Heart Appearances (Truly Yours Digital Editions Book 560) (16 page)

Darcy’s heart teetered from the clouds and made a fast spiral to the bottom of her chest. Before she could recover, Tommy’s high-pitched voice shattered the air, and his hand insistently tugged at her skirt.

“Miss Darcy! Where’s Joel?”

Ten

Brent and Darcy stared at one another in shock. Brent was the first to move. “He couldn’t have gone far in such a short time.”

However, a thorough search of the immediate area did nothing to produce the boy. “You take Tommy and tell Michael what happened. I’ll start looking for Joel in that direction.” Brent motioned beyond the carousel.

Darcy nodded and hurried toward the hippodrome with Tommy. Brent scanned the crowds in front of each makeshift building and tent. Where could the boy have gone? It had been a mistake to bring him, but of course that was all water under the bridge now. Joel’s disappearance was Brent’s fault, but he refused to visit that place in his mind. Refused to visit any thoughts that led him to Darcy Evans. He still felt rattled that he’d almost kissed her! Brent shook his head. They must find Joel before he escaped. Where would the boy go? Where would Brent run to if he were Joel?

Brent walked the crowded midway, making a careful scan of each face. Quite a number of boys was scattered throughout the horde, but none of them was Joel. Spotting a muscled, dark-haired man in a pin-striped shirt, he recognized him as the presumptuous carousel worker and frowned. He’d like to give the insolent fellow a piece of his mind.

Brent approached a large tent, eyeing the long row of people waiting to take a turn inside. He doubted Joel would be standing in any line, but it never hurt to be certain.

“Guv’ner!” He heard Darcy’s breathless voice from behind him.

Brent quickly faced her. “Have you found him?”

She shook her head. “I only came ter offer me ’elp. Two pairs o’ eyes is better than one, I expect. Michael’s with Lance and Tommy, lookin’ at that end.” She pointed to the opposite side of the midway.

Brent would prefer not to be in her company after what happened—or almost happened—between them. Yet she was right: Two pairs of eyes were better than one. And he certainly wouldn’t consider letting her go off by herself to search. Not when leeches such as that carousel worker abounded throughout the midway.

Together, Brent and Darcy scouted various attractions, inquiring of different vendors and carnival-goers if they’d seen a towheaded boy, about thirteen years of age, wearing a pair of brown knickers with suspenders and black stockings, a white shirt, and a battered tweed cap. A description that could apply to any number of lads visiting the carnival today, from what Brent could tell.

Twice they were directed to different areas by people who thought they’d seen Joel. Twice they came up empty.

After what must have amounted to half an hour of fruitless searching, Brent realized what had to be done. “I suppose it’s time to contact the authorities.”

“No,” Darcy said. “Let’s try a little while longer.”

“The longer we wait, the greater a lead he has on us.”

Darcy’s eyes were troubled. “But if you call the bobbies—I mean, police—you could lose your position at the reform. Who’s to say Mr. Forrester won’t find out what happened and leak word to Judge Markham? Besides, I don’t think Joel ran.”

Brent stared at her in disbelief. “How can you say such a thing? It’s apparent he did just that. He waited for his chance and took it.”

“No.” Darcy stubbornly shook her head. “This morning I heard him promise Herbert that he would bring him back a trinket from the carnival. Those two have become close since the fence-paintin’ incident. If Joel were plannin’ to run, he likely would’ve confided in Herbert—not led him to believe he would be back.”

“Perhaps Joel knew the conversation was being overheard and only said that to waylay suspicion.”

She shook her head again, her lips compressed. “I don’t agree. One thing you don’t know about criminals, Guv’ner, is that they’re a faithful lot—to one another. True, there are some that would betray a friend, but for the most part they’s few and far between. Convicts are birds of a feather—an’ usually don’t keep secrets from one another, ’specially those they come to trust.”

Brent considered her words. Darcy should know, having been a former convict. He remembered Bill’s revelation concerning family secrets and something else that his brother had said years ago—about felons relying on a code of honor among themselves—as dishonorable and immoral as their actions were. Brent wavered in what steps to take—every second counted—but there was a chance she might be right.

