The Golden Butterfly

by Sharon Gosling

  Luciana looked at Isabella. “Did you want me?” she asked. “Or did Marko have to persuade you?”

  Isabella let out a shuddering breath and pulled Luciana back into her arms, holding her tightly. “Of course I wanted you. Children had never happened for us, but oh, how I wanted them. Then your grandfather showed me this dear little scrap of life and said you needed a home. He said we’d move to a new town and say that our daughter and her husband had died back in Italy and left us with their child to raise. And that was that.”

  Luciana pulled away from Isabella, trying to fathom the depth of everything she had learned. “Is that why I don’t remember ever meeting Adeline when we came to Grandfather’s shows? You kept me away from her. In case I remembered her.”

  Isabella Cattaneo smoothed her hands over Luciana’s cheeks. “When I learned that Adeline used to take you to the Peacock and hide you in her closet, I said we shouldn’t take you back there for years. Just in case you remembered. We all decided it would be for the best. It seemed to work.”

  Luciana pulled away again. She felt light-headed, as if her mind was spinning on an axis no longer attune with the world around her.

  “So what now?” she asked. “I’m supposed to go back to Midford and forget that any of this happened?”

  Isabella looked down at her. “Would that be such a bad life? You’ve seen what this one is like. So … precarious, so dangerous. Is this really where you would prefer to be?”

  “Yes,” said Luciana, simply. “It is.”

  Mrs Cattaneo paled a little. “You may think you’re an adult, Luciana, but you are not. Not yet. And until you are it is my duty to keep you from doing foolish things, and this is most definitely one. You will come with me now, please. It is late enough as it is and I have booked a room for us at the Savoy. Tomorrow we will return home. In a week or so all of this … will have faded away. Then we can talk again about all of it if you wish, but in a sensible manner.”

  Luciana looked at Adeline, who gave a faint smile.

  “Go,” said her mother. “It’s for the best, Luciana. We’ll meet again soon.”

  The room at the Savoy was not big enough for all three of them.

  “Charley can stay at the theatre another night and we’ll collect him in the morning,” Mrs Cattaneo said briskly, as they got into the hansom cab. “It’ll give him time to think about what he’s done.”

  “What do you mean?” Luciana asked. “He’s done nothing. This was all me. I talked him into coming to London.”

  “If he had any true loyalty he would have disclosed where you were to me at the first opportunity,” said Isabella.

  Luciana watched the theatre recede as they pulled away. “He was being loyal to me,” she said quietly. “As only a true friend is.”

  They were silent for a few minutes. Luciana was still a tumult of emotion, trying to sort through everything that had happened. She had a mother – a real, living mother. Luciana didn’t know what to think. Her mind was a mess of questions, her heart full of confused emotions.

  Isabella reached out and grasped her hand. “I love you, Luciana. Everything I have done and will do is for you. You have to believe that. We were trying our best, all three of us. In the end, that’s all anyone can do.”

  Luciana squeezed her fingers briefly and then pulled her hand away. After a moment Isabella leaned back.

  “I can’t bear the thought of you leaving me,” she said, her strong voice wavering a little. “I have already lost Marko. Must I lose you too? Have you forgotten all the wonderful times we had in that house as you were growing up?”

  “Of course I haven’t,” said Luciana, “and of course you will not lose me. But being here, in London – doing these things … that’s who I am, isn’t it? It’s who I’ve always been, even when I was small. Persuading Charley to help me stage tricks in our hallway. Climbing trees even when you told me I shouldn’t. Sneaking off to read books instead of sitting at the embroidery you had given me. Getting up in the middle of the night to lie in the orchard and look up at the stars. Solving puzzles. Learning magic.”

  Isabella looked away. “I always told Marko he shouldn’t teach you such things. I always said it would lead nowhere good.”

  “He only ever encouraged what he saw there already,” Luciana said. “I loved my life in Midford with you,” she said quietly, trying to find the words to explain everything she felt. “I loved – love – you, and Marko, and I always will. I’ll always be grateful for everything you gave me when you didn’t have to. But I’m not the same person that I was last week. And I think … this is where I belong.” Luciana sighed. “None of it matters anyway though, does it? I don’t have a licence. I can’t perform.”

