The Disappearing Diva

by Sarah Todd Taylor

  The woman in the teal gown had disappeared. Had she been the Countess after all? Maximilian very much wanted her to be, but at the same time the thought made him uneasy. Surely the Countess would not be out enjoying herself when Maximilian was missing?

  “Well, I shall just have to look for her,” he said to himself, and set off past the rows of seats, turning his head from side to side. As he neared the front of the theatre the lights fell dim and the audience was hushed. A single spotlight fell in the centre of the stage and a young girl stepped out of the shadows and began to sing. There was a brief patter of applause and then the audience fell silent and listened.

  While the girl sang, Maximilian peered over the edge of the pit where the orchestra was playing and watched the violin bows hurrying up and down the scales. When the chorus joined in with a raucous song of their own, he padded up and down the rows of seats. While a romantic scene between the hero and heroine played out on the stage he sat in the middle of an aisle, entranced by the beautiful music and the light shimmering from the moon that hung at the back of the set.

  The moon indoors, Maximilian thought. The theatre was a very odd world. One minute the people on the stage were outside in a park with trees waving in the breeze, then a great curtain of soft red velvet with gold edging would sweep across the stage and when it was pulled back they would be in a ballroom or a neat living room or even a boat on the sea. It was most peculiar.

  In the middle of a comedy scene, when the laughter of the audience echoed around the room, making the glass in the chandeliers rattle, Maximilian caught sight of a tiny pink nose and a pair of whiskers peeking out from the edge of the curtain that hung round the stage.

  Maximilian felt his own whiskers tingle and he bounded up the stairs that led to the stage. The mouse gave out a tiny squeak and fled. In the middle of the stage one of the actors fell flat on his face and the audience roared. No one noticed the white cat slipping behind the scenery.

  The side of the stage was dark and as crammed full of people as the lobby had been. Girls dressed in sparkling costumes were checking the sashes on each other’s dresses or tying ribbons on their shoes. Men in overalls carried furniture high on their shoulders.

  “Come on, Agnes, we’re going to miss our cue!” hissed a small girl with large dimples, almost falling over Maximilian as she hurried towards the stage. Behind her, a taller girl with bobbed blonde hair was buttoning up the cuffs on her sleeves. As they reached the stage a change came over them. The girl called Agnes lost the slouch in her shoulders and pulled herself up straight, tucking her chin in and smiling out at the audience. The other girl’s determined stride turned to a dainty step as she shimmied across the stage.

  “This place is full of magic,” marvelled Maximilian. He forgot all about the mouse, found a spot under a table and watched as the story on stage unfolded. There was a young girl who wanted to marry a footman, and her stern father and snobby mother who wanted her to marry a lord. Maximilian was entirely on the girl’s side and when she ran off from her beautiful home to live free with the footman he wished that he could applaud as the audience did, but that’s a difficult thing to do with paws. Instead, he waved his wonderful tail in the air. It was the highest compliment a cat could pay.

  When the show ended, the actors walked to the front of the stage and bowed over and over again while the curtains swished in and out and the audience rose to their feet, the sound of their clapping echoing like thunder. Then the curtains closed for the last time and Maximilian was surrounded by noise and feet as the actors flooded off the stage. He shrank back and waited till all was quiet. As the last audience members left their seats, the lights were turned off, leaving the theatre lit only by the moon shining through the great glass dome above.

  Maximilian yawned. It had been a long day and he decided to find somewhere comfortable to sleep. Earlier in the show the hero had been leaning on a particularly comfortable-looking sofa. I wonder where that was carried to, Maximilian thought.

  He soon found it. It had been set down at the back of a room behind the stage that was full of furniture. Just looking at it made Maximilian feel very sleepy. It had plump velvet pillows and enormous tassels hung from each arm. It was the perfect place for a cat used to the best. Maximilian bounded over to it and jumped, ready to sink into the fluffy comfort of the pillows.

