The Transformation of Bartholomew Fortuno: A Novel (36 page)

Then a thought made my stomach turn again. Were
all
of us equally expendable? With a wave of cold realization, I realized that Alley’s removal proved that the Barnums would not hesitate to fire a popular act. None of our positions at the Museum were safe. Even though I had just toyed with the idea of leaving the Museum, it was quite a different matter to be dismissed, and if I wanted to guard against that, I needed to make provisions to stand on my own.

T
HE RAVEN SQUAWKED TWICE WHEN
I entered the Arboretum the next night, and the parrot I’d named Arrow flew up from his perch like a rising star. All day I’d been lost in thoughts of my troubles—Alley being removed, the loss of Matina, the Barnums and Iell—and the next thing I knew, I was kneeling in the rock garden where I’d buried the root. My hands moved by some unseen force. They plucked out the stone I’d used to mark the spot and then brushed away the gravel until I saw the tip of the bag.

One good yank and out it came, dust and gravel flying, and when I lifted the root to my nose, I smelled that familiar odor, fungal and dry. My mouth watered as my tongue touched the end of the root. The raven squawked.

With nary a thought, I ripped into the root. The bitterness clung to my tongue and spread along the inside of my mouth.

I chewed and chewed until none of the bitter taste remained. I swallowed the pulp and waited, then shuddered at a vision of Iell sitting near a stream, her skirts splayed out in the water. She held her beard with one hand and snipped at it with a tiny pair of scissors, the clippings falling into the stream, carried away toward some distant sea. My blood grew hotter. I could feel it bubble beneath the surface of my joints, down my thighs and through the back of my knees. My stomach burned as if it were full of fire.

I had to see Iell. Not later but now. What did it matter how late
the hour? I needed to share my intentions—to let her know I was willing to take her away or keep her here, Whatever she wished. Despite her cold dismissal of me when last I saw her, she must know I loved her. My headache blurred with excitement. Yes. I loved her. I loved Iell!

Ignoring any fear of discovery, I put the root into my pocket and ran out of the Arboretum, whipping through the Museum’s front door and into the street with nary a thought. Let them see me. Let them throw me out on my ear like Alley. What did I care? Although it was after midnight, dozens of carriages still trolled the street looking for passengers. I hailed the first one I saw and shimmied onto the seat, shaking like a leaf. The fire in my belly spread through my limbs, and by the time the driver dropped me off at Mrs. Beeton’s, I was a man possessed.

I pushed quietly through the wooden gate, the boardinghouse completely dark. Best not to disturb the matron, I decided, and moved stealthily along a path that led to the far side of the house. Through a window, I saw a darkened kitchen on the first floor, with a cast-iron stove, a brick oven, and an empty table covered by a lace cloth. To my left was a curved wooden stairway that snaked up the side of the house toward a sleeping porch. At the far end of the second floor, I spotted Iell’s window.

From the shadows, I studied the black rectangle. She’d already gone to sleep. Of course she had. Yet I couldn’t bear the idea of leaving without at least a glimpse of her. I paced the dark walk, up and back and up again. I knew I shouldn’t be standing outside her window in the middle of the night, but I had to tell her that I loved her and would make her safe. Quite unexpectedly, her light went on. I took it as a sign.

I hopped onto the landing and swung myself up to the sleeping porch, inching past an unmade bed. It was easy enough to slip into the house through a curtain-covered arch and creep down the second-floor hallway toward Iell’s door. I tapped lightly so as not to disturb anyone else. She did not respond. I knocked one more, this time with more force, and waited. Nothing. Not able to help myself, I hit the
frame with my fist, fighting disappointment, but just as I turned to leave, Iell opened the door.

“Bartholomew, is that you? However did you get in here?” Iell was wearing a long mauve walking cape that covered a hoopskirt and swept all the way to the carpet. Her beard hung loose. Every few inches she’d tied tiny white feathers into it, like she was transforming into a dove. But her eyes had a hawklike sharpness I’d never seen before, and she smelled of smoke and incense. “Is something wrong?”

