Great Animal Escapade

by Jane Kerr

  Danny waited.

  ‘When I was young, I was just like you. I had nothing. No money. No family. But I was clever. And I had ideas. I started work here at Belle Vue. It was much smaller then, barely five acres. On my first day, I met the owner’s daughter – Ethel May. Fell for her like a sack of spuds, I did, but I never thought I was good enough for her. She had to practically twist my arm to get married.’

  Danny’s mouth curled up. He could just picture Mrs Jameson manoeuvring Mr Jameson into making a proposal, and then not allowing him a chance for any second thoughts.

  ‘Later, when her parents died, her brother wasn’t interested in runnin’ Belle Vue so I took over. At first, we didn’t do so well. But things got better. I built up the menagerie and the other entertainments. And people started comin’.’ He smiled. ‘And you know what happened when we bought Maharajah. He always did pull in the crowds.’

  Danny nodded. ‘Yes. I remember.’

  ‘I worked hard. Always thinkin’ of ways to make Belle Vue bigger and better. Tryin’ to attract more people. Madcap schemes and ridiculous gimmicks, Ethel May called them. But I kept on pushin’ because I never wanted to go back to that time when I didn’t have any money or a home of my own.’

  Abruptly, he got up again and paced around the room.

  ‘Security, that’s what I wanted. It’s what I want for Ethel May.’ He paused. ‘And it’s what I want for you too. That’s why I’ve been working so hard. Concentratin’ on the business. Gettin’ investors. Expandin’ all the attractions.’

  Danny stared down at the patchwork blanket stretched out across the bed. However hard he tried, he couldn’t force his head to look up.

  ‘But now I’ve come to realize somethin’. Just giving you a roof over your head – and pilin’ up money – isn’t enough. And workin’ hard, without honest talkin’ isn’t any good either. Because it near broke Ethel May’s heart when she thought you might leave us. And it near broke mine too.’

  Danny lifted his eyes. Mr Jameson was looking at him steadily.

  ‘So don’t ever think that we don’t want you here. Because we do. And that’s what I’m tryin’ to tell you.’ A pause. ‘Do you understand?’

  Slowly, Danny nodded.

  ‘So how about we make it official? First thing tomorrow, you, me and Ethel May will go down to the town hall and fill out every bit of paperwork that makes sure you’re our son in the eyes of the law. And after that, maybe you can start callin’ us Ma and Pa.’

  Danny let the thought settle, testing it for size. Larkin’s betrayal still hurt, and it was likely to do for some time. And there was every chance that he would never find out the names of his real parents. Or how he came to be abandoned. Or how he came to lose his voice.

  But at that moment, none of that seemed to matter. He felt a light feeling bubbling deep inside. It was more than happiness. It was the feeling of having the whole world at his fingertips, with all the endless possibilities that came with it.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’d like that.’

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Danny was allowed out of bed two days later – although he was forbidden to leave the house. Or do any work. Or talk too much. Or do anything else that might have been in the least bit interesting. And eventually, after an hour or two of Mrs Jameson’s fussing, Mr Jameson took pity on him.

  Their first call was to the elephant house – and Danny didn’t think he would ever forget the look in Maharajah’s gold eyes when he opened the door and whistled. In just a few steps, Maharajah was at his side, tugging until they were locked together. And Danny felt the familiar, happy rumble vibrate through every bone.

  Mr Jameson laughed. ‘He’s missed you.’

  ‘I’ve missed him,’ Danny said, and pressed his face into the hollow just below the broken tusk. And it seemed to him that Maharajah pressed right back.

  Later, after leaving Maharajah with a stick of sugar cane and some more apples, they hitched up the horse and cart and paid a visit to the Threlfalls. The vicar opened the door but if he was surprised to see them, he was careful not to show it.

  ‘Well . . . I suppose you’d best come in. Perhaps you’d care for a cup of tea?’

  Mr Jameson took off his hat and nodded. But Danny shook his head politely. Instead, he waited in the garden, watching the blue-winged butterflies dance from flower to flower. This time there were no raised voices from inside – and Danny didn’t try to eavesdrop.