  “Does that really upset you so much?” Isabella asked. “Were you really so keen to be on the stage?”

  “It wasn’t just about me,” Luciana said. “If people saw the Golden Butterfly, everyone would love magic again. Adeline would get her illusion back and everyone would remember the Magnificent Marko. People should know who the greatest magician in the world really is. But now they will think it is Thursby. Or else he will mess up the trick completely and people will care about seeing great magic even less. Grandfather wouldn’t want that, would he? He was so sad that the profession was fading away.”

  They arrived at the Savoy and were ushered up to their room. It wasn’t until Isabella was tucking the blankets around her that Luciana realized how exhausted she was. By the time the familiar kiss landed on her forehead, she was already mostly asleep.

  A quiet knock at the door woke her some hours later. She half opened her eyes. A rustle and a shadow passed the end of her bed as her grandmother went to the door and opened it, took something, and then shut the door again. Silence settled over the room once more, pulling Luciana back down into sleep.

  *

  The following morning they took another cab back to Weston’s Theatre.

  “You go in, dear,” said Isabella. “I’ll wait here. Oh – and give this to Adeline, would you? Tell her it’s from me. With –” she hesitated for a moment – “with my blessing.”

  It was a slim white envelope, fastened shut with a blob of red wax that had her grandfather’s seal pressed into it.

  “What is it?” Luciana asked as she took it.

  Isabella smiled a little. “Something else she gave up long ago.”

  Charley was waiting for her in Clara’s dressing room. “They’re already down on the stage,” he told her. “They’ve been there for hours. They’re trying to work out how to run the show without you.”

  Guilt poured over Luciana like cold water. “Poor Clara. Who will they get to be up in the rafters instead of you?”

  Charley looked down at his feet and dug his hands into his pockets. “Actually, I think I might stay. I’ll come back to Midford soon to see Mother and explain everything … but they really need me here. And it’s a job, isn’t it?”

  Luciana thought her heart might break. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  He looked at her, his eyes anxious. “Do you mind? If I do it even though you’re not the one performing?”

  “Of course I don’t mind, you’ll do a brilliant job,” Luciana said, determined not to make him feel bad. “And Clara will feel safer knowing you’re up there for her.” They stood there together, awkward, until she said, “I want to say goodbye to them both.”

  Down on the stage, they found Clara on the suspended wire. She was just a few feet off the boards, but she was shaking like a leaf. Ben was on the bridge and let her down again.

  “Oh, Clara,” Luciana said. “I’m so sorry. Why don’t you just take the trick out of the performance?”

  “We can’t do that,” said Clara. “It’s bad enough that we’ve advertised it as the granddaughter of the Magnificent Marko and it won’t be. If we don’t do the Golden Butterfly, there’ll be hell to pay. I’ll be all right.”

  Luciana turned to Adeline, hidden behind Adolphus Merritt’s face. Those blu
e eyes looked down at her, anxious now, and Luciana searched them, trying to find more memories to fit them to. Even though it was true, it hadn’t yet sunk in that this person was her mother, not really. She wasn’t sure it ever would.

  “Will you come to visit?” she asked. “Come to Midford one day. Please. I don’t want to—”

  Adeline reached out and pulled her into a hug. It was only when they parted that Luciana remembered the envelope.

  “Here,” she said, passing it over. “From my grandmother, with her blessing, she said.”

  Merritt frowned and undid the seal. Inside was a folded document that had yellowed a little with age. The magician unfolded it and gave a tiny exhalation of shock.

  “What?” Luciana asked. “What is it?”

