The Girl Who Walked on Air (13 page)

The park I’d seen from my window was a pleasure garden. An hour later, the three of us were walking through it. Though it was still early the place was busy. Mr Wellbeloved marched us past rose bushes and sprawling green lawns where people strolled with their parasols or sat drinking tea. Tomorrow we’d be risking our lives for these strangers. That was circus for you; thrills and spills all the way.

What I hadn’t reckoned on were the dogs. They were everywhere in the park: small ones on laps, big ones chasing sticks, even a terrier doing tricks with his ball. They all looked at their owners in that special way. It brought a lump to my throat; what I’d give to have Pip here with me now.

We took a cinder path through some trees. The river’s roar grew louder till it was almost deafening. Finally, Mr Wellbeloved stopped.

‘This is the point where you will cross the river,’ he yelled.

All I could see were workmen rigging up guy ropes and banging nails into a wooden platform. Once they’d moved aside, I saw properly. The gorge fell away just feet from where we stood. Spray from the river hung in the trees. The ground beneath us seemed to hum.

Just a few hundred feet further upstream were the Falls themselves. This close they took my breath away. They were, quite simply, walls of water. Churning, frothing, never-ending water. It was mesmerising.

And terrifying.

The rope was barely an inch wide. It stretched high above the ravine. On the other side, a thousand feet away, was Canada. And many, many feet below were rocks and raging water.

It was totally, completely crazy. Especially with two people, one of whom was petrified and likely not to make even the first step. Gabriel seemed to think so too. His face was frozen with fear.

A great wave of panic hit me. I felt suddenly, horribly sick.

Breathe, Louie. Be brave.

I moved away from Mr Wellbeloved and Gabriel. I needed to gather myself. Saying the words helped. Mam’s taffeta heart was safe inside my shift again; I touched it now. And as I did something strong rose up in me, beating back the fear. It wasn’t crazy. Not if you trusted the tightrope. And I did, more than life itself. If only Gabriel could feel the same.

Once I’d rejoined the others, we walked back through the gardens. This time we took a different path, passing stalls selling coffee and roasted nuts. Mr Wellbeloved ushered us into a small striped tent, where tunics and tights awaited us. We were instructed to get changed and be ready for practice in five minutes.

My fingers shook so hard it was near impossible to get dressed at all. It took us both far longer than five minutes. Mr Wellbeloved was clearly irritated when we finally emerged.

‘Sit!’ he snapped, pointing to a bench nearby.

We sat. He stood before us, hands clasped behind his back.

‘What’s left of today is for practising,’ he said. ‘I want the same routine you did at Chipchase’s.’

Gabriel’s shoulders dropped in relief.

‘The one you
should’ve
done,’ he said. ‘Not the cobbled together effort you eventually pulled off.’

I winced. ‘In the circumstances, sir, I reckon we did pretty well.’

‘
You
did, Louie,’ Gabriel said bleakly. ‘I was useless.’

‘It wasn’t perfect, I agree,’ Mr Wellbeloved said. ‘Tomorrow’s show will be. Or else.’

Or else, what?
I wanted to say
.
But he talked on, of timings and costumes, of posters and inviting the press. As we got up to leave I spoke quietly to Gabriel.

‘Think only about the rope. Fill your head with it.’

He frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘It takes the fear away. You’ll see.’

He nodded, though he didn’t look convinced. His eyes had glazed over and he was chewing on the inside of his cheek. I wondered if he’d even heard me.

Yet Gabriel did notice the crowd. A hundred or so people had gathered to watch us practise on a rope set up in the park by Mr Wellbeloved’s men. It was deliberately viewable from the main street, Portage Road; a little taster of things to come.

Gabriel straightened his shoulders and nodded to me. ‘All set?’

‘Certainly am.’

The fear was a distant thing. All I felt was a tingling in the soles of my feet. As we climbed our rope ladders Mr Wellbeloved warmed up the crowd. He wasn’t quite Mighty Ned, but it still had the right effect.

‘Watch and be amazed! Because tomorrow you’ll see something even more extraordinary, performed by these two artists over Horseshoe Falls!’

A cheer went up.

The
stench of death
, I thought, putting on my best smile. Gabriel smiled too. The girls in the crowd all sighed at once.

‘Are you ready?’ I called down.

