Great Animal Escapade

by Jane Kerr

  ‘Danny! You come back here! Right this minute. Come back! DANNY!’

  But he was already down the path and out of the garden gate, Mr Jameson’s voice fading to an indistinct rumble in the distance.

  Outside the Longsight Hotel, Danny made sure to find a hiding place where he could see the front entrance. Once again, he’d slipped out of Belle Vue, directly against Mr Jameson’s orders. But he no longer cared. There were too many other things to worry about.

  Luckily, Danny didn’t have long to wait. Larkin emerged from the hotel less than an hour later. As usual, he was dressed as if meeting royalty – spotless and flawless from the collar of his frock coat to the tips of his leather gloves.

  Hastily, Danny pushed away from the shadow of the hotel wall. ‘Do you still want to talk?’ The question emerged more abruptly than he’d intended, and for a moment, Larkin looked startled to see him.

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course. I just didn’t expect you so soon.’ Carefully, he studied Danny’s face. ‘Naturally, I’d be delighted to talk. The question is – do you?’

  ‘I–I just want . . . I want to know more about you. About everything.’ Danny straightened his shoulders and Larkin smiled.

  ‘Well then, it’s a beautiful day, and I was about to go for a stroll. Why don’t you show me Belle Vue?’

  In silence, they followed the road to the Longsight gate where Larkin handed over the shilling entrance fee and took one of the small metal tokens that gave them access to every attraction in the park.

  They didn’t need to buy the halfpenny guide map from Mr Cogwell. Instead Danny led the way to the ape house where the capuchin monkeys were using their long tails to cartwheel around their enclosure. Swinging down from the rafters, one grabbed a child’s hat and another stole a lady’s handkerchief. Then they chased back up to their high perch to examine their treasures.

  For once, Danny couldn’t manage a smile at their antics. Nerves had begun tumbling in his stomach. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea; perhaps he should have talked to the Jamesons first. Or tried again to speak to Hetty.

  So he said nothing as they reached Belle Vue Lake; and still nothing when they passed the sea lions sunbathing on the rocks; and very little when they swerved to avoid a party of schoolchildren, squealing over their lemon-flavoured ices.

  Instead, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and tried to look confident, even though his throat was dry with uncertainty.

  At the lakeside, one of the pleasure boats was pulling out across the water, just in front of the footbridge. And Danny saw that the carpenters must have finished their repairs, because the pale new wood showed up against the old, battered boards.

  A little further ahead, a cluster of pebbles banded the shore. Abruptly, Mr Larkin stopped and scooped up a stone. He turned it in his hands, as if feeling the weight and shape.

  ‘Good enough,’ he said, before turning towards the lake. He flicked his wrist and the pebble skimmed across the water. It bounced. Once. Twice. Three times. And then just when Danny thought it had run out of energy, it did it again. And again.

  His eyes widened. ‘Can you teach me?’

  ‘Yes. Of course.’

  They searched the shore, looking for the perfect stone. It had to be wide and flat, Mr Larkin said. Smooth as an egg shell, and just as light.

  ‘Here’s one.’ He tossed it into Danny’s palm. ‘Hold it flat between your fingers. Like this.’ He reached and adjusted Danny’s grip. ‘Now flick your wrist. The quicker the better.’

  Carefully, Danny balanced the stone then threw it. The stone skimmed the water. Once, then twice. He looked up and caught Larkin’s eye. They exchanged a grin.

  ‘Good. But I reckon you can do even more. Try again.’

  They stayed for a while longer, flicking the stones across the water, but not talking overly much. The sun was beginning to dip in the sky as they walked back. And Danny was surprised to find the afternoon had run on without them.

  ‘I hoped you’d come back, I wasn’t sure you would. But I’m glad you did.’

  ‘So am I.’

  It hadn’t mattered that they’d not talked about anything important. There had been no more stories about Danny’s mother, or Larkin’s family, or any other subjects they might have discussed. Instead, they’d searched for stones, and skimmed pebbles across the lake and talked about very little. It had been exactly what Danny had needed, without him even knowing it.

  ‘Is that one of your friends?’

  Danny looked up. Hetty and her aunt were walking towards them, and Larkin was watching them with interest.

