Chapter 13
It wasn’t that Luna was afraid of heights. She grew up in the Crimble Mountains, after all, driving Auntie Aurora to chantry services every Sunday, the wheels of their rickety cart rolling on the very brink of dizzying precipices that would make even an eagle blanch.
No, it wasn’t the heights.
It was cramped spaces.
Any time she found herself in a tightly-enclosed compartment from which she could not readily escape, it sent her back to that night.
That long-ago night, which she mostly pretended to have forgotten, but which lingered in the darkest crevices of her brain.
That dank little hole under the living room floorboards, hidden beneath the rug.
Through which not even a crack of light could penetrate.
No, it wasn’t light that made its way to her when she huddled there in the dark.
It was a great blast of anti-glitter, shimmering with purple aura, which filled her senses to the brim.
Only her mother’s final injunction—“Don’t make a sound, sweetheart, no matter what happens”—kept her from screaming her head off.
Then there was the smell.
That lingered in her memory longest of all . . .
Luna shook her head, yanking her mind forcibly back to the present.
She let out a long breath, her fingers tight on Ward’s powerful arm.
Why was she being such a ninny? It was just a fete wheel after all.
A fete wheel carriage was nothing whatsoever like an old smuggler’s bolt hole in a cottage living room floor. Why should she mind in the least?
But there was something about the clang of the little swinging doors as the ride master fastened them.
It sent shivers down her spine. And once the wheel was in motion, once its occupants were carried from the ground up into the air, there was no getting out again.
Not until that gate was opened, and they were set free.
Ward was talking to her. She could hear his voice droning on resonantly about something or other, and she tried to listen, tuning back in just in time to hear him say, “And there I clung to the underside of the fete wheel carriage, ninety feet in the air, my little heels kicking!”
Luna frowned. She’d obviously missed something along the way, but Ward laughed and continued his tale.
“I had to keep my grip until the wheel looped back around again, and all the while, my mother howled her head off!” He laughed merrily, flashing all his strong, white teeth.
“Old Mam wouldn’t let me ride the wheel again for years.
I had to sneak on with my mates! Ah, those were the days. ”
Bryony tittered appreciatively, and Luna forced a giggle which she hoped didn’t sound too lame.
Truth be told, she couldn’t help thinking with pity of Mrs. Ward, driven to hysterics at the sight of her little boy, dangling perilously in midair.
Perhaps it was the auntie-influence in her life, refusing to let her see the humor in the situation, but . . . that poor woman!
Mr. Grimm and Bryony stood behind Ward and Luna in the fete wheel line.
She felt Mr. Grimm’s gaze on the back of her head, but resisted the urge to look back at him.
For some reason, the sight of Bryony clinging to his arm made her feel deeply unsettled.
It was strange. Mr. Grimm was part of the shop and her day-to-day work life.
Like the counter or the register or the floral shears or the innumerable cups of tea.
While Bryony was part of her life at Mrs. Boggs’s, one of the only bearable parts of that life.
A quick-witted, savvy young woman, who took Luna under her wing and showed her the ropes of surviving in the Big Bad City as a single girl.
Both were important, but distinct from each other.
They weren’t supposed to converge like this.
Still, she hoped Mr. Grimm was having fun. He worked hard and was always so serious. It was nice to see him loosening up a bit. And Bryony was excellent company. No doubt she would show Mr. Grimm a good time. A very good time . . .
The wheel lurched to a stop, depositing four teenage girls in saddle shoes and ribbons from the carriage.
“Next four!” the wheel master said and waved Luna, Ward, Mr. Grimm, and Bryony through the little barrier and motioned to the carriage.
Panic thrilled through Luna’s veins. She felt like she was about to climb into her own tumbrel.
Holding her pink unicorn tight, she smiled determinedly at Ward, even as he said, “After you.”
She had no choice but to sidle in first. If her knees would only stop shaking, perhaps she could manage it without disgracing herself.
She gripped the metal bar, pulled herself inside, and half-tumbled onto the narrow wooden bench.
Realizing how very small the space was, she deftly tucked the unicorn stuffie at her side just before Ward squeezed into the seat beside her.
Thank gods for the unicorn—she didn’t particularly want her thigh pressed up against Ward’s throughout this ride!
