Molly's Journey

by Sheila Newberry

  Nancy waited for Molly to speak first. ‘Believe it or not, I’ve never been to a circus,’ she said. ‘Fancy, who would have thought that the first time would be in Australia? Yes, please, Alexa, I’d love to go.’ Wouldn’t it be a coincidence, she thought, if it was the circus Serena Kelly had mentioned in her letter? She must endeavour to find out! Rory – that was the name of Serena’s son.

  ‘So would I!’ Nancy echoed happily.

  ‘So’d I!’ Fay shouted, and she rolled over and over on the sand, just like a little green roly-poly clown as Nancy had said, but failed to dislodge the hated hat.

  *

  One look at Mr Randolph Colton’s face as they divested themselves of gritty shoes and parasols in the hall was enough for Nancy. She knew right away that he didn’t care for children for he ignored Fay’s beaming, ‘Hello, man!’ However, she caught his speculative glance at Molly when Cicely introduced them.

  Nancy picked Fay up. ‘I’ll take her up to the nursery, Mrs Nagel, time for her tea. Then I’ll bath her and get her off to bed. Will you pop up and say goodnight?’

  Alexa was obviously relieved not to have to ask Nancy to keep Fay tactfully out of the main reception rooms while the master of the house was at home. ‘Yes, of course I will, Nancy, thank you.’

  ‘I’ll come up with you, I must get changed,’ Molly said quickly, following Nancy and Fay upstairs.

  ‘Wear your new dinner dress tonight, Molly,’ Alexa called after her. The elegant Ran would surely expect them to dress in all their finery.

  *

  ‘Your arrival has obviously been just the tonic Cissy needs. Unfortunately, she is subject to irrational worries and depression at times,’ her husband observed as they relaxed in the conservatory among the cool leafy plants after a lengthy dinner. He patted his pocket. ‘Would you object if I lit a cigar, ladies? A small indulgence with my brandy.’ They murmured politely.

  Molly, shifting her chair a little so that she could see the garden through the glass, was dismayed when Randolph moved alongside her. ‘And how do you like it here?’ he asked. ‘Not too dull, I hope, without a companion of your own age?’

  She answered smartly: ‘I am having a most enjoyable time, thank you, Mr Colton. And I do have Nancy to giggle with, if that’s what you mean?’

  ‘Nancy? Ah, the child’s nurse,’ he said dismissively.

  ‘We share responsibility for Fay’s care,’ Molly told him. She knew that Alexa was giving her little warning glances, and that she probably sounded curt and rude, but she couldn’t help it. She had taken an instant dislike to the smooth, good-looking Ran, with his pomaded hair, the drooping moustache accentuating moist red lips, and his expensive clothes. She had noted the signs of distress, quickly concealed, on Cicely’s face when her husband had commented on her health: that was uncalled for, Molly thought. She wrapped the shawl closer round her exposed shoulders, acutely aware that this defensive gesture amused her host. It was going to be a long evening.

  *

  Sometime during the night Molly awoke, feeling uneasy. The knob on her door clicked: she held her breath, thankful that she had turned the key in the lock. Then she silently chided herself. Was it Nancy, coming to fetch her because Fay was unwell?

  She called out, feeling rather foolish. ‘Who’s there?’

  There was no reply, only the sound of softly retreating footsteps.

  Just as Molly began to relax again, turning her pillow and shaking it, to induce sleep, she thought she heard a muffled cry. But she must have imagined it because then there was silence, and eventually sleep did claim her, and the next thing she knew it was morning, and the maid was knocking on her door because it was time for early-morning tea.

  Randolph did not appear at the breakfast table. Cicely poured tea with a bright smile seemingly fixed on her face, but Molly, and Alexa, too, noted the slight trembling of her hands. The floaty scarf round her neck did not quite conceal the red marks on her throat.

  SIX

  Huge posters appeared, boldly illustrated, all around and out of town: obscuring shop windows, slapped up on blank walls, hammered on barn doors, creased on sandwich boards:

  WINGER’S NEW CIRCUS – MAGNIFICENT! THRILLS, THRILLS, THRILLS! CRAZY CLOWNS! KELLY’S ACROBATS! EQUESTRIAN FEATS! FELIPE’S FLYING TRAPEZE! AND MUCH MORE!