  With an enormous crash the sofa collapsed flat to the floor and Maximilian landed on a hard sheet of painted wood. He looked down. All four paws were on the sofa, but it was flat and hard, a painted cut-out. Maximilian was shocked. It had certainly looked real when it was on stage. He licked his paw in a disgruntled sort of way and looked around. The room was full of other things that looked familiar. A grandfather clock that had stood at the side in one scene was leaning against a tree in the corner. Beside this hung the moon. Maximilian padded over to examine it more closely. It was a wooden frame with silver gauze stretched over it. A lamp was set into the base with a small candle inside.

  “So that’s how they managed to get the moon inside,” Maximilian said to himself, both disappointed and impressed. It was all so clever.

  There was nothing to sleep on in this room so he made his way to the next and found it full of piles of fabric and costumes on rails and a huge table covered in jars of buttons and buckles.

  It was also full of the most beautiful clothes he had ever seen. Maximilian was used to beautiful clothes. Countess Arlington was very fond of her dresses, especially her evening ones, the ones she called her “gowns”. Maximilian was never allowed upon her lap in case he creased one of her skirts or left stray hairs on a bodice. Countess Arlington’s clothes were the second most precious things in her life, after her jewellery, and every year she would have an entire new wardrobe flown into London from Paris. But, beautiful as Countess Arlington’s dresses were, even they were nothing like as wonderful as these. There were dresses made of velvet with sleeves that dipped down to the ground, dresses with skirts made entirely of lengths of beads, shimmering in the light, and dresses with trains looped three or four times over to keep them off the floor. One dress hung on a shop dummy in the middle of the room. It seemed to be made of glass, every inch of it gleaming. As Maximilian neared it he realised that he could see his reflection in it. The dress was made of tiny mirrors, reflecting a thousand upon thousand Maximilians and bouncing light around the room.

  Maximilian was just choosing which pile of fabric looked most comfortable for sleeping when he heard a sound – a tiny, creature-like sound. He kept very still. Yes, a small grey mouse was peeking round the corner of a shoebox, checking to see if the coast was clear. It had a pompom in its mouth. This, thought Maximilian, is either a tailor mouse or a thief mouse or a mouse who likes to nibble. Whichever it was, it would be a tasty mouse.

  The mouse caught sight of Maximilian, froze, and started to back off towards the shoebox. Maximilian crouched low, gathered his energy, and pounced. The shoebox skidded across the floor, mice running in all directions. They scampered up the table and catapulted themselves across the dress rails. Some of them landed on a table that stood in the middle of the room and sent pins and rolls of cotton clattering to the floor. One landed on the mirror dress and thousands of mice suddenly appeared, reflected in its scales. Maximilian threw himself at them. He ran this way and that, and then this way again, and then that again for good measure, till he was sure that each and every mouse had been chased out of the room, squeaking indignantly.

  Chasing mice is rather good fun, thought Maximilian. Eating them was even more fun, but sadly they had all got away. It made him think of his first mouse chase, that very morning, and how badly it had ended. If it hadn’t been for that silly mouse he would still be in his comfortable window seat at Arlington Grove.

  “That is a problem for tomorrow,” Maximilian told himself firmly. His tummy gave a little yawn, just as his mouth gave a large one.

  In one corner of the room was a pile of cushions. Maximilian curled up, tucked his wonde
rful fluffy tail under his chin, and closed his eyes.

  Tomorrow he would find the Countess and get back home.

  “It’s a cat, Agnes!” said the small girl with the large dimples.

  “Of course it’s a cat, Sylvia, I know a cat when I see one!” the taller girl said. “What I asked was what is it doing here?”

  It was the next morning and Maximilian was sitting on his cushions. He had been found by two girls who had bustled into the room, chattering and giggling to each other. It was the two girls from the show he had seen the previous night. The tall girl was very slender, with bobbed blonde hair set in glossy waves. She had deep-blue eyes and a pretty, pouting mouth. The smaller girl’s dark hair was pulled back into a neat bun. She had sparkling green eyes framed by impossibly long lashes. They were both dressed entirely in layers of net. Maximilian furrowed his brow to think where he had last seen dresses like that. Of course, it was when Countess Arlington had invited some dancers from a corps de ballet to entertain her guests. They had made quite a racket jumping about on the Turkish rugs, but at least they had not sung, so Maximilian had liked them.