  An hour or so later, when the two men emerged from the house, the vicar looked different. All of the hellfire and fury seemed to have been snuffed out; and there was a quietness to him that had not been there before. He shook Mr Jameson by the hand, and he and his sister stood in the doorway to say goodbye. Constance smiled her sweet smile and waved until they disappeared from sight.

  On the way home, Mr Jameson let Danny take the reins of the horse and cart, then he leant back against the box seat to puff on his cigar.

  ‘You can’t hold grudges for long, Danny. And it takes a big man to apologize. I reckon the reverend is less of a windbag than I first thought.’ He paused and something flickered in his eyes that might have been discomfort. ‘And . . . and I owe you an apology too. I never should have thought – even for just one minute – that you’d be careless with the animals.’

  Danny dipped his head to show he’d heard but inside his heart was singing.

  ‘Although who’d have ever thought it was Constance Threlfall lettin’ the animals loose?’ Mr Jameson released another cloud of smoke. ‘I can’t imagine what she was thinkin’. If you hadn’t been at the reptile house, Lord only knows what might have happened!’

  Abruptly, Danny felt a memory shake loose: a brown-and-gold snake, thick as a blacksmith’s arm, stretching its head high above the glass cabinet. And he remembered how the king cobra had fanned out its hood ready to attack; and how his heart had raced as he’d slammed down the lid; and how his hand had trembled as he turned the key.

  ‘Do you think Constance was right . . . do you think the animals should be allowed to go free?’ Danny blurted out the question before he could think to hold it back, and he wasn’t entirely surprised when Mr Jameson let out a laugh.

  ‘You’re askin’ that of a man who owns a menagerie! What d’you expect me to say, lad?’

  Danny didn’t answer. Instead, he let his hands loosen around the reins; the horses’ pace didn’t even slacken. They knew their way home.

  ‘Very well, for what it’s worth, I’ll tell you what I believe.’ Sighing, Mr Jameson leant forward and rested his elbows on his knees. ‘Humans and animals have to live in this world together, which means we have to treat each other fairly. So here, at Belle Vue, we try to care for our animals properly. Look after them. Keep them healthy and safe. It’s one of the reasons I hired William Saddleworth. The best animal doctor in the country, there’s no question. But not only that, he’s got ideas. Big, modern ideas.’

  Mr Jameson paused long enough to puff on his cigar again. ‘You take Emerald. She’s probably one of the last Tasmanian emus alive in the world. By bringin’ her to Belle Vue, we’ve saved her. And William’s been writin’ to other menageries – speakin’ to all sorts of people – tryin’ to find her a mate. And if he manages that, then there’s a hope of saving an entire breed. An entire species. Just think of it!’

  He slid Danny a sideways glance, and his eyes sparked. ‘Of course, if I can get a little publicity for Belle Vue while we’re doin’ it, then so much the better. I’ve still a business to run.’

  The corners of Danny’s mouth lifted but he said nothing. He’d asked the question because he didn’t know the right answer. And he suspected there wasn’t one.

  Some people would always believe that animals should be allowed to roam free, not locked inside cages or trapped behind fences and metal bars. While others would argue that menageries gave humans the chance to learn about the natural world. And to appreciate all the wonders of it. And that without such places, the ga
p in understanding would be too wide to ever bridge.

  It might very well be impossible to reconcile the two sides.

  ‘But no more fireworks? Or explosions?’ Danny said. ‘The animals don’t like it.’

  Mr Jameson’s lips thinned for a moment then at last he shook his head. ‘No. No more fireworks.’ He paused. ‘And if means that much to you – no more Prince Dandip either. Except maybe on special occasions. The rest of the time, you be yourself, lad. Daniel Jameson. Cos we don’t need anyone else.’

  By the time they reached Belle Vue House, Danny was exhausted. He slid down from the cart just as the front door opened. But it wasn’t Mrs Jameson who stood impatiently on the step. It was Hetty.

  ‘Papa’s home!’ she shouted, running down and grabbing Danny’s hand. ‘The auction was called off so he’s back early. Come and see!’

  In the parlour, Mr Saddleworth and Miss Carkettle sat on either side of the fireplace. He’d brought gifts from Paris for everyone. A silver locket for Hetty; some lace handkerchiefs for Mrs Jameson; a black shawl for Miss Carkettle; and a silk-lined cigar box for Mr Jameson.