  ‘Yes. That’s Hetty . . . I mean Miss Henrietta Saddleworth. And her aunt, Miss Carkettle.’

  ‘I see.’ Larkin slid him a sharp glance. ‘And is Hetty the person you wanted to apologize to earlier?’

  ‘Yes. But I didn’t get to see her.’ He scuffed his boot on the ground. ‘Her aunt thinks I’m a bad influence.’

  Larkin grinned. ‘All the best people are. Just leave it to me.’

  Miss Carkettle had already started shepherding her niece in the opposite direction when Larkin swept into their path. His bow was low and graceful.

  ‘Miss Carkettle. Miss Henrietta. How delightful to meet you. Please forgive my presumption, but I’ve heard so much about you both it seems I know you already.’

  ‘I wish I could say the same, sir. But I’m afraid I can’t.’ Miss Carkettle arched an eyebrow. At her side, Hetty stared at Danny then scowled and looked away. She didn’t turn back.

  ‘That is certainly my loss, madam. I’m Charles Larkin. My late father was Sir Edward Larkin. You may have heard of him. A cousin to Lord Henry Larkin of the Cheshire Larkins?’

  Danny could see a slight flicker of interest in Miss Carkettle’s face. ‘Perhaps the name is vaguely familiar. Where did you say you came from?’

  ‘From Scotland, madam. My family live in Melrose Hall, just outside Stirling. But of course, we have a home in Edinburgh and another in London.’

  Miss Carkettle’s mouth pinched. ‘That’s a great number of houses, Mr Larkin. I suppose, given how widespread your family appears to be, it is just possible our paths may have crossed.’ She paused. ‘Although I certainly don’t remember it.’

  ‘Well, yes . . . My young friend here would like a few words with Miss Henrietta. However, I understand you have some concerns. I would never dream of going against your authority but if I give you my word as a gentleman . . .’

  Larkin let the request hang, perfectly poised, between them. It was like watching a fisherman baiting a hook, and Danny was almost sure Miss Carkettle would bite.

  He was wrong.

  ‘That is all very well, Mr Larkin. However, the boy not only encouraged my niece to defy me, but he helped her to do it. And I don’t believe such behaviour should be rewarded. Not unless we wish to become as headstrong as the Americans.’ She hooked a gloved hand around Hetty’s arm. ‘Come along, Henrietta. Let’s go home.’

  As they walked away, Danny willed Hetty to look back. To give him the smallest sign that he’d been forgiven. But she didn’t. Perhaps she was still as angry with him, as he was with himself. He stayed watching until they turned the bend.

  Larkin came to stand beside him. ‘I’m sorry. It was worth a try.’

  Danny shrugged as if he didn’t care, even though his heart felt as though it had been scooped from his chest. An arm circled his shoulder.

  ‘Look, in my experience, friends come and go. The only people you can really rely on are your flesh and blood. Wouldn’t you agree?’

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The final rehearsal began far less dramatically than the last. This time, there was no sudden plunge down towards the water. No dramatic rescue from the bridge. All the same, as Danny walked across to Firework Island, he felt a tug of trepidation.

  He was on foot, leading the way ahead of Maharajah. The rest of the cast followed behind, dressed in their brightly coloured show costumes. And although Danny knew th
e chances of Hetty being allowed to come were small, he looked for her anyway. And when he didn’t see her, his disappointment was just as fierce as if she’d promised to be there.

  Instead, as he guided Maharajah up the path to the top of the hill, it was Tom Dalton who trooped past. For several long moments, they stared at one another over the heads of the other soldiers. And Danny was near enough to see the large bruise covering Tom’s cheek. His chest filled with a mix of shame and satisfaction.

  And then he looked up, and saw the blunt stump of Maharajah’s left tusk, and guilt replaced everything else. Stretching tall, he traced his fingers along the sawn tusk and then around Maharajah’s gold eyes where the skin was as soft and delicate as paper.

  With all his heart, Danny wished there was some sign that he’d been forgiven. Because it didn’t matter who had caused the damage to the footbridge. Or sawed through the boards. Or stood back to watch the disaster unfold. Because this was his fault. Mr Saddleworth had asked him to look after Maharajah – and he’d failed.

