Page 55 of The Midnight Carousel

Maisie fastens the buttons of her mauve cocktail dress. She really isn’t in the right frame of mind for a party, but, if she bails out now, Nancy will take it as a sign of guilt.

The corsage is incriminating. ‘I needed some fresh air that afternoon, after… you know… James and I had… and looking at water always relaxes me,’ she had claimed, trying to explain it away by appealing to Nancy’s sensibilities as a married woman.

Nancy’s eyes had gleamed as Maisie blushed.

‘Another oddness,’ Nancy had commented. ‘I was half thinking anyway to question everyone at the wedding to see if they could throw light on Sir Malcolm’s state of mind that day, but this has decided me.

’ She was almost crowing. ‘I’ll arrange a series of meetings for next week, after the party, and we can verify who was where and when… then we can take it from there.’

It feels like Nancy has been waiting for this moment for months.

Maisie’s blood runs cold thinking about it.

While everyone saw the bride and groom leave the reception together, and return separately, she knows that, by speaking to the staff and guests at the reception, Nancy will discover that no one saw her by the lake, and she was alone for only a couple of minutes, which isn’t enough time to have wandered down to the shore and back again.

Piecing together what must really have happened isn’t that difficult: tied to her wrist all day, and hidden by the trailing sleeves of her dress, the corsage was easily forgotten when Maisie undressed for the evening– and just as easily fell off in the mad scrabble of covering her tracks later that night.

Maisie feels as though she’s being hunted by a pack of circling wolves. She wonders if this was how her own parents felt when they made the decision to flee England, and set in motion the events that led to her abandonment.

The fear that the same fate might await her own child has jolted Maisie into a decision.

If the law catches up with her, it leaves James as the only meaningful parent.

Tomorrow morning, after the party, she’s going to have another talk with him about finding legitimate work, but this time she’ll make him understand, even if it means telling him the whole story.

From the corner of her eye, she can see him straightening his bow tie while he peers from the window.

He catches her looking and saunters over with a self-satisfied smile.

Reaching inside his jacket, he produces an object that he loops carefully around her neck.

Her fingers flutter to a long gold chain studded with tiny rubies.

It’s gorgeous and elegant and must have been bought with dirty money.

‘Thank you, you shouldn’t have,’ she says.

He gives her mouth a prolonged kiss. The bristles of his moustache poke her upper lip.

‘Nothing more than you deserve, darling,’ he says, moving to the doorway. ‘See you later. I told Walter and Neville they could meet my beautiful wife, so please do come and find me.’

With reluctance, she applies make-up, slips on a pair of gold pumps and heads out a few minutes after him.

The party is in full force. From the top of the staircase, Maisie has a panoramic view of the downstairs hallway.

Here are the Prestons, and the Hurleys, the Galvestons and the McBrides, as well as the rest of Nancy and Hugo’s many friends; James’s friends from the jazz club; a smattering of Sir Malcolm’s friends, friends of friends, business associates– an eclectic mix all flitting between the rooms, dressed in bright silks– cerise, buttercup yellow, ruby, emerald, electric blue– like beautiful birds of paradise.

Gliding in zigzags, waiters carry shiny silver platters piled with bite-sized creations of lobster and smoked salmon and foie gras.

Near the front door, an earnest-faced young man plucks away at a harp, the notes indistinguishable from the tinkle of laughter and the clink of glasses.

The headiness is a hundred times more intoxicating than the jazz club, but any excitement is tempered by the sight of Nancy standing beneath the chandelier in her silver ballgown. Surrounded by a group of fawning young men, she is dazzling.

While Nancy is distracted by a particularly handsome gentleman handing her a drink, Maisie hurries downstairs and dives into the kitchen.

Eric is slicing cucumber, while Clara and Robert are helping Peggy Mae crush ice, the three puffing with the effort.

The cook stops what she’s doing to bustle over.

‘Out of my kitchen, Miss Maisie. You’re to have fun tonight,’ she orders.

With considerable force, she pushes Maisie out of the back door and into the garden.

It seems like the entire population of Chicago has spilt on to the lawn.

Hundreds upon hundreds of people are gathered, mostly congregated around the gaming tables or in front of the stage, where the singer in the blue tuxedo is duetting with a woman wearing a yellow tutu.

