by Jane Kerr
‘Danny? Aren’t you listening? I said come on!’
Hetty shook his arm. On her other side, Danny could see Tom, hair sweat-stuck to his forehead, one sleeve of his red jacket ripped from the seam. Behind them Maharajah swayed nervously.
Every face seemed to be turned in his direction, as if waiting for some signal that only he could give.
And suddenly, Danny felt the haze lift. Everything was clear again. ‘Everyone’s safe? You promise?’
Hetty nodded. ‘Yes. Everyone. There’s no one left on the island. Except us. We need to leave!’
‘Yes. I can go now.’
‘Then come on!’
Together they raced down the path towards the shore. Boots slipping on the rocks and stones. Maharajah stomping behind.
But when they circled round to the other side of the island, they were forced to stop. Just as Hetty had warned, the fire had reached the footbridge. Flames were licking through the new wood.
‘Now what are we goin’ to do?’ Tom’s question echoed the one screaming in Danny’s head. But Hetty simply lifted her chin.
‘We’ll have to go into the water, of course. We can’t risk staying here if there are more explosives.’
Danny’s stomach dipped. Bile rose up in his throat. He thought of all that he’d faced tonight – the chase through Belle Vue, the kidnapping, the gun threats, the escape from Dalton and his confrontation with Goadsby. But right at this moment, none of it seemed as terrifying as stepping out into the lake.
Hetty’s face softened. Gently, she put her hand on his shoulder. ‘We’ve no choice, Danny. Maharajah can carry us across. It’ll be fine, I promise. We’ll do it together.’
He almost laughed. Her words were a near echo of the ones he’d used to coax Maharajah away from the fire. And he knew that if Maharajah had been able to face his fears, then so could he.
He sucked in a breath. ‘Yes. Let’s go.’
Without giving himself time to change his mind, Danny whistled. Maharajah sank to the ground. Quickly, he slid one leg across his back, and slipped into the dip behind his ears. Hetty swung up next to him, linking her arms around him as she had done many times before.
‘Tom?’
Danny leant down and stretched out a palm. They stared at one another for a long moment then Tom reached up and grasped the offered hand. He settled into the curve behind Hetty, and almost immediately, Maharajah rose to his feet. Lifting his head, Maharajah sounded out one long trumpet call, and strode into the water.
The lake was deeper than it looked, and it was certainly far colder. And within a few steps, it was swirling around Maharajah’s knees.
‘Further out, Danny!’ Hetty shouted in his ear. ‘We have to get right out into the lake, away from the island!’
Danny nodded, trying to look calm but inside, his heart beat frantically in his chest. Obediently, Maharajah waded even further, and the water rose even higher. Thick, bitter smoke filled the night sky but there was enough light from the fire to see.
‘You can stop now! I think we’re safe.’
Lined up along Maharajah’s back, the three of them turned to watch. Flames were licking across the island. Now nothing remained of the Spanish village or the footbridge or the thicket of trees. But suddenly, quite unexpectedly, Queen Victoria’s face appeared, lit up against the darkness. The bright outline lasted barely a moment. And then with a giant crack, Her Majesty tilted forward and fell into the fire.
‘I don’t think that’s how Mr Jameson imagined it,’ Hetty said. And for the first time that night, Danny smiled.
But almost immediately, an explosion ripped through the night, blasting rocks and stones and branches into the air. They rained down on to the lake, falling like cannonballs around them. The flames had reached the remaining gunpowder.
With a wild, terrified roar, Maharajah lifted up out of the water. And for a moment, all Danny could hear were the frightened noises of every animal in the park. Bellows and growls and screeches. And then Maharajah plunged back down again – and Danny heard nothing at all. His grip on the harness slipped away, and he fell into the lake.
The water closed over his head. He twisted, pitched, floated for an instant. Then flipped again. Panic spread through his body with the speed of spilt ink. He’d been here before, but this time he might not be so lucky.
Suddenly, an arm hooked around his chest and he was lifted upwards, his face breaking the surface of the lake on a loud gasp.
‘Stop struggling. And hold still.’ Danny barely heard the words, but the tone made sense. He forced himself to stop fighting, to let his body drift loosely in the water. He didn’t have the energy to do much else.
