Page 41 of The Midnight Carousel

In the cold light of the next day, it scares Maisie to think how easy it is to lose control.

She had been on the point of kissing a complete stranger.

Wanting it. Wanting more. Anything could have happened last night if James hadn’t pulled her away.

Despite a pounding headache, there’s a clarity to her thoughts, a dawning awareness that numbing her pain with alcohol, as she’s been trying to do for the past twelve days, might bring greater problems. A proper return to work could prove a safer way to take her mind off things.

Before she has second thoughts, Maisie rouses herself from bed, consumes close to a full pot of sweet tea and heads outside with a box of paperwork that she intends to take back to the office.

The sky is overcast as though a storm is gathering on the horizon.

As Maisie cuts a route from the back of the house to Silver Kingdom, she notices the Crew throwing up tarpaulins to protect the food stands from becoming drenched in the event of a downpour.

Before, she would have felt a ripple of pleasure at seeing the rides and stalls burst into life like unfolding flowers, but now there’s only an all-encompassing flatness.

The problems begin immediately, as though they’ve been waiting for Maisie: the supply truck bringing sugar and flour to the food vendors fails to turn up; another quarrel breaks out between Mr Parry and Mr Melville over the boundary of their pitches; one of the Money Girls sends notice that she’s sick.

With a hangover, Maisie can’t face this stress alone and she goes looking for Sir Malcolm. A long search ends in the dining room. Hunched over in a chair, he’s wrapped in a blanket.

Sober now, Maisie is struck by how thin and pale he looks.

Since reading the report on her parents, she’s been toying with the idea of asking him if Aunty Mabel ever told him why they had abandoned her, or anything at all about them.

Though he claimed ignorance many years ago, there might be something he can confide to her.

Recently, however, they have crossed paths only at dinner, which isn’t an appropriate time for such a serious topic– and today he doesn’t look up to any sort of discussion at all.

‘Sir Malcolm?’ she says quietly.

He stares into space. His skin is clammy and Maisie now notices that his hands are trembling. She’s never seen him looking this wretched. Was he only pretending to be relaxed about Beau Armitage’s release? Is he back to worrying about money?

‘Is everything all right with the business?’ she asks.

Sir Malcolm doesn’t appear to have registered her presence, but he eventually speaks. ‘The business is back on track,’ he answers in a soft voice. ‘Money rolling in.’

Though relieved to hear this, Maisie is concerned that, if this isn’t work-related, something might be wrong with Sir Malcolm’s health.

‘Should I call the doctor?’ she asks him.

His eyes fall closed. ‘No doctor. I’m simply tired, Maisie.’

While Maisie has a sneaking suspicion that there’s more to it than that, she also knows that Sir Malcolm doesn’t take kindly to being told what to do.

‘There are a few matters that I need help with in the park. Perhaps Hugo–’

‘No, don’t bother Hugo,’ he interrupts with a sigh. ‘My brother is dealing with domestic issues of his own,’ he says, the meaning of which Maisie can guess. ‘You can handle Silver Kingdom, can’t you?’

It appears she has no choice.

Maisie spends the rest of the morning sorting out the issues.

She negotiates a truce between Mr Parry and Mr Melville, arranges for Clara to cover Gloria’s absence, and is in the middle of contacting alternative flour suppliers when Arnold discovers an issue with the carousel ten minutes before the park is due to open.

‘It won’t play music,’ he says, frowning. ‘It spins around as normal but there’s no sound.’

Maisie feels like going back to bed. She curses the day she ever set eyes on the carousel.

‘Do you think the riders will notice? It’s not like we’re short of music from the other attractions.’

Arnold looks at Maisie as if she’s taken leave of her senses. ‘We can’t have a silent carousel. It’s… it’s a desecration.’

Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Maisie agrees to summon Lucky Nate and his men.

All five labourers cluster around the controls.

There is conferring, clicking of tongues, shaking heads.

Maisie feels jumpy as she spots the gates opening and a swarm of people heading in their direction.

Without their star attraction operational, Silver Kingdom– more precisely, Maisie– will be on the receiving end of complaints, certainly demands for a refund.

‘Gotcha!’ Lucky Nate declares. He holds a small matchbox-sized piece of metal. ‘The music box was outta place but simple enough to fix. Strange, mind, because it doesn’t move easily by itself.’

