The Sequin Star Read online

  About the Book

  After her grandmother falls ill, Claire finds a sequin star among her treasures. Why does Claire’s wealthy grandmother own such a cheap piece? The mystery deepens when the brooch hurtles Claire back in time to 1932.

  Claire finds herself stranded in the camp of Sterling Brothers Circus. She is allowed to stay – if she works hard. The Great Depression has made life difficult for everyone, but Claire makes friends with circus performers Rosina and Jem, and a boy called Kit who comes night after night to watch Rosina perform.

  When Kit is kidnapped, it’s up to Claire, Rosina and Jem to save him. But Claire is starting to wonder who Kit and Rosina really are.

  One is escaping poverty and the other is escaping wealth – can the two find happiness together?

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  1 Ballet Class

  2 Intermission

  3 The Circus Lot

  4 Campfire Dinner

  5 Pull-down

  6 Pandemonium

  7 The Most Spectacular Show in the World

  8 Eviction

  9 Rosina’s Flip-flaps

  10 High Tea

  11 Happy Valley

  12 Elephant Bath

  13 The Opening

  14 The Ball

  15 Visit to Beaumont

  16 Investigation

  17 Night Excursion

  18 Rescue

  19 Command Performance

  20 Campfire Yarns

  21 The Final Straw

  The Great Depression: Fast Facts

  Recipe for Depression cake

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Also by Belinda Murrell

  Copyright Notice

  Loved the Book?

  To my extended Murrell clan, for welcoming me into their beautiful family – especially Lee and Jan, Looloo, Jenn and Rob.

  The Circus

  Hey, there! Hoop-la! The circus is in town!

  Have you seen the elephant? Have you seen the clown?

  Have you seen the dappled horse gallop round the ring?

  Have you seen the acrobats on the dizzy swing?

  Have you seen the tumbling men tumble up and down?

  Hoop-la! Hoop-la! The circus is in town!

  Hey, there! Hoop-la! Here’s the circus troupe!

  Here’s the educated dog jumping through the hoop.

  See the lady Blondin with the parasol and fan,

  The lad upon the ladder and the india-rubber man.

  See the joyful juggler and the boy who loops the loop.

  Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Here’s the circus troupe!

  C. J. Dennis

  1

  Ballet Class

  Claire was supposed to be facing the barre, practising relevées. Madame Petrova was concentrating on helping a few of the students on the other side of the room, so Claire whispered and giggled with her friend Amy.

  ‘What are you doing this weekend?’ asked Claire as she rose up onto the balls of her feet and back down, both hands resting on the barre. Like all the girls, she wore a navy blue leotard and crossover, with pale-pink tights and satin ballet shoes. Her long, dark hair was pulled back into a sleek bun.

  ‘Mum and Dad are having a big party,’ Amy replied, gesturing with one hand. ‘There’ll be lots of awesome food, and I’ll probably stay up late watching movies and eating chocolate.’

  Claire smiled. ‘Yum. That sounds fun.’

  Amy shrugged nonchalantly. She was a pretty girl with wavy blonde hair that always seemed to be escaping its ballet bun. ‘You?’

  Claire imitated Amy’s casual air. ‘Nothing much. Mum is planning a family lunch, plus I have an assignment due on Monday.’

  Amy huffed. ‘Why don’t you stay at my place for a sleepover? That would be much more exciting.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ Claire said, then her face fell. ‘I’ll have to check with Mum. She gets a bit funny about family things.’

  ‘Tell your mum you’re not a kid anymore,’ Amy suggested, ‘that you need to spend more time with your friends. About ten of us are all going to the movies on Thursday. You should come.’

  Claire nodded uncertainly. ‘We have something on Thursday – with my grandmother.’

  Amy rolled her eyes. ‘You poor thing. Your mother never lets you have any fun.’

  Claire paused in her exercises, trying to think of something to say in her mum’s defence. Of course Mum let her have fun, but she was sometimes strict compared to Amy’s mother.

