by Jane Kerr
‘You’ve a crease in your skirt, child. And your hair needs a good brushing. But at least you haven’t forgotten how to curtsy. Girls should always know how to curtsy. One never knows whom one might meet. The royal family get everywhere.’
Miss Carkettle bent slightly so that her cheek was only an inch or two from Hetty’s face. Obediently, Hetty leant forward and kissed the pale, powdered skin.
‘Yes, aunt. Thank you.’
Abruptly, Miss Carkettle straightened and stared at Danny. Her expression held all the warmth of a rain cloud. ‘And who, may I ask, is this?’
‘This is Danny . . . Daniel Jameson. He’s my–my friend.’
Miss Carkettle’s lips tightened; the black centres of her eyes shrank to narrow points. And it seemed to Danny that in that moment, she took note of every one of his differences – his brown skin, slow speech and lack of education. ‘I see,’ she said. And his heart sank.
Now he understood why Hetty was so upset. Miss Carkettle was not someone who would be easily charmed – or tricked. And he wondered how he could possibly keep his promise to Hetty.
‘Well, young man, I’ve no doubt you are . . .’ For a moment, Miss Carkettle seemed to struggle for the right word. ‘. . . interesting company. But I haven’t seen my great-niece for several months so I’m sure you’ll understand that this is a time for family. And just for family. Maybe you can arrange to see Henrietta in a few days?’ A pause. ‘Or better still, next week?’
It wasn’t really a question. And Danny didn’t argue. There would be no point. Instead, he waited until Miss Carkettle turned away before tugging Hetty’s sleeve. ‘I need to speak to you,’ he hissed. ‘On your own. It’s important.’
Hetty darted a glance towards her aunt. Fortunately, she was now supervising Crimple and the removal of her remaining luggage from the carriage.
‘I don’t think there’ll be a chance today.’ Her teeth bit into her bottom lip. ‘But maybe tomorrow? Aunt Augusta always goes to church on a Sunday. We could talk after the service. There’ll be so many people around, she probably won’t even notice . . . And Danny?’
The desperation in her voice would have persuaded Danny to agree to anything. He nodded to show he was listening.
‘Please help me. I don’t think I can bear two weeks on my own with Aunt Augusta.’
Chapter Ten
Danny lifted the bucket lid and the smell of raw chicken hit the back of his throat with a kick. It was Sunday, and for once he was not expected at the main gate to welcome visitors. Instead, he’d been given the job of feeding the big cats. The lions, tigers and leopards were kept in neighbouring pens a little distance from the other animals, and the fence around them was higher than the rest.
Raising the bucket, Danny stepped up to the railings and leant over. Below him, the lions were already gathering, strolling backwards and forwards with every expectation of being fed. He searched for his favourite, and within minutes, she’d padded into view.
Victoria was a beautiful creature – and she knew it. Thick fur rippled across her back like molten gold, before fading to white around her chest and stomach. Her dark eyes glittered under kohl-coloured lashes, and she moved the way water slipped around rocks, fluid and graceful with every sweep of her tail.
Danny grabbed a piece of chicken and threw it into her pen. ‘Here!’
He watched as Victoria caught the meat between strong white teeth. And in two neat bites, it had disappeared. She swiped a long pink tongue around her jaws and waited for more.
Danny grinned. It was true that no one would ever be able to take Maharajah’s place. Whatever happened, Maharajah would always come first in his affections. But over the last few weeks, he’d realized there were many other incredible creatures at Belle Vue.
Like Victoria.
And Emerald.
And Cleopatra.
And even Captain, the blue-faced mandrill who tumbled around the ape house like a clown. Danny had once spent an entire afternoon studying the monkey’s bright features – the long red nose and yellow beard – marvelling that such a strange-looking animal could possibly be real. Then he’d slipped next door to see the camels, who were almost as peculiar but much less conceited.
He threw another piece of chicken into Victoria’s pen then tipped the rest of the meat into the other cages. Almost immediately, growls rose up. The lions were competing for food. Usually Danny stayed until the last mouthful was gone but today he needed to get back.
He didn’t want to miss the chance of speaking to Hetty. There were too many mysteries to solve. Too many questions without answers. Grabbing the empty bucket, he pulled the gate firmly shut.
