Flames of Revenge

The Spectacular Wesley's Travelling Circus

March 4th 1872

Nine days before the fire.

"Where is that boy?" Chapworth scowled. "I have lectured Nicholas on punctuality a thousand times, and yet he still delays us." Chapworth glared around at all his business associates, who were all paling at his temper. His anger was notorious among his subordinates, they all knew the extent of his famous rages. And his favourite object to vent his rage was his own son, Nicholas.

One of the attendees of the meeting was the Chapworth and Co. head of factories, the man in charge of running all of the company's facilities. He was Francis Roberts, a portly man with greying hair, who sat opposite Chapworth, sweating nervously and wiping his brow with his handkerchief. He both despised and admired the head of the company, but most of all he feared him. He had a vivid memory of Chapworth smashing a plate of food on the ground during a dinner because the poor waitress had gotten his order wrong and today he was in as foul a mood as ever.

Chapworth's face was ever growing more angry. Nicholas had now kept them waiting for over six and a half minutes. How dare he.

Finally, a knock sounded on the door. Not the loud, brash knock of someone who wanted to announce his presence, no. It was the quiet knock of someone wanting to slip in unnoticed. Jeggings, who up until then had been standing silently in the corner, opened the door for him, bowing and ushering the young man in. Nicholas entered slowly, looking around self-consciously.

"You're late," growled Charles Chapworth, his face the picture of outrage. Nicholas looked at his father with a mix of embarrassment, apology, and fear. He fears his father too, noted Francis Roberts. Francis had been working under Charles for over thirty years. He first joined the company as Chapworth's assistant, when the company was still starting small. He had been in for the long haul, this company, this job, was his life. He was first in line to take over the company for years, until Chapworth's son was born. Just by act of being born, Nicholas had cemented Francis in his place as subordinate. He would never be the head of the company. All because of Nicholas Chapworth, that useless boy.

"I'm sorry, Father," cringed Nicholas. "I really didn't mean to keep you waiting, honestly. I just...got distracted." Nicholas took in the glares he received from the businessmen surrounding the table, but he was used to it by now. He was used to the distaste and discrimination he received from them.

Chapworth sighed angrily. "Well I suppose you can sit down then," he grumbled. "But mark my words, boy, I will not tolerate this kind of disruption in the future," he threatened.

Nicholas nodded meekly, and took his seat beside his father, and the meeting began. They discussed finance, and plans to expand the company further overseas, but Nicholas barely heard any of it. He was still thinking about the odd servant boy.

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Joshua gazed around in amazement, totally in awe of his surroundings. The bright colours, the lights and the hum of the crowd was all so breathtaking as together, he and Clara made their way towards the arena.

Ever since they were very small, they had dreamed of going to the circus one day. They would stay up all night, talking about what they imagined real lions would look like, and whether the acrobats really danced in the air like they did in books and stories. Running away to a circus had always been their greatest desire, but nothing more than a dream. Until now.

It had been Joshua who first spotted the flyer, nailed to a lamp post on the street. Their mother had taken them out to get them both some new clothes, as they had grown out of a lot of their old ones. And now that they had more money, they could actually afford new clothes. They no longer had to make do with hand-me-downs.