“I have only one question, Miss Hughes. What is this ‘Wolf-Man?'”
She took a second look at the paper and realized that it was one of the posters that Harry had given to the visitors. She knew the design well, and what it advertised. Was it possible, even remotely possible, that Athena had broken her word and told her brother what she had seen today?
No. But if not, why should Munroe be so disturbed? “It is only one of our sideshow acts.”
“And just what sort of act is it?”
“Every troupe has its secrets. The Wolf-Man is one of our special attractions. People come to be frightened and thrilled, and we try not to disappoint them.”
The rolled paper began to buckle in his grip. “I saw no such person when I came to Colorado Springs. Does he hide from public view, Miss Hughes? Is he some sort of monster unfit for respectable society? What does he do—change into a wolf before the audience’s eyes?”
She laughed. “Surely you do not believe in such things, Mr. Munroe. Not a smart, educated gentleman such as yourself.”
He actually flinched. “I have a right to know what I have employed.”
“You are a rather big man to be afraid of fairy tales. Your sister was not so alarmed.”
All at once his hand shot out to grip her wrist. “Did she meet this… this ‘fairy tale’?”
She stared at his hand. “Harry introduced her to everyone. Don’t you think your sister would have told you if we presented a danger to her orphans… or to you?”
He let her go just as suddenly as he had grabbed her. “Miss Hockensmith was right,” he said. “You are not fit company—”
“So you do let at least one woman rule you,” she said sweetly. She waved to the vigilant figure standing beside the carriage, and watched with fascination as Munroe’s formerly cool demeanor vanished in a cloud of wrath.
“I wish to see this man, Miss Munroe. At once.”
“What are you so afraid of? Anyone who is not exactly like you?”
“I will not have… freaks on display for my sister or her dependents.”
“In that case,” she said, reaching up to her hair, “you should know exactly what you have bought.” With swift, efficient motions she pulled the unruly mass behind her ears.
“My God,” he said. “What happened to your ears?”
“I was born with them,” she said, “just as you were born with your money and your pride. I am one of the freaks you so despise, Mr. Munroe. You may insult me as much as you wish, but not my friends. Any one of them is twice the man you will ever be.”
He took a step back, still staring at the neat points on the tips of her ears. “Where is Mr. French?” he asked in a strangled voice.
She turned her back and marched across the lot, not waiting to see if he followed. With every step she cursed herself for her utter lack of sense.
Thanks to her outburst, the troupe might lose the patronage of the Munroes. And if they lost that, they lost the money they so desperately needed to keep the family together.
She’d be damned if she’d let Munroe see her regret. She led him to the cookhouse, where Harry was nursing a glass of precious whiskey at one of the long plank tables, and stood aside. Harry scrambled to his feet with a nervous smile.
“Ah, Mr. Munroe! How delightful to see you. Your sister is most charming, most—”
“I must speak to you, Mr. French. Alone.” He looked pointedly at Caitlin.
Harry threw her a glance full of alarm. There was nothing she could do to comfort him—nothing but find a way to hear what passed between him and Munroe. Her hearing was keener than most, but not keen enough to catch the conversation without blatant eavesdropping.
Morgan. She turned and went in search of him, hoping he had not gone running as he often did when he was troubled. But luck was with her; she found him watching the troupe’s jugglers with tightly folded arms and a dark expression.