Cards & Caravans (13 page)

She dried her tears and drank her tea, her mind still a whirl. When she fell asleep that night, tucked in Connor’s arms and replete with spent passion, it was the Death card that lingered in her mind.

* * *

“We have a list of the Builders’ Guild members.” Three days after the circus opened, Merrick, making his daily visit, spoke to Connor, Tom and Fernando in the ringmaster’s small parlor. One of two rooms in his private train car, this also served as the circus’s office. “Our Mr. Engle is on it but his name is marked inactive.”

“What about the other group?” Connor said. He gave the list a brief look, recognizing no names other than Engle’s.

“We’re working on that,” Merrick said. “They’re a little cagier about giving out names without a signed contract to do business. I will say this—there’s some genuine magick in their headquarters, and the gents at the Guild were very happy to wax on about how magick is evil and destroys everything it touches. I honestly think that’s the group causing our problems. Have you seen any trouble here?”

Connor shrugged. “A few bullies outside the gate yesterday with rotten fruit. The day before that, we had some church women with signs. Nothing sinister.”

“How about Tom’s magick act—is that drawing attention?” Merrick asked.

Fernando nodded. “Packed tilt every night since that first one. And Belinda’s tent has a queue every day. She’s as gifted as Zara. The people believe in her readings.”

“I’m not being subtle with the magick show, and there are rumors filtering in about it. Hell, Wink’s shows with her automata and ‘trained wolf’ have even had people claiming something supernatural is at work.” Tom took the list from Connor and scanned it.

“But none of them have mentioned a werewolf, I’ll bet.” Merrick smiled briefly and sighed. “Well, we knew this wouldn’t be a quick way to draw out the witch-finders but it seems to be working. Keep your eyes open and don’t get complacent. I’ll keep digging in Newcastle.”

“We can give it the full two weeks we’d agreed on,” Fernando said. The circus—the real one—was scheduled to move to Glasgow after a fortnight. “After that we’ll have to come up with a different plan.”

“And hope no other innocents die in the meanwhile.” Connor’s gut still told him that the so-called witch-finders would come to them, and Glasgow might be too far north for their reach.

Merrick caught Connor’s gaze and nodded. “Exactly. By the way, I spoke to your father yesterday. The alderman is being tried for attempted murder of Belinda, but no one expects a conviction—not when the man is clearly overwhelmed with grief. It’s more likely he’ll be remanded to the care of a physician. The squire has given his word that he bears no grudge against your wife. Fergus believed him.”

Connor weighed the information. His father was a damn good judge of character. Belinda was likely safe from that quarter. “Thank you. I’ll let Belle know at supper.”

The one time other than in bed when he could be sure to find Belinda was when the performers and carnies gathered in groups for the evening meal in an old dining car. It was a raucous affair—not too different from dinner at the Tower when everyone was home, although the jokes were a little cruder, with so few women left in the troupe. Other than Belinda, Melody, Wink and Nell, there was only the middle-aged cook who wouldn’t leave her husband, and a couple younger members of the original troupe. Belinda and the woman who did trick-riding stunts turned out to be distant cousins and spent a fair bit of time together. Belinda also seemed to have grown fond of Nell, which almost everybody did, but she seemed to shy away from Wink, particularly in the past few days. Connor hoped no one had said anything to her about his past infatuation, but mostly he hoped he hadn’t somehow given himself away.

Maybe he ought to go talk to her now—or at least slip in between customers to make sure she was all right. Something had been off with her for the past day or two, and it was beginning to worry him. With that in mind, he strolled around the circus, watching the various groups of customers queue for the carousel or gather around the puppet stage and the small menagerie. Finally, he made his way to the long line outside the fortune-teller’s tent. Enough people waited that one of the clowns lingered in the area, juggling to entertain them while they waited.

In his red coat and white trousers with the black top hat of a ringmaster, Connor was able to step right up to the entrance to Belinda’s tent. Raised voices from inside made Connor’s hair stand on end. He stepped into the tent just in time to hear Willow growl. A man stood looming over the table where Belinda sat.

