The Ringmaster's Wife

by Kristy Cambron

  “We’ll look at anything you wish to see. We also have zebras. Kangaroos. Royal Bengal tigers, which are a favorite among the circus guests. And of course, Prince—our lion. I doubt Noah himself had finer stock. Though I must confess, we didn’t wish to manage such big animals—the ones that carry a burden of liability with them.”

  “Perhaps not, but Noah certainly had more,” she teased.

  “All right, Mable Burton. If you’re so clever, what about that wagon over there? With the canvas covering the bars. There are no engravings to give it away. Who lives in there?”

  “If there are holes in the roof—which I cannot see myself—the giraffes. If not, I’d say you are hiding a hippopotamus. The more exotic the animal, the closer you watch it, and the more we pay for the pleasure.”

  “Very astute,” he noted, tipping his hat to her. “I bow to your knowledge of the game.”

  “I admit—I read it in an advertisement. I saw an additional charge to see those animals. You keep them out of the parade because of their rarer nature.”

  “I am glad to know someone reads the advertisements we spend so much money on,” said the man approaching them. He was tall in stature, with a smart suit, dark hair, and matching thick mustache. There was no doubt about it. He must be one of John’s brothers.

  He smiled at Mable. “It makes smart business sense, doesn’t it? Our brother Al’s idea. But since I’m charged with the army of advertisements for our promotion, I’m mighty glad it’s paying off with our customer base.”

  “She’s not a customer today, Charles. This is Mable Burton.” John paused. “She’s my guest.”

  A look of understanding passed between the brothers, though Mable wasn’t sure what it meant.

  “You must be a good friend indeed, Miss Burton. John seldom takes walks through the back lot—at least not for leisure. And I don’t believe he’s brought one of his friends home to meet us yet. This really is a pleasure.”

  Had she heard him correctly? She was the first girl he’d brought home? Even if “home” was most unconventional, with thousands of workers and guests, and animals who’d eat them for lunch, it still spoke volumes that he’d invited her into the thick of it.

  “Thank you,” she replied, glancing at John out of the corner of her eye.

  He’d grown quiet, a measure of retreat evident on his face. Perhaps there was some sibling rivalry behind the show. Or perhaps not. John was, by his own admission, careful with all of his relationships.

  “Well, I’m off.” Charles lifted a large leather case in his free hand. “I play the horn once or twice a season, and today’s the day.” He nodded in farewell. “Make sure my brother here finds you the best seat in the house, Miss Burton. The big show’s about to begin.”

  THEY DID HAVE PERFECT SEATS.

  Mable chose them.

  John had begun to lead them to the bleacher seats near the front, to really feel the action in the ring. But when Mable clamped eyes on the scores of children, all with such looks of enchantment covering their faces, sitting on straw bales along the outside of the performance rings, she knew exactly where they should sit.

  Mable edged her way down the bleachers to the children, waving for John to follow.

  She moved ahead and found an open seat, then planted herself right in the midst of a Wonderland of the Ringling family’s making. She sat on a straw bale, surrounded by squeals of delight and little pairs of eyes that brimmed with excitement under the immense canvas sky.

  Mable chatted with the children around her.

  They shared their peanuts with her, calling her a nice lady. They munched on popcorn and spun sugar candy in a bevy of rainbow colors. A little boy spilled chocolate ice cream on the hem of her dress.

  She didn’t blink an eyelash, for all of it proved magical. Even the ice cream.

  The music began—deep, booming tones of brass playing together, lively tunes to christen the show. And then the ringmaster stepped out, in a top hat and bright red coat that made him look like the captain of a great ship. He announced the acts as they came, but Mable didn’t hear a thing but the wonder of childhood.

  Laughter at the antics of the clowns.

  Oohs and aahs at the feats of the aerial acrobats.

  Riotous giggles when they watched the dancing bears . . .

  “Remember them?” John leaned in, whispering in her ear.

  She’d forgotten he was there. In truth, Mable had been lost for some time. Happily so, but lost.

  “Dancing bears?”

  “You remember,” he said, pointing to the furry animals. “At the Exposition? You said dancing bears were fun. Not scary or menacing. Just fun. I thought we could use some of that in our show.”

  A flood of recollection washed over her. It was something she’d said and only vaguely remembered. But not John. He’d made it a matter of remembrance and put action to it.

  “How did you . . .”

  “How did I remember?” He smirked, a gesture she thought not commonplace for him. “I remember everything you say, Mable.”

  “You do. Why?”

  “You have good ideas. You could be very helpful around here. You know, keep us men in line. Challenge us into new ways of thinking.”

  She nodded, feeling her heart sink a little.

  The children still laughed all around them, oblivious to the heavy words of adults in their midst. But she wondered why he’d complimented her by remembering such a nominal detail, then brushed over it so nonchalantly.

  “John Ringling, I have a job. I’m not sure I’ll be available to come share ideas with you and your brothers. Besides, you seem to be doing quite well without my help.”

  “Mm-hmm,” he said, nodding. “Yet you’ve come all this way at my invitation.”

  “It’s been breathtaking to see everything today, but I really couldn’t—”

  “Then it’s settled. We must find you a new job that’s more suited to your talents.”

