The Ringmaster's Wife (32 page)

“Do you have advice to offer? You have spent more time with the leaders of the show than anybody else around here.”

Mable had a purpose in the visit to the performance floor. It wasn't to banter about titles and shows, or lines that sometimes needed crossing. Not that day. Instead, she'd come because she'd missed him, and it felt right to show him somehow. To acknowledge—if only in the smallest of ways—the value placed on the position he held within the Ringlings' circus family.

“No advice today. A bon voyage, rather. Mr. Ringling and I intend to spend the latter part of the year here in New York. Then we sail for Venice to christen the New Year. I wanted to see you off.”

“This new post is a far cry from my days of watch-hunting on the street corners.” He furrowed his brow. “Are you checking up on me? You're not worried that I'll take up my pickpocketing ways again, are you?”

“Not at all. In fact, I think you have the only watch you'll ever want right there in your pocket.”

Colin studied her.

Saying nothing, save for a slight nod to confirm her comment, he eased back onto the crate.

“I gather it might take some time to become acclimated to civilian life again. You didn't expound in your letters, but I pride myself on reading between the lines.”

“I told you enough that you know who I am.”

“And I can't ignore that, no matter how much you'd prefer I do.”

He laughed lightly. “Yes. And I'll probably jump at every sound for a while. But I can't complain. At least I came home. There are too many boys who died in France and won't see our shores again. Who won't marry or have children of their own to bring to the Ringling Brothers' show.”

“Does it feel like giving back? To take what life hands you and make the best of it that you can?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “It does feel like giving back in a way. And I know you understand why I say that.”

Mable flitted her glance to the small pile of Colin's belongings stacked by the crate.

Dear Colin.

Always paying penance.

Never finding freedom, no matter how many lives he attempted to help. He seemed eager to prove his worth, even now, despite rising to the occasion time after time. And now, back from war, he was unchanged in that regard.

Colin still carried that small amount of baggage everywhere he went.

“And that's all you need? You could have a home, Colin. An opportunity to change your life. Is traveling with our show how you want to live it?”

“I have no home. Not anymore. Being in New York again reminds me that those bridges have long since burned.”

“I just want you to be sure it's what you want. Because you've become a fixture around here, Colin Keary. Circus is in your blood, isn't it?”

He scanned the vast arena, looking around at the stadium-style bleacher seats that cast shadows in every corner.

Mable watched the shades of remembrance wash over his features, as if he could see the circus lights and the flyers bounding overhead. No doubt he could hear the band cueing up, with clowns and animal acts moving about the rings in front of them.

“It is. This life is right for me. It's all I know now. And if it's paying for the sins of my past to want to help others, then I accept it.”

It was no wonder Colin had sentenced himself to a life of servitude for the mistakes he'd made in his past. And the dreams that couldn't be fulfilled.

She was reminded of her first trip to the circus grounds. All those years before, John had whisked her into his world, and it had felt right. The rigging lacing the arena above their heads and the span of performance rings in front of them—they'd become home to her too.

“I think it's in my blood too, Colin. We're alike, you and I. Transplants into this glorious world. Seeing where a measure of charity is needed. But that's the easy part, isn't it? God willing, we're brave enough to take the next step and offer it. And that's your strength. It's why this is your job now. You have the courage to
offer absolution to others, especially when it's not deserved. There can be no better leader than that.”

Her voice sounded far off. Dreamy, even to her. Thinking of regrets she had. Of the days before she'd met John and become the Circus King's wife. She was reminded of Sally. Of time that marched on and dreams that could go unfulfilled. She didn't want that for Colin, not if she could help him.

“Well. Those animals will be looking for their breakfast early, and I'm sure you'll want to be there to supervise it.” Mable clapped her hands together and stood to leave.

Colin stood when she did, offering his arm should she wish to take it and navigate around the obstacles of bleacher seats and hardware waiting to be loaded onto the wagons.

A crash resounded from across the arena, this one much louder than before. Colin crinkled his brow and firmed the line of his mouth into one of politely subdued concern.

Mable could see his feet were itching to jump in and take charge. She knew the instant she left, he'd be running in that direction.

“I can see that you're needed, so I'll let you get back to work,” she announced, bestowing a light double-tap to his forearm. “We're all quite proud to have you back as a member of the Ringling Brothers' family, Colin. I hope one day you'll be ready to give up that watch. And I'll be rejoicing from the sidelines when you do.”

1928

A
LTOONA
, P
ENNSYLVANIA

There was a chill in the night air . . . early spring's last cool breath before summer.

Rosamund pulled the sweater tighter round her shoulders in response. She walked past an old barn behind the back lot, gazing at her poster image layered several times over against the planks of aged wood on its side.

It had taken some getting used to, seeing posters with her image plastered in railway stations and on country outbuildings everywhere they went. The circus's advance team would always move into a performance stop to advertise days before the train pulled into town, papering every flat surface within a several-mile radius of the station. By the looks of things that night, they'd done their job with fervor.

The English Rose was everywhere.

Even in the shades of darkness that blanketed the back lot, the smiling and serene poster beauty floated through the air as Rosamund walked by.

A twig snapped behind her, drawing her notice from the span of poster art to the deserted back lot.

She stopped, half turning, feeling an edge of uncertainty creep up her spine. She heard distant cries from the animals and the far-off chug of the train whistle. No doubt the men were loading the Big Top pole wagons on the flat cars by now, and the show would be rolling out before too long.

