by Gigi Priebe
“Oh, I knew that!” Jeremy piped up.
Henry heaved a heavy sigh as he bit off another piece of crumb cake. Entertaining in the dollhouse meant a lot of chores for Henry and his brothers and sisters, especially without Father. “Mother Mouse has us clean the dollhouse from top to bottom, not to mention raid the castle pantries twice as often.”
“Sounds delicious,” said Jeremy, licking some stray crumbs from his whiskers. “It’s not as if we get to raid the royal kitchens as often as you do. You practically live in them!”
“Yeah, but it’s risky business. There are always more cooks in the kitchens during banquet season. And then there’s Titus, prowling around like he owns the place.”
“He’s been a menace to mice as long as I’ve been alive,” Uncle Charlie chimed in. “Never knew a nastier cat!”
Jeremy propped an elbow on the table and rested his chin on his paw, gazing upward dreamily. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have all those butlers, chambermaids, housemaids, cooks, and chefs taking care of your every need?”
“Yeah. I wish they’d clean my house!” grumbled Henry, washing down the last of his crumb cake with a drop of thistle juice.
“Think you’ll be conducting a pantry raid today?” Jeremy asked hopefully. “Can I come?”
Henry shook his head. “How can you still be hungry?”
Jeremy just shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “It comes naturally.”
“I don’t know what Mother Mouse has in mind, but whatever it is, it would be a lot more fun if you were with me.”
So Henry and Jeremy left for the Whiskers’, but not before Henry remembered to thank Aunt Begonia and get one of her special nuzzles.
It didn’t take Henry and Jeremy long to get there. The old tunnels below Windsor Castle crisscrossed deep underground from one end of the property to the other. The tunnel that Henry and Jeremy were following ran right below the dollhouse. As soon as they reached the right spot, they crept up a well-worn path through the floorboards and into the Whiskers’ cedarwood home. They’d hardly emerged when they heard the sound of thundering paws and squeals of laughter.
“Quick, Henry, save me!” squeaked Isabel, Henry’s littlest sister, who was playing “cat and mouse” with James and Albert, the identical twins.
If there was a runt in the family, Isabel was it. Everything about her was tiny, from the tips of her little ears down to her dainty paws. Even her whiskers were more delicate than most. But for every inch of her, there was tremendous speed, and that made her especially good at the game she loved so much. Most of the time, she was able to escape capture by hiding in small places where her brothers couldn’t fit. If worse came to worst, she’d act completely helpless and close to tears so Henry would feel compelled to save her.
As Isabel grabbed Henry around his middle, she spun herself behind him, putting him between her and her pursuers.
“No fair,” squeaked her brothers. “You’re trapped. We got you. You’re it!”
“Am not!”
“Are too,” echoed the “cats.”
Henry called for a time-out and said they couldn’t play if everyone was going to argue about the rules.
“Isabel,” he said, “sometimes the mouse gets caught. There are no safeties in this game. It’s all right.” Henry leaned over Isabel to reassure her. He noticed her whiskers begin to quiver. “It’s only a game.” He picked her up, stroked her silky coat, and whispered three little words in her soft, pink ear: “Never give up!”
As soon as he placed her on the ground, and before the others knew what was happening, Isabel dashed off.
“You haven’t got me yet!” was all they heard fading into the distance as they hightailed it after her.
Henry and Jeremy scampered down a long, narrow hallway toward Henry’s bedroom. Everyone had their own storage drawer for a room, so no two looked alike. Mother Mouse encouraged each of her children to decorate their room any way they wanted. She called it “self-expression.” Of course, they had to come up with the decorations themselves, but that was half the fun.
As they passed by Henry’s oldest sister’s room, Jeremy stopped to stare. His eyes grew wide as he wondered aloud, “Doesn’t Regina ever get sick of pink?”
“You’d think,” Henry snickered.
“Where does she find it all?” asked Jeremy.
“Mostly from the queen’s wardrobes.” Henry gazed at the sea of pink feathers, pink toenail polish, pink rose petals, pink hand soaps, and a pink ribbon taken from one of the queen’s hats. And then there was Regina’s favorite: a pink powder puff, which she slept on.
“The queen must like pink a lot too,” muttered Jeremy, shaking his head.
“Regina says it’s mostly ‘raspberry,’ and she does.” Henry nodded. “Now you know why it’s Regina’s favorite color too. If it’s good enough for Her Royal Highness, then it’s good enough for Her Royal Headache.”