  ‘Miss Stanton, I expect better from you,’ barked a voice over Claire’s shoulder, making her jump with fright. It was Madame Petrova. ‘Those relevées are a disgrace. The audition for the concert is next week, and I hope you will be showing me what you are really capable of. Put some effort into it.’

  ‘Sorry, Madame.’ Claire pulled her back straight and held her head high, her eyes staring straight ahead as she repeated the exercise. Amy tossed her head.

  ‘And as for you, Miss Thomson,’ continued Madame Petrova, ‘you will never improve if you don’t practise. And your hair is a bird’s nest. You could both learn something from Lucy.’

  Claire risked a sidelong glance at Amy. Lucy was the star of the ballet class and, according to Madame Petrova, she did everything better than most of the girls. Amy rolled her eyes at the ceiling and wobbled her head. Claire stifled a giggle.

  ‘Now girls, into the centre for port de bras,’ ordered Madame Petrova. ‘And I would like to see some good work from you two for the rest of the lesson.’

  After class, the girls gathered in the foyer outside the classroom, waiting for their parents. Claire untied the ribbons on her satin ballet shoes.

  ‘Zees relevées ees a disgrrrace,’ Amy said, mimicking Madame’s Russian accent and throwing her arms around. ‘And Meess Thomson, zee hairrr ees a birrrd’s nezt.’ Amy tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. The girls all chuckled.

  Encouraged by their laughter, Amy continued, cupping her cheeks with her hands. ‘You should learrrrn how to be perrrfect like Meess Luuuccceee . . .’

  Lucy flushed and turned away, busying herself with tidying her ballet bag.

  Claire felt a flash of remorse at Lucy’s embarrassment. Amy was funny, but sometimes she went too far. Claire slipped off her stiff pointe shoes and rubbed her toes, which were sore after dancing en pointe.

  ‘I think I’ll give up ballet,’ Amy confided with a yawn. ‘Madame Petrova only cares about her favourites. I want more time just to hang out, see my friends.’

  Claire paused. She’d always loved ballet – the fun of learning with her friends and the challenge of mastering a difficult exercise. Dancing made her feel graceful and strong.

  ‘What about the auditions for the concert next week?’ asked Claire. ‘What will your parents say?’

  Amy shrugged. ‘What about them? Mum won’t mind – she lets me do pretty much whatever I want.’ Amy grinned and pulled her phone out of her bag. ‘How about a cute selfie with me of my last ballet class?’

  Amy hugged Claire and they posed with their heads together.

  ‘Have you asked your parents about getting a new phone yet?’ Amy asked as she examined the photo on her screen. ‘No offence, but yours is a dinosaur.’

  Claire dug inside her bag, looking for her street shoes. ‘Yeah. Maybe for my birthday.’

  Actually, that was unlikely. Claire’s mum thought fancy phone
s were an unnecessary waste of money, but there was no point in admitting that to Amy.

  Amy flicked the screen on her brand-new phone and sent the photo spinning into cyberspace. She picked up her bag and sauntered out the door. ‘See you at school tomorrow.’

  Claire jumped into the passenger seat of her mother’s car parked out front and gave her a kiss. She looked tired.

  ‘How was ballet?’ Mum asked. ‘Did you have a good day?’

  Claire shrugged. ‘Madame Petrova was on the warpath,’ she confessed as she buckled her seatbelt. ‘And she spent ages helping Lucy with her solo.’

  ‘Madame Petrova does demand perfection,’ Mum replied in a soothing voice as she started the engine and manoeuvred the car out onto the roadway. ‘She’s a wonderful ballet teacher.’

  Claire glanced out the window at the crowd of laughing, chattering girls spilling out of the entrance of the dance school. ‘Actually, I was thinking about giving up ballet.’

  ‘Give up ballet?’ Mum asked, confused. ‘But you’ve been dancing since you were six years old. The auditions for the concert are next week. Why would you give up now? I thought you loved it.’

  Mostly Claire did love it. But sometimes it was hard work. Claire turned to her mother. ‘Ballet takes up three afternoons a week. I really want to have more time just to hang out with my friends. Amy’s asked me for a sleepover on Saturday, and there is a gang of us going to the movies on Thursday night.’

