Golden Hope (12 page)

If Rom Delaney is a Trickster, why do I feel so safe with him? I don't know what will happen next. But crazy as it is, if he wants to go to the moon . . . I'll go with him.

‘Pack your bags, girl. We're leaving. I'll explain later.'

Her mother's words greeted Clytie the moment she set foot in their wagon.

‘No need, Mama, bad news travels faster than lightning – even in church.'

The Cricket Ground was alive with gesticulating figures with angry voices similar to those she had seen in the town. There was one major difference – curt orders and disciplined team work showed the troupe was in control of the situation. Here the scene was organised chaos. Men in overalls and boys in ragged short pants, the circus roustabouts, were engaged in dismantling the Big Top as expertly as if it lay in the path of an approaching hurricane.

‘Don't you understand, girl? As you well know, a bank crash changes everything,' Dolores snapped.

‘For this town, yes. But it doesn't affect the circus. We never use banks.'

‘Don't argue the toss with me, girl, just get moving.'

Clytie stood her ground, trying to batten down a surge of panic. Before her eyes was the image of Rom's face. She could feel the lingering warmth of his hands, his lips on hers. She knew he was waiting for her by the creek. But for how long?

‘We can't leave right now! We must stay to give one last show – it's been advertised by word of mouth. You always say it's bad for a circus's reputation to let people down. And yet here we are running out of town to avoid a
free
show for the kids.'

Dolores raised her hand as if poised to strike her and the fear in her eyes caused Clytie to press herself against the wall. Her mother had struck Vlad when governed by drink, but even in one of her so-called ‘Spanish fits of temperament' she had never struck Clytie.

The raised hand trembled and Dolores sank down on a crate, like a rag doll which had lost some of its stuffing.

‘You want the truth? We've been run out of town. That rotten Town
Councillor Twyman blames us for losing all their money. You know the old lie – we're all thieves and vagabonds. Local hooligans just set fire to Zaza's wagon. And Lionello found a poison bait in Missy's cage.'

Clytie gasped. ‘That's terrible! Have they called the police?'

‘What's the point? There's only one trap in town. No doubt he's too busy to protect us.'

‘We can all protect each other – that's circus life. We're family.' It was a mantra she had been taught but at this moment the words sounded hollow.

Dolores's laugh was devoid of humour. ‘Try telling Gourlay that. He's just fired me. He believes Vlad's story that I broke my word. Got on the drink. Vlad wants to work with
you
– I'm out!' She added bitterly, ‘I won't stand in your way.'

For the first time in her life Clytie felt her loyalty split in two by a chasm that had grown overnight. Her mother had ever been the centre of her world. Now Rom, a young man she hardly knew, stood on the other side of that chasm. A tightrope seemed to stretch between the two cliffs. She was shocked by how desperately she wanted to walk the tightrope across the void that separated them. But she could never abandon her mother.

She finally found her voice. ‘Who needs Vlad? You've got me. Always.'

‘Don't you understand? If we can't work in the circus we have nothing! Vlad holds the purse strings. I have no brass of my own. The only thing I managed to retain is this wagon. What damned good is that? I don't even own a horse to pull it!'

Dolores was so agitated she began coughing, a recurring attack that was now an unspoken cause of concern between them.

‘You need to rest, Mama. Time away from the Big Top, time to get well again. I'm strong, I can work for both of us.'

‘You? What can you do? There's still a depression, hadn't you noticed? The only thing you know is how to do flip-flaps on horseback and walk a tightrope. Not much call for that kind of work in Hoffnung, kid!'

‘I'm not a kid anymore, Mama. Hadn't
you
noticed?'

The silence between them was charged with deep-seated anger. Dolores's stare challenged her. Clytie refused to lower her eyes.

Dolores was suddenly suspicious. ‘Your change of heart wouldn't have anything to do with that trickster with the silver tongue, would it?'

Clytie sprang to the defence. ‘Don't worry, I haven't done anything to bring shame on you.'

‘No? In that case, you're not your mother's daughter,' Dolores said wryly.

The unexpected laughter between them broke the tension and led to a hug. Clytie knew their roles had reversed irrevocably overnight. She was now the mother, Dolores the child.