‘That’s better,’ the voice said. And they were the last words Danny remembered before the blackness took over.
Danny lay on the grass. Clouds of smoke blocked out the moon and stars so the sky was little more than a black blanket above him. The fire was still burning on the island.
But he was alive.
He was alive!
For a moment, Danny let the euphoria overwhelm him. And then he lifted his head. Where was he? It was somewhere quiet, maybe on the shore near the disused track. But Hetty and Tom weren’t with him, and neither was Maharajah.
Suddenly, on the other side of the lake, a trumpet call echoed through the dark, and then another. And he knew with complete certainty that Maharajah was safe. That they were all safe.
He looked across to where Charles Larkin was stretched out beside him, water dripping from his wet clothes. He must have pulled off his jacket and boots before diving into the water, because he was dressed in only his trousers and a cotton shirt. The gold cufflinks had disappeared, and his sleeves had been pushed up to his elbows. It was the first time Danny had seen Larkin look less than perfect.
A sudden overwhelming rush of gratitude rose up from somewhere deep inside. This man – his father – had saved him. He wanted to reach out to thank him. To pour out every heartfelt emotion rising to the surface.
Instinctively, Danny moved forwards. Then he stopped. Numb with disbelief.
At first, he thought he must be wrong. That the confusion of being underwater had left his mind muddled. But when he leant closer, he knew there was no mistake. No mistake at all.
Carved across Larkin’s left wrist – on the pale strip of skin uncovered by his wet shirtsleeves – were two letters.
FS.
The gashes were deep and ugly. And Danny knew they must have hurt like the devil. Because they were a perfect match for the letters branded on his own wrist. And that could only mean that they were made by the same person.
Frank Scatcherd. The King of Cowgate. Leader of the Leith Brotherhood.
Blood rushed away from Danny’s head. His stomach twisted and he only just stopped himself from retching.
‘It was a lie, wasn’t it? Everything was a lie.’
Slowly, Larkin turned to look at him. But he didn’t speak. Angry hurt pinched Danny’s chest. His skin felt like glass, so fragile that it might shatter with one touch.
‘You’re not my father. Are you?’
And then because Larkin didn’t answer, he shouted it again.
‘ARE YOU?’
Chapter Thirty-five
Danny wanted the answer, and yet at the same time he wished he could put his hands over his ears to block out the words. ‘Are you my father?’ he asked again.
Silently, Larkin lifted to sit upright. Staring out across the lake, he pushed his fingers through his wet hair. The curls slicked back from his forehead.
‘No,’ he said. ‘No, I’m not.’
Pain spiked through Danny, forcing all the giddiness away. With the greatest of effort, he stopped himself from crying out. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around his body. Every muscle shivered but whether it was from damp or shock, he didn’t know.
The silence lengthened, and then Larkin said. ‘How did you know?’
‘Your wrist.’
Larkin’s eyes flicked down and, almost absent-mindedly, he smoothed a thumb across the knot of scars. ‘How careless of me. It’s not a mistake I’d normally make. Good tailoring and long sleeves tend to hide a great deal.’ His accent was no longer so finely cut, something rough had crept around the edges, blunting each word. ‘But I suppose tonight I wasn’t entirely thinking of myself.’
‘Weren’t you?’ Danny hadn’t known he could sound so cold, and Larkin’s head pulled back sharply.
‘Don’t forget. I helped save your life tonight. You might have drowned.’
‘You lied to me. You’ve lied to me every single time we’ve met.’ Danny’s mind filtered back through the events of the last few days. There had been one particular episode that had never seemed to fit with Goadsby’s plan. ‘That first night,’ he said. ‘In the maze. Someone was shooting at me. You arranged that . . . didn’t you?’
‘Yes. Of course.’ Larkin shrugged.
‘Why?’
‘Anyone in my line of business knows you have to gain people’s trust. Once you have trust, you can make a person believe almost anything. You thought you were in danger and I helped you. It was as simple as that.’
Horrified, Danny sucked in a breath. He’d been a fool. A stupid, gullible fool who’d believed the lie because deep down, he’d wanted to believe it.
