Page 18 of The Midnight Carousel

Maisie dines with Sir Malcolm that evening, and every evening that week, weighing up the wisdom of the idea.

The discussions circle around and around.

Can they do this? Should they do this? By the end of the fifth dinner, a conclusion is reached: with careful planning, the scheme could work.

It has to work, because neither has another idea up their sleeve.

Maisie soon learns that Sir Malcolm’s information-gathering skills are impressive. By reading anything he can get his hands on and asking around, he soon discovers everything there is to know about carnivals.

Of most interest is the recent development of amusement parks– traditional travelling carnivals established at permanent bases, with an entrance fee to get in, and a set-up that isn’t very different from Maisie’s idea.

And they’re popular, apparently. Coney Island, for example, has several such places that are reportedly raking it in.

Inspired by this, Sir Malcolm draws up a business plan. Even from the parlour at the other end of the hallway, Maisie can hear him humming as he writes. She smiles to herself. What was originally a vague thought is forming into something tangible. Something constructive.

With an eye on the risk of starting a business from scratch, they’ve agreed that concessions are the way forward, an exclusive collection of stallholders who will pay rent.

This gives Sir Malcolm an immediate income.

They’d also like a dozen rides of their own to complement the carousel, but have decided to limit their ambitions to four, to start with: a helter-skelter– which the Americans call a lighthouse slip– a Ferris wheel, go-carts and a small steam train.

Maisie has seen them advertised second-hand in the classifieds for a reasonable price.

Given Sir Malcolm’s financial predicament, however, all of this hinges on whether he can convince someone to invest.

Armed with a stack of paperwork, he approaches Hugo two mornings later. ‘It’s either that or he shores me up indefinitely,’ he observes to Maisie with a wry smile as he heads out of the front door.

The meeting between the brothers is a success.

They settle on a minority stake in the business for Hugo in return for a sizeable sum, and an opening date as the first day of spring, which is three months from now– timed for when the Health Commissioner is expected to lift the restrictions on gatherings in entertainment establishments after the harsh bite of winter.

With such a tight deadline, help is needed from the household staff.

But convincing them is another matter. They are all worn out with the war, with sickness, the relentless bad news and trying to make the best of things.

More importantly, every single one of the servants remembers that a child disappeared the last time the grounds were opened up to outsiders.

When Maisie shares the news, Clara looks close to tears, Eric grumbles, and Arnold twitches.

It leaves Maisie with a dilemma: to disclose that Sir Malcolm is on the brink of financial ruin and that they will all lose their jobs without some sort of change, or risk alienating the staff by ignoring their concerns.

Eventually, Peggy Mae breaks the stalemate. ‘We can’t mope forever. Life goes on,’ she states.

Grateful for the support, Maisie squeezes Peggy Mae’s arm. She’s right. Life goes on.

‘Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ Eric complains.

Despite his objections, the footman pitches in with everyone else.

In the first week of 1919, they begin by clearing the area around the carousel and the machine itself of overgrown vegetation.

Chopping down grass and tearing away ivy soon causes Maisie to break into a sweat, despite the frost hanging in the air.

Though neglect has aged the metal components and there are chips in places from where the weeds were cleared, its charm, the magic the carousel promises, still makes Maisie tingle with excitement.

The staff too seem to fall under its spell again as they all buzz around, polishing and cleaning, amplifying the blues, reds, greens, purples of the horses.

The task is engrossing. Maisie cleans the inside of the control cylinder, a section of the platform, half a dozen poles, working with such speed that she doesn’t even notice the minute details of the intricate design being restored to their original beauty.

Sir Malcolm joins them during a break from his paperwork, rolling up his sleeves and helping to buff the metalwork until it gleams like jewels. He seems invigorated as he works, applauding when Arnold produces small tubes of oil paint to touch up the chipped paintwork.

Later that day, Arnold approaches Maisie. He looks nervous, wringing his hands together. She lays a hand on his shoulder.

‘What is it?’ she asks.

Arnold blushes. ‘I was thinking I should very much like to continue operating the carousel.’ He must notice Maisie’s surprised face, because he rushes the next words. ‘I could still work in the house in the mornings and evenings. Eric said he’d pick up the slack.’

Maisie considers the idea. ‘I’ll ask Sir Malcolm.’

When she broaches the subject, Sir Malcolm leaves it to her to decide. ‘You might wish to take on some of the responsibility for the household from now on,’ he suggests.

She relishes the idea, more than she expected she would, and runs off to inform Arnold of her decision. Hugging Maisie when she agrees to his request, he promises not to let her down.

Over the following weeks, Maisie and the staff continue to clear land before the lumberjacks arrive.

To make space for all the attractions, a six-acre swathe of fruit trees needs to be cut down.

Though reluctant to fell such glorious creations that so recently provided their only source of income, Maisie understands that it’s a necessary risk if the business is to have any chance of success, and not one shred of wood is wasted at the sawmill, where huge trunks are sliced into planks that the carpenters use to construct a boundary fence.

There’s sufficient lumber remaining for the ticket booth and picnic tables, and a small pier, from which Mr Levander’s pleasure boats will launch on their tours of the lake.

This is their first official concession holder, and a source of pride for Maisie. Someone putting faith in them boosts her confidence in this venture. Word gets out, and, four days after the agreement between Mr Levander and Sir Malcolm is signed, a line of hawkers forms at the back door.

