Defiant Rose (10 page)

“But…I thought you meant to cut down!”

“I am.” He closed his book and indicated the list. “This isn’t enough food for the men.”

“But Carney’s has always fed the men well! Good beef, chickens, potatoes…”

“I have no doubt this
was
adequate.” He oddly stressed the word
was.
“However, I’m planning to make some changes in the performances. The employees will need their strength.”

“What kind of changes?” Her initial instincts were right. Michael Wharton was not the kind of man to give away anything.

“I’m going to go to two rings. Barnum is already doing it, and I think it’s the way of the future. The acts will have to double up.”

“Wait a minute, these people are overworked now! You mean to double the work load without hiring anyone else? Have you gone mad?”

Michael was outraged that she should question him so brazenly, especially with the butcher looking on, obviously interested in the outcome. He quickly escorted her to a corner of the shop.

“We will discuss this further back at the camp. I will thank you not to argue with me in public. You agreed last night that I would assume the duties of manager, with your full cooperation, did you not?”

Hot blood rushed to the surface of her skin, and she had to force herself not to kick him again. She nodded, fighting back tears as he studied her face to assure himself of her compliance.

“Do you still agree?”

“Yes.” She spat out the answer, more furious than ever.

“Good,” he said, then returned to oversee the order, directing the men to the cart. Rosemary followed him, her shoulders drooping in defeat.

There was nothing she could do. If she protested, he would simply start laying off people. She had no hope of compassion from him, particularly after William’s knife-throwing act. Even now, as he stood in the road, overseeing the order, he had an air of command about him that wouldn’t be easily persuaded.

Rubbing at her eyes, she absently smeared some of her makeup with tears. The stinging clown-white got into her eyes, and she blinked, balling her fist into her face. She wasn’t watching where she was going and accidentally bumped into a group of people striding down Topeka’s Main Street.

“Oh, my, what have we here?” A man’s voice chuckled, then stepped back to inspect her. “A clown! The circus must be in town.”

Through a blurry haze Rosemary saw a well-dressed man with a woman on his arm. Clad in a white linen suit with a fashionable summer hat and a gold watch chain, he looked like a wealthy easterner out on a stroll. He assisted the woman to the side of the road with a gallantry Rose had never experienced, and helped her with her parcels. Rosemary gave the expected cheerful smile and quickly wiped away any trace of tears. No clown could ever be seen crying, particularly not Carney.

“It is a clown! Wretched people, aren’t they?”

The woman stepped back a few feet, eyeing Rosemary with disdain. Wearing a beautiful yellow day dress with a froth of lace ruffles at her throat and wrist, she looked like a tea cake and smelled as sweet in spite of the day’s heat. Her soft blond hair was swept up in a neat pompadour, and her bustle gathered behind her, tied with pink ribbons and flounces. She was a lady, a woman who’d never known a day’s work, but by her birth and breeding had access to a world Rose had only glimpsed.

Fury swept through Rosemary. It was just too much. She’d had her privacy invaded last night, her position taken away, her beloved animals’ feed reduced, and the clowns’ liquor halted. She’d had to endure Michael Wharton’s presence the entire morning, and now she was mocked by this lady. She couldn’t help but compare her own bawdy costume with the woman’s elegant dress. She felt grimy beneath her makeup and woefully inadequate. Used to the city folk’s prejudice against circus people, she normally would have just moved on, but today the woman was a stark reminder of everything she was not.

“No, we’re not wretched, and I can hear you perfectly fine. We’re people, just like you and himself there.” She gestured to the man, wiping her nose with her sleeve.

“Why, it’s a woman! Who would have thought, beneath all that greasepaint and that ridiculous costume!”

The man shrugged. “Cocky wench, though she seems to have command of her vocabulary. Watch your purse, though. Charlatans, every last one of them, and this one likely a trollop as well.”

Michael Wharton stepped between them. “Why are you tormenting the clown?” he asked in a cold voice. “If you wish to see the circus, I suggest you buy a ticket like everyone else.”

