Page 11 of The Midnight Carousel
‘Malcolm, dearest, we’ve just had the most thrilling conversation with the Maharaja of Lahore. He has his very own carriage and was recounting the tale of how he rode a wild elephant across India and, would you believe it, we didn’t realize the train had stopped!’
Without a sidewards glance in her direction, Nancy thrusts a silk stole and a small bag at Maisie and plants a red lipstick kiss on Sir Malcolm’s cheek.
‘Delightful to see you, Nancy,’ Sir Malcolm says as if he means it. ‘You too, Hugo,’ he adds.
‘It’s good to be back,’ Hugo says to his brother. ‘The eastern seaboard is perfectly lovely, but, if we’d stayed any longer, Nancy would have bankrupted us.’
‘Malcolm, your brother thought I was very naughty in New York,’ Nancy giggles. ‘In fact, he told Mr Bloomingdale that under no circumstances was I to be allowed an extension on my credit. What do you think of that?’
Maisie never hears Sir Malcolm’s opinion, because Nancy sinks her fingers into his arm and whisks him ahead. Hugo uses the opportunity to relieve Maisie of his wife’s items and carry them himself.
‘Apologies for the wait, Maisie, that was selfish of us,’ Hugo says gallantly. ‘Were you here long?’
Hugo is easy to talk to: all smiles and with the same interest in people as Miss Catherine.
‘Quite long. But mainly because we were here early. So early that your brother even had time to purchase a carousel,’ she answers with a trace of humour. ‘It’s being delivered to the house tomorrow.’
Hugo’s eyes widen. ‘Good God, don’t tell my wife. I’ll never hear the end of how Malcolm is frittering away his money. Nancy is convinced that, as his closest, living relative, I stand to inherit the lot.’
They stop at the news-stand for the men to buy a newspaper each.
war in europe , the headline screams. Three little words that are like an icy hand squeezing Maisie’s heart.
Though the frontline is a long way away, she worries for Tommy.
She thinks of him still, funny little Tommy who was her shadow for all those years.
A big part of her will always regret not daring to ask Aunty Mabel if he could join them at Jesserton.
He must be sixteen years old– the same age as Maisie– if he escaped from the Sixpences alive.
She prays he did, prays he didn’t just make it out only to then be dragged into a rich man’s fight.
The brothers and Nancy lag behind, their eyes fixed on the newspapers, conferring.
Maisie follows the seven luggage carts as they wobble across the street.
It’s a race to reach the opposite sidewalk without getting mown down.
Horns blare, and a streetcar crosses her path, so close that Maisie’s skirt swirls in its wake.
Nancy catches up to Maisie, eyeing her belongings, now in Hugo’s hands.
‘I hope you’re more helpful towards Sir Malcolm than you’ve been to me today,’ she says curtly. ‘What would become of you otherwise?’
Maisie chews her bottom lip and turns her face to hide her unease. With an uncanny ability, Nancy has honed in on her insecurity.
The Daimler is waiting in a side street, along with the separate horse-drawn wagon that Sir Malcolm has arranged for the luggage. Somehow the porters squeeze in every last item, though Hugo and Maisie are laden with hat boxes in the back seat.
Twilight is falling as they finally set off.
Maisie is quiet while the adults talk, gazing at Chicago streaming past. The city sparkles in the evening.
Streets lined by buildings three times the height of Jesserton teem with pedestrians; bars and restaurants overflow.
On Michigan Boulevard, a small parade slows traffic.
Marching to the tune of ‘Yankee Doodle’, a brass band is followed by an enthusiastic troupe of young women twirling batons in formation.
Maisie is amazed that there are so many people out and about at this time when she herself rarely ventures out, even during the day.
Is this what every night is like? A whole world happening without her?
Sir Malcolm is a natural at driving an automobile, and he weaves through the streets, and on to greener suburbs. Presently, they turn into Albany Avenue, the row of boxy townhouses where Hugo and Nancy live.
Nancy hops out first, peering into the distance for the plodding wagon. When finally it arrives, she begins issuing her instructions without lifting a finger herself.
‘Hugo won’t let me do a thing, you see,’ she explains, unable to hide the delight in her voice. ‘Especially now.’
As she pats her belly, Hugo pauses halfway up the steps to the house, his expression cautious.
‘I thought the plan was to hold off on informing anyone until we’re certain,’ he says.
‘Nonsense, third time’s a charm,’ she replies breezily.
‘Then it seems congratulations are in order,’ Sir Malcolm says, and he sets down four hatboxes to clap his brother on the back.
Everything is changing again, Maisie thinks, her mind drifting to the carousel. She can’t explain why or how she knows, but it feels like its arrival in their lives is the start of something momentous.