Great Animal Escapade

by Jane Kerr

  Mr Jameson released a breath. ‘Thank the good Lord!’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘There’s a length of wood leaning against the door. Maybe a handle from a broom. Or a spade. I’m not sure. But that’s what’s blocking the way.’

  Mr Saddleworth looked thoughtful. He opened his medicine bag and began sorting through the bottles of potions and tonics, lifting up each one to examine the label.

  ‘We need a distraction. Something that’ll draw Victoria’s attention away from the boy. Meat would be best . . . and I’ve laudanum somewhere. A drop or two in the food will send her to sleep. It won’t be quick but once she’s unconscious, we’ve a chance of getting them both out safely.’

  Mr Jameson waved his cigar at Danny. ‘Go and ask Smarsden for some meat, lad. Tell him we need something tasty enough to tempt a lioness.’ He breathed out another cloud of smoke. ‘And tell him I’ll pay!’

  In the kitchen, Smarsden handed over a side of beef. Reluctantly. Even after Danny told him why it was needed. He seemed less worried about his pot boy, and far more concerned about being out of pocket.

  ‘Make no mistake – I’ll be addin’ this to your bill.’ He tied a piece of old newspaper around the meat before handing it over. ‘And if there’s anythin left, I want it back. Food’s not cheap.’

  It took Mr Saddleworth only a few seconds to drug the meat. The drops soaked into the beef quickly, and Danny wrapped the paper back round, before re-tying the string.

  ‘Drop it as near as you can to her. She should take the bait. And then all we can do is wait.’

  Danny squeezed through the coal hole in the same way he’d done before, with Mr Saddleworth holding on to his legs for support. Only this time, with the package clutched to his chest, it was a great deal more awkward. He managed by pushing his shoulders even tighter together and wriggling a little harder. Once his head and arms were inside, he let the meat drop to the floor.

  It landed just behind Victoria’s back paws but she didn’t even turn to look. Her eyes remained firmly fixed on the boy. A sleek, clever cat toying with a timid mouse, Danny thought.

  Suddenly, a soft sob bounced around the cellar. The boy had begun crying again but he was trying to do it quietly. And just as quickly a memory flickered into Danny’s head. A memory from a time when he’d been small and trapped and alone; a time when no one had come for him. Not even the Dilworths.

  Without giving himself a chance to change his mind, Danny twisted sharply. The sudden movement jerked his legs from Mr Saddleworth’s grip. Unfortunately, now there was nothing to support him but air. And Danny had only just enough time to tuck his head into his chest, before he fell forward. He landed on his back with a thud, and a cloud of coal dust puffed up from the floor.

  ‘What in the bloomin’ heck are you doing , lad? You come back here! You come back here right now!’

  Mr Jameson’s angry shout echoed around the cellar, but Danny scrambled to his feet and ignored it. Abruptly, Victoria turned. Her cold, clear gaze was very different from the warm welcome of Maharajah’s eyes. And in the dim light of the lantern, she looked to be made from faded gilt. Danny wondered if she recognized him. And whether if she did, it would make any difference at all.

  Moving carefully, he curled the toe of one boot under the beef and gave a firm kick. The parcel skidded across the floor and stopped, right next to Victoria’s front paws. Slowly, she bent her neck and sniffed. Then, with a speed that showed her hunger, she sank her teeth into the meat until the paper turned pink.

  ‘Run!’ Danny shouted. ‘RUN!’

  But the boy didn’t move. He stood frozen, more ice than flesh and blood. And in two quick steps Danny was at his side.

  ‘Come on!’ Blankly, the boy turned his head and blinked, his eyes red-rimmed from crying. Danny grabbed his sleeve and tugged. Hard. ‘You have to follow me. Now!’

  The boy blinked again but this time, he jerked into motion. They ran to the stairs. At the top, Danny pushed away the wooden pole, and yanked the door open. He dived through the gap and pulled the boy after him. Beneath them, Victoria let out a roar.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘What in the blue blazes did you think you were doin’, lad?’ Mr Jameson’s fury was painted across his face. Danny didn’t think there was an inch of his skin that wasn’t purple. ‘That was the most stupid . . . the most foolhardy . . . the most reckless thing, I’ve seen in my entire life. You could have broken your neck!’

