The Ladies of the Secret Circus by Constance Sayers (the little red hen ebook TXT) 📕

“The Ladies of the Secret Circus?” Lara leaned in to listen, truly interested in the conversation now. “That sounds mysterious.”

Gaston nodded before taking a sip of wine. “It is. This entire series of paintings has been missing for more than seventy years.”

“What is a Secret Circus exactly?” Ben seemed amused. “I gather the Rivoli Circus is not a Secret Circus?”

“Most definitely not,” said Audrey, wiping the corners of her mouth with her cloth napkin.

Louie Favre, the Rivoli director, perked up. “What’s this about the Secret Circus?”

“Have you heard of it?” Audrey turned toward him.

“Of course. Everyone in the circus world has heard of it; I’m surprised you haven’t, Audrey.” Louie Favre was a barrel of a man with a large, full mustache as thick as a paintbrush. “It’s legendary.” He swirled a glass of what looked like bourbon.

“No,” said Audrey. “I’ve never heard of it until tonight.”

“My friend Barrow has written quite a bit on the subject and considers himself an expert,” said Gaston, leaning toward Audrey so that he could hear Favre. “It is one of his obsessions. It’s quite something to hear him go on about it. He was rambling something about a mysterious circus that had no physical building.”

“Oui,” said Favre. “It was rumored to have existed in Paris in the 1920s. Guests received tickets and were told where to go and voilà—a building would appear—out of nowhere.” Favre had once been the ringmaster of the Rivoli Circus, and he could tell a good story. “But”—he held out a finger—“only to the ticket holders. If the person next to you wasn’t holding a ticket, they did not see a circus in front of them at all.”

“Sounds a bit like Willy Wonka and the golden ticket.” Ben was playing with the stem of his wineglass. While she had been excited to be here with Ben, the illusion of Todd hung heavy over the evening, dampening what would have been her first date. And is this why she’d manifested Todd? Was she secretly afraid of moving on?

“We French are a little mad,” said Gaston with a wink.

Lara spied one of the boys who had been talking to Margot. As he went past her table, she reached for him. “Can I ask you a question?” She was up out of her seat, the momentum of his movement taking her several steps.

The man turned around to face her. From the smell of him, he’d had quite a few drinks. “Sure, darlin’… anything.”

“The woman I saw you with tonight. The one in the gold dress.”

The boy smiled and Lara could see the overlap in his front two teeth. “Margo. Yeah, I don’t know where she went to. I love those retro-looking woman, all Bettie Page.” He winked at her and Lara was nearly toppled by the whiskey on his breath. “She a friend of yours?”

“Something like that,” said Lara.

“I’d love to have her number.”

Smiling, Lara started back to her table, calling over her shoulder, “I don’t think she has a phone.”

When she turned back toward her own table, both Audrey and Ben were staring at her. Gaston was still talking and it didn’t sound like she’d missed much, but she was relieved. Someone else, drunk though he was, had seen Margot tonight. She wasn’t hallucinating.

“It was quite the destination for the rich and famous at the time—particularly your ‘Lost Generation,’” said Gaston, still on the subject of the painting. “According to Barrow, Josephine Baker, Gertrude Stein, Ernest Hemingway, Man Ray, and F. Scott Fitzgerald were all guests of Le Cirque Secret. Giroux was the only artist permitted to paint it, though, and that was significant.”

As the dinner plates were placed and everyone focused on their surf and turf of salmon and filet, Lara considered her next question carefully. “Was it ever called the Devil’s Circus, Mr. Favre?”

Mr. Favre met her eyes. “It was… and an accurate description of it, too, from what I’ve heard. Very bad things happened with that circus.”

“Like what?” Ben was cutting his filet.

“Murders,” said Favre between chews. “Men going missing.”

“Well, that’s right up your alley,” said Audrey to Ben. “And you believe this legend, Louie?”

“I do,” said Louie gravely. “I once knew people who had gone to it. They said it was quite a spectacle. Gruesome acts—much like the art of that time. But those who saw it said it was the most beautiful circus that had ever existed. Ah, what I wouldn’t give to have seen it.”

From what she’d read in Cecile’s journal, Lara thought that Louie would have been a prime candidate to receive a ticket, especially if he would give anything to get one.

“You think Cecile was part of this strange circus?” Audrey laughed. “That’s madness, Louie. You knew her. She wore khakis, for God’s sake.”

“Perhaps not.” Gaston turned to Audrey, raising his finger. “I’m sorry, Audrey, I didn’t have a chance to tell you. When I removed the frame and turned the painting over, the title was written on the back. It did not, in fact, mention a Cecile. Instead what was written was: SYLVIE ON THE STEED. Perhaps, Audrey, your grandmother was also called Sylvie?”

“No,” said Audrey. “Never Sylvie. Always Cecile.”

“Then perhaps this painting is not of Cecile Cabot.”

Audrey and Lara looked at each other. Both of them were thinking the same thing. The painting resembled Cecile. It had to be Cecile, didn’t it?

But then Lara recalled there had been a Sylvie in Cecile’s journal. She was the trick rider and the daughter of Madame Plutard. Had they been mistaken?

Gaston shrugged. “Barrow would love to see the painting for himself. He is suggesting we visit.” He leaned in close so that even Louie Favre could not hear. “This painting could be quite valuable. It could be worth eight or ten million dollars?”

“Really?” Lara met her mother’s eyes. Like a lot of people who had Virginia farms, business was spotty and often funded out of old money that was drying up. Ten million dollars could change