  The smaller girl, Sylvia, started to do some stretching exercises, leaning over to one side till she was almost looking at Maximilian upside down.

  “Maybe Mrs Garland brought him here?” she suggested.

  Mrs Garland was called for. She was a tall, thin woman with a broad, full smile. She wore a long kimono robe of scarlet silk, and her dark hair was piled up on her head and secured with one gleaming jade pin. The most remarkable thing about her was her walk. Mrs Garland walked as though she were a ship in full sail. She glided elegantly through the door, her chin held high, her feet seeming to skim across the floor under her long robe.

  Sylvia stopped her little jumps and stretches when Mrs Garland was in the room and both girls stood respectfully, their hands folded neatly in front of them. Clearly Mrs Garland was not a woman who encouraged silliness. She took one look at Maximilian, still sitting on his cushions, and clapped her hands to whisk the girls out of the room. Then she sat down on a chair and looked twinklingly at Maximilian.

  “So, young man,” she said, “I thought I might find you somewhere.”

  Maximilian’s heart gave a little leap, like the ones that Sylvia had done in her pink-ribboned shoes. Countess Arlington must have come to look for him. He gave his “I’m here so there was nothing to be worried about, now can I go home?” miaow and stretched to try to catch a peek of himself in a mirror. Was he terribly dusty? But Countess Arlington did not come through the door looking for him. Instead, Mrs Garland held up a large velvet bag. From the bag she extracted, very carefully, an empty mousetrap. Then another. Then another, and another. Soon nineteen empty mousetraps lay on the floor in front of Maximilian. Then Mrs Garland drew from one of her pockets a pile of breadcrumbs, and from another a lump of cheese.

  “And not a mouse to be seen anywhere,” she declared, placing the bread and cheese on the floor. “Something, or perhaps someone, has kept them all away.” She looked around the room. “Which means that today I am sure I will not have to sew on any pompoms or fix any nibbled hems or replace any eaten buttons.” She smiled at Maximilian and from yet another pocket of her robe she drew a small package wrapped in brown paper. She unfolded it and in the middle lay a tasty-looking fresh sardine, which she placed in front of Maximilian.

  Maximilian gave her his “thank you so much, I really am very hungry this morning” miaow and set to work on the sardine at once.

  “Welcome to the Theatre Royal,” Mrs Garland said. “I think you will have much work to do.”

  Maximilian had not intended to stay. When he had finished his sardine on that first morning he had miaowed a polite “thank you so much, you have been very kind” to Mrs Garland and had set off out of the theatre to look for Countess Arlington. But the city was bigger and more confusing than he thought it would be and it did not take Maximilian long to realise that he was utterly lost. How he wished that Oscar were with him now. The black cat had known the city like the back of his paw, and Maximilian had liked his good humour and friendly nature. It was a very much more humble cat that returned to the Theatre Royal that evening. It was not home, but at least there was food and a place to sleep. He crept in through the lobby while the orchestra was tuning up for the evening show, found his way to the costume room and set to chasing away the mice.

  When he awoke the next morning there was a fresh sardine waiting on a dish for him.

  So Maximilian accepted the post of Theatre Mouser, strictly on a temporary basis and to amuse himself until he could find his way home. Mrs Garland had been right about how much work there was for him! The theatre was full of mice. They nibbled the fabric of the seats and pulled out the stuffing to make their nests. They chewed through light cords, so that every night the show was in danger of being plunged into darkness. Once a whole family of them made their home inside one of the great timpani drums in the orchestra and squeaked indignantly every time the drums were struck.

  Every day Maximilian would do his rounds of the theatre, chasing the mice away with a hiss and a threatening wave of his claws. Once a week he allowed himself an official day off from mousing duties and ventured out into the city on a mission to find Countess Arlington. He would walk down the streets, avoiding the kicks of passers-by and miaow his “is that you, it looks like you?” miaow at ladies who might be, but never were, her. He was not sure where Arlington Grove was, but he was sure that if he tried, he would find it one day. But after every trip he returned to the theatre more despondent and disappointed with sore feet and dusty fur.