  Mum’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. ‘But this weekend is Nanna’s birthday. We’re taking her to see the Paris Opera Ballet perform Giselle on Thursday – it took me ages to get the tickets and Nanna is really looking forward to it. Then we’re having a birthday lunch on Saturday.’

  Claire cajoled her mother. ‘Amy’s parents are having a big party, and Amy wants me to keep her company and stay the night. It will be so much fun . . . and who knows when she might ask me again?’

  Mum chewed her lip. ‘Well, perhaps you can go to Amy’s after lunch,’ she conceded. ‘But Thursday night will be special – it’s an amazing opportunity to see some of the world’s top dancers. You and Nanna have always loved watching ballet together.’

  Mum paused and took a deep breath. She stroked Claire’s cheek. ‘I think you’re just feeling a bit tired. You’ll be better after a good night’s sleep. Let’s not rush into dropping dance just yet.’

  Claire wondered if she should argue, but instead kept silent and leaned against the window, staring out into the busy evening traffic as they drove home. I don’t feel like working so hard at ballet anymore, she thought. I wish my parents let me have more freedom. I wish my parents were more like Amy’s.

  Claire’s home was a modern, three-storey townhouse in the Sydney suburb of Northbridge. Her bedroom was at the very top – a cosy attic space with sloping ceilings and a dormer window tucked under the roof. It had sweeping views over the bushland towards the bay.

  Claire carried her ballet bag up the stairs and dumped it on her bedroom floor. She glanced around, enjoying the feeling of being at home. She loved her attic. It was her retreat from the world. Her bed, with its turquoise doona cover, piles of hot-pink cushions and favourite old teddies, sat on one side of the room.

  An overstuffed armchair stood by the window, just perfect for reading books in, while on the other side was her desk and bookshelf. The desk was covered with textbooks, paper and pots of pens, while her school awards were stuck on the wall alongside a collage of playful photographs of friends. Claire stared at the photos, conjuring up memories of birthday parties, school plays and beach days.

  ‘Claire?’ Mum called up the stairs. ‘I’ve made you something to eat.’

  ‘Coming,’ Claire replied. She quickly changed out of her leotard into shorts and a T-shirt, pulling her hair out of its bun so that it tumbled down her back in a ponytail. She thundered down the stairs, past her parents’ bedroom on the second level.

  The bottom floor was the living area, with a lounge room, study and big open-plan kitchen opening out onto a courtyard. It was comfortable and welcoming, painted in clean shades of white. Claire dumped her pile of school books on the kitchen bench and sat down on a high stool.

  Mum smiled at her. ‘One raspberry and mango smoothie, and some hummus and crackers.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’ Claire sipped on the frothy fruit drink, which was icy-cold and refreshing.

  Mum stood on the other side of the bench, preparing dinner.

  ‘What should we make for Nanna’s birthday lunch on Saturday?’ Mum asked. ‘All the cousins are coming, so I thought we’d set up a big, long table out in the courtyard.’

  Mum was several years younger than her three brothers, so Claire’s cousins were all much older than she was. Some were already married, with children of their own, but she still enjoyed seeing them. Sometimes she wished she had siblings or family close to her own age.

  ‘You could make that rosemary barbecued chicken with grilled peaches, asparagus and prosciutto,’ suggested Claire. ‘And Nanna’s favourite chocolate cake for dessert.’

  ‘I think you mean your favourite chocolate cake,’ Mum teased. ‘Yes, that would be lovely.’

  ‘I still don’t know what to get Nanna for her birthday,’ Claire complained. ‘What do you give someone who has everything?’

  Mum came around the bench and kissed Claire on the forehead. ‘Nanna will just love spending time with you. We’ll have a wonderful evening at Giselle, then a big family feast. Nanna would love nothing better.’

  2

  Intermission

  The foyer of the theatre was crowded with people all dressed in their finest. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead. The ceiling and walls were decorated with gilt-painted plaster mouldings and cherubs. People laughed and gossiped. Claire sipped on her lemonade and stared around her. She felt very dressed up in her cream lace dress and best shoes. The theatre felt like another world – a world of glamour, beauty and sophistication.