At home, Danny changed quickly, peeling off his grubby work shirt and trousers, and tugging on his Sunday suit. Staring in the mirror, he pushed a cow’s lick curl away from his forehead and knotted his tie. He looked very different from the street thief who’d first met Mr Jameson in Edinburgh. Now, there were some days when he didn’t recognize himself at all.
In the hall, Mrs Jameson was fixing her bonnet in place with a long hat pin. She smiled when she saw him. ‘I must say, Danny, I am pleased you want to go to church this morning. We need to show Reverend Threlfall we can be good neighbours. I’m sure he’ll be less upset when he sees we want to be part of the parish.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Danny scuffed his boots against the hall floor. He doubted the vicar would ever change his mind, but just now he had other concerns. He needed to find a way to talk to Hetty alone. The direct approach seemed best.
‘I saw Hetty yesterday. Her aunt had just arrived from Edinburgh. I wondered . . .’ He hesitated. Asking for favours still felt uncomfortable, even after two months of living with the Jamesons. ‘I wondered if we could invite them here . . . to tea? After the service?’
Mrs Jameson’s eyes widened. ‘Yes, well. That’s very thoughtful of you, Danny. As a matter of fact, I’ve already sent a note asking them to call. I have to admit I’m curious to meet Hetty’s aunt.’
She picked up her gloves from the hall table and pulled them on, fastening the buttons with quick, practised movements. ‘Now, have you seen Mr Jameson? I told him to be here ten minutes ago. He knows we’re to go to church.’
Danny shook his head, and Mrs Jameson frowned. ‘Good heavens! I might have known. Well, we can’t afford to wait any longer. Come along.’ She swept through the front door in a bustle of skirts, and Danny followed.
St Mark’s Church stood less than a stone’s throw away from Belle Vue, just outside the main gate on Hyde Road. It was almost full when they arrived – and everyone turned to stare. Danny felt the glares heat the back of his neck as they marched down the aisle, but Mrs Jameson didn’t seem to notice.
Halfway along, she settled into one of the hard wooden pews. Danny slid in next to her. He was relieved to see Hetty, just a few rows in front, sitting with her father and Miss Carkettle. Beyond them, in the choir stalls, Constance Threlfall caught his eye and smiled shyly.
‘Welcome!’ Reverend Threlfall’s voice suddenly thundered through the church. He was standing in the high-raised pulpit, looking down on his congregation like a hawk eyeing a field of mice.
‘Welcome, all of you, to the house of the Lord. And may I give a special welcome to the Lord Mayor of Manchester, Mr Harold Goadsby.’ He nodded to a sharp-featured man in one of the side pews, a glittering chain of office hung around his neck. ‘Sir, I’m delighted you accepted my invitation to attend today.’
Solemnly, Mr Goadsby nodded back, and the vicar’s gaze continued around the congregation. ‘But remember this . . . whoever you are, however high or low, you are all sinners . . .’
Danny shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He rarely went to church, and he hated sitting still. But if nothing else, perhaps the morning service might distract from the swirl of questions racing around his head.
Just where was Frank Scatcherd?
Still roaming free in Edinburgh? Or on his way to Manchester?
; And could he have had anything to do with the shooting in the maze?
The idea carved a hole in Danny’s stomach. Desperately, he tried to focus on something else but Reverend Threlfall’s sermon was even duller than usual. So, he counted the panes of coloured glass on each of the altar windows. Forty-two. Then he traced the fall of a feather from the high beamed ceiling, all the way to the floor. For a little while, he even examined the back of Hetty’s neck, willing her to turn around just so he could roll his eyes. But she kept staring straight ahead.
So, perhaps it was his need for a distraction that kick-started his imagination. Because halfway through the service, Danny was sure he heard a familiar sound coming from outside. A curious mixture of a rumble and a cackle, like someone trying to hold in laughter – and failing.
And then the noise came again. This time it was louder, far more difficult to ignore, and he wasn’t the only one who heard it. In the pews, people were turning their heads and whispering. Only Reverend Threlfall appeared unaware. He was still shouting.
‘Behold, the Lord said you shall listen only unto me . . .’
