Unseemly Science (11 page)

Wink to one who has come to see a trick. But never let the wink be seen by those who have come to see magic.

The Bullet Cat
c
her’s Handbook

The Circus of Wonders was a paradise for a child who liked to play dress up. There were wagons full of clothes, hats and shoes – anything and everything that would show brightly in the limelight. There were belly-dancer’s veils and paste jewellery and skirts with little mirrors sewn in and wigs of natural colours as well as colours that nature did not intend. Under the tabernacle of the big top, all excess was benediction.

But when Julia returned to the hotel room and unwrapped the package she had brought, I discovered that the wig maker’s art in the Republic was somewhat different.

She said: “I told them you tried to cut your own hair and had an accident.”

“You did tell them my hair was red?”

That had been the idea – to change my colour to something conspicuously different from the description on the wanted notice.

“They don’t do red.”

“Are there no red headed people in Ashbourne?”

“He said they’re not ‘that kind’ of wig maker. And there was something about ‘proud colours’ and modesty. It seemed he was insulted that I’d asked. This one was the lightest tone they had.”

I took it out of the box and stepped to the window the better to see. The hair was a light mousy brown and would hang to the shoulder.

“He had longer ones, but it would have been too expensive.”

For a moment I wondered where blonde and auburn women in the Republic went if they wanted to raise money by selling their hair. There would always be willing buyers in the Kingdom. The more striking the colour, the more they would pay. I had never considered it before, but there must be people who earned a living trading ‘modest’ hair north and ‘immodest’ hair south.

“Will it do?” Julia asked.

I placed it on my head, deliberately askew and pulled a face. “Do you recognise me?”

She giggled, but it seemed more from nerves than happiness.

The staff of the
Green Man and Black
’
s Head
had already seen the natural colour of my hair. If I were to venture out with my new wig, it would surely raise their suspicions. Thus, I had to hope they wouldn’t go to the postal office and see the wanted poster.

I was obliged to remain closeted in the room all through the day whilst Julia went to buy food and make arrangements. Guides would be needed for our journey up into the world of the ice farmers in the Peak District. Julia had been waiting for them when I arrived in Ashbourne. Each day she had been told they would come the next. But now she dispatched a more strongly worded message, telling them she could delay no longer.

One more loose end remained to be tied. That was Tinker. I had said goodbye to him the previous year, assuming he would go back and resume his place among the wagons of the travelling show, which was still touring despite the disruption it had suffered. He had not been my responsibility. But Tinker was far beyond the conventions of society. That made his actions unpredictable. Unwontedly, he had attached himself to me.

The coal boatman’s wife had told me of food being stolen from the wharf. It had been going on for months, she said. It was now clear to me that Tinker had been the thief – stealing to eat. He had feared discovery by me, so had avoided taking from my boat. But his actions had pointed the suspicions of the community in my direction. When I left, he must have left also. The thefts would have stopped, confirming suspicions that I was a Royalist ne’er-do-well and better gone than living among them.

I wondered where the boy had slept during his vigil. There were places enough to bed down unseen along the far bank of the canal. But he couldn’t have survived January without warmth. It had been bitter. Mr Simmonds kept a stove burning to stop the water in the boathouse from freezing. Tinker could easily have found his way in there.

Things would be different for him now. He knew I had seen him in the Derby Coach Station. I had spoken his name. Having followed me so far, he would surely have travelled on to Ashbourne. But secrecy is a hard habit to break. Even if he had found his way to the
Green Man and Black
’
s Head
, I didn’t think he would try to make contact. I imagined him hiding somewhere outside, keeping watch.

The fugitive poster meant that I was going to have to disappear again. Tinker had once seen through my full disguise and not even broken step. That a woman should dress as a man and do a man’s work seemed no more strange
r
to him than any other part of his chaotic life. A simple wig was never going to fool him. If I didn’t do something, he would continue to trail behind me. And that would leave us both vulnerable.