“I’m sorry, sir.” Belinda’s right hand was under the table where she kept her pistol, while her left held Willow’s collar. Her expression and voice remained calm. “You paid for a palm reading and that’s what I gave you. For the last time, I can’t cast any spells and wouldn’t if I could. I’m sorry your wife left you but there’s nothing I can do about it. There’s plenty of call for building trades farther south in England. I suggest you go look in London or Manchester if you want to find work as a carpenter.”

Building
trades
? Connor stepped farther in so the man could see him standing to his full height despite the low ceiling of the tent. “The lady has given you a good suggestion—one beyond the context of your reading. Good day, sir.”

The man blustered, but faced with an enormous dog and an oversized bruiser, he folded. “All right, all right. Isn’t right, them using magick to run us out of business. I was only trying to get my own back.”

“I know,” Belinda said with a kind smile. “You’re not a bad man, Mr. Harris. You need to get away, start over again. Once you have work, maybe your wife will come back from her mother’s.”

He nodded and hung his head as Connor took him by the arm and escorted him to the gate. “I’m sorry,” the man said to Connor. “I wouldn’t have really hurt that gypsy, you know. Leastways I don’t think I would have.”

“
That
gypsy
is my wife,” Connor growled through clenched teeth. “If you had touched her, it would have been the last thing you ever did.”

“At least you still have yours.” The poor, broken blighter didn’t even resist as Connor shoved him out the gate with a little more force than absolutely necessary. “Lucky sod.”

Connor pondered that parting comment as he made his way back to Belinda’s tent. The man seemed utterly lost. Something was very wrong in Newcastle, indeed. Unfortunately, Connor couldn’t quite place this man as a conspirator to a serious plot.

Belinda, apparently unconcerned about the near attack, was already in the middle of another reading when he returned to her tent. Connor wasn’t so sanguine about it. The urge to pound on something or someone seethed like a burning ember in his gut.

“Hey, Con, I was looking for you. I had an interesting conversation at my afternoon show.” The familiar voice from over his shoulder made him turn and force his anger to settle. Tom, in his magician’s cloak, cocked an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

At Connor’s gesture, the two walked away from the crowd, over to the siding where the train cars waited. “Some bastard just tried to attack Belle.”

“What? Is he in pieces? I’m assuming if she didn’t take him apart, then her dog did. You don’t have any blood on you.” Despite his flippant words, concern shone in Tom’s blue eyes, a darker shade than Connor’s own. “Is she all right?”

Connor nodded and dragged his hand through his hair. “Aye, she’s fine. She feels sorry for the bloke. He folded easily enough and I booted him off the grounds.” He held his hand out, noting that it still trembled. “I’m not taking it so well, it seems.”

“Well, of course not.” Tom pushed Connor down onto a bench and handed him a small silver flask from his pocket. Connor took a swig of the expensive brandy Tom favored. It wasn’t Scotch, but it helped calm his roiling stomach. Tom continued. “In our line of work, we’re used to risking ourselves. That’s not the same as watching someone you love face down danger.”

“I know. It was bad enough when it was my sister, or...” Connor broke off, but Tom just chuckled.

“Or mine. Admit it. Although you thought you were in love with Wink, you didn’t get nearly the same sick sensation when you saw her dive headfirst into a fight.” Tom took the flask back and tipped it back.

Connor thought about his friend’s words, testing their weight. “You’re right. Maybe because by the time we faced down the metal army, I’d already given up. I cared about her, but it was almost the same as if Melody or Genny had been there.” Had he ever really loved Wink? Loved properly, not as a friend or sister, that is. He’d thought so, but looking back, he saw that his affection for her had never been the same white-hot fire of his feelings for Belle.

“Or maybe you’d just figured things out by then.” Tom passed the flask back. “I think you do love Belinda. Probably did from the moment you laid eyes on her.”

“Aye.” Connor drank another mouthful of brandy. “You should have seen her in that pokey gaol, Tom. She was half-starved and freezing, but still a spitfire. But how can I trust my feelings? I was apparently dead wrong before.”

“Hell if I know.” Tom stretched his feet out in front of him, staring at the toes of his boots. “I’d guess it’s something you have to take on faith. Have you told her yet? She deserves to know.”

“Told her what? About proposing to your sister? No. I don’t plan on it either.” Connor took one more sip, then handed the nearly empty flask back. “The thing is—I thought I was in love with Wink. Now I know I wasn’t. How can I be sure that this time, my feelings are real?”

