Through the Looking Glass

by Kay Hooper

It was a taunt, and if it didn’t rouse her temper, it at least ruffled it a bit. She debated with herself silently, then said, “Maybe you’re right. But so am I. The fact that physical attraction exists means very little unless emotions are involved as well. Maybe you can crawl into bed just because your body tells you to, but I can’t.”

  After a moment, and in a very mild tone, he said, “I must say I’m encouraged.”

  “In what way?”

  Gideon smiled. “I asked a very simple question, Maggie. I asked if you felt the same unusual reaction I felt.”

  Normally quick-witted, Maggie realized only then what she’d done. And she could only smile at herself for it. “I promptly went overboard with explanation, denial, and justification.”

  “You certainly did.”

  She sighed. “Don’t gloat.”

  “I’ll try not to, but it won’t be easy. Will you answer the original question now, please?”

  Maggie gave in with all the grace she could muster. “Yes, I felt something…unusual.”

  He nodded, his expression serious. “Good. We’ve established the fact that we both feel a special physical attraction for each other. Now we can work on the other levels.”

  “How are we going to do that?” she asked, wary but interested.

  “The usual ways, I thought. Talk. Get to know each other. That sort of thing.” Still wearing his serious expression and matter-of-fact voice, he added, “Mind you, there’s nothing I’d rather do than climb into this absurd bed and let the other questions slide for the time being. But I do agree with you that those questions should be answered first.”

  She eyed him speculatively. “You do, do you?”

  “Of course. I’m a mature man, after all. I’m hardly at the mercy of my hormones.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “So, we’ll take things slow and easy.” His voice had become brisk. “I’ll sleep in the tent and bend my knees, shower and shave in cold water, and play the role of a stranger in a strange land.”

  “And I?”

  “You will, I trust, be no more enigmatic than necessary so that I have at least a fair chance of finding the answers.”

  Maggie nodded slowly. “All right.”

  Gideon got to his feet. “Fine. See you in the morning.”

  She waited until he reached the door, then said, “Gideon? You forgot the blankets.”

  “No, I didn’t. The temperature out there is in the high seventies. And my body temperature must be over a hundred. Good night, Maggie.”

  “Good night.”

  She stared at the closed door for a long time, then finally put her book on the table and blew out her lamp. She didn’t get under the covers; the air temperature was comfortable, and like Gideon, she could tell that her own body temperature was way above normal. In fact, she felt feverish.

  Lying back on her pillows in the dark caravan, she replayed the past hours in her mind and tried to figure out what to do next. It would have been relatively simple without Gideon’s presence; she’d just do as she had done before, listen and watch. But he was here now. Here, and bent on exploring a potential relationship. Every eye in the carnival—barring those of the few younger children—would be watching them either openly or covertly. And she doubted that Gideon would be out of her presence very often.

  For the first time in her life she found herself torn between conflicting desires. She wanted to get to know Gideon, but at the same time she also wanted to find out who had killed Merlin and why. Involvement with Gideon meant she would have to be honest and her true self. Finding a killer required the opposite—detachment and deceitfulness.

  Maggie wasn’t accustomed to dividing herself. No matter how capricious and paradoxical she seemed to be, she was always working toward a single goal of some kind. But now…How could she show Gideon one face and the carnival another? How could she look for love and for a murderer at the same time?

  Love?

  Years before, Uncle Cyrus had told her that love would come when least expected, probably when least wanted, and undoubtedly at the most inconvenient time possible. As usual, he had been right. She didn’t believe she was in love with Gideon, at least not yet, but for the first time in her life the possibility was definitely there. Her state now, feverish, restless, anxious, and undecided, was proof of that.

  She was tempted to try to find some excuse to send Gideon away for a few weeks. If she told him the truth, he would certainly stay and quite likely insist on calling in the authorities as well. If she made up some other reason that he didn’t believe or found impossible to accept, she could easily lose the opportunity to find out if there was more than a chance of love.

