Genial joker and clown Jonas Grafton divided opinion. Some saw him as quite the funniest and most loveable man they had ever laid eyes on, while others knew him as melancholy and given to sentimental brooding. It was widely known that he had a long-standing, unrequited infatuation with Sabine Mathieu and that was interpreted by some as the cause of much of the recent brooding. One person told us that he had written her some awful poetry, and had earned himself a fair amount of leg pulling from his friends when they found out. But all of that seemed to me entirely in keeping with the stereotypical image of the clown, so I for one didn’t feel much better informed there, either.
Prudence Hallows, the trapeze artist, was elitist and a bit “hoity-toity” by some accounts, with “a vicious tongue on her when she’s crossed”, but those that knew her and her sisters – who formed the rest of the act – well, said that she was “an adorable, sweet little thing who couldn’t do enough for you”.
Pretty little contortionist Adeline Rosethorn was timid and shy, but was similarly kind and helpful and would, apparently, “bend over backwards to help anyone”. We laughed politely and moved on.
Mickey O’Bannon we’d already met, and that left only the star of the dancing horse show, Sabine Mathieu. Beautiful women are seldom widely liked, and when they’re also extremely talented and extremely French, they stand no chance at all. Sabine, we ascertained, was universally loathed. A native of Paris, she had that city’s special talent for rudeness, which didn’t help her, either, but there was, said everyone we spoke to, such an air of superiority and dismissiveness about her that, in the words of one of the stable lads, “I reckon if she met God himself she’d look down on him. And He’d be too frightened to say anything.” Despite his obvious wariness of the woman, it was difficult to stop him waxing lyrical about her beauty and her skill on horseback once he got started.
It was approaching four o’clock so we left the stables and walked past the regimentally ordered living tents and caravans to the mess tent. Colonel Dawlish was already there and was pouring mugs of tea from a huge, ornate samovar for the four members of the gang who had already arrived. Veronica and Wilfred were sitting together, deep in some private conversation, with Mickey and Sabine opposite them, lost in their own thoughts. Lady Hardcastle sat down with them and I helped Colonel Dawlish carry the teas.
As we sat at the table sharing them out, the other four came in, led by Jonas. He and Adeline came to join us while Abraham and Prudence fetched four more teas and one of the plates of fresh buns that Babble had just brought out.
‘It’s been a hellish day,’ said Colonel Dawlish once everyone was seated, ‘but I don’t need to remind you all how essential it is that we put on a good show tonight and get the punters talking about how magnificent, spectacular and incredible this circus really is. No matter how hard we’ve tried, news will already have got round about the murders so any of tonight’s crowd that hasn’t been frightened off will be here out of morbid curiosity. But who knows what might happen tomorrow; once the fuss has died down even they might stop coming. But if we give them a show they can tell their friends about, we can have a full house for the week. You’re the core of the show, you’re my platoon leaders, I need you to spread the word, chivvy the troops. We can get through this if we stick together and do what we do best.’
‘My girls, they are not affected by these things,’ said Sabine, haughtily. ‘They are the professionals. They will give the performance of their lives tonight. I guarantee it.’
The others nodded earnestly, but Jonas seemed lost in a world of his own and just gazed at the Frenchwoman with unconcealed adoration. Adeline had noticed Jonas’s trance and nudged Prudence, who smirked. Her smile vanished instantly when Jonas came to himself and glared at her.
‘The boys and I have been working on some new gags,’ said Jonas, suddenly jovial once more. ‘They need a little more work to get them perfect, but they’ve never been seen before so it might be worth trying them out tonight.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ said Colonel Dawlish. ‘Well done, you two.’
‘The girls and I have been working on some new tricks, too,’ said Prudence. ‘I’m sure they’re ready.’
‘Wonderful, wonderful,’ said Colonel Dawlish with boyish enthusiasm. I was sure he’d already forgotten why we’d wanted to get them all together, but it didn’t seem right to try to disrupt this sudden burst of enthusiasm.
‘I shall have one more bun, I think,’ said Veronica. ‘And try to continue to be fat,’
‘And if I slouch I might pass myself off as Britain’s sixth smallest man,’ said Wilfred, reaching out and taking her hand.
The others laughed and for the briefest moment, the horrors of the day seemed to have been forgotten as the eight friends started planning an evening’s entertainment. A burble of conversation erupted as more and more ideas occurred to them. Only Abraham looked forlorn. It was his equipment that had been used to kill Gus, and he was no doubt dreading having to go out and demonstrate his prodigious strength as though nothing had happened.
Suddenly, I had the most horrible feeling that we were intruding. Despite our promises to Colonel Dawlish to track down the killer, and despite our belief that he or she was somehow connected with this group, it suddenly seemed entirely wrong for Lady Hardcastle and I to be sitting with them while they tried to suppress their grief and save their circus. I caught Lady Hardcastle’s eye and it was apparent that she had had precisely the same feeling.
Without saying a word, we rose from the table and left the mess tent. We walked home and it was only once we were safely inside the house that we began to discuss the day’s events and to try to decide what we were going to do about our invitations to see the show that evening.
After much discussion, Lady Hardcastle and I had decided that we had no good reason not to go to the circus as planned. We joined the villagers and the visitors that mobbed the box office. Milly and Molly had been delighted to see us and had summoned a stable boy to show us to our seats in the area reserved for distinguished guests.
We sat with Sir Hector and Lady Farley-Stroud on one side and Dr Fitzsimmons on the other. I could tell that Lady Farley-Stroud was more than a little put out at having to share her exclusive spot with a servant, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to care very much.
The show itself exceeded my expectations. The clowns, the elephant, the trapeze, the Chinese acrobats, and the wonderful dancing horses were even more magical than I’d dared hope. And the revelation of the evening was that Colonel Dawlish, in a tailcoat of hunting pink, wearing a silk top hat and addressing the audience through a polished brass megaphone, was the ring master. With jokes, outrageous exaggerations, and a line of patter of which I should never have dreamed him capable, he charmed the audience and whipped them into a frenzy of enthusiastic appreciation for each act.