‘I’m so sorry,’ she said tonelessly. As she turned to leave the caravan, she caught a glow of pure pleasure in Mr Farrell’s eyes.
‘Now, I wonder what that means?’ she asked herself aloud as she walked away. ‘Mr Farrell and Mr Jones are not at one, it seems. Ooh, how I would like to boil that Jones in engine oil. How dare he touch me like that!’
‘You had trouble with Jones?’ asked a plump girl who was sitting on an upturned bucket mending tights. ‘He’s a cur. Felt me all over as though I was livestock.’
‘I kicked him in the shin,’ said Phryne with simple pride. The plump girl laughed.
‘Good for you! What’s your name? Can you darn?’
‘Fern. I can’t darn, sorry.’
‘Can’t be helped. Kicked ’im in the shins, eh?’ She laughed again. ‘I’m Dulcie. What’s your line?’
‘Horses.’
‘Oh, you must be replacing Allie. Hope you have better luck.’
‘What do you do?’
‘Juggler,’ said Dulcie laconically. ‘Magician’s assistant, wardrobe, costumes, and I’m one of the elephant girls. You doing anything special?’
‘No, I was just going to have a look around.’
‘I’ll take yer, if you like. Your reward for kicking that mongrel Jones.’ She stuffed the tights and thread into a canvas bag. ‘I could darn tights all day and never get to the end of ’em. You’d better learn to sew, though. You want me to introduce you?’
‘Thanks, I’d like that. It’s big, isn’t it?’
Dulcie stood up and stretched. She was the same size as Phryne but plump, with small hands and feet, brown eyes and hair, and a round cheerful face like a doll’s.
‘Biggest thing there is. The circus has magic. Changes people’s lives. Look at me. I was working in a shop when I was fourteen. Came to the circus and got put on a horse on a governor in the clown’s act. I stuck on good-o and Mr Farrell asked me if I’d like to join. Never went back. Couldn’t go back, p’raps. It’s a hard life but most of ’em are. This way you get to travel and . . . well, you’ll see. If it gets you, you’ll never be happy staying in one place again.’
They had reached the Williamstown Road boundary. The circus camp was spread out before them, bright with banners and humming with activity.
‘Now, there are three camps. Because we have to set up in a hurry, sometimes in the dark or the rain, the tents and caravans are always in the same order. Next to the big top there’s men on the right and women on the left. Then after that, all round the big top, there’s the caravans. We can tie the guys to them and it steadies the tent. From the left there’s the clowns, two of ’em, Matt and Toby Shakespeare. Then there’s the lion tamers, then three jugglers. After them there’s the Cat’lans, they’re balancers, you know, the Human Pyramid. They don’t speak much English, you stay away from ’em.’
‘Why?’
‘Foreigners. They’re,’ her voice lowered to a whisper, ‘almost gypsies. Mr Farrell don’t like to hear us say that but you just take the hint, Fern. Then, going round the big top, there’s the three trucks that hold the seating and the canvas, then the two caravans of the flyers. The Bevans. You’ve heard of ’em. Famous trapeze artists. Lynn Bevan, that’s the daughter, does the triple somersault, which is what all of them flyers aim for. She can do it two times out of three. Out from the big top to the left there’s the booths of the carnies. Don’t go near ’em alone. Not after dark. To the left of the carnies there’s the big cats, the lions. We only got lions here, they’re more reliable than tigers. Tigers is got a dirty temper. I wouldn’t trust a tiger so far as I could spit. The other side, to the right, there’s the horse lines, the camels and the elephants. You gotta put them as far away from the lions as you can. Our horses is well trained and won’t spook, p’raps, but lions and horses don’t get on. That’s why we only feed our lions on beef or mutton. Not horse. We don’t want ’em to get a taste for horse. Come on. We’ll go take a look at the folk. Where do you want to start?’
‘What are those other caravans over there, past the elephants?’
‘Gypsies,’ said Dulcie, spitting. ‘That’s the gypsies. You don’t want to notice them. They don’t like being noticed overmuch. Now, where shall we start?’
