Page 22 of The Midnight Carousel

‘Up you get, mulatto.’

Maisie feels a hard tug of her arm, wakes to find a hairy-armed guard dragging her to her feet. It’s still dark outside, pre-dawn, she thinks, and her eyes take a moment to blink themselves clear of sleep.

‘She a high yellow?’ one of the dark-skinned women shouts from a bed. ‘No wonder she thinks herself better than us.’

‘ Highfalutin’ yellow skin/Black nor white has never been! ’ a chorus of voices sing.

Though these terms are new to Maisie, the expressions of disgust are familiar.

She saw them on the faces of Mrs Sixpence, the locals on Canvey Island, the Jesserton servants and the bullies at Clacton.

It’s another indication that she doesn’t belong anywhere, with anyone. A reminder of her loneliness.

‘Say your goodbyes, ladies. This one is out of here.’

Maisie could weep with relief. Thank you, Detective Bisset. Thank you. She doesn’t know how he’s done it, but an unfamiliar feeling of being truly seen by the detective told her that he would find a way to arrange her freedom.

The woman who punched Maisie jumps up and brings her face to within inches of her own. ‘See you soon, mulatto.’

Not if Maisie can help it. She offers a smile through gritted teeth as the guard shoves her forwards, determined to do whatever it takes never to set foot in here again.

Out in the corridor, the box containing her belongings rattles as the guard slams it on the ground. Inside lies her pretty, navy dress along with a pair of prison-issue pumps. Noticing a small card tucked in the corner, she plucks it out and reads the front.

DETECTIVE LAURENT BISSET

POLICE PRECINCT OF THE 6TH ARRONDISSEMENT

PARIS

On the back is scribbled the name of a hotel in Chicago with a telephone number. She must thank him for showing her kindness at such a dark time.

The guard leads Maisie to a small tiled vestibule where a bucket of water, a quarter-bar of Sapolio soap and a ragged towel have been provided.

Scouring off the stench feels as good as when she washed after her confinement with the scarlet fever.

The water is brown, oozing along a groove in the floor and down the drain.

Once clean and dressed, she is led out of the building and to the front gate.

‘And here’s a dime for the journey. There’s a streetcar stop down the street,’ the guard explains.

Maisie has never taken public transport before, but she manages to find the stop, locate the nearest destination to Fairweather House on the small map stuck to the facing wall, and wait until the streetcar bearing the correct number finally appears.

Worn out by her ordeal, she takes a seat at the back and leans on the window, eyes half closed.

Dawn is cracking over the horizon as she alights and makes her way on foot to the house. It looks spacious and welcoming this early, with the birds on the lake calling out their greetings.

The front door is flung open.

‘Oh, ma’am, we just received word about you coming home!’ Clara enthuses. ‘You didn’t need to walk– Arnold would have gone to fetch you.’

Clara throws her arms around Maisie. It feels strange to receive such tenderness after the brutality of the lock-up but comforting as well.

Maisie falls into the embrace, grateful that Clara cares.

From the hallway, she can see through to the drawing room and its floor-to-ceiling windows.

The view of Silver Kingdom is eerie in the half-light of dawn, like a ghost town that sits at the edge of the lake.

‘I’ll be down later,’ she tells the maid.

The rest of the day is surreal, as if Maisie is looking at her old life through a glass wall.

Very little has changed other than that Silver Kingdom was shut down by the police on the day of Clementine’s disappearance, and hasn’t reopened.

The silence of the grounds outside is striking, and she wonders how Sir Malcolm– and the rest of the workforce– is handling the financial implications of there being no paying customers.

He comes to find her in the parlour late morning and spends some minutes checking on her well-being before holing away in his study.

The servants bustle about, as usual, and it feels to Maisie that her absence made no notable impact on the household.

Readjusting to normal life is going to be more difficult than she had expected.

That night, Maisie awakes from nightmares of prison, and spinning around on a fast-moving carousel unable to get off. Drenched in sweat, she takes deep breaths.

How can such a wonderful ride– one that was a world away from the Sixpences, and filled Tommy and Maisie with hope– be associated with such ghastly crimes?