The sun had set and the small town grown quiet. After a day indoors, I was itching to walk under the stars. I pulled the curtain aside and peered out at the rear courtyard of the hotel two floors below. There was no prospect of seeing Tinker. But if he was keeping watch, he would certainly see me.

Turning down the lights, I headed out.

Night hides a multitude of indiscretions. But any watcher would have had no doubt that I was leaving. The most revealing detail would have been my travel-battered case – proof of identification, had they known me.

Across the yard, past a stack of barrels, then out towards the road at the front. There would be no looking back – such a gesture might scare away one following. Then a brisk march away into the night.

Three seconds passed. Then Tinker emerged from his hiding place. Not stealing from behind the crates as I had anticipated, but dropping down from the slant roof of the privy. More like
an
animal than a boy.

That is when I stepped out of my own hiding place – the shadowed doorway of the tradesman’s entrance. He froze, confused. I didn’t wait for him to think it through – to understand that the woman he had seen dressed in my clothes carrying my case was in fact Julia, that he had been tricked into revealing himself. His head flicked from one side to the other. I launched myself across the space between us. I saw his shoulder drop and knew he was about to spin and run.

“Tinker! Stop!”

He hesitated. It was enough. I had his arm. He stepped back, taking me with him. He wriggled and squirmed trying to get free. I tightened my grip. He twisted and threw all his weight to the left almost pulling me off my feet.

“It’s me,” I hissed.

Another slight hesitation betrayed his uncertainty.

“I’ve got something for you.”

He tugged once more at my grip. Then the tension went out of his muscles and he flopped to the floor. I laid his arm down on his lap then slowly let go. The black of his eyes reflected the light from the hotel windows. I brought my other hand forwards so that he could see what I held – an apple. It was hard to buy an apple in spring. I’d tried three shops with no success. Having almost given up, I asked at the front desk of the hotel. The clerk said that his brother had a few left, packed in a barrel of straw. I paid three times what the price should have been. The skin was wrinkly and slick with wax. But the apple was still good.

I held it close to Tinker’s nose. I saw him inhale.

“It’s for you,” I said.

He took it and sat up, leaning his back against the brick wall of the privy. He held it in both hands close to his nose. He filled his lungs with the smell of it. I knew he wouldn’t eat it. The last one I had given him – which had won his misplaced loyalty – he had carried like a talisman. The knowledge of the gift had been more precious to him than the taste.

“It’s good to see you,” I said.

“You tricked me.” He mumbled the words into the apple.

“It was the only way. You’re too good at hiding.”

His white teeth flashed in a grin.

“Now,” I said. “We’d better get some food into you.”

We sneaked him in via the back stairs. He wasn’t keen and seemed to mistrust everything about being indoors, placing his feet as if he expected the carpeted floor to give way at any moment. Once in the room we opened the window wide, for the smell of him would have made an undertaker faint.

I watched him as he gobbled down a bowl of cold oxtail soup and a hunk of cheese which we had discovered in the kitchen. Julia, now returned, looked at me aghast. The boy had the manners of a puppy. He finished off by licking out the bowl. Then he sat back and sighed, as might a king after a fine feast.

“Now,” I said. “What have you been doing all this time?”

“Watching,” he said, wiping away the remnants of the soup from around his mouth with the back of his sleeve. In doing so he inadvertently cleaned a patch of skin, which now showed pale through the surrounding dirt.

“So you’ve been spying on me?”

He pulled an indignant expression.

“Then what?” I asked.

“Keeping watch,” he said. “Looking out for you.”

“Looking out for you?” Julia repeated, confused.

“Protecting me, he means.”

Tinker nodded.

“Thank you, Tinker,” I said. “But we’ll have to find you something else to do now. New clothes. Somewhere to sleep.”

“Somewhere to wash,” Julia added, earnestly.

At this, Tinker took offence. “Don’t want new clothes!”

“You’re in rags, Tinker. They look like they’d fall to pieces in the wash.”

“Then don’t wash them!” he said.

I admired the logic.