‘Yes indeedy!’ someone cried back.

‘Then we’d be delighted to entertain you,’ said Gabriel, bowing from the waist.

The girls giggled. I glanced at him myself:
goodness, how he’d livened up!

It was infectious. The tingling in my feet grew until the magic took hold. I’d not felt this way since leaving England, and now that I did I was sure I could do anything. Flicking back my hair, I flexed my feet and rolled my shoulders. On the other side of the rope, Gabriel gave a little nod. I nodded back.

All set.

We did our routine from start to finish. All that mattered was the rope, reading its every twitch, every tremble as it lived beneath my feet. Gabriel played his part beautifully. This time we stepped around each other, and though the rope swayed we kept steady. He wrote me a letter, and I read it out loud, which made the girls sigh even more. There were walks to and fro, and we kept in the part where I lay down to sleep. It worked an absolute treat.

By the time we’d finished Gabriel was all lit up. And so was I.

‘Crikey, Louie, that was . . . just . . .’ he searched for the word.

‘Magical?’

‘Exactly!’ He grinned. ‘I did as you said, blocked out all the fear, and just focused on the rope.’

‘It works, doesn’t it? You can’t think of the rope
and
be scared. It’s impossible.’

‘Then I’m cured! You’re a miracle worker!’

‘Glad to be of service!’ I laughed, awful pleased. It wasn’t the way I’d hoped to help Gabriel, but if he felt happier then so did I.

Once the crowd had moved off, we sat on the rope, dangling our legs. We chatted about our routine and how well it went and which were our favourite parts. As we did so, my hopes began to rise. Perhaps Gabriel really could master his fear. Tomorrow, we’d perform our story above the Niagara Falls and it would be marvellous. Better even than Blondin.

Then Mr Wellbeloved came over. He stood directly beneath us, so I was looking down onto his hat.

‘And the double somersault at the end, Louisa?’ he said. ‘Had you forgotten?’

My face fell. He wasn’t expecting me to do that over the Falls,
was he
?

‘Ah . . . you see . . . sir, well that was just a filler,’ I stuttered. ‘It ain’t part of the normal routine.’

‘It stays.’

But it had been a one-off. A spur of the moment grand finale to make up for Gabriel not taking part. I couldn’t do it again.

‘Sir, it ain’t really . . .’

He glared up at me. Though he stood some ten feet below us, it still felt too close.

‘Louisa,’ he said. ‘Do you want to go home a sensation?’

‘Why yes, sir . . .’

His hand shot up and grabbed my ankle, yanking it once like a bell rope. ‘Do you want to go home
at all
?’

‘’Course I do!’

‘Good. Because you wouldn’t want me to keep you here in America, would you?’

I stared at him in horror. ‘You can’t do that!’

‘Can’t I?’

He saw the fear in my face and let go of me, laughing.

‘Think about it, Louisa,’ he said.

I wished he’d stop saying that. I’d done little else recently other than ponder his strange ways. Now it was beginning to make me panic.

I’d only got to America because Mr Wellbeloved had paid my passage. I didn’t have a penny of my own to get home again, and I couldn’t stow away. Not after Niagara, which would make me a recognisable face. Without a ticket, I was stuck.

Once the crowd had gone, Mr Wellbeloved summoned us a ride home. I pretended to have another headache.

‘I’d like to walk,’ I said.

Mr Wellbeloved jabbed at the ground with his cane.

‘Go with her, boy. Make sure she doesn’t get
lost
,’ he said and took out his pocket watch. ‘I’ll expect you back by five.’

We watched as the carriage lurched away from us. Only when it was out of sight did Gabriel speak. ‘He’s suspicious,’ he said as we set off up the hill. ‘He thinks we might run away.’

‘You
are
joking?’

‘No. He knows we’re not happy. He’ll be keeping a close eye on us from now on.’

He was right. I wasn’t happy. And if anyone was asking, there was a long list of reasons why.

I’d been star-struck, hadn’t I? Back in England, I’d got on that train like a giddy halfwit. The reality wasn’t all fancy frocks and hot chocolate at breakfast. There was another side to Mr Wellbeloved, and I didn’t like it much. Better that I’d listened more to Mr Chipchase and to Jasper. Never mind even
trying
to find my mam. Yet what churned me up most was this threat of not going home. He’d found my weak spot all right. Except caring for something wasn’t a weakness, not in my book. And I wasn’t a quitter either.

