The Girl Who Walked on Air (16 page)

The crowd knew something was amiss. An uneasy silence fell. With all those faces looking at me, my mouth went suddenly dry. Right now I wasn’t a showstopper; I was a girl who wanted answers. And that needed a different kind of courage, the kind that faced the truth. What I did know was the power of a newspaper headline. Mr Chipchase had drummed it into me.
Louie
, he’d said,
the pen is mightier than the sword
.

The battle was about to commence.

In the very front row was the brown-suited reporter. I started with him.

‘You, mister,’ I called out. ‘You asked earlier how I felt. Well, I’m angry. Furious and proper angry. Got that?’

The reporter raised his eyebrows. The crowd muttered in surprise. On the steps, Mr Wellbeloved stiffened.

‘Why, young lady?’ the reporter said. ‘You’ve just done an amazing thing.’

‘I have,’ I agreed. ‘But to my manager that ain’t enough. He wanted a double somersault at the end. And that wasn’t all . . .’

‘Now just a minute,’ said Mr Wellbeloved.

The little girl looked up at him, terrified. He took a step towards me, but as the crowd grew louder he stopped. I waited for quiet. My hands were sweaty damp as I clasped them tight together.

‘But I said no. And that’s the most amazing thing I’ve done today.’ I paused. ‘Do you know what happens to folks who say no to Mr Wellbeloved?’

People exchanged glances.

‘He beats them.’

The crowd groaned.

‘And he horsewhips them.’

There were boos and hisses.

‘And,’ I said, braver now. ‘He threatens to keep them from their loved ones.’

‘’Tis cruelty!’ someone called out.

The little girl sobbed. I put my arm around her shoulders.

‘That’s not all. If they run away he hunts them down, and scares them so much they . . .’ My chin trembled. ‘That’s why Gabriel Swift ain’t here today. He found the courage to say no too.’

A great jeer went up. The reporters started scribbling madly. Mr Wellbeloved went white with rage. But now I’d started, I wasn’t going to stop.

‘I was asked who inspired me. And it was Blondin, once. Then I saw him put his own daughter in a wheelbarrow and push her across the rope. The poor girl was so terrified it changed everything for me. I never felt the same about him again.’

‘Shame on him!’ cried the crowd.

I pointed at Mr Wellbeloved, who looked ready to murder me.

‘
That
man didn’t think so. He says it was his own idea, and that Blondin stole it from him.’

Another jeer went up.

Mr Wellbeloved lunged at me. ‘Enough!’

I stepped back smartly. The little girl ducked between us and scarpered down the steps.

‘And that child there,’ I pointed after her as she disappeared into the crowd. ‘Ladies and gents,
she
was your big surprise this afternoon. Mr Wellbeloved here wanted
her
to walk the rope with me.’

Everything went hushed. Then a great surge of noise rose up. Fists punched the air in anger. People were chanting one word over and over: ‘No, no, no!’

It went on and on.

‘No, no, no!’

When I dared look at Mr Wellbeloved, his eyes locked on mine. With one finger, he patted his jacket pocket. The tip of the boat ticket poked out of it.

I gritted my teeth. ‘And about my training.’ Now I had to shout over the noise. ‘Mr Wellbeloved didn’t quite lie, because I have trained hard and I do have a talent. But there’s a part he didn’t tell you.’

The noise fell away. I clasped my hands to stop them trembling. This was the hardest part of all. My pulse beat so fast it made my throat go tight. I wasn’t sure I could even speak.

Courage, Louie.

I breathed slowly.

‘Walking the tightrope is in my blood. And as I found out today, there’s word that my own mother performed the high wire herself.’

More gasps from the crowd. The reporters’ heads were down, covering page after page with writing.

‘I don’t know the whole truth of it. But I do know she was here once, and it seems she might still be nearby.’

Someone called out, ‘Is she here today?’

It didn’t occur to me that she would be. But it went through the crowd like fire through a hayrick, everyone suddenly turning and pointing. Mr Wellbeloved stood silent, shaking his head.

You know exactly where she is, you devil
, I thought.

In the crowd, shoulders started shrugging. People shook their heads. Seeing their faces, I felt myself go red.

Fancy her own mother not coming to see her
, those looks seemed to say. Eventually, a reporter confirmed it. ‘No, it seems she isn’t here.’

And they wrote that down too.

A wave of tiredness hit me then. My legs swayed.

‘Let the girl go,’ said an official. ‘She looks ready to faint.’

As I took my weary bows, the crowd clapped for a good five minutes. It was sweet music to my ears. Yet my heart seemed to lag behind. This still wasn’t finished, even now.

For starters, Mr Wellbeloved still blocked the steps. The only other way out was the tightrope behind me. For a split second, I was torn: Gabriel’s way out, or face Mr Wellbeloved?

I straightened my shoulders and stepped forward.

‘Excuse me,’ I said.

He didn’t move. Behind him, I sensed the crowd bristling. It made me braver.

‘I’d like to pass,’ I said.