‘Don't worry, Mama. I'll talk to the Boss. He has to pay me
my
wages. We'll live on that until something turns up.' She paused in the doorway. ‘Vlad's a blackguard to leave us high and dry without horses. But I know where I can borrow one to move our wagon out of here.'

Clytie bolted to avoid further explanation. Although horse theft had ceased to be a hanging offence it remained a serious crime. Clytie was none too sure if Rom was Goldie's legal owner, but this was no time to voice her suspicions.

First port of call was Boss Gourlay. He eyed Clytie as if he wished to avoid a confrontation. He could swear like a trouper at adults, but children had him bluffed, and Clytie counted on the fact.

‘No use trying to change my mind, girlie. Dolores broke her contract once too often. Vlad says you're welcome to stay in his act as his assistant.'

‘I would, if you'd allow me to throw the knives – at Vlad!'

Gourlay gave a begrudging smile. ‘You're growing up fast, kid. I reckon you'll survive.'

‘I will – when you pay me
my
wages.'

He nodded and turned his back to open the iron safe.

The money now secured in her pocket, Clytie paused by the lion cage, where Lionello knelt by Missy's side, stroking the prone, motionless body. Her breathing was shallow and laboured. Aware of Clytie's presence, Lionello looked up at her, his eyes bleak, the tears drying in rivulets in the dust on his cheeks.

‘How is she, Lionello?' Clytie asked softly with the respect due a patient.

‘Don't ask,' he said bleakly. ‘I won't let her travel in this state. The circus can move on without us. If Missy dies, my life is over.'

‘Don't say that. Please allow me to fetch Doc Hundey. He's a
real
doctor, not one of those quacks who claim to cure everything from T.B. to dandruff. He'll do whatever he can for Missy.'

Lionello's face crinkled but his voice took on a shade of hope. ‘You are a good girl, Little Clytie.'

Clytie bounded back to her mother's cabin. Pausing outside the door to transfer a few coins to her pocket, she presented the remainder of her wages to her mother.

‘I'm going to fetch the doctor for Missy. When he comes please let him examine your cough.'

‘Nothing doing. Doctors cost money.' Dolores's fist closed over the money. ‘
This
means we can eat!'

•  •  •

She found Rom Delaney seated on the side of the bridge, his long legs dangling over the rush of water that barely cleared his boots. He tossed the butt of his cigarette into the creek the moment he saw her and leapt to his feet, his eyes serious. ‘Well? Are you staying or going?'

‘First things first. Can you show me where I can find that doctor?'

Without a word Rom's hands were around her waist. He lifted her up on the horse to ride pillion behind him and Goldie galloped off with them, Clytie clasping tightly the money she hoped would cover the doctor's fee.

They dismounted at the front of a low-slung, solid timber house that seemed to have two distinct personalities. The front garden was tidy enough but bare of flower beds. Behind a bamboo fence at the side she could see a profusion of flowers, hollyhocks and other tall plants, clearly tended by a garden lover.

There was a brass plaque beside the central front door. The windows on either side had drab curtains in contrast to the section at the side of the house overlooking the garden where a window was covered by a frilly lace curtain. It struck her as odd that this appeared to be the sole window that was protected by a wrought-iron grille – was it to keep thieves out?

Rom kept his voice low. ‘That rear section's the domain of Doc's sister. Miss Adelaide's a bit of a recluse, rarely goes out. I was
surprised to see her at the circus. I reckon she's sensitive about her club foot.'

Clytie gasped in surprise. ‘So that was Doc's sister. I caught sight of her through the circus flaps, as she limped down the stairs.' She had felt an instant bond with her and on impulse had singled her out to present her with a memento of the circus.

Mindful of the urgency, they hurried to the front door. No need to ring the bell. The notice pinned to the door stated that Doc had gone to attend a sick patient. Would anyone in need of his services please leave their name. A blackboard slate and stick of chalk were provided for the purpose.

Clytie printed her message. ‘Please come to the Cricket Ground urgently. Our lion has been poisoned and is very ill.' She began to sign it Little Clytie but rubbed out the word ‘little' and added ‘Hart'.

