The Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb - Melanie Benjamin [82]
“Vinnie, Vinnie, what’s the danger in the life that you are living now? Surely you don’t feel as if you’re physically at risk in my beautiful Museum?”
“Of course not.” I waved my hand impatiently; Mr. Barnum was being deliberately obtuse, and both he and I knew it. Charles, however, did not.
“Why, Phineas is right, you know, Vinnie. Look at how long I’ve been with him—the worst thing that ever happened to me was when Queen Victoria’s dog almost bit me, remember, Phineas? We were at the palace, you know, and I had my little toy sword that I used onstage, and when that dog came yapping toward me, I waved my sword at it—how everyone laughed! Remember, Phineas?” Charles’s eyes gleamed bright, as they always did when he was relating stories of his past successes. I tried to smile patiently; he had told me this story many times before.
“Charles.” I placed a gentle hand upon his arm, something I knew soothed and pleased him. “You hardly know my sister. Minnie is the sweetest soul in the world, but simple. Trusting. The type of timid soul who can be wounded by so many things, not just physical ones but a glance, a word, an idea, even.”
“No, you’re the sweetest soul in the world,” my erstwhile lover argued, right on cue. I turned back to Mr. Barnum with a sigh.
“I still say Pauline will be perfect. She was such a help to me when I first came to New York, and she is exquisite—think of how lovely she’ll look, how the Press will remark upon the beauty of Mr. Barnum’s daughter, such a compliment to you!”
“You can’t fool a fooler, Vinnie.” Mr. Barnum laughed. “It won’t work. I don’t want Pauline, and that’s that. I am her father, after all; I can forbid it.”
“Is this my wedding or yours?” I retorted.
“That’s a fair enough question, isn’t it? Which, do you think?” He sounded amused.
“Don’t you mean our wedding, Vinnie? Not just yours? It is our wedding, isn’t it?” Charles looked at me so anxiously that Mr. Barnum and I both colored with shame.
“Yes, absolutely, dear, it’s our wedding. Not Mr. Barnum’s.”
“Absolutely, old chap—I’m throwing you and your lovely bride the biggest shindig this city has ever seen, and actually I wanted to suggest something. We’ve been bringing in a lot of money, the three of us together, in all of this. We could easily keep it up for at least a month. Why not rethink the date, and I’ll throw in fifteen thousand dollars as a nest egg?”
I had to laugh; the man was impossible! Like a child, really. A child obsessed with one toy and one toy alone, who always steered the conversation back around to that one thing, who took it to bed with him at night. Then I had to laugh again; I had an image of Mr. Barnum sleeping with the day’s receipts tucked under his pillow. I would not be surprised!
But Charles did not laugh. He puffed out his chest, as he did whenever he felt the need to assert his manliness, and declared, “No! Not for fifty thousand dollars would I wait one more minute to marry Vinnie!”
“Not for one hundred thousand dollars!” I chimed in, just to see the look on Mr. Barnum’s face. And I was not disappointed; his mouth dropped open so that his ever-present cigar fell to his lap, burning a hole in his trousers. Cursing mildly, he jumped up and brushed the ash off, hopping about in a very undignified manner.
“Well, if that isn’t all—look at the monsters I’ve created, the heartless creatures! Putting the old man in the poorhouse, all in the name of love!”
“Oh, Phineas, no—I’m not heartless! I would never put you in the poorhouse!” Just as suddenly, Charles’s manliness faded away; he was an anxious, repentant child once more.
“Charles, he’s exaggerating, as usual.” I patted his plump, warm hand. “Just wait—he’ll extract something else equally dear, in exchange for the money.”
“Commodore Nutt will be bitterly disappointed if he’s not your best man.” Mr. Barnum turned to Charles, beseechingly. And my heart began to sink.
“Oh, I couldn’t do that to him,” my