Clearly, this was the enigmatic Mable Ringling, for she owned the spot in which she stood.
“Mable,” Colin greeted her, smiling widely as they approached. He welcomed her embrace and pressed a light kiss to her cheek.
“My dear Colin. Welcome.”
She embraced his hand at the wrist, giving a gentle squeeze that Rosamund judged as an acknowledgment of the family member they’d both lost.
“Charlie would have been glad you’ve come. And Mr. Ringling will be as well.”
Colin responded with a nod and a flat smile, wordlessly accepting her condolences and offering his own.
“We have a guest tonight.” He turned to Rosamund, and she let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. “Lady Rosamund Easling, this is our hostess, Mrs. Mable Ringling.”
Mable’s was a presence that warmed and welcomed at once. She tipped her head down in a nod, smiling generously.
“Lady Easling, is it?”
Rosamund nodded in return. “Yes, Mrs. Ringling. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Rosamund hadn’t the presence of mind to recall what her mother’s teaching would have dictated at a moment like this. To curtsy or nod didn’t matter. Mable Ringling may have boasted one of the most elegant homes Rosamund had ever seen, but the welcome inside it was real. The kindness genuine. And propriety faded behind it.
“A titled young lady in this house? What a treat. We’ll have to talk, my dear. But first Colin must show you off to our guests. I’ll not have you as a wallflower at our Cà d’Zan. Please enjoy yourselves. Take a turn on the dance floor too, hmm? If only to humor me.”
Mable reached out to clasp her gloved hand. “Of course. Thank you, Mrs. Ringling.”
Any tremble of nervousness that may have overtaken Rosamund’s hand melted away with the embrace. And it wasn’t the great name of Ringling or the list of distinguished guests that made the moment so meaningful. This was her first genuine welcome into the circus. It was a woman of uncommon kindness and a home with lasting heart that had been her induction. And as Colin slipped his hand in hers, any unease was kept at bay.
Colin led her to the outdoor mezzanine with the rest of the ladies, to turn circles in her whimsical new world.
THE PARTY HAD DWINDLED AFTER THE ELEVEN O’CLOCK HOUR, but the lyrical sound of Rosamund’s playing on the golden Steinway drew the remaining partygoers’ attention from the ballroom to the activity in the court.
Applause erupted with the final notes of her song.
Rosamund had to admit that the night had proved most enjoyable—and very much in contrast to any party she had attended before in her life. Easling Park wouldn’t have seen such revelry. But here? The playful tone wasn’t just in the Cà d’Zan’s bones around them. It was reflected in easy smiles, contented laughter, and genuine acceptance in the eyes of the guests who’d gathered around the Ringlings’ piano.
“You play exquisitely, my dear!” Billie Burke exclaimed, then turned her attention to the entry. Her gaze settled on the archway that joined the ballroom with the dimmed foyer.
Rosamund turned with her, finding Mable there. She stood silent, shrouded in the cover of the entry, watching as their small group smiled and laughed around the piano.
“Mable, come.” Billie waved their hostess over. “Come. Mr. Ringling said she could play it.”
“I’m pleased that he did,” Mable breathed out. “And if he’d dared to say no, I’d have openly defied him and allowed it anyway.” She eased into the light. “I heard it from the ballroom. Yours is a level of proficiency I’ve not heard in some time.”
Mable walked through the heart of the court to their corner. With quiet smiles still pinned on, the group parted to make an open space for her on the side of the piano.
“Your playing reminds me of another piano’s song I heard once.” Mable looked as though she was recalling something sweet and personal. “It’s a long-ago memory of a young girl’s enchantment with a melody played in a Cincinnati tea parlor.”
“A tea parlor? How lovely!” Billie leaned against the piano, cupping her chin in her hand. “Well, I asked Rosamund to play something, and she’s just delighted us all. Why, I have a mind to order Flo to steal her from you. The Follies could use a talented young pianist like her. We have a show premiering next year at the New Amsterdam Theatre in New York City.”