The rumble started for a third time, and now there could be no doubt. Danny knew that sound. He knew it very well indeed.
‘I’ll go.’ He slipped from the pew before Mrs Jameson could stop him. Heads turned again, and curious stares followed his progress down the aisle.
And still Reverend Threlfall kept on talking. ‘And to the wicked and unbelieving, let me give you this warning: you will be cast out, never to return . . .’
Carefully, Danny prised open the back door and slid through the gap. Immediately, his mouth dropped loose. He’d been right. Standing just outside the porch was a twelve-foot elephant. Maharajah the Magnificent had come to church.
‘Danny, there you are! Excellent!’
Mr Jameson’s voice jarred Danny out of his daze. The menagerist was standing next to Maharajah; Crimple on his other side, holding the elephant harness as though the three of them attended Sunday service every week.
‘I thought I’d bring Maharajah along to show him off. Let Threlfall and his flock get a taste of Belle Vue. Meet our star attraction.’ Mr Jameson patted the top pocket of his waistcoat. ‘And I’ve a treat for all the congregation. Free tickets for the show. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. Everyone loves fireworks. This will sort everythin’. Get things back to normal.’
‘But—’ Danny stopped. Behind him, the church doors had swung open, and parishioners began pouring out – a colourful tide of flowery hats, Sunday frocks and smart suits. Even Hetty had managed to tug her aunt outside. And right at the back, Danny was certain he could see the Lord Mayor, his gold chain glinting in the sun.
His heart sank. The service must have finished early. It had been too much to hope that Maharajah’s presence would go unnoticed – and that he could persuade Mr Jameson to return home before trouble began.
But if Danny was worried, Maharajah seemed delighted with the new arrivals. He stomped forward, flapping his ears in welcome, a low rumble vibrating from his trunk. And for a moment, the flow of people paused. Then the woman wearing the largest hat began to scream. And scream. And scream. Only willpower stopped Danny from covering his ears.
‘Can someone tell me what in the good Lord’s name is happening here?’ Reverend Threlfall was cutting through the crowd. His white vicar’s robes made him easy to spot among the bright colours.
‘Threlfall!’ Beaming, Mr Jameson spread his arms wide. Most people would have thought he was greeting an old and dear friend. Only Danny knew differently.
‘I’m here to deliver a personal invitation to you and your congregation. Come to Belle Vue and put all your worries to rest. And to prove it, let me introduce you to the biggest, most powerful animal in our menagerie. Maharajah the Magnificent!’ Lightly, he patted Maharajah’s side. ‘He may look frightening but he’s a gentle giant. Isn’t that right, Danny?’
Danny had no time to reply. Before he could open his mouth, Maharajah reached across the heads of the crowd towards the screaming woman. Coiling his trunk, he grabbed her hat and began chewing through the brim. Danny winced as the screams grew louder. And the cries began to spread. On the other side of the churchyard, he could see Hetty trying not to laugh. Miss Carkettle looked shocked. While the Lord Mayor’s face held no expression at all.
‘Good heavens, Jameson! This is outrageous.’ The vicar’s voice had risen yet again but even he was struggling to make himself heard above the noise. ‘How could you possibly think this was acceptable? Bringing an elephant to church? To the house of God? You’re a madman!’
From the back of the crowd, Mrs Jameson hurried forward. She brushed past her husband – and Maharajah – and went straight to the vicar. ‘I do apologize, Reverend Threlfall. I really don’t know what to say. I’m sure my husband didn’t mean to cause offence.’
‘Oh no. I’m afraid it’s far too late for apologies, Mrs Jameson.’ A sudden breeze lifted the white robes away from the vicar’s body like the wings of an avenging angel. ‘This is no longer a dispute among neighbours. This is a war.’
Chapter Eleven
‘What on earth were you playing at, James Jameson? I’ve never been so mortified in all my days. These people are our neighbours. And after the argument the other day! What were you thinking? You’ve made everything worse.’
‘I thought it would help, me dove. Everyone loves Maharajah.’
They were returning home on foot; Danny, Mr Jameson and Crimple trailing in Mrs Jameson’s wake down Belle Vue’s main avenue. At their side, Maharajah swayed nonchalantly, but Danny recognized the mischief in his eyes. Gently, he stroked a palm across the deep grooves on his trunk.
