Chapter Text
Five weeks later…
“Hurry up, Phil, we’re going to be late!”
“I know, I know.” Phillip adjusts his tie at his clean-shaven throat. They’ve just finished a show; now they’re off to a party. With the booming success of The Last Foray Phillip’s started getting invitations to upscale events again. “Relax, P.T., we won’t be more than fashionably late.”
“I don’t want to be any kind of late.” Barnum combs frantically at his hair with his fingers, staring despairingly at his own reflection. “You know how people talk.”
Phillip glances at his partner. Ever since that night in jail Barnum’s been increasingly like this – more worried about other people’s opinions, more irritated at Bennett’s vitriolic articles, more prone to self-criticism. Phillip doesn’t like the change. He hopes it’s just a phase – the lingering result of public humiliation, the aftertaste of having an expensive shoe ground into his mouth.
“We’ll get there in time.” Phillip lays a hand on Barnum’s shoulder. He can feel the muscles coiling anxiously. “I’m the one who’s supposed to worry, remember?”
That, at least, draws a smile. “I just don’t want to miss anything,” Barnum says, dropping his hands. He looks the very image of a pristine gentleman, except for the indelible hints of mischief around his mouth and eyes.
“And you won’t. I’ll introduce you to anyone you need to know, and something tells me they won’t forget they’ve met you.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“If you behave yourself it could be.”
“Cheeky pup,” Barnum grumbles, returning to playing with his hair.
“Grumpy old hound," Phillip returns, and makes his escape.
As he goes out into the hall he hears Lettie’s cackle from one of the rooms. Curious, he pokes his head in. “What’s going on?” he asks, surveying the gathered crowd.
“Come and see.” Lettie glances up, and her eyes brighten. “Lord, Carlyle, look at you – you look like a prince at a ball!”
“Thanks, Lettie.” Phillip looks over Jeremy’s shoulder to see Anne stretched out on her side, her hands clasped tightly between her knees. “Is she all right?” he asks in alarm, taking in her pale face and clenched eyes.
“Of course she is.” Nora is bent over Anne’s left foot. She has what looks like a tiny awl in one hand; with the other she uses a cloth to wipe away spots of blood. “She’s just getting a tattoo.”
“Oh.”
“How much longer?” Anne asks through bared teeth.
“About ten minutes.” Nora doesn’t look up from her work. “You’re doing wonderful, sweetheart. It’s going to look so pretty.”
Anne opens her eyes and Phillip finds himself looking directly into them. “Hi,” he offers, smiling. His heart thumps a bit too quickly. “You’re brave.”
She gives him a wavering smile. “Next time I’ll just do body paint.”
“What are you getting?”
“A snapdragon,” Lettie answers as Anne gasps sharply and squeezes her eyes shut. She looks slyly at Phillip. “Fascination and deception, Carlyle.”
Not only does he not understand what Lettie means, but that particular expression on her face makes him squirm. He excuses himself quickly and rushes off to find Barnum on the verge of a breakdown.
They get to the party two minutes late, well within the realm of fashionable. Instantly Barnum is at the height of his charm, determinedly making himself agreeable to anyone within earshot. After a few introductions Phillip decides his friend is doing just fine by himself and starts to mingle on his own, constantly forcing his hand away from the flutes of champagne.
“Phillip Carlyle!” A robust voice from his left grabs his attention. “Heavens, I didn’t think to see you here.”
“Mister Slater.” Phillip turns with a smile, clasping the hand that’s extended to him. “I haven’t seen you in a dog’s age.”
“Since you were twenty or so, I should think.” Slater is a portly man with an open, expressive face that successfully hides shrewd business sense. “Didn’t your brother just visit – the lawyer?”
“Yes, he returned to Europe three weeks ago. He’s married to a beautiful lady of Italian descent who apparently can’t do without him.”
“A good reunion, was it?”
Phillip smiles. “The best,” he murmurs.
“You’ve made quite a name for yourself. The theatres adore you, if I may say so without flattery.”
“Please, sir, you embarrass me.”
“Now now, it’s becoming to accept the accolades we’ve earned. I went to see The Last Foray – a remarkable piece of dramaturgy. I must ask, since I have your ear – what is the meaning of the golden bird in the rusted cage? I’m more familiar with the metaphor of the golden cage, and I confess I couldn’t make heads or tails of it.”
Phillip’s gaze briefly alights on Barnum, who is animatedly speaking with a well-known businessman. “It’s analogous to the phrase a diamond in the rough,” he says, turning back to Slater. “Roatly, the coal miner who befriends Claudette, possesses a rich soul but a poor purse. His tragedy is that he’s trapped by his poverty like a vein of gold in a rock – unmined for his beauty, because nobody realises it’s there.”
