Edith Layton (14 page)

“Good morning,” Christian said in his usual even tone. “Are we ready to leave?”

“We are,” Sophie practically sang. “And we can’t wait.” She took Hammond’s hand without looking at him, stepped up and into the carriage, arranged her skirts, and gave Christian a dimpled smile. “Now,” she said, “about that acrobat you remember from the fair, we’ll all look for him. But you must tell us. Was he fair or swarthy?

“Well?” he asked Julianne, as she took her place
beside her cousin. “First test of your memory. What was he? Do you remember, Julianne?”

“Now, now,” Sophie said gaily, “that’s a leading question. It’s not Julianne’s memory we’re here to try, is it?” She said it so lightly it was hard to tell if she was teasing or testing.

But Julianne’s stomach tightened. Whichever it was, it made her uncomfortable.

It didn’t seem to bother Christian. “True,” he said. “Very well then. I remember a yellow-thatched fellow. A very improbable shade of yellow, at that. Doubtless he colored it so it would show better from far away.”

“Yes!” Julianne said, her eyes growing wide. “It was a clown color. Maybe he was a clown, too?”

“His name was Sparrow and he was a clown, a contortionist, and an acrobat,” Hammond said as he seated himself opposite them. “We’ve made inquiries,” he added when they all looked at him. “The falling acrobat was a famous act, performed at every fair that would have him, Gypsy or not, in spring, summer, and autumn, for fifteen years. Greenwich, Camberwell, St. Ives, Bury St. Edmunds, the lot. Horse fairs, horn fairs, May fairs, he was a busy fellow. He even performed regularly at St. Bartholomew’s Fair, in London,” he added, staring at Christian. “The fellow tumbled from his wire every time. But he died in bed two years ago.”

“Pity,” Christian said levelly. “Shall we go see who’s replaced him?”

Julianne smelled it long before she saw it, and heard it even before that. She sat up straighter when
she heard the far-off sound of trumpets and drums and fiddles, and the tinny whine of hurdy-gurdies mixed in with the hum and babble of voices and laughter of a great crowd.

As they rode on toward the village, she rolled down her window farther, raised her nose, and caught the scent of roasting meat and the sweet-sour wild smell of some enormous barnyard. “There’s a menagerie!” she told Christian excitedly. “I’d forgotten that!”

He smiled. He could see her eyes lighten with surprise. She was very like a child again in her excitement. Except that children’s bosoms didn’t swell like that when they took deep breaths, he thought, and damned himself for his preferences. A friend didn’t stare at another friend’s breasts; he was having a hard time remembering that.

“Yes, tigers, monkeys, a wild hyena, and a lion, too. Remember?” he asked her.

“And a kangaroo, that should interest you,” Hammond said. When Christian merely looked at him, he added, “We asked what the attractions would be. Sir Maurice wouldn’t have let the ladies go if there’d been bear baiting or such.”

“Very proper,” Christian said.

“And dwarves,” Julianne said, as though speaking in a trance. “A giant man, and a fat woman. A man like a skeleton…Roundabouts! One you didn’t have to push, because they’d a man and a boy who cranked it. I remember. And a wheel studded with seats that moved around, taking you up into the sky and down again. Huge swings, the kind that can hold men and women and children all together. Remember? And
Punch and Judy, and people in costumes, and on stilts, and trained dogs that dance on their hind legs, and so many toys to buy, some so little you can slip them right into your pocket…”

“And lads who’ll slip their fingers right into your pockets, too,” Christian said, smiling. “We aren’t children anymore. Watch your purse and your pockets.”

Hammond frowned. “This is a local fair. There’ll be none of that here. There won’t be any gin shops or loose women, peep shows of an unseemly nature, gambling or such. That sort of thing is for the bigger fairs.”

Christian laughed. “It’s a fair, my friend, and a fine fair day. There’ll be hundreds if not thousands of people here from miles around. And with a crowd like that there’ll be almost as many sharpers and dips, negotiable women, peep shows, gin shops, and
such
,” he mocked the word with the emphasis he put on it, “as there are people here. There’ll be plenty of crime. Believe me,” he said with a crooked grin. “I should know.”

Hammond’s jaw clenched.

“But then you’ll be the best one to protect us,” Sophie told Christian warmly, not a trace of spite in her voice.

“Of course,” he said, with no expression.

It did look as though a thousand people were there, Julianne thought dizzily, gazing out the carriage window as the coachman jockeyed for position in a long row of coaches. The place they finally stopped was on a rise, overlooking the crowded green. She could see
rude tents and shelters thrown up everywhere. There were impromptu stages on stilts with huge banners fluttering over them, and enormous signs with pictures and prose promising all sorts of bizarre wonders and delights. Little clearings between the tents had cook stands, the fragrant smoke rising from them advertising their wares even better than their shouting proprietors could.

