A Boy Called MOUSE

by Penny Dolan

  The stage was where I wanted to be, surrounded by painted canvas and gauze. Below me, the hollow space opened out, magical, dark and resonant. Above me, the scenery cloths hid, suspended in the fly tower. I felt as if I was in a nest, a maze where I could hide myself away. I was aching from lack of sleep.

  The lights and lanterns, shut like blind eyes, asked me no questions and wanted no word in return. No lighting men, no flymen were busy around me, ready to change my world. No story was being told in that wooden world, that painted universe. I was safe in a deep, resonant place. Up here, the silence was like velvet.

  I closed my eyes to quiet the chorus of names buzzing in my head. My injured shoulder ached from the climb, but I was here, up high on the walkway. Maybe here I could see the way I had to go.

  In all good stories, when a child sees their long-lost parent, they know all is well. All happy ever after. All contentment and joy.

  So my story was only half good, because I felt nothing for Albert and Adeline, though they were in distress for my sake. Strangers to me, they offered a life that it would be hard to refuse, and the law would uphold their claim. Despite what Adnam said, I had as little power as on that day at Roseberry Farm, when the beetle-black carriage rolled into the yard.

  Adnam! He was someone who had learned how to fly, in his way. He was someone who could soar on an idea, who knew how to rush to greet whatever came next. He was always sure he would find a place to land. Hugo Adnam, whose desire above everything was to keep his Albion alive, and who carried his fears lightly alongside, like small friendly charms.

  A nearby church bell tolled: an hour had gone by. Then the stage boards creaked. Someone was there, far below me. I shrank down on the walkway, making myself as small as I could. The rungs on the ladder thrummed. I held my breath. Who was climbing up? Who wanted me?

  The walkway shook. Feet edged along, closer and closer.

  ‘Mouse?’ said Kitty at last, crouching down beside me. ‘They said you’d run off.’

  ‘Hello.’ We sat in silence. ‘Oh, Kit! What do I do now?’

  ‘What can you do? You’ll have to go to them.’

  ‘But what about all this? What about my life at the Albion? What about you? You have been such a friend to me.’

  ‘You to me too,’ she said.

  ‘What about Vanya, and Nick, and Adnam, and everyone at your house? What about Ma? I don’t know that I want the kind of life they are offering.’

  Kitty gave a hollow laugh. ‘I don’t know that I truly want Adnam as my father, Mouse,’ she said.

  ‘You don’t?’

  ‘I am very glad to be back onstage, and glad that he stood up for me,’ she said slowly. ‘The Aunts told me that he always sent money when he had some to spare. But I know and you know that his first love will always be his theatre. That above everything. Even above me and the girls.’ Her voice trembled.

  ‘It is so much easier to live in the Dream, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘Easier to take flight in the magical forest.’

  ‘Easier to believe in good fairies, you mean?’ Kitty said. ‘Easier to wish that happy world into being? Yes, Mouse, it is.’

  We sat in a long, friendly silence. After a while, doors started banging, and brooms swished along the aisles. The theatre was being woken for another day and another performance.

  ‘What if I can’t bear where they take me? What if I hate that life?’

  ‘Mouse,’ Kitty said at last, ‘what if you don’t? You can try out being their Mouse for a while. Then you can make up your mind. It’s only acting, isn’t it?’

  Acting? We grinned at each other. I could act. We both could act.

  ‘I promise that if I run away this time, I’ll know exactly where to run to, Kit.’

  ‘And maybe who to run to, Mouse?’ she said, smiling.

  We stood, up on the walkway, and gazed down together to the place where dreams are created.

  .

  CHAPTER 85

  THE LONG PATH

  The last moments.

  ‘Isaac?’

  He looked up from where he was brushing the white chalk dust into the coats of the fairy ponies.

  ‘You look tired, boy. You well enough?’

  I nodded quickly and asked Isaac what I needed to ask him. ‘Promise me that you will do it?’

  ‘Don’t know as how it is a good idea, boy, and it might not turn out as you think.’

  ‘Isaac, please?’

