Phoebe Whitlock knew that moving to America after spending her whole 19 years of life in London would be a huge change to what she was used to. She knew that it would be an adjustment, everyone told her, her adoptive parents, George and Amelia, created a slideshow of reasons why she shouldn't.

In the end it all came down to her skin colour, the privilege she was granted in England would not be acknowledged in New York. Her parents wealth and status meant she at least had access to the aristocracy. Phoebe was shunned and ignored, but she had money and she had an education.

Phoebe never really understood how privileged she was until she came to America. Her name meant nothing there, when she entered places like the theatre, at home she would be able to buy her way in. Here, she was thrown out, the people believed she stole the money, or her garments. She was thrown in jail overnight a couple times because of this.

Phoebe quickly learned how to keep her head down, how to use the allowance her parents gave her to buy cheaper clothing, and how to ignore the disdain the rest of the world sent her.

A month into staying at her parents' residence in New York, she found an advertisement on a noticeboard. It read that a pair of black siblings, a man and woman were looking for a flatmate. She immediately rushed to the residence listed to find them.

That's how she met the Wheelers.

A year later, Phoebe was 20 and working night shifts at a bar. It wasn't fun but it got them money. W.D. was determined to find them jobs performing, Anne was hopeful to find something but it had been 9 month since anyone would hire them, Phoebe gave up on hoping and was taking any jobs she could, no matter how degrading they ended up being.

At first, when W. D. had brought the advertisement home, calling out to the 'curiosities' of New York, Phoebe laughed incredulously.

They were black, she had thought, furiously. Not curiosities. She had a right mind to tear the offensive leaflet up, when W. D. took hold of her shoulders and forced her to face him. "Phoebe, we're acrobats with black skin - we ain't gonna get a chance like this again," he had told her, in a somewhat exasperated voice. "Never in a million years."

Phoebe frowned at W.D. as he looked sat Anne for support. Sometimes, he would allow himself to be carried away with an idea or hope, and nothing she nor Anne would say could deflate him. Often the girls found themselves trying to be the voice of reason. Anne sighed and shook her head, like Phoebe and W.D. all she wanted to do was perform but they'd had too many bad experiences with circus owners and sideshows. It wasn't worth the risk.

"Girls, it could be weeks, months even, until we find another job performing. You don't know, this could be a good one. And we'll starve before then if we don't. Unless you want to try your hand at cleaning and cooking for the white folks again?" He directed this comment towards Anne.

Anne pursed her lips, and W. D. gave her a told-you-so grimace. Anne nodded her approval, she couldn't really resist her older brother. It all came down to Phoebe. Anne cradled Phoebe's hands within her own. "Come on, Phoebs, this Mr Barnum might be alright."

Feeling her defences collapse Phoebe sighed. She nodded, as the Wheelers enveloped her in tight hug. W.D. wrapped his arms around the girls and lifted them up. Phoebe and Anne giggled as they were crushed together and spun.

She was still somewhat dubious when they arrived outside Barnum's American Museum. Phoebe wore her most professional outfit, if it came down to it she'd bribe Mr Barnum to accept them. If she was going to do that she wanted to look the part. Her hair was twisted into an elegant low bun, she pinned at hat that matched her navy skirt suit on.

The passersby were barely looking in the direction of the museum, despite all of it's grandeur and splendour, some were even going out of their way to avoid it. Then she saw the large queue spilling out the doors.

It took Phoebe's breath away. The people that had answered P. T. Barnum's call were some of the most magnificent and astonishing human beings Phoebe had ever seen. A man whose body was covered entirely in ink. A man who towered over them all. A woman with golden eyes and ebony skin. A pair of twins joined, quite literally, at the hip. A couple whose skin was like ivory, with silver hair to match. As Phoebe, Anne and W.D. joined the line, she was able to stand proudly, her back straight and chin high, no longer feeling like she had to hide under bonnets and gloves.

As they neared the front, Phoebe caught a glimpse of the infamous P. T. Barnum. He was a very handsome man, in the conventional way, with broad shoulders, tidy hair and a charming grin. He didn't appear in the slightest to be horrified by the hopefuls who had queued up to proposition themselves for his show. In fact, he was delighted.

