The Transformation of Bartholomew Fortuno: A Novel (16 page)

I
WAS
still thinking of Alley when I entered the exhibit room, but when I saw the unusually large crowd that had gathered a few feet down from Matina, curiosity took over. I scrambled onto the riser where Matina sat tableau and gave her an inquiring look. She shook her head in disgust and pinched her nose between two fingers in defense against a strong smell in the air. It took me a moment to recognize the odor: incense.

“Don’t even
look
to your right,” Matina said, rolling her eyes. “It’s the kitchen girl, all made up and stinking like a whore.”

I hoisted myself onto her plank bed, craning my neck to see. Sure enough, it was Bridgett who had drawn the crowd. She sat cross-legged on a pile of silver pillows, her eyes blackened with kohl, her hair dark and tempestuous as a storm. Standing near her, a musician dressed like a Turk strummed a long-necked instrument, the notes miserable and strange. My chest pinched at the sight.

“Whatever is Barnum thinking?” I shook my head, shading my eyes to better inspect the bystanders. “No one will believe such a thing.”

Matina shrugged. “You wouldn’t think so, but the crowds have been like this for nearly two hours.”

She was right. Traffic had stopped in front of Bridgett’s tableau. Lingering visitors blocked the way for those waiting behind them. Across the room, Emma nodded to me from the oversized chair where
she rocked, knitting like a grandmama. It had crossed my mind at breakfast to corner her and demand to know how she’d become acquainted with Iell and how she seemed to know so much about her when the rest of us labored in the dark, then tell her I knew all about her being in cahoots with Barnum. But I worried that what I did might get back to Matina, so I said nothing. And now I feared we’d tied ourselves together in a mutual secret. Perhaps, later on, I would take Emma aside and speak to her privately.

Laughter. Bridgett had apparently said something amusing, because those nearest her seemed caught in the hilarity of the moment. I hopped down off the plank bed, my knees buckling slightly when I landed.

“Perhaps they are laughing
at
her, not
with
—”

“Please, Barthy. Let’s not make it worse by pretending.” Matina fanned around her face as if to ward off evil. “Though I must admit, Barnum has gussied her up nicely. She looks quite fetching.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I scolded. “She’s a Gaff, an insult to the rest of us. Barnum created her from nothing.”

“Oh, honestly,” Matina said, slipping on her veils, “how is she that much different from the rest of us?” She patted her belly. “You could say I created myself simply by eating.”

“You did no such thing. You have a special capacity.”

Matina ignored my look of dismay. “No. I believe that the prob-o-lem”—she articulated carefully—“is not that she’s a Gaff but that she’s done nothing to earn her spot. At least nothing we know of.” She winked at me.

“I saw Bridgett in McNealy’s last night with Willie Wheatley.”

Matina’s eyes lit up. “That little harlot. What did I tell you? Probably some arrangement between Willie and Barnum. Though you know, it really isn’t right. Quite disturbing, in fact. I mean, if just
anyone
can get up here, how secure are we?”

The north door opened and Mr. Fish entered the exhibit room, clipboard in hand. Matina turned from me and focused her attention
on the customers walking by, the professional thing to do, especially with Fish roaming around as he often did. But now my ire was up. All I could hear was Bridgett’s silly laughter.

Matina was right. Bridgett was clearing platters and dirty knives one day and transformed into a Circassian beauty the next. Was it luck or guile or just trading sexual favors? When Barnum discovered me, I was risking my life for my craft. My face flushed at the memory of the night that Josip slipped off the wire and crashed to his death. A mere ten minutes more and he’d have come down safely, then climbed back up with me clinging to his neck. And then we
both
would have fallen. How many nights had I dreamed of the audience screaming in appreciation as we splattered onto the sawdust, bones cracking and blood and guts spreading everywhere?

“Sir, I’d like a card, but I can’t stand here all morning.”

An old woman stood below me, holding out a shaking nickel and scowling. She was dressed in expensive clothes and carried a parasol of Battenberg lace.