  On those days there was only one thing that could cheer him. When his work was done he would climb up to the highest corner of the gallery that hung above the stage. From there, the best seat in the house, he would watch mesmerised as the show unfolded and the wonderful tapestry of music wove its spell, soaring into the air, settling around him and smoothing back his fur. Maximilian would curl up inside his favourite songs and float away, leaving his troubles far below him.

  One day, while Maximilian was watching Agnes and Sylvia powdering their faces and primping their hair ready for the performance, he had an idea.

  The Pampered Pets Grooming Parlour was an exclusive establishment in one of the most elegant parts of the city. It was the grooming parlour that Countess Arlington used to take Maximilian to, regular as cuckoo-clockwork, for his weekly shampoo and hair curl. He would lie on a silk cushion for hours while cheerful girls fussed over him with combs and perfume and powder and turned him into a perfect, sweet-smelling little furball. That afternoon, between the matinee and evening performances, Maximilian made his way to the street where the grooming parlour stood.

  Perhaps someone will recognise me and tell Countess Arlington, thought Maximilian, striding down the street towards the parlour’s black-and-white striped door. He was halfway there when a very familiar car swung round the corner past him – a cream-coloured, open-topped car with leather seats and gold handles. Inside was a woman wrapped in a long fur coat. She held in her arms a fluffy white kitten with a ribbon bow around its neck that she was fussing over.

  Maximilian looked at the woman and his heart gave a leap. It was Countess Arlington. His Countess Arlington. With a “finally, you’ve found me” miaow, he sprang into action and chased the car down the street.

  The car stopped outside Pampered Pets Grooming Parlour and the Countess stepped out and walked up to the door, still tickling the fluffy kitten under its chin. Maximilian leapt up the steps behind them, wound himself around Countess Arlington’s feet and let out his “can I go home now, please?” miaow.

  The Countess barely glanced down at him. Instead she lifted her daintily shod foot and kicked him out of the way.

  “Never mind, sweetie,” she said to the kitten. “Mummy won’t let that nasty alley cat give you any diseases.”

  Maximilian reeled from the blow and stared up at her in shock.

  The door of th
e grooming parlour opened and Countess Arlington stepped inside.

  “I’ve brought Maximilian for his weekly pamper,” she said to the girl inside waiting to take her coat.

  And the door closed on Countess Arlington and the white kitten.

  Maximilian miaowed his “but I’m here” miaow and scratched at the door, but nobody opened it. He was about to miaow louder when he caught sight of himself in the gleaming polished brass letterbox of the parlour door. He saw a grubby cat with a coat full of dust from a day out in the city, not the fluffy creature that the Countess had lifted out of her car. He thought back to the last time he had seen Countess Arlington, remembering that angry look on her face as she swept out of the drawing-room door at the sight of him covered in oil and soil and dust. She had whispered something to the butler, and the butler had come back and bundled him into the cat basket.

  With a start, he realised the truth. Countess Arlington had not lost him. She had abandoned him. He had made a mess and chased mice and not behaved as an Arlington cat should, and she had thrown him out. Maximilian’s heart went cold. How could anyone abandon an old friend in such a way? Maximilian was a cat of many miaows, but he had no miaow for this occasion. Instead, he slunk away from the pampering parlour and back to the theatre, his heart a cold little stone, heavy in his chest.

  “I’ve brought Maximilian for his weekly pamper,” she had said.

  She had even given his name away, to the kitten with the bow.

  Maximilian did not feel like Maximilian for the rest of that week. He moped around the costume store, barely bothering to chase the mice away and wishing that he hadn’t escaped from Countess Arlington’s drawing room, or chased the mice in the kitchen and made a mess, or joined in with her friends when they tried to sing around the piano. Maybe if he had behaved a little better she would still like him.