If the wardsman noticed the barrier, he didn’t say anything, just continued to smile .
. . and drape his arm over the back of the seat, his hand resting near but not quite touching her shoulder.
Nigel climbed in next. Not very gentlemanly of him, Luna noted, but he scrambled inside as though unaware of Bryony and took his seat on the bench opposite Luna.
Quarters were so close, they were obliged to find a configuration that allowed everyone to fit.
She ended up with her knees tucked between Mr. Grimm’s spread legs.
Glancing down, she realized her cherry skirts had hiked up rather farther than was decent, and hastily pulled the hem back down.
Aware all the while of Mr. Grimm’s gaze on her hand.
She didn’t look at him.
“Well, now, isn’t this cozy?” Bryony declared, shimmying in last of all.
“I do love me a good fete wheel ride.” She tucked close to Mr. Grimm, leaning rather.
Luna watched covertly from under her lashes as her employer turned his head to look out of the carriage rather than down at everything Bryony displayed.
“Same here,” Ward answered warmly. His fingertips just tapped Luna’s shoulder. “But if you’re nervous, feel free to hold onto me, Miss Talbot. I’ll keep you safe.”
“Thanks,” she murmured with a little grin, aware of the pressure of her unicorn at her hip. And Mr. Grimm’s knees on either side of hers.
The wheel lurched into motion.
It only crept up a few notches before pausing again to unload and reload a carriage.
But Luna grabbed the bar beside her, nonetheless.
Her heart beat uncomfortably in her throat, and her breath came a little quick.
Ward was saying something about being able to see clear across the harbor from the wheel’s apex, but she couldn’t fully register his words.
That sense of confinement—of not being able to leave if she chose—was starting to grow in the pit of her stomach.
The savory aroma of hot dogs, wafting up from somewhere below, seemed to blend with that other, half-suppressed, memory of stench in her nostrils . . .
She flicked her gaze up. Found Mr. Grimm’s eyes fixed on hers. A worried knot formed on his brow. She forced a little smile and looked away again, quickly.
“There’s the dancing floor,” Ward said beside her, pointing. “Once the band starts to play, the dancing will go on well into the night. And look! There’s the Wacky House. That was always one of my favorites as a tike, and they’ve added a whole new wing this year.”
“Hmmm,” Luna replied, only half-aware of anything he said.
The wheel lurched again. It went a little faster and higher this time, before stopping abruptly.
The carriage creaked and swayed more vigorously than expected, and Bryony let out a little shriek of delight, while Luna found herself jolted clean off her bench.
She flung out her hands to catch herself.
And suddenly was doubled-over, nose-to-nose with her employer.
Her hands planted firmly on his thighs.
Her heart thudded.
His hands were on her as well. Gripping her by the ribcage. She felt his thumbs, both of them. Twin pinpoints of pressure, just underneath the lower curve of her bosom.
His eyes stared into hers, mere inches apart.
“Whoa, careful there!” Ward said. His strong fingers caught her by the shoulders and pulled her back into her seat. “They don’t encourage any getting up and jumping about on this ride. I know from experience!”
Bryony laughed.
Ward laughed.
Luna managed to find her voice and forced a laugh out as well.
Mr. Grimm was silent.
But his hand, which had but moments ago supported her, now rested on his knee, gripping her fingers. And Luna realized she was gripping his back. Tightly. Like a lifeline.
She swallowed a knot in her throat, staring down at his hand.
At his carefully manicured nails. Those long fingers of his.
Pulse thundering in her ears, she lifted her eyes slowly back up, up, gliding along the buttons of his waistcoat, his red tie, his collar.
Up to his face. His head was turned away from her, his expression a complete blank.
He gazed out from the carriage over the fairgrounds and on to the harbor, where the water sparkled, and the ships were all festooned in Saint Jollify bunting.
He did not meet her gaze.
“Here we go!” Ward declared, just as the wheel, now at full capacity, began to turn. Faster and faster it flew, arching to its apex before plunging down the other side. Luna felt her stomach trying to escape out from her throat, and Bryony’s whoops of laughter sounded shrill in her ear.
But Mr. Grimm continued to hold her trembling fingers. A steady, firm pressure.