Everywhere, people were on the move, in a confusing welter of noise and movement: The green positively boiled with people. Julianne held back a moment after she stepped out of the carriage.

“Changed your mind?” Christian asked.

She shook her head. “No, but I didn’t remember—or maybe I did, but children are excited by crowds, and I’ve lived a quiet life since I was here last. This seems so…much,” she said, at a loss for words. She raised her voice so she could be heard over the sounds of music and the crowd. “But I want to go. It’s like being young again.”

She didn’t say that here on the brink of the fair she felt her brother’s presence more strongly than she had for years. She could almost feel his warm hand closing over hers, and hear his admonition again: “
Now, if you get lost, I’ll murder you. So stay close. Hear?”
There’d been another boy by her side who had smiled, and taken her other hand. With a strong stout lad on either side, she’d walked into the fair. She’d never felt so protected and honored before, and never since. She glanced up at Christian and hoped he remembered. And prayed she’d know if he really did.

Christian told his coachman and the footman to en
joy the fair for a while, but to be back in an hour in case they wanted to leave early. Then he offered Julianne his arm and, with Sophie and Hammond following, they strolled down the grassy rise and went down into the crowd.

“T
hey’re gone!” Julianne exclaimed.

Christian turned his head. There were masses of strange faces in the roiling crowd behind him, but not a glimpse of Sophie or Hammond. “So they are,” he said, putting his hand over Julianne’s where it clutched his arm. “When did you last see them?

“Somewhere between the giant swing and the dwarf horses…” she said. “No, just after we left the roundabout.”

His hand tightened over hers. “Don’t worry. I won’t lose you. Hammond’s a strapping lad, he can take care of Sophie. And wherever they wander, they know where the carriage is. We’ll all meet there later. Or do you want to turn back and search for them?”

She turned a troubled face to his. “Do you think we can find them?”

He had to bend until his lips almost touched her ear to be heard over the music and shouting. “I can hardly find my own nose in this crowd,” he said, laughter in his voice. “And I don’t think it matters, but if you feel
uncomfortable alone with me, we can go back and look for them.”

Uncomfortable? She hadn’t felt so good in years. “We’re hardly alone!” she said. “You’re right. They know where the carriage is, we might as well see the fair. Maybe they’ll find us.”

She didn’t really care. All she could think of was the fair—and the man at her side. As they walked on, it did seem as though the years fell away, but she was too enraptured by the man to think about the boy. She knew she was there to try to remember, but couldn’t think of anything but the present. And what a present it was!

She hadn’t seen so many people in one place for years. There were men, women, and children, whole families that had taken off a few hours of work to go to the fair. Hardworking folk out for a day’s pleasure: farmers, shopkeepers, laborers, even servants. Their class could be told by the clothing they wore. There were some people of higher quality present, too; Sophie had nodded to them.

Everyone had noticed their little party, the squire’s daughter was by way of being a celebrity in the district. It seemed from their curious stares that everyone had heard of Hammond, who might possibly be the new earl of the finest manor in the region. Julianne wasn’t sure everyone knew about Christian, but it was clear that women of all classes and ages noticed him. She preened a little at how the men were noticing her as well, but that wasn’t the reason for her utter delight.

She and Christian had privacy in the midst of many.
Pressed close by the crowd, they had to walk hip to hip and talk into each other’s ears, and yet she never had to worry about impropriety. It was delicious.

As they strolled on into the fair, the years fell away from each of them. Christian loosened his neckcloth, as every man there did. It simply was too warm and too rustic an occasion for fashion. Julianne folded her parasol; there was no room for it. They became more casual with each other, too. There was no point to formality, not with the crush of the crowd and the wonders to see and exclaim over.

It was as though she were a child again, and yet better. She could see and understand more than she had on that long-ago day. She could definitely appreciate the man at her side better, too.

They stopped, without consultation, at all the places she wanted, and exchanged smiles or comments that showed they were of a single mind, too. They paused to watch the Gypsy dancers and the locals cavorting to the wild music. He asked if she wanted to dance, and though she did, she knew she shouldn’t because it would be a common thing to do. And so she said no. “Chickenhearted?” he asked, as the boy Christian might have done to dare her. But he smiled as though he understood, and they went on.

They paused whenever they heard a trumpet blaring to announce some new wonder. They stood listening to the barkers who urged them to come and be dazzled. Julianne watched a stream of fairgoers putting down their coins and pouring into a tent. She looked at Christian when the barkers implored them to pay to see fantastic freaks of nature.

