Page 25 of The Midnight Carousel

Early the next morning, a compromise is reached.

The carousel will remain open to visitors as usual with the exception of the one strange horse, which has been covered in blankets.

Though Sir Malcolm was sceptical, he grudgingly agreed to this solution after Maisie returned to the house distraught, accompanied by the detective, who offered words of reassurance.

She would prefer for the horse to be completely removed from the carousel, but the Crew was defeated in achieving this, even with Detective Bisset translating the French instructions.

‘Not had this before, but if you try to take off one horse, they all come off. Seems they’re linked somehow,’ Lucky Nate declared, scratching his head.

Remembering the difficulty Mr Corbett’s team faced when assembling the ride in the first place, Maisie believes him. What is normal about this carousel?

As the men gather their tools, Detective Bisset offers Maisie his arm, and she moves with him through the park, passing colourful amusements and food stalls setting up for the day.

Mrs Ferretti and her adult son are up on ladders oiling the tracks that guide the dodgems. They chatter in Italian as they work.

Maisie can’t understand a word, but the detective greets the pair with a phrase that makes them laugh.

Mrs Ferretti takes the opportunity to ask Maisie about the possibility of having an awning erected to provide shade for the line of customers. ‘I can’t see why not,’ she responds before walking on.

The air is crisp and dew clings to grass blades. On the lake, moorhens paddle amongst the reeds, dipping for pondweed beneath the rippling surface. It all looks so innocent that no one would have an inkling of Maisie’s experience on the carousel yesterday.

‘I am sorry you were frightened,’ the detective says, as though he’s looking into her thoughts. ‘I should have known that the strain of incarceration, all this talk of mysterious vanishings, would be too much for you.’

Though he is being as kind as he was yesterday, Maisie must be careful.

For all she knows, he may still believe she’s involved in the disappearances and is waiting to catch her off guard to resume his questioning.

Maisie doesn’t believe that Madame Rose is a genuine fortune-teller, but her warning about trouble from across the ocean does seem strangely timed in the light of the detective’s arrival from France so soon after.

It’s obvious, as well, that he doesn’t believe her claim that the horse is cursed.

While part of Maisie worries that she might be losing her grip on reality, she feels a stab of irritation towards him.

What she saw is clear in her mind: one second, she was enjoying the wild exhilaration of the carousel and the next everything turned black.

There was a loud whoosh and then… and then– the memory is terrifying– she could swear an image appeared of the shack on Canvey Island.

It was so lifelike, so real, with the smell of rotting fish and damp earth and the lumpy figure of Mrs Sixpence hissing Just you wait until I get you, Maisie .

It makes no sense, but it really did seem that she was being sucked back in time.

She shudders, unable to shake the fear. She wanted to solve the mystery, but it was foolhardy in hindsight. Frowning, she thinks of Billy’s terrified face moments before he disappeared. Poor Billy, whom she forced to ride the horse with the golden saddle.

‘I feel sorrier for the people who disappeared,’ she replies.

‘And I am glad you are not one of them,’ he replies quietly.

They have reached the Ferris wheel. Up ahead, Silver Kingdom’s workers are gathered near Fernando’s Bakery , waiting for fresh doughnuts and liquid refreshment before the park opens.

They congregate here to exchange gossip and, Maisie suspects, watch the carousel, as the small booth sits a short distance away on a platform elevated two feet off the ground, providing the best vantage point.

She has heard the workforce compare it with the carousels on Coney Island, and say that both its beauty and its speed are far superior.

Oh, boy, a rounding board that rotates like we’re watching a movie!

is the comment most often uttered when the canopy spins, the general consensus being that no one, not even the most seasoned hands, has ever seen anything like it.

Noticing everyone staring at her walking arm in arm with a man, Maisie guides a route towards a quieter area, near the helter-skelter.

She can tell by the nudging that they’ve got the wrong end of the stick.

Most of them have known her for only a few short months, and they probably have no idea that she lacks romantic experience.

Not that she’s against the idea, but she’s had very little opportunity, what with living in seclusion at Fairweather after Billy’s disappearance, and then the war and the Spanish flu.

The closest she’s ever come is the unwanted kiss from James, and that doesn’t count because she didn’t even like him.

Clearly noticing the pained expression on her face, the detective interrupts Maisie’s thoughts. ‘If you are still worried about the carousel–’

‘No, no,’ she responds quickly, not wanting him to view her as a foolish girl. ‘I was just thinking of someone in England.’

He studies her for a moment.

‘Forgive me for saying, but you do not have the usual look of an English girl.’

Maisie stares down at her hands, hoping to hide the expression on her face. ‘So I’ve been told.’

‘I did not mean to offend,’ he replies, picking up on it anyway.

‘It’s just not a subject I talk about because there’s not much to say.

My mother was very blonde apparently, and most likely pale like my aunt, which probably makes my father the opposite.

’ She shrugs, hoping to appear casual. ‘That’s really all I know.

I think I must have been a baby when my parents died. ’

All those wasted chances, Maisie thinks. All those times of letting Aunty Mabel avoid questions when she could have been discovering everything about her history.

‘That must be difficult, not knowing where you come from.’

Maisie nods, grateful for his thoughtfulness. Not for the first time, she feels seen by this man. ‘It’s like being lost.’

She can feel herself blush. It’s completely out of character for Maisie to disclose anything so personal.

But the way in which the detective is really listening, as though she’s an adult and not the silly child that Nancy and– to a kinder extent– Sir Malcolm and Hugo view her as, convinces Maisie that it’s safe to open up to him.

An expression of understanding in his eyes makes her glance away before the buried sadness rises to the surface.

‘How about you, Detective?’ she continues, regaining her composure. ‘Have you always lived in Paris?’

‘I was born there, and I shall probably die there,’ he muses, his mouth curling up at the corners.

‘Then you must miss being away from your family and friends. I assume you came here alone.’

He offers a rueful smile. ‘I did, but it is not so bad, and I am here for only another twelve days,’ he explains.

‘I have been catching up on reading, studying reports. My one complaint is that the cuisine here is not what I am accustomed to. The hotel insists that boiled liver is the pinnacle of American food.’

He states this with a tone of humour, but she feels sorry for him. An overwhelming desire to repay the kindness this man has shown her gives Maisie the push to suggest something she would never usually think to do.

‘Why don’t you come to dinner at Fairweather House tomorrow? Peggy Mae is a wonderful cook.’

Surprise flickers in his eyes.

‘It will be my pleasure, of course,’ he answers. He kisses the back of her hand. ‘Until tomorrow,’ he says. ‘And now please excuse me, but I must depart. The discovery of the links to that one horse has blown everything open, and there is much to follow up on with the case.’

Maisie watches the detective amble out of the park, his long legs moving at quite a pace. As if pulled by an invisible force, she turns to gaze at the carousel in the mid-distance. What is it trying to say?

Maisie sets another pile of pebbles near the carousel to counteract the power of the cursed horse, then she goes in search of Sir Malcolm to inform him of tomorrow night’s dinner.

She hopes he won’t be put out that she made this arrangement without asking him first. As she enters through the back of the house, she can hear voices at the front door.

Eric is talking to a stranger who is demanding entry.

‘Is everything all right?’ Maisie calls.

Eric steps aside. A gentleman with light brown hair stands on the doorstep. Caught off guard, she can only stare, dumbfounded, at the sight of James.