A Boy Called MOUSE

by Penny Dolan

  He discovered an old man, his curly hair crusted with mud and blood. Although the man had been battered about the face and body, his knuckles clutched a bag and a tattered basket. A small dog worried and whined anxiously at his side.

  ‘Take us to the city, friend, for pity’s sake,’ the old man begged, giving a faint smile. ‘Me and Toby.’

  As the kindly driver lifted the old man into the back of his cart, a host of painted puppets, smashed and broken, spilled out of the basket.

  The old man groaned fretfully and tried to get down.

  ‘Wait, sir, wait. I’ll pick up your wooden babbies for you,’ the carter said soothingly. He picked up the strange collection and placed them back in the old man’s basket.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ the man gasped. As he clutched the puppets tightly, his face contorted with pain. ‘No, I don’t want any help,’ he wheezed. ‘Just take me to the city.’

  The dog jumped in beside him, and the cart jolted off down the road.

  Struggling, the old man dragged a filthy jacket out of his bag and pushed it close to the dog’s nose. ‘You remember who wore it, don’t you?’ The little dog barked softly. ‘That’s right, Toby,’ said the old man. ‘We’ll go and find him and warn him, wherever he is.’

  Patting that warm furry head, Charlie Punchman drifted off into a painful sleep.

  .

  CHAPTER 38

  HIMSELF

  I saw, across a large dressing room, a tall man in full stage make-up and black velvet costume. Scarlet-rimmed eyes glared at me from a powdered face. Dark lines transformed the backs of his hands into predatory claws. It was Hugo Adnam himself. Beside him stood his dresser, a long velvet cape hanging ready over his arm.

  ‘What is going on, Vanya?’ Adnam’s rich voice sounded cold. He glanced up at his dresser. ‘Do you know anything about this, Peter?’ The man shook his head.

  ‘I have something to show,’ said Vanya, keeping one hand gripped on my shoulder. My huge bearded captor spread my notebook across Adnam’s dressing table, between the greasepaints and brushes. ‘Is this!’ he growled.

  Impatiently, Adnam flicked through my sketches and scribbled notes, ignoring the untouched meal of cold chicken and champagne that lay within easy reach. ‘Interesting,’ he remarked.

  A burst of muted applause revealed that Romeo and Juliet were now living happily, and a stalwart marching song began.

  ‘Five minutes,’ the call came outside the door.

  ‘Five minutes, Mr Adnam,’ the dresser echoed softly, shaking the folds of the cape.

  ‘Thank you, Peter,’ Adnam said. ‘I will be there for my cue.’ He slammed the book shut and leaped towards me dramatically.

  ‘So! A spy lurks in the Albion’s wings, noting down all the secrets of my theatre. Who do you work for? Who let you in? Which theatre sent you, boy? Tell me! Disclose!’

  ‘I’m n-n-not a spy, Mr Adnam,’ I said, stuttering. ‘I don’t know about any other theatres. This is the only theatre I’ve been inside. I wanted to show these drawings to Nick Tick –’

  ‘So what theatre is this Tick fellow from? Where does he act? Who is his manager?’ Adnam’s eyes glowed villainously.

  ‘No, you don’t understand.’ I almost laughed. ‘Nick is just a watchmaker.’

  ‘A watchmaker? Hah! So you say. Remember, boy, I am an actor,’ Adnam sneered, ‘so I know how easy it is to lie.’

  What could I do or say without getting Kitty into more difficulty than she was in already?

  ‘Two minutes,’ someone called, knocking at the door.

  ‘Time to go, sir,’ said Peter, opening out the dark wings of the cape. With a weary sigh, Adnam let the dresser fasten it around his neck.

  ‘Vanya, I will leave this matter to you. If you are worried, keep this thief close until the end of the performance and we’ll hear what he says then.’

  Abruptly Adnam lunged at me, dagger in hand, its point glittering sharply. ‘Listen, you spy, you snoop-merchant! If tonight’s audience is not good, I will be in an even worse mood by the end of the play, so beware, boy. Peter, door!’

  Adnam exited towards the green room, the cape swirling behind him and Peter running after with a silver-backed brush and comb.

  Vanya’s bushy eyebrows met in a frown.