I fumbled through the basket we kept beneath the bench and dug out one of my
cartes
. She patted me on the wrist with a gloved hand, one of her bone buttons loose and dangling by a thread. Matina handed me one of my life-story pamphlets, arching an eyebrow to remind me of my obligation to try to sell it, but I didn’t have the heart. The damned thing was such fakery. Exactly the kind of thing I’d been stewing about. I tossed the pamphlet into the basket and flipped over my
carte
, pen in hand.

“To Mrs. Harrington. Could you write that for me? And I’d like the pamphlet too, if you would be so kind.”

Grudgingly, I wrote what she requested. She examined the
carte
and grimaced. It showed a likeness of me taken when I’d first come to the Museum. Still in my teens then, I smiled rakishly and displayed my thinness in a skin-tight harlequin costume of black and gold. The pamphlet contained an essay written by Barnum. It told a spurious tale of a dying woman who’d spawned me after successfully mating
with a cadaver. It claimed that later I’d lived alone in a cave along the coast of the Aegean Sea eating nothing but sea crabs until pirates rescued me. Who could ever believe such drivel?

“My, my, sir. You
have
had a difficult time of it.”

I caught a glimpse of compassion in the old woman’s eyes and I decided to accept it. Aside from the obvious aches and pains, I’d lived a life of deprivation.

Softening to her, I said, “All trials have their gifts, Madam.”

“Hers too, do you think?” The old woman held up a brand-new
carte
of a wild-haired, snake-charming Gypsy—that is to say, Bridgett—standing at the mouth of a cave in a poor man’s Garden of Eden, big bold letters beneath her feet saying
MADAME ZOUVE, THE CIRCASSIAN WOMAN
. “Can you imagine living in the mountains with infidels? Makes me shiver all over.”

I reached low and snapped my
carte
out of the old woman’s hands. The woman flushed and grabbed her nickel back. “You are
not
a nice man,” she said, and scurried away.

“That was brave, seeing as Fish is in the room,” Matina said. She was reclining on top of her plank bed, watching the old woman push through the crowd toward Bridgett. “Don’t let that floozy maid upset you, Barthy. The girl has no dignity, carrying on like that. She’ll never last.” A sudden streak of sunlight from a high window spread over Matina’s face, and she tilted her head up to soak in the warmth. “By the way,” she said, eyes closed, tender little smile, “I see that Fish has not posted anything about that scarf you found.”

“No? I left it in his office this morning. With a note,” I lied. “He must have already found the owner.” I turned away so she wouldn’t see me blush.

“Do you think so?” Matina mused, her eyes still closed.

My innocent omissions were building. After so much deception, how could I explain myself to Matina, even if I wanted to tell her the truth? She knew me as an honest man. I thought back on the previous day’s conversation with Iell. How could I possibly discuss it with Matina when I’d never told her I met the new act? Pity, too, because I would
have valued Matina’s expert analysis. Iell hadn’t said a word about her own experiences. Had her childhood been idyllic or wretched? If forced to guess, I would have said idyllic. Most likely her gift, like mine, didn’t wholly reveal itself until puberty. I could easily picture her as a beautiful child playing in the sun.

A hard rap on the end of my shoe brought the Museum back into focus.

“Fortuno? Wake up, man.”

Fish stood in front of the platform looking at me, knocking my foot again with the end of his cane. “Mr. Barnum wants to see you. Right now, if you please.”

W
HEN I
got to Barnum’s office, I found him slumped behind his desk, his head bent over something that required so much attention he didn’t seem to have heard me enter. I waited—hands clasped behind my back for stability—and tried to still my racing heart. Eventually, Barnum lifted his head.

“Have a seat,” he said, but rather than offer the cushy leather chair, he nodded me toward an old Brewster in the corner with a thatched seat and wooden back. “So tell me, Mr. Fortuno. Are you enjoying your new costume?”

The damned chair hurt. It was all but impossible to avoid pressing into the crossbars.