The sight of us walking along the main road in our tights and tunics certainly turned a few heads. What turned mine were the handbills stuck on every lamp post. ‘NIAGARA FALLS’, ‘TIGHTROPE’, ‘DAZZLING’ – all leaped out in big red letters. Underneath was the date: Friday 2 June.

Tomorrow.

Despite everything, I still felt a rush of excitement.

‘Do
you
want to run away, then?’ I asked, turning to Gabriel.

He’d seen the handbills too and was frowning.

‘I tried that once before, if you recall?’

We walked on. Neither of us spoke. I’d grown almost used to Gabriel’s silences.

Then, out of nowhere, I said, ‘Back in England, did Mr Wellbeloved threaten you? Is that why you left?’

Gabriel sucked in his cheeks.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘If you don’t fancy saying . . .’

He shook his head. ‘It’s time I told somebody, I suppose. Mr Wellbeloved insisted we perform something against our wishes.’

‘
We?’

‘My brother Albert and I. We walked the tightrope together, which, as you know, is difficult enough. Yet Mr Wellbeloved thought our routine was too tame.’

Mr Chipchase had said the same about Gabriel. Yet with two performers it surely had the
whiff of death
about it.

‘What did he have in mind?’ I asked.

Gabriel took a deep breath. ‘He wanted us to carry chairs onto the rope . . .’

‘. . . And then sit in the middle and drink tea,’ I finished. It was a Blondin trick: balancing a chair on the rope by only one chair leg and then sitting in it. It’d very nearly cost Blondin his life. And yet here the tables had been turned, and it was Mr Wellbeloved nicking the ideas.

‘We had our concerns. But Albert was always braver than me. He said he’d try it first. But the balance wasn’t right and he fell. I saw it all.’

‘Oh Gabriel. That’s awful.’

He stared ahead, dry-eyed. ‘Yes, it was.’ Then he blinked. ‘He died right there in front of me. He was the only family I had left.’

I didn’t know what to say, so I reached for Gabriel’s hand and squeezed it, Jasper immediately in my mind. I’d never forget the sight of him falling through the air. How I’d gone to him not knowing if he was alive or dead. It still hurt like a punch on a bruise. And yet he
did
live. He
was
getting better.

Poor Gabriel. I could only imagine how dreadful he felt. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

He squeezed my fingers then let go; I found myself wishing he hadn’t. Just to hold hands for a little while would’ve been comfort for us both.

We didn’t talk of anything for a bit. We walked on, heads bowed, and I felt terrible for Gabriel. No wonder he was scared. No wonder he ran away. Why would he trust a tightrope after that? Just to even look at one would take courage.

I thought of Mr Wellbeloved; what had Mr Chipchase called him?
A gentleman of the shade.
He’d certainly been odd that night in Sharpfield. The way he’d looked at Blondin’s daughter still gave me the shudders.

‘So did you do the chair routine?’ I asked Gabriel.

He gave a sort of half shrug. The sun had sunk below the trees, casting a shadow across his face.

‘You said no one dared to stand up to Mr Wellbeloved. But did you?’

‘I tried.’

He glanced up and down the street to check no one was watching. Then he stopped and rolled up one of his shirt sleeves. My hand went to my mouth.

‘Oh heck!’

The skin on his forearm was slashed red with evil-looking scars. They started at the wrist and disappeared up beyond the elbow. The skin was quite newly healed.

‘He whipped you,’ I whispered. ‘After all that had happened.’

‘Horsewhipped,’ said Gabriel. ‘Eight lashes. Done in front of the other performers.’

I was stunned. Mr Chipchase didn’t even
own
a horsewhip.

Gabriel covered his arm again. ‘After Albert died, I wasn’t fit to perform. Mr Wellbeloved saw it as shirking. Never mind that he still owed me wages from . . .’ he faltered, ‘. . . before. But very conveniently, he forgot all
about that and bullied me into performing. So when I saw the Chipchase advert, I just packed my bag and ran.’

I now felt rather shifty that I’d begrudged him the job. He’d needed it more than I had. And yet in the end, Mr Chipchase had made me a showstopper too, though he’d never really explained his decision.