The disclosure that there were victims in France on top of Clementine Pickford’s disappearance changed everything.

For the millionth time since that day, Maisie pictures Billy’s frightened face as he clung to the pole of a carousel horse.

That image makes more sense if whoever is taking the children loiters nearby.

But it still doesn’t explain what happened to him. Or any of them.

Without having a clear plan, she steals out of the house and across the grounds, accompanied by the screech of foxes.

The light of the full moon is masked by a bank of clouds tonight, and walking through Silver Kingdom is eerie.

Brash colours and the happy sound of children laughing are replaced by a menacing gloom as she heads down a path flanked by the hall of mirrors and the helter-skelter.

Nearing the carousel, she pauses, her breath held.

A scratching noise like claws dragging across stone is coming from behind the macabre poster for the ghost train.

All at once, a shape emerges, looming above.

Maisie is about to let out a cry when a tufted owl flaps past.

Her heart is still racing by the time she alights on the platform.

Reaching out, she strokes a horse, then another, admiring the craftsmanship of each.

There are scarlet manes and purple tails, elaborate patterns painted along the haunches.

As she reaches the horse she saw Billy riding, she touches its golden saddle.

Her senses prickle. There’s something different about this horse.

An oddness. With a jolt, she realizes that this is the horse with the lifelike eyes that drew her in as it lay on the platform at Grand Central Station.

Maisie isn’t able to shake the feeling that this distinction is important somehow, though she can’t pin down why.

Before anyone else is awake the next morning, Maisie is at the lake.

A worry plays on her mind. Another child is missing and she herself was arrested, despite the pains she’s taken to lay charms. Perhaps it wasn’t enough.

Clinging to the hope that everything will turn out all right, she prays over and over to the Lord of the Water, and lays more pebbles than ever around the carousel.

She has to believe in these rituals. She has always relied on them to keep her safe, to ward off bad luck.

Without their power, she’s left exposed, vulnerable.

Back indoors again, Maisie is sitting in the parlour when Sir Malcolm walks in. She’s surprised to see him already dressed in his best suit, as if he’s planning a visit to downtown Chicago today. He fiddles with the cord of the Tiffany lamp, avoiding eye contact.

‘We thought we’d let you rest yesterday,’ he says, clearing his throat as if the words are stuck. ‘But today we reopen Silver Kingdom. A celebration of your return, so to speak.’

Maisie feels her fear flare up. Opening Silver Kingdom is dangerous, not a celebration.

‘With little Clementine Pickford still missing?’

Sir Malcolm sighs. ‘Maisie, we simply cannot afford to keep the park closed any longer. We’re still paying the employees, and will be lucky if anyone visits ever again with all this negative publicity.

We’ve had to place advertisements in the local newspapers to reassure people that everything is back to normal.

That certainly wasn’t cheap, I can tell you.

’ He shakes his head. ‘And, naturally, the concession holders are putting pressure on me. Their livelihoods are at stake as well, and the worry is that they will up and leave if we don’t sort this out. ’

Maisie understands his concerns. But what about her, and the safety of their visitors?

No wonder he’s so twitchy. He’s probably been working up to tell Maisie of this decision ever since she returned.

Fear gives way to anger that the two brothers are so irresponsible.

Or perhaps they don’t know that there might be a connection to the carousel.

‘But the carousel is dangerous–’

He looks at Maisie like she’s an overly tired child.

‘I know lock-up can’t have been easy on you, and I did try to arrange your release through Mr Peabody, but it seems he got rather distracted dealing with the problematic matter of unions, which Hugo and I asked him to look into.

’ He fixes his gaze on the floor. ‘Perhaps I should have pushed him harder.’

Sir Malcolm flushes as though he knows that he’s been shown up. While she’s grateful for his assistance, this admission of carelessness revives Maisie’s age-old fear of being abandoned by him.

‘Look, the Bureau have gathered all the evidence they need,’ he says in a soft, reassuring tone. ‘They’ve scoured the grounds– including the area around the carousel, I might add– spent days here disturbing my peace, and they’re happy for us to open.’

