Feel the Fear

  ‘You don’t really believe it’s haunted, do you?’ said Ruby, slurping her milk.

  ‘I most certainly do,’ said Mrs Digby. ‘A poor unfortunate circus act met her end there and my own cousin Emily was present when it happened.’

  ‘Sounds gruesome,’ said Ruby. ‘What happened, was she murdered?’

  ‘Goodness me no, child.’

  ‘Was she just not up to it?’ asked Ruby ‘The acrobating, I mean?’

  ‘Oh no, she was the best, she was, the Little Canary,’ said Mrs Digby.

  Ruby almost spat her milk. ‘You’re not serious?’ she said.

  Mrs Digby put her hands on her hips. ‘What’s got you so animated?’

  ‘Strange as it might seem, the woman at the photography gallery just happened to be talking about the very same person and it’s kinda a coincidence is all.’

  ‘No such thing as coincidences,’ said Mrs Digby. Mrs Digby was fond of saying things like, No such thing as coincidences – she was a fatalist.

  ‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘no one quite believed it when she fell.’

  ‘She fell?’

  ‘It was tragic,’ said Mrs Digby, sitting down on her stool. ‘She was engaged to be married to George Katsel, oh how she adored that man, gave him everything she ever had, which was a lot considering she had been given a million gifts during her career – by everybody from the empress of China to the king of England, from poets to politicians. One botanist even named an orchid after her – the Celeste he called it – of course she gave that to Katsel too.’

  Ruby was wondering why she hadn’t quizzed Mrs Digby about the ghost of the Scarlet Pagoda before, it would have saved her an awful lot of trouble. RULE 62: SOMETIMES ALL THE ANSWERS YOU ARE LOOKING FOR ARE UNDER YOUR OWN NOSE.

  ‘And so,’ continued Mrs Digby, who was now well into her stride, ‘when Katsel left her for Margo Bardem it was like the lifeforce left her, she just sort of fell off her tiny perch. . . almost like she wanted to.’

  ‘You don’t think it was an accident then?’ said Ruby.

  ‘Cousin Emily didn’t think so. She witnessed the whole thing, poor dear. The Little Canary had returned to the Cirque de Paradiso and the whole troupe was appearing at the Scarlet Pagoda to perform in sell-out shows. Emily said the Canary was even more dazzling than usual, swinging back and forth on her trapeze, beautiful she looked, then she waved to her audience, almost as if she was saying farewell. The light went out. . .’ Mrs Digby paused to sniff, ‘. . .then the drums rolled and when the spotlight returned it shone on an empty wire.’

  Ruby shivered.

  ‘Yes,’ Mrs Digby continued. ‘She simply wasn’t there. The crowd gasped, afraid to imagine what had happened. As the spotlight searched the Scarlet Pagoda it fell upon this cruelly arranged bundle of sequins and feathers – such a contortion of limbs sprawled on the sawdust floor. It makes one weep to think of it,’ said Mrs Digby dabbing her eyes. ‘The question on everyone’s lips was – was it an accident or was it her broken heart that brought about her death? We will never know. All I can say is, that George Katsel has a lot to answer for.’

  ‘You blame him?’ said Ruby.

  ‘I most certainly do. Margo Bardem was a fool to marry him, but there were many fools before her and there have been a good many since. At least Margo Bardem came to her senses eventually.’ Mrs Digby looked at Ruby. ‘Too bad for the Little Canary, though. They may have buried her in that Circus Cemetery under that fallen star, but her spirit’s not at rest. She still haunts the Pagoda.’ The housekeeper stood up and smoothed her crumpled apron. ‘Anyway, that’s why I’m never stepping inside that old theatre, now you go find something useful to do.’

  Ruby left the kitchen and went in search of her mother – she was going to have to explain why she had not waited around for the trip to the shoe store. There had been no chance until now. But as it turned out, her mother didn’t seem the least bit bothered.

  The storm the newspapers had been promising was finally blowing in, growing fiercer and more determined by the hour, whirling the trees in every direction like it was playing with them, pulling branches like a kid in the schoolyard pulling hair. From what the meteorologists were saying, the storm was building and was set to batter the Twinford coast over the next few days. Sabina Redfort was standing in front of the huge window in the kitchen.