Henry and Jeremy chuckled as they rounded a corner and entered Henry’s room. It had a bed made from cotton balls, cattail fluff, and shredded tissue paper. There wasn’t a single patch of wall that wasn’t covered with wrappers, tour guides, shopping lists, ticket stubs, and gift shop receipts. But in the very center, right above his bed, was a clipping from the local newspaper, the Royal Rag. It told of a tragic event that happened when Henry was Isabel’s age. It served as a constant reminder of his father and everything Henry hoped to be when he grew up.
Devastating fire swept through the castle and took the life of one of our own . . . , the article read. But thanks to the heroic efforts of Mr. Henry Whiskers, the lives of a Mrs. Myrtle Mouse and her children were saved. Tragically, Mr. Whiskers, well known for his generosity, died while leading others to safety. Mr. Whiskers was the twenty-fourth heir to Queen Mary’s Dollhouse and the first to hold the Annual Mouse Masquerade for the entire community. He will be sorely missed by one and all.
The article went on to list the names of his father’s loved ones, but young Henry could never quite get through this part. The words always got too blurry. His heart felt as if it would burst every time he read it. Not just because it pained him so much, but because it made him so proud. It inspired him to be the best mouse he could be.
4
WARNING SIGN
WHEN HENRY AND JEREMY REPORTED to Mother Mouse in the kitchen, she was giving directions to Isabel. “If nobody’s home,” she said, reaching for a sack with her long, elegant paws, “then leave the invitation at their door and move on.” Mother Mouse gracefully crossed the floor and placed the sack of invitations at Isabel’s feet.
“I know what a big girl you are, but I’m sending Albert and James along so they can help carry the bag.” Mother sneaked a wink at the boys.
This was the first time young Isabel was allowed to go out to do errands on her own. She beamed proudly as Mother Mouse kissed her on the cheek and sent the three of them on their way.
Mother Mouse went over to the kitchen table and checked something off her list, then turned to face Henry and Jeremy.
“Jeremy’s offered to help with my chores,” Henry told her. “What would you like us to do?”
“Your choice,” said Mother Mouse, smoothing her black-as-night fur and looking down at her list again. “Only a few days left until the party. The cars still need to be polished, floors need to be swept, and pillows need to be plumped.”
Henry and Jeremy exchanged smiles. “We’ll take the cars,” they said, and went to gather some rags.
They set off for the dollhouse garage, where a collection of six cars was parked, each looking exactly like its life-size version in the queen’s royal fleet.
It was late afternoon, and Windsor Castle was now closed to visitors. Henry knew that Warden usually went home after closing, so nobody was likely to be lurking about in the dollhouse room. But that didn’t guarantee that it was safe.
“Any sign of Titus?” asked Henry, knowing how the savage tabby cat liked to stalk the castle.
“He’s
probably busy coughing up a fur ball,” Jeremy scoffed.
Easy to joke, thought Henry, when we’ve never actually run into him. And he hoped they never would!
When the two mice were certain that the coast was clear, they entered the dollhouse garage. Along with the cars, there was a bicycle, a motorcycle, and a gas pump.
“Where should we start?” asked Jeremy, clapping his front paws together. But before Henry could answer, Jeremy leaped up and into the red leather driver’s seat of a black convertible. He threw his rag down and gripped the steering wheel with both paws. Henry watched as Jeremy made rumbling sounds, pretending to drive.
“Don’t get any ideas,” hollered Henry, poking his nose over the hood of the car. He knew that look on Jeremy’s face all too well. Sometimes he got carried away. “We’ve got work to do.”
“Aw, come on, Henry. Tell me you don’t think it would be fun to take it for a spin,” Jeremy dared Henry. “How many mice have a garage full of cars that actually work?”
“No, Jeremy!” said Henry.
“Why do you always have to be so responsible?” grumbled Jeremy, climbing out of the car and slamming the door behind him. He stomped away from Henry to the opposite side of the car.
Henry stopped polishing and looked over at his best friend. “Hey, in case you’ve forgotten, I nearly got caught last night, remember?”
“Yeah, well, I know you’re the oldest in your family and everything, but you have to have some fun sometimes !” Jeremy kicked a tire.
He has a point, Henry thought.
Silence hung in the air as Henry pushed his rag all around the hood of the car in rapid, repetitive circles.
“You have to admit, Henry, it would be really fun,” Jeremy yelled over the car.
As Henry worked his rag down the smooth, sleek side of the car, he tried to picture himself behind the wheel, whizzing through Windsor Castle’s corridors. That was definitely not on Mother Mouse’s okay list!
“Maybe,” he mumbled faintly.
“You mean it?” Jeremy shouted. “Would you ever really give it a try?”
“Maybe,” Henry repeated.