‘But perhaps after tonight, we’re even. A lie for a life.’
‘Do you think so?’ Danny snapped. Cold had seeped into his bones. His wet clothes clung to his skin, and light tremors were running up and down his body. But he didn’t move. He wanted to dig out the truth – here and now – however painful.
‘So how do you know him?’ Danny didn’t need to say Scatcherd’s name, Larkin knew exactly who he meant.
‘I grew up with him in Cowgate. We joined the Leith Brotherhood together. Being part of a gang was the only choice for boys like us. And I thought we were friends. Sadly, I was wrong.’
Larkin drew in a breath. ‘When he took over the Brotherhood, everything changed. He became . . .’ There was a slight pause. ‘. . . unnecessarily cruel. And I think he enjoyed the cruelty.’
His fingers moved over the scars again. ‘These were a souvenir when I disagreed with him. He wanted to make sure I knew who held all the power. Shortly afterwards, I left the Brotherhood – and made my own way. But we stayed in touch. It doesn’t pay to get on the wrong side of Frank Scatcherd.’
Danny swallowed hard. Anger and betrayal were struggling for the same space in his chest. ‘Did he send you . . . did he send you here?’
‘Yes. I suppose you might say that.’ Larkin’s mouth twisted. ‘About a month ago, I visited him in prison. More out of curiosity than anything else. I couldn’t believe he was finally behind bars. And he told me about you. Ordered me to come to Belle Vue. To find some means of drawing you away.’
Danny said nothing, but he was certain his heart pulsed faster.
‘There didn’t seem much point at the time. He offered me good money but he was hardly in a position to pay. Only once he escaped from Calton Jail, I got to thinking that I should come and see what had him so obsessed. Why he hates you so much.’
Danny flinched. The reasons behind Scatcherd’s hatred had never been a secret. Thanks to Danny, the King of Cowgate had lost everything. His money. His power. Even his freedom.
Larkin turned to stare across the lake. ‘At first, the plan was to gain your confidence, lure you away then hand you over to Scatcherd . . . for a price. But later, I thought maybe the Jamesons were a better bet. I saw the way they are with you. I reckon they’d have given me the keys to Belle Vue to get you back.’
Danny couldn’t help an involuntary start. He only wished that it were true.
‘But now I’m wondering whether we wouldn’t make a good team – you and me. You’re quick. You’re clever. You’re loyal. And you’ve not let anything beat you. And if I did have a son, I’d want him to be exactly like you.’
Larkin slid him a sideways glance. ‘Look, Danny. I’m not a cruel man – not like Scatcherd. I simply make the most of every opportunity. Just like you. Why do you think you ended up here, at Belle Vue? You saw a chance and you grabbed it.’
He plucked a stone from the shore and threw it across the water. Danny watched it bounce then disappear into the darkness. ‘So, the offer’s still there. Come with me. We could travel. Explore the world. Just like I said.’
‘You mean con people.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘If you want to call it that.’ Larkin’s mouth lifted into a half-smile. ‘So how about it? I’ve a feeling we’d work well together.’
‘NO!’
Danny turned. Mr Jameson was running across the shore towards them.
‘He’s not going anywhere. He’s stayin’ right here.’
‘Jameson.’ Almost casually, Larkin climbed to his feet. ‘Don’t you think the boy should decide for himself?’
Mr Jameson staggered to a stop, only a short distance away. For a moment he looked unsure. ‘Well, Danny? Are you stayin’ here? Or goin’ with him?’
Danny looked between them, even though there was no choice to make. Belle Vue was home, and always would be. He should never have considered leaving.
‘I’m staying,’ he said.
Mr Jameson took off his jacket and knelt to wrap it around Danny’s shoulders. ‘Come along then. Let’s go home.’
Chapter Thirty-six
At Belle Vue House, Danny was bundled into bed, wrapped in blankets and propped up with pillows. Someone had brought an old rocking chair into the room. And whenever Danny opened his eyes Mrs Jameson was sitting at his bedside, using one foot to tilt backwards and forwards. She didn’t say a great deal but a soft hum filled the air as she sorted through a bundle of sewing. And more often than not, the sound lulled Danny back to sleep. He was exhausted.