  Pictures of all these, at odd angles, crowded every inch of space, jostling the smaller print but having the desired effect for the posters required much studying and head-turning from side to side.

  Then came the ear-splitting ringing as the giant King poles were struck with military precision, followed by the Queens, the quarters and the side poles. There was an outbreak of cheering as the Big Top finally followed and became taut. Naptha lights were secured. Seating was carried in and arranged before the side canvas was added; the performers were responsible for the erection and safety of their own apparatus. Soon rehearsing would begin on the freshly strewn sawdust.

  A settlement of smaller tents and wagons mushroomed at a discreet distance from the Big Top on the ground that was the circus’s temporary home; the tober. The travelling blacksmith was already busy with repairs, the sideshows were set up, the noise and bustle was deafening, the anticipation almost unbearable to the small-fry watching at a respectful distance.

  Then there was the grand parade through the streets, crowded on either side by eager spectators, to drum up customers for the first performance. It certainly did not seem like a small circus though it was, having just one performing ring. The Wirths and the Colleanos were the great names of the Australian circus scene. None of them featured here, but this show had the Kellys – acrobats who juggled, walked and bounced on the slack wire.

  The bandwagon, drawn by a team of beautifully turned out liberty horses, almost took Molly’s breath away. She, Nancy and Fay had been lured away from their shopping by the music – literally swept along by the crowd. The decorations on the wagon were in white and gilt bas-relief, depicting nubile maidens in scanty Grecian dress pursued by muscular young men in chariots. The wheels were painted crimson, with the spokes picked out in gold.

  The musicians – brass buttons and instruments polished and gleaming in the sun – played with panache. They were followed by a white-faced clown with a chattering chimpanzee on his shoulder, arms clutched around his neck. A statuesque woman, robed like the pictures on the wagon panels, with her hair in a topknot to complement the brace of black French poodles posing on their hind legs, marched behind. The leading horses were ridden by girls in spangled costumes, with plumed headbands like their steeds. Alongside the parade, clowns towered on stilts, waving cheerily to the excited masses. The ringmaster doffed his top hat and cracked his whip. He was accompanied by a little fellow; a miniature version of himself, identically dressed, running to keep up, but pausing now and then to bow to the onlookers in appreciation of their applause. The enduring legend of tiny General Tom Thumb, a protégé of the great Barnum and a firm favourite of Queen Victoria, assured his popularity.

  ‘First performance at two o’clock!’ was the spiel, loud and clear, as the bandwagon passed. Then there were the cage-wagons with their glimpses of exotic animals, which sent a shiver down the spine . . . just suppose one escaped!

  Finally, the dust settled, and the crowd slowly dispersed.

  ‘Oh, I’d give anything to be part of all that!’ Molly said aloud.

  Nancy grinned at her, hoisting Fay higher on her sturdy young shoulders. ‘You’d fit in all right, I reckon – if you had them spangles!’

  *

  They arrived early, so that they could wander round the sideshows before they settled in their seats. Alexa needn’t have worried that Fay would become restless. She sat, thumb in mouth, absorbed in all that was going on. She took her cue from Molly and Nancy, laughing when they did at the rumbustious clowns and their fooling, pointing dramatically upwards whenever they gasped at seemingly impossible feats on the trapeze or high wire.

  The Kelly troupe of acroba
ts had them holding their breath, too, with their juggling on the bouncing rope, their pliable limbs bending, somersaulting, flip-flapping with incredible speed. They were dressed identically in white tights and sequinned cropped jackets, flashing silver, when the four men discarded their capes after their entrance, and the two women tossed aside their tulle skirts. Long, braided black hair was the females’ only concession to femininity.

  Which of the three younger men was Rory Kelly? Molly wondered. Two were tall and dark like the women; the other was shorter, stockier, with sandy hair that gleamed gold under the spotlights. He was obviously related to the older man, the muscular foundation of the act, who caught and held steady the others – the one on whom they relied at all times.

  The girls skipped off to return with the rosin-backs, palomino ponies that wheeled and turned, two abreast, with their riders performing fearless feats on the leading pair. One by one, as the ponies passed them in the ring, the other acrobats leapt on their pre-selected mount and, gripping with their feet, stood perfectly balanced, waving to the audience.