“Forgive me,” I said, relieved just to be in her presence. “I felt terrible about leaving you the other morning with such bad news, and I simply had to see you.”

“Come in then. Sit. Just give me a moment to get my bearings.” Iell took hold of my arm and steered me into the half-lit parlor. A parasol rested against the wall inside the door, and I realized that she herself had just returned home. She walked me past the English cupboard where I’d hidden not long ago, and then into her private sitting room. Taking me by the shoulders, she guided me down into a chair and then drifted around, lighting wall sconces and lamps.

Sitting back, I watched her in awe. She
was
the medievalist’s Scythian lamb, the
Lusus naturae
, the rarest creature in my mother’s classification system. Although some might consider Iell’s androgynous beauty unseemly, for a man like me—a connoisseur of remarkable bodies and gifts—she was perfection.

When she disappeared into her bedroom and returned in a lounging dress of pale gray—no hoop beneath the skirt now, so it hung free and close to her hips—my loins stirred. This time I did not fight the sensation. I simply allowed it to happen.

Iell dropped onto the chaise longue, her red hair floating down around her like feathers before settling onto her shoulders.

“Despite the late hour, I’m delighted to see you,” she said. “I’ve not had an easy night, and I could use a little companionship.”

“Iell,” I began, heart thumping. “I have something to tell you.”

She sighed. “You must give me one moment more, I’m afraid. As I said, I’ve not had an easy night.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and waited while Iell repeated her ritual, pulling the pipe from a drawer in the table near her, along with an ivory box out of which she plucked a wad of opium. She rolled it into a ball, tucked it snugly into the pipe, and lit it with a long taper. The sticky smell of the opium turned my stomach a bit, but the smoke lulled me into a sort of stupor, quieting my urges. I sank deeper into my chair, woozy, as if I were smoking as well.

After a while, Iell seemed to fall asleep, and although I was still dying to confess my feelings, I was now content simply to watch over her. The muffed ringing of unfamiliar church bells pealed from parts of the city I had never seen. A night owl screeched from some nearby perch. Iell opened her eyes.

“Did you hear that?” She looked at me. “Soon some poor city mouse is about to be snatched up for dinner.” She plucked at the top of her skirt, playing the silk between her thumb and finger. “Unless of course the mouse can find a way to escape his fate.”

I wanted to proclaim my love but said, instead, “Have you recovered from my news about Mrs. Barnum?”

“Honestly, Bartholomew, you mustn’t worry so. I’m an adult and am used to finding my own way in the world.”

“Mightn’t it be easier with a little assistance?” I said, inching toward the truth. “Some people in the world care very much for you, you know.”

One of Iell’s eyebrows, thin as the line made by a fine quill pen, arched slightly. “People?”

Now was the time to confess my love. I froze. What if she denied me? Or, worse, laughed?

Iell let my silence pass. “Are you still close with that woman friend of yours?”

I hesitated. “You mean Matina? Well, we’ve been friends for years.” A vision of Matina’s pretty face crossed my mind. “But we’ve had many differences lately.”

“I see.” The opium smoke flitted across Iell’s eyes and mouth. “And did those differences get in the way of your pleasure?”

“Our pleasure?” It took me a moment to understand what Iell meant. “Just the opposite, in fact.” I remembered Matina’s warm, rolling flesh, and how lying on top of her was as soothing as a warm bath. I crossed my legs at the knee and leaned forward in my chair. “Her differences were quite delightful.”

“Ahhhh.” Iell closed her eyes once more, giving me another opportunity to study her face, the planes of her cheekbones rising smoothly out of her beard. How easy to imagine what she would look like as a normal woman.

“What gets in the way of
your
pleasure?” I asked boldly, attempting to take control of the conversation.

