The Ringmaster's Wife

by Kristy Cambron

  Colin swept an arm out in her direction, presenting the Ringling Brothers’ English Rose, and the crowd erupted in adoration. There was nothing to do but laugh. And cry. And take in the glorious moment that she knew would forever be engraved upon her memory. Hendrick had once played for her; it was Colin who’d taken the reins now.

  She’d be Lady Rosamund Easling no longer.

  She’d found her home as the Ringlings’ English Rose.

  ROSAMUND BOUNDED OUT THE BACK ENTRANCE OF THE TENT, somehow knowing that he’d be waiting. She fell into Colin’s arms, and he picked her up, twirling around with a smile of pride upon his face.

  “You did it! I knew you could do it, Rose, and you did.”

  “But how?” She covered her smile with her hand, fingertips shaking. Feeling her heart could burst. “You never said anything. Not even after what I told you about Hendrick.”

  “Would you have believed me?” he asked, the most genuine grin she could imagine spreading wide across his face.

  “Probably not.”

  “And what a performance you gave in there. You’ve got them eating out of your hand. As they will in every town we stop at from now on.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she said as she bit the corner of her bottom lip. “But I do know that it felt wonderful, just as you said it would.”

  Colin stopped their circular dance and stood still, holding her in his arms.

  Then, perhaps remembering that he was the boss and they were embracing in the entrance within view of any number of circus hands and performers, he dropped her feet back on the ground and took a step away from her.

  “Where did you learn to play like that?”

  “Mr. Charlie taught me. All the Ringling brothers were talented. They played instruments and performed in the show in its beginnings. John Ringling was even a clown in the early days—and a good one, I’m told. But Charles traveled with every show and continued performing with the band on occasion. He took time with me just because it was who he was.”

  “But when?”

  “There’s a lot of time to burn when you’re traveling on a train, Rose. And sitting around a campfire.”

  “But don’t you—” Rosamund paused, shifting her words. She looked him in the eyes. “I mean, didn’t you sleep?”

  “Sleep is overrated when you’ve got a show to plan.”

  At that moment she didn’t see him as the show boss standing in front of her. Not with the openness with which he was looking at her now. And especially not after what he’d just done for her.

  She flashed a grateful smile. “I don’t know how to thank you, Colin. You made me feel at home in there, and that’s something I never expected.”

  “Just doing my job, Rose.” He whispered her name, the name no one else called her, lacing it with feeling. “Now get back to work, eh? We’ve got the rest of the show to get through.”

  He offered a hint of a smile before turning to stalk off through the tent alley.

  He’d go his way, no doubt answering questions and lending a hand wherever needed so the show would roll without a hitch. She was sure of that. Colin was a man of uncommon kindness, willing to do what was necessary for the good of others, even up to surprising a bareback rider with a special gift under the Big Top sky.

  “English Rose?”

  It hardly seemed possible anyone knew to call her that already, but Rosamund turned.

  A young girl of no more than six or seven years bounded up behind her. She trotted along with bouncing braids of gold and a smattering of freckles dotting the bridge of her nose.

  “Hello, darling.” Rosamund stooped down to her level. “And what can I do for you?”

  “This is for you—the English Rose.”

  She held out an envelope with a delicate rosebud design penned on the outside.

  “Thank you, dear. How sweet.”

  Rosamund ran her finger through the edge, splitting the envelope open. She took out the heavy cardstock paper from inside and unfolded it.

  A single word was scrawled in the center: Morte.

  She turned the paper over.

  Blank.

  Just the one word, and it was meant for her. The English Rose.

  “I’m sorry, but who—”

  Rosamund glanced up, but the little girl was skipping away through the crowd. The few instinctive steps Rosamund took weren’t likely to be enough to catch her, so she shouted out, “Excuse me,” drawing the eye of several onlookers down the alley. “Little girl? Where did you get this?”

  “Some lady.” The child shrugged with a jostle of the braids on her shoulder. “She said to give it to the English Rose. And she gave me this!”

  She held up a silver five-cent piece, flashing it between her finger and thumb before turning back to run off.

  The little girl fled to spend her spoils, disappearing into the sea of performers and circus-goers swarming beyond the tent alley.

  There was no opportunity for Rosamund to ask more questions. No chance to find out if her instincts were right.

  Bella Rossi wanted her out of the show. And she wanted it badly enough to send Rosamund the omen of a single word.

  Morte. Italian for “death.”

  CHAPTER 24

  1927

  SARASOTA, FLORIDA

  They’d made it through the end of the season, with Rose a shining star in the center ring.

  The winter lodgings were just as Colin had predicted they would be—expansive and bustling for the grand opening celebration on Christmas Day. There was ample room for performers, their charge of exotic animals, and the crowds of eager tourists who had come and now jam-packed the lot.

  The wind blew, carrying the scent of popcorn and cotton candy. The palms fanned in the breeze. They even had the old Ringling Brothers’ 1892 bell wagon drawn back and forth through the streets, chiming out with the happy tunes of the circus. And the animals sang out all around, roaring or neighing just as loud as they pleased.