  ‘But if it is what you want, I’ll ask her. You just let me know when.’

  The day and time were fixed.

  Nick Tick sighed, shook my hand most seriously and wished me many joyous times. Then, as the hour struck, he dug his elbow nimbly in my side.

  ‘Mouse? If you notice any remarkable clocks or cabinets, you will sketch the pieces for me, won’t you, dear boy? Especially the detail? Don’t forget the detail.’

  I promised I would, and he grinned with anticipation. ‘We shall meet again, boy, somehow, somewhere. Have no fear about that!’

  All the Aunts’ laundry was folded away into tidy stacks, marking the importance of this occasion.

  ‘Well, well, young Mouse,’ Aunt Violet said. ‘So you are on your way to your grandfather’s house. Do remember, dear boy, that we will always welcome you here.’

  ‘Exactly. You must bear up, dear lad, even among the courts of the mighty.’ Aunt Indigo hugged me forcefully. ‘Some good may come of it. Try to enjoy Epton Towers if you can, Mouse.’

  Flora and Dora clapped their hands, hopping around with excitement, as if this moment was when good fortune arrived for everyone.

  Kitty glanced at me and shrugged. Whatever will be, will be. We both knew that. We hugged, briefly.

  So the time to leave had come at last.

  All the changes in my life seemed to be marked out in coaches and carriages, taking me to places I did not know, places I did not want to go. This time it was not Adnam who took me. Albert and Adeline were there, sitting side by side. They spoke to me kindly but often I did not know how to answer.

  The carriage took us up a long gravel drive, through parklands where herds of deer gathered round ancient trees. We passed a home farm surrounded by fields and orchards, and then approached a huge mansion of soft yellow stone. Its mellow grandeur was very different from Murkstone Hall’s grim bulk.

  Eventually the carriage halted, and we descended. Servants stood in line each side of the entrance, bowing to my parents. The women wore crisp white aprons and caps. The men were in spotless shirts and jackets.

  They even bowed to me. They bowed and curtsied to a boy who had lived on crusts, washed greasy dishes, slept in hedges and lived as a vagrant on the streets. Did they know this?

  ‘Come, my boy!’ Albert said. ‘You are most welcome.’

  Every step echoed as we climbed a double flight of stairs, decorated with carved mythical creatures. Grand portraits sneered down at me from the walls.

  Next came a long gallery. It seemed to be filled with more statues than there were in the glorious palace Adnam had created. I could not help staring about me.

  ‘The house will be familiar to you in time,’ said Albert gently. ‘It was strange to us when we returned from our travels.’

  The first thing I saw in the room was a vast tiger-skin rug, spread across the floor. The golden glass eyes burned with familiar melancholy fire. Despite the heat from the logs in the hearth, there was a chill in the heart of this chamber.

  Beyond the rug was a huge chair. The arms and feet had been carved into feathered talons. There, wrapped in a thick woven blanket, was an old, old man. I had been told who he was: my grandfather, Epsilon Epton. Feeble as he was now, there was a terrible pride in his manner.

  Hah! I think. Then I will be as proud as Oberon in retur
n. I put out my hand for him to shake it, as I had seen Adnam do in fine company.

  ‘Good day, sir,’ I said as loudly and clearly as if I was onstage. I would not be overcome by this setting, or by this man.

  My grandfather looked a little astonished to have me there, facing him so boldly. He looked me up and down, as if surprised to find me higher than his knee. He extended a wrinkled brown-spotted hand in return, but I felt as if I was almost a mirage among his sea of conflicting memories.

  ‘Albert, this is the boy called Mouse?’ his ancient voice rasped.

  ‘It is, Father,’ Albert said. ‘We had proof. He had Adeline’s compass about him still.’

  ‘Then it was a useful gift,’ the old man sighed, ‘for it helped the boy find his way home again.’

  A strangely beatific smile spread across the ancient wrinkled face, and he slowly dropped off to sleep.

  Then it was time for a meal. No toasted cheese here, no corners of cake while we huddled two to a chair or on cushions on the floor. The vast mahogany dining table bore glasses and cutlery and crystal vases and tureens, and more place settings than we would need.

