instead, she strode from the tent with more valor than she felt, especially when she saw Griggs cross the path with an outstretched stick.
Michael Wharton would pay for this, she vowed.
A
SUDDEN SILENCE FELL
over the clowns when Rosemary joined them the next morning for breakfast. She had scarcely taken a seat and reached for the coffee when she heard Rags choke, then stifle back a chuckle. The other clowns did likewise, and when she glanced up to give them a righteous glare, she saw more than one face struggling to maintain a polite visage.
“Here.” Rags handed her the coffee with all the chivalry of a knight. “Anything for a lady.”
The exaggerated drawl at the word
lady
did not escape her, nor anyone else for that matter. The clowns, unable to contain their laughter, broke into roars, slapping each other on the back.
Rosemary felt the color flood her face, and she got to her feet indignantly. They were laughing at her as if she was some silly…girl, for God’s sake! She fixed all of them with a narrow stare.
“Go ahead and enjoy yourselves.”
“We’re sorry, Rose,” Rags offered, wiping his eyes. “It’s just the sight of you in that nightgown—we’ve never seen you like that.”
“Eek! A snake!” One of the clowns pretended to faint, while the others broke into deeper chuckles.
Even Griggs smiled, his perpetually painted face clearly showing his amusement. Furious, Rosemary stormed from the tent, ignoring their laughter.
It was him, he’d done this to her. He’d successfully usurped her power simply by exposing her as a woman. She thought back to her own actions last night and cringed. She’d run from her tent like any senseless female and into his arms, wearing an excuse for a nightgown that revealed more than it concealed. No wonder the clowns laughed.
Worse was her own reaction to him. She was actually beginning to like and trust him. She’d enjoyed his attention about her dress, liked working with him as Lorac….My God, he must be laughing.
She had to do something about this now, before things got totally out of hand.
“Can I help you, madam?” The stout little banker glanced up, his glasses slipping down his nose at the sight of the prim young woman standing before him. Dressed in a soft green frock that looked a little loose, her hair drawn back into a bun, letting a charming curl escape, she looked like the daughter of one of the local farmers.
Rosemary nodded, taking a seat and awkwardly placing her handbag on the desk. Thank God Clara kept a few real dresses for emergencies such as this one. It felt strange to be wearing a dress, stranger still to be sitting in the dim interior of the First Midwestern Bank. But Rosemary was desperate. She had to regain control, had to get Michael Wharton out of her life. She tried to smile at the round-faced man before her.
“Yes. I came to speak with you about a loan.”
“Ah.” The banker folded his hands over his vest and grinned. “I think we can help you there. Is it a mortgage?”
Rosemary relaxed. Maybe it wasn’t as hard as she thought. Lord, she should have done this ages ago. Sean Carney had always had a dreaded fear of bankers and had warned her against them. But that was years ago. These were modern times. “No, it’s for the circus. Carney’s.”
The man glanced at Rosemary’s old dress, then down to the floor. Her shoes looked as if they barely fit, and the purse she carried was battered and worn. Frowning, he leaned closer.
“Now, why would a nice young lady like you want money for a circus? Do you have some particular interest in the show?”
Rosemary nodded. “I own Carney’s,” she explained quickly. “You see, my father borrowed money many years ago from the Whartons in Philadelphia. I would like to repay the loan and set up new terms with your bank.”
“The Whartons?” The banker’s eyes widened. “The Philadelphia Whartons?”
Rosemary’s nose scrinched, and she nodded. “I suppose so. He is, I mean, they are from the city. Do you know them?”
“I know of them,” the banker said, looking at Rosemary with new eyes. “Your circus must be very lucrative to have attracted the attention of the Whartons. Just how much money do you want to borrow?”
Rosemary grinned, pulling out a sheet of Michael’s ledger papers. “This is the balance of the loan plus interest. I wish to repay it all.”
The man leaned forward, scanned the sheet, then his eyes popped when he read the bottom line. “Good Lord, madam. This must be a very old loan indeed to have accumulated so much interest.” He gazed at her, his expression less friendly now. “Wasn’t the show able to pay?”
“There was a misunderstanding between our families as to the terms.” Rosemary took out a handkerchief from her purse and sniffled, wiping her nose. She hid behind the cloth, glancing at his face. He looked properly befuddled. “The Whartons have been very kind, but I would just like to get the finances in order. I thought perhaps a longer term loan…”
“Maybe.” The banker nodded sympathetically. “Please don’t upset yourself. I’m sure we can work something out. And you say you own this property—this show—yourself?”
Nodding, she hastened to explain. “My father, Sean Carney, died and left the show to me. I’ve been taking care of everything ever since. It is so hard sometimes!”
“Brave girl.” The banker patted her hand. His felt warm and wet. “You’ve done the work of ten men, I assure you. Please don’t cry.” He waited until Rosemary quieted and then asked gently, “Do you have your financial statements?”
Tearfully, Rosemary handed him the papers, wincing as he glanced over it. Michael had just finished auditing her statements and had already proclaimed that Carney’s was in disastrous condition. It was a cash-flow problem, as simple as that. But it did not leave her in the best position to borrow, as she well knew. Until Michael had shown up, she’d been positive she wouldn’t need funds, that she could expand using last year’s profits. Now, everything had changed.