“All right then, Miss Evans, what do you suggest we do?”

She looked at him in frank astonishment. “Why, Guv’ner. I’m surprised you need to ask. We should pray for direction, like we should have done from the beginning. God knows where Joel is, don’t He now?”

Darcy took his hand in hers and bowed her head. “Heavenly Father, point us the way to Joel. We ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.”

When she looked up, Brent was staring at her in disbelief. A smile flickered on her lips. “Prayers don’t need to be longwinded, Guv’ner. Just sincere and from the heart. That’s what God looks at,” she couldn’t resist adding. “The heart. Not what’s on a person’s outside.”

Brent averted his gaze, slipping his hand from hers. “Of course. Shall we proceed?”

For the next several minutes, they searched the south end of the carnival grounds. “Let’s try elsewhere.” Brent touched her elbow to turn her in another direction, but she stopped and gripped his upper arm.

“Look there, Guv’ner—beyond that sign advertising the fortune-teller. See the small man in the black suit and bowler? He looks mighty worried ’bout somethin’. He keeps peepin’ over his shoulder—though he walks with purpose, as if he knows what he’s about. There—see him? He’s walking to the back of the tent.”

Brent nodded. “It’s worth looking into, I suppose.”

They followed the short, skinny man around the side. The tents were close together, leaving a narrow walking space, like an alley, that took them to the back. They reached the end, and Brent grasped Darcy’s arm when she would have boldly walked onward. Puzzled, she glanced at him.

“We don’t know what we’re getting into,” he whispered. “It’s best to proceed with caution.”

She nodded, and they carefully looked around the edge of the tent.

Darcy spotted Joel’s slim form immediately, and relief almost brought her to her knees. He stood in front of a little table with a man sitting behind it. A shell game was in progress. The man, Darcy noted with surprise, was the clown who had handed out balloons earlier. Some of his face paint was smudged, and his hat and bow tie were gone as well; but the loose polka dot shirt under the yellow suspenders was unmistakable. Both he and Joel were in deep conversation. The man stared intently at the boy, as if he’d found a gold mine. The short man in the bowler had halted his hurried approach and stood, as though uncertain.

Darcy watched while Joel deftly moved three inverted cups round and round on the table, interweaving them with each other. When he stopped, the man said something and pointed to the middle cup. Joel smirked and lifted it to show there was no red ball underneath. A predatory smile lifted the man’s painted crimson mouth.

“Eric,” the small man said in a surprisingly loud voice. “Carson will have your hide if he knows you’re holding illegal shell games with minors. You’re on probation now, as it is.”

The man behind the table gave a careless wave of one hand, his eyes still on the boy. “Timmons, go back to your flea circus. Teach the mites to walk a tightrope or something spectacular of that nature.” His sardonic voice held a faint European accent. He coughed a few times. “And send more customers my way while you’re at it. With this lad’s help, I have an idea that will rake in the dough.”

The little man shook his head. “You’re going to get us both kicked out of the carnival with these ideas of yours.” He pointed a shaking finger at the clown. “Find your own customers from now on. I want no part of this any longer. I can’t afford to lose this job, even if the pay is peanuts.”

The clown looked steadily at Timmons. He rose from his chair in a threatening manner, both palms flat on the table.

Timmons backed down, his smile anxious. “Jewel will help you, Eric. She’s sweet on you. And with her informing clients during the fortune-telling that money is soon to come their way from unexpected sources, they’re bound to come in droves when she describes you to them.”

The clown glared at the man, the frown on his face fiercer than the painted one. “I need no help from a woman!” he spat. “They cannot be trusted. And perhaps neither can you.”

Timmons wiped his shining forehead with a kerchief. “I’ve never failed you, Eric, you know that. But my family needs to eat. Jewel means well. You can trust her.”