  ‘And I might not have managed to bring back a zebra for Belle Vue but I did get this.’ Mr Saddleworth placed a small wooden carving in the centre of Danny’s palm. An elephant – trunk raised and ears fanned out as if in greeting. The resemblance to Maharajah was remarkable. ‘It’s for you, Danny.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ He held up the figure to the light and saw that each tiny tusk had been painted a pale, polished ivory. His chest tightened. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘Yes, the craftsmanship looks quite accomplished . . . even if it is French.’ Miss Carkettle’s tart voice rang from the corner. ‘And thank you for my shawl, William. It’ll be perfect for funerals.’ Her eyes scanned the room. ‘I must say this has certainly been an interesting visit. In fact, I doubt I shall ever forget it. However much I may try to.’

  There was a short silence then Mr Jameson cleared his throat. ‘Well, it’s been an honour to have you, ma’am. Of course, next time you come, there might be a few changes here and there.’

  ‘So I believe. In fact, I understand you’re seeking some financial assistance for Belle Vue. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes ma’am. And I can’t pretend it’s not provin’ difficult. Mr Snade and the other investors are runnin’ scared after what’s happened these last few days. They want their money back. But I’ve no doubt somethin’ will come up. It always does.’

  ‘I see.’ Miss Carkettle sniffed. ‘I assume your investors are businessmen, Mr Jameson. Perhaps, instead, you should talk to a businesswoman.’

  He stared at her, frowning. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t quite understand what you’re meanin’. Perhaps you might spell it out for me.’

  ‘Very well, if I have to.’ She sighed deeply. ‘When he died, my father left me his business. He was a manufacturer of soaps: Carkettle’s Skincare Creams, you may have heard of us. Of course, I’ve expanded the company since then. It’s now the biggest of its kind in the country.’ Her lips pursed. ‘So, what I’m suggesting, Mr Jameson, is that you should bring your request to me.’

  ‘You’d be willin’ to put money into Belle Vue?’ Mr Jameson looked staggered. He reached an arm along the sofa to where his wife sat next to him. Mrs Jameson took his hand.

  ‘But Miss Carkettle,’ she said, ‘I was under the impression you had no time for Belle Vue? I believe you told me it was an improper place to bring up children.’

  ‘Well, a great deal has happened since then,’ Miss Carkettle’s gaze flicked to Danny and back to the Jamesons again. She lifted her chin. ‘In particular, I owe your son a debt and I always honour my debts.’

  ‘That’s very generous of you, ma’am. Thank you.’ It was Mrs Jameson who spoke again, because her husband seemed to have been struck dumb.

  ‘However, I do have two conditions.’

  Danny only just stopped himself from smiling. How like Miss Carkettle to make sure there were rules.

  ‘I’ve been thinking for some time of creating a tribute to my father – the late Mr Humphrey Carkettle. Something that would bear his name. A legacy of sorts, I suppose. And he was a great lover of wildlife.’

  Mr Jameson had finally recovered. ‘You mean a bench?’ he said. ‘With a bronze plaque perhaps?’

  ‘No. Too small.’

  ‘A statue?’

  ‘Too ordinary.’

  ‘What about a giraffe . . . named Humphrey?’

  ‘Certainly not, Mr Jameson!’

  ‘An exhibition hall!’ The idea came into Danny’s head only a fraction of a moment before he opened his mouth. And in his excitement, he forgot to stumble or hesitate or slow down. ‘A learning place where everyone can find out about the animals. Especially the ones in danger – like Emerald. With pictures and stories and information. Just like a museum, only for living things. Here at Belle Vue.’

  Mr Jameson raised his eyebrows then lowered them again. His eyes sparked. ‘Yes. You might have something there, Danny. Let me think . . .’ He stared into the distance. ‘We could call it the “Humphrey Carkettle Centre for Animal Welfare Education and Conservation”.’ He used his hands to trace the words in the air. ‘The country’s first zoological school. What d’you think, William?’

  Mr Saddleworth grinned at Danny. ‘A brilliant idea.’

  ‘Yes. That’s certainly sounds like an interesting possibility.’ Miss Carkettle put her hand to her lips and Danny noticed her cheeks were a little pink. ‘If you can draw up some plans, I’d like to hear more.’

