"Pray be seated, madam. This is my friend and associate, Dr Watson. We are at your service."
She took the chair opposite the door, as if fearful of someone who might be following her. "Mr Holmes, I believe my life to be in great danger."
"And why do you think that, Miss Costello?"
Her body jerked in surprise at his words. I admit I was surprised myself. "You know me?" she asked. "We have never met."
"Your veiling implies that your face would be known, and I note the unmistakable odor of tanbark about you, suggestive of a circus ring. No, no – it is not an unpleasant odor. It brings back memories of childhood. I believe there is even a bit of the bark itself clinging to your riding boot." My eyes were drawn to her boot, almost as large as my own, and to the trim calf that showed beneath her skirt. "Since the Rover Brothers Circus is the only one in the London area at the present time, and since Vittoria the Circus Belle rides in their parades, it seemed obvious to me that you were Vittoria Costello. Please continue with your story."
She lifted the veil, revealing a face of striking beauty. Her eyes, though troubled, still sparkled with youth and her hair had the shimmer of ravens' wings. The sketches on the circus posters hardly did her justice. "I had heard of your remarkable powers, Mr Holmes, but you astonish me. As you may know from the newspaper accounts, I was employed by Hatchard's bookshop on Piccadilly when friends persuaded me to enter the Rover Brothers' contest. I never thought I would win, and when I did I'll admit I was a bit reluctant to give up my old life and become Vittoria, the Circus Belle."
Holmes retrieved his pipe and studied her with piercing eyes. "I admit to knowing very little about circuses. Exactly what duties do you perform with the show?"
"When the Rovers hired me directly after the contest, they said I only had to ride a horse in the circus parade, and perhaps once around the ring at the beginning and end of the shows. Of course until recently circuses were mainly equestrian events, with a clown providing some acrobatic comedy and joking with the ringmaster between riding demonstrations. Now things are changing. P. T. Barnum in America has a tent that will hold twenty thousand spectators and has three rings, after the American custom. Astley's here in London has a permanent
building with a large scenic stage for horses and other animals. The trapeze acts introduced by the French gymnast Leotard are becoming increasingly popular with many circuses. And they say the Hagenbecks will soon introduce a big cage for wild animal acts."
"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?"
"Either one will do. I am Sherlock Holmes and this is Dr Watson. One of your star performers, Vittoria, has invited us here to investigate the suspicious death of the Spanish knife-thrower known as Diaz."
Charles Rover grunted with something like distaste. "Nothing suspicious about it! An accident!"
"Vittoria believes he was poisoned and that the poison was meant for her."
"Who would want to kill that sweet child? She is the star of our show!"
"Then we have come here for nothing?" Holmes asked.
"It would seem so."
"Since we have made the journey from London, perhaps we could speak with some others – your brother Philip, if he's available, and one of the acrobats, Edith Everage."
Charles Rover consulted his pocket watch. "It's noon already. By one o'clock we will be preparing for the afternoon performance. See who you wish before one, then be gone."
"Where might we find Miss Everage?"
"In the main tent, rehearsing her act. We are introducing an Indian tiger into the show today, and the timing must be adjusted accordingly."
I followed Holmes as we left Rover and headed for the main tent. Along the way food venders were beginning to set up their wares and a pair of brightly painted clowns were inspecting each other's greasepaint. With the gates open, the trickle of arrivals was building to a steady flow, exploring the sideshows but not yet allowed into the main tent. Holmes and I ignored the signs and slipped through the closed tent flap.