“You can’t trust any woman!” the clown shouted. As if remembering he had an audience, he visibly calmed and looked at the boy. “Timmons, allow me to introduce you to Joel. His talent is remarkable. I’m certain he could teach you a number of tricks as well. Where are you from, Lad?”

“The reformatory for boys in Sothsby. But I’m only there temporary-like, ’til my pop gets out of jail.”

“The reformatory. Well, what do you know?” The clown continued to stare at Joel. A slow smile lifted his mouth. “I believe we have some business to discuss.” He lowered his voice, making it impossible for Brent and Darcy to hear the rest of the conversation.

“Shouldn’t we do something instead of just wastin’ our time standin’ here?” Darcy whispered.

Brent shook his head. “The man with whom Joel is consorting has a gun—I saw the strap of a shoulder holster in the opening of his shirt. I think our best course of action would be to wait until Joel removes himself from these unsavory characters and approach him then.”

Darcy made a scoffing sound. “Don’t be daft, Guv’ner. We can’t just stand here an’ wait all day.”

“Miss Evans, our best plan would be to delay until their conversation is finished—”

“I know his type, and if you aren’t going to do anything about it, then I will!” So saying, she jerked her arm free of his light grasp and stepped forward, pasting a curious smile on her face.

“Joel, there you are! I been lookin’ for you everywhere.”

The two men started in surprise. Joel turned, his expression bordering between guilt and defiance. He stooped to pick up something from the ground, something she hadn’t noticed before, and held out what was left of her blue bonnet.

“I found your hat, Miss Darcy,” he explained. “I watched some girl pick it up, and I chased her down and made her give it back. I was lookin’ to find you when I ran into him.” He jerked a thumb toward the clown.

Darcy didn’t look the man’s way, nor did she ask Joel how he made the girl give him back the hat, deciding she’d rather not know. “Well, that’s fine,” she said, her tone purposely bright. “But it’s time to meet the others now. We don’t want to be late for the show. Come along.” She held out her hand.

Joel hesitated, looking back at the man behind the table. With alarm, Darcy noticed some sort of understanding pass between them. The clown gave a short nod to the boy, then lifted his gaze to hers. Up close as she was now, Darcy was struck by the evil that radiated from the man’s dark blue eyes.

“Come along, Joel,” she said firmly. “It’s time to go.”

Joel grudgingly moved toward her. She grabbed his arm when he came near and walked with him to where Brent waited, concealed at the side of the tent. Brent didn’t look at her, didn’t say a word, just led them back to the midway. He seemed miffed—with her or Joel, Darcy couldn’t tell.

Brent likely held her responsible for what had befallen them, since she had been the one to insist Joel be allowed to attend the carnival.
Some days it just don’t pay to get out of bed,
Darcy thought. No matter how hard she tried, it seemed she wound up getting everything wrong.

❧

Days later, Brent stood at the fence and glumly watched a spindly brown colt race toward its mother. His thoughts skittered back to the carnival, and he frowned. Hearing the crunch of footsteps on dry grass, he looked over his shoulder.

“Darcy asked me to fetch you,” Michael said as he approached. “She would’ve come herself, but Herbert is keeping her busy winnowing out the splinter he managed to get into his finger.”

Nodding, Brent looked at the horses.

“Somethin’ troublin’ you, Lad?”

“I’m a failure, Mr. Larkin.”

“Sure, and it can’t be as bad as all that!” Michael clapped a friendly hand on Brent’s shoulder. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

“No, I
am
a failure,” Brent insisted. “At the carnival, I was petrified, afraid that man would pull his gun on us if we revealed ourselves to him. Miss Evans showed more courage than I could ever hope to have. And there have been other times I’ve proven my cowardice as well.”

“And you don’t think it takes courage to teach a bunch of lads in trouble with the law? Aye, that it does,” Michael said, answering his own question. “There are different types of courage, and you have plenty for the position you’re in. When we feel that we’re empty, the good Lord gives us what we need.”

Brent experienced a sudden strong desire to confide in this man, as he might his father, though his father never had time for Brent’s worries or confidences.