  Servants came to my chair, offering me servings of fine food on large silver spoons. They removed and replaced plates. Adeline and Albert sat, trying to talk pleasantly to me.

  Before the second course was over, I longed to be back at the Aunts’. There we ate in peace, and in half the time. Such a fuss was made here of every action. How Adnam must resent the hours he spent dining with rich people when what he most wanted was to be working on his next play! At last the meal was over.

  ‘There is someone else you must meet, Mouse,’ said Albert.

  Up we went, my parents and I, to the top of Epton Towers. Gradually the staircase changed from heavy marble to smooth stone. Underfoot, the rich patterned wool changed to rough pile. When we reached the plain wooden staircase, the floor was covered in coarse drugget.

  ‘This,’ said Adeline, ‘is the nursery where you once slept.’

  I was led into a blue-painted room with pretty white furniture. All was light and pleasant, and newly clean and dusted. A table was spread for tea, and a fire glowed in the hearth, but this room meant nothing to me.

  ‘Am I to sleep here?’ I asked. Did they think I could return to the life of an infant?

  ‘No, your room is further down,’ said Albert. ‘This is where your uncle lives. For a while we thought we had lost him too.’

  Then I spied, over by the window, in a bamboo and leather bath chair, a crumpled man. He could not be any older than my father, but his hands lay limply in his lap.

  ‘Scrope, here’s Mouse,’ Albert said. ‘You wanted to see him.’

  Slowly, the invalid raised his drooping head and peered weakly at me. ‘I do,’ he said. ‘Once I didn’t, but I do now. Isn’t that so, Adeline?’

  My mother smiled, and Scrope gave a strange twisted smile too. His one good eye fixed on me.

  ‘So you are what Mouse grew into, boy. I am sorry to meet you when I am in this state, child.’ He chewed at his lip, and then his face brightened for a moment. ‘Came looking for you, boy, came to bring you back. But you were gone, weren’t you? Man named Jarvey in charge. Did you know him? Boy called Niddle there too.’

  Then the light faded and he blinked, keeping welling tears away. ‘I am truly sorry that you have been gone so long,’ he whispered. ‘Sorry. So sorry.’

  My father patted his brother’s twisted shoulder. ‘Now, now,’ he told him. ‘We must look to the future. We must look ahead.’

  I paused and gazed at the man who had sent me away. With Button gone, how could I have any hate left for such a pitiful creature?

  ‘Come,’ said Adeline. ‘Let us walk. You can learn what we have been discovering, Mouse.’

  We were on our own now, my parents and I. They led me down a chilly corridor, lined with glass cases full of tiny birds and stuffed reptiles with needle-sharp teeth.

  At the far end stood a carved figure draped in a toga. His marble eyes were blind, just as my parents were blind to my life without them. I realised I had to tell them, must let them know.

  ‘Albert! Adeline!’ They whirled round.

  ‘Do you truly want to know me?’ I asked.

  So this was when I told them, one word after another without stopping, anger and grief coming out all in one go.

  I told them about my baby time with Hanny and Isaac. I told them about the coming of Button, and the horror of Bulloughby and Murkstone Hall, and the time in the kitchen, and the awful return to Roseberry Farm.

  Then I described my days on the road – part thief, part beggar, part puppet man – and my arrival at the city. I told them all the terrible times, sparing nothing, so they knew just what kind of boy they were claiming as their own. I told them about the charity hospital, and the kidnap cellar and the mortuary slab. I told them the places I’d been and the things I’d seen. Did they want such a child in their lives, with or without a shining silver mouse for proof?

  Their faces had turned pale. Some moments they turned and looked away. Adeline dabbed her eyes.

  Now I had begun it was hard to stop. ‘And who looked after me in all this time, all the years you were away? A voiceless cook, a suffering scholar, a wandering tramp, a Punch and Judy man, a pair of almost penniless costume makers, an absent-minded clockmaker, a backstage giant and a young dancer who polished other people’s shoes. These people looked after me. These were my parents. These were the friends in my life.’