Iell stirred and ran one hand down the length of her arm. “What gets in
my
way is too complicated to explain right now,” she answered. “But perhaps soon, together, we can explore such a question in more depth.”

Together. We would be together soon. Once I confessed my love to her, I could tell Iell that I was willing to take care of her. If only I could find the right words.

Iell’s skirt rustled as she stood and walked over to my chair. She slid in next to me, the backrest supporting us both, the armrests pushing us up against each other. When she kissed me, her beard tickled my chin to the point of ecstasy. I pulled her closer and slid a hand up the length of her fine back, rolling my fingers along her spine. I reached down and slipped off one of her satin pumps, wrapping my fingers around her ankle.

“I have something to tell you,” I whispered.

“A secret?” Iell asked, pulling away her foot. “Would you like to know one of my secrets first?” Her voice was raspy and deep.

“I think I’ve already guessed it.”

“Have you now?” She let her shoe dangle, then drop. It fell to the floor but made no sound.

“You want a protector,” I whispered into her ear. “Someone to care for you and take you away from all of this.”

She did not pull away. “Is that what you think?”

“That’s why you speak of choice. Of change.” I ran a hand across her hair, inhaling her rose perfume. “You thought Barnum would protect you, but now, with his wife in the way, you want me to help you be free of them both.”

Iell stiffened in my arms, then withdrew. She stood, her beard spilling across her chest. One of the white feathers she’d woven into it came untied and floated toward the window. “If all I wanted was to go away,” she said, “I would have accepted Mrs. Barnum’s fine offer without reservation.”

I looked up, surprised. “You’ve spoken to her?”

“No, of course not. Not directly. One of her agents brought me her terms, and I thought about the proposition longer than you might suspect.”

Many feelings overwhelmed me—astonishment, awe, guilt, the urge to hold Iell and never let her leave me.

“You’d be a fool to trust her,” I said.

Iell nodded.

“Once you’d left, who knows how long she would keep her word.” I reached up and took hold of one of Iell’s hands, tugging her back into the chair with me. She let me hold her. “What is it you really want?” I asked, her perfume making me dizzy. “Tell me what you want,” I repeated, knowing I was at risk of being told what I might not want to hear. “We can stay here in the Museum if we band together. Or we could go to Peale’s in Philadelphia. They’d take us, I’m certain of it. I could write a letter to them today.” I swallowed my fear. “If you’ll just tell me what you want, I will do anything to help you get it.”

“Quite honestly, Bartholomew,” she answered, again taking up the opium pipe, “I’m not really sure.”

The lamp near our chair flickered and went out. The two of us sat together in the darkness, Iell curled against me, nodding in and out of sleep. After a time, I carefully lifted the pipe from her limp fingers and placed it on the table. She sighed when I got up. She may not have known what she wanted, but it was clear she needed me more than
ever. And even though I’d never actually confessed my love, saying that I would do anything in my power to help her was almost the same.

I kissed Iell gently on the forehead and let myself out. As I walked through her door, I took a last look at my own image in the gilded mirror near her door.

S
ATURDAY MORNING
brought with it the sense that I’d skirted some terrible disaster the night before. Why did my stomach ache so? I looked over to my bedside table, where I’d put the root. Thank God it hadn’t driven me mad last night the way it had with Matina.

As soon as I rose from my new bed—it had felt like sleeping in the clouds—I took a thin slice of the root, chewed it, and swallowed the desiccated pulp. I had been eating it with increasing frequency, and I tried to ignore how small it was growing. I needed to go to the Chinaman soon and ask for more.

Dressing in haste, I hurried to the Green Room and was unusually pleased to find many of my colleagues chattering in the dressing room. My effusive greetings and backslapping raised an eyebrow or two, but it felt good to be back where I belonged. And when Fish came in at his usual time, and posted a special notice, I was thrilled to discover that I was listed to perform in the first of the morning shows.