Page 52 of The Midnight Carousel

‘Moonshine? You’re mixed up in moonshine?’

Maisie is a ball of outrage, pacing in front of the run of windows in the drawing room.

She had masked her growing unease long enough to lead Freddie to the Smugglers’ Saloon, where James was enjoying a pot of coffee, waited for them to conduct whatever affairs needed attention and then summoned her husband indoors.

He sits leaning back in what has become his favourite armchair with his legs outstretched, nonchalant.

‘It isn’t moonshine, Maisie, it’s whatever alcohol was knocking about after Prohibition set in a few months ago.

Stored in bars, warehouses, in the basements of clubs, and the whatnot.

We’re lucky to have got our hands on it,’ he claims, sounding pleased with himself.

‘Once those supplies dry up, we might have to turn to moonshine, yes.’

Maisie stops pacing to stare at him open-mouthed.

‘It won’t be very lucky if you get caught, will it? Bootlegging means a prison sentence, James.’

Maisie has read about the raids conducted by the police at various establishments, and, even if she wasn’t worried about her husband being incarcerated, she certainly doesn’t want the authorities sniffing around here. Not with Nancy stirring up the circumstances of Sir Malcolm’s disappearance.

‘It’s one of the risks of doing business.

Demand for alcohol hasn’t dropped just because a load of interfering busybodies say it should.

’ He thinks for a moment, tapping his fingers together.

‘Freddie and I are simply making the best of the situation. Do you think Mr Rockefeller made his millions by letting opportunities slip through his fingers? A bit of chancy dealing is quite normal.’

Maisie feels her annoyance rising in direct proportion to James’s calm, condescending approach.

‘If it’s so normal, why did you lie about how you invested the money?’

He shrugs. ‘Because I knew you’d react like this,’ he admits without missing a beat. ‘I did try to keep it away from you,’ he adds in a softer voice.

James reaches out to take her hand, but Maisie shakes him off.

‘Then do a better job of keeping it away from me, from Silver Kingdom. I don’t want Freddie coming here again.’

Mrs Papadopoulos is never late. The next morning, Maisie waits at the end of the driveway for thirty-five minutes.

Usually by 7 a.m. the milk crates have been unloaded by Stavros and Georgios, and there’s time for a quick chat before Maisie is waving off the older woman. But there’s no sign of the cart today.

Maisie shields her eyes with one hand and peers down the long avenue again.

James is still in bed, but probably not for long, and this is the best opportunity Maisie has to ask advice from someone she trusts about relationships.

James’s duplicity bothers Maisie, and she’s seeking wisdom from another married woman on whether this is normal behaviour for a husband.

‘Sofia won’t be coming today.’

Maisie turns around to see Madame Rose holding a basket of herbs in one hand. The scent of thyme eddies on the early-spring air.

‘Mrs Papadopoulos,’ Madame Rose clarifies. ‘Nor tomorrow, or any time.’

Fear rushes in. Is this one of those awful insights? ‘Are you saying she’s had an accident?’

For a second, Madame Rose looks confused. Then she laughs.

‘Nothing like that. Mr Randolph told Gloria, who told Mr Levander, who told me that they’ve landed a big contract and can’t keep up with demand.

Apparently, Sofia has arranged for the O’Reilly Milk Company to supply Silver Kingdom instead.

’ Madame Rose can’t contain her mirth and holds her sides.

‘And you thought it was the power coming upon me.’

It isn’t funny, Maisie thinks. After their last encounter, in which Maisie felt that Madame Rose was probing into the deepest recesses of her mind, she’s even more uncomfortable around the fortune-teller.

Rose’s face falls serious and her eyes glaze over.

Maisie has seen that look before. She strides away, but not before the woman begins to speak.

‘About the great peril you will face…’

Maisie quickens her pace. She doesn’t need to hear about perils. She doesn’t need to hear that if anyone else vanishes, Silver Kingdom might come crashing down and her own neck will be on the line.

She heads for the parlour. Kneeling on the floor, she begins searching through the boxes from the study for an invoice from Mrs Papadopoulos.

The overpowering smell of eau de parfum wafts into the room.

Maisie pretends she hasn’t noticed Nancy and continues rifling through the cartons.

If she can find a current address for the Papadopoulos family, she will try to visit.

She is hurt that the woman she considered more than an acquaintance would have left without saying a word.

Have they really only ever shared a business connection?

