The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures - Mike Ashley [43]
“You know a great deal about your profession,” Holmes murmured.
“It may not be my profession much longer, Mr Holmes. You see, the Rover Brothers suggested last year that I develop some sort of talent to enhance my image, something besides my horsemanship. They even suggested I might try tightrope walking or snake handling. I was horrified by both suggestions. This spring they put me into a knife-throwing act with a Spaniard named Diaz.” She showed us a slight scar on her left forearm. “This is what I received from it, and just during the rehearsal!”
“Is that what has brought you here?”
“Hardly! There is another young woman with the circus, an acrobat, who feels she should have the title of Circus Belle. Her name is Edith Everage. She has suggested several times that I leave my position and now I believe she is trying to kill me.”
“Has there been an actual attempt on your life?”
“Two, in fact. A week ago yesterday, when the circus played at Stratford, a horse I was riding tried to throw me.”
Holmes waved his hand. “A common enough occurrence.”
“Someone had placed a burr beneath my saddle. When my weight pressed it into the animal’s flesh he started to buck. Luckily there were people nearby to rescue me.”
“And the other attempt?”
“Much more serious. Two days ago, shortly before the Monday afternoon performance in Oxford, the knife-thrower Diaz was poisoned. You may have seen it in the papers. The poison was in a water bottle I used between rides. I’m convinced it was meant for me.”
“The knife-thrower died?”
“Yes. It was horrible!”
“Where is the circus playing now?”
“They’re setting up in Reading for a performance tomorrow afternoon. A new tiger is arriving with its keeper tonight. I fear they might want me to perform with it and I’m afraid for my life, Mr Holmes.”
“The two earlier incidents may have no relation to each other. Still, I have not attended a circus since my youth. What say, Watson? Shall we journey to Reading tomorrow for the big show?”
We caught a mid-morning train at Paddington station. The weather was warm for his usual traveling-cloak and he wore simple tweeds. As was his custom, Holmes read through several papers during the journey, expressing pleasure when he came upon an account of Diaz’s death in Oxford. He had died from poisoning but no further details had been given by the Oxford police.
“Perhaps it was an accident,” I ventured. “She may be worried about nothing.”
“We shall see, Watson.” He put down the last of the papers as the train was pulling into Reading Station. Off to the right we could see King’s Meadow where a circus tent had been erected. Already carriages and strollers were heading in the direction, and there were children gathering at the animal enclosures.
The first thing we saw on alighting from the train was a large wall poster for the Rover Brothers Circus featuring Vittoria, the Circus Belle. A banner had been pasted across the bottom corner of the poster announcing a new wild animal act with a man-eating tiger, to be introduced that very afternoon. Having now seen Vittoria in person I was reminded again of how little the drawing revealed of her true charm and beauty. Holmes studied it for a moment before we continued to the street, where he hailed a carriage to take us the short distance to the circus grounds.
Vittoria had arranged that two admission tickets would be left for us at the box office. As we passed through the main gate I caught the odor of tanbark, so slight on our client but now bringing with it my own memories of childhood. “You ’re right, Holmes,” I said. “There is a pleasant, nostalgic smell about a circus.”
A small tent near the entrance bore a sign indicating it was the office of the Rover Brothers Circus, and Holmes made for it without hesitation. A slender dark-haired young man with a bushy mustache was at work inside, scanning the pages of a ledger. “Mr Rover, I presume?” Holmes addressed him.
The man looked up with a scowl. “Mr Charles Rover. Do you want me or Philip?