It takes almost a week to sift through the 209 hopefuls.

Turning away anything that resembles a freak show, Maisie ends up picking ten food vendors, twelve merchandise-sellers and twenty-five attraction owners, including a gentleman fresh from Vienna who possesses a dozen new-fangled pinball machines.

She also takes on five hollow-cheeked general workers who drift in from a recently disbanded carnival in Peoria– not only for their experience but because it looks like they haven’t eaten for a week.

Being granted a concession is such a prize that even Madame Rose enlists Clara to lobby Maisie on her behalf.

‘Tell her she can set up a storytelling corner near the lake. She’s good at inventing tall tales,’ Maisie replies as she hurries off to oversee the sign being erected near the main entrance.

The evening before opening day, Maisie is a bundle of excitement.

She checks herself. The last time she felt this way was returning from the funfair at Clacton.

In second place is the morning of the party at Fairweather– and both times her happiness was snatched away soon after.

She stays up late that night, arranging piles of pebbles near the carousel and around the grounds, enough to keep everyone safe.

The next morning glistens under a pale March sun. Everything looks new and shiny, and the enterprise promises to live up to its name: Silver Kingdom. ‘Silver’ on Maisie’s suggestion, a nod to the sparkling surface of Lake Michigan, while Hugo came up with ‘kingdom’ as a tie to their homeland.

Leaning out of her bedroom window, Maisie admires the precision with which the amusement park is laid out in concentric circles: the concessions as an outer ring, the rides next, with the carousel as the centrepiece.

She allows herself a tingle of anticipation.

This place of pleasure is so needed after the many hardships of the last four years.

When the gates open, Maisie expects a mad rush of people.

Instead, there’s a small trickle of guests throughout the day.

Disappointed, she stands by the entrance gate, willing arrivals to appear.

What if the business doesn’t work after all this time and money has been spent?

Chewing her lower lip, she tries to calm the growing panic.

‘Slow and steady wins the race,’ Sir Malcolm says in a smooth, even voice, although Maisie can see that his jaw is clenched.

The following few days don’t show much improvement. Small groups arrive in dribs and drabs, but there’s no real growth. ‘Slow and steady,’ Maisie hears Sir Malcolm mutter again as he paces around the rides. He could lose everything if they’ve got this wrong. If Maisie has got this wrong.

Determined to see a return on his investment, Hugo takes matters into his own hands on the fourth day.

He places advertisements in local newspapers and pays for billboards all along Michigan Boulevard.

The marketing, and word of mouth, starts to build momentum.

At the end of the first week, there are fifty visitors a day.

One week later, and that number has quadrupled.

Three weeks after opening, and there are one thousand people milling around the park.

Maisie is cautiously optimistic. She watches as, thirteen deep, a crowd clusters near the carousel, shoving one another for a place on a horse. Arnold waits until the commotion has died down to announce The world’s most super-duper marvellous, out-of-this-universe fabulous, breathtaking carousel!

Pausing, he raises a silver-tipped cane above his head and begins to tap the central cylinder.

Tap, tap, tap , like the ticking of a clock.

The audience joins in, clapping. Then, with the hand that’s holding the cane, Arnold tips his bowler hat, using the other hand to pull down the control lever, breaking into an extravagant tap dance as the music starts.

The spectators go wild. There’s cheering, whistling, stamping feet, while the horses race around and around, and the canopy spins like a movie reel.

At the end of the first ride, every person that is lucky enough to be seated on a saddle practically refuses to dismount.

No one can get enough of the carousel, it appears.

As usual, Maisie is vigilant, her eyes constantly checking around the park for signs of anything suspicious. But, as each day passes without anyone disappearing, she feels herself growing increasingly relaxed.

One morning four weeks after opening, Sir Malcolm gives Maisie a clutch of dollar bills– her first pay packet, now they’re doing well enough to afford it, with the arrears of her allowance also included.

She holds the notes with reverence, flicks through them.

Earning her own money tastes sweeter than accepting handouts.

Maisie considers possible ways to spend it.

A new pair of shoes. The silk nightdress she saw advertised in a magazine.

A box of chocolates. These seem wasteful, unnecessary, when anything could happen in the years ahead.

With that in mind, she puts most of the money aside as savings, stored in a box on top of her wardrobe, using only a little to buy a treat for the household.

The cook is crushing rosemary when Maisie enters the kitchen with the basket of sirloin steak that she ordered from the butcher.

‘Seems we’ve come up in the world,’ Peggy Mae remarks, as she notices how the redness of the meat stands out against its blanket of old newspaper.

‘I thought we all deserved something nice since we’re working so hard,’ Maisie explains. ‘There’s enough for everyone,’ she adds.

Maisie has continued to dine with Sir Malcolm every night.

‘For dinner tonight, then.’ Peggy Mae beams as she lays down the pestle and receives the basket. As she heads for the ice box, she pauses: ‘There’s a letter for Silver Kingdom on the table. Hand delivered.’

Most correspondence for the amusement park arrives by mail and usually consists of dull invoices.

But Maisie’s heart races as she reads the contents of this particular note.

The niece of the movie star Mary Pickford visited the park earlier this week, it transpires, and has been raving about the carousel ever since.

The upshot is that Miss Pickford’s agent is requesting publicity shots for his client at Silver Kingdom, accompanied by the press.

Maisie can’t believe their luck. This is a life-changing piece of news that will put them on the map.