He shows her how to lever the piece back in with a chisel in case of repeat issues, but, in this precise moment, Maisie is too preoccupied with sourcing raw ingredients for the food stalls to care about the whys or hows.

Dashing off, she eventually finds one willing to deliver all they need at short notice.

Like a runaway train, the difficulties build momentum into the next week.

A young man breaks his wrist on the dodgems on Thursday and threatens litigation; on Friday, both the Oriental Paradise ride and the mechanical train break down.

By the following Tuesday, official word comes that another bout of Spanish flu is sweeping across Chicago and the other two Money Girls also call in sick.

It’s enough to start a near riot.

Tuesday is pay day. At 8.00 a.m., the Money Girls usually start handing out small packets– the wages for the Crew and the Ride Jocks, and any share of profits minus rental fees owed to the Jointees.

Their absence was unexpected, and by 8.05 on this morning Maisie is sitting in the office, splitting the cash just as she’s seen them do.

She works quickly, consulting the wages ledger for the correct amount due to each person and placing the appropriate dollar bills and coins in envelopes. But this is a job for three.

‘Where’s our money? I’ve got two kids to support.’

‘We’re not working without another cent coming our way.’

With no sign of being paid on time, the line in front of the nearby ticket booth is turning ugly. Maisie can hear people hammering on its shutters. This panic is similar to the bank runs she’s heard about.

Grabbing the megaphone Arnold uses to announce the carousel ride, Maisie runs outside.

‘Let’s get a union formed,’ someone shouts.

‘Let’s go on strike!’

There is cheering. Maisie could swear the last voice belonged to the owner of the Oriental Paradise ride who is usually so softly spoken that she has to lean in to hear a word he says.

Her face floods with heat. The last thing she needs on top of everything else is any hint of workers’ rights.

Having experienced poverty in childhood, Maisie would gladly raise everyone’s pay, but it isn’t her decision to make.

She stands on the steps of the nearby helter-skelter. Mr Levander spots her immediately and points.

‘If there isn’t enough for everyone, you should start with the Jointees and work your way down,’ he booms at Maisie.

Mr Levander would think that, since, as owner of the leisure boats, his position is secured at the summit of the pyramid of workers.

Maisie can see Lucky Nate flex his fists, silently signalling to his crew that they should barge a path to the front of the line.

The workers surge forward. There’s a wail as Mrs Gonzales of the ghost train is squashed against the boundary fence.

Her husband tries forcing his way to her side and is shoved back by a mass of hands.

‘Us whites should get paid first,’ another person yells.

There’s an angry roar from the dark-skinned Jointees, and rough jostling.

From her experience in the lock-up, Maisie knows that the situation could very rapidly descend into violence.

This is far more serious than squabbles about pitch sizes.

If she doesn’t take control, Silver Kingdom will implode.

‘There’s enough money for everyone,’ she shouts. Her promise seems to carry because the noise of the crowd dies down and is replaced by nudging and muttering. ‘And you’ll have your share by lunchtime. You have my word.’

‘Why should we take the word of a woman?’

Maisie is staggered at how quickly they seem to have forgotten all the hard work she’s put into Silver Kingdom.

‘I’ve been given special authority from Sir Malcolm,’ she explains, experiencing a wave of annoyance at having to use his name to get taken seriously.

A grudging agreement settles over the disgruntled workforce.

As Lucky Nate nods, his men drift away, and then everyone else does the same as if the real power holders at Silver Kingdom are the Crew.

Maisie hurries off to get on with the task before the rabble decide to hold her accountable for the delay.

‘If I could have a word with you, ma’am.’

Madame Rose has cornered Maisie near the office. She’s wearing a lilac dress instead of the usual scarlet and Maisie almost doesn’t recognize her at first.

Maisie sighs. ‘I’ve promised everyone they’ll get paid and I mean it.’

She shoves past, determined to maintain her focus, and enters the office. Sitting at her desk, she stares as Madame Rose follows her in uninvited, and takes a seat.

‘You’ve never come to me for a reading,’ Madame Rose states, smiling. ‘Everyone else at Silver Kingdom has, including Sir Malcolm. He got a lot out of it.’