Rosemary gaped in surprise. She glanced up and saw that Michael was furious. His eyes were like ice as he stared the man down, and the woman looked obviously frightened.

“Let’s go, Harry. It isn’t worth the trouble. Remember Reno. You lost three teeth in that fight.”

The man, his fists clenched, was weighing the situation. Michael met his look with the same cold gaze Rosemary had seen when he looked at her books. The easterner shrugged.

“You’re right, it’s not worth it. Circus creature.” He took his companion’s arm and continued along their way without glancing back. Rosemary waited until they had gone before turning back to Michael.

“What did you do that for?”

His face had darkened, and he looked even angrier than he’d been at her. “Get in the cart.”

Puzzled, Rosemary obeyed, still surprised by his actions. If she hadn’t been so angry with him, she wouldn’t have even answered their taunts. Circus people were used to this attitude on the part of the gawkers, city folk especially. It had started with inferior shows, was fostered with Barnum’s humbugs, and exacerbated by troupes that encouraged chicanery. It was an image Rosemary fought, but usually silently and not in a confrontation.

Michael climbed in beside her, more formidable than ever. Rosemary sighed and gave up trying to understand him. Her mind went back to the man and the woman, and she couldn’t help the twinge inside of her as she pictured the way his hand had lingered around her waist as he helped her shop. Glancing down at her baggy clown suit, Rosemary fought the emotions that swelled inside of her. It was ridiculous, but she couldn’t prevent the uncontrollable feminine part of her that wanted to be treated as a lady.

But she was a clown, and no man would ever see her as anything else.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“W
E’RE NOT GOING
to stand for this, Rose, no matter what he says.” Biddle stood before her, his eyes outrageously clear, his voice sharper than normal and tinged with anger. They had all gathered in her tent on this hot summer night, less than a full week since Michael Wharton had taken charge as new manager. And manage, he did. He’d followed through on his initial threats and stopped the whiskey, the ale, the bawdy nights on the town, and the extra feed for the animals. He’d gone to two rings instead of one, and while that created a sensation that was bringing in an even greater profit than before, the performers and crew were exhausted and on the verge of mutiny.

“My animals have lost weight,” Zach said accusingly, spitting out a weed he’d been chewing, his eyes boring into hers. Since he’d witnessed their fight the day Michael had come back and the knife-throwing incident, Rose knew that unconsciously, he blamed her for the severity of their troubles. “They need the good food to work, especially now.”

“Yeah, and they’re stinking up the place.” Rags held his nose while the other clowns solemnly concurred. “What’s in that food, anyway? They smell worse than skunks. The elephants have turned the camp into swamp dung.”

“My Elsa cannot keep up with this schedule!” Leonardo protested dramatically, his black eyes glittering with emotion. “She is expecting, you know that! But that man wants her to perform two sets instead of one!”

“And no whiskey!” Biddle shuddered, patting his threadbare vest where there once resided a silver flask. “What does he think we’re made of, sawdust?”

The others nodded in agreement, then faced Carney expectantly. Clara cackled and wagged a crooked finger at the clown-woman.

“Your father would have been ashamed to know this,” Clara warned, assuming a mystical air. “I will be going soon to join him. You know I have the sight and can tell the future. And when I go, I will inform him of these doings. Carney’s Circus, bah!” Her face wrinkled like an old apple. “ ’Tis more like Wharton’s Circus!”

Rosemary flinched, sinking down lower onto her crate. Her tent was filled with the complaining performers and crew, and she really couldn’t argue with a single point they’d made. It was all true. Carney’s had become more a slave yard than a boisterous troupe, and Michael Wharton was to blame.

Everyone continued to grumble. The animals, with the introduction of cheap food, had made everyone’s life unpleasant in the hot summer stench. The acts, overworked already, found their load doubled to accommodate the second ring. Clara now worked as both fortune-teller and clown, Griggs as roustabout, Biddle ran between the two rings in an attempt to orchestrate the show, and Zach was pressed into duty as an assistant. They were exhausted, in spite of the increase in food, and disgruntled.

