Page 114 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

‘Next week.’

‘I am not sure I will be well by then. I will try…’ Werner attempted to sit up and fell back against his pillows, beads of sweat on his brow.

‘I have come to ask you something.’

‘You want to marry Frieda.’

Michel was taken aback. ‘I do. But that was not what I was going to ask.’

‘You always ask the father’s permission, Michel.’

‘I have two things to ask you then.’

‘Go ahead. Wait – give me some more water first.’

‘We will do the show. We’ll hire more performers with Henri’s money and then we will all leave together. But… I need to know if you will allow me to be ringmaster for one night.’

Werner smiled. ‘I am not sure which question is worse – marry my daughter and take her away, or take my circus.’

‘I am not taking it. It is yours. It will always be yours, and so will she.’

‘No, no, Michel. It is yours now. And so is Frieda. It is time. A ringmaster must always know when it is the right time – when the band should play, when the acts should dance… you’ll orchestrate this from now on. It is yours.’

Michel watched Werner turn to stare at the ceiling.

‘Werner?’

‘Go and fetch me Frieda. Ask her to sit with me.’

‘I’m sorry, Werner,’ Michel said, as he opened the door to leave.

‘So am I, Michel. So am I.’

‘Will you return to Paris?’ Michel asked Bertrand, as they sat together with Hugo and Madame Rosie in Werner’s caravan.

Bertrand looked up. Madame Rosie was reading his palm. ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘Perhaps soon. I thought I could help?’

‘It’s not that I want you to leave – I just don’t want to put you in danger.’

‘Michel, I was in danger alone in Paris. I was wasting away with no sight of a future for myself. I cannot, will not leave you. My future may still be bleak – maybe I will have to return alone – but right now I can help. I can do something and stay with my friend.’

‘You can help by taking Jean and Serge into the city to find more performers,’ Michel said. ‘Whilst you have Odette’s car.’

‘Your wish is my command,’ he said, and Michel saw Madame Rosie smile softly at him.

Michel sat at Werner’s small desk and began to scribble down the acts needed: magicians, dancers, more clowns.

‘More clowns?’ Hugo questioned, peering over his shoulder.

‘A few. Just a few. You will be their leader, show them what they need to do.’

Hugo nodded, then chewed at a raggedy fingernail.

Jugglers, plate spinners, contortionists, trapeze artists, unicyclists, tightrope walkers, a band.

‘Animals,’ Michel said. ‘Can we get them?’

‘I’ll ask Jean, one minute.’ Hugo scurried out.