Skylark by Jenny Pattrick Read Free Book Online

audience favours — and were often in trouble over our antics. We both giggled, earning a stern tap from Mrs Foley’s be-ringed hand. Soon the great Mrs W.H. Foley would grace the performance with a comic song or two between the circus acts. Feet solidly planted like a man, she sat on a little chair, just outside the entrance, so she could pass judgement on everything inside. (It was much more fun when Mrs Foley was away on one of her many trips ‘to perform in real theatre’.)
    Tommy ran into the ring, leading Lucy, Mr Foley’s prize mare. She was snow-white and beautiful. We all loved the gentle creature but would never dare mount her. That privilege belonged to Mr Foley alone. For him, she would perform every trick in the book and more. He was a brilliant horseman, Mr Foley, kind to all animals, but possessing a special feeling for horses. He had eventamed, to a certain degree, a pair of zebras, and claimed to be the only person in the world to have done so. Perhaps he was.
    The hoarse shouts and hoots of laughter from the audience faded as Mr Foley made Lucy dance sideways, rear on her hind feet and paw the air, or weave complicated patterns across the ring, while he sat upright on her back with never a command or flick of his whip to show that he was controlling her.
    ‘Oi,’ whispered Tommy. ‘That fellow is here again tonight. Over there in the front row. See? That horseman from down the coast.’ He dug me in the ribs and snickered. ‘Is he after the horses or you I wonder?’
    Last week the circus had stopped at Foxton Beach for a single open air performance. We were heading for Auckland after a long stay in Wellington. Travel was a long and difficult process for us. The steamer that transported the circus from Wellington had business at all the local ports. Sometimes they stopped for a day, sometimes for weeks. Clever Mr Foley arranged a performance whenever possible. At Foxton the local Maori crowded into the tent, blanketed against the cold, their dark eyes wide with excitement. This was the first time a circus had come to town — or any entertainment for that matter. To start with they’d sat in silence; the two-headed goat had them murmuring in fear. Mr Foley, for all his clowning, had a hard time getting a laugh out of them. Then suddenly, as beautiful Lucy trotted out her tricks, one of the English settlers shouted with amazed laughter and burst into applause. After that the tent was abuzz with applause and chatter.
    The Englishman — he was Scottish, actually — stayed long after the others had left, chatting to Mr Foley about his horses. From time to time he glanced over to where I was brushing down the ponies and giving them their feed.
    ‘You’ve an admirer there,’ said Mr Foley later, smiling at me. ‘He knows his horses, I’ll say that for the lad.’ He winked. ‘And knows what he likes in a human filly.’ He paused then and looked at me sternly. ‘Watch your step, young miss, we don’t want to lose you.’
    I laughed happily. There was nothing in the world that would induce me to leave my circus family. To hear Mr Foley say that heneeded me was music to my young ears.
    At any rate the young man had galloped off into the night without a word to me. I had not thought about him since.
    But here he was again, in Whanganui, sitting in the front row. I sneaked a look. He was dressed smartly enough: not as splendidly as the garrison officers last month in Wellington, but in frock coat and cravat, tall, clean-shaven and bare-headed. He was watching the horse and rider in the ring with great concentration.
    ‘Make sure you curtsey for him,’ whispered Tommy Bird. ‘He’s good for a shilling or two, I reckon.’
    Mrs Foley frowned at us and cleared her throat. She motioned for Tommy to run out and bring Lucy off.
    ‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ trumpeted Mr Foley. ‘I have much honour in presenting, direct from the Royal Victoria Theatre in Wellington, the incomparable, the world-famous,