  ‘Aren’t the costumes lovely?’ said Mum. ‘All those romantic tutus and elaborate court gowns.’

  ‘I think the choreography is exceptional tonight,’ said Nanna. ‘That peasant pas de deux was superb.’

  ‘I love Giselle,’ Claire said. ‘I wish I could dance like her. She just makes it look so easy.’

  ‘She is quite ethereal,’ agreed Nanna. ‘All soft grace in the body and arms, but if you watch her feet and legs, she is incredibly strong and precise.’

  ‘Just like you, Mum,’ joked Claire’s mother. ‘Outwardly soft, but inwardly as strong as steel.’

  Nanna smiled and rubbed her forehead. ‘Nonsense, Libby. Not these days anyway.’

  It was intermission and they were sitting on stools around a little bar table. Nanna, as always, was dressed elegantly in a black gown and jacket – her white hair coiffed, her best jewels on. Nanna, even at her age, still had poise and presence. Mum was also dressed up in a grey silk skirt and high heels.

  ‘When are the auditions for the ballet concert, Claire?’ Nanna asked. ‘You must be busy practising.’

  Claire exchanged a look with her mother. Mum pursed her lips.

  ‘I’ve decided I don’t really want to continue with my dancing,’ said Claire, lifting her chin in defiance. ‘I’m so busy at school now, and I really would rather spend more time just hanging out with my friends.’

  Mum huffed impatiently. ‘You have plenty of time to spend with your friends, Claire. It seems a shame to give up dancing now. It’s important that you keep up your physical activity.’

  Claire glanced up at the gilt-moulded ceiling with almost, but not quite, a roll of the eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Nanna, her voice sympathetic. ‘I thought you enjoyed your dancing. I certainly love coming to see your performances.’

  Claire pushed her long, dark hair back behind her ear. She smil
ed at her grandmother.

  ‘Well, my teacher’s really strict and she constantly nags me to practise,’ Claire complained. ‘Besides, Lucy Stevens always gets the main part, so there’s no point trying out.’

  Mum sighed. ‘Lucy is a beautiful dancer because she practises, and she has great stage presence.’ Mum paused, as though she was about to say more.

  ‘The secret to having good stage presence is acting,’ Nanna assured Claire. ‘You just have to pretend you are the character. Imagine you are Giselle. Stand tall, smile and dance with passion and precision, and everyone will think you are truly wonderful.’

  Nanna demonstrated, lifting her chin, shoulders back, beaming her dazzling smile.

  ‘It’s all right for you, Nanna,’ Claire protested. ‘You were an actress. It just came naturally to you. I’m not like that.’

  Claire’s grandmother had been an actress in her younger years. She had been discovered when she was sixteen and starred in a dozen or so movies, acting in Hollywood and England in the 1930s and early ’40s, before her marriage. Nanna didn’t talk about it very often, but Mum had said she was quite famous in her day.

  Nanna cupped Claire’s cheek. ‘Nothing just comes to most people, Claire. Anyone can be good at anything; to be excellent you need to work hard and keep practising.’

  Nanna smiled and put her glass down on the table. ‘Perhaps we should go back to our seats now. I’m a bit slow these days, and I hate battling back through a big, stifling crowd. The second half should be wonderful.’

  Mum helped Nanna up and they made stately progress towards the stairs. Claire felt a wave of affection – Nanna looked stylish, even using her wooden walking stick. I wish I had Nanna’s poise, thought Claire. If I had her natural grace, I’m sure I could be a beautiful dancer.

  She followed Nanna and Mum as they strolled towards the stairs, lost in her thoughts. She could hear them talking about the sets.

  They were heading up the stairs to the theatre door when it happened: one moment Nanna was painstakingly climbing the red carpeted stairs, the next she had fallen and tumbled backwards. Nanna lay crumpled like a ragdoll on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. Mum screamed and ran towards her. Claire stood still, her heart thumping, watching everything unfold like a dream.