  It wasn’t in Maggie’s nature to shirk responsibility; she had promised her family she would find Merlin’s killer, and she intended to do just that. But she also intended to explore the possibility of a relationship with Gideon. The problem, she thought, was how to accomplish both objectives simultaneously. It never occurred to her it was impossible, simply because “impossible” was a word stricken at an early age from her vocabulary. There was always a way to manage two things at once. The question was how to tackle her twin goals.

  Until she could figure out some kind of workable game plan, she’d just have to play it by ear. A dangerous thing to do when you were looking for a killer.

  Or looking for love.

  —

  The next morning, awakened at dawn by the sounds of hungry animals demanding breakfast, Gideon braved the cold water of the carnival’s facilities. He ate breakfast with Maggie in her wagon and then went to be introduced to the other members of Wonderland’s family.

  Maggie had kept breakfast conversation casual, talking a great deal about the carnival and very little about herself. She seemed to Gideon to be in a peculiar mood—even for her. She was so vague and childlike that he couldn’t for the life of him penetrate the veils of her enigmatic self. She was breaking her promise of the night before to be no more baffling than necessary. However, he didn’t call her on it because he was far too interested in finding out why she had retreated from him.

  In the meantime he played a waiting game, obediently accompanying her from person to person for an introduction. She gave each his name, added no explanatory comments, and no one seemed to expect more.

  “Do they know who I am?” he asked after leaving Oswald’s wagon. Oswald was the aristocratic gentleman who had worn a toga at the tea party; he was wearing the same costume today and had greeted the introduction with a fierce stare and an irritable, “Well, of course he is.”

  Maggie nodded, her expression utterly serene. “Naturally, they know you own the carnival now.”

  “Nobody’s mentioned it,” he observed.

  “They know.” She sent him a glance, then paused beside the tiger’s cage, apparently to study the beast. Without looking at Gideon again she said mildly, “Oswald once taught at MIT. They called him another Einstein.”

  “Then what on earth is he doing here?”

  “You’ve heard the expression ‘future shock’?”

  “Yes.”

  “It happened to Oswald, but a little differently. He could cope personally with how fast technology was advancing, but he saw further than anyone else. He didn’t like what he saw. He told me once that we had too much knowledge and too little wisdom, that we were learning too fast. He said it terrified him.”

  After a moment Gideon said slowly, “So he just…retreated? Retired to an anachronism?”

  “I suppose. Do you like Rajah?” She reached between the bars to scratch the tiger behind one lazy ear.

  Gideon accepted the change of subject and looked at the drowsy tiger. “Beautiful. He seems tame enough.”

  Maggie began walking again toward another of the wagons. “Looks can be deceptive, especially with tigers.” Her voice was bland. “There’s muscle underneath the stripes. And a wide-awake predator behind the sleepy eyes.”

  Walking beside her, Gideon asked, “Is th
at a pointed reference?”

  “That,” she said, “was an observation.” She stopped and reached out to knock lightly on the jamb of an open door. “Lamont,” she called, “come out and meet Gideon.”

  A clown in full makeup—minus his red nose—immediately came out and sat down on the top step. He looked at Gideon, said, “Hi,” in a distracted voice, and then looked mournfully at Maggie. It was something of a triumph that he could assume that expression, since a wide red smile was painted on his face.

  “You should have a spare,” she told him sternly.

  “Well, I don’t.” Other than his makeup and a riotous wig of yellow hair, Lamont was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He was, Gideon realized, hardly more than a kid. He reached up to finger his naked nose and gave Maggie another sad stare.

  “I’ll go into town sometime today,” she told him, “and try to find another nose for you. All right?”

  He nodded, still fingering his nose. “All right. Maybe you’ll see Jasper there.”

  Maggie looked faintly surprised. “He’s in town?”

  “Well, sure. I mean, he must be, right?”

  Gideon had the strangest impression that a silent message passed between the two of them, though there was no change of expression on either side.