  The children laughed, well timed to his comment, though they were reacting to the pratfall of a clown in the ring.

  “A job?”

  It can’t be why he’s asked me here . . .

  “Yes. A job, of sorts. One I hope you’ll consider.”

  She felt all of the excitement deflate out of the moment.

  They’d shared dinners. Seaside walks on the boardwalk in Atlantic City. John had even agreed to meet Sally, and had gone with Mable when she’d sought to help her still sick friend get a rare day out of a sanitarium. He’d brought a car so they could ride around, letting the wind hit her face so she could breathe in the salty sea air.

  All of it had been pointing to something, hadn’t it?

  Love, Mable had hoped, for she so enjoyed her months with him. John’s quiet way really was a compliment to her bustle and brash.

  But now . . . a job.

  That was his offer.

  Mable sighed into her response. “While I’m flattered, I like the job I have. I told you—I’ve always wanted to live by the sea. I get to do that in Atlantic City. There’s no job here that could truly satisfy me more than that.”

  “Yes. I thought that might be your answer,” he countered softly. “And that’s why it must be you, Mable. Because you’re genuine. You’re not after fortune or notoriety. You don’t ask for a thing in return. You’re just . . . you. And the only job you could fill is in my heart.”

  She turned to him.

  Not sure she could have heard him correctly.

  Cymbals clanged somewhere off behind, followed by the roar of applause from the crowd. The circus band cued up for a riotous melody. Something marvelous must have been happening in the ring, but she didn’t see it.

  “I think I’m the one who shoul
d be applying for a job with you, Mable Burton.” He paused, looked out over the activity in the circus rings, then turned back to her with a gleaming smile. “Marry me? Let me tag along on your adventures?”

  Her smile came easy.

  It was a moment Mable never expected. One she’d not forget. With the Circus Kings’ exhibition of wonder all around and the children presiding in their court, Mable’s world changed forever.

  She nodded, tears in her eyes, agreeing to become a circus queen.

  CHAPTER 13

  1926

  SARASOTA, FLORIDA

  Wind agitated the waters of the bay, though Rosamund couldn’t feel a victim of its onslaught. Not while standing on the upper deck of the Ringlings’ massive yacht, the Zalophus. It cut through the water toward the Ringlings’ new home with ease, moving along as if waltzing on dry ground.

  The party to open the newly christened Cà d’Zan and celebrate John and Mable Ringling’s twenty-first anniversary hadn’t been canceled in the wake of Charles Ringling’s death, though it was scaled back to a much smaller affair.

  Rosamund wore her black chiffon and pink-gold gown, the one with a delicate scalloped hemline and intricate botanical-themed beading along its front and back panels. She’d wound her hair back in a bevy of twists at her nape, framing the sides with finger waves and a simple peacock plume band tipped low on her brow. Gone were the diamond-encrusted headbands and elaborate gowns her mother had always insisted she wear for a big event. Her dress and trinkets were of nominal value—ones she’d bought for herself, with money she’d earned in signing a contract to appear in the Ringling Brothers’ 1927 circus season.

  For that, Rosamund felt dressed as a queen.

  Colin stood by her side, clad in a three-piece suit of very distinguished black pinstripe. Like the family, he wore a black armband on his left arm, indicating they were still in mourning. And as was customary for Colin, he hadn’t bothered to dress in white-tie formal. He seemed at ease no matter the setting and didn’t waver as he stood by, pointing out the party guests from a small group tippling cocktails by the yacht rail.

  “The one on the left is William Pogany. Willy, he’s called. And the gentleman with him is a business acquaintance—an animator from California. I believe his name is Walt.” Colin craned his neck just a bit to see past a few guests who had stepped into their path. “Willy’s an artist too, so I suppose that’s how they know each other. He designs sets for an opera company in New York.”

  “The Metropolitan Opera,” Rosamund breathed out.

  Colin crinkled his brow. “You don’t know him, do you?”

  Rosamund gave him a look that suggested he was the innocent one for a change.

  “I know of him. My mother’s talents in rearing cultured children are quite legendary, I’m afraid. She sought to ensure we knew all of the important things.” She sent him a coy grin. “Mr. Pogany is a friend of the Ringlings?”

  Colin leaned against the yacht rail, watching her with keen interest. “You seem impressed.”

  “We have a copy of The Welsh Fairy Book in the library at Easling Park. It was a favorite of mine as a girl. And that gentleman illustrated every picture. I can’t believe he’s standing there, right in front of me.” Her lips melted into a smile. “Is it like this all the time here?”

  Colin tipped his shoulders in a shrug. “I’d assume so. The mayor of New York is a frequent guest at parties. As are the Ringlings’ friends and business partners,” he added.

  “But not performers.”

  “Not as a rule, no.” He paused, shifting his stance to look at her more pointedly. “But they’re just people, Rose. Like you and me. Remember that, and no matter who you meet in this circus world will be a friend instead of a celebrity.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Well, time to start. Rosamund Easling will be looked at the way you’re looking on Mr. Pogany now. But you’re probably used to a bit of that, aren’t you? As an earl’s daughter?”

