Page 32 of The Midnight Carousel

Maisie is helping Mrs Papadopoulos unload bottles of double cream for Mr Cornelius to make into the milkshakes for his burger bar when she spots Laurent bolting from Madame Rose’s tent.

He strides with considerable speed towards the open-air Smugglers ’ Saloon , where young men dressed as pirates serve cold beer while slapping their thighs and declaring, Shiver me timbers.

He orders a pint and downs it in one. Surprised to see him looking anything less than composed, Maisie stares.

‘You like him,’ Mrs Papadopoulos observes.

Maisie flushes. ‘Mr Cornelius?’ she asks, feigning innocence. ‘I’m meant to like all the Jointees. It’s my job.’

Mrs Papadopoulos smiles. ‘You play that game. But I know what I know.’

‘Maybe all you know is that I’m taking an active interest in the case,’ Maisie replies, trying to keep a straight face.

She is less on edge since the shopping expedition, with a lightness to her thoughts that she hasn’t felt in a long time.

‘There is no shame to want a man,’ Mrs Papadopoulos says. She winks. ‘And he has good looks. If not for my Nico, you and I would fight for the detective.’

Maisie laughs. She watches Laurent order a second pint, noting how his new shirt fits nicely over the contours of his chest. Mrs Papadopoulos shoos Maisie in his direction, clearly knowing exactly what’s running through her mind.

Laurent seems to sense Maisie before seeing her, because he looks around and nods to the seat next to him. His face is serious and pale. Maisie guesses that he’s been unsettled by the fortune-teller.

‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ she remarks. ‘If it’s any consolation, some people leave Rose’s tent looking an awful lot worse. We even had to call for a doctor once after a man collapsed. She doesn’t usually work on Fridays, so you must be a special case.’

It seems like he’s trying to force a smile but gives up. ‘It is peculiar what she seems to intuit.’

Assessing his face, Maisie softens her voice.

‘Laurent, I really wouldn’t take much notice of what she says. Before she worked here, Rose had the servants buying all sorts of nonsensical quack remedies.’

Maisie deliberately omits mentioning the warning about trouble arriving from across the ocean. It wouldn’t help Laurent to know that she herself has become uneasy.

Laurent fiddles with his collar, silent. He can barely look at her. An awful sensation floods through Maisie that perhaps his obvious upset is caused by bad news concerning the case. Has Clementine Pickford been found?

‘Is there a development with the investigation?’ she forces herself to ask.

‘ Shiver me timbers ,’ a waiter says, returning with the second beer. Laurent glugs this one down as well.

‘Only that the Wadham family have been located,’ he explains, and Maisie inwardly relaxes.

‘The Bureau can now question the tailor. It may or may not produce any useful information.’ He rests his head in his hands.

‘Trying to prove the connection between Mr Armitage and Victor Cloutier is proving difficult,’ he says with a sigh.

‘It has always been a troubling case. And now I cannot fathom the discrepancy with the blankets, although I sense it is important. Yesterday I questioned Arnold and any stallholder in the vicinity of the carousel, and they all deny untying the knot, and they saw no one doing so.’

The ride still half terrifies Maisie, but she’s been somewhat reassured that the protective blankets seem to keep people off the cursed horse. It’s unsettling to think that someone might be meddling with the only thing that stands between the general public and a disastrous fate.

‘I’ll ask everyone to keep a look-out and to let me know if they see anyone hanging about that horse.’

He looks up, his eyes a little brighter. ‘I would appreciate that.’

‘It’s in my interests, remember?’ As his face falls, Maisie has a compulsion to lift his spirits. ‘Why don’t we take a walk and clear away the cobwebs?’

He agrees, refusing the offer of a third beer from the server.

The idea is to blend in with the crowd, but, before they have even exited the Smugglers’ Saloon, Maisie has been approached by two of the Ride Jocks about how to handle rubes– the term used by the workforce for visitors– who flout the safety measures for the rides. ‘Later,’ she promises.

‘The place would collapse without you,’ Laurent comments.

This is a fresh perspective on Maisie’s position here, and she mulls it over as they circle the park.

Maisie is struck by the level of excitement.

There are squeals of pleasure everywhere.

‘I never thought in my wildest imagination that I’d fly one day,’ she hears an elderly woman tell a small child as they disembark from the Ferris wheel.

Maisie remembers the thrill of the Clacton funfair, now so many years ago, and despite everything she can’t help but feel a warm glow that she’s created a similar experience here.

They are giving people what they want: delights, freedom, their dreams come to life.

She is strolling with Laurent along a row of food concessions when a commotion up ahead stops the crowd’s forward momentum.

There’s wolf whistling followed by sustained cheers.

It could only mean one thing. Sure enough, Gloria, Betsy and Gayle appear like sirens with million-dollar smiles, their hair sleek, hips rolling as they stride confidently in high heels.

A path clears in front of the ticket-sellers like the parting of the waves.

Men bow and doff their hats; women scowl at their husbands. Catcalling follows.

Fully expecting Laurent to be equally blown away, Maisie is surprised to notice that he’s staring at her expectantly, completely oblivious to the fact that the women of most men’s fantasies are no more than four feet away.

Gloria gives him the side eye and appears just as baffled as Maisie that he fails to respond with anything more than a blank face.

He leans in closer to Maisie, so close that she can smell his cologne.

‘I was asking, do you like Jules Verne?’ he says.

For a moment, she is confused. Then she realizes that he’s pointing to the poster announcing their imminent arrival at a large wooden structure, inside of which a procession of small boats travels through a series of dark, meandering tunnels: the Journey to the Centre of the Earth.

‘I’ve never read anything by him, but the ride is fun.’

Laurent stares at the poster, a soft smile on his face.

The crowd has melted away, most probably following the trail of the Money Girls like dogs on heat, and she is standing alone with him under the shade of an apple tree.

Dappled, golden light plays on the detective’s face, accenting the sculpted line of his jaw.

‘I was not aware this ride was here.’

Maisie laughs. ‘Don’t let Mr Partridge hear you. He’s always complaining that we’ve given him the worst spot in Silver Kingdom.’

Laurent’s eyes are glazed as though he has woken from a dream.

‘The story holds a special significance. My mother read the book to me at bedtime when I was a boy.’ He looks wistful.

A warm sensation in Maisie’s heart radiates throughout her body. Everything is glistening– the sky, the leaves, Laurent’s eyes. There is a light touch on her arms, a sensation of being pulled as he steps forward. Then he stops, looking past her shoulder with a frown.

Maisie turns around and notices James watching in the distance.

A fraction of a second later, he has disappeared.