  It was a resounding success. A grand opening that should have catapulted Colin into a sense of satisfaction at all they’d accomplished.

  Instead, he was on edge.

  Colin stood with Owen at the back of the ring practice area, watching from a distance as a long line of eager children and parents snaked along the side of the horse training barns. They seemed content to wait for their chance to meet with the popular English Rose.

  Little girls of all ages were gathered around Rose. They absorbed every smile from the bareback riding star, laughing and asking for autographs in a delighted swarm of swishing skirts, ankle socks, and black buckle shoes.

  She took time with every one, patting heads and letting little fingers touch the long sequined ribbons of her skirt. She handed out roses from a basket near Ingénue’s hooves. And she knelt at their level, making it a point to value each little face, dotting a few button noses with her fingertip and lavishing smiles on each little girl who breezed through the line.

  Rose would flip up on Ingénue’s back and hoist a young one up with her, holding tight as they learned to stand just like a real bareback rider.

  The sight was impressive, though not altogether surprising.

  In the last months, Rose’s star power had grown seemingly without effort. And by the time the show closed in October, it was the young bareback riding star who had helped to pack the Big Top to capacity for each performance.

  “Look at her—Rosamund’s enchanting them.” Owen cut into his thoughts. “Watch out, my boy. Or she might do the same to you.”

  Colin coughed, suddenly aware that his attention was far too fixed on Rose, instead of just in the general direction of paying tourists.

  “She is enchanting them. I’ve no doubt. She�
��s doing her job.”

  “Colin. Look at them. They’re all waiting. In the hot sun. Wild animals all around, yet they’re waiting to see her. That’s more than just doing a job, and you know it.” Owen motioned to the line of patrons waiting to greet the circus’s newest star, the long display wrapping around the side of the stables to the road. “It’s time to tell her. She’s the star of the show.”

  “It’s a heavy burden.”

  “Yes,” Owen agreed, tapping a finger against his chin. “But I’ve seen everything I need to since she first stepped off that train. She’s proven herself. It’s a burden she’s able to carry.”

  Colin shook his head. “I just don’t want to jump at this.”

  “You’re not having doubts now, after you trained her up, brought her this far?” He wrinkled his forehead in an all-knowing, almost paternal glare.

  Colin huffed. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Someone’s got to do it. Now, I know you’re circus first, Colin. But there comes a point in every man’s life when he realizes what really matters. And I don’t think it’s a canvas tent that holds the most interest for you. ”

  Colin had willed that night under the Big Top to leave him alone. That moment, that one memory of crossing the line to do what he’d imagined so many times before . . .

  Rose had never mentioned their kiss to anyone, he was sure.

  Nor had he.

  How in the world could Owen know?

  “I’m just thinking of her, Owen. It’s a lot to shoulder. I worry that she’s too kind for it. Maybe too generous to be a showstopper in this life. I’ve seen it before—the rise. The fall. It happens with stars all the time. I just don’t want it to happen to her.”

  Owen studied his face. “You’re worried about how Bella will take it?”

  Colin nodded. “I am.”

  And he was. More than he cared to say at the moment.

  The Rossi family had kept packing in the crowds through the end of the season. And though Rosamund’s act had settled into a routine that was gaining notoriety in the towns they’d visited, the Rossi flyers remained a steady draw. Still, after the doubt surrounding Bella’s future in the show, the family had opted to keep an even lower profile on the lot than usual. They’d circled the wagons, sticking close to their tents. Even kept the shades drawn on their train car most of the time.

  Bella seemed the most out of sorts. Her beauty had been eclipsed by tired eyes and a despondent nature that even Colin could see from the ground floor of the Big Top. There was just no spark in her performances.

  Colin watched as Rose propped yet another little girl on Ingénue’s back. She laughed aloud when the girl threw her arms up over her head in a pose worthy of the center ring itself.

  He ran his fingers through his hair, indecision boiling over.

  “You might know—we’ve had some trouble with Bella in the past. Alcohol.”

  Owen nodded.

  “I’m worried it’s plaguing her again. And I’m not sure we can risk the show by renewing her contract for another year.”

  “And you’re afraid that if you don’t, the fallout will affect Rosamund.”

  “It’s complicated,” Colin said, offering his friend a slap on the shoulder. “Nothing to burden you with now. Especially not on Christmas.”

  “But you’ll tell Rosamund what’s behind the shift in the show’s billing? She deserves to know.”

  Colin noted the subtle deflection at his change of subject.

  It was one thing to offer Rose a contract for top billing. But it was quite another to open wounds that had been sealed up long before she came into his life. He wasn’t sure he could tell Rose about his past. About Bella. About everything that had been built up and then crumbled down again in their relationship.

  “Fine. It’s settled. I’m giving her top billing.”

  “No.” Owen shook his head. “It’s not settled until you tell her everything. If Bella’s poised to become an enemy, then Rosamund has a right to know why.”