The banker’s face grew grim as he examined the statement, then he glanced back at the young woman before him. She was so courageous and attractive. Though her reddish hair had been pulled back into a bun, even that couldn’t hide its fire, nor that in her dancing green eyes. They unnerved him, those eyes. Folding the paper back to its original form, he handed it to Rose, his expression grave.
“Is it that bad?” Rose asked pleadingly.
“I’m not saying we can’t do business,” the banker said in a fond, paternal tone. “However, your available assets, which you would borrow against, are extremely weak. Normally, I would take an interest in the inventory or receivables as collateral, but I’m afraid all of your assets are limited.”
“What?”
“I can’t sell the elephants should your loan default,” the banker said solemnly. “I’m afraid the only thing I can do is to make a small loan, but I would have to take ownership of the circus.”
“Ownership?” Her voice was a squeak.
The man nodded, patting her hand again. “It would be for the best, my dear. You could get out of this life, perhaps take a position as a seamstress somewhere. In the meantime, I can restructure the show to make it more profitable. I would have to cut back on the overhead, the hands—”
“No,” Rosemary said firmly, forgetting her handkerchief. The linen fluttered to the carpet as she stood up, her ill-fitting shoes scuffing the floor.
“But it’s the only way!” the man protested, pointing to the figures. “You outspend the show by paying salaries and monies for new animals! If we cut back on the staff—”
“I’m sorry, sir, but we cannot do business. Carney’s Circus is mine, and no one is firing my family.”
“Very well.” The banker handed her back her papers, giving her a sour look. “I hope you can come to terms with Mr. Wharton, then. Otherwise, please feel free to return.”
He watched her walk out the door, her prim stance gone, replaced by a genuine Irish fury. Grinning, the banker went back to his desk and carefully filed the notes.
Rosemary Carney would be back. He didn’t think she had any other choice.
“Rose,” Clara cackled as she glanced up. Her tea, and a noisome mixture of gruel and eggs, bubbled from her stove. Incense pumped around her like a fragrant cloud while crystals tinkled enticingly. The tabby cat yawned from the floor, stretching amid a pile of worn cushions. It was like a fairy world, one in which incantations and strange beliefs were common, and the rules of the real world didn’t exist. “Did you come for tea?”
Rosemary nodded, her anger ebbing. It was here that she felt accepted no matter what, and she needed that right now. She needed a friend.
“Here.” Clara handed her a portion of the meal, along with a cup of hot, sweet tea. Surprisingly, it was good, especially without the ridicule of the clowns.
“I read the signs last night,” Clara said, munching eggs with a toothless grin. “I know why you’ve come.”
Rosemary shivered in spite of the tea. It was uncanny the way Clara always seemed to know what she was thinking. “It’s him. Michael Wharton. Everything was fine until he came! I can’t get rid of the man. I’ve tried everything, Clara. I even went to see the banker.”
“Ah.” Clara nodded, glancing at the dress in Rose’s hands. “What did he say?”
Rosemary shuddered, remembering the plump banker and his soft hands patting hers. “He wants ownership and wants to lay off part of the staff. Don’t worry, Clara, I told him no.”
“Good riddance!” Clara sniffed. “Bah! Bankers and leeches. Can’t trust the lot of them. I told you that when you wanted to borrow the dress. What will you do?”
“I don’t know.” Rosemary’s shoulders slumped. “I have to do something! He made a fool out of me. Do you know the clowns actually laughed at me this morning? I don’t blame them, after last night.”
Clara leaned forward and placed a comforting hand on her knee. “Rose, you canna’ will that away. It happened, as it was meant to happen. You see, the men have never seen you as anything other than their boss. Last night you showed them another side of you, and it makes them uneasy. They’re not used to thinking of Carney as a woman. Let’s look to the cards, lass. Perhaps I can help you.”
Clara removed a thick wad of cards from her pocket and began to slip them through her fingers in a soft shuffle. When the vibrations were right, she laid them out on the felt-covered table in the same arrangement that she’d shown Michael. When her eyes reopened, she stared at the cards, clucking her tongue at the familiar depictions.
“What is it?” Rosemary was frightened by the look on Clara’s face. Unconsciously she clutched her throat and stared wide-eyed at the odd pictures on the tarot cards. “Is it something awful?”
Clara’s face crinkled into a grin. Slowly she looked up and saw Rosemary’s wide-eyed concern. Her face changed to something more reassuring, although the truth was as startling as it was inevitable. “I think…” Clara struggled with the words. “I think that perhaps you have a stronger weapon than you know.”
“What kind of weapon? Something legal? Are the loan papers not in order?”
Clara shook her head, then indicated a card depicting a knight in armor holding out a cup. She picked up the card and displayed the picture for Rose to see. “This is a love card, dear. It means a young man will offer you his love.”
“What?” Rosemary stared at the image in disbelief. “Who is it? One of the farmboys?” She stared closer at the card.