'I will say again, what was all of that about?' said my husband.

'I could see. Things,' I said. 'It is the truth.'

'See what?' said Lizzie.

I still felt the dying child's fever in my blood. I shivered.

'I saw her daughter. Dead of typhoid. And her son. The poor little creature.'

'Whose daughter?' asked my husband. 'Whose son? For the last time, will someone explain what is b.l.o.o.d.y well going on?'

'That woman,' I said. 'The one sitting next to me. I knew what had happened to her.'

'How could you tell?' asked Abel, quietly.

'It was when I took her hand in mine.' I could not look at him, for I thought I might betray my desire to clasp him close and bury my face into his neck. 'It was all there. I could feel the fever. Feel the sickness.'

'f.u.c.k me,' gasped George. 'She's a palm-reader. A sodding gyppo fortune-teller.'

'My wife is no such thing.'

'Plain fortune-teller, then.'

The room was beginning to slow its sickening waltz. My husband peered at me.

'Mrs Arroner, I will have you speak the truth. No trumped-up tales to get you more attention than is your due.'

'Leave her alone,' said Lizzie.

'Elizabeth, my dear, I would trouble you to mind your own business. A man has the right to know if his wife is deceiving him.'

'I am deceiving no-one,' I gulped. 'It is true.'

'Pah! It is a girlish whim, I say, to puff yourself up.'

'It is not!'

'I am your husband, and if I say it is trickery, then it is trickery. And I shall uncover what manner of trick. Come: if you are so gifted you shall read all our hands.'

'I am tired.'

'A fine excuse. We are all fatigued. Lizzie, come here. You will be first.'

Lizzie pushed the broad shelf of her hand at me, placing her back to my husband and mouthing, Be careful. Go easy. I laid my palm over hers.

'That's not how you do it,' squeaked Bill. 'You look at it. That's what gypsies do.'

'Bill, shush,' said Lizzie over her shoulder. 'Our Evie isn't a gypsy, remember?'

I felt them grow quiet. I thought of what Bill had said, and lifted away my hand and examined Lizzie's palm. I remembered the great china hand I had seen at Bartholomew Fair with its simple lines thickly drawn. I recalled their names: the Lines of Life, Love, Fate; what faced me here was a cat's-wool tangle. Lizzie's palm was crossed entirely with thin red scribbles, not one line standing alone, for all were overlaid by fainter lines, and those by even fainter. The more I stared, the more I became confused: this was not what I felt when I held the woman's hand.

I closed my eyes and laid my skin against hers: straight away I began to tingle. I saw Lizzie grown into a giantess, towering on legs of white marble and straddling a world of skinny men queuing to taste her abundance; her head falling backwards, mouth open, quim shaking with laughter, joy bubbling up and raining upon the earth.

I saw the secret truth of her: Lizzie was the fairy hill made flesh, opening up to let each man live for ever. I heard her laughing when they clambered up her; laughing when they tumbled down; laughing at the coins they left. I opened my eyes.

'Well?' said my husband.

'Well, Evie love?' said Lizzie, widening her eyes in warning. Take care what you say. Please.

'You are a happy woman,' I said carefully. 'You love the dancer's life. I hear much laughter.'

'Is that all?' snorted my husband.

'That's plenty,' said Lizzie, patting my shoulder and mouthing Thank you.

'Anyone could work out that nonsense,' muttered my man. 'It's trickery. I shall find out. You'll read Bill's palm next. That'll tell us if it's fakery soon enough.'

'She won't,' squeaked Bill. 'It's cursed stuff.'

'You'll do as I say, you little s.h.i.t.'

'I won't,' he whimpered.

'You b.l.o.o.d.y will.'

There was a slap, and an answering squeal.

'She's too clever.'

'We'll see the truth or lie of that.'

'It's me, Bill,' I breathed. 'I am not going to hurt you.'

I squeezed the lad's fingers; felt the quick beat of his blood. When his body had relaxed I laid my other hand over his, poured calmness into the fear. His skin stretched out beneath mine.

I placed my index finger at the starting point of his Line of Life and slowly traced it to its end. It was long: a little frayed about the middle, but robust enough. I was relieved; I liked him, for he was not unkind in that general way of boys who are unlatching the door to manhood. I rubbed the spot and shivered as I saw him, much younger than now, lying on a thin mattress, gasping. Sweat oozed behind my ears.

'A fever,' I said. My mouth parched. 'Yes. You had a fever as a child. You came through it.'

'Yes,' he gasped. 'I did.'