  Danny bristled. They were standing outside the Frog and Bucket waiting for Mr Saddleworth to finish examining Victoria. A cart stood ready to take her back to Belle Vue. But despite the success of the rescue, it hadn’t taken long for Mr Jameson to start shouting.

  ‘Did you even know what you were doin’? Well, did you? Cos it sure didn’t look like it!’ He puffed frantically on his cigar. And Danny’s chest tightened. It seemed everything he did was wrong. Even though for weeks, he’d tried to be exactly what Mr Jameson wanted. Polite. Hard-working. Trustworthy. Now he wondered why he’d bothered trying. Because in the last few days, he’d heard nothing but criticism and disapproval. Maybe he would be better off trying to find Larkin at the Longsight Hotel. Maybe he’d be welcome there. Anything had to be better than this.

  ‘. . . and don’t you remember what I told you? You’re to keep safe. Not go about, puttin’ yourself in stupid—’

  ‘James!’ Mr Saddleworth had returned from examining Victoria. Now he moved to stand between them. ‘Remember that without Danny, everything could have turned out very differently. Victoria is fine – a little thin perhaps, but there’s no sign of any injury. And, more importantly, Smarsden’s boy is unharmed. His mother couldn’t have been more grateful. She thinks Danny’s a hero.’

  It was embarrassingly true. After emerging from the cellar, the boy had been reunited with his mother and there had been more tears, as well as a hug for Danny. Until at last, Mr Jameson had brought out his wallet, and passed out enough coins for all the tears to turn to smiles. Even Alf Smarsden had looked pleased.

  Mr Jameson puffed on the cigar again, although now it was little more than a stub between his fingers. ‘Yes. I suppose you’re right, William. I’ve just . . . well I’ve a lot on my mind.’ He paused to blow out a cloud of smoke. ‘You did well, Danny. Gettin’ them both out of there safely . . . although you might have warned us before you jumped. Scared the life out of me, I can tell you.’

  It wasn’t the enthusiastic thank you that Danny had wished for, but for the first time in days, Mr Jameson wasn’t shouting or scowling at him. And for that, he supposed he should be grateful. So once again, he pushed Larkin to the back of his mind. And let go of the idea of visiting the Longsight Hotel.

  Unfortunately, Mr Jameson’s good humour didn’t last for long.

  The shouts were the first warning of trouble. Danny heard them as soon as their carriage drew near the Hyde Road gate, less than an hour later.

  ‘Belle Vue must close!’

  ‘Shut the zoo now.’

  A cluster of people stood by the entrance, brandishing banners and indignation. It wasn’t a big group, but it was noisy, and right at the front was the Reverend Eustace Threlfall.

  The protest was already attracting attention. A night coachman had pulled his omnibus to a standstill on the opposite side of the road – and his passengers were leaning out of the windows to gawk. The shouts only got louder.

  ‘Manchester’s menagerie must go!’

  ‘Say no to Belle Vue!’

  With a muttered curse, Mr Jameson stopped the carriage and marched across the street. Danny would have liked to follow but Mr Saddleworth held him back. ‘No, Danny. Let him handle this.’

  So instead, they sat and watched as Mr Jameson stalked towards the protesters. The vicar stepped forward and raised a hand. Abruptly, the angry chanting stopped. The tension thickened.

  ‘Reverend. What’s goin’ on here?’

  ‘I would think it’s obvious, Jameson. We’re prote
sting because you’ve refused to listen.’

  ‘I’m always happy to listen, but my answer will stay the same. I’m not closin’ the park on Sundays. Not for you. And not for anyone.’

  Reverend Threlfall curled his hands around the sides of his jacket. His smile was small and thin. ‘I’m afraid that’s no longer what we want. Last week, you assured me that Belle Vue was safe. And yet, just a few days later, another animal managed to escape. It’s become quite obvious that your menagerie is dangerous. That your staff are careless. And that you have no control.’

  ‘How dare you!’ Mr Jameson’s chest rose.

  But the vicar barely paused for breath. ‘I dare because for the last few days, a lioness has been on the loose, endangering the public and terrifying an entire city. The newspapers are right to question whether you’re a fit person to run a menagerie.’

