Page 86 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

‘I would never—’ Michel began. Werner held up his palm to silence him.

‘You cannot trust everyone, Michel. I just hope that I have not made a mistake in trusting you with this.’

Michel sat for a moment, digesting everything. Frieda is not Werner’s wife or girlfriend. Werner is not the man I thought he was. The troupe is in more danger than I realised.

‘It is a lot,’ Jean said. ‘I’d understand if you ran away, to be honest. We are in a very shaky predicament now, Michel. Most of us are Jewish, and if not Jewish, we have our own secrets that would land us in prison, or worse.’

‘I have one question,’ Michel said.

Werner smiled. ‘I suppose you have the right to ask questions now, after I forbade you for so long.’

‘Anton. I saw you pay off that German soldier. I saw it with my own eyes, so don’t deny it.’

‘I won’t. I did pay him.’

‘Why? Why would you want to get rid of Anton?’

‘I didn’t pay them to take him away. I paid them so they would let us leave. Anton was once a politician, you know. He left politics and joined a group – now we call them the resistance, but back then it was just a bunch of politicians and academics who understood what was happening and wanted to stop it from getting this far. He wrote articles in newspapers, pamphlets – all sorts of things. I met him when he lived in Marseille. He was in trouble then, even before my German cousins arrived. He had written something for a newspaper, an investigative piece of sorts, highlighting the corruption and fascism of a few politicians, judges and high-ranking officers. Let us say that they did not take kindly to his accusations and he needed to disappear, quickly.

‘I met him at a friend’s house, just after this friend had married for the third time. My friend was helping him then – another one of us who could not stop talking, fighting and wanting to help. He asked me to take Anton with me. I did. What else could I do? He proved adept at the trapeze – strong, supple. He promised he would not cause trouble… but this war, Michel, it has sent people mad. He could not resist getting involved, and started up again with his damned radio and his leaflets. Remember when we were in Toulouse, the three-day event we held? He spent a lot of his time helping send messages over the wireless radio in one of his contacts’ houses. I didn’t know then, but after the raid, after Herr Köhler asked for our papers and began a search, I knew something was wrong – that they suspected us. Anton came clean. He offered to give himself up. I told him not to, that we would leave at dawn and get out before they asked any more questions. It turns out that we were just not quick enough. It’s hard to hide a circus when you look like us. I couldn’t get him to safety, and for the rest of my days I will regret not being able to save him.’

Werner stood and sighed. ‘I think it is time for me to go to bed now.’

Jean and Giordano stood too, the trio wobbling towards their caravans. As they did, Michel noticed a shadow melt back into the night. Then he shook his head. It was a trick of the light, nothing more. The evening had been so full of ghost stories he could not help feeling haunted.

He retreated to the barn and lay down on the straw, his coat covering him, and listened to the creak of the wood as it settled to sleep, the rest of the troupe already in their beds, only one light still burning from inside Werner’s caravan, his memories keeping him company until dawn.

Ten

Henri Le Comte

Michel awoke to the crow of a cockerel and the snuffle of Coquette’s wet nose on his cheek. He turned over and ruffled her head; she gave him a lick in reply.

He heard the morning break around him – Jean and Giordano arguing over the first batch of coffee by the fire, Madame Geneviève warming up her voice along with the song of the waking birds, Serge grunting and coughing up thick black spit from the pipes he smoked in the evening, and then a voice he had not heard for a while: Frieda talking to Isabelle, her laugh floating over to him.

He did not move, wanting to take a moment to register everything he had been told the night before. Part of him felt afraid – afraid that the secrets of the troupe were too much for him to carry – what if they were found? Would he be taken with them?

Claudette whinnied next to him, and he stood and patted her nose. ‘I’m a little worse for wear today,’ he told her.

She nuzzled into him and he heard Frieda laugh once more. As soon as he did, his fear was tucked away, replaced with happiness, with hope.

The troupe spent the day deciding on who would perform that evening, and what they would wear. Michel was desperate to see Frieda, but she flitted about, her spirits high, her laughter infecting everyone, and he contented himself by listening to her, watching her and preparing the horses for their upcoming performance.

‘We all ready?’ Werner’s voice boomed.

The troupe lined up in pairs, ready to walk their colourful selves into town. Michel held back and saw Werner assist Frieda down the caravan steps. She was wearing her short gold sequinned dress, her long legs stockinged. She allowed Werner to take her arm and lead her towards Claudette.

‘May I?’ she asked Michel.

He did not answer but helped her sit side-saddle on Claudette, ready to walk into town. Odélie appeared around the side of her wagon and stared at Frieda, then at Michel. Her costume complemented the dancing red sequins of Claudette’s bridle and saddle.

‘She doesn’t even match her.’ Odélie pouted.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Werner retorted. He mounted Beau and trotted out in front, soon followed by Frieda, then Giordano on Bisou.

The others followed on foot; Kacper playing his accordion, Hugo on the horn and Jean banging on a drum.

Michel took up the rear and found Odélie at his side. ‘You gave her my horse,’ she said, her expression wounded, then ran lightly away to join the triplets. She did not look back at him.