“The worst part is that I can’t even accuse him of not keeping up his end,” Rosemary said thoughtfully. “He works twice as hard as the rest of us and still has energy to spare.”

“That’s true,” Biddle conceded. “He doesn’t ask us to do anything that he wouldn’t do. Just this week he’s stood in as an assistant again, although he refused to work with William.” The blind knife-thrower looked indignant while the others smothered a tired laugh. “But he’s done it all—roustabout, cage cleaner, ticket seller…”

“Animal keeper…”

“Canvasman…”

“Teetotaler,” Biddle finished indignantly. “The man’s like a human machine. He doesn’t go pubbing, doesn’t purchase even a wee drop, doesn’t even stop by the clowns’ tent for a game of whist. What does he do for fun?”

“Nothing,” Rose said emphatically. “He’s a cold one, all right.” She chewed her lip thoughtfully, her eyes sparkling with determination. “I’ve got to think of something.”

“You’d best do it quick,” Rags pronounced. “All of us are ready to walk, Rose, Carney’s or not. Nothing is worth this.”

Their eyes met, and they all solemnly nodded. Rosemary glanced fearfully from the clowns to Clara, to the ringmaster, then to Griggs and the crew. Even the silent clown, her father’s oldest and dearest friend, nodded in agreement with the others.

Her mind wandered back to Michael. She’d tried her best to soften his actions but hadn’t been able to prevent the implementation of his plans. She’d made certain he was aware every time a worker complained or showed signs of exhaustion, made a point of demonstrating the animals’ reaction to the feed by marching him innocently through their pen first thing in the morning, and had glared accusingly when the troupe missed a performance due to a night spent pubbing when they couldn’t do without their ale. She’d sent for him whenever a problem arose due to his management, yet none of it seemed to dent his armor.

Worse was the odd effect he continued to have on her. Just yesterday he’d been helping Zach with the elephants and had taken off his shirt to pitch hay into their pen. Rosemary had almost walked into him, not recognizing him without his starched white shirt or neatly tied cravat. Instead, a sheen of sweat had glistened on his naked torso, and crisp black hair adorned his chest. He’d stopped and accepted the dipper of water she’d intended for Zach, ruffling her hair with a smirk. The animal keeper had watched in puzzlement, expecting Rose to give him the devil. Instead, she’d let him have the drink, looking like any other silly female when their eyes met, and she was forced to glance away. Zach had stared at her, his youthful face confused, but that was nothing in comparison to what she had felt. For some reason, she had been compelled to help Michael. It embarrassed her to be around him when he was half dressed, even though she had long grown used to seeing most of the men that way. Michael Wharton unsettled her, and she didn’t have the faintest idea why.

Rosemary rose from her seat, brushing the sawdust from her clown suit, and looked around at the expectant faces of her fellow workers. “I understand your feelings. There’s only one thing I would caution you about. I don’t want to see you cheated. If you walk now, he doesn’t have to pay you until the end of the season. It’s in the contract.”

“What?” Biddle asked, outraged, while the others’ heads perked-up in astonishment.

Rose nodded. “He’s already shown me the notation. Apparently, it was part of my father’s agreement, to ensure that his help didn’t leave him. Sean Carney would not have enforced it, but Michael Wharton will.”

“Damn him,” Rags said forcefully, waving his tattered hat in his fist. “Maybe we should take him out back and teach him a lesson.”

“Let me talk to him,” Rosemary said, though her voice held little hope. “Perhaps, if I can make him understand what he’s doing to morale, he may listen. After all, he is a businessman.”

The others nodded, satisfied that Rose would help them. Carney always had and always would. And if Rosemary set her mind to something, Lord help the man that stood in her way. As they walked from the tent, Biddle and Griggs exchanged a satisfied smile. Only Clara looked thoughtful. The old fortune-teller recalled the dreamy look on Rosemary’s face when she’d mentioned Michael. Something about that held promise, but Clara couldn’t figure out what it was. She’d have to look at her tarot cards. Shrugging, she followed the others back to their tents, to drink the last of their whiskey.