  Mr Jameson took a breath and managed a smile even though his jaw was tight. ‘There’s really no need to fuss, Vicar. We’ve found Victoria, and she’s on her way back to Belle Vue as we speak. So, you see, no one got hurt.’ He raised his voice in the direction of the other protesters. ‘Now, you can all pack up and go home!’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s not that simple, Jameson. I’d already heard the animal had been found and recaptured . . . but only after she trapped a young boy in a cellar, terrified him half to death and very nearly savaged him.’

  Mr Jameson glowered. ‘Rumours and exaggeration! Nothin’ more.’

  ‘I think not! The Frog and Bucket public house is in my parish, and I had the whole story from two of its best customers. Petrified, they were.’ The vicar rocked back on his heels, and now his smile was neither small nor thin. ‘This seems a good time to tell you. I’ve spoken to the Manchester Corporation and the councillors are meeting tomorrow to discuss closing you down. Not just on Sundays, but . . .’ He paused to draw out the word. ‘. . . permanently.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  The official council letter arrived by messenger at breakfast the next morning. It was short. And to the point.

  To Mr James Jameson. You are requested to attend an emergency meeting of the Manchester Corporation this afternoon at two o’clock in the town hall. Members are to consider an application to close the establishment known as the Belle Vue Zoological Gardens. You must confirm your attendance at the earliest opportunity.

  Mr Jameson gripped the letter with both hands and tore it in half. And then in half again. And again. Danny watched the pieces flutter to the floor. ‘That’s what they can do with their bleedin’ summons. Orderin’ me around – for all the world like I was a puppet in a side show. Well they can think again!’

  ‘Jamie! What do you think you’re doing?’ Mrs Jameson scooped up the ripped fragments and tried to knit them back together, but Danny could tell it was a hopeless task. ‘We can’t afford to make enemies of these people. They could shut us down!’

  ‘No one would dare!’

  ‘Yes, they would! The newspapers have stirred up a great deal of fear. And Reverend Threlfall’s protest hasn’t helped. But as well as all that, we’ve the bank watching for any sign of trouble.’ She sighed. ‘Listen to me, Jamie. You have to go. Who’s going to fight for Belle Vue unless you do? There’s no one else.’

  ‘But they’re fools, Ethel May. The lot of them, especially that pompous windbag who thinks the world should stop on Sundays. Don’t they understand what we bring to this city? How many jobs? Without us there’d be whole families out of work. Entire streets.’

  ‘You’re right, Jamie. Of course, you are.’ Mrs Jameson smoothed a hand down her husband’s arm, much like the way Danny would gentle Maharajah. ‘But if you don’t go to this meeting, who’s going to tell them that?’

  ‘They should know already! Belle Vue is the most famous pleasure park in the country! It’ll last a lot longer than any one of them. And I’ll be happy to tell them that – right to their faces.’

  ‘So you will go to the meeting then?’

  Mr Jameson’s face softened. ‘Yes, me dove.’ He kissed his wife’s forehead. ‘Because you’re right, as always. I’ll go. In fact, we’ll all go. You, me and Danny. And if it’s a fight they want, then they’ll get one.’

  Manchester Town Hall was a solid, serious building propped up by four grey pillars. It was exactly the sort of place where Danny imagined solid, serious decisions were made.

  The thought jabbed at his conscience. He needed to tell the Jamesons about Charles Larkin. He’d waited too long already. But it wasn’t until they stood in the large marbled foyer of the entrance hall that he found the courage.

  ‘There’s something . . . something I need to tell you.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I met—’

  ‘Not now, Danny.’ Mr Jameson squeezed a finger under his shirt collar as if to loosen it. ‘Unless it’s more important than what’s about to happen inside these four walls, then now’s not the time. Tell me later.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Didn’t you hear, Danny? He said later!’ Frowning, Mrs Jameson leant forward and tugged Danny’s tie straight. Then she did the same for her husband, even though she’d already done it twice before. ‘There, that’s better. Now, do pay attention. The clerk’s calling us. And remember your manners. Both of you!’