  Suddenly, a rough grip curled around Danny’s neck and chest, and Maharajah was pulling him close. Close enough that the two of them might merge together. They stood there, swaying gently for the space of several heartbeats. And it seemed to Danny that, as always, Maharajah had known exactly what he needed. And when.

  ‘Listen! All of you! Gather round.’

  Danny raised his head. Mr Jameson stood on the brow of the hill, gesturing for everyone to move closer. Obediently, soldiers and villagers shuffled into a circle around him. But Danny held back, glad to have Maharajah as an excuse to stay on the fringes.

  ‘Now I need to run through what’s happenin’ tomorrow night. So, you all listen carefully – and make sure you remember.’ Mr Jameson’s gaze circled the group. ‘At the openin’ of the show the music will start. Softly at first, then louder and louder. We’ll have a few fireworks firin’ off. Lightin’ up the island from above. Whippin’ up excitement. The audience will be over there on the mainland.’

  Mr Jameson pointed across the lake to a wooden platform jutting out on to the water. It was where Snade and the other bankers had been standing when Maharajah had sprayed them with his trunk. Since then, rows of seats had been built in tiers to form a spectators’ gallery, and more chairs were being arranged on either side of the shore.

  ‘There’s twenty thousand tickets been sold at the last count. And more likely to be bought tomorrow. So, expect a lot of noise.’

  Danny’s throat dried. He remembered how nervous he’d first felt at the thought of all those people. How terrified he had been of making a mistake. He didn’t feel so very different now.

  ‘And then the fightin’ will start on the island. The British soldiers on this side, the French on the other. And caught between them, a Spanish village sittin’ right up on the hill.’

  Mr Jameson swept a hand towards the painted backdrops outlined against the horizon. The canvas scenery had been brought to the island a few days ago and fixed to large wooden frames. And Danny had to admit, that from a distance, it looked like rows of Spanish houses had been dropped into the centre of Belle Vue.

  ‘Then suddenly, Prince Dandip and Maharajah will appear at the top of the hill.’ Mr Jameson lifted his head and searched for Danny until their eyes met.

  ‘When the first explosion goes off, that’s your signal to move, Danny. The fuses are linked, so once one starts, the others will follow, one after another. All you have to do is hold Maharajah steady and walk him down towards the shore.’ A pause. ‘Can you manage that?’

  Danny pressed his lips together and nodded. He didn’t dare speak, because he was certain that whatever emerged from his mouth would be angry. He’d already been blamed for the bridge accident. Now it seemed Mr Jameson didn’t even trust him to ride Maharajah in a straight line.

  ‘Well, let’s hope so.’ Mr Jameson’s nod was curt. Turning back, he lifted his hands like the conductor of an orchestra. ‘There’ll be rockets, and lanterns and firecrackers lightin’ up the island.’ His fingers swirled through the air. ‘And the music will get even louder. Suddenly, Maharajah will sound out a trumpet call and everythin’ will fall silent. The soldiers will lay down their guns, and there’ll be dancin’ and singin’. And right at the end, Her Majesty’s face will be lit up against the sky in fireworks. Then everyone’ll line up along the water’s edge for the final bow.’ He lowered his arms to his sides. ‘Have you got that?’

  Like everyone else, Danny nodded. The story still sounded as ridiculous as the first time he’d heard it. But there was no denying that if all went to plan, the show was certain to be a success. It had everything. Battles, explosions, music and fireworks. Even a prince and his elephant.

  ‘Good!’ For the first time tonight, Mr Jameson looked pleased. ‘And let me assure you, there’s no need to worry about the pyrotechnics. There’ll be a few bangs and lots of smoke, but it’s all for show. Nothin’ that can do anyone any harm.’ He raised his voice so it rang across the island. ‘Isn’t that right, George?’

  ‘Aye.’ Down on the shore, George Dalton waved in acknowledgement, but he didn’t stop to say anything more. He was too busy supervising the horse and cart carrying the barrels of gunpowder and coils of fuses across the bridge. Strapped to the top, Danny could just see the outline of Queen Victoria’s face, her profile pinned out on to a large wooden board. The broken frame had obviously been rebuilt in time. But to Danny, it was yet another reminder of being accused of something he hadn’t done.

  Mr Jameson clapped his hands. ‘Excellent. So, you get to your places – and let’s run through it from the beginnin’. Make sure you all know exactly what you’re doin’.’

