Page 51 of The Midnight Carousel

The Silver Kingdom workers return with a bang after winter.

Lucky Nate and his men arrive first, having hitched a ride all the way from Florida in a truck hauling peanuts between states.

The Jointees and Ride Jocks are next, and finally the Money Girls, who saunter in to wolf whistles three days later.

Rides are re-erected, stalls scrubbed and stocked.

The noise and the flurry of activity are a breath of life after the hibernation of winter.

The happy reunion is dampened by Sir Malcolm’s absence.

News of his death had reached them months ago but naturally everyone is still saddened.

The Crew even organize a memorial of sorts, with the workforce standing on the shore in their most sombre outfits.

As the mourners disperse, Maisie notices James and Hugo engrossed in conversation.

When she questioned her husband about the missing money, he was quite open– some might say shameless– about needing it to buy a batch of discount perfume to sell on for a hefty profit.

‘It was too good an opportunity to miss, darling, and there was a deadline,’ he explained breezily.

‘I thought you wouldn’t mind, then I forgot to tell you.

’ After a few firm words from Maisie about teamwork working both ways, the dust soon settled.

Watching the eighty-strong workforce go about their tasks, Maisie’s stomach flips over.

The enormity of her new role is beginning to dawn on her.

Although she was the stand-in manager for months, being the boss feels very different, since the livelihood of everyone working here is now her responsibility. The carousel is her responsibility.

She heads in the direction of the lake to talk to Mr Levander about the possibility of extending the pier. Spotting Madame Rose hovering nearby, she diverts past the helter-skelter and runs into Nancy instead.

‘Just the person I wanted to catch alone,’ Nancy declares.

Maisie immediately raises her guard. ‘Oh, yes?’ she asks without slowing.

Nancy walks alongside Maisie, matching her pace as they step over a pile of lumber and around two of the Crew, who are hoisting a pirate flag outside the Smugglers’ Saloon.

‘Hugo and I were reminiscing about Sir Malcolm yesterday. It’s the first I’d heard of it, but apparently their nanny left them unattended near the Jesserton pond when they were very young.

Sir Malcolm almost drowned,’ she says glancing at Maisie.

‘And he detested water after that. Hugo doesn’t agree, but it’s obvious that if he’d chosen to die, he’d never have done it that way.

It’s odd, isn’t it?’ Nancy frames this as a question, although it’s clearly a statement.

Like Nancy, Maisie had never heard this anecdote before. She could kick herself for choosing self-inflicted drowning as a cover story.

‘Poor Sir Malcolm,’ she says. ‘But he did leave letters. Mine said he was sad.’

Nancy stops in her tracks and grabs Maisie by the arm, bringing her to a halt as well. They are standing by the carousel now. It takes all the willpower Maisie can muster to keep her eyes from straying to the horse that’s been re-covered in blankets.

‘You got one too? I shall need to see it. Hugo gave me his, but it didn’t say anything about his state of mind.’ Nancy frowns. ‘The police won’t listen to my concerns; they’re being quite useless, in fact, and told me I was being hysterical. So I intend to get to the bottom of it myself.’

Maisie’s throat constricts as if a noose is tightening around her neck. What an almighty mess she has created for herself.

Unable to erase images of the police turning up to arrest her, Maisie tosses and turns that night.

The idea doesn’t seem that far-fetched when Nancy uses the following dinner time as an occasion to share the titbits of information she’s gleaned, as though Sir Malcolm’s death has given her a fresh sense of purpose.

‘Eric says that a set of Sir Malcolm’s clothes are missing, like he was wearing two layers that night,’ she announces during the main course.

Maisie’s grip on the cutlery tightens. Fortunately, the men are out– James left early for the club, and Hugo is meeting Mr Deveraux in the city– and no one else can see her face redden.

Nancy takes a delicate bite of salmon.

‘It was bitterly cold that night, so perhaps he wanted to wrap up warm,’ Maisie replies, aware that she is clutching at straws.

Nancy looks askance. ‘Why would he care that much about being cold in the circumstances? Besides, if that was the case, where is his coat?’

Maisie’s appetite withers. Realizing that Sir Malcolm must have been wearing his coat when he was taken, she opens her mouth to say that he probably forgot to remove it before plunging into the lake, closes her mouth because this sounds implausible and forces down the rest of the meal to avoid drawing Nancy’s suspicions.

What else has she overlooked?

By opening day, Maisie is so worn out by nervous energy that it feels like she’s trudging through the sludge-sand on Canvey Island after a day of cockle picking, her clothes laden with seawater.

As she stands at the front gate with Hugo, she greets the excited visitors, who swarm towards the carousel as usual.

The buzz, the cheering, the smell of fresh doughnuts, begin to act as a pick-me-up.

It takes Maisie back to a year ago, when Silver Kingdom was opening for the very first time. How much has happened since then.

Mr Lee from the Oriental Paradise approaches. He tips his hat at Hugo.

‘Mr Randolph, sir, I would like to discuss the rate I pay for my concession,’ he says in his usual nervy voice. ‘I hear that Mr Parry is charged two per cent less for a fifteen per cent larger pitch.’

Maisie is quietly rankled by Mr Lee’s assumption that Hugo, who usually makes himself scarce, is now in charge.

‘You’ll have to speak to Maisie; she’s the owner now,’ Hugo responds curtly, striding off.

Mr Lee makes a valiant attempt to mask his surprise, but it’s evident that he, along with everyone else at Silver Kingdom, Maisie suspects, believes that she was little more than Sir Malcolm’s mouthpiece for all those months.

She spends the next twenty minutes talking through the figures with him, and is concluding their conversation when she spots a diminutive gentleman dressed in green tweed and a brown bowler hat.

Despite his lack of physical stature, the man pulses a certain presence. So much so that a ring of space has formed around him, as though the crowds sense danger.

Maisie approaches him with a tight smile. ‘Welcome to Silver Kingdom, Mr Fortescue.’

She recognizes the twirly moustache and mischievous smile of the man whom she spoke with at the jazz club before he was warned off by James. Away from the dark, smoky atmosphere of that night, a yellowish tinge to his teeth is obvious.

‘Nice set-up you have here,’ Freddie Fortescue remarks. ‘Very, very nice.’

His eyes roam around Silver Kingdom like those of a ravenous lion.

‘I didn’t know you were a fan of amusement parks. I can’t remember seeing you here before,’ she says, keeping up the pleasant tone.

‘I like anything that makes money,’ he answers bluntly. ‘Speaking of which, I’m looking for your husband. We’re in the middle of a rather delicate business transaction.’

Considering their less than friendly interaction at the club that night, Maisie is surprised that the two men are even on speaking terms.

‘More perfume?’ she asks, trying to appear knowledgeable.

Freddie snorts. ‘Is that what he told you it is?’