“I beg your pardon?” Aaron asked.
“White horse. He no sell.”
“I don’t want the horse.” It was an understandable assumption, as they likely received multiple offers a day for the mesmerizing beast.
“Why you stare, then? Scare children.”
Considering these people made a living by being stared at and he couldn’t see anyone in the enclosure who could pass for less than fifteen, Aaron discounted the woman’s claim. Even so, the moment had come to go for the whole hog or throw up the sponge.
“I wish to speak to the horse trainer.”
“No allowed out here.”
Aaron frowned. The man wasn’t allowed to leave the paddock? What sort of hold did the circus owner have on him?
“I give message but no come out.”
He was supposed to conduct business via this woman, whom he could barely understand and who didn’t speak proper English? Apparently so, unless he wanted to abandon the idea. The thought turned his stomach. “I wish to offer him a job riding my horses.” Aaron cleared his throat. “My racehorses.”
“You offer job to horse trainer?” The woman’s mouth lifted at the corners.
“Yes,” Aaron said slowly, eyes narrowing at the woman. “The one with red hair.”
The woman nodded, her small smile evident now. “Fitzroy. You offer riding job to horse trainer Fitzroy with red hair.”
Aaron rolled the name around in his mind. Fitzroy sounded a lot like You, boy. Perhaps that had been what the circus owner yelled earlier. “Yes.”
More nodding. “I go tell.” The foreign woman stepped around the wagon and out of sight before calling out. The red-haired man finished checking a horse’s hoof and then moved toward the wagon, joining her out of Aaron’s sight.
When she returned to Aaron, she carried a small travel desk. “Lose job if go with you. Want promise. Want written offer.”
The man was smart. Another point in favor of Aaron’s decision. That this man would be leaving his livelihood created a heavy sense of responsibility. Aaron would find something for the man to do. Besides, Newmarket was a horse town and close enough to London to draw plenty of aristocratic ladies who would like fancy stepping horses. He’d be able to earn at least as much as he did with the circus. Aaron slid a piece of paper from the desk’s opening and selected a quill from the holder.
Now that Aaron had decided on the ridiculous idea, he gave it his total commitment.
What terms would be convincing enough? One month employment, to be extended if things went well. Food and board and the same wage Aaron had paid his previous jockey. He included the date and time of the challenge race, ensuring there would be no confusion as to when the job needed to start.
The scribblings hardly made for a professional contract, but it would do.
“Write for red-haired horse trainer.”
Aaron paused, quill poised over the paper. “Why don’t I simply write his name?”
“You said hire red-haired horse trainer.”
Aaron gave the woman his most intimidating stare, sensing she wasn’t being honest with him. He and his friends had fobbed one off on each other enough times for him to know how to get around it.
At the top of the paper he wrote, Offer for red-haired horse trainer of Notley’s Equine Circus by the name of Fitzroy, then signed at the bottom. That should take care of whatever trickery the woman intended.
She took the desk and the paper and disappeared behind the wagon again. Aaron was starting to sweat by the time she returned, paper in hand and a grin on her face.
He took the offered paper covered with unfamiliar handwriting. His terms had been copied to the paper with S. Fitzroy scrawled across the bottom.
“Keep copy,” the lady said thickly.
A sudden urge to rip the pseudo contract to shreds burned through him, but it would mean nothing since the trainer had wisely retained the one Aaron had written. He looked toward the wagon, expecting to see the trainer waving or giving some other indication that he was excited about the job, but only the faerie’s head was poked around the corner, watching him with wide, curious eyes.
Aaron gave her a polite nod and folded the paper before sliding it into his coat pocket and stepping away to blend into the crowd. Really, what was the risk? He’d resigned himself to a likely loss anyway. Nothing worse could happen.
Three
Sophia Fitzroy’s heart pounded hard enough to knock her wig askew, but she didn’t look in the mirror to ensure her red hair remained fully hidden by the heavy, itchy blond curls. Even though the reflection would bear little resemblance to her true self, she couldn’t face it yet. Makeup and powder could transform her into the ethereal faerie queen, but it would do nothing for the guilt pinching underneath her skin.
Despite the stabbing pain in the back of her throat and the swirl of anxiety in her stomach, she went through the motions of preparing for the next show. As long as she didn’t look herself in the eye, she could pretend the man in the burgundy coat had known whom he was hiring.
The peek she’d taken at him as Margaret had gone to deliver Sophia’s acceptance had nearly made her run after the woman and rip the paper to shreds. What she’d assumed would be a slovenly, down-on-his-luck horse trainer with more paunch than hair was a fine gentleman with neatly tamed dark curls and a trim physique who could definitely handle the horses he apparently wanted a rider for.
“Fitzroy! If those horses aren’t ready in five minutes, I’ll dock your pay.”
Sophia winced at Mr. Notley’s threat. Jonas already worked for nearly free. If the owner docked his pay any further, her brother would be paying him to work.
The rekindled anger burned away some of her blooming guilt. Yes, Jonas no longer rode in the show, but he was far from useless. He still saw to the care of the horses and completed every non-performing duty he’d had before the accident left him injured and unable to ride.
It was the show that made money, though, so in Mr. Notley’s eyes Jonas wasn’t earning anything. He didn’t care that the accident cost Jonas far more than he’d ever gained from the circus. Didn’t care that it had been Mr. Notley’s insistence that they travel despite the weather that had allowed the accident to occur in the first place. Didn’t care that the way he continued to pile extra jobs on Jonas’s shoulders was preventing her brother from healing.
She and Jonas had scraped together enough money to pay for a physician’s examination, and the diagnosis had been simple—a broken coccyx. The only known remedy was rest, something that was difficult to find when one lived and worked in a traveling circus.
Sophia pulled the paper out of her pocket and unfolded it. After hundreds of prayers, God had finally answered. One month. For one month she would have steady income, a place to stay, and food to eat. Somehow, she would find a way to share it all with Jonas, and maybe, just maybe, it would be enough.
Please, God, let it be enough.
“Are you ready, faerie queen?”
Her twin brother gave her a lopsided grin that she couldn’t help but return. A sense of peace wormed its way through her uneasiness. She could do this. For him. For them. They had no one else in the world but each other. How many times had Jonas sacrificed in the past six years, making choices simply so they could stay together?