Jeremy snorted slightly and shook his head at Henry as if he didn’t believe him. Henry didn’t know whether to be hurt or offended. He decided to ignore Jeremy and blew a little puff on the rear fender creating a foggy patch, then rubbed it out. And that’s how the two of them continued until they had finished with all of the cars.
Henry straightened a side mirror with his tail. “I guess that about does it,” he said, standing up on his hind legs to inspect their work. The light danced off of every bumper, headlight, hood, and rooftop.
“We make a pretty good team,” squeaked Jeremy, rubbing his stomach.
Jeremy’s words made Henry feel better somehow. Maybe Jeremy wasn’t too disappointed in him after all.
“I’m hungry,” Jeremy said with a yawn.
“No kidding,” Henry teased.
“What time is it, anyway? Seems like we’ve been here forever.”
“I think we have,” said Henry, feeling a little hungry himself.
“Want to go to the Neighborhood Nibble?” asked Jeremy. “I bet everyone will be there.”
“You’re probably right,” said Henry, picturing everyone packed under the roof of the rusty old strainer that had been saved from the royal rubbish years ago. Its glimmering lights and nibbles-to-go made it so popular—and loud! Not peaceful like the library.
Between the two of them, Henry was usually the party pooper, but he didn’t want to give Jeremy another reason to pick on him. “I might come in a bit, but first I think I should go to the library and double-check to be sure that I didn’t leave the book sticking out or something. You go ahead, and thanks for helping.”
Jeremy’s mouth curled as he turned and waved good-bye with his rag.
“It’s not what you think,” Henry yelled after him, but he knew his friend had sniffed right through his excuse.
“Don’t fall asleep this time,” Jeremy hollered over his shoulder before disappearing from sight.
Henry scampered up the marble staircase of the dollhouse. The stone felt cool and soothing to his sore paws. When he reached the second floor, he skittered into the library and took a long, luxurious sniff. He loved the rich smell of its wood-paneled walls and leather-bound books that lined the walnut shelves. On the floor, next to the chair where Henry liked to read, stood a big spinning ball that showed a map of the world. Henry had never been outside Windsor Castle, but his father had once told him that the world was very big and full of mysteries. Henry didn’t know what mysteries were, but he wanted to try some.
In the middle of the room stood a mahogany desk that Henry especially loved. Its drawers were filled with stationery, and on top lay some beautiful pens. It looked like it was just waiting to be put to good use.
He thought for a moment about sitting there but couldn’t resist a good read. He climbed up a few shelves and lassoed his favorite book with his tail, then slowly lowered himself and the book to the floor. Once he’d scampered up into the armchair, he reeled the book up after him. With book in paw, Henry flopped onto his back and slumped into the hollow of the cushion. He spread himself across the chair, resting his head on one arm and his hind paws on the other. And then he began to read. He read for hours. He hardly moved except to tickle his ear with the tip of his tail.
Henry was just about to close the book for the night when he suddenly heard two voices.
“You’re working awfully late,” boomed one of them.
Henry’s heart jumped into his throat. Not again, he thought.
“Just roping off the doorway to the exhibit before the morning rush,” replied the second voice.
Henry recognized one of the voices as Warden’s, whose job it was to tell visitors about the dollhouse and answer their questions. But why was he here when the castle was closed? Henry sat up, peeked out from behind the tall back of the chair, and cocked his ears.
“You’re going to disappoint a lot of tourists, mate,” said the guard as he read a new sign that Warden placed at the entrance to the exhibit room.
“I’m afraid so,” agreed Warden, “but it’s got to be done.”
Henry’s ears perked up. What’s got to be done? The second that the guard and Warden left, Henry hopped out of the chair and grabbed the book. He wasn’t going to forget it this time! He practically threw it back on the shelf, then raced to the safety of the fireplace to make his way down the chimney to the ground floor. Taking his chances, he darted out onto the wide-open floor of the exhibit room and raced over to the sign that Warden had put out. When he reached it, he stopped. Instinctively, he sniffed left and right to make sure that no one was coming. Then he turned to look at the sign, twirling his tail nervously around a paw as he read:
DOLLHOUSE CLOSED FOR REPAIR
OPENING AGAIN SOON
How soon? Henry wondered. He didn’t understand. “Why would they do that? There’s nothing wrong with it,” he said to no one. This is bad, Henry thought. What if someone saw me last night after all? He started to panic. What am I going to tell Mother? What about the Mouse Masquerade?
Henry picked up his tail and darted back home. It was late, and everyone was sound asleep when he arrived. He’d lost track of time. No point in telling them now, Henry decided, so he dragged himself to bed wondering what Mother