Nancy sinks into an armchair. Maisie debates whether to leave or to stand her ground. The two women have coexisted thus far by making a point of avoiding one another, apart from at dinner times. The unspoken rule is that the last one into a room makes a swift exit.

Maisie stands up and looks out of the side window, dithering.

From this position, she can see Silver Kingdom as well as the curve of the lake disappearing into the distance, though not for long.

Insisting on privacy, Nancy has persuaded Hugo to pay for a boundary fence separating the house from the amusement park, and work has already started.

So many changes in such a short time to the life Maisie and Sir Malcolm established.

‘Someone was spotted creeping around Silver Kingdom on the night Sir Malcolm allegedly drowned,’ Nancy pipes up. ‘I’ve just asked James and he says he was asleep and has no idea who it could have been.’

Beads of sweat gather at the back of Maisie’s neck. The grandfather clock that used to live in the hallway at Jesserton now stands in the corner of this room, and it marks out the seconds of silence. She wills herself to stay put so it doesn’t look like she’s trying to evade Nancy’s questions.

‘Who was it that saw the person?’ she asks.

In her mind, Maisie has already eliminated Silver Kingdom’s workforce, who were away for the winter.

This leaves the Fairweather staff– unless there was someone else lurking in the shadows.

She always has a sense that she isn’t alone near the carousel anyway, but what if she really wasn’t that night?

The idea that she was being spied on makes Maisie’s pulse jump in panic.

‘Obviously, I can’t disclose confidential information until all the evidence is in,’ Nancy replies. ‘Anyway, did you see anything?’

Everything, and nothing. Maisie still doesn’t actually know what happened to Sir Malcolm, and can’t bear to dwell on it. Every time Nancy brings up the subject, Maisie relives the fear of that awful night and is overcome by guilt.

‘It was my wedding night, remember?’ Maisie answers, careful at every turn. ‘So I was sleeping too. But, if I think of something, I’ll let you know.’

As the week drags on, Maisie’s stamina plummets.

Silver Kingdom’s new dairy supplier is causing a stir.

According to Mr Cornelius, the milk is of a lower quality than before, and arrives late more often than not.

When Maisie explains to him that the decision made by the Papadopoulos family is out of her hands, she could swear he mutters something along the lines of ‘That’s what happens when you put a woman in charge. ’

In the household, Nancy is like a ferret down a rabbit hole, talking nonstop about Sir Malcolm over dinner each evening.

Her new focus is the suicide notes, more specifically the one to Eric, the existence of which she discovered only when he commented yesterday that he was touched that Sir Malcolm had thought to thank him for his dutiful service.

Having found nothing of significance in Maisie’s letter a few weeks ago, Nancy had pounced on this new piece of evidence.

It turns out that there are a couple of spelling mistakes Sir Malcom would never have made, turns of phrase that he would never have used.

Panicking inside, Maisie wills her expression neutral, and pretends to be absorbed in her meal as Nancy grills the men on their analysis of the situation.

James mouths, ‘ Dear Lord, save me ,’ when Nancy turns around to ask Robert to bring more drinks.

By Sunday evening, Maisie is too tired to eat, and she skips the hour-long ordeal in the dining room, which will be especially taxing tonight as the McBrides are expected.

James promises to bring her a plate of food before he leaves for the club.

It’s clear that he’s trying to make up for their quarrel, and Maisie likes the feeling of being wanted.

But she also can’t throw off the fear that James is introducing danger into their lives.

She sits on the edge of the bed, feeling light-headed, hearing Cassandra McBride’s raucous laugh drift up from downstairs.

Tomorrow is Monday, the day Silver Kingdom is closed to the public, and she intends to put her feet up.

Leaning down to remove her stockings, she is hit by a wave of nausea.

With a jolt like an electric shock, Maisie realizes that her last monthly bleed was nine weeks ago.

Or is it ten? It’s been so busy, she never registered how late it is.

She falls back on to the pillow, stunned, and places her hands on her stomach. Her fingers press gently. Her belly is no rounder than usual, but, now that she thinks of it, her breasts have grown tender.

The magnitude of what might be happening inside her body starts to sink in. Could there really be a tiny human growing– a real person? If there is, will it take after Maisie or be more like James? Will it be anything like her own parents?

Maisie grips the blanket, her knuckles turning white, as she relives the moment that she learnt they are alive. The punch in the gut that spiralled into weeks of pain.

She makes a silent vow not to be the kind of parent that her own were– a promise to protect any children she ever has.