‘At the left,’ said Phryne. ‘I’ve already been to the horse lines.’
‘Oh, yair. Miss Molly talked to you? Be nice to her, Fern. Her fiance’s been murdered, so you can understand why she’s a bit short with you. She’s nice, or she was nice before someone killed Mr Christopher.’
‘Mr Christopher?’
‘Yair. Half-man, half-woman—Christopher and Christine as well. He had a turn in the show, just before interval. Some said that he ought to be in a booth in the carnival. But he was a nice bloke, or she was, you know what I mean. And Miss Molly, what wouldn’t go near a man except in the way of business, she was real gone on him. He seemed to be fond of her, too. It’s a real pity. I don’t reckon they’ll find who did it.’
‘Why not?’
‘No one cares about us,’ said Dulcie matter-of-factly. ‘We’re rogues and tramps and vagabonds and the cops don’t like us. They won’t extend themselves catching him, whoever he is. Besides, Mr Christopher wasn’t just a circus performer, he was a freak as well.’
‘Freak?’ growled a voice from knee level. ‘Freak? A glorious title.’
‘Oh, hello, Mr Burton,’ said Dulcie, after she had looked to either side. ‘This is the new rider, her name’s Fern.’
Mr Burton was a dwarf, dressed in cut-down overalls. Although he had the stature of a child, his face was wrinkled and his hair was grey. Phryne guessed that he might be forty-five. She knelt down and offered her hand.
‘Pleased,’ said Mr Burton, kissing the hand with a courtly flourish. His voice was educated and crisp. ‘Welcome. I’m Josiah Burton. Freaks, Dulcie?’
‘Yair. I was telling Fern about Mr Christopher and reckoning that the cops wouldn’t bother much about finding who killed him.’
The dwarf tapped his front teeth with a forefinger. ‘Hmm. All connected, I’d say, Dulcie. The fires and the lost beasts and the death of poor Mr Christopher. How’s Molly taking it?’ He cocked a bright dark eye at Phryne.
‘Not good,’ said Phryne. ‘She’s been crying a lot. And she was very sharp with me.’
‘You are a perceptive young woman, Miss Fern,’ commented Mr Burton. ‘Someone doesn’t like us and that’s a fact. I’m talking to Wirth’s. What about you, Dulcie?’
Dulcie seemed taken aback. ‘You reckon it’s that bad?’
‘I do. You’re taking her on the grand tour? Look out for the lions. Someone’s been niggling them. Listen.’
Deep, angry roaring disrupted the camp and seemed to echo out of the ground. Horses neighed and camels bubbled and honked, made uneasy by the feral voices of the flesh eaters.
‘Thanks for the warning. This way, Fern.’
Phryne followed Dulcie, stepping carefully over guys. A strong scent of cooking became apparent. Someone was having bubble and squeak for lunch.
‘Hello, Mr Shakespeare,’ said Dulcie. ‘Bit of bacon would go real well with that.’ A blocky middle-sized man with a painted face looked up from stirring a pot over a small fire. His features were disguised but he had clear and beautiful grey eyes, and he smiled under his mask.
‘Dulcie. Don’t be cheeky. How nice to see you. You want some potato and cabbage?’ He had a treacle-toffee voice, slightly accented. ‘It’s nearly ready.’
‘No thanks, I’m showing a newie around. This is our new rider, her name’s Fern. This is Mr Matthias Shakespeare. Him and his brother are our main clowns.’
‘Jo Jo and Toby, Musical Madness,’ said the man, taking Phryne’s hand with the one not occupied in stirring. ‘Being myself and my brother Toby. Welcome to the Circus. Toby! Come and meet a new rider.’
A muffled assenting voice came from the caravan and Toby emerged. He was dishevelled and evidently had been interrupted, as one eye was outlined in white and the other was bare.
‘Off with the motley, it’s lunch time,’ said Matthias. ‘Meet Fern.’
Matthias looked at Phryne with appreciation and seemed to wish to further the acquaintance. Then he was distracted by his brother.
‘I don’t think much of that new greasepaint, it’s dry and it flakes. I don’t think I want any lunch, Matt. Hello,