“No,” Christian said to her inquiring look. “Most of what they show isn’t real anyway, and those poor souls that are would upset you. Anyway, most of them aren’t meant for the eyes of well-bred young women.”

“Can we pretend I’m not?” she asked plaintively,

“Gladly,” he said, “but not here in front of all these people.”

She colored a little and walked on.

There were plenty of other things to stare at. They watched Punch and Judy swatting each other until the end of their playlet, then they applauded the lumbering bear that danced on his tether.

Christian teased Julianne unmercifully when she refused to let him lift her into the great scale so that the Gypsy could guess her weight and laughed at her amazement when she couldn’t find the pea under the thimble another fast-talking fellow kept moving around a board.

She applauded when Christian stripped off his jacket, raised a mallet, and thwacked a stump until the lever fastened to it hit a bell. She thanked him prettily when he gave her the whistle he’d won, as well as when he bought her an ugly little doll from a persistent vendor. She grew sad when they entered the stifling menagerie tent and saw the moth-eaten lion in his inadequate cage, and held her breath because she was too well bred to hold her nose when they passed by the scruffy-looking hyena’s cage.

She said nothing when they saw the kangaroo, all the way from the antipodes, as the sign proudly proclaimed.

“Yes, they are from the land where I’ve been, as I
told you,” Christian said, answering her unasked question. “But I don’t have much firsthand experience with them. I didn’t have free time…” He laughed at his own inadvertent pun, then added, “And when I finally did, I didn’t have much time to explore, as you may well imagine.”

She turned a grave face to his. “But I can’t imagine, can I? And you never talk about that part of it…at least, you never speak of the trials you endured.”

He paused. “Do you want me to?” he asked, watching her expressionlessly. “I thought you were here to find out about my distant past, not my recent one.”

It seemed to her that the tumult of the crowd faded, that there were only the two of them standing there. “Yes,” she said honestly. “I want to know about those days, too, because I want to know everything about you.” Then she bit her lip and glanced away. That was, she knew, far too much for her to say.

He hesitated. “Then I’ll tell you,” he said gravely. “But not here, and not now.”

“’Ere! You done looking or what?” an aggrieved voice said. “I means, paint a pitchur o’ the beast and have done. There be others what wants to ogle ’im, y’know,” a red-faced man behind them said.

“He’s all yours,” Christian said, and led Julianne away.

“Thirsty?” he asked, as they left the tent, and he saw her eyeing the line in front of a lemonade seller dipping her ladle into a big wooden tub.

“Oh yes,” she said

“Ale? Gin? Beer?” he asked.

“That lemonade would be fine.”

“
That
lemonade would not,” he said firmly. “Just look at who’s putting down the ready for it. There’s not a lady in the line, and the coves guzzling it are already a few sheets to the wind. If there isn’t more blue ruin in it than lemon, I’m a noddy, and I’m not.”

She grinned. His speech was becoming as casual as his neckcloth.

“Now, there’s a lass selling frumenty. I’ll have a sip and let you know if you dare,” he said, and led her over to a vendor doing less brisk business.

He bought a penny cup, sipped, and grimaced.

“Does it have gin, too?” she whispered.

“No,” he said. “Just fruit. You’ll like it.”

She laughed, drank it, and they wandered on.

“Do you want something to eat?” he asked her, as they passed cook fires, where sides of pork and beef were being turned on spits.

“No, thank you,” she said, eyeing a woman working at a great cauldron, dishing out a greenish lumpy soup. “The baronet said we oughtn’t dare, and that he’d have tea for us when we returned.”

“Good,” he said. “I’d hate to see you poisoned. They’d blame me, you know.”

As the sun passed its zenith, the crowd began to thicken. The noise increased to a roar, the food smells grew less enticing and more stifling, and the press of the crowd increased until they were being pushed through the fair instead of walking at their leisure.

“Have you seen enough?” Christian asked. “Do you remember anything you want to ask me about?”

“No,” she said sadly. “I thought so when I got here, but no.” She had to raise her voice to be heard. “I remember the smell and the sounds, and some of the sights. And the acrobat, of course. He was there, I think,” she said, pointing to the place where she thought the acrobat had fallen on that distant day. “Or maybe there. Who can tell? That’s just it. I don’t remember exactly. And I don’t recall anything else important. It may be because I’m too tall now and seeing it all from a different angle.”

“Do you want to walk on your knees?” he asked with interest.

She giggled.

“So, then, I think it may be time for us to go,” Christian said into her ear, his warm breath sending shivers up her spine. “Unless there’s something else you want to see?”