  The practice went surprisingly smoothly. The French and British soldiers fought with enthusiasm, and the Spanish peasants fled their village so loudly that their screaming must have been heard all across Belle Vue.

  And much to Danny’s relief, Maharajah didn’t waver from the path; or flinch at the sound of the small explosion; or stomp into the water. And when he sounded out a trumpet call, it thundered resoundingly around the lake.

  This time, the rehearsal for ‘Prince Dandip and the Fight for Flamenca’ had run like clockwork.

  It was past eight o’clock in the evening when Mr Jameson and Danny returned to Belle Vue House. Their journey home had been conducted mostly in silence, and Danny was glad when Mrs Jameson opened the door to greet them.

  ‘You’ve a visitor, Danny. A gentleman. I put him in the front parlour. He didn’t give his name, but he asked particularly for you.’

  She lifted her brows in a half-question but Danny didn’t answer. An unwelcome suspicion stirred in the back of his mind. He only hoped he was wrong.

  In the hallway, the parlour door was slightly ajar, and Danny peered through the gap cautiously. Just as he’d suspected, leaning against the fireplace was Charles Larkin. He’d propped his hat and walking stick against the arm of the sofa, and was staring into the fire. There was every indication that he’d been waiting for some time.

  Straightening his shoulders, Danny pushed open the door. Larkin turned. ‘At last! Thank goodness! I came to find out how you were. You seemed so upset this afternoon and I was worried.’

  ‘You can’t come here!’ The words burst from Danny’s mouth more forcefully than he’d intended. ‘You can’t . . . be here.’

  Anxiously, he flicked a glance over his shoulder but the parlour door had swung closed behind him. And he wondered how long it would take to encourage Larkin out of the house. And if he could do it without the Jamesons knowing.

  Larkin’s mouth flattened. ‘I wasn’t sure what else to do, or how I could get in touch with you. Coming here seemed to be the only option. But I’m sorry if it causes you a problem.’

  ‘I would have come to you. At the hotel.’

  ‘Yes. I’m sure you would . . . eventually.’ Larkin’s voice was wry. ‘Look, I know you still have doubts, but surely by now you must believe me. I’m telling
the truth. I am your father. I know it’s difficult but—’

  The crash of crockery hitting the floor interrupted him. Danny spun round. Mrs Jameson stood in the doorway, her face chalk-white and fragile. A tray of china cups lay at her feet, the teapot leaking steadily across the rug.

  A fraction of a moment later, Mr Jameson burst into the room behind her. ‘Ethel May! What is it? What’s the matter?’

  But his wife said nothing , and when he didn’t get an immediate reply, Mr Jameson turned to Danny. ‘What’s goin’ on, lad? Who’s this man? And what’s he doin’ here upsettin’ Ethel May? Cos if he’s causin’ trouble, I don’t care if he’s a king, he can get out now.’

  Danny swallowed. He looked around the room, at the different expressions on all three faces. And he knew a moment’s panic. He was trapped inside a barrel rolling downhill and gaining speed, being tossed from rock to rock, and back again. And the chances were very strong that at the bottom, the barrel would crack open and fall apart. ‘He’s . . . he’s . . .’

  But it was Larkin who stepped forward. ‘You must be Mr James Jameson. My name’s Charles Larkin.’ He stretched out a hand. ‘I’m Danny’s father.’

  Mr Jameson made an inarticulate noise and ignored the offered handshake. Instead, he slipped an arm around his wife and pulled her close. She curled into his chest.

  Larkin dropped his hand. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you both knew. I was sure Danny would have mentioned me by now.’

  ‘No.’ Unlike his wife, Mr Jameson’s face held no hint of how he felt. ‘No, he didn’t.’

  ‘Well then, I must apologize. If I’d known . . . well I certainly wouldn’t have broken the news like that. It was never my intention to cause any upset.’

  ‘You didn’t succeed then, did you? Cos this seems like a great deal of upset to me.’ Mr Jameson turned to Danny. ‘When were you goin’ to tell us, lad?’

  ‘I . . . I tried to.’ His tongue felt heavy, and once again his throat was closing up. ‘But it never seemed like a good time.’ Even to his own ears, the excuse sounded feeble.