Page 33 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

‘I don’t know. She was here when I came back.’

‘Werner won’t be happy.’

Michel looked at her. ‘And who will tell him?’

Odélie grinned at him. ‘We all have secrets, don’t we, Michel?’

‘About last night…’

‘What about it?’ She smiled slyly at him. ‘I was fast asleep – I’m not sure what you were up to? Get her ready and bring her to the tent. Quickly now. No one wants to see Werner upset.’

A few minutes later Michel led Claudette to the Big Top. He walked her around the outside until he saw Felix, leaning against a post, smoking a cigarette.

‘Do I take her through the front?’ Michel asked.

‘You’re so friendly with them, thought you’d know where to take her,’ Felix said.

Michel turned away and walked Claudette through the main entrance. In front of him lay a dusted circle ready for the performers, encircled by tiers of seats that workers were still banging nails into.

‘Not here! Are you that stupid?’ Werner walked towards him from the middle of the ring, a spotlight from above making his costume glitter. ‘Behind! Behind! You think that the audience want to see you with a horse?’

Michel turned Claudette, who, ruffled by all the shouting, pushed her nose against his cheek.

‘It’s OK, it’s OK,’ Michel spoke calmly to her.

He walked her past Felix once more, who grinned at him, and found the back entrance to the part of the tent that held the performers away from sight of the audience’s seats.

‘I’ll take her.’ Eliáš the male triplet took the reins from Michel.

‘Odélie said Claudette was for her.’

‘And I will take her to her.’

‘Stand here, Michel.’ Jean came forward and ushered him behind a wooden stall. ‘Stand here and watch the rehearsal. You’ll like it.’

‘Jean, you look magnificent,’ Michel exclaimed. Jean was dressed in a wig of white curls, his face painted white with red circles on his cheeks. A ruffled white neckerchief peeked out over a waistcoat of gold, framed by a jacket and pantaloons of scarlet velvet. His legs were clad in white tights and his giant feet in black patent shoes.

‘I am a king – if just for a day, Michel. Giordano is my court jester. Giordano, where are you? Are you hiding again?’

Giordano appeared from behind a cut-out throne being carried by two men to the centre of the ring.

‘I look foolish!’ Giordano cried.

‘You look like a jester,’ Michel said, admiring the man’s red, green and blue striped outfit, and stifling a laugh as he spotted the slippers that were upturned with bells on them.

‘See? You think I am stupid.’

‘You are funny, my friend, and that is the point,’ Jean said, and placed his arm around Giordano’s shoulders. ‘Now, Michel, wait here – watch and see some magic!’

Michel stood in the shadows and watched as the performers all met in the ring. The triplets were decked out in silvery white cotton leotards, their sequins catching the light. Werner held court, standing on an upturned box, his red overcoat unbuttoned, his top hat on the ground.

Odélie appeared, her body encased in the same silver-white as the triplets, her hair piled high and pinned with sequins that winked as they caught the light. She stretched and laughed with the others as Serge walked into the ring, a bag on his back, the shining tips of swords peeping out of the top.

‘From there, you hold out one arm, and she will jump on behind you,’ Werner instructed Eliáš, who was clambering aboard Claudette bareback.

‘I know. I’ve done it before,’ he said.

‘No backchat! Go! Get on with it.’