Depression, and by observing what Aunt Lilac called ‘necessary economies’, which meant only two servants, and no cook or gardener, like they’d had at home, not even their own automobile and chauffeur.
Had the circus people been misled by Blue’s ten-pound note and the size of the house? No, she decided. Rich girls arrived at circuses in automobiles, with companions, not shuffling alone along a dusty road. Local gossip would have told them that the old women at the big house bought liver and shoulder of mutton, not leg of lamb and loin chops. Uncle Herbert had money, of course. They might have seen his car and chauffeur. Maybe that seemed riches enough to a barefoot boy. But she was sure he hadn’t been lying when he’d said that she wasn’t being taken for ransom.
The cocoon inched down the wall. Blue glanced down into the garden. The world was shadows: a rose bush, a lilac tree; she could see no people. Surely this couldn’t all have been engineered by a nine-year-old boy?
Maybe he was mad. Maybe every night after the circus the boy broke into homes and lowered the inhabitants out of their windows.
The ground met her, hard. She twisted like a caterpillar in a cocoon, trying to get free.
‘Shh.’ A shadow parted from the lilac tree. ‘Lie still,’ it whispered. Hands untied her, then pulled her to her feet.
Blue stared. She’d expected the ringmaster, or the peanut-seller. This was a woman, tall and wide-shouldered but with a timid rabbit-like face, in a long old-fashioned dress almost to her ankles, and a neat straw hat garlanded with what looked like ancient silk pansies.
The woman put her finger to her lips. She looked up and tugged on the right-hand rope. It fell neatly into her arms. The other followed.
A small figure appeared at the window, pulleys and straps secured about his waist. As Blue looked, the boy edged along the windowsill, reached out, then grabbed the drainpipe that led from the gutters into the water tank below. The boy clambered down, spider-like, until he was just above the tank, then leaped swiftly and neatly, avoiding the tank and a possible clang, landing on the ground by her feet.
It was a feat worthy of Tiny Titania.
He looked at her, grinning, then pulled her shoes out of his pockets and held them out to her triumphantly. He’s waiting for applause, she thought. He’s just got a girl out of a locked second-floor room …
Suddenly she grinned back at him, imagining Aunt Lilac’s face in the morning. Her niece had vanished from a locked room! A girl with scarred legs who couldn’t climb out a window and down two storeys into the garden. It was as good a mystery as any in The Girl’s Own Annual , and she was part of it.
The woman beckoned impatiently. She headed out the gate.
Blue bent down and slipped her shoes on over her stockingless feet. She shuffled after the woman, her knees wobbly with weakness, clumsy in her nightdress. I should have changed, she thought. Put on my dress, petticoats, hat …
The woman hesitated. She came back and put a firm arm under Blue’s shoulders to help her along.
It was embarrassing. It was also necessary, Blue realised. The faster they were gone, the less chance they would be seen.
She let herself be half dragged into the unknown. The boy — or dwarf or Tiny Titania — followed them.
Chapter 7
The lights, the crowds, the carts and the automobiles had vanished, as though they had all been part of the circus’s illusions. Only the trampled thistles and scattered tickets and peanut shells showed there had ever been a crowd here.
The Big Top hung limp in the moonlight. As Blue watched, it collapsed on itself. Two dim figures moved purposefully about its folds.
A single lamp shone in the window of the old-fashioned caravan. The other two caravans were dark. The elephant still stood by her pile of hay, making no effort to get away, even now the Big Top was no longer closing her in. As Blue looked, the big animal curled her
Had the circus people been misled by Blue’s ten-pound note and the size of the house? No, she decided. Rich girls arrived at circuses in automobiles, with companions, not shuffling alone along a dusty road. Local gossip would have told them that the old women at the big house bought liver and shoulder of mutton, not leg of lamb and loin chops. Uncle Herbert had money, of course. They might have seen his car and chauffeur. Maybe that seemed riches enough to a barefoot boy. But she was sure he hadn’t been lying when he’d said that she wasn’t being taken for ransom.
The cocoon inched down the wall. Blue glanced down into the garden. The world was shadows: a rose bush, a lilac tree; she could see no people. Surely this couldn’t all have been engineered by a nine-year-old boy?
Maybe he was mad. Maybe every night after the circus the boy broke into homes and lowered the inhabitants out of their windows.
The ground met her, hard. She twisted like a caterpillar in a cocoon, trying to get free.
‘Shh.’ A shadow parted from the lilac tree. ‘Lie still,’ it whispered. Hands untied her, then pulled her to her feet.
Blue stared. She’d expected the ringmaster, or the peanut-seller. This was a woman, tall and wide-shouldered but with a timid rabbit-like face, in a long old-fashioned dress almost to her ankles, and a neat straw hat garlanded with what looked like ancient silk pansies.
The woman put her finger to her lips. She looked up and tugged on the right-hand rope. It fell neatly into her arms. The other followed.
A small figure appeared at the window, pulleys and straps secured about his waist. As Blue looked, the boy edged along the windowsill, reached out, then grabbed the drainpipe that led from the gutters into the water tank below. The boy clambered down, spider-like, until he was just above the tank, then leaped swiftly and neatly, avoiding the tank and a possible clang, landing on the ground by her feet.
It was a feat worthy of Tiny Titania.
He looked at her, grinning, then pulled her shoes out of his pockets and held them out to her triumphantly. He’s waiting for applause, she thought. He’s just got a girl out of a locked second-floor room …
Suddenly she grinned back at him, imagining Aunt Lilac’s face in the morning. Her niece had vanished from a locked room! A girl with scarred legs who couldn’t climb out a window and down two storeys into the garden. It was as good a mystery as any in The Girl’s Own Annual , and she was part of it.
The woman beckoned impatiently. She headed out the gate.
Blue bent down and slipped her shoes on over her stockingless feet. She shuffled after the woman, her knees wobbly with weakness, clumsy in her nightdress. I should have changed, she thought. Put on my dress, petticoats, hat …
The woman hesitated. She came back and put a firm arm under Blue’s shoulders to help her along.
It was embarrassing. It was also necessary, Blue realised. The faster they were gone, the less chance they would be seen.
She let herself be half dragged into the unknown. The boy — or dwarf or Tiny Titania — followed them.
Chapter 7
The lights, the crowds, the carts and the automobiles had vanished, as though they had all been part of the circus’s illusions. Only the trampled thistles and scattered tickets and peanut shells showed there had ever been a crowd here.
The Big Top hung limp in the moonlight. As Blue watched, it collapsed on itself. Two dim figures moved purposefully about its folds.
A single lamp shone in the window of the old-fashioned caravan. The other two caravans were dark. The elephant still stood by her pile of hay, making no effort to get away, even now the Big Top was no longer closing her in. As Blue looked, the big animal curled her
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