Page 42 of The Midnight Carousel

Maisie is taken aback. Sir Malcolm is usually so sensible.

On the other hand, steady, logical Laurent also visited the fortune-teller.

Maisie finds her mind drifting to that day, strolling through the park with him.

It feels like a lifetime ago that she felt carefree and so light-hearted.

She bites her lip, forcing the memories down.

‘If you’ll excuse me, Rose, I really must get on with sorting out the money.’

Making a big play of staring at the wages ledger, Maisie begins to tick off entries.

‘What is it that you want to learn, my dear?’

Maisie’s pulse quickens. Will I always be angry? Why did my parents leave? Why did Laurent kiss me?

She glances up. As she catches Madame Rose’s eye, it feels as though her deepest worry, the one that haunts her thoughts night and day, is being siphoned from her mind.

‘Where are the missing children?’ she asks.

The question escapes before Maisie can contain it. Holding her breath, she hears her own heartbeat. Boom, boom, boom. Seconds pass like water from a dripping tap.

‘With the answer comes great peril to yourself,’ Madame Rose replies in a slow, steady beat. ‘A peril for which you are not yet prepared.’

Six weeks later, and the sheen has come off Silver Kingdom.

There are enough quarrels, enough problems, enough work to fill every moment of Maisie’s day, and then some.

Invoices to pay, books to balance, staff rosters, supplies to order.

If she isn’t playing referee between the Jointees, or scratching her head over the constant cycle of machine breakdowns, there are complaints from the visitors to take in– ‘The benches are uncomfortable’, ‘There’s not enough salt on the popcorn’, ‘The lines for the rides are too long’.

By the time Maisie returns to the house after finishing the paperwork, the staff have retired to their own quarters, and it’s up to her to warm a plate of food left by Peggy Mae.

If she could only talk these difficulties through with someone, it might all feel easier.

But who? She doesn’t even see Sir Malcolm any more.

Holed away in his bedroom all day, he’s stopped making an appearance at dinner.

The only hint that he still lives at Fairweather House is the odd noise downstairs in the middle of the night, as though he’s rearranging furniture.

It leaves Maisie with no choice but to keep her thoughts to herself and muddle on silently.

Whenever she wonders whether to tell Hugo about his brother’s vague state, she remembers Sir Malcolm’s clear instruction that Hugo wasn’t to be disturbed.

Besides, when he does occasionally turn up at Silver Kingdom, Nancy is glued to his side.

Either she arrives in a white dress– serene and medicated, in which case Maisie takes time out of even the busiest of days to sit quietly with her on the patio bench– or she appears in brash colours, loud and obnoxious, and is best avoided.

There’s nothing in between, and her mood is unpredictable. It’s better to keep Hugo out of it.

On a warm evening falling in the last week of summer, Maisie is heading indoors for another evening alone.

She has decided to reread the report on her parents.

The shock is wearing off and there are still questions she would like answered.

Why did her parents leave her behind? And where are they now?

Deep down, part of her also wants to feel some sort of connection to the detective.

He touched the paper, created the structure of the sentences with his entire focus on Maisie.

She hears someone calling her name. Arnold is racing across the grounds. As their paths converge by the helter-skelter, he pauses to catch his breath.

‘I’ve just received a telephone call about my father,’ he pants. ‘He’s gravely unwell and I need to return to St Louis to be by his side. There’s a train leaving first thing in the morning.’

Maisie wonders what it’s like to have a father you care about, who cares about you.

While of course she can’t refuse his request, it brings with it the biggest hurdle she’s yet faced.

Though the special horse is still covered in blankets, Arnold is a second line of defence.

The old fear flares up as Maisie realizes that without him someone else might vanish into thin air.

Though Beau Armitage is out of the picture, all the way in Los Angeles, what if he never was the abductor?

Or what happens if he returns? She can play it down all she likes, but Madame Rose’s warning about a future peril has Maisie spooked, and she can’t take the risk of another disappearance.

Now that she is running the business, she understands why the Randolph brothers were so reluctant to close the carousel.

It’s Silver Kingdom’s glorious centrepiece, attracting visitors from as far away as Peoria.

Without it, they might as well shut the entire park.

Though half tempted to go down this route, Maisie knows that the workforce would stage an all-out revolt.

Sending Arnold off to pack, Maisie wanders over to the carousel, its majestic outline silhouetted against twilight. What is it about this chunk of metal and wood that everyone finds so compelling?

She spends the next few hours trying to find a replacement for the Grand Ringmaster of the carousel.

Every single one of Silver Kingdom’s workers flat out refuses, unwilling to take on the responsibility of keeping people away from the caramel-coloured horse, and still smarting after their wages were late.

‘Your problem is that it led to bad whispers about working at this place, so you won’t find anyone further afield that’s willing to chance it,’ Lucky Nate explains with a shrug. ‘Especially at this short notice.’

She fares no better asking the household staff: Eric grumbles that he’s busy doing the job of both butler and footman; Clara is too shy; Peggy Mae is focused on cooking and bringing up three children alone. Maisie would do it herself but she is run off her feet as it is.

Brooding, she retreats to the parlour. Her mind turns over an idea, then discounts it. Maisie already knows that it’s impossible to detach that one horse without detaching them all, and she isn’t confident that she won’t face the same problem if she asks Lucky Nate to hack it off at its pole.

James suddenly materializes in the doorway. What with being so occupied, she hasn’t seen him since the evening at the jazz club. Or given him a second thought.

‘It’s my night off and I popped by because I haven’t heard from Sir Malcolm for a while, and was worried,’ he explains.

Relieved that someone else has noticed that something is off, Maisie asks him to take a seat.

She explains her concerns about Sir Malcolm’s health, and the strain of finding herself in charge of a business.

When James promises to come by more often to check in on Sir Malcolm, she feels like a weight is lifted.

‘Leave it to me,’ he says, brimming with efficiency. ‘And what are you doing to let off steam? You can’t just work, work, work, Maisie, it isn’t good for you. Come to the jazz club again. You liked it, didn’t you?’

Maisie loved the jazz club, maybe too much.

‘I don’t have time, James, and I need to keep my focus on this place.’

James looks thoughtful. ‘I suppose Arnold taking off doesn’t help. His cousin Jacob, from the club, told me about his father.’

Maisie feels totally defeated. ‘I can’t find anyone to take his place,’ she admits. ‘Let alone someone I trust to keep people away from that one horse.’

‘The one the French detective in particular was interested in?’

James has obviously paid more attention to the goings-on here than Maisie realized. As she nods, he leans back in his chair, tapping the armrests, his face inscrutable.

‘I’ll do it,’ he replies.

Maisie hesitates. On the one hand, she isn’t confident that James is up to the job. Then again, she’s reached the point of desperation, and no one else has volunteered.

‘Thank you,’ she agrees with some reluctance.