Page 54 of The Midnight Carousel

Steam lifts from the lake, and the petunias in the flowerbeds are wilting.

The end of June this year is scorching. Even the back kitchen, where the freezing units hum like a colony of bees, is too hot for someone six months pregnant.

Maisie wipes sweat from her neck with a dishcloth and resumes positioning ice-cream tubs on a tray.

‘I’ll take these out, Peggy Mae,’ she calls to the cook, who is measuring vanilla essence. ‘I’m heading that way, anyway.’

She notes Peggy Mae’s small smile. Maisie still doesn’t know who spotted her running around Silver Kingdom that night, but she’s become vigilant around the servants and Arnold, always searching their faces for any sign, always looking over her shoulder.

Was Eric remembering something when he gave Maisie a puzzled look last week?

Did Clara mean anything by her comment that Maisie appears anxious these days?

‘She needs her spirits lifted,’ Hugo explained when Maisie tried to veto the plan.

What he meant was that Maisie’s pregnancy is affecting his wife.

It would be hard to miss the sideways glances, the surreptitious looks at Maisie’s growing belly.

There have been louder attempts at baby-making, and episodes when Nancy is quiet and vacant, staring towards the lake while mumbling under her breath.

Maisie wanders through Silver Kingdom. The thrill of the funfair has never left her, not since her first experience at Clacton, and within a few years she will be seeing it all through her child’s eyes.

She imagines the joy of the first ride– the carousel, of course– the clapping and beaming with pleasure.

For a moment, Billy’s sad face comes to mind, but Maisie bats away the image.

She will never let her child come to harm.

More alert than ever, she has been laying stones around the carousel again.

After depositing the ice cream and conferring with Mrs Ferretti and Lucky Nate about a problem with squeaking dodgems, Maisie is heading back to the house when someone calls her name.

Looking around, she spots James standing on a ladder near the patio, helping to set up the bunting, with Nancy issuing instructions from below.

He beckons to Maisie. The last place she wants to be is anywhere near that woman with her persistent suspicions about Sir Malcolm’s death, but lately it’s become obvious that Nancy is trying equally hard to avoid close proximity.

Sure enough, as Nancy notices Maisie approaching, she steps away from the ladder and drifts inside the house.

James clambers down and lays his hand on Maisie’s belly. The baby kicks, and he grins. Ever since learning that he’s to be a father, James has strutted about as though he’s a prize stallion.

‘Strong like a true Squires male,’ he says proudly. ‘And he’ll want for nothing. I’ll make sure of it.’

Maisie bites her lip. Any talk of his money reminds her of where it comes from.

‘You’re worrying for nothing, you know,’ James says, able to read her thoughts. ‘Freddie and I have set it all up so that if anything goes wrong– which it won’t– there will be no comeback on us.’

‘So no one else knows what you’re doing?’

James pulls a face. ‘Not exactly no one, but we know who to trust.’

Maisie’s heart hammers an alert. The fact that other people are involved increases the risks.

‘I don’t like it, James. I think you should find another business. There’s something threatening about Mr Fortescue,’ she remarks.

They’ve had this conversation a thousand times, and can never agree.

True, James has kept Freddie away from Silver Kingdom, and he seems very comfortable managing the danger, but Maisie fears for the life she’s creating with him.

Until this pregnancy, she hadn’t grasped how important having her own family is to her.

‘He’s a pussycat, really. All menace on the surface, but underneath it all harmless enough.’

Maisie cradles her stomach. ‘And are we the mice?’

James sets his hands on her shoulders.

‘I’m in control of the situation, Maisie. Nothing bad is going to happen.’

It’s impossible not to get swept away by the atmosphere of excitement.

Two days until the party and the house is crowded.

There are caterers and photographers, the seamstress and the tailor.

Three florists and a team of handymen scurry about the place.

Peggy Mae orders the pastry chefs from Hugo’s favourite bakery out of her kitchen, so they’re loitering by the new dance floor, smoking.

Eric runs about the house carrying piles of silver servers. Robert does any task asked of him.

The pyrotechnics crew arrives to set up on the lake, and chaos ensues when one of Mr Levander’s tiny boats capsizes with three boxes of fireworks aboard.

Maisie watches the men use oars to salvage as much as they can.

She is sitting on the bench with Clara while a large marble sculpture of a mermaid is being manoeuvred beside the patio, from which oyster cocktails will be served at the party.

Maisie takes every opportunity to rest her feet these days, and this is easy work.

They are sewing gold sequins on to a large indigo cloth for the area above the stage in the centre of the garden.

James has arranged for the entire jazz club to come here for the night.

He stands laughing with Hugo as they watch the gambling tables being positioned near the shore.

Another group of men approach him and they all shake hands warmly.

Maisie wishes she was half as popular as her husband– Mrs Papadopoulos hasn’t been in touch and no amount of searching has uncovered any old invoices with an address for her.

Missing paperwork. Missing people. The curse of Silver Kingdom.

Nearby a man is practising dance moves between the rose beds, warbling scales at the top of his voice. Maisie recognizes him as the singer from the jazz club, though today he’s in a drab pair of slacks and grubby vest.

Minutes pass with the sun bearing down on the back of her head. Moisture collects on her fingertips, and she almost drops the needle.

‘You all right, ma’am? You look a bit hot,’ Clara calls over.

She checks whether Clara’s face shows any signs of being suspicious of her, any hint that the maid is Nancy’s witness, then looks at her watch. She should really be doing the accounts at this time of the morning. The business continues with or without a party.

‘I think I’ll go inside for a while,’ Maisie replies.

After the glare of outdoors, it takes Maisie’s eyes a while to acclimatize. She heads for the study. Someone has closed all the doors and the hallway is unusually dark, so she doesn’t see the figure approaching from the opposite direction until it’s almost too late.

Automatically, she presses her back to the wall. Nancy looks straight ahead, confident, swinging her hips, her body slinky in a calf-length, dropped-waist shift dress. As she is about to pass Maisie, she stops.

The two women are alone for the first time in months. Outside, there is laughter and loud voices. But in here, the air is still and quiet. Maisie holds her breath as Nancy’s gaze lingers on her stomach. She squirms, tries to hold steady under the scrutiny.

All of a sudden, Nancy’s eyes flick up. They are hazel with amber flecks, and quite beautiful. She regards Maisie with an ambiguous expression, a mix of disinterest and victory.

‘This morning, I decided to retrace Sir Malcolm’s possible movements on the night he supposedly drowned himself,’ Nancy says coolly. ‘And I found this caught inside a crevice of the rock where his clothes were left.’

Extending her hand, Nancy uncurls her fist. The world slows down. Glinting in the gloom is a small diamond made of paste attached to a navy ribbon embroidered with gold thread, surrounded by brown withered foliage. Maisie’s wedding corsage.