  Merritt held it out. Luciana took the piece of paper and looked at the elaborate text that unfurled across the narrow sheet. It was Luciana’s birth certificate. In the space for the father’s name it read:

  Anthony Luca Morrell

  And then beside ‘Profession, if applicable’ it said:

  Magician, licensed

  Beside the space for ‘Mother’s Name’ it said:

  Adeline Annabelle Morrell

  On the line for profession it read:

  Magician’s Assistant, registered

  Below that, beside the space for ‘Child’s Name’, was written:

  Luciana Estella Morrell

  Seeing her name written down like that, alongside her parents, made Luciana’s eyes fill with tears. As much as she loved Isabella and Marko, here at last was her own family. Her own mother and father.

  Adeline – because for that moment it was completely Adeline, despite the mask – cupped her hands around Luciana’s face, her own eyes very bright.

  “I won’t let you go again, Luciana,” she whispered. “I promise. And I will tell you all about your wonderful father. He loved you, little one. So very much.”

  They hugged, hard, and Luciana never wanted to let go.

  “Don’t cry,” said Charley, taking the old document from Adeline’s hand. “Ana, don’t cry. Don’t you realize what this means? This means you can perform. Doesn’t it? Don’t you remember? Mr Hibberd told us, didn’t he? Women could only be registered as assistants, but that they were lucky, because—”

  “—because their daughters would be automatically registered!” Luciana exclaimed, pulling away enough to look up at Adeline’s face. “Is that true?”

  “Yes!” exclaimed Clara. “Yes, it is true! I suppose that’s what your grandmother meant by sending this with her blessing. With this as proof of who you are, he can’t stop you performing! You’re a licensed magician’s assistant, Luciana. You always have been.”

  Luciana ran from the stage. She ran all the way to the stage door and out on to the street, but the cab – and Isabella Cattaneo – had gone.

  Luciana, Charley and Merritt rehearsed over and over, every hour that they had left. Mr Phipps, who had been terrified by Thursby’s threats, was won over by the proof of Luciana’s birth certificate.

  “You will take this to Thursby?” Clara asked him.

  “I will,” Phipps promised.

  “Do not, under any circumstances, allow him to keep it,” Luciana warned.

  “Oh, don’t you worry, I am not fool enough for that, Miss Cattaneo – or should I now call you Miss Morrell?”

  “I am still Miss Cattaneo,” she said. “For now, anyway.”

  “Very good,” said the theatre owner. “It seems that magic really does run in your blood, my dear. It’s only a pity that your own mother can’t be here to see you perform too. But anyway – granddaughter, adopted granddaughter – what does it matter, really?”

  Luciana thought that to some it mattered a great deal, though she didn’t say so. Part of her was sorry not to have seen Thursby’s reaction, but a far larger part of her was relieved that all she needed to do was concentrate on getting the Golden Butterfly right. She was still having trouble seeing the line as she danced out on to the stage. At least though her nightmares had lessened. It was as if, now she understood the source of her fear of fire, she was able to deal with it better. Her hands were steadier as the magnesium flared, and she no longer had to shut her eyes tight against its glare.

  They sent a complimentary ticket to Timothy Fervent in the hope that he would come to the show. They sent tickets back to Midford too, for Charley’s mother Agnes and Mrs Cattaneo, but received no reply.

  “You never know,” Charley said. “They might surprise us.”

  Luciana tried not to be bothered by Isabella’s silence. She had also tried to push the new discoveries she had made about her life aside to better concentrate on her performance, but it wasn’t easy. It was made even harder when Ben appeared during their lunch break on Friday afternoon, red-faced and puffing hard.

  “Yer’ve got to see this!” he said, holding out a roll of slightly torn paper. “I can’t hardly believe it! They’re all over town, so they are! Everywhere we’ve put a poster, ’e’s put one too!”

  Luciana took the paper and unrolled it to reveal a poster. It was bright yellow, and it read:

  Carl Thursby, Grand Master of the Grand Society of Magicians, Invites All Right Minded Peoples to See the Treachery and Poor Practice of Adolphus Merritt and his Unqualified Assistants.

  Watch this Simple Illusion Fail!

  Laugh as Adolphus Merritt is Proved a Fool!

  Then Attend a True Magician – The Greatest Magician in the World!