Tom thought a moment. “You were seventeen when you met Wink, right? And right away, you decided you were in love with her.”

Connor nodded.

“I think you were right—at the time. You loved Wink, but that doesn’t take away from the love you have for Belinda now. The way a seventeen-year-old boy falls in love with the girl of his dreams is a different sort of thing from the way a man falls in love with a woman. I’d wager that if you think about it, the love you felt for Wink had actually changed over time—evolved into a more fraternal affection—and you just didn’t want to admit it.”

“How the hell do you know so much about love?” Connor narrowed his eyes.

Tom looked away. “Don’t worry about me. Just tell Belinda the truth—all of it.”

Connor still wasn’t thrilled about that. “It’s all in the past, anyway. It doesn’t matter.”

“Well, the past has a way of catching up with you.” Tom drained the last dregs and put the flask back in his pocket. “Tell her you love her, before anything stupid happens. What we do—well, there’s never any certainty that any given day won’t be our last.”

“Maudlin, but true. I’ll tell her.” Tonight, before as Tom had said, anything stupid happened. Then Connor looked at his friend. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Tom look so melancholy. “What’s made you an expert on matters of the heart, all of a sudden? Hell, I haven’t even seen you with a barmaid since university.”

Tom’s eyelids dipped and he stared out at his toes. “I know all about impossible love, believe me. It’s one of my specialties.”

Connor stood and shrugged. One of these days, he’d get nosy and find out what the hell was going on with Tom. Right now, he had his own life to tend to. For the rest of the afternoon, he planned to stay within ten yards of the fortune-teller’s tent. Tonight, he and Belle were going to have a long, serious talk. “What happened at your show this afternoon?”

“Ah, right.” Tom inhaled and shook a bit as if to clear his head. “A couple of men tried to interrupt the show, waving their arms and misquoting bible verses, ranting about how magick is evil. We got them out easily enough, but are we seeing a pattern here?”

“Let me guess—out-of-work builders?” Connor saw the trend and didn’t like it. When Tom nodded, Connor said, “Exactly. I hear there was a similar commotion last night at the main show.”

Tom shrugged. “A couple idiots shouting, nothing more. I didn’t take it very seriously. They didn’t cause any problems.”

“So it does look like the Builder’s Guild is our problem group, right?” Connor wished he felt more certain of that.

“Looks that way.” With that, Tom stood and strode away, never looking back.

An idea formed in his brain and Connor cursed himself for not thinking of it earlier. Still the train hadn’t come yet, so he might not be too late. Connor hopped the fence and ran to the station. Sure enough the man he’d ejected stood waiting. Harris shied away as Connor approached, but Connor held up his hands. “I just have a question for you—that’s all.”

The man nodded. “I’ve nothing else to do. Talk.”

Connor stuffed his hands in his pockets, hoping that made him look less threatening. “What gave you the idea to come to the circus today? Did someone tell you about it? Suggest you coming?”

“Well, I suppose I heard about it at the guild hall,” Harris said. “Been living there since the bank took my house. Come next month, my dues will be up and I’ll be out on my own.”

“Word of this circus was going around the guild hall?” Connor backed up and sat on a wooden bench, then nodded toward the other end.

Harris sat. “Yes. Most of the boys are pretty against magick, given that it’s the association driving us out of business. There were a couple men there, urging us to come get rid of the heathen scum.” He shrugged. “Me? Hell, I’d kiss the devil himself if I thought he could help me. That’s why I asked for a reading. I truly am sorry, sir. I don’t know what came over me. I never would have laid a hand on your wife.”

“I believe you, mate. Do you remember who was there trying to rile up the membership?”

Harris pondered. “Cullen, I think. He’s always been an ass. Funny thing—I thought he’d gone over to the association. Had a bit of a fit, he did, when we admitted Goldsmith into the guild. Said he didn’t want to work with any dirty Jews.”

Connor’s heart stuttered. Here was his answer. “Have you ever heard of a man called Archibald Engle?”

“Aye. Nasty bugger.” Harris nodded. “Joined the association last year, after his daughter ran off with an Italian.”