“No, I’ve had enough,” she said gratefully. She hadn’t wanted to complain, but the pleasure of the fair was fast fading into a jumble of noise and smells.

“There’s just one more thing we have to do,” he said, raising his head and looking around. “Ah, there. That seems to be as good a place as any.”

He led her to a tent with a sign above it promising the wonders of the educated pig. But there was no one in front of it but an old man.

“Next show ain’t for an hour,” the man said when he saw them. “But I could let you in fer half price now,” he added hopefully.

“I’ll give you full price, if you can give me some information,” Christian said.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know much.”

“Aye, I’ll bet,” Christian said. “And your pig’s my uncle, too. Listen, I’m not a redbreast or a noser, all I need to know is what became of a cove who used to work here years ago. He was an acrobat, and took a header from a wire here, on this ground, some seventeen years past. Looked as though he’d snapped his neck. But up he came a moment after, to amaze the crowd. Yellow-thatched he was, and dressed in red. Remember him?”

“Oh, well,” the old man said with relief. “Hand over the gelt, my man, I knows him. Knowed him, that is. He ain’t with us no more.”

“Yes, I heard he passed over,” Christian said.

“Him? Nah, he’s still above ground. It were the Sparrow what stuck his spoon in the wall two years back. He’s the bloke who fell to rise again, like the advertisements went. Made a pretty penny at it, too, until he cocked up his toes. It weren’t the act what done for him, it were a cough, not the fall, because he knew the way of it. No, what you seen
here
was Alfie Brogan, the poor sod…pardon, lady,” he said to Christian’s sudden frown.

“Alf’s sprightly enough,” the old man continued. “Pure luck. He guv up the act after that day, the first and last time he done it. See, he was trying to do what Sparrow did, but almost broke his neck. Scared him as much as the crowd, and he couldn’t straighten up for a twelvemonth. If you needs to talk to him, he’s in Coventry now, making saddles for his bread ’n butter.”

Christain smiled. “You relieve my mind as well as my purse. I saw him that day, and didn’t think I was
such a flat as to fall for an act. Thank you.” He handed the old man his coins. The fellow took them and touched his hand to his hat.

“Now,” Christian told Julianne, “we can go. I’m satisfied. It was a point I had to make.”

She looked at him curiously.

“Your cousin said I saw the acrobat in London,” he explained. “I wanted to prove her wrong. What we saw was a one-time-only show.”

Julianne smiled and walked away with him. She only glanced back when Christian turned his head. He looked back at the old man they’d just spoken with. The old fellow grinned and gave them a wink.

She almost stumbled. “The ground’s uneven,” she said quickly, to cover her doubt and confusion. Was it a wink to show a job well-done? Or was the old man just being friendly now that he’d coins to warm his pocket? She looked down at her feet to avoid Christian’s eyes. “Do you think Sophie and Hammond will be at the carriage waiting for us?” she asked, to divert him.

“Likely,” he said, “but they can wait a minute more.”

He stopped. She looked up and around, to see that they were standing behind a tent, alone. He’d gotten them out of the crowd.

“At last,” he said with satisfaction, “at least, this.” He bent his head and kissed her lightly on the lips.

She knew she shouldn’t have leaned in for his kiss. Knew very well it was wrong to wrap her arms around his neck and press close to him so she could kiss more thoroughly. Understood entirely that it was
foolish and fast, and folly and not what she ought to do at all. But she knew even better that his mouth was warm and delicious and that there’d never been anything like what she felt when his arms closed tightly around her.

She also knew that though she’d closed her eyes the sun was shining brightly, and that there were hundreds of people around them who might discover them at any moment. And knew even better that she’d be sorry later, when she thought about it. And so though her heart was beating fast, she was as glad as she was sorry when he let her go.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I refuse to perform for an audience.”

She blinked, and looked around. She saw no one.

“Come on,” Christian said wearily as he raised his head. “Show your ugly face. I saw your long shadow, and I swear I could hear you breathing.”

A tall, fair-haired man with a bent nose stepped out of a shadow and grinned at Christian. “Well, I’m that surprised you could hear me breathing over your panting, sir. Give you good day, ma’am,” he said politely to Julianne, as he bowed. “Whoever you are. Because believe me, I don’t know and won’t tell.”

“Better not,” Christian muttered. “Nameless lady, I give you Captain Anthony Briggs, a blasted rogue whose job it is to watch my every move so as to keep the general public safe, I suppose. The squire is his employer, and the Devil is his master. Don’t tell me the redbreast is lurking behind another tree,” he said to the captain.