“Couldn’t be better, Mr. Barnum. The tights are a thing of beauty. And I want to thank you for speaking to Thaddeus, because he’s been most respectful to me all week.”

Barnum unbuttoned his jacket and lifted his hands behind his head, then splayed back into his big chair, the springs squeaking with his weight. “And your new task. How might that be coming along?”

“The birds are fat with food,” I said. Should I tell him that I’d seen Iell? What would Iell wish for me to disclose?

Barnum frowned. “Don’t toy with me, Fortuno. Have you seen the woman or not?”

“Do you mean Mrs. Adams?”

“Of course that’s who I mean.” He slapped his hand hard against his desk, making me jerk upright.

“I had the opportunity to talk briefly with her yesterday in the Arboretum, sir. She was having tea with the giantess, Emma Swan.”

“Yes, I know that.” Barnum leaned forward, his forearms on the desk flattening the papers between us. “But what I’d really like to know is whether Mrs. Adams seemed to be getting along well with our Emma.”

If he and Emma were working together, what was he after?

“They seemed to manage well enough,” I answered, as calmly as I could, “though they are quite the unlikely duo, if you ask me. All the three of us did was exchange pleasantries, not much else. Mrs. Adams seemed quite interested in my opinion of current scientific thinking, though I’m sure she was only being polite. Then, on a more personal note, we discussed our childhoods—”

“Don’t prattle on,” Barnum chided. “Is that all you spoke of?”

“Not much else, I’m afraid. . . . Although we did speak for a moment about protectors.”

“What about protectors?” The sudden fire in Barnum’s eyes told me why he’d dragged me in here. What an idiot I was. I had told Iell about fetching the parcel in Chinatown, and Emma had reported this back to him. Barnum must be furious, and I didn’t relish the tongue-lashing that was sure to come.

But Barnum said nothing. I looked at him. He was still waiting for me to answer. Maybe Emma hadn’t spoken with him yet. But wouldn’t he know soon enough? And wouldn’t it be wiser to have it come from me?

Testing the water, I said, “I mentioned that we all owe an allegiance to you, sir. Thought a word on your behalf might help.”

Barnum smiled. “Yes. I’m sure we could all benefit from a good word from you, Fortuno.”

His sarcasm didn’t sit all that well with me, but I preferred sarcasm to scolding.

A clock on the shelf behind Barnum chimed out the half hour. The clock was shaped like a woodland cottage, and at the sound of the chime, a small ceramic rabbit ran out the clock’s door, a spring-wound hunter following in its wake. How fitting, I thought. Determined to ignore the growing tension in the room, I tapped my foot against the bottom rung of the chair. Perhaps it would be best to spit out the rest. Protect myself.

“I might have mentioned that I’d fetched a parcel from the Chinaman for you. Mrs. Adams seemed to think it was hers. It would have been helpful to know that fact in advance. It might have saved the lady and myself an awkward moment.”

Barnum furrowed his brow; I could see that his interest in Iell ran deep. “She knows you went to the Chinaman’s for me?”

“It was an innocent comment, Mr. Barnum. Nothing to be alarmed about.”

“Alarmed? Don’t be silly. I’m not alarmed.” Barnum hesitated and picked up the obsidian rock that sat on the corner of his desk, pointing it to his temple. “What was her reaction?”

“Quite calm. She expressed her gratitude. Nothing more.”

“No anger? Histrionics?”

“No, sir.”

Barnum tapped a finger against the desk. “She’s just prone to fanciful notions, I’m afraid. And who knows what she’s made of my asking you to take care of something I’d promised to do myself.” He searched my face for clues. “The truth is, Iell is quite valuable, and I am hoping to guide her career.”

“Like Jenny Lind, the opera star?”

“Exactly. And for that she must trust me. But she must also know her limitations. So I will continue to need information about her comings and goings when I am not around.”

“She
is
special, isn’t she?” I said

“Yes, Fortuno, she certainly is that.”

We sat together in silence for a moment, each aware that the other might have said too much.

“Perhaps if I had access to Mrs. Adams’s show?” I said, pressing my advantage.