  “I’d already planned on it. Tonight. We’ve got top billing business to discuss about the New Year. And God help us—maybe some of this will be behind us by then.”

  Rosamund sat on her bed in the freshly painted dormitory, flipping the envelope back and forth between her fingers. She shook her head, feeling fresh tears sting her eyes.

  “You are in here.”

  Colin’s voice floated in from the doorway. She had her back to him and quickly slipped the envelope under her pillow. She dabbed at the tears in the corners of her eyes before turning round to face him.

  He’d cleaned up. No work shirt and suspenders like he usually wore on the lot. He wore a suit and crisp linen shirt, and had even managed to tie a respectable but slightly loosened knot in the striped navy tie around his neck. He’d even wrestled his hair into submission, combing it into a sleek part at the side. He didn’t use the sticky pomade that other men favored, though, and it was likely that the unruly tousle would be back in his hair the instant they stepped out into the heat of late afternoon.

  “Minnie will have your hide if she catches you in here.”

  “Her bark is worse than her bite,” Colin said, shrugging as if he couldn’t care less that men were not allowed in the female dorm. He’d set the rule himself and now, it seemed, he was quite content in breaking it.

  He stepped in, crossing the room she shared with Annaliese.

  “In truth, she knows I’m in here. Scared the wits out of this Irishman. She’s waiting at the end of the hall. Gave me two minutes to appear at the door with you, or she said she’d come back up the stairs and turn the fire hose on me.”

  Rosamund couldn’t help but smile. “She must have thought you were up to no good.”

  “Maybe, but I told her it was Christmas and she let me pass.” He furrowed his brow just a touch. “Hey—are you okay? Was it too much today, all the people?”

  “No. I loved seeing the children. It’s just—” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Old ghosts, I suppose.”

  “Old ghosts, huh?” He paused, as if trying to read her mind for the trail of thoughts she wouldn’t share with him. “Well, no more haunting today. I’ve come to escort you to dinner.”

  Rosamund glanced out the window.

  The sun was still high in the sky behind them. It couldn’t have been four o’clock yet.

  “It’s a bit early, isn’t it? The Christmas party isn’t until six.”

  “I know. But I thought maybe we could duck out, if you’re game for a little road trip.” He tossed her a smile layered with mischief. “Well, a short one anyway. We have an invitation from John and Mable, if you want to accept.”

  “We?”

  He nodded. “There’s some business at the Cà d’Zan. Then a Christmas party at Lido Key after.”

  She was confused. What business could possibly demand her attention at the Ringlings’ mansion on Christmas Day?

  “And you’re quite sure they know I’m attending?”

  They heard the echo of a throat clearing out in the hall. Minnie was apparently making her rounds.

  “I’d better go,” Colin said, walking back to the door. “I’ll let you get changed. Meet me downstairs. And it’s not formal. A family dinner on the beach.”

  “Family . . .,” she whispered after he’d patted the side of the doorframe and disappeared down the hall.

  Family, was she?

  Rosamund closed her eyes and dropped her head in her hands.

  All of a sudden it appeared she had two of them—one in Sarasota, who’d invited her for dinner at their estate, and another very far away at Easling Park. She wondered if the latter would accept her if she had to come crawling home.

  Sh
e eased her fingers under the pillow and pulled the envelope back out into the light.

  Another note had been left for her—this one slipped under the pillow on her bed. It, too, bore a warning message, folded in the same card stock as before. But this one was different. No scrawled words. No veiled threats. Just a strip of canary-yellow satin tucked inside.

  She’d almost convinced herself that her first costume had been destroyed by accident. But now that lie faded.

  Someone wanted her out of the show, and they wanted it badly.

  “Bella . . .,” she breathed out, squeezing the satin shred in her palm.

  CHAPTER 25

  Colin turned the Capitol Roadster toward the gated entrance to the Cà d’Zan.

  He drove past the gate and whizzed down the lane, not stopping until he’d brought them around the circular drive that hugged the front of the mansion.

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve, tearing down my drive like that.”

  Mable stepped out of the field of palms and tall shrubbery that led to the rose garden, a basket of woven sea grass draped over her arm. It was overflowing with a riot of blooms: roses in shades of bright bubbly pink, ivory, and deep crimson.

  It made Rosamund smile to see her, wearing gloves and carrying shears like a gardener while dressed in an elegant dress of gray crepe suited for a night at the opera. The fabric shimmered in the shades of twilight that were poised to fall around them.

  Colin seemed to know it was cheek Mable offered, and grinned in response. He jumped from the pickup and rounded the back to open Rosamund’s door, then extended his hand to help her out.

  “Mable,” he said, smiling ear to ear. He took Mable’s hand, greeting her with a light kiss to her cheek. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Colin, you think it appropriate to drive like that with a titled lady in the car?”

  He cleared his throat. “Well, I didn’t want to be late. Not for this.”

  Mable arched her eyebrows up at him, sending him a disciplinary glare. She then turned to Rosamund, greeting her with a smile while she pulled off her gloves.