Great Animal Escapade

by Jane Kerr

  Danny saw him smile at the memory and, without warning, a picture flashed into his head. A woman – young and pretty with kind, dark eyes, and skin the same colour as his own. He recognized her from his dreams. She’d sing to him – and always the same sad tune. He wished he knew who she was, and if the image in Larkin’s head was the same.

  ‘I wanted to marry her, but my family didn’t approve. They didn’t think an Indian housemaid was a suitable match for their son. So, we married in secret. I thought eventually I’d be able to persuade my parents. But when I told them, they were furious and we argued.’ Larkin tugged again at his shirt cuffs. ‘And then later, I argued with her. That night she disappeared and I never saw her again.’

  A waitress came to clear the table, stacking the plates and dishes with careful precision before picking up the empty teapot. Danny wanted to shout at her to go away. Instead, he waited while Larkin thanked her politely.

  ‘And then?’ he asked, when she had gone. ‘ What happened then?’

  ‘And then things changed. Both my parents died, and there was nothing to stop us from being together. I started searching. Following her trail to Edinburgh. And to Cowgate. That’s where I met the Dilworths.’

  Danny jolted, surprised. Larkin was watching him intently. ‘You remember them? They lived in the same building as your mother. From what they told me, they helped her after you were born.’

  That was not how Danny remembered it. Mr and Mrs Dilworth may have looked after him, but only because he was small enough to be useful. It had been the Dilworths who’d forced him to crawl through coal holes to steal from people’s homes. But later, when he’d grown bigger, they’d replaced him with a younger, smaller boy. And he’d learnt to pickpocket to survive.

  Danny set his face and nodded. Larkin must have taken it as a signal to carry on, except now he didn’t sound so calm.

  ‘And then, they told . . . they told me she’d died. And nothing mattered any more. I couldn’t believe I wouldn’t have known.’ His voice faded and he cleared his throat. ‘But after that I found out about you. My son. It changed everything. And I’ve been looking for you ever since.’

  Larkin lifted his arms, waving them in much the same way that a magician would perform a conjuring trick. ‘So here you are. Here we are.’

  Danny said nothing. The thought came to him that this was exactly like a magic show. And that he was sitting here, trying desperately to work out how the trick had been achieved – and not quite believing in the illusion.

  ‘So?’ Larkin let his arms drop back to his sides. ‘Don’t you have anything to ask me? Anything at all?’

  ‘My name?’ The question burst out, as much of a surprise to him as it was to Larkin. ‘What’s my real name?’

  ‘You mean you don’t know?’

  Danny shook his head. ‘Mr Jameson called me Daniel. He said it was his grandfather’s name. Before that . . .’ To his embarrassment, his voice cracked a little. ‘Before that no one called me anything.’

  It wasn’t quite true – but all the other names had been crude and ugly. Strangely, it had been Frank Scatcherd who’d called him ‘Boy’. And while Danny had lived in Edinburgh, it had been the only name he would answer to.

  ‘Good Lord, I didn’t realize. I didn’t think . . .’ Larkin studied Danny’s face. ‘Your mother called you Edward. And her name . . . her name was Anaya.’

  Anaya. The sound was delicate and beautiful, as soft as rain on a petal. Danny repeated it in his head, over and over again.

  Anaya.

  Anaya.

  Anaya.

  And then he tried his own name. Edward. But it didn’t seem to work as well. Maybe because he didn’t feel like Edward. He felt like Danny.

  He pushed back from the table and stared at Larkin. Was any of this story true? And if it wasn’t, why would Larkin go to such lengths to lie? Why would anyone want to pretend to be his father? It made no sense.

  ‘Look. I wish we hadn’t argued. I wish I’d gone after her straight away. I was wrong. And I will regret that to my dying day. You must believe me.’

  Danny’s gaze flickered to the roses in the middle of the table. The yellow petals looked even brighter against the whiteness of the tablecloth. Reaching across, he snatched them from the vase.

  ‘What are you doing ?’

  He stood. ‘I have to apologize to someone.’

  ‘I see.’ Larkin said, even though he couldn’t possibly understand. ‘It must be important?’