Mable’s gaze flitted over to where Colin stood.
Rosamund noticed something silent pass between them. He shook his head, ever so slightly. His eyes shifted from Mable back to Rosamund’s piano bench for the briefest of seconds, but she still caught it. She wondered what it was that neither had said aloud.
A smile pressed Mable’s lips.
“I believe she’s already spoken for, Billie. But Mr. Ringling and I are of course flattered by the compliment.”
Billie threw back her head and laughed.
“I had to try, you understand. Far be it from us to steal from our friends. Why, I very nearly walked off with that Italian beauty the last time Colin brought her to a party. But lucky for you, he convinced her to stay in the Big Top. It’s no surprise he could talk our Lady Rosamund here into the same delicious fate.”
Billie chirped the comment with such lightheartedness, it was clear she hadn’t a clue what she’d said.
Rosamund looked to Colin, feeling the misstep like a stolen secret that drew the breath out of her. He wasn’t in the habit of bringing performers to any of the Ringlings’ parties, or so she’d thought. But maybe it wasn’t such a rare occurrence after all, especially if the guest was Bella Rossi.
Colin gave little away. He stood, blue eyes stormy, watching her from his perch across the room. It set her heart to wonder what he wasn’t telling her.
Billie tapped her fingernail to the piano’s top.
“Let Mable choose one, hmm? To christen this lovely home with music!”
“Yes, of course.” Rosamund nodded out of her momentary stupor and managed to keep her voice steady. “Shall I play something for you, Mrs. Ringling? Something special, to celebrate your anniversary.”
Rosamund studied Mable, noticing that something seemed to have genuinely touched her. There was the evidence of moisture in her eyes. She was quiet. Thoughtful, even. And taken with a sense of melancholy that didn’t fit with the general gaiety of the rest of their party.
Perhaps it was the loss of Mr. Charlie. Or Billie’s contrary tongue. Maybe something else entirely . . .
“Do you know ‘Roses of Picardy’?”
A twinge gripped Rosamund’s heart. “I do,” she whispered. “It’s a favorite. It reminds me of someone who was very dear to me.”
“Is that so? Well, ‘Roses of Picardy’ it is, then. And roses are a reminder of someone who was very dear to me as well. We have something in common, Lady Rosamund.”
Something twinkled in Mable’s eyes, and she nodded.
Rosamund had played for her mother’s parties many times, but this was different. This was the first time she’d not been ordered to play, but asked. Nudged into it by kindness and genuine affection.
She glanced toward Colin and saw him shift his stance, directing his gaze away from the party room to fall instead on the bay’s dark toils outside.
Rosamund sang.
Softly in the beginning, but with bolder conviction as the notes continued on. The party stood by, fading into gold-outlined silhouettes from the warmth of the Cà d’Zan’s crystal chandelier overhead.
A cool breeze swept in to envelop the audience.
The gentle gust caught up wavy locks of Rosamund’s hair, releasing them to dance against her brow. It felt soft as a caress and eased the anxiety around her heart, making the circus world seem open somehow, as though she could belong in it.
&nb
sp; Rosamund closed her eyes as she eased her fingertips down on the keys to play the song’s final notes. She hesitated there, finding solace in the gentle moment.
She opened her eyes again to find that the party—Mable, Colin, even the audacious Billie—had grown quiet.
“Well. There you have it, Billie. She can command the attention of any crowd,” Mable said, a satisfied air in the upward drift of her chin. “I think we can most certainly say that this English Rose is quite spoken for. She is circus now,” she added, smiling in Rosamund’s direction. “Through and through.”
CHAPTER 14
1927
NEW YORK CITY
They arrived in New York City on a Sunday afternoon.
The wind had kicked up between the buildings on Eighth Street, sending an icy chill to blast Rosamund’s face the moment Colin opened her car door. She stepped out and shivered, pulling the fur collar up tighter against the underside of her chin.