  ‘Boy is this one mother of a windy day.’ She was sipping a cup of herb tea and had her spare arm wrapped tightly around her waist as if holding herself together. ‘Where on earth did this storm spring from?’ she asked the great grey sky.

  ‘They’ve been talking about it for weeks, Mom, haven’t you been paying attention to the weather reports?’ Ruby was always amazed by her parents’ lack of ability to tune into what was going on around them. What was plain to most people on the street was strangely difficult for Brant and Sabina Redfort to grasp.

  ‘Do you think I should get the patio furniture in?’ asked Sabina.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Ruby, ‘unless you wanna see how it looks in Mrs French’s yard, five blocks away.’

  Sabina looked at her daughter, suddenly alarmed. ‘You really think it’s going to come to that?’

  ‘Come to what?’ asked Ruby, taking a large gulp of juice.

  ‘Come to us having to chase our lawn furniture down the street?’

  ‘Sure I do, you might wanna put the car in the garage too. They are forecasting tornado conditions.’

  ‘Oh my,’ said Sabina, ‘that’s really going to mess with my plans for the Scarlet Pagoda do. I wanted to wear that floaty pink dress of mine.’

  ‘Yeah, well you may find yourself floating to Kansas if you wear that little number. My advice, think sou’wester.’

  ‘Oh that really is too bad,’ said Sabina. ‘I’m going to have to rethink the whole evening; maybe a heavy brocade or dense velvet.’

  ‘Mom, I think you should be thinking “waterproofs and tornado bunker”.’

  Sabina wasn’t getting it, but thankfully the conversation reached a natural ‘stop’ when Ruby’s father walked in.

  Brant followed Sabina’s gaze, which was fixed on a couple of plastic bags weaving their way between the arms of swaying trees.

  ‘Something bothering you, honey?’

  ‘Only what the Sam Hill I’m going to wear to the do if that tornado hits!’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, honey, it’s just a little wind storm, nothing you can’t handle. Wear whatever you want to wear.’

  ‘Thank you, sweetheart, you’re so wise! I’m going to take your advice and go floaty.’

  ‘Good choice,’ he said, handing her a large cardboard envelope. ‘This was just delivered,’ he said. ‘It’s addressed to you.’ He kissed his wife and went downstairs.

  Sabina looked puzzled. ‘I wasn’t expecting anything.’ She prised open the envelope and pulled out the tissue-wrapped photograph it contained. She stared at it amazed and then quite suddenly sat down. The photograph was of Ruby and it was unquestionably the work of the great Ada Borland.

  ‘But how?’ she said, looking up at her daughter.

  ‘I called her,’ said Ruby.

  ‘But I mean your face. . .’

  ‘A touch of make-up,’ said Ruby.

  ‘You know what, Ruby Redfort, you are one terrific kid,’ said Sabina.

  ‘Mom, there are better kids out there,’ said Ruby, ‘you know it, and I know it.’

  ‘All I know is, I have a portrait of my beautiful daughter taken by the great Ada Borland and no other mother I know can say that – so they can keep their better kids.’

  ‘Thanks, I think,’ said Ruby.

  Sabina went off to telephone Marjorie; she would no doubt be on the phone a long time.

  Ruby looked out of the window and saw one of the plastic bags had been snagged by the tree’s twiggy fingers and was flapping this way and that, unable to work its way free.

  Ruby was doing the right thing for the second time that week, and her mother beamed wi
th pride when she saw her daughter come downstairs later that day in a floaty peach-coloured dress. Ruby was trying hard not to scowl: peach was not her colour and floaty was not her style.

  ‘You look adorable!’ cried Sabina, trying hard not to spoil the moment by mentioning the sneakers that Ruby was wearing with it.

  What her mother did not know was that under the silk peach number, Ruby was dressed in the black and red jumpsuit that Hitch had given her. Like Superman, she wanted to be prepared for every eventuality – to be truthful, she was praying that eventuality would come along quickly and she would be able to ditch the dress before the finale even began.

  ‘Your father and I will be travelling there early so we can greet all the guests as they arrive at the Circus Grande. Bob will pick you up Ruby, and drop you at the pre-show party – be sure you’re ready on time. I don’t want a repeat of the Jade Buddha fiasco.’