Maisie is stunned that he’s so blasé. ‘A little girl has been taken, Sir Malcolm,’ she reiterates. ‘A second child.’

‘Which is terrible, yes, but has nothing to do with us. Someone has been picked up, a chap involved with the actress, apparently, so all is in hand.’

Caught by surprise, Maisie stares at Sir Malcolm. Perhaps this is why she was released. He moves to the drinks cabinet and pours himself a brandy. As this news sinks in, the tension in her shoulders loosens. She feels a glimmer of hope that the missing children are safe.

‘So Clementine has been found?’ she asks.

Clearly uncomfortable, Sir Malcolm bounces on the balls of his feet, his shoes leaving faint impressions on the oriental rug.

‘I’m afraid not,’ he admits. ‘But it’s still early days, so they are hopeful.’

She purses her mouth. Though the arrest of another suspect is good news for Maisie, she can’t quite believe that Sir Malcolm has already forgotten the terrible events from before.

‘But Billy went missing five years ago,’ she retorts.

She prickles with a sense of injustice for the poor boy whose disappearance received far less attention because he wasn’t related to a ‘somebody’.

Sir Malcolm dismisses her concern with a casual wave of his hand.

‘The Bureau are looking into that as well, no need to worry.’

It’s obvious that his mind is made up and there’s only so far that Maisie dare push it with him.

And, deep down, she knows that he wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to her.

But what if this new suspect isn’t the culprit?

What if another child disappears? Fearful of being rearrested, she is torn– on the one hand, she hopes that everyone in Chicago has heard about the disappearances and is too scared to visit despite the latest advertisements.

Then again, they need the money, and Maisie can see that reopening the park is really their only choice.

Running from the room, she rushes upstairs to her bathroom and switches on the shower.

The water splutters before flowing like a waterfall.

Maisie undresses and steps under the steady stream.

Using soap and a scrubbing brush, she scours her skin in small circles, drawing blood.

She cries out in pain, in anger, in frustration, hoping and praying that her worst fears don’t materialize.

Far from putting people off, recent events seem to have flamed interest in Silver Kingdom.

Ghoulish curiosity draws greater crowds than ever, as if half of Chicago wants to view the scene of the crime.

Maisie’s stomach churns as the gates open and visitors swarm to the carousel.

She watches, vigilant, biting her lip when Arnold pulls down the control lever.

The horses are on the move, their colours streaming like ribbons in the wind. Her eyes keep track as she stands ten feet from the carousel, near enough to notice if anything should go wrong. Around her, people are laughing and joking. But Maisie feels sick.

The ride is almost over when there’s a shriek from somewhere to the left. No. Please, no.

Frantic, she shouts at Arnold to stop the ride. But the music is so loud that her voice doesn’t carry. Hitching up her dress, she leaps on to the slowing platform and weaves through the horses.

‘Get off,’ she screams at the riders. ‘Arnold, get them off.’

The Crew must have heard Maisie shouting. She spots Lucky Nate diving through the crowd followed by the others. Pushing through spectators, they are already searching behind food stands and inside nearby rides for a missing child.

Maisie is close to sobbing as frightened parents run to save their bawling children. By the time she reaches Arnold, he looks like he’s on the verge of fainting.

‘Has another child gone missing?’ he cries.

Maisie looks around. No one appears to have lost a child, and the crowd is melting away, grumbling.

Another shriek pierces the air. With a mixture of relief and embarrassment, Maisie realizes that what sounded like a shout for help actually came from the nearby Ferris wheel, riders screaming with excitement.

Her own fear had created the panic.

‘Move along, folks, the sideshow is over,’ she hears Lucky Nate call as he directs curious bystanders to other attractions. ‘Don’t forget to tour the park on the mechanical train.’

It was a false alarm this time. But she can’t go on like this. The worry will drive poor Arnold into an early grave and Maisie into insanity.

Rushing to the house, she retrieves the French detective’s business card and dials the number on the back. Her hope is that the one other person who seems interested in the carousel’s possible link to the disappearances is still in Chicago.

‘Detective Bisset, I need your help.’