  Molly was quite carried away with all the cheering. After the Kellys swept off she was soon wiping her eyes as the tiny clown they had seen in the parade made them laugh with his tricks on the unicycle, hindered by the antics of the poodles and their woman trainer who indignantly insisted that the clown was encroaching on her act. It was a put-up job, they all knew that.

  All too soon it was over and they walked reluctantly from the Big Top, blinking in the bright afternoon light.

  ‘I wish we could go again tonight,’ Nancy breathed.

  ‘Nancy, let’s hang about here a bit – I want to find out if Mrs Kelly’s son is one of the acrobats,’ Molly suggested impulsively.

  ‘We oughter get back, I reckon, or Mrs Nagel will be worrying where we are. Besides, the chauffeur will be at the gate, waiting – we told him four o’clock,’ Nancy reminded her.

  ‘Please! Not longer than half an hour, I promise! Jackson will wait,’ Molly pleaded.

  ‘Oh, all right. But if Fay starts grizzling, well—’

  ‘I know you know your duty! Thanks, Nancy.’

  They struck lucky with their first enquiry at one of the booths. ‘Rory Kelly?’ A woman was taking the money from those wishing to enter a tent to marvel at the freaks, even if they hadn’t yet recovered from fearfully watching the Big Cats. She smiled at Molly. ‘Friend, are you? Over there – behind the Big Top, the dressing tent. Don’t you just barge in, mind. Call out first. If he’s there, he’ll answer.’

  One of the dark-haired acrobats invited them to step just inside the tent flap, which made the girls blush when they realised they were in the half reserved for the males to change. ‘All decent, I believe,’ he said cheerfully. ‘That’s Rory over there, with the leader of our troupe, his uncle – you’re a friend of his mother, you say?’

  Molly felt a little pang of disappointment that this was not Rory himself, for the tall young man was very dashing. ‘My brother, Alfredo – Alfie!’ he introduced them. ‘I am Carlos, but out of the ring plain Charlie. We have joined the Kellys for this tour, with our wives, but in Europe we are with our own family. You may have heard of us – the Orlas? Ah, Rory Kelly. You have some admirers, it seems!’

  Molly blushed again as Rory turned, startled, then walked towards them, followed by the older man.

  ‘You’re Molly Sparkes? Yes, my mother did mention you, but I didn’t somehow think we would meet like this. Australia is a such a big country!’

  ‘I know,’ she managed. ‘I just thought – well, it might be you. This is my friend Nancy, and this is Fay.’

  ‘Good to meet you all! We’re busy for a while, I am afraid, but if you can stay around for an hour or so, it would be nice to talk.’

  Nancy nudged Molly in the ribs. She said airily: ‘I’ll see you to the gate, Nancy, to be sure that Jackson is there – then you can explain to Mrs Nagel and Mrs Colton that I will return later on by cab, and not to send out a search party, eh?’

  She could tell that Nancy was not too sure she should leave her on her own with such new acquaintances. ‘I promise to be back before six. It’s still broad daylight, after all. Mrs Nagel met Mrs Kelly in Melbourne, too, so I’m sure she won’t be alarmed.’

  ‘I will ask my wife to act as chaperone,’ Rory’s uncle assured Nancy.

  *

  She sat in the Kelly family wagon with Rory and his uncle and aunt, drinking tea and eating soda bread dotted with currants and spread thickly with butter. To Molly’s surprise, Mrs Cora Kelly turned out to be the tall willowy trainer of the poodles, who were much in evidence, begging for titbits at the table. Mrs Kelly was not aloof at all, but full of fun. The men let her do most of the talking, but now and again Molly was aware that Rory was looking at her and smiling. She told herself firmly: I’m not going to succumb to physical attraction this time – I mustn’t fall in love with every handsome chap I meet. I’ve had one brief excursion in romance, which came to nothing after all. She should be happy just to relax in good company and feel that she had made new friends, she promised herself.

  ‘Come and see us rehearse something for the evening performance. Wouldn’t you like a glimpse of what goes on behind the scenes?’ Rory invited her.

  Despite her good intentions, Molly was glad she was wearing her striking scarlet blouse because she was very aware that heads turned admiringly as they made their way back to the Big Top.