She stood on the sidewalk between Forty-Ninth and Fiftieth Streets, staring up at an enormous lit marquee announcing Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Present: The Greatest Show on Earth. The new Madison Square Garden had been dubbed the grandest building in the world that was dedicated purely to entertainment, and looking at the side of it now, she understood why.
“Well, this is it.” Colin paid the driver and hoisted their bags in his arms. “But we’ll have to keep you under lock and key so the Ziegfelds don’t try to recruit you while you’re here.”
Rosamund rolled her eyes at him. She looked to the left and the right, seeing a large span of shop windows facing the street, but no entrance for the circus.
“So where do we go?”
“Straight in through the front doors,” he said, smiling. “Like you own the place.”
If it was a moment of confidence to walk through the Garden’s front doors, the moments that followed had the exact opposite effect. She obeyed, but nothing could have prepared Rosamund for what she saw.
They ventured down to the lower level beneath the Exhibit Hall, past an enormous ramp on which circus wagons were being wheeled into the building. She tried to follow close behind Colin, but everything hit her at once. Outside it had been a busy New York City street in winter. But inside lived a world within a world. She realized how little Ward had managed to tell her about the circus. Or rather, how much there really was to know. It seemed she’d have an education starting from belowground up.
Everywhere she looked, men and women stopped Colin to ask questions. He answered rapidly, being both quick in decision and intentional in reply. He looked at clipboards with interest. Listened attentively as issues were posed, gave thoughtful answers to each. He even patted what looked like a baby ape as a handler carried it past. It seemed he noticed everyone and everything around him, placing equal value on all.
A loud screech pierced the air, stopping Rosamund in her tracks.
“What was that?” she mouthed, unable to get the full question out before Colin was at her side.
“Ah. Those would be the chimps,” he said, letting out an exasperated sigh. “You’ll get used to them. They always do that when they’re agitated, and a train ride will do the trick every time.”
Rosamund nodded, trying not to jump when another screech threatened to split her eardrums. She’d not even realized she’d been gripping the front of her coat until the leather of her gloves began cutting off the circulation in her fingers.
“Come on. Nothing to worry about.”
She shook out her hand and quickened her steps, following behind as Colin’s broad shoulders cut a path through the crowd. They moved through the underground area, past the most curious sights she’d ever seen.
Men bustled back and forth, moving wagons with animals and great metal poles that looked like giant plumbing pipes. She heard strange sounds—including what had to be the roar of a big cat somewhere in the distance, sending an errant chill throughout her body. Rolling racks of costumes whizzed by. A woman sauntered past in a gold belly-baring ensemble, carrying an armful of long, curved knives. A group of acrobats even flipped in front of their path, nearly knocking the hat from her head.
Rosamund jumped back with hand to hat just in time to avoid a collision. She had to run several steps to catch up with Colin’s long strides.
They passed rows of wagons holding animals of all kinds. She walked past, trying to make out the animal in the shadows in each. One had leathery skin, bunched up in a heap in the back of the cage. A rhinoceros?
Her pulse raced.
To see such wonders . . . up close. As plain as day, as if it were commonplace to walk amongst such rare beasts.
In the next cage, a leopard. Rosamund was sure of that. But oddly enough, he wasn’t alone. It was most curious to see a man sitting on a chair smack-dab in the middle of the cage, reading a book. He was using the big spotted cat as a sort of footstool, rubbing the animal’s underbelly as one would a tabby cat on a rug by a cozy fire.
The man smiled at her, a large handlebar mustache tilting up at the corners of his mouth. Rosamund would have thought to return the gesture if she weren’t so shocked. He didn’t seem frightened at all. In fact, he’d already gone back to the book in his hands, turning one page to the next, with the cat happily toying with his leather slippers like a housecat playing with a ball of yarn.
“Rose?” Colin tipped his head for her to keep up.
She ran on ahead, her heels clipping the floor.
“Is it always like this?” she nearly shouted, drawing the attention of several ladies scooting by. They giggled and kept on their way.
He nodded.