  Clancy would be there with his whole family. The evening would be star-studded and every famous face in Twinford was on the invitation list – it was the sort of night that Ambassador Crew would not want to miss.

  Bob, Mr Redfort’s chauffeur, arrived exactly on time and Ruby got into the car without delay. She was doing the right thing. No lateness, no sidetracks, no getting waylaid or getting into trouble.

  The only thing was that story Mrs Digby had told her just kept going round and round her head. . .

  Chapter 49.

  THE TRAFFIC WAS HEAVY. It seemed as if every person in Twinford was heading down to the Scarlet Pagoda for the premiere, and what with all the extra security in place, Bob was concerned that he was never going to get her there on time.

  ‘I’m going to take a detour,’ he said. ‘It’s a back route and should be less snarled up.’

  As it turned out he was wrong and the little back street behind the Hotel Circus Grande was closed to all non-official cars.

  A cop was standing in the road. ‘No vehicles sir, on account of the film festival security,’

  ‘Don’t concern yourself Bob,’ said Ruby, in a reassuring way, ‘let me out here and I’ll walk the rest of the way.’

  Bob looked anxious, he had been given strict instructions by Mrs Redfort to drop Ruby at the hotel door, but given the circumstances leaving her here seemed to be the only possible course of action.

  Ruby hopped out of the car and began walking up the street. It was a street Ruby had never been down before; a high brick wall ran along one side of it and she could see treetops rising up behind it. What, she wondered, lay on the other side?

  She followed the wall until she reached a pair of twisty iron gates. A cemetery, she said to herself. There was a carved plaque on the wall that explained everything.

  The Circus and Performance Artists’ Cemetery.

  It was the cemetery Mrs Digby had been talking about and now here Ruby was, right outside its gates.

  ‘Fate or coincidence?’ said Ruby to herself.

  Ruby had always known it was located in the heart of Twinford’s theatreland but she hadn’t realised that it was right here behind the Hotel Circus Grande.

  They buried her in the Circus Cemetery, under a fallen star.

  With Mrs Digby’s words still fresh in her mind, Ruby figured she really ought to take a look – it wouldn’t hurt to take ten minutes; her mother wouldn’t even be missing her yet.

  The gates were locked but that wasn’t a problem; she climbed them so swiftly that had you so much as blinked, you would have missed her.

  It was perfectly still within the walls; even the wind didn’t seem able to disturb the serenity of this green space. Large leafy plain trees towered high above the twisting paths, and on every side huge buildings looked down on the silent stones.

  But how to find Celeste’s grave? If it was indeed star-shaped then it would be easier to spot from above.

  She looked up at the huge tree that stood where all paths met – from there she thought she would be able to make out a tombstone that looked like a star. She bunched her dress up as best she could, knotting it at the side and ran at the tree, jumping to reach the high branch and then heaved herself up. The rest was easy and she was soon standing twenty-five feet in the air. She could see the banners of the film festival, she could see the Scarlet Pagoda and the Hotel Circus Grande and hear the excitement of the crowds as they waited for the celebrities to arrive.

  Ruby moved from branch to branch, scanning the gravestones, searching for Celeste’s fallen star, when suddenly her eye was caught by a figure all in black. He seemed to have appeared out of thin air. Did he also climb the gate?

  She watched him move across the graveyard before stopping and stooping to place yellow flowers on a gravestone that was not standing but lying flat in the grass.

  The figure in black stood there for just a minute and then slowly, slowly made his way back along the path. Ruby dropped silently to the ground and, when she was sure he would not see her, ran to the place where he had stood. The grave was not neglected; the weeds and leaves had been removed and the stone, a five-pointed star of marble, lay on top of neat clipped grass, so it was easy to read the words carved into its surface:

  HERE LIES

  THE LITTLE CANARY

  A BEAUTIFUL ACROBAT

  WHO FELL FROM THE SKY,

  STOLEN FROM THIS WORLD

  Ruby reached out her hand, running her fingers across the carving and tracing around the deep stone shape of the star, only to discover another message. A message carved into the marble that could only be read by touch. A message written in Braille.