  ‘But we . . .’ My mother tried to explain, but words did not come.

  ‘I know you did not choose to be away. I know that you could not help what happened. But this is how life was for me, and you should know. I have not stepped from my cradle directly to this moment. It is too soon to call you my parents. All I have in my head are Adeline and Albert, the names Hanny told me.’

  ‘You can remember Hanny so well?’ asked my mother, and she had a hopeful smile.

  ‘As if it was just last week,’ I said, watching her face. Then I asked, ‘What did you want to show me, please?’

  They pulled themselves together.

  Albert led the way. Despite the sunshine, the air outside was cold enough to make us gasp. We followed a covered pathway across the wide lawns towards an enormous glass conservatory.

  As we grew closer, they walked more eagerly.

  ‘You go first, Mouse,’ said Albert proudly when we arrived, and I could see that this was the place within Epton Towers that mattered most to him. The pair glanced at each other, almost excitedly. They were revealing their life’s work.

  I pushed open the first set of tall glass doors, and a second set beyond, and I was in what felt like a mighty jungle, though my boots stepped on a pavement of black and white tiles.

  The wintry wind was calmed in here. The warmth soothed. Bright sunlight flashed through a canopy of gleaming leaves and flickered on creepers cascading from a high crystal sky. All manner of plants were gathered here in this vast private palace.

  Brilliant parakeets screeched among exotic blooms, and emerald frogs splashed into mossy-edged pools. Golden fish appeared and disappeared in the smooth water, and the air was hot and heavy and scented with lilies. As I looked up, entranced, the hairs prickled on my neck.

  I knew this magical place! I walked on along the patterned paths, past fluted columns, as if walking in some forgotten dream. There, among the abundance of foliage, rose a familiar iron ladder. Its white-painted rungs circled around the painted pillar, leading up and up.

  I stepped off the path and pushed through the fronds of ferns glistening with drops of moisture. I looked up to where this ladder led. High above me, cogs and rods and spokes turned, letting in the cool breeze.

  At that moment I knew that once I had longed to climb up there, longed to rea
ch that imaginary heaven, and that I had certainly stood here before.

  I turned to the people who were my mother and my father, and saw the care in their worn faces and their anguished hope that I would be happy here. My own heart suddenly eased, and the hurt grew less intense.

  I reached out and touched that rung, grasped the damp, cold metal in my hand. These were fingers that were strong, not an infant’s soft and pudgy hand. This was a hand that had learned to hold on tight when that was what was needed.

  I climbed, and climbed, and climbed, until I could see out through the ceiling’s glass panes. I could see across the gardens and the grass and the drive. And along that drive came a cart, a simple cart, drawn by an everyday slow-stepping horse.

  Riding in that cart, wrapped warmly against the weather, were three people. I knew who they were, for I had asked them to come. Isaac was at the reins. My Ma Hanny, hand raised to shade her eyes, was watching as the great house came into view. Beside them was a girl who would be anxious to get back to the theatre for the night’s performance. Kitty.

  ‘Mother? Father?’ Would this work? I called down to where they were waiting. ‘There are some people arriving! I can see them from here – friends of mine!’

  Yes, it was a test, and maybe not a kind one. If my parents were who I hoped they were, they would welcome my dear friends with open arms, and if not, then this would be a different story.

  I took one last look across the waving fans of the palms. Then, as I descended, I saw, near the ground, clusters of grey-green rosettes. There, surrounded by spear-like leaves, grew crinkle-skinned golden-brown fruits, bulging with juicy ripeness. I had seen this fruit before.

  ‘Mouse,’ I said to myself, ‘P is for pineapple. Pineapple. This is the place of my dream. This was once my home.’

  Maybe it could be a home again. Just maybe.

  .

  CHAPTER 86

  MOUSE, DREAMING

  I sleep. I dream.

  I am in darkness, but I hear voices call to me, and invisible hands pick at me. Heavy iron chains grate and rattle within some vast open shaft close by, and at that very moment the ground disappears.