  The clerk ushered them along a corridor before opening a door at the far end. The committee room was wood-panelled with a high ceiling and ugly curtains. It smelt of old books and furniture wax.

  A long rectangular table took up most of the floor. Seated on one side was Reverend Threlfall, looking far more comfortable than Danny would have liked. Opposite him sat three men, but only the figure in the middle stood out. Sharp-featured with deep-set eyes, he looked younger than the others. More intelligent. Less patient.

  It was Harold Goadsby, the Lord Mayor of Manchester. The man who’d seen Maharajah come to church; who’d watched him eat Mrs Smalley’s hat and heard the screams of the congregation.

  Danny’s heart stuttered. Under his breath, Mr Jameson muttered a curse. Wordlessly, Mrs Jameson clutched at his hand and then let go. They slipped into the empty seats next to the vicar.

  Naturally, the Lord Mayor was the first to speak. ‘For those of you who don’t know, I’m Harold Goadsby and I’ve the honour of being chairman of this committee.’ He tapped his fingers against the table. ‘And now that we’re all finally here, perhaps we can begin. Reverend Threlfall, please explain your reasons for bringing this application.’

  Immediately, the vicar sprang up, chest puffed out and feet braced apart, in much the same way as Danny had seen him deliver a sermon from the pulpit.

  ‘It’s quite simple, sir. The management of the Belle Vue Zoological Gardens is blundering and incompetent – and has been for some time.’ He curled his hands around both jacket lapels. ‘I’m here to demand that the park be shut down.’

  Danny flicked his eyes towards Mr Goadsby. He was relieved to see the Lord Mayor appeared unimpressed. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to give us more detail than that, Reverend. We cannot close an entire business on your opinion alone.’

  ‘Of course, sir, I quite understand. Which is why I organized a petition.’ The vicar pulled a sheaf of papers from his jacket and pushed it across the table. ‘Take a look. You’ll find it’s signed by several hundred of my parishioners . . . all of them demanding the park close down.’

  Beside Danny, Mr Jameson flinched in his chair but before he could jump to his feet, his wife clamped a hand on his arm. Her warning glare was enough to keep Mr Jameson sitting. But his shredded patience only seemed to worsen with each word out of the vicar’s mouth.

  ‘As for more detail, I can give you several reasons to close Belle Vue. You’ve already seen for yourself how unreasonable Jameson can be. Bringing an elephant to church! But it gets worse. In the last week alone, two animals have escaped. The first was a rare emu – the last of its kind, I believe. While the second was a dangerous lioness found in the cellar of a public house, terrifying a young boy. If I ma
y, I’ll begin with the first incident . . .’

  It seemed to take a long time for Reverend Threlfall to recount every detail of Emerald’s escape, and even longer to tell the story of Victoria. Danny wasn’t even sure whether half the facts were true.

  But when he finally finished his evidence, the vicar sat down with an air of triumph. And then, it was Mr Jameson’s turn.

  ‘What do you say to these accusations, sir?’

  ‘Poppycock!’ Mr Jameson jumped to his feet with the speed of a cork coming out of a bottle. ‘That’s what I say. I’ve never heard such utter nonsense as has just been uttered in this room.’

  Mr Goadsby’s brows lowered. ‘That sort of attitude is not going to win you any friends, Mr Jameson. Please keep your answer to facts. Otherwise I shall have to ask you to leave.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll give you some facts. I employ more than two hundred people at Belle Vue, each of them earnin’ around one pound a week. And in the high season, I take on many more workers than that. I’ve everyone from blacksmiths to beer brewers on my staff. There’s an ice house, a firework factory and plenty of other businesses besides.’

  Lifting his chin, he stuck his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets. ‘And then there’s my menagerie. Belle Vue has the finest zoological collection in the whole of the country. In the whole of the empire! In fact, the Queen herself is a great admirer of my animals.’

  Once again, Mr Goadsby drummed his fingers on the table. The noise echoed around the room. ‘That may be true. But what have you done to ensure your menagerie is secure? And that people are safe? You’ve some powerful animals in your care, animals that are not always easy to control.’

  Danny winced. It was clearly a reference to what had happened outside St Mark’s Church. But Mr Jameson seemed undeterred.