  ‘We go elsewhere,’ he decided, thrusting my notebook into his pocket. His hand gripped the nape of my neck as he escorted me along several corridors, down some steep wooden steps and into a large vault somewhere below the theatre. The great roar of applause that met Adnam’s entrance onstage faded swiftly away.

  Vanya’s musty lair was stacked with oddments of props, complicated fragments of scenery and pieces of wood. Despite Kitty’s earlier tales, I sensed no ghosts, though the man in front of me was scary enough. His fists were like boulders.

  Vanya shoved me down on a large stuffed cushion and plonked himself on a chair. Then he took my notebook from his pocket and, by the light of an oil lamp hanging from the wall, read it through carefully. He turned the pages this way and that, studying my sketches from all angles.

  ‘Not bad, spy-boy.’

  ‘I’ve told you, I’m not a spy. I don’t know enough to be a spy. I was just interested in the machines you have in this theatre, and that’s all. I wanted to let Mr Tick know about everything that you’ve got here.’

  ‘Let’s try again,’ Vanya growled. ‘What theatre does Mr Tick work for? Lyceum? The Royal?’ His face was so far forward, his nose almost touched my own. ‘The Peacock? The Apollo? Speak.’

  ‘Mr Tick works as a clockmaker. That’s all. I lodge in his shop.’

  ‘You expect us to believe such a story?’

  ‘It’s the truth!’ I said again.

  At that moment Kitty rushed through the door. ‘Mouse!’ she gasped. ‘Peter told me you’d been brought down here.’

  Vanya turned to her. ‘You know this sneak?’

  For a moment Kitty had a chance to avoid the situation, to keep out of trouble.

  ‘Keep quiet, Kit,’ I mouthed.

  ‘Of course I do,’ she said. ‘He’s a friend. He’s staying with my neighbour –’

  ‘Who is this neighbour?’ Vanya asked. ‘Quickly.’

  ‘Nick Tick. He’s a watchmaker. What has that to do with things?’

  ‘Aha! So one part of the story is true.’ Vanya sighed and dropped his huge head down between his hands. ‘Kitty, this boy has made Mr Adnam very angry. He was spying on the play. Look at this book.’

  ‘No, no. Mouse wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘Not spying. He’s just nosy about machines and so on. Look at these first pages, Vanya. These are drawings of Mr Nick’s clocks.’

  ‘Please, Mr Vanya,’ I said wearily. ‘I apologise most sincerely, honest. And I don’t understand all this talk about spying. Besides, who’d want to spy on a theatre? This isn’t a war, is it?’

  ‘Yes, of course it is!’ they hissed, like a pair of furious geese.

  .

  CHAPTER 39

  MEANWHILE, ON A SMALL ISLAND

  Two days of unexpected gales and a strong current forced Captain Marriner’s vessel well off her usual course.

  When all was calm again, he studied his sea charts and re-plotted the voyage. By his measurements, the ship would be back on her usual route within several days, as long as the weather held, which it should because the ocean was as blue as his own daughter’s eyes.

  Just then the cabin boy burst into the Captain’s cabin, bringing word of an unexpected sighting on the horizon.

  Captain Marriner returned to the deck and lifted a telescope to his best eye. Exactly as Second Officer Quinn had observed, a thin plume of smoke was rising into the tropical sky. Surprisingly, the smoke came from an island that, until that moment, had always been just a
dot on the charts.

  ‘Do we have any records of habitation there?’

  ‘None that I know, Captain.’

  ‘Then it is our duty to investigate. Prepare the longboat and have some marksmen ready, in case of danger. God Save Her Royal Majesty.’

  A dozen men leaped from the longboat, guns at the ready, and waded through the lapping turquoise waves towards a wide crescent of yellow sand.

  Among the palm trees they saw a ramshackle shelter constructed from driftwood and branches. It seemed to be encircled by small plants, sprouting twigs in baskets and assorted leaf-wrapped packages.

  The trail of smoke came from a cooking fire set in a dip in the sand. The glowing cinders were tended by two figures – a man and a woman. Their clothes were worn thin, and the hair on their heads was bleached by days of endless light.

  As the sailors approached, the couple rose up like ghosts, and stared steadily at their rescuers. Two pairs of eyes – his pale blue and hers brown as hazelnuts – peered out from faces weathered by sea salt and sunshine.