  Beneath this was the performance date of the Golden Butterfly, along with this message:

  (Two Penny Reduction for Every Man, Woman and Child Bringing a Ticket Stub from Weston’s.)

  Luciana felt sick.

  “Why would he encourage everyone to come to our performance?” she asked. “Surely that’s the opposite of what he wants?”

  “He wants you to be heckled to death, is my guess,” Ben said. “He’s banking on a rowdy crowd.”

  Charley slipped his arm through Luciana’s. “Forget it, Ana,” he said. “It’s just another of Thursby’s horrible tactics. He wants you to be anxious.”

  “Oops,” Ben said, looking worried. “I shouldn’t have shown you, should I?”

  “It’s all right,” Charley told him. “Luciana will be fine. She’ll put Thursby in his place, just you see.”

  Ben beamed. “I bet you will an’ all,” he said to Luciana. “And I’ll be there, cheering you on. So you know there’ll be at least one friendly face in the crowd, don’t you?”

  “Thank you, Ben,” Luciana said faintly.

  “Yes, we knew about it,” Clara admitted, when they confronted her about Thursby’s challenge. “We expected it. It’s not the first time he’s pulled such a stunt.”

  “I wasn’t expecting it!” Luciana exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “We knew it would unsettle you,” Clara said. “Look, the best thing – the only thing you can do is ignore it and just focus on the performance. Thursby’s setting himself up to fail. He’ll make a fool of himself without even trying.”

  “You don’t know that,” Luciana said with a quiver in her voice. “I still keep missing the line. If I hesitate, if I look for it in front of an entire audience, someone will spot what I’m looking for.”

  Clara gripped her by the shoulders and squeezed. “Trust me,” she said. “You are going to perform it the best you ever have, just when it matters the most. I have faith in you. So does Merritt.”

  Luciana tried to believe her. She really did.

  *

  On Saturday, Luciana woke so early that not even Ben was up. She crept out of Clara’s dressing room with a lit candle and went down the darkened corridors to the auditorium. She stepped on to the stage and walked right to the edge, until it felt as if the dark void beyond might swallow her up. Luciana tried to imagine each seat lined with a different face.

  She turned her back on that great darkness and walked back to the wings, putting do
wn the candle. She began to dance, moving in and out of the light. She imagined herself being pulled by an invisible force. It was not she who would perform this trick, after all, but the great magician Adolphus Merritt. Everything would happen exactly as it should, because this was nothing less than magic.

  Luciana opened her eyes. For the first time in all of her rehearsals, she saw the line and its hook with absolute clarity.

  The sound of the gathering audience was thunder over their heads. By the time the clock touched half past the hour of six, the theatre bar was so crammed that Ben reported a queue out into the street.

  “They’ll have to start letting people get to their seats early,” said Ben, “or there’ll be a right scramble when the doors open.”

  Timothy Fervent came to the dressing rooms to wish them all luck.

  “Not that you need it,” he said. “That crowd up there are as gentle as lambs.”

  The stamping and hollering Luciana could hear suggested the contrary, but she appreciated his efforts.

  At seven they had only half an hour until showtime, and Clara shooed out everyone who didn’t need to be there.

  “You’ll be right, lass,” said Timothy Fervent, squeezing her hand. “You’re as sharp as your grandpa, I can tell. He’d be proud of you. You’re going to knock ’em all on their behinds.”

  Left alone in her dressing room, Luciana thought about Charley. He was already up on the bridge and had been for at least an hour. It was important there was no hint of preparation that might tip the audience off, so he would have to stay up there for the whole performance, even though he would only be needed for the final few moments of the final turn – the Golden Butterfly.

  A little while later, Clara tapped on her door. “They’ve let the audience in,” she said. “Will you come? There’s something I think you should see.”

  Luciana followed Clara on to the stage. The noise beyond the curtain was huge. Clara pushed it aside, just a fraction. The auditorium was heaving. Rows and rows of people bellowed and called to each other. It was a scene of utter bedlam, and the noise was terrific. Luciana’s fingers were numb with fear.