“Ahhh.” Slater stares at him, his eyes lighting up. “I see now. Brilliant.”
“Thank you. Tell me, do you still travel to London on business?”
“Oh yes. Wonderful people there – though they’re very strict in point of dress.”
“So I observed.”
“Oh? When did you go?”
“Just over a year ago – one of my plays had a chance to debut there, and I thought I would explore the city.”
“Yes, they love you there. Can’t stop talking about having The Last Foray shown at Covent Garden. The Queen is such a patron of the arts, and what’s more she’s intrigued by curiosities. I’m freshly back myself; I can’t say I miss the London air, though the tea is – I’m a tea-drinker. Very delightful. I was invited to see the Queen herself – gratitude for some small act of economic service on my part, or so they said – and she served the most sublime Earl Grey. The biscuits that went with it…”
Slater proceeds to describe the refreshments in great detail. Phillip maintains a steady stream of hums and nods, but his mind is spinning in an entirely new direction. Patron of the arts. Intrigued by curiosities. Invited to see the Queen…
“Fascinating,” Phillip says when Slater finally begins to wind down. “It sounds like a highly successful visit.”
“Oh yes. Her Majesty asked if there was any small favour she might do for me – I couldn’t think of anything, of course, what could a humble businessman like me possibly ask of Her Grace? – but I assured her that if anything ever came to my attention…Well. Pleasantries, you know.”
Phillip could chortle with glee. “Mister Slater, our meeting tonight is fortuitous,” he says, guiding the man away from the crowd. “You see, I find myself in a dilemma.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, I’ve promised to help a friend expand his business, generate some higher-class revenue, the like. But even with the success of my play it’s proving difficult.”
“I see,” Slater says coyly. “Is he a difficult man to elevate?”
“Extremely. I’m highly invested in my friend’s success – both financially and otherwise. I won’t see him fail.”
“And might you reveal the name of this friend?”
This time Phillip doesn’t turn his head. “He happens to be discussing hors d’oeuvres with Bradley by the punch table.”
“I thought that might be the case,” Slater says self-satisfactorily.
“He’s done more for me than I can adequately explain. I don’t like to see him suffer from a poor reputation. It hurts him – he feels it deeply. And I wonder, based on the thrust of our conversation, if there’s any way…”
“You sly young fox.”
“I would apologise, but I’m all out of regret.”
Slater grins. “I knew your father’s cunning couldn’t have gone to waste in service of the law,” he chuckles. “Very well, Carlyle, let’s do business. A favour for a favour – what do you have in mind?”
“A little impudence on your part, a little boot-licking on mine.”
“By impudence you mean my importuning Her Majesty…”
“A man with royal approval can hardly be openly scorned, can he?”
“And the boot-licking?”
“Whatever you see fit. My tongue is at your disposal.”
Slater laughs and thumps him on the back. “If I was another man I might take that a different way,” he says. “But I’m generous toward the crafty. You leave it to me, young Phillip. I’ll write some letters, send some telegrams…and you get that tongue wet. You’re going to be using it a good deal before you wag it in the Queen’s courts.”
His spirits soaring, Phillip finds Barnum as he finishes up a conversation with the mayor’s aide. “Everybody’s here tonight,” the ringmaster says in a low voice, nervous excitement vibrating in his every movement. “With this crowd I feel like anything could happen.”
Phillip plucks two drinks off a passing waiter’s tray. “I suppose anything could,” he says, holding out one of the flutes. “I think a toast is in order. Don’t argue, Barnum – you look like you could use a drink, and I promise this is my only one.”
“What are we toasting?” Barnum takes the champagne warily, studying Phillip’s face with muted concern. “And don’t think I’m not going to be smelling your breath later.”
A passing lady gives him a look. “The circus,” Phillip says. “And its beautiful, impossible insanity.” What he really wants to say is that Barnum saved him, that he went after Goddard for him and ended up in jail, and that Phillip will forever be indebted to his bruised knuckles and injured soul. But he’s already tried saying that, and it’s not a conversation Barnum is interested in having, any more than the one about the breached contract. There are some things that are not meant to be said, but simply known, and it seems this is one of them.
So all he says is, “To Barnum’s Circus.”
Barnum smiles. “The circus,” he says. “The place where anything can happen.” They clink glasses. “The greatest show on earth.”
They drink, and the lights sparkle around them.