“Somewhat. We’re not always crammed indoors. And on the road is a little different. But it’s controlled chaos, I assure you.” Colin nodded in greeting to one of the men who’d waved from the lot. “This way. We’ll get you settled in.”
It wasn’t until they came to a row of makeshift horse stalls that Rosamund could finally breathe. She saw Owen bent over a horse’s hoof, talking as another man inspected its shoe. She hoped that somewhere in that row of fine horses was her Ingénue.
She craned her neck to see if she could find her.
“Rosamund?” Colin said, drawing her attention back.
He presented a tiny sprite of a woman with blond hair in pigtail buns set high upon her head and cheerful violet eyes. She smiled in greeting, welcoming Rosamund with genuine warmth.
“This is Annaliese. She’s in the horse troop too and has a little experience under her belt, so she’ll give you the lay of the land.”
“Enchantée,” Annaliese said, nodding with a little flip of the chin. She bowed into the depths of a ceremonious curtsy.
“Oh yes. And this one’s French, so at least once a day she’ll try to tell you that Paris is the greatest city in the world.”
Annaliese looked delighted at the prospect of such a conversation.
“Mais, oui! It is the greatest city. I used to perform with an acrobat troop in the shadow of la Tour Eiffel. With flowers blooming all around. They perfume the air . . . I don’t see that in Manhattan. It is too cold here for any such splendor.”
Colin rolled his eyes. “It’s cold in Paris too, and you know it.”
Annaliese smiled back at Rosamund with a light pink flush to her cheeks and a youthful sparkle in her eyes.
Relief flooded into the confines of Rosamund’s chest. It was a comfort to have found a genuinely welcoming face amongst a sea of strangers. She was ready to cling to it.
“You already know Owen. He runs things over here, and he’ll make sure you have everything you need. He’s got your training schedule, so make sure you check with him before you leave to go back to your hotel tonight. Okay?”
Rosamund took in a deep breath, offering him what she hoped
was her bravest smile.
Colin turned to leave, then stopped short, something drawing him back. He leaned in and tipped up his hat, whispering so only she could hear. “It’s a long way from Easling Park, isn’t it?”
“And quiet docks in Sarasota,” she agreed.
“The trick is, Rose, never show them you’re afraid.”
“Animals or people?”
“Both. Equally.”
She nodded.
“I’ll see you later?” He returned her smile, then turned to Annaliese. “Take care of this one for me?”
“Bien sûr, Boss,” she confirmed in her sweet French accent, making Rosamund think of the colorful macaroon cookies Hendrick had once brought her from a Paris patisserie.
Annaliese was the epitome of colorful, sugar-sweet Parisian charm. She popped her heels together to stand at attention and issued a pert salute at their boss’s retreating back.
Colin moved on to greet a group of performers who’d gathered in front of them. Rosamund saw a flash of the same ebony hair she’d seen from the train platform at King’s Cross. She didn’t need to be told who they were, but asked anyway.
“Are those the flyers?”
Annaliese looked up, wrinkling her nose when she saw them.
“Oui. The Rossi family. See the tall man standing behind with the graying hair and mustache? That is Marvio. Their uncle. Leader of the troop. He brought them from Tivoli some years ago. They also have two cousins who left the troop after last season. They are still stars of the show, but mostly it is Bella who draws the crowds. She is quite famous for her—how do you say it in English—mystique?”
Mystique. Rosamund was sure she didn’t know.
A cool blonde with long, slender legs and a pair of icy blue eyes sauntered up to the group. She might have been lovely, if not for the glacial air about her.
“And she’s a flyer too?”
Annaliese let out a long sigh.
“Oui. Frances Knight. Or Frances Rossi now, but she goes by Frankie. Her mari is Enzo. Just there,” she whispered, pointing to a man of medium build standing off past the horse stalls. He boasted the same dark hair and Mediterranean good looks as the others. “Bella’s brother. Rumor has it that Frankie’s father is in prison for rum-running in Chicago, but who knows if there is any truth to that. She’s one of the troop now, and they keep to themselves.”
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