Quickening her step toward the performers' tents, she considered her nerves to have been pricked only by exhaustion after the show and long days and nights with little sleep. The sound of a twig snapping out in a tree-lined field was nothing out of the ordinary.

Until it happened again.

And she heard voices. Male voices that she didn't recognize, muttering words she couldn't quite make out.

“Hello?” she whispered, looking past the long trail of canvas to one side and the deserted back lot of field and trees on the other.

A gust of wind swept by, rustling the grasses of the field and whispering through the trees.

Instinct prickled at the hairs on the back of her neck, screaming at her to run.

She turned to sprint in the opposite direction, but something yanked on her sweater, pulling her from behind.

Rosamund knew she should have cried out, knowing that help couldn't be too far away. But the sharp pain of an unexpected blow to the back of her head came so suddenly that the only thing she could do was fall to her knees. She punched out at air, trying to fight off whatever or whoever had attacked. As she gasped for breath, her vision blurred, sending her eyes to flutter closed on their own.

Blackness invaded like a wave and sleep became her friend.

“Where is she?”

Colin stormed into the tent, anger seething with every breath in his chest.

Rose looked up, meeting his glare from her sitting position on her cot. She tipped her head down away from him, trying to hide the fact that she was holding a linen cloth to it.

He'd had no idea what to expect when he got to her, but certainly not what he saw.

Rose had blood matted in her hair and dark smears of dirt caked on her costume and face. Her knees were cut so that they looked scraped raw. Even the woolen blanket that had been draped over her shoulders like a shawl couldn't hide the fact that she shook uncontrollably.

“
Bien
, Colin. She's okay,” Annaliese whispered to him, then patted Rose's hand before stepping back out of the way.

Colin filled the void she'd left, kneeling down at Rose's side. “What happened?”

“I'm all right,” she said, trying to produce a meager smile for him. “Truly.”

Colin reached out a hand and pulled down the linen, revealing a round circle of bright red. He clenched his jaw at the sight of it.

“You're not. Nothing about this is all right,” he said, using his thumb to brush at dirt on the underside of her chin. He noticed the gentle trembling of her shoulders. “Are you cold?”

He pulled the blanket tighter round her collar and rubbed her upper arms to generate warmth.

“I'm not now,” she breathed out, offering him the tiniest smile.

It shredded his restraint.

Colin shot to his feet, blasting the audience in the tent with a furious glare.

Enzo and Marvio held back, silently eyeing him from the safety of the shadows. And Annaliese stood with Ward, wringing her hands as she looked back and forth between Rose and the men, positioned on opposite sides of the tent.

“You'd better have an explanation that will satisfy me,” Colin shouted, bounding forward to stand up to the younger of the two flyers, “or I'll have you thrown behind bars for attempted murder.”

“We saved her! Found her and brought her here.” Enzo's temper flared back. “You can't accuse us of anything.”

Colin shook his head, fury barely restrained in balled fists at his sides. “I know what I see!”

“And what is that?”

“Do I need to spell it out for you? Someone is trying to put her out of the show.”

“Why would any of us do that? It hurts everyone if the show fails to bring in the crowds. If she's out, then so are we.”

“Stand down,” Marvio said, easing in before tempers exploded and fists began to fly. “Both of you. This isn't helping anything.”

“It'll help me if I can put a fist through his jaw,” Colin shouted back.

“No,” Rose called out, silencing the tent. “No, Colin. Please. They helped me. They found me and brought me here.”

It couldn't be. Not possible.

Annaliese stepped forward, bobbing her chin up and down. “Ward and I were walking back from the dining tent. We saw them pick her up and carry her across the lot. They found her knocked out in the field behind the performers' tents.”

Ward stepped up next to Annaliese. “It's true, Colin.”

Colin exhaled low. He kicked the straw at his feet, taking his anger out on the tip of his boot.

“I think you should tell him now,” Annaliese squeaked out,
drawing the ire of Rose's furrowed brow. She shook her head ever so slightly, trying to button Annaliese's mouth before she said anything further.

“Tell me what?”

Colin's anger subsided only long enough to show Rose the shock that he knew must have covered his face.

Enzo and Marvio stood back, looking genuinely surprised.

Ward closed his eyes and sighed over Annaliese's admission. He slipped an arm over her shoulder, trying to edge her to the exit.

“Tell me what, Rose?”

She didn't answer. Just looked at the rest of the faces in the room, then returned her eyes to lock with his.

Right
, he thought.
You want to be alone.

“Everyone out,” Colin ordered, not even looking over his shoulder to see if his demand was being carried out.

He heard shuffling feet. Annaliese whispered some cooing words before Ward dragged her away.

Colin stood still in the center of the tent, his hands braced at his hips until the sounds subsided and he was sure they were alone. He plucked a stool from Rose's vanity table and pulled it up next to her place on the cot.

He sat, elbows resting on his knees. “What's going on?”

In contrast to his stance when the others were in the tent, he knew he couldn't show her the rage pumping through his veins. If he wanted the truth, she'd have to feel safe enough to tell him.

He lowered his voice to a rough whisper. “You can tell me, Rose. We're alone.”

“I don't know,” she started, chin quivering ever so slightly. “I was walking at the back of the lot, and I think there were some men from the village . . . I heard voices. I don't know who they were, but they seemed to recognize me from the posters.”