The next time he woke up, he thought it was probably morning, although it might not have been. Hetty had burst into the room, bringing with her a wave of sunshine and energy. Tom Dalton followed a few steps behind, but he stayed near the door as though unsure of his welcome.
Hastily, Danny pushed himself upright and slumped back against the pillows. He tried to smile, even though it was difficult.
‘You look well,’ Hetty said, plumping herself down on the bed. It was a lie. Every part of Danny’s body felt battered and bruised, but he didn’t argue.
‘The whole of Belle Vue is talking about you. People think you’re a hero.’ Hetty grinned. ‘Even Aunt Augusta is impressed. “That boy has the courage of a Carkettle!”’ Her impression sounded so much like Miss Carkettle that Danny smiled again, and this time it was easier.
Hetty chattered away, updating him on all the news. He managed to make sense of most of it. The fire had destroyed part of the island, but not all. And it would certainly have been a lot worse had they not managed to clear so much of the gunpowder. And, apart from one twisted ankle, everyone had escaped safely.
Later, when Maharajah had plunged beneath the water, both Hetty and Tom had lost their grip on the harness. But thankfully they’d been near enough to swim to shore without too much trouble.
And as for those behind the plot – Mr Goadsby and George Dalton were in the hands of the Manchester City Police. But while Dalton had confessed to everything, Goadsby had so far stayed silent, and it had been Mr Jameson who’d had to fill in the gaps. He’d even managed to persuade the Manchester Corporation to lift the order about Sunday closing.
Finally, Hetty seemed to run out of news. ‘. . . I think that’s about all. Oh, I nearly forgot. Tom has something to say to you.’ She looked over her shoulder and motioned furiously. ‘Isn’t that right?’
With obvious reluctance, Tom moved nearer to the bed and stared at a point somewhere over Danny’s left shoulder.
‘So I reckon I was wrong . . . about you. And . . .’ He swallowed visibly. ‘And I’m sorry.’
The apology had obviously been difficult to make, b
ut there was still a part of Danny that wanted nothing more than to throw it back in his face.
And then he remembered how Tom had run up the hill alongside him. And how they’d worked together to move the gunpowder barrels away from the fire. And how he’d stayed on the island, even when he could have escaped.
So when their eyes locked, Danny leant back against the pillows and nodded an acknowledgement. He wasn’t sure they’d ever be friends, but in Tom’s place maybe he would have done the same.
‘I’m going back home to Bolton to stay with my mam and dad, for a bit. Just until everythin’s died down. But Mr Jameson reckons there’ll be work here for me one day.’
‘And you mustn’t worry about Maharajah either.’ Hetty said quickly. ‘Everyone’s been looking after him. And Mr Jameson was so grateful that he gave him the biggest pile of apples you ever saw. He was so grateful.’ She smiled. ‘So you see, Danny. Everything’s fine. You just need to rest and get better.’
Hetty would probably have continued talking but Mrs Jameson put down her sewing and ushered them both out.
And then at last, Mr Jameson came to see him. The visit that Danny had both hoped for and been dreading.
‘Danny. How you feelin’?’
He paced across the room to the window, lifted the lace curtain to stare outside and then dropped it again when it seemed that the view hadn’t changed.
‘Fine,’ Danny said.
‘Good. Good.’ Mr Jameson swivelled on his heels, then tucked his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets. There was a long silence.
Danny plucked at the bed sheets nervously. To his shame, he felt his eyes prickle, and he had to blink hard to make them stop. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I let you down.’
‘No! No, you didn’t.’ Mr Jameson looked panicked. ‘Don’t ever say that!’
‘But all the money you lost on the show . . . and I couldn’t even stop the explosion. If I’d got there quicker, I might have . . . I could have . . .’ Embarrassed, Danny swiped the back of his hand across his face.
‘No! You saved people. That’s what’s important. And if anyone’s made a mess of this, it’s been me.’ In a few hasty steps, Mr Jameson reached the side of the bed. He stood hovering for a moment, then almost hesitantly sat down. ‘Listen, Danny. I need to explain somethin’ to you. And I want you to listen carefully because some of it might not make a great deal of sense.’