Phoebe wasn't sure what to make of P. T. Barnum. According to the Wheelers, most of the circuses they had previously performed in were less than happy to shine a spotlight on so-called 'oddities'. More often than not, the Wheeler siblings found themselves without a job when their ringleader had hired somebody else, who they deemed 'fit the audience's expectations' - in other words, white. It was very rare to come across a ringleader willing to put, not just one but three, black acrobats on centre stage. Yet here was P. T. Barnum, crying out for anyone and everyone different.

Phoebe's experiences with circuses was very limited, when Pablo Fanque's circus came to london, she was immediately enchanted by the acrobats who seemed to fly above everything. As a child she attended every night she could, if one of her parents didn't take her, a maid or manservant took responsibility. Pablo noticed she came so often and offered to take her under his wing. Phoebe's parents , being as tremendously odd as they were allowed it as long as she still took part in her normal studies. So then from the age of 10, Phoebe was trained in many circus skills, mainly acrobatics.

Looking around the other candidates, Phoebe noticed that some appeared not to have any particular talent, other than being different, of course. In the queue stood a sword-wielder and fire-eaters, and then there was a man with a belly the size of a barrel. It was astounding how many people had these secret talents or oddness, she hadn't ever seen them in New York. It was a comfortable atmosphere to be in though, it reminded her off her childhood home, the sitting room decorated with sunflowers and peacock feathers, the ballroom that was painted like the sky of a beautiful summer day and the yellow room, the room facing the garden that was entirely yellow, the walls, the furniture, even the paintings.

"Remember the rules?" Anne asked her, as the tattooed man shook P. T. Barnum's hand, grinning, leaving a mere scattering of people remaining between them and their future.

"Don't look them in the eyes, speak only when spoken to, and always call them sir or ma'am," Phoebe recited in a monotonous tone. "I know. I know. We can't give him a reason to turn us away."

W. D. gave his friend a sad smile. He rubbed a hand on her back, in reassuring, circular motions. "It's not fair, I know. But we have to keep out heads down, keep out of trouble." he told her, tucking a strand of Phoebe's curly hair behind her ear. It was a gesture that reminded her of their father, which brought both warm and melancholy feelings. She no longer had enough money to go home, she missed her parents dearly, but she loved W.D. and Anne as much as she loved them. They'd taught her so much in their time together.

After what felt a lifetime of waiting, Phoebe, Anne and W. D. suddenly found themselves sat in front of P. T. Barnum, under his scrutiny. He looked them both up and down, and Phoebe could almost see his brain whirring away, trying to suss out their act. She did as she was told, and kept her hands in her lap and eyes down. She allowed W. D. to do the talking, Phoebe was proud and outspoken, and Anne would usually find words failing her.

"Phoebe Whitlock and Anne and W. D. Wheeler?" Barnum repeated, as though testing the names out on his tongue. He looked at the girls, trying to discern who wasn't related to the other two. He pointed at Anne, "Phoebe?"

Anne shook her head, Phoebe took charge. "No sir, I'm Phoebe Whitlock."

P.T. rose an eyebrow. "A brit?"

Phoebe sat straight. "Yes, I'm british."

He looked at the siblings next to her."Brother and sister?"

"Yes, sir."

"Terrific. And, what do you three do?" Barnum questioned, hand on his chin, curious.

Anne spoke up. "Uh, trapeze. Phoebe does aerial silks as well.

"Trapeze? Aerial silks? What are those?"

"Trapeze is fairly new, sir. Invented in France," W. D. explained, leading once more. "It's like a performance, in the air. Swinging back and forth on ropes and bars and such. The aerial silks are two lengths of fabric hung from the ceiling. Phoebe performs acrobatics in the air while hanging from this fabric."

"Uh huh. Are these acts dangerous?" Barnum was clearly intrigued, leaning forward on his desk.

"Very, sir. We're twenty feet off the ground. We take it in turns to catch each other when the other lets go. On the silks, Phoebe is just as high and is only supported by how she manipulates the fabric around her body and how strong she is, in either of these acts, one wrong move and you can drop easily from this height."

