mugs over one sturdy thumb and carried the lot out onto the porch.
Back inside she finally looked at my ankle, clicked her tongue and sighed. ‘Broken without a doubt. Have you brought papers?’
I had no idea what she meant. What papers? Did I need documents before I was treated?
Mrs Ingram sighed again. ‘I can see you have not brought any. The doctor prefers the Taranaki Herald to the Wanganui Chronicle , it is firmer when rolled, but will accept either.’ She frowned at me. ‘Breaks are common you know. We do not have an endless supply.’ But she handled my poor limb gently enough, settling it on a pillow then tying the pillow firmly around it with a ribbon. Suddenly she slumped into a chair in the corner. ‘Lord, I am about to drop. We’ll both have a little shut-eye till the doctor returns.’
With that she was asleep and snoring, her cup of tea and my plight ignored. The lamp burned low, the natives on the porch continued to cough. I sat there in the gloom, contemplating what desperate future I might be facing. What if the ankle were damaged permanently? Would I ever be able to perform again? Throb, throb, throb, the ankle beat time to my fears.
Little did I know that the ‘disaster’ would turn into an opportunity , and a turning point in my career. Doctor Ingram arrived near morning, riding the fresh horse, and leaving Jack Lacey to bring back his exhausted mount. The doctor was a little man, half the size of his wife, brisk and kindly in manner, grumbling not at all over the loss of sleep or the tardiness of his groom. He quickly rolled up a pair of newspapers from a large stack by the stove. Placing one each side of my poor ankle he bound them expertly until the whole was rigid. The relief was immediate.
‘Now,’ he said with a sweet smile and a pat on my cheek, ‘we must have no weight on that pretty little ankle for two months.’
Two months! I must have shown my dismay, for he patted meagain, most kindly and attentive, but assured me that his advice was imperative. Then out he bustled to see to the group of natives on the veranda, one of whom seemed to be in a very poor way, gasping and wheezing while the others murmured prayers or incantations. By the time Jack Lacey arrived all in a lather, with the doctor’s first horse tossing and blowing and his own foaming at the mouth, I believe the sick native had died.
The day had dawned bright and clear. The ride back to Foley’s Circus in the doctor’s dog-cart should have been a delight, but all I could think of was those two months of inaction, and how I should manage. Jack Lacey seemed to be in the best of moods and chatted on about plans and schemes. I couldn’t pay attention; his cheery manner only disheartened me further.
At Castlecliff the circus was packing again. All was lively bustle and commotion. Mr Foley’s pride and joy, his pair of zebras — no longer ‘domesticated’ it would seem — had somehow broken loose and were heading for the beach. Mr Foley, riding on Lucy, was trying to head them off, while Mr Rossiter held desperately to the rope securing the two-headed goat, which seemed to have the same wandering intentions. No one was interested in my arrival.
‘Put me down near Maria,’ I mumbled, close to tears. Maria sat on a barrel, dressed in her usual flamboyant fashion, laughing at the antics all around.
‘Oh Lily,’ she gasped when she saw me, ‘the most wonderful news!’ Then saw my gloomy face. ‘My dear, how can you frown when such a handsome fellow escorts you? Shame, shame!’ And curtseyed to Mr Lacey as if he were a gentleman, not a doctor’s groom.
‘Madame Tournear,’ said Jack, ‘you have a wonderful daughter. I am quite in love with her!’
Maria laughed even louder at that. She flounced up to the dog-cart and whispered, ‘Mrs bloody Foley is leaving the circus for good! You can’t imagine the shouting and raging that went on last night.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I am carrying Mr
Back inside she finally looked at my ankle, clicked her tongue and sighed. ‘Broken without a doubt. Have you brought papers?’
I had no idea what she meant. What papers? Did I need documents before I was treated?
Mrs Ingram sighed again. ‘I can see you have not brought any. The doctor prefers the Taranaki Herald to the Wanganui Chronicle , it is firmer when rolled, but will accept either.’ She frowned at me. ‘Breaks are common you know. We do not have an endless supply.’ But she handled my poor limb gently enough, settling it on a pillow then tying the pillow firmly around it with a ribbon. Suddenly she slumped into a chair in the corner. ‘Lord, I am about to drop. We’ll both have a little shut-eye till the doctor returns.’
With that she was asleep and snoring, her cup of tea and my plight ignored. The lamp burned low, the natives on the porch continued to cough. I sat there in the gloom, contemplating what desperate future I might be facing. What if the ankle were damaged permanently? Would I ever be able to perform again? Throb, throb, throb, the ankle beat time to my fears.
Little did I know that the ‘disaster’ would turn into an opportunity , and a turning point in my career. Doctor Ingram arrived near morning, riding the fresh horse, and leaving Jack Lacey to bring back his exhausted mount. The doctor was a little man, half the size of his wife, brisk and kindly in manner, grumbling not at all over the loss of sleep or the tardiness of his groom. He quickly rolled up a pair of newspapers from a large stack by the stove. Placing one each side of my poor ankle he bound them expertly until the whole was rigid. The relief was immediate.
‘Now,’ he said with a sweet smile and a pat on my cheek, ‘we must have no weight on that pretty little ankle for two months.’
Two months! I must have shown my dismay, for he patted meagain, most kindly and attentive, but assured me that his advice was imperative. Then out he bustled to see to the group of natives on the veranda, one of whom seemed to be in a very poor way, gasping and wheezing while the others murmured prayers or incantations. By the time Jack Lacey arrived all in a lather, with the doctor’s first horse tossing and blowing and his own foaming at the mouth, I believe the sick native had died.
The day had dawned bright and clear. The ride back to Foley’s Circus in the doctor’s dog-cart should have been a delight, but all I could think of was those two months of inaction, and how I should manage. Jack Lacey seemed to be in the best of moods and chatted on about plans and schemes. I couldn’t pay attention; his cheery manner only disheartened me further.
At Castlecliff the circus was packing again. All was lively bustle and commotion. Mr Foley’s pride and joy, his pair of zebras — no longer ‘domesticated’ it would seem — had somehow broken loose and were heading for the beach. Mr Foley, riding on Lucy, was trying to head them off, while Mr Rossiter held desperately to the rope securing the two-headed goat, which seemed to have the same wandering intentions. No one was interested in my arrival.
‘Put me down near Maria,’ I mumbled, close to tears. Maria sat on a barrel, dressed in her usual flamboyant fashion, laughing at the antics all around.
‘Oh Lily,’ she gasped when she saw me, ‘the most wonderful news!’ Then saw my gloomy face. ‘My dear, how can you frown when such a handsome fellow escorts you? Shame, shame!’ And curtseyed to Mr Lacey as if he were a gentleman, not a doctor’s groom.
‘Madame Tournear,’ said Jack, ‘you have a wonderful daughter. I am quite in love with her!’
Maria laughed even louder at that. She flounced up to the dog-cart and whispered, ‘Mrs bloody Foley is leaving the circus for good! You can’t imagine the shouting and raging that went on last night.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I am carrying Mr
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