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.
The twins had run up to the flyer excitedly. A real circus, just like the ones in storybooks! Together they read the faded red writing on the flyer, with a little difficulty. Neither of them was much good at reading, as money became scarcer they couldn't afford to go to school anymore. And the poster had a lot of big words on it. It read:
*The Spectacular Wesley's Travelling Circus*
Come today and witness astonishing displays of the wonders of the modern era! Watch in delight the feats of amazing strength, see fascinating exotic animals and prepare to be awed by our world famous flying trapeze artists! Wesley's Travelling Circus, in London for one week only!
Underneath the writing on the poster were pictures of lions, roaring. There was a picture of a lady on the back of a horse, performing spectacular aerial spins and turns. To Joshua and Clara, it had seemed like fate. Like destiny. This could be their chance, their ticket out.
Some days, Clara felt like she just couldn't take it anymore. She couldn't take the way everybody treated her, like she was dirt on the floor. The contemptuous looks that they gave her, gazing haughtily at her like she wasn't good enough, and never would be. As if to say 'What are they doing here?' She pretended that it didn't get to her, but it did. She had hated being poor, but at least when they lived on their own, she belonged. She had a place to call home. But not anymore.
Some nights, Joshua would lie awake, worrying. He liked Clara to think that he wasn't worried, because he knew that would worry he further. She was always the worried one, she was always looking out for them both. It had always been like that. He hated worrying, he hated making Clara worry, he hated making their parents worry. But most of all he hated being such a burden.
Joshua knew how hard it must have been for Clara. When his sickness was bad, so bad that he couldn't even fall asleep, she would stay awake with him. When he couldn't play with the other kids, she wouldn't either. Joshua hated his sister's pity, but it was better than her worrying. If he refused to let her take care of him, then she would just worry instead. That was much, much worse.
After seeing the poster for the circus though, Joshua felt better than he had in a long, long time. Maybe it was just the excitement that they felt at the prospect of the circus, but he could not feel the sickness at all. Inside he was aglow with excitement. This could be it.
They had lain awake all night, talking, planning. How long would it take people to realise that they'd run away? What should they take with them? Would the circus accept them? What about their mother and father? The questions were endless, but their objective was unchanging. They were going to run away to the circus, forever. Because in their resolute, ten-year-old minds, only one thing was certain. Anything was better than living with people who hated them.
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Nicholas sat through the meeting, barely paying attention. He was intently watching the grandfather clock that sat against the far wall, the gold-gilded hands ticking around and around, counting down to when he could go back to his room. The meeting with James had left him feeling inspired, and he was itching to write a new poem. His fingers were twitching, eager to pick up his pen.
He noted the time on the clock again. The minute hand had barely moved since he had last checked. The meeting was scheduled to end in a quarter of an hour, but these meetings often stretched out longer than anticipated. Charles Chapworth liked to talk on and on, perhaps because he simply liked to hear the sound of his own voice.
There was a knock at the door, and Jeggings promptly walked over and answered it. Conversation quietened for a moment at the unexpected interruption, but Charles Chapworth resumed talking where he left of after they noted that it was just a maid. She looked rather distraught about something, and was talking frantically to Jeggings in a quiet voice. Nicholas wondered what could have worried her, but the others at the meeting paid her no attention. She was just a lowly mid, after all. Important people like Chapworth had no time for the mundane worries of one maid.
She finished explaining whatever it was and Jeggings nodded curtly, dismissing her. Nicholas noted that the old man himself looked slightly worried now, concern crossing his features as he shut the door quietly. He crossed the floor briskly to the head of the table, where Lord Chapworth sat, deep in conversation. The butler tapped him on the shoulder, and Chapworth turned in irritation.
"What is it?" he snapped.
Jeggings leant down and whispered something in Chapworth's ear. It was only meant for Chapworth to hear, but Nicholas was sitting close enough to make out what was said.
“It's the twins, sir. They've gone missing. Nobody can find them, anywhere.”
Nicholas felt his eyes widen. Joshua and Clara? Missing? A million question entered his head. Were they alright? Did they run away? Where could they have gone? Had they been kidnapped?
His attention was brought back to the present when Charles simply scoffed. “So what? Jeggings, I have told you before not to interrupt a meeting unless it is something extremely important.”
“But sir...”
“Those children are no concern of mine. If they ran away it's their own stupid fault. Those twins are just like their mother, no sense or intelligence whatsoever.”
Nicholas had never been as outraged by his father as he was at that moment. It took all of his self-control not to slap him in the face, and he was by no means a violent person.
“You mean you don't care at all?” Nicholas asked incredulously, struggling to keep his voice level. “We have to find them! Something could have happened to them.”
He sighed in annoyance. “As foolish and sentimental as ever I see, Nicholas. It is no concern of ours.”
“They are your blood!” He retorted.”They're your niece and nephew!” Nicholas stood up, pushing his chair back. “I'm going to go find them.”
“Don't, Nicholas,” his father growled. “I'm warning you. Don't you dare leave this room until I dismiss you.”
This was one thing that he would not back down on. I may have been to spineless to stand up to my father before, he thought, but I would not sit by while something could be happening to my cousins. So for the first time in his life, Nicholas defied his father. He walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
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"Why do you think he looks so sad?" Joshua asked, as they gaze into the lion's cage. They had crept unseen into the backstage area, before the show was set to begin, and now they gazed into the lair of the so-called fearsome beast. But he didn't look very fearsome. He just looked tired. Clara was about to reply when the heard a voice behind them.
"What are you two doing here?" boomed a deep voice. When they turned around, they realised that the big booming voice belonged to a tall, rather fat man in a tuxedo and top hat. He was extremely imposing, and Joshua and Clara cowered before him. He must be the ringleader of the circus, they guessed, judging by his outfit.
"Well?" he asked in the same deep voice. "You've both got tongues, haven't you? Speak!"
"Please sir," began Clara. "We want to stay here. Please, sir! We'll do anything, scrub floors, feed the animals, sweep the cages. Please, please let us stay here!"
Together, Clara and Joshua both fell to their knees. They had rehearsed this. They both looked up at the man pleadingly, and he raised an eyebrow in amusement.
"Don't you two have parents somewhere? Go on, go home. Shoo." He tried to usher them out, but Joshua and Clara wouldn't move.
"Please, sir. We're orphans, we ain't got no parents," said Joshua, with a stab of guilt. He didn't want to renounce his parents, but anything was better than going back. Anything was better than staying at Chapworth Manor. Quieter, he added, "Please let us stay. Please.