  ‘Yes. It is.’

  ‘And will I see you again?’

  Danny stayed silent for a moment and then he nodded. ‘Yes. I’d like to.’

  Larkin smiled. ‘Then we will.’

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The maid answered the door to the Saddleworths’ house but only after Danny had knocked so loudly that the hinges rattled.

  ‘I’m here to see Hetty.’

  She scowled, obviously annoyed at his abruptness. ‘I’ll go and ask. You stay here. And don’t you dare move.’

  Danny waited impatiently on the doorstep. The yellow roses were already wilting in his hand. He shoved them behind his back as brisk footsteps sounded down the hallway.

  ‘Come on. I’m to take you to the parlour.’ But when Danny followed the maid into the room, there was no sign of Hetty. Instead, Miss Carkettle sat, ramrod-straight, on the edge of the plump sofa.

  His throat dried. ‘Where’s Hetty?’

  ‘Henrietta is in her room, reflecting on last night’s behaviour. I expect that she will be there for some time.’

  ‘Can I talk to her?’ A yellow petal floated from the flowers and on to the hearthrug. Danny tightened his hold around the stems. ‘Please?’

  For a moment, Miss Carkettle stared at the fallen petal, and her expression seemed to soften. But just when Danny thought she might give in, her shoulders stiffened.

  ‘No!’ she said. ‘I’ve forbidden Henrietta from seeing you. She knew my wishes. I made it quite clear that I didn’t approve of this show, or of her taking part. But last night she crept out – dressed in little more than her undergarments from what I’ve seen – with every intention of joining the rehearsal. If it hadn’t been for Mr Crimple seeing her home, I might never have found out.’ A pause. ‘So no, you cannot see my great-niece. And at the moment, I cannot imagine a time when you will be able to do so.’

  She rose from her seat and nodded to the maid. ‘Please see the boy out. And this time, don’t allow him back in.’

  And when the cottage door slammed shut behind him, Danny was still clutching the flowers.

  As soon as he was able, Danny threw the roses into Belle Vue Lake and watched the water close around them. The surface rippled briefly then smoothed flat until it was impossible to tell that anything had been there at all.

  He knew this was his own fault. He should have held on to his temper. Not swung a fist at Tom Dalton or lashed out at Hetty. And he certainly shouldn’t have forced Maharajah to continue over the bridge.

  He walked a little further along the path and then wished he hadn’t. Guilt punched a hole in his chest. A team of carpenters were working on the broken footbridge, their hammers beating rhythmically against the new wood. One of the men looked up, shielding his eyes against the summer sun. ‘Oi, lad! You seen Mr Jameson?’

  Danny shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘Pity. We found this. Thought he should know.’ The man held up a piece of wood. It was wide enough to be one of the planks that had criss-crossed the footbridge. But Danny could see nothing about it that looked either important or remarkable.

  ‘See the top side, it’s splintered right across. But underneath, you just look . . .’ The carpenter twisted the plank so the other surface was visible. ‘The board’s not ripped, it’s been sawn, part way through.’ He shrugged. ‘Just seemed odd that’s all.’

  Danny froze. And in his head, suspicions shifted, stirred and struggled to life – prodded into consciousness like one of the menagerie’s
great Russian bears waking from sleep. He worked it through logically.

  Last night, everyone else had walked over to the island safely. But he, Hetty and Maharajah had been the last ones to cross the bridge. It had groaned under their weight. Then suddenly, halfway along, the wooden planks had snapped – and they’d all come crashing down.

  The accident had been no accident. Someone had made certain the boards would be weak enough to break.

  For a moment, Danny see-sawed between incredulity and rage. And then the balance tipped. He was tired of letting things happen. He was going to find out what was going on. Because there was only one man he could think of who wanted Belle Vue to fail. The Reverend Eustace Threlfall.

  There was no sign of Reverend Threlfall at the church, so Danny tried the vicarage. The house stood next door to St Mark’s, surrounded by a large garden overflowing with flowers. And standing in the middle of them was Constance Threlfall. It was the first time Danny had seen her without her brother.

  ‘Hello!’ He slipped through the gate and walked along the path. ‘Hello,’ he called again, keeping his voice soft.