  After an instant Maggie nodded. “Beau’s about to cast a shoe, Lamont. Maybe you’d better look at him.”

  “Okay. Nice meeting you,” he added vaguely to Gideon, then scrambled off the steps and wandered away.

  Maggie moved in the opposite direction toward a rather large tent pitched some yards away.

  “What’s Lamont’s story?” Gideon asked her.

  She glanced at him, a very faint crease between her brows. “Lamont? He’s our blacksmith in addition to being a clown.”

  “I gathered that. I mean, why did he join the carnival?”

  “Wonderland happened to be passing through his town a couple of years ago. He was sixteen, and he thought he’d better leave home.”

  “Why?”

  She stopped and gazed up at him. “His father had some problems, and Lamont suffered for them.”

  “Abuse?” Gideon said slowly.

  Maggie nodded. “It’s funny about kids and clowns. Lamont never laughed very much as a kid, but now he paints on a smile and makes the kids laugh. He’s still very insecure and anxious. That’s why he worries about losing things.”

  “Why does he wear the makeup all the time?”

  “Because he wants to. Maybe because he can’t quite smile without the paint. Not yet, anyway.” She began walking.

  After a moment Gideon followed. He didn’t much like this. He wanted the carnival’s future to be a side issue between them, and Maggie was forcing it center stage. He didn’t resent the compassion for these people that he was beginning to feel—but he was aware of other feelings creeping in to disturb him.

  This place meant a lot to her, he could see that. He couldn’t help but wonder how much. Enough so that Maggie was willing to make herself part of a package deal? She was showing him these people as individuals, all of whom truly had nowhere else they could fit in—but what if he ignored emotion and made the logical decision to sell? Would her next ploy be to offer herself in exchange for an assured future for the carnival?

  How much of her enigmatic surface was the chameleon face of an actress?

  Gideon didn’t want to think that. He didn’t want to believe that her passion had a price tag, that her mystery was sheer artifice. But because he had so many questions and so few answers, doubts were nagging at him.

  “Your world’s beginning to look a little grim,” he said.

  “Not the world. This world is an escape from grimness.”

  “What are you escaping from, Maggie?” He needed answers of some kind.

  “A boring summer vacation.” A few feet from the tent Maggie expertly balanced herself as a raven-haired urchin about Sean’s age erupted from the opening and ran into her. “Where’s the race, Buster?” she asked calmly, setting him upright again.

  He looked up at her with china-blue eyes shining angelic innocence. “I didn’t do it, I swear I didn’t.”

  “Do what?”

  “Buster!”

  The child closed one eye in a comical grimace as the enraged shout came from inside the tent. In a subdued tone he murmured, “I didn’t forget to lay out papers for Alexander last night. He must have ate ’em. Or Sean stole ’em just to get me in trouble. Tell Ma I didn’t forget, Maggie, please?” The stare he directed up at her was heartrending.

  She didn’t appear to be overly affected. “Buster, we made a deal, didn’t we? I told you Alexander could sleep in your tent if your parents said he could, and if you trained him to use the papers.”

  “He don’t like to use the papers,” Buster said ingenuously. “He likes to use the floor of the tent. An’ he’s just a puppy, Maggie—”

  Two more people emerged from the tent, an average-looking man somewhere in his thirties of medium build with a placid expression, and a strikingly beautiful woman whose fierce frown didn’t quite hide her peculiarly vacant china-blue eyes. “Buster,” she said, “get in here and clean up the mess!”

  The boy looked up at Maggie’s calm expression, glanced at Gideon’s faintly amused one, then hung his head and turned back toward the tent. “Aw, Ma,” he muttered, but quickened his pace when she said his name again warningly.

  When he’d disappeared inside, Maggie said, “Sarah, Tom—this is Gideon.”

  Sarah looked him up and down with childlike curiosity. “What do you do?”

  Having learned that carnies apparently didn’t shake hands with strangers, Gideon left his in his pockets. “I’m a banker,” he replied, wondering if that was what she was asking.