  Mr Jameson nodded. ‘I see no problem with that. And the other condition?’

  Miss Carkettle dropped her hand and lifted her chin. ‘The other condition is that Belle Vue does not open before one o’clock on a Sunday. No one should have an excuse not to go to church. And you should be spending time with your family.’

  Mr Jameson scowled, and then he looked at his wife and then at Danny, and his face relaxed. ‘Fine. Let’s agree to Sunday openings from midday, Miss Carkettle. And you have yourself a deal.’

  ‘Very well, Mr Jameson. Midday.’ Hetty’s aunt inclined her head, with a speed that suggested she’d anticipated this all along. ‘But I expect to see you inside church the next time I visit. Not outside.’ She extended a gloved hand, and Mr Jameson took it and smiled. And so, with no more than a handshake, the deal was done.

  Miss Carkettle rose to her feet and pulled on her gloves. ‘Well, I must be going. My train is due to leave within the hour. I only hope the service has improved. Come here, Henrietta.’ She offered one pale, powdered cheek to her niece, and dutifully, Hetty kissed it. Then to Danny’s surprise, she summoned him forward.

  ‘Daniel . . .’ She leant nearer and he placed his lips on the same patch of powdered skin. She smelt of roses and lavender. ‘Now, come and see me off.’

  In the courtyard, Danny joined the others to say goodbye. And after Crimple had brought the luggage; and Miss Carkettle had inspected it; and every piece had been loaded to her satisfaction, she climbed on board and shut the door. The carriage rattled away.

  Mr Jameson rubbed his hands. ‘Didn’t I tell you everything would come right?’

  ‘Yes, Jamie, you did. Although, I’m not sure how you managed it.’ Mrs Jameson hooked her fingers around her husband’s arm and steered him back towards the house. The others trailed behind. ‘William, perhaps you and Hetty would like to stay for supper? I’d love to hear more about Paris.’

  ‘Oh, can we, Papa?’ Hetty’s face lit up. ‘Please!’

  ‘Very well, but only if you tell me all that’s been happening here. I can’t believe half of what I’ve heard. I hope you’ve been careful, Hetty . . .’

  They trooped up the steps, but just as Danny turned to follow, something caught his eye. A man stood on the other side of the courtyard. He wore a top hat and gold cufflinks that glinted from beneath his jacket sleeves.

  ‘Hello, Danny.’ Larkin’s voice carried easily acros
s the yard. ‘I wasn’t sure whether you’d agree to see me, but I thought I should try anyway.’

  Danny said nothing, but as Larkin walked nearer, sweat dampened his palms. And it was only when he was an arm’s span away that it occurred to Danny to step back. It was like the odd dance they’d done when they’d first met.

  The corner of Larkin’s mouth tipped up. He stopped. ‘You’ve no need to worry. I’m not going to waste my breath making another offer.’ A pause. ‘So, you didn’t tell the police about me? I did wonder.’

  ‘No. No, I didn’t.’ Danny shook his head. Of course, he’d thought about it, but when Mr Jameson had suggested contacting Constable Oversby, he’d resisted. What had Larkin done? No crime had been committed. He’d told a lie then saved his life. And perhaps, one action did cancel out the other.

  For a moment, they stood looking at each other. Then Larkin reached into his jacket pocket. ‘Before I left, I wanted to give you something. My way of making it up to you, if you like.’ He pulled out a parcel – no bigger than an envelope and only a little thicker. ‘Go on. Take it. It belongs to you.’

  Warily, Danny examined Larkin’s face, but his expression gave nothing away. He edged forward and when he was near enough he snatched the package out of Larkin’s hand and stepped back. Quickly.

  ‘Well? Aren’t you going to open it?’

  Hesitantly, Danny looked down. The parcel was light, oval-shaped, and wrapped in faded floral paper. And as he tore back the layers his hands trembled. At last, he unwrapped the final sheet. The painting of a woman stared up at him. She was beautiful – dark-haired and soft-eyed. And he was almost certain she was the woman from his dreams.

  ‘I stole it. From your friends, the Dilworths. But I’d bet everything I own that it belongs to you.’ Larkin’s eyes glinted. ‘Only don’t bother asking any questions because I don’t know anything else.’