He still didn’t shift. I stared at his chest, all tailored in a fine, striped coat with that boat ticket sticking out of his pocket. It made me think of gates on board ship, of locked doors and windows. I’d got through them all eventually. I’d kept following the trail of crumbs. Yet Mr Wellbeloved himself once said that sometimes you had to wait for a gate to open.

So I folded my arms. And waited. The crowd jeered. They didn’t stop until he stepped aside.

Mrs Franklin took me away in a carriage. Back at the lodgings, she made me hot chocolate, then ordered me to bed. I was glad of her just in case Mr Wellbeloved returned. But news soon reached us that he’d taken the first train out of town.

‘A wise move,’ said Mrs Franklin, as she sat beside my bed. ‘Those evening papers won’t paint a pretty picture of him.’

Lying back against the pillows, I felt truly exhausted. And oh so glad I’d never have to face Mr Wellbeloved again, except he’d vanished without paying me a single penny. I’d done a very brave thing today. Yet what did that matter if I didn’t have a ticket home? Suddenly, I felt overcome.

‘What is it?’ said Mrs Franklin as I sobbed.

‘I just want to go home. But I can’t.’

‘Aha! Yes you can.’

‘How? I can’t even pay my passage.’

She patted my hand. ‘A hat was passed round today and people gave kindly, don’t you fret. There’s money enough to get you home.’

‘Oh my word!’

Mrs Franklin pushed the damp hair off my face. ‘You need your mother first though, don’t you dear?’

Which set me off crying even harder.

‘But she’s in her nice hotel. She won’t want to see me.’

The tears kept coming till my throat ached. When at last I stopped and wiped my face, Mrs Franklin was staring at me strangely.

‘Hotel?’ she said. ‘What do you mean,
hotel
?’

‘That Golden Hill place.’

Mrs Franklin took my hand. She looked very grave indeed. ‘Louie, Golden Hill Retreat isn’t a hotel. Mr Wellbeloved sent your mother there when she, well, she . . . attacked him.’

I stared at her.
‘Attacked him?
’

Mrs Franklin nodded, eyes shut.

‘What did she do to him?’

It couldn’t be that bad surely, not half as bad as what he did to other people. Yet, eyes open again, Mrs Franklin looked decidedly queasy.

‘She bit off his ear, here in this room. And then spat it out into the fireplace.’

‘That’s hideous!’

I didn’t know whether to laugh or heave up. It was so . . .
shocking
. No wonder Mr Wellbeloved kept his hat on, especially in front of me. A million thoughts all charged my head at once.

My mam was violent.

My mam was brave.

And yet to bite a man’s ear off . . .

‘Why did she do it?’ I asked.

‘She had her reasons,’ said Mrs Franklin. ‘You’ll need to hear the truth from her.’

‘So, should I go to her?’ The idea made me nervous.

‘Yes, dear.’

‘Can’t we invite her here to tea instead?’

She shook her head sadly. ‘My dear, Golden Hill Retreat is a hospital,’ she paused, ‘for the
temperamentally
unwell. Mr Wellbeloved had her locked away. Your mother couldn’t leave if she tried.’

For a place named Golden Hill it was surprisingly flat and green. The road followed the shores of a lake so vast it might’ve been the sea. It made me ache to be on board ship, heading home. Tomorrow I would be.
We
would be. I hadn’t a clue how I’d manage it, but I had no intention of leaving Mam behind.

Set back from the lake was a red brick house with a roof like a church spire. The driver dropped me at the gates.

‘This is it,’ he said.

Suddenly, I was gripped by nerves. The sign on the gatepost said ‘Golden Hill Retreat’. There was a bell to ring for the gates to be opened.

The driver nudged me. ‘Off you go. And don’t forget this.’

He handed me my parcel. Tucking it under my arm, I climbed down from the carriage and pulled the bell. Inside my chest a boom-booming started, though for quite a while no one came. Finally, a woman in a grey dress and pinny appeared.

‘Yes?’ She made no move to open the gates.

‘I’ve come to see my mam,’ I said.

Her eyes flicked over me. ‘Your mother’s name?’

‘Um . . .’ All I knew were her initials. ‘M.S. I don’t know her full name.’

The woman looked blank. ‘What makes you think she’s with us?’

‘Mr Gideon Wellbeloved sent her here. I saw the bills.’

‘The bills, eh?’

I’d got her interest now.

‘You’ve come from England. I can tell from your accent,’ she said. ‘And M.S. stands for Maria Samparini.’

What a name
. It sounded like music.

‘But there’s no visiting today. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.’

Tomorrow?

She might as well have tied a brick to my heart and thrown it in the lake.

‘But I’m leaving for England tomorrow. You must let me see her. Please!’ I cried.

The woman drummed her fingers on the gate. ‘Mr Wellbeloved has received the bills, you say?’

‘Yes, but I heard he never reads them,’ I said, knowing from bitter experience he wasn’t a good payer. But I didn’t see what this had to do with Mam.

Yet it worked. With a mighty clunk, the woman opened the gates. We hurried down a driveway to the front of the house. It didn’t look so swanky in real life. The gardens were all lawns and trees, with no flowers to speak of. We went up the front steps and into a dim hallway. After the bright sunlight, I saw sparkles before my eyes.