  “I suppose. But not to the extent you’re suggesting.”

  “It can’t be that different.” He nudged her side ever so slightly. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to him if you want.”

  It was the first time Rosamund had to equate her new world as more than just bareback riding. There was an entire public image of her that had yet to be born. One that Colin Keary and the Ringlings would fashion for her.

  Colin introduced her to Mr. Pogany and then to others, including an entertainer named Flo Ziegfeld and his wife, Billie. She had bouncy brunette hair and a strikingly sweet, high-pitched voice, displaying both in animated fashion as she exclaimed over the floral beading on Rosamund’s gown.

  And on it went. The circus boss presented their new talent, Lady Rosamund Easling, to the crowd of guests. She smiled and greeted them, but worried that she’d have trouble keeping their names straight. By the time they were approaching the shore, Rosamund’s head was swimming with countless names and faces.

  What would it be like when she finally met the Ringlings?

  The buildup was adding a thick layer of anxiety to her middle.

  Colin stood by her side, pointing out a bright light set much higher than the other flickering lights on the shore. It illuminated a stucco tower standing tall and distinguished in the distance.

  “Is that it?”

  He nodded. “Yes. That’s the Cà d’Zan.”

  The moment proved as magical to Rosamund as if she’d been brought to a real Venetian tower along the Grand Canal.

  Colin offered her his arm and she accepted it, anchored at his side as she took her first steps on the mezzanine. Her heels clicked against the intricate design, pieced in herringbone rows of pink, black, gray, and white marble to form an exquisite outdoor dance floor.

  Sarasota in December was vastly different from Yorkshire. Here the women wore dresses of airy gauze fabrics and light, beaded designs without suffering ill effects of the elements. Rosamund passed groups of them in dresses of liquid gold, creamy ivory, and seafoam green, with multiple layers of silk and beaded overlays, all twinkling in the glow of twilight. They danced about with elegantly dressed gentlemen, enlivening the outdoor ballroom under a rich canopy of stars.

  Money and privilege Rosamund had seen before. It was the manner of her entire life at Easling Park. But here? She felt like turning circles the instant she stepped on the mezzanine.

  “Well?” Colin asked.

  “It’s . . .”

  Freeing, she wanted to say. So different from the life I’ve led up to now.

  A cascade of colored glass windows ran the length of the mansion’s west façade, with tall arched doors that had been spread wide, allowing the breezes of the bay to mingle with plush red curtains on their borders.

  “It’s enchanting.”

  Colin led her through the kaleidoscope doors to a two-story central room with gleaming marble floors and a lofty, gouache-painted cypress ceiling. Rosamund wasn’t surprised by the sounds of chatting guests or the lilting notes of a piano, but she hadn’t expected the sound of chirping birds echoing off the tall ceiling.

  “Are there birds in the great hall?” She looked up, scanning the second-story balcony for the source of the sounds.

  “It would be called a great hall if you were back in England. But here this is the court,” Colin said. “It’s a common space in Italian homes. And the birds you’re looking for are finches caged in the foyer. There’s even a German-speaking African gray they keep in the kitchen.”

  “Truly?”

  Colin nodded, humor dancing in his eyes.

  Rosamund could see the fondness Colin had for the Ringlings—for both their home and their way of life. It made her smile to see lightness come alive in him.

  “The Ringlings always
have animals in the house. Their dogs—miniature pinschers and German shepherds—are given freedom to roam the first floor. They even have two chimpanzees and a gorilla right here on the grounds.”

  Rosamund glanced around them, thinking of the splendor of the animals boasted by the Ringling Brothers’ show. She could only hope nothing too exotic—with big teeth or sharp claws—would come bounding around a corner to greet them.

  “Don’t worry, you’re safe,” he added, reading her thoughts. “They don’t roam the house during parties.”

  She believed him, but made a mental note of the nearest exits just in case. She wasn’t sure what to expect next, with the oddities of the circus world blooming all around her.

  Colin eased a hand under her elbow to lead her deeper into the court. “Come on. She’ll want to meet you.”

  A mansion-size estate Rosamund had lived in before, so affluence wasn’t a shock. But the Cà d’Zan was about as close to touching a dream world as one could get. Colin was right: it was like nothing she’d ever seen.

  The interior was meticulous in its design, boasting traditional elements of gilding and fine art partnered alongside playful designs of a Masonic pavement floor in black-and-white-checked marble and hand-painted botanical designs on a lofty two-storied ceiling of wood and colored-glass panes.

  Everything was new, yet so full of the hints of history. Each corner seemed dusted in elegance, even down to the painted baseboards and gilded sconces. The wonderful contradiction of whimsy and lavishness gave the new home something of an old soul. And in the center of it all, a woman stood—stunning. Drawing attention, though she hadn’t any need to demand it.

  She was nearly as tall as Colin and dressed from head to toe in yards of elegant black satin, the drop waist of her gown gathered in a front seam with an eye-catching diamond buckle. She laughed easily, having found humor in something one of her guests said, easing her deep red lips into a generous smile. They were the same hue as the embroidered crepe shawl that draped her shoulders.