  The woman took hold of the man’s arm. ‘Is it a mirage, Albert?’ Her voice was quite calm.

  ‘No, Adeline, my dear, I don’t think so. In fact, I have hopes that it may be time for us to go home.’

  ‘That will be most pleasant, my dear one.’ She gave a confident smile. ‘I do hope there will be room on that ship for our plants. They are growing so nicely now.’

  The ragged man approached Second Officer Quinn. ‘Thank you for arriving at last,’ he said, giving the armed sailors a puzzled glance ‘but won’t all that armoury stop your men loading our plant specimens speedily?’

  ‘But –’

  The woman stepped forward briskly, her dark eyes determined. ‘No buts, young man. This gentleman is the renowned botanist Albert Epton, and I am his wife. We wish to talk to your captain. Now!’ The sea breeze tugged at the threadbare lace of what had once been an elegant gown.

  Without intending to, Second Officer Quinn found himself saluting Adeline.

  .

  CHAPTER 40

  CLOAKS AND DAGGERS

  ‘Of course it’s a war, you idiot!’ Kitty raised her hands in the air, exasperated. ‘Mouse, don’t you realise? Hugo Adnam is probably in debt to his eyeballs. If the Albion doesn’t stage the most spectacular show in town this season, he’ll be ruined.’

  ‘And if a boy like you,’ added Vanya, ‘steals the secrets of our productions and sells them to those no-good theatres around us, you bring about our ruin too.’

  I was amazed. ‘I wouldn’t do that.’ There was a long pause.

  ‘Good,’ Vanya said, his huge bulk overhanging his chair. ‘That is very good. Because if you did, I should not be pleased, and that would be most uncomfortable for you, though not for me!’ Clasping his hands, he rolled his strong thumbs round each other menacingly.

  If anyone was uncomfortable it was Kitty. She jumped every time any footsteps passed the door.

  ‘Mouse, I must go. Tildy said Miss Lander might call in at the theatre tonight. She mustn’t see me. Anywhere.’

  She hugged the big man reassuringly. ‘Vanya, Mouse is telling the truth, I’d swear on it. And I’m sure Mr Tick has no thought of stealing ideas from your theatre. So please tell Adnam there’s been a mistake, won’t you?’ She darted off, adding, ‘Mouse, see you soon.’

  ‘So, Mouse-boy, it seems Miss Kitty means us to be friends.’ Vanya gave a slow grin, and it seemed my name had been cleared. ‘I shall look again at what you were doing.’ This time he turned the pages of my notebook with some care. ‘Hmmm. Not bad. I like this.’

  I leaned over and saw my drawing of a wind machine. ‘Yes. That’s a very clever idea.’

  Vanya beamed with pride. ‘It goes from a breeze to a wind to a fearsome gale with no trouble at all. And it is my triumph, my invention, Mouse. Mine!’

  He held up his two huge hands and stretched out his thick fingers. ‘These two hands don’t look clever. They look like hands of an idiot, a simpleton, an ogre. Like hands that can do nothing much.’ His eyes shone brightly. ‘But I tell you, Mouse, these so-stupid hands can make magic!’ He tapped his head. ‘And this thick head too is not so dumb.’

  I wasn’t going to let my own friend go undefended. I held out my own hands. ‘Nick Tick’s hands are smaller than these, but he can make magic too.’

  Vanya tugged thoughtfully at his beard. ‘If it is as you say, Mouse-boy, then I have a test for the clever Mr Nick I hear so much about tonight.’ Grunting, he reached deep inside his coat. ‘Ask your mechanical Mr Tick if he can mend this piece for me.’ His giant hands held a tiny watch, studded with stones. ‘Tell him it belonged to my mother. Tell him if it goes good, I will pay.’

  The performance was over, the applause had died and the auditorium was empty. Adnam sat in front of his mirror, wiping the paint off his weary face and listening as Vanya explained the situation.

  ‘Boy, I may have accused you wrongly,’ Adnam said, and rested his head on his arms, exhausted. After a while he lifted it up again. ‘Ah, you are lucky, child. If I do unexpected things, the crowds are not so quick to forgive. Go!’