We carried on up the hill. Mrs Franklin’s white house was now in sight.

‘That night when Mr Chipchase finally chose me, do you know why he changed his mind?’ I asked.

‘Money?’ said Gabriel. ‘I wasn’t exactly pulling in the crowds by myself.’

‘Nothing to do with Mr Wellbeloved, then?’

He looked at me. ‘What do you mean?’

I didn’t quite know. For so long I’d begged to perform, yet all I’d got for my pains was a second-rate buffer act. And even that I’d had to do in a clown’s suit, with my hair tucked away. Then Ned told Mr Chipchase about a gent in a top hat asking questions. And by bedtime, I’d been made showstopper.

Why then, after all that time?

It was as if Mr Chipchase had been trying to hide me . . . and then suddenly . . . he wasn’t.

‘He knew Mr Wellbeloved was on the trail,’ I said out loud.

Gabriel looked confused. ‘Who did?’

‘Mr Chipchase. Ned told him someone was after you, and he must’ve guessed.’

‘So he made you showstopper because he knew I’d have to leave. That’ll be the reason.’

I shook my head. ‘He wasn’t keen for me to stay showstopper. He said it brought too much trouble.’

‘He was probably referring to those charity types.’

Do-gooders. Yet the night Mr Wellbeloved turned up, he’d not been sweating over
them
.

‘Well, he didn’t want me to come here, that’s all I know,’ I said, lifting my hair off my neck. It was hot still, despite the time of day.

‘Perhaps he cares about you, Louie,’ said Gabriel. ‘Had you thought of that?’

I hadn’t. Not from a man who was rarely civil to his own daughter.

As we walked, I mulled this over some more. Suppose Gabriel was right and Mr Chipchase did care. He’d taken me in as a baby, after all, or at least he’d let Jasper keep me. Perhaps there was more to him than his red face and short temper. Or perhaps he knew what Mr Wellbeloved was like. Either way, it unsettled me.

We’d almost reached our lodgings now. Just before Mrs Franklin’s was a building with a porch out the front and ‘Queenstown Stores and Post Office’ painted above the door. A bunch of horses were tied to the porch posts, swishing their tails in the heat.

‘Is that Mrs Franklin?’ said Gabriel, shielding his eyes for a better look.

All I could see was horses’ rumps. It was the sort of joke Ned might crack, and it did make me smile. After everything Gabriel had told me, I was glad he’d recovered a little.

‘That’s not nice, Gabriel,’ I said, nudging him playfully.

Then I saw her myself, emerging from behind a grey horse. She was struggling to carry her basket. We went over to help.

‘Let me carry that for you,’ said Gabriel.

Mrs Franklin looked startled to see us. ‘Goodness! I hardly recognised you both!’

Despite the heat, she looked pale. Her gaze slid over our tunics and tights. Then she sighed like a person in pain.

‘It’s all right. We’ve been performing,’ I explained, for I decided I quite liked Mrs Franklin. She made nice breakfasts, and she had kind blue eyes. ‘We don’t normally go about the streets dressed like this.’

‘Well, my dears, you certainly both look the part.’ She tried hard to smile but it came out as a muffled sob. ‘I’m sorry. Do forgive me.’

‘Please, let me take your basket,’ said Gabriel gently.

‘Oh, my dear,’ she said. ‘You are an angel.’

Handing it over, she winced. The fingers on her left hand were swollen and bruised.

‘What happened to your hand?’ I asked.

She pulled her sleeve down quickly. ‘Oh, I’m clumsy. Don’t mind me. I caught it in a door.’

She wasn’t a very good liar. I bet I knew whose work this was; I’d heard them both this morning outside my bedroom. And what had Mr Wellbeloved said to her? Something about trust and her knowing who I
was. Well, I’d never clapped eyes on her until last night. So I couldn’t begin to think how she might know me.

No wonder Mrs Franklin’s basket was heavy; it was full to the brim with vegetables. As Gabriel settled it into the crook of his arm, her eyes suddenly darted towards it. Mine did too. Stuck at an angle among the potatoes were some envelopes; I guessed about six. She snatched them up like they were hot and then stuffed them in her purse.

‘Those are Mr Wellbeloved’s,’ she said, a bit too brightly.

Clearly, she didn’t mean the potatoes.