‘Do you really think your doctor will be brave enough to visit a lion?' she asked wistfully.

Rom did not hesitate. ‘Doc has the heart of a lion himself. He'll be there!'

•  •  •

Long shadows cast by the pine trees fell across the Cricket Ground. Only a few hours had passed since news of the bank crash, and the circus troupe knew their safety lay in a swift departure. Wildebrand Circus was in effect being run out of town by cowards who concealed their faces.

Clytie understood why her mother had bolted herself in the wagon that lay on the oval like a shipwreck on a sea of grass. Consumed by pain and defeat, Dolores was unable to stand by Clytie's side to watch the departure of the wagon train that was separating them forever not only from their friends but their whole life. Dolores's ominous words replayed in her head.

‘You go, Clytie. To pay them respect. I am afraid that if I set eyes on Vlad driving off with Godiva and Barbarossa, I would tear that man's eyes out of his head with my bare hands. It took me years to train those beautiful white horses for our act. I'd tear out his heart too – but we both know he doesn't have one.'

There were no words strong enough to cover that moment, so Clytie silently hugged her mother and left her alone.

Now, separated from the few curious townsfolk and children watching the circus depart, Clytie was determined not to betray any signs of her inner grief. She ran to the end of Main Street, standing alone to smile and wave to her friends. In contrast to their triumphant entrance, Wildebrand's exit was more like a funeral cortege.

One by one the friends of her childhood, the only real family she had ever known, passed her on the road to Melbourne, headed for who knew what future. Memories flashed before her eyes.

Her beloved teacher Pedro had no need of his clown's sad make-up, his sorrow was so deeply etched in the lines of his face. Ruby was sobbing into a handkerchief. Tiche, dressed in his top hat and tails, leapt down from their wagon and ran back as fast as his legs would carry him to embrace Clytie in a bear hug.

‘Promise you won't forget me, Clytie!'

‘Never! I'll always remember how we studied together. Never stop learning, Tiche. You can be anything you want to be when you grow up.' She was stopped by the sad irony of her words.

‘I'm going to be a great music hall star one day. Little Tiche is only four foot six inches tall – and it didn't stop him from being world famous.'

Blowing her a series of kisses that ended in a row of cartwheels, he caught up to the wagon where Pedro gave him a hand to climb back on board.

‘I'll send you a postcard from wherever we play,' Tiche's voice carried the length of the convoy.

Madam Zaza alone was in full costume, her colourful Romani dress heavily adorned with rings, chains and gold ear-rings that glinted in the dying light.

‘Remember what I told you, sweetheart! And take care of Dolores.' She jerked her thumb at the burnt and buckled side of her wagon and added defiantly for the whole town to take note, ‘Whatever villain did this – will get this!' Eyes wide and her teeth bared in a ferocious grin, she slashed her finger across her throat with such violence that two older boys watching the retreat recoiled in fear.

Clytie's heart sank.
Don't tell me boys were responsible for setting fire to her home.

She steeled herself against the inevitable sight of Vlad's wagon driving past her. He stared straight ahead as if she was invisible. She could not allow the moment to pass.

‘I've learned a lot from you, Vlad. Best watch your back. I'm the Knife-Thrower's Daughter, remember? You wouldn't want to run into me on a dark night.'

The convoy was short of two vehicles – the wagons of Lionello and Dolores and Little Clytie.

I'll never be Little Clytie again.

Clytie stood alone in the main street, waving to the last wagon in the convoy as it rocked from sight around the bend in the road. She felt a sharp pang of premonition – that final wagon had cut her life into two halves. Her childhood – and the unknown future.

Her heart overflowed with flashes of memories – happy, sad and fearful: learning to walk a tightrope as a toddler; that first time she fell off a pony's back and Dolores insisted she climb right back on again to overcome her fear; the awe she felt at the sight of the amazing Aboriginal acrobat Billy Jones as he leapt across the backs of twenty horses lined up side to side; all the years filled with thunderous waves of applause that flooded the Big Top; silly, tender moments like being tickled by her mother, both laughing until their eyes were wet with tears.