  Tilting her head, Constance turned slowly. She was holding her arms at waist height, hands cupped together as though holding something infinitely precious.

  ‘Oh, it’s you.’ Her smile was as bright as the first time they’d met. ‘I’m glad it’s you. Look what I’ve found.’ She moved her fingers apart and Danny realized why she was being so careful. Trembling in the centre of her palm was a blue butterfly, fragile as a flower and just as beautiful. ‘Isn’t she marvellous?’

  Danny nodded, stepping closer. And he realized the butterfly was more lavender than blue, with veins of purple threading through each delicate wing. He had the sudden, strongest urge to trace a finger along each fine line. But just as the thought formed, the butterfly came to life. Spreading her wings, she lifted into the sky and rippled upwards. They both watched until she’d disappeared.

  Constance smiled. ‘She’s gone now.’

  ‘Yes. She has.’

  Together, they turned towards the house. Now that her hands were empty, Constance swung her arms like a child. There was a freedom to her movements that Danny had never seen in another adult. It made him want to do the same. Instead, he forced himself to remember the reason for his visit.

  ‘I was calling for your brother. Is he home?’

  ‘No. Eustace said he had some important business in Manchester.’

  ‘Oh.’ Danny wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or glad. Anger had driven him here, but he hadn’t really thought what he might do once he arrived. Had he been expecting to force a confession from the vicar? It seemed stupid now. ‘Your brother doesn’t like the menagerie, does he?’

  ‘No. Eustace says the animals are noisy. And dirty. And he hates them being so close to the church.’

  It was nothing that Danny didn’t know already, but the information hardened his suspicions. They’d reached the end of the lawn and ahead, winding up to the vicarage, was a sloping path lined with hollyhocks and catmint. The flowers’ sweet scent filled the air as they walked, and the warm sun pressed colour into Danny’s cheeks. He let out a sigh. Being with Constance was oddly peaceful.

  ‘And what do you think? Of the menagerie?’

  ‘Me? Oh, I love the animals.’ If Constance’s smile had been bright before, it was brilliant now. ‘Sometimes I go to Belle Vue just to sit and watch. The capuchin monkeys are my favourites, but the tigers are beautiful too.’ Abruptly, she spun round to face him. Distress had replaced the joy. ‘But you won’t tell Eustace, will you? I don’t think he would like it. I don’t think he would like it at all!’

  Surprised, Danny shook his head. ‘No. I won’t tell him.’

  His promise seemed to soothe Constance. Her shoulders relaxed and the normal serene expression returned. Even so, Danny was still wary about asking his next question.

  ‘Constance, do you think your brother would let the animals loose? Maybe even . . . even help them escape?’

  ‘Oh no. Eustace wouldn’t do that. He’s a good person. Not like—’ She stopped then bent to pluck one of the blush-pink hollyhocks, twisting the stem anxiously between her fingers.

  ‘Not like who?’ Danny fought to keep the urgency out of his voice but he wasn’t sure he quite succeeded. Constance’s eyes dropped to the flower in her hand. She didn’t look up. ‘Not like who, Constance?’

  ‘I meant that he’s good, not like other people.’

  Danny stepped nearer. ‘Is that really—?’

  ‘Constance!’ They both turned. Reverend Threlfall was striding towards them. As usual, his clothes fit close to the bone, but today a long black cape swirled from his shoulders. He looked less like an angel, Danny thought, and more like a medieval crusader from one of Hetty’s history books.

  ‘I see we have a visitor. To what do we owe this pleasure? Don’t tell me – Jameson has seen the light and decided to close Belle Vue?’

  Danny didn’t smile. ‘No, sir.’

  ‘No? Well, I imagine he’s been busy enough. I hear you and the elephant had an unfortunate accident on the bridge. I can’t say I’m surprised. This is exactly the sort of carelessness I’ve been warning against.’

  An uncomfortable prickle stung the back of Danny’s neck. ‘How did you know . . . about the bridge?’

  The vicar shrugged, and the edges of his cloak curled back to reveal the scarlet lining. ‘News spreads quickly around Gorton, especially about Belle Vue.’ His mouth twisted. ‘In fact, by now, I’m sure the story has reached the ears of the Lord Mayor. How unfortunate for you.’