  She closed her eyes and read, her fingers travelling over the bumps that together formed words:

  I will bring you orchids until the day when those who brought you low have fallen, and you light the skies again – your adoring son, Claude

  ‘You have a son, Celeste?’ said Ruby to the grave. ‘So is it him you haunt?’

  She looked around her – where was Celeste’s visitor now? As Ruby rose to her feet she focused on the flowers that he had left; they had beautiful spiked pink lines running like veins along the intense yellow of the petals – small, delicate and almost unreal.

  They were unmistakably the flowers of the Celeste orchid, flowers from Claude to his lost mother.

  Ruby rose to her feet, turned and reached for the fly barrette, but it wasn’t there. Darn it Ruby! Then she was running down the winding leaf-strewn path, past ornamental urns and praying stone angels, through the little cemetery, and as she neared the gates she saw him. Instead of scaling the twisting metal he was feeding himself through the curly ironwork like a contortionist might.

  Ruby took another route – over the wall, her dress made a horrible tearing sound as it caught a sharp stone lodged in the wall. Darn it, she hissed.

  She waited until it was safe, then silently dropped to the street. He didn’t see her, he was walking fast, moving like a dancer or gymnast, back straight, feet slightly turned out. When he reached the Hotel Circus Grande he stopped and stared straight up as if contemplating a climb. He smiled and then the most curious thing happened – he made an action as if pulling something out of his jacket, yet nothing appeared, then he whirled his arm above his head as if to wrap himself in a scarf or blanket. . . and he was gone, in an instant. Disappeared.

  What just happened?

  He had vanished into thin air. How he had achieved this illusion she did not know, but she knew why he was there – he was the skywalker, the son of the Little Canary, and, like his mother, an extraordinary acrobat and wire-walker, and he was heading to kidnap Margo Bardem.

  Ruby ran as fast as she could, pushing through the gathered crowds, flashing her invitation at the clipboard-holding greeters and on through the Circus Grande’s heavy doors. She heard her mother’s laugh and Ambassador Crew’s pompous voice booming across the room. But there was no sign of Hitch.

  She moved on through the crowd until she reached her parents’ group. They were chatting with the Humberts and Dora Shoering.


  ‘Have you seen Hitch?’ asked Ruby.

  Her question went unheard.

  ‘I am wildly curious about the notion of this movie,’ Sabina said. ‘I just can’t imagine why Feel the Fear was never screened. I mean, who wouldn’t want to see a Margo Bardem picture?’

  ‘I quite agree,’ said Marjorie Humbert.

  ‘Mom,’ said Ruby more insistently.

  ‘Hi Ruby,’ said Quent. ‘Are you coming to my superhero party tomorrow?’

  ‘I’m working on it Quent,’ said Ruby. ‘Mom,’ she said again, even more forcefully.

  ‘Well of course that was a big secret,’ said Dora Shoering.

  ‘I mean, hardly anyone knows this, but the film has been locked all these years in the deepest studio vault. No one dared to screen it.’

  ‘But why ever not?’ said Sabina.

  ‘Mom!’ said Ruby, a lot louder. But Sabina could hear nothing but Dora Shoering.

  ‘Because,’ said Dora Shoering, ‘the test screening went so badly that they decided this was a film that should never ever be shown for fear that it would destroy Bardem’s career.’

  Now even Ruby was listening.

  ‘But how could it?’ said Sabina. ‘Margo was a huge star.’

  ‘Well –’ Dora Shoering was really enjoying holding forth – ‘for the simple reason that Margo Bardem, darling of the silver screen, is murdered in the movie. This is no comedy thriller, this is high drama, and her character is pushed from a high wire – a sort of nod to Bardem’s debut movie The Cat that Got the Canary, but this time sinister – and, let’s be honest, no fan wanted to see Bardem take a fatal fall.’

  ‘So they canned it?’ said Sabina.

  ‘They did indeed,’ said Dora Shoering.

  Ruby was staring at Dora Shoering. She was also thinking of the words in Braille on the grave. When those who brought you low have fallen. Suddenly the horrible truth was dawning – Margo Bardem was not going to be kidnapped, she was going to be murdered. Life would imitate art and Margo’s premiere would be her finale, when she fell to her death.