  The strong man, in leopard-skin leotard and wide buckled belt ornamented with medallions, grunted a greeting as he lifted a great iron bar, the sweat running in rivulets down his neck.

  ‘Hello,’ Molly breathed in awe.

  Rory’s uncle lay in the trinka, or cradle, to steady him, while he juggled globes with his feet; Rory helped Molly, when she had shed her shoes and donned borrowed slippers, to balance on the low wire. She managed a few steps to her own delight, before she swayed and was caught in his arms. Oh dear, she thought, here I go again. He’s so strong, and the way his hair flops almost into his eyes is very appealing . . .

  ‘You could soon learn, Molly,’ he encouraged her, releasing her with a grin.

  ‘Not in that skirt,’ one of the watching girl acrobats said, with a touch of spite. ‘Finished with my slippers?’

  ‘Could I really?’ Molly asked Rory, ignoring the girl.

  ‘With me to teach you, yes. You have a very slender, supple body.’ His hands were unselfconsciously expressive.

  ‘Oh!’ Molly breathed. ‘I should go, I think.’

  ‘But you will come back tomorrow?’

  ‘If I can.’ She knew she would.

  *

  Alexa was displeased. ‘You really are far too impulsive, Molly. We met his mother, yes, but you could hardly say we know her well, and you are still very young.’

  ‘I’m getting on for nineteen, Alexa!’ They were talking in Molly’s room while she changed quickly for dinner, having arrived well after tea had been taken. ‘You allowed me to go out that time with Henny and sleep next to him in the forest.’

  ‘I didn’t know that!’ Alexa exclaimed. She looked quite horrified. ‘I do hope—’

  ‘Allow me to finish! All perfectly innocent, nothing I can’t tell you about. The same as today, Alexa, don’t you see? I can’t go back to England, to my old way of life.’

  ‘Are you trying to tell me you’ve decided to stay on here? Don’t forget I made your father a promise that I would act as your guardian, Molly. Bring you home safely with Fay, after the year was up.’

  ‘Actually, I hadn’t thought of staying in Australia until you just put the idea into my head! I’d been wondering whether to take you up on your offer of a job in London.’ Molly twisted her hair into a knot in the nape of her neck. ‘Could you hook me up, please?’ she asked. She felt Alexa’s fingers tremble at their task, and was sorry she had upset someone she now thought of as a real friend. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to do anything rash, I promise you.’

&n
bsp; But she already knew that good intentions were not always enough.

  *

  ‘Just we two at breakfast today,’ Alexa observed, already seated at the table and tackling poached egg on toast when Molly appeared at last. ‘Fay was sick in the night apparently, and Nancy felt it better to let her sleep in this morning – I sent up a tray for her. She assures me there’s no need to call out a doctor. I presume the child is suffering the after-effects of too much excitement – or too many sweets – at the circus yesterday.’

  ‘It was your idea that we should go,’ Molly said mildly, helping herself to bacon and mushrooms. She had no wish to argue with Alexa, but was determined to go along to the Big Top to watch the Kellys rehearsing this morning as Rory had suggested. She hoped she would be allowed another try on the rope. ‘Where are the others?’ she asked.

  Alexa waited until the maid had poured coffee for them both and then departed to fetch stewed prunes for her. ‘Old habits die hard,’ she said. ‘That bowl of exotic fruit looks tempting, but my mother believed in the humble prune . . . The maid told me that Cicely is not too well, either, with one of her migraines – and Randolph, our reluctant host, breakfasted early and has taken off again.’

  ‘What does he do, exactly?’ Molly asked.

  ‘He sells real estate. He’s the top man, so Cicely says, in his company. I shouldn’t say this to you Molly, but I do feel theirs is not the happiest of marriages.’

  ‘Cicely obviously misses him when he is away, though.’

  ‘Well, you know what they say?’

  ‘Mmm: Absence makes the heart grow fonder! Then you won’t need me around this morning, will you, Alexa?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ she replied drily. ‘I may go to the local agents myself, to see if we can rent a house for our last three months in Australia. It’s becoming rather obvious to me that we can’t stay on here without Randolph’s approval and I should hate to make things worse for dear Cicely. Oh, don’t worry, it will take a while to find the right place, I imagine, and the circus is only here this week, eh?’