  As Vanya pushed me out into the corridor, he gave me back my notebook. ‘Come see me soon, boy.’ He gave an amused growl. ‘I am awaiting your so-clever Mr Nick’s work.’ I turned to go and he dug me gently in the ribs. ‘And bring me more of drawings too. I like a boy who is interested in such things.’

  When Nick saw the watch, his eyes sparkled brighter than the stones. It was as if I was giving him a present.

  ‘Such a watch! I will do my best for this friend Vanya,’ he said, holding up the watch so that it shone in the candlelight. ‘Now, my beautiful silver lady, tell me your troubles . . .’

  So my life went on. Most days I felt glad of my luck, especially when I passed stray waifs begging on the street, because that’s where I could have ended. Though my lodging was spread between the Aunts’ clean rooms and Nick’s cramped shop, I was in a far better place than I had expected when I set out from Roseberry Farm.

  I tried not to be a burden. I tried to help. I baled out washtubs and carried coal to the copper for the Aunts. I amused Flora and Dora, or let them amuse me. I helped keep Nick’s floor clean and his shop in order. I swept out the litter from between the rows of seats, helped around the theatre and listened to Vanya’s tales of his machinery. It was all good, but it was not enough, because I still had a burden of my own.

  Where exactly was Ma? I had come to search for her, to tell her I had not forgotten her, whoever she was. Sometimes my heart felt so sore that all I could do was curl up and speak to no one. Sometimes I got angry. Why had Ma told me so little? If I did not belong to her or to Isaac, to whom did I belong?

  I looked and looked, walked and walked, asked and asked, but there was still no clue. Whenever I could, I visited the horse-fairs and hack-yards and coach-stands. I checked the fine carriage horses, the street-worn mares and the broken-backed nags ready for the knacker’s yard as they stumbled through the city streets, but there was no sign of big Isaac among those horses, no sighting anywhere.

  I haunted the banks of the great river and gazed towards the great docks, wondering if Ma and Isaac had bought a passage to a new land. The tide flowed up the river and ebbed down the river, carrying flotsam and jetsam and all manner of rubbish. Even when the tide went out, the rubbish was still there, lying on the shores.

  Gangs of mudlarks, poor children, flocked along that filthy shore, searching for any valuable find to take to their masters. Often their cries of delight turned to curses or tears as the bright stuff they’d spied in the knee-deep sludge turned to broken glass and was not the diamond they dreamed of finding. Still they searched on, bending and stooping.

  How could I search out my Ma? How could I capture my bright dream when all was ch
anging about me? The seagulls bobbed on the grey water, and the cries were mocking.

  .

  CHAPTER 41

  A SMALL VISITOR

  Something pushed the door of the hospital ward ajar. A dark nose poked round it, sniffing as if trying to discover something or someone. The burly nurse, busy filling bottles in the dispensary, did not see the small creature scamper through the narrow gap. Dog Toby wriggled beneath one bed and another and another until at last he reached the bed in the corner. Standing on his hind legs, he tugged at the blanket, whimpering softly.

  The old man woke. ‘You?’ he said, and smiled. He reached to stroke the dog, burying his bony fingers in the warmth of that furry coat.

  Then, with a great effort, the old man rolled over to rest on his elbow. He rummaged in the bag stowed under his pillow. Gasping painfully, he dragged out an old jacket and held it to the dog’s nose.

  ‘The boy,’ he wheezed. ‘Remember the boy? We must keep trying, Toby.’

  The dog wagged his tail and sniffed and sniffed. This city was so full of interesting smells that it was hard to track down a scent, even one he knew well, though that particular memory seemed fainter each day. Besides, he did not want to leave his master, so he sat watching as the old man dropped into a doze.

  As footsteps came down the ward, his master stirred and grimaced at the little dog. ‘I told you, friend. Go!’

  The dog’s ears twitched and he tried to jump up on the blanket.

  ‘No, boy. Go! I’m telling you to go and find him. Go!’

  Uncertainly, the dog pattered away, then turned back. Was this really what his master wanted?

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Go! Good boy!’

  The dog’s tail drooped for a second. Then, with a sigh, he turned and hurried off, doing Punchman’s bidding one last time.

  .

  CHAPTER 42

  FOUND AND LOST

  Miss Tildy was too busy to teach the girls today.