“What’s to be done?” asked Julia. “He needs to go to school.”

Her intervention was unlikely to help our cause. I decided to change tack.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were watching?”

He gave me a look that seemed to say I was stupid.

“I could have fed you.”

“Fed myself.”

“In the winter you could have come in.”

“Then I couldn’t have seen.”

“There was nothing to see.”

But as soon as I said it, I knew I was wrong. The way his eyes flicked to Julia, calculating, then back to me. The way his lips thinned as he clamped his mouth closed, stopping the words from spilling out. The boy had seen something. And he wouldn’t say it in front of Julia.

“Well you’re here now,” I said. “And that means you’re going to be washed – like it or not.”

I am amazed by the power of a bowl of water and a block of soap. Tinker did struggle at first but, once we had his arms pinned and the wet flannel on his face, he seemed to give up the fight. Having seen the transformation, I understand the satisfaction that must be felt by a man restoring an ancient painting. Layers of dirt rubbed away to reveal pink skin beneath. The boy who had appeared as a monochrome illustration was revealed in beautiful colour. Sleeping rough and living off stolen scraps, he had no right to look so healthy.

His shirt more or less fell away in the struggle to hold him still, so we continued washing his neck and arms. One hour and three bowls of water later we had done all within our power. His hair had proved impossible to comb. And his legs we had not dared to investigate. But his top half at least was washed. Perhaps the smell of him was less or perhaps our noses had grown accustomed to his proximity. All in all, Julia and I were satisfied.

“What about his clothes?” she asked.

“I’ve got clothes,” the boy said, pouting.

“Tomorrow we’ll find new ones,” she said.

I knew full well that Tinker wouldn’t still be with us in the morning. Though his piteous state was hard to witness, I understood something of his need for freedom.

“Would you look for a shirt for him tonight?” I asked.

“But the shops–…”

“I don’t mean to buy one. Perhaps you could find one to borrow. The desk clerk might know someone who could help.”

Julia shot me a sceptical look. “Are you sure?”

The moment she was out of the door, Tinker grabbed his old shirt and somehow managed to wriggle into it without tearing either sleeve clean away. Then he pulled on that oversized coat and tied the belt. The scrubbed face seemed incongruous peeping out of that grimy collar. He was about to launch himself to the door when I grabbed his wrist once more.

“What did you see, Tinker?”

He wriggled in my grip for a moment then met my gaze.

“Spy,” he said.

It took me a moment to understand what he was saying. “You saw someone following me?”

He nodded.

“At the boat?”

The nodding became more vigorous. “Stayed on the bank, he did. Under the trees. Didn’t see me though. You didn’t see me, neither.”

I had seen something but not known what it was. He seemed proud of his achievement though, so I decided not to contradict him.

“Can you describe him? If it was a him?”

“Yeah. Thin like a drain pipe. And he moved funny.”

I let go of Tinker’s wrist and watched him demonstrate, pulling himself upright and swinging his arms backwards and forwards like a marching soldier.

“Three nights, he was there.”

“When? Before the policeman came or after?”

“Two nights before. One night after. You come out on deck for a look. Then you go in and he gets out his watch and his book. Then he’s scribbling.”

It would be less worrisome to think that it had been a constable. But I knew it could not have been so. They had me where they wanted without any use of spies. Nor could it be connected to Mrs Raike and the ice farmers. That all came later. I could think of one explanation only – the Duke of Northampton had been keeping watch on an asset he hoped soon to regain. A shudder started at the nape of my neck and ran down my spine. The boy did not seem to notice.

When I had composed myself I said: “Thank you, Tinker. But now I’m gone from the wharf,. I don’t want you hiding out in the cold and the dark. Do you understand? There are better ways to be. Safer ways to live. And you won’t be needing to steal for food.”

“What about the other one?” Tinker asked. I assumed he was speaking of Julia. But then he added: “He’s outside now.”

I glanced towards the window. Tinker shook his head and gestured towards the front of the building.