'Of course he did,' scoffed my husband. 'He's here, isn't he?'

Bill's soul flowered in my grasp, and gave up his secrets. The rest would be simple.

'This is too easy,' said my husband.

'Leave her be, Arroner,' grunted Lizzie.

'Put a cloth on his hand. Make her read it through a towel, or some such.'

'Oh, for the love of Jesus,' said George.

But a sc.r.a.p of fabric was found, and laid between myself and the boy. It made no difference. His Line of Heart warmed into me; one tiny skip to the side his Line of Head rattled cheerfully emptily.

'What are you smirking about?'

'Dear husband, he has happiness in his life. It would make anyone smile.'

'You can tell that through the cloth?' quivered the boy.

'Hum. It is all too vague. A happy life, a long life. Rubbish. Give us something we can hold on to.'

'Very well,' I sighed.

I pressed my finger firmly into the heart of his palm; heard his mother call him to her, felt the rush of him swept off his feet into the steaming valley of her bosom. She flicked her hair and sang, '"He is my lovely bonny, but he's gone to sea ..."'

'Your mother had brown hair-'

'As do all women,' muttered Mr Arroner.

'-which reached halfway down her back, to her ap.r.o.n-strings; and curled; and when the sun caught it, there were yellow lights at the tips. She was a big woman who sang to you, "He is my lovely-"'

Bill dragged himself away.'She's a b.l.o.o.d.y witch!' he squawked and my husband clapped him round the ears. 'Ow!'

'Mind your language: there's ladies.'

Lizzie gargled her deep laugh. 'Ladies! Oh lah-di-dah.'

'Put your hand back.'

'I won't.'

'Is this true?' said Abel, quiet until now.

'Yes,' whimpered the boy, hugging his scalded hand to his chest. 'My ma's dead, isn't she?' he snuffled.

'She said there was happiness, did she not? And that your life has happiness to come?' Abel continued.

There was a pause. 'Yes, she did.'

'So.'

'Oh.' Bill's small paw grabbed at me. 'Tell me more. Please. I'm sorry I called you a witch.'

'Stop this now!' bellowed my husband. 'It's all trumpery nonsense. I'll prove it yet. The boy has no doubt whined to her about his b.l.o.o.d.y mother, and now she dresses it up and dishes it out like it's new, when it's left-over sc.r.a.ps.' His face pulsed anger.

'What shall I do then, Mr Arroner, dearest?'

'You'll wear a blindfold, that's what you'll do. I'll put something over your head so you can't b.l.o.o.d.y see who you're reading. And then we'll see how you fare. All fortune-tellers take their cues from people's faces. I'll prove it's all a gaff.'

'Yes, my love,' I simpered. 'I will do whatever you wish.'

'I will prove you a liar,' he growled. 'No-one can read palms blind.'

'I am not making false claims. I see it in my head. It is not mysterious.'

'Not to you, perhaps.'

'Mr Arroner, sir,' said George. 'This might be a gold-mine. Think of it. Have your picture taken with the Lion-Faced Girl. Then stay and have your palm read by her. She's a genius. She just keeps coming up with grand ideas.'

'Genius, is she?' he rumbled, turning his wrath on to George. 'I thought I was the genius around here. Yes, I distinctly remember that I am the only one in this sorry circus to possess such a quality.'

'Arroner, George is right,' said Lizzie. 'The marks will pay. Do you care why?'

He glared at her, and she shook her chin, spitting out a rough laugh.

'I care that my wife is taking me for a fool.'

'None of us thinks you a fool,' said Lizzie quickly. 'Do we, lads?'

George and Bill said no, with much shaking of their heads, Abel a short step behind.

'I will be proved right.'

He stamped out of the room. I folded my hands on my lap and dropped my chin until the point of my beard brushed the b.u.t.tons of my dress. Bill goggled fish eyes at me.

'Can't you tell me no more?'

'Not just now, Bill.' I thought of his foolish Line of Head and wondered if it would undo his happiness. I hoped not. 'See how angry Mr Arroner is? Let us not vex him.'

'Oh. Yes.'

The door flew open and my husband reappeared, carrying a severed head.

'He's killed a man!' shouted the lad. 'We'll be for it, now.'

'It's a mask, you idiot,' hissed Lizzie. 'The one used for John the Baptist.'

'I will not put that on,' I said. 'I shall stifle.'

'You will not.'

'Why is a simple scarf not enough for you?' said Lizzie.

'She could see through it.'

'For G.o.d's sake, Arroner, you're torturing her.'