"Extraordinary!" he cried, elated. "I'd hire you both here and now, but there's a few things I want to go over."

They had been anticipating this query, Anne reached into her skirt pockets and pulled out two folded pieces of paper, worn and stained with age. She held them out to Barnum, who eyed the documents inquisitively. "They're our freedom papers, sir, Phoebe doesn't have any as a British citizen, in case you're worried we ain't - "

P. T. Barnum appeared almost embarrassed, as he shook his head. "No, no, I don't need to see those. Slavery has been illegal for thirty-four years now, here in New York, so you may put those papers away Miss Wheeler." Taken aback by his politeness and deftness in dealing with the situation, Anne smiled as she tucked the documents away. "I only meant I'd like to see a demonstration, of sorts, if that's alright?"

"Of course, Mr Barnum sir," W. D. replied, eagerly. "We'd be happy to show you what we can do - is there somewhere you'd like us to go?"

Barnum looked around, and then gestured to a bench over by a waxwork figure of Napoleon Bonaparte. "If you wouldn't mind just waiting over there whilst I see to the rest of the candidates, and then you can give me a taste of what trapeze and aerial silks are all about, ok?"

Phoebe and the Wheelers sat and waited patiently on the wooden bench, surrounded by waxwork figures of famous faces they'd seen printed in newspapers, and exotic animals their parents would tell them bedtime stories about. When Barnum approached them as he said he would, all the acts hired or dismissed, the trio shot up out of their seats, excitedly. He grinned at their enthusiasm, and crossed his arms. Just as he asks them to begin, the doors flew open, and two giggling little girls came bounding in. A breathtakingly beautiful woman, with honey blonde hair and an even sweeter smile, wasn't far behind. Barnum greeted them warmly, lifting the little girls up in his arms and planting a flurry of kisses on their faces, to their squealing delight. Phoebe smiled fondly at the children.

"Girls, I'd like you to meet Phoebe Whitlock and Anne and W. D. Wheeler," Barnum introduced, as he set them down. The little girls didn't seem to care about the colour of their skin, and smiled widely. Phoebe reciprocated, smiling sweetly. "Phoebe is British, and the Wheelers are brother and sister, and they're all acrobats!"

"Acrobats?" the two girls cried out in unison. The smaller one turned to W. D. and held a hand for him to shake. He took the little hand, which looked like the pit of a peach in his own, and beamed. "What are acrobats?" she inquired, with a tilt of her head.

"Well, they're just about to show me. Would you like to watch?" Barnum asked, to which they nodded eagerly. The woman, who Phoebe presumed to be his wife, wrapped an arm around his waist, and laid a head on his shoulder. "You don't mind an audience, do you? I mean, I should hope not!"

The trio shook their heads, and turned to face each other. With a nod, they began. Utilising all the space they had, the pair performed a series of tricks that involved splits, flips, and a whole lot of strength and trust, finishing with W. D. in a bridge, Anne in a handstand on top of his legs, her legs in an 'L' shape. Phoebe had climbed onto top of Anne's foot, the one that was straight up in the air. She balanced herself on her arms and pushed herself up horizontally her legs in a split. The Barnum's were in awe, and the girls, including Mrs Barnum, erupted into a round of applause.

Phoebe climbed down carefully, Anne next and they helped W.D. up, all of them were out of breath. They turned their attention to P. T. Barnum, his arms were still crossed, but even he couldn't hide his expression of astonishment. Mouth agape and eyes wide, he held out a hand for them to shake. "That was unbelievable," he revealed, a grin as wide as train tracks on his face. "I cannot wait to see the audiences reactions when you perform things like that twenty feet up in the air."

"You know, people ain't gonna like it if you put us up on stage, sir," W. D. reminded Barnum, as he put his arms around the girls, in solidarity.

To their surprise, Barnum smirked with a glimmer in his eyes. "Oh, I'm counting on it."

They turned to leave smiling ecstatically, suddenly P.T. called them back. The smiles faded as they focused on him, scared of what he might say. "The name doesn't really roll of my tongue though, Phoebe Whitlock and the Wheelers? The Wheeler siblings and Phoebe? No, no, Phoebe how'd you feel about being a Wheeler?"