  Danny drew a sharp breath. ‘The carpenters say the bridge was damaged. Someone sawed through the planks . . . before the rehearsal. Did you know?’ He could hear the sound of his voice rising. His chest was getting tighter. ‘Did you know about it . . . before last night?’

  The vicar’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m going to pretend, for your sake, that you didn’t just ask me that. Making such accusations can be dangerous.’ He hooked a hand around his sister’s arm and drew her away from the flowers. ‘Now I’m afraid you must excuse us. Constance and I have a quiet day planned. Please let yourself out.’

  And as brother and sister disappeared into the house, Danny was left standing by the garden gate, a swarm of questions buzzing in his head.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Mr Jameson was in his study, bent over a large pile of papers and bills on his desk. He was so absorbed, he didn’t hear the door open, so for several heartbeats, Danny was able to simply stand and watch.

  Only this morning , he’d studied Charles Larkin in almost the same way. And just like then, he didn’t know how to begin this conversation – even though there was so much to say.

  He wanted to pour out all his worries. The guilt he felt about Maharajah’s injury, his fear that someone was laying the blame for the disasters at his door, and his suspicions about Reverend Threlfall. But most of all, he wanted to pour out all his muddled feelings about the man who claimed to be his father.

  He cleared his throat, and Mr Jameson looked up. For a brief moment, Danny was certain his expression held only relief and gratitude. But he must have been wrong because the first words out of his mouth were furious.

  ‘What in the blue blazes were you thinkin’, lad? You’ve been gone all night. Ethel May’s been worried sick! And it’s only because I made sure Crimple kept an eye on you that we knew where you were.’

  Danny stiffened. At least one mystery was solved. Nelson Crimple had been turning up like a bad penny whenever he rounded a corner. It appeared that Mr Jameson had sent a spy.

  ‘And there’s no need to look at me like that. If Crimple’s been followin’ you it was only to make sure you were safe. And I’m not goin’ to apologize for it.’ Despite the words, Mr Jameson’s eyes flickered guiltily. ‘Anyhow, from what I hear, there’s every reason to be worried. I’m told you started a fight with Tom Dalton. And don’t try to deny it, because you�
�ve obviously been brawlin’. Just look at you!’

  Danny resisted the urge to touch the bruises on his face but he didn’t think Mr Jameson expected an answer so he said nothing.

  ‘And I haven’t even got started on the bridge collapsin’. Lord knows, Danny, I don’t expect much. All I asked is for you to keep your head down and look after Maharajah. You know he’s our biggest attraction. Now, thanks to your carelessness, he’s a laughin’ stock. An elephant with only one tusk.’

  Danny’s anger bubbled to a boil. ‘Didn’t . . . didn’t you say there’s no such thing as bad publicity?’ He could feel his throat closing up and he made himself slow down. ‘You said that as long as . . . as long as people are talking about us . . . it’s good . . . it’s good for Belle Vue.’

  Scowling, Mr Jameson pushed back his chair and got to his feet. ‘Don’t try to be clever with me, lad. One or two interestin’ stories might bring in the crowds but all we’ve had lately are disasters. Escaped animals trying to eat children. Protests and banners at the gate! The Manchester Corporation talkin’ about closin’ us down. The newspapers are rippin’ us apart. And what’s worse – the investors don’t like it. I’ve had Snade bendin’ my ear already.’

  He grabbed one of the papers from the desk and waved it at Danny. ‘And to cap it all, this came by messenger. A letter from Goadsby. He heard about the accident on the bridge and he’s comin’ to inspect the park. Of course, we won’t know when because it’s goin’ to be a surprise visit!’

  He crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into the fire. Danny watched the page blacken at the edges before sparking into flames.

  ‘Do you understand what you’ve done, lad? This could cost us everythin’. Everythin’.’

  Danny lifted his gaze from the fire. The tightness in his throat had worsened, and now he didn’t think he could have spoken, even to whisper. Curling his hands into fists, he spun on his heels and was out of the door before Mr Jameson could react.