  She looked at Maggie in bewilderment. “Are we trying to borrow money?”

  “It hasn’t come to that yet,” Maggie answered.

  Tom nodded a greeting to Gideon, then looked at his wife. “He owns us now. I told you,” he said in a gentle voice.

  Gideon wondered silently if he should point out that slavery was illegal. He decided not to.

  “He looks different,” Sarah said stubbornly.

  “He was wearing a suit yesterday,” Tom explained.

  Sarah studied the visitor again. “You should stay away from suits,” she told him. “They make you look mean.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Gideon said.

  Dismissing him, she looked at Maggie. “Tom says Jasper went to town. Did he, Maggie?”

  “I expect so.”

  “Of course he did,” Tom said in the same gentle but firm voice. “He goes off on his own a lot, you know that.” In a sudden tone of surprise he said, “Look at this. I’ve lost a button, Sarah.” He was gazing down at his open hand, in which lay a button.

  “You’re so rough on shirts,” his wife told him in a scolding voice. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Tom! Come inside and let me mend it.”

  Gideon, who had seen the other man unobtrusively and quite deliberately twist the button off, didn’t say a word as he watched the couple retreat into their tent. He followed Maggie as she began moving toward another of the wagons. After several steps, and entirely unwilling, he said, “And them? Their story?”

  “Buster was born in that tent,” Maggie said. “Tom and Sarah joined when they were just kids. Together. Her family wanted to put her away.”

  “Insanity?”

  Maggie stopped walking, gazing at the wagon still ahead of them. Then she looked up at him. “That’s a relative term, isn’t it? Sarah…couldn’t cope. She got anxious, worried herself into hysterics without reason. Her family was embarrassed by her. And her problems were worsened by the fact that she’s so beautiful. When she was fourteen, a strange man promised her a pretty necklace if she’d come with him. Tom protected her then, and he still does. He takes care of her. We all take care of her. She’s safe here. And happy.”

  “What’s their job in t
he carnival?”

  “Tom runs a few games. Honest games. Sarah’s our seamstress and designer. She makes beautiful costumes.”

  Gideon glanced around at the sprawl of wagons and tents and murmured almost to himself, “Sanctuary.”

  “You could say that.”

  He looked back at her serene face and bottomless, unreadable eyes. “You’re arguing very persuasively for the defense,” he told her a bit tautly.

  “I’m just introducing you.”

  “We both know better. You’re turning this into a personal matter. I can’t make a dispassionate business decision as to whether I should sell after you’ve forced me to see these people as individuals.” He was growing angry now, both because she had made him see what he would have liked to ignore, and because he wanted her to think about him rather than the damned carnival. He didn’t like the doubts he was feeling.

  “Is that the bottom line here? A purely business decision?” Her voice was still mild, but it had an edge now. “Because if that’s so, the decision is already made. The logical, reasonable, businesslike, untroubling solution to your problem is simply to sell out. No hassles. No worries. No complications. And no need to get involved.”

  “And if I do? That puts paid to my chances with you, doesn’t it, Maggie?”

  She could feel her temper slipping from her control, and it was an alien sensation. She felt hot, tense, and even though a reasonable voice in her head was telling her why he was saying these things, it didn’t help. A strange, shaken laugh escaped from her lips.

  “Oh, am I the prize? If you’re a good boy and do what I want you to do, then you’ll get what you want? Is that the game we’re playing here?”

  “You tell me.” His gray eyes were steely. “I’d really like to know, Maggie. You put a hell of a distance between us this morning, and since then you’ve talked about nothing except the carnival and these people. So I’ve got to wonder. Was that passion last night faked? Are you the bait to keep Wonderland in business?”

  She took a step back, almost as if he had hit her. In a soft, shaking voice she said, “You want to sell the carnival? Fine. I’ll buy it. Right down to the broken wagon wheel the birds roost on. Tell your lawyer to get in touch.”