‘Wait here.’ The woman disappeared through a door.

Once, this might’ve been a smart house. There were still coloured tiles on the floor and swirls on the ceiling. The staircase curved upwards; I imagined fine ladies walking down it in their ball gowns. Now there were faded patches on the walls where pictures had once been. It was a sad sort of place to be ill in. The sooner I got Mam home, the better.

The woman reappeared with a key.

‘My name is Miss Winters.’

‘I’m Louie,’ I said, holding out my hand.

She didn’t take it.

‘This is highly irregular,’ she said, glancing over her shoulder. ‘Follow me.’

My belly churned as I followed her up the stairs. At the very top we went down a corridor full of doorways. Miss Winters’s boots tap-tapped on the bare boards. There was no other sound. The air was hot and stuffy and smelled of old dinners. Sweat prickled my neck.

Miss Winters stopped at the final door. She knocked on it lightly with her knuckles.

‘Maria?’ she called. ‘A visitor is here to see you.’

Nervously, I shifted my parcel from one arm to the other; I wished I’d brought flowers instead. Miss Winters put her key in the lock and leaned her shoulder against the door. It opened a fraction. She looked inside, nodded, then opened it wider.

‘In you go,’ she said, stepping aside for me. ‘Try not to excite her.’

She locked the door behind her.

The room was small with a sloping roof. A low window with bars on it looked out towards the lake. The only furniture was a bed and a chair. There was no one here. There’d been some mistake. I went to call Miss Winters, then I saw someone sitting on the floor. She had her back against the wall, her legs stretched out in front of her. Her face was turned towards the window.

My knees started shaking. In my mind’s eye I’d had a picture of my mam: red hair, pale skin, easy smile. This woman wore an ugly brown frock. Her wrists and ankles stuck out of it like bird bones. Her hair wasn’t bright and flowing. It was streaked with grey and plaited tight to her head. She didn’t look much of a biter either. I’d seen more life in a line of laundry.

The woman sensed me watching. Slowly, she turned her head. My hands were shaking now. The parcel slipped from my grasp to the floor.

For a very long moment, the woman stared at me without blinking.

Then she frowned. ‘Louie?’

The eyes looking back at me were as green as a cat’s. They might’ve been my own.

‘Yes, Mam. It’s me.’

I took a few steps towards her, then stopped. Was I meant to hug her? Kiss her? I’d no idea. My feet wouldn’t move. The space between us felt huge.

Then Mam reached out to me, and I joined her at the window. She touched my cheek, my hair, my shoulder, like she was checking I was real. And as she cupped my face in her hands I put my own fingers over hers just to keep them there. When she did let go it was only to hold me closer.

‘My dearest girl,’ she said.

We sat together on the floor in a little patch of sunlight. Tears were shed, but they were mostly happy tears. It was Mam who moved first. Stiffly, she got to her feet and made me get up too. It was only then that I truly saw how thin she was, and how I was almost as tall as her.

‘Let’s sit here,’ she said, patting the narrow bed.

As we squeezed up together I felt her hip bone dig into mine. She smelled strongly of carbolic soap.

‘How did you find me?’ she said.

I didn’t know where to start. With the red taffeta heart? The letter? Mr Wellbeloved’s bills? As Miss Winters had said not to excite her, I wasn’t sure quite
what
to say.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘I’m with a circus.’

She smiled wearily. ‘Dear Leo.’

Straight away I was thrown. ‘So you
do
know Mr Chipchase?’

She shrugged.
Was that a flush on her cheeks?
My mind started racing.
Her . . . and . . . Mr Chipchase?

It was easier to keep talking.

‘I came here to perform, though not with Mr Chipchase. But I knew from your letter you might be overseas somewhere. You see, I walk the tightrope.’

Mam rubbed her forehead. ‘Slow down a little.’

She looked like she’d just woken from a dream and was still dazed by it. I slipped my fingers into hers.

‘So, I walk the tightrope,’ I said.
‘
It’s my passion, and I trust it more than anything.’

A flicker came into her eyes. ‘I understand,’ she said.

Yet I felt her drift away from me again. She gazed into space for a very long moment. Then she spotted my parcel on the floor. ‘What’s this? Is it yours?’

‘Actually, it’s yours.’

I’d brought it here in case she hadn’t recognised me. Such a thought seemed ridiculous now.

‘Shall we open it?’ she said.

I felt a little uneasy, not sure what she’d make of that red tunic with the heart cut out of it. But by rights it was hers; I could hardly say no. So I stood and picked up the parcel from the floor. As I undid its strings and pulled out the tunic, Mam shrank back in horror.

‘Where did you get it?’ she cried.

I hesitated. Again, I didn’t know quite where to start – Mr Wellbeloved and his trail of crumbs, or why he still had something of hers? I hardly understood it myself.

‘All these years he kept it,’ she whispered. ‘All these years . . .’ She put her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. The pulse in her neck beat fast.

‘Mam,’ I said, perching on the edge of the bed beside her, ‘it’s all right.’

Though it was clear things weren’t right at all.