‘Everyone loves Maharajah? Are you quite sure of that, Jamie?’ Mrs Jameson’s voice had risen to a peak. ‘What about Mr Snade and the other bankers? I don’t imagine they’re particularly fond of him. Not after being half drowned in the lake.’
Mr Jameson cleared his throat. ‘Well, maybe not everyone. But Ethel May, you know as well as I do, it’s the customers that matter. And every week, hundreds of ’em come here just to see Maharajah. So as long as the money keeps rollin’ in, I reckon Snade will be happy. Profits – that’s all he cares about.’
‘Hmmph!’ Mrs Jameson snorted. ‘Well, after this morning, I don’t imagine Reverend Threlfall or his parishioners will want to set foot inside Belle Vue, and to be frank, I shan’t blame them.’ Her mouth twitched. ‘Maharajah’s an elephant, Jamie. And you took him to church! He ate Mrs Smalley’s hat. In front of the Lord Mayor!’
‘The silly thing had flowers on it, Ethel May. Maharajah thought it was his dinner. Anyway, it was an ugly hat. And I reckon Mayor Goadsby thought so too.’
Danny sniggered. He turned it into a cough when Mrs Jameson glared at him. They walked a few steps further then she stopped, twisted on her heel and jabbed a finger at her husband. ‘I don’t know what I’m to do with you, Jamie. You promised me. No tomfoolery. No tricks; not this time. Just good honest hard work, you said.’
‘And that’s exactly what I’m doing, me pet. Workin’ hard. Keepin’ the investors happy. And tryin’ to get that puffed-up vicar off our backs.’
Mrs Jameson opened her mouth but no sound came out. Turning, she stalked off down the avenue at even greater speed. Danny and the others followed far more slowly.
They caught up with her a short distance from home. An open carriage was pulling to a standstill in the courtyard at the front of Belle Vue House. Mr Saddleworth climbed out then helped Hetty and Miss Carkettle down from their seats.
‘Oh! They’ve arrived.’ Mrs Jameson patted the coil of hair at the back of her neck, then fixed the tilt of her bonnet. ‘And we would have been home to welcome them if we hadn’t had to apologize to half the parish. This is your fault, Jamie.’
Mr Jameson looked at the carriage and scowled. ‘Why did you invite them anyway, Ethel May? We’re busy enough without havin’ to entertain callers.’
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br /> ‘You know why. The Saddleworths are our friends and this is Miss Carkettle’s first visit to Belle Vue. It’s important to make a good impression – especially after the disaster this morning.’ Mrs Jameson’s face tightened. ‘So, you behave yourself, Jamie. No mention of any grand plans or ridiculous notions. And get Crimple to take Maharajah back to the elephant house! He’s caused enough trouble for today.’
She paused long enough to shake out her skirts then glided across the courtyard to greet the guests. ‘Welcome! We’re so pleased you were able to come. Do let’s go inside, and I’ll arrange for tea in the front parlour.’
Danny should have known the visit would not go well. All the signs were there. Right from the start, Mrs Jameson and Miss Carkettle settled at opposite ends of the parlour, stiff and straight-backed, like two carved wooden bookends.
‘I’m delighted to finally meet you, Miss Carkettle. I’m sorry that we didn’t manage to speak after the service this morning. I’m afraid we were a little . . . busy.’
‘Yes.’ Miss Carkettle’s mouth was pursed so tightly that her lips barely moved. ‘So I saw.’
The room fell into an awkward silence, and Danny almost wished he’d left with Mr Jameson and Mr Saddleworth while he’d had the chance. The two men had disappeared into the study – apparently to discuss the forthcoming trip to Paris, although Danny suspected it was simply an excuse to get away.
But Danny had stayed in the parlour. The entire aim of this visit was to get the chance to speak to Hetty alone. He just needed to find the right moment.
The tension eased a little when the maid came in, carrying a tray of the best china – a rose pattern with swirls of gold leaf on the handles. Mrs Jameson poured the tea before offering a cup to Aunt Augusta, and then taking one for herself. Neither one of them added sugar.