Peering over the tops of heads, she can see no hint of James anywhere, and no one she recognizes. She heads to the dance floor, shoving away a greasy-haired gentleman who plants a kiss on her forehead, then a thin woman who juggles five balls in her face.

Maisie stops in a quiet place under a crab-apple tree, circling on the spot.

To the left is the bar where champagne and cocktails flow freely.

Her concerns about the blatant serving of alcohol in public were shrugged off by James.

‘Not to worry, darling, Hugo has invited the Chief of Police, who says he’s looking forward to a decent Martini. ’

She notices Arnold to the right, dressed in a flashy gold suit, and is on the point of heading towards him to ask if he would mind keeping her company when he joins a large crowd around Madame Rose, gathered at her feet like she’s a prophet.

Sitting in an armchair within a circle of candles the fortune-teller looks over at Maisie, her eyes dreamy.

Maisie turns on her heel and hurries towards the patio, where she finds herself near the marble mermaid.

A group of men are cheering as two drunken women smear foie gras over each other’s bare breasts.

The sight appals her. She wants her unborn child nowhere near this debauchery.

Leaning one hand on the bench, she catches her breath. It’s too noisy here, too raucous. She looks back at the house. Partygoers are streaming in and out, laughing and shouting. It won’t be much better inside. Keeping to the shadows, she walks across the garden and opens the gate to Silver Kingdom.

Immediately she feels better. Heading in the direction of the lake, she stops at the carousel and with some difficulty clambers on to a horse.

Pregnancy has made Maisie less supple and it takes a few minutes to get comfortable.

She stares out. At night, it’s magical here.

The sky and lake merge with the darkness, so it appears as if the carousel is floating amongst the stars.

Maisie holds tightly to the pole. What if the carousel could transport her to any place she wishes?

She imagines galloping across the lake, across the ocean, across to the other side of the world and to France. To her parents.

To Laurent. The thought escapes before Maisie can stuff it back down.

There is a clinking sound and footsteps. To her amazement, Mrs Papadopoulos appears, holding two glasses of champagne. For a moment, Maisie forgets all about her troubles and spreads out her arms for a hug, almost crying with stunned happiness.

‘You’re here!’ She accepts a drink and watches Mrs Papadopoulos mount the neighbouring horse, a dark grey beauty. ‘Here’s to a long-awaited reunion.’ She raises her glass. ‘But I can only do a small toast.’

She taps her round belly, and Mrs Papadopoulos beams.

‘I am happy for you, so happy,’ she replies, and it seems like she means this. ‘You will be good mother, I know.’

Maisie attempts a small smile. It means a lot that Mrs Papadopoulos has such faith in her. At the same time, the knowledge that she might not be around for this child is like an arrow in her heart.

‘ Moro mou , what is wrong? There is problem with baby?’

Mrs Papadopoulos looks so worried that Maisie experiences a sensation of being held warm and safe in a thick, fluffy blanket.

It’s been a long time since she’s felt properly cared for like this.

James usually dismisses her fears with a self-assured laugh.

She’s already anticipating an uphill struggle to be taken seriously, if and when she shares her current concerns with him.

‘The baby is fine; it’s me who isn’t,’ she replies. Backed into a corner by Nancy, she has nothing to lose by pressing on. ‘There’s a little problem with where I was around the time Sir Malcolm… drowned.’

Mrs Papadopoulos looks confused and Maisie clears her throat.

‘Nancy found my wedding corsage under the rock where his clothes were found, and she thinks it means something that it doesn’t.’

Maisie feels her body grow hot as Mrs Papadopoulos allows herself a few moments to think this through.

‘You were at lake in reception?’ she says, her eyes probing.

Maisie looks away, stares at the pattern of swirls on the horse’s pole. ‘No, but later I was,’ she admits in a whisper.

‘I mean you were at lake in day. In reception. I look out of window and see you.’

Maisie’s head jerks up. The older woman is staring at her with a knowing look.

‘I see you,’ Mrs Papadopoulos repeats.

The timeline would work– the pair sat alone in the hallway at the reception for a good ten minutes, enough time for Maisie to have walked to the shore and back again.

Months of feeling hounded by Nancy, of watching every step and guarding every word, wash away like debris on a wave.

Exhausted and relieved in equal measure, Maisie collapses against the horse.

Seconds later, she finds Mrs Papadopoulos’s strong arms around her.