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Authors: Catriona McPherson
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say next to spring to my mind. ‘So … I’m sorry, Mrs Cooke, but how exactly can I help?’
‘How can she help, she asks!’ Mrs Cooke twinkled at me. ‘Don’t you come over shy with me, my beauty. I saw your hand, remember there? And I looked at your leaves once you’d gone, just to make sure. I know what you are.’ I stared at her and I could feel a prickle as the hairs stood up along the back of my neck. ‘Besides, it in’t just Topsy. There’s more going on than Pa could crack his whip at and the swing’s just the tip what’s broke the surface like. But, one way or three, you can stop it. You know you can. You’ve done it before, han’t you?’
‘Apart from anything else,’ I said, regaining some of my composure, ‘it was my left hand you looked at.’
‘Left hand’s where some things show,’ said Mrs Cooke.
I decided that a brisk air of business was the best response to such bewitchments (and I thought, not for the first time, that for a rational woman such as me, brought up to believe that miracles and wonders were the province of the vicar and he was welcome to them, I certainly seemed to be a magnet for mystic fancy).
‘So who took it then?’ I said.
‘Ana,’ answered Mrs Cooke. ‘I din’t see her or nothing but I’d put my toenails on it. There’s no love lost ’tween her and Topsy and less every time you look there, and it’s not the first time neither, although thanks be that I stopped it a-coming out or she’d have been off that ground there with a flea in her ear.’
‘But if she’s a thief,’ I said, ‘then why not?’
‘Not a thief!’ said Mrs Cooke, shifting and resettling herself with a great rustling of her petticoats. ‘Not so bad as that. It wurr just a prank.’
‘What did she do?’ I asked.
‘She took Tam’s whip.’ Mrs Cooke’s voice had sunk to a whisper. ‘If Tam had found out … it just in’t circus to go meddling with props what in’t yours, and the rum coll’s whip in’t just any old prop.’
‘The who?’ I asked.
‘The boss man,’ said Mrs Cooke. ‘What you’d call the ringmaster.’
‘You must be very fond of this Ana,’ I said. ‘If she’s being as naughty as all that and you’re still on her side … and against your own husband too.’
‘Tin’t that,’ said Mrs Cooke. She looked at me for a long moment before she spoke again. ‘You know our boys are away across the sea? Kushty boys, they are, both of them. Lads still, not forty, and I miss them more than I can tell you without my heart breaking in my mouth. Do you have babbies of your own?’
‘I do,’ I said. ‘Two sons, like you. Fifteen and thirteen.’ I forbore to mention that I had waved them gladly off to prep school at eight and we smiled at one another fondly.
‘So there’s how bad it is then,’ said Mrs Cooke. ‘My Tom and Joe are two of the finest horsemen I ever did see, and that’s not just me what’s their ma saying it. They have a voltige act for now – The Brothers Ilchenko – using their granny’s name for the sound of it – a Cossack act and it’s a sight to see, madam, dancing on them two ponies of theirs, fast as a blur and all the galleries clapping and stamping their feet. It wurr the top of the show.’ She was getting quite misty as she recounted this, but soon gathered herself again with a sniff. ‘But young Tom would have gave way in the end,’ she said. ‘Give over the act to young Joe and his wife – when he got one, like – and taken the whip from his pa. Tam Cooke’s Circus it would be, same as ever. That’s what we’ve thought, Pa and me, since the day he wurr born.’
‘But they’ve gone,’ I put in, hoping to keep Mrs Cooke from recounting Tom Jr’s entire childhood to me.
‘And I thought we’d fold for sure without them,’ she said. ‘Till our Ana came along. Her and her golden pony.’
‘She’s the star of the show?’ I said, guessing.
‘But don’t you go saying so, mind,’ said Mrs Cooke.
‘How can she help, she asks!’ Mrs Cooke twinkled at me. ‘Don’t you come over shy with me, my beauty. I saw your hand, remember there? And I looked at your leaves once you’d gone, just to make sure. I know what you are.’ I stared at her and I could feel a prickle as the hairs stood up along the back of my neck. ‘Besides, it in’t just Topsy. There’s more going on than Pa could crack his whip at and the swing’s just the tip what’s broke the surface like. But, one way or three, you can stop it. You know you can. You’ve done it before, han’t you?’
‘Apart from anything else,’ I said, regaining some of my composure, ‘it was my left hand you looked at.’
‘Left hand’s where some things show,’ said Mrs Cooke.
I decided that a brisk air of business was the best response to such bewitchments (and I thought, not for the first time, that for a rational woman such as me, brought up to believe that miracles and wonders were the province of the vicar and he was welcome to them, I certainly seemed to be a magnet for mystic fancy).
‘So who took it then?’ I said.
‘Ana,’ answered Mrs Cooke. ‘I din’t see her or nothing but I’d put my toenails on it. There’s no love lost ’tween her and Topsy and less every time you look there, and it’s not the first time neither, although thanks be that I stopped it a-coming out or she’d have been off that ground there with a flea in her ear.’
‘But if she’s a thief,’ I said, ‘then why not?’
‘Not a thief!’ said Mrs Cooke, shifting and resettling herself with a great rustling of her petticoats. ‘Not so bad as that. It wurr just a prank.’
‘What did she do?’ I asked.
‘She took Tam’s whip.’ Mrs Cooke’s voice had sunk to a whisper. ‘If Tam had found out … it just in’t circus to go meddling with props what in’t yours, and the rum coll’s whip in’t just any old prop.’
‘The who?’ I asked.
‘The boss man,’ said Mrs Cooke. ‘What you’d call the ringmaster.’
‘You must be very fond of this Ana,’ I said. ‘If she’s being as naughty as all that and you’re still on her side … and against your own husband too.’
‘Tin’t that,’ said Mrs Cooke. She looked at me for a long moment before she spoke again. ‘You know our boys are away across the sea? Kushty boys, they are, both of them. Lads still, not forty, and I miss them more than I can tell you without my heart breaking in my mouth. Do you have babbies of your own?’
‘I do,’ I said. ‘Two sons, like you. Fifteen and thirteen.’ I forbore to mention that I had waved them gladly off to prep school at eight and we smiled at one another fondly.
‘So there’s how bad it is then,’ said Mrs Cooke. ‘My Tom and Joe are two of the finest horsemen I ever did see, and that’s not just me what’s their ma saying it. They have a voltige act for now – The Brothers Ilchenko – using their granny’s name for the sound of it – a Cossack act and it’s a sight to see, madam, dancing on them two ponies of theirs, fast as a blur and all the galleries clapping and stamping their feet. It wurr the top of the show.’ She was getting quite misty as she recounted this, but soon gathered herself again with a sniff. ‘But young Tom would have gave way in the end,’ she said. ‘Give over the act to young Joe and his wife – when he got one, like – and taken the whip from his pa. Tam Cooke’s Circus it would be, same as ever. That’s what we’ve thought, Pa and me, since the day he wurr born.’
‘But they’ve gone,’ I put in, hoping to keep Mrs Cooke from recounting Tom Jr’s entire childhood to me.
‘And I thought we’d fold for sure without them,’ she said. ‘Till our Ana came along. Her and her golden pony.’
‘She’s the star of the show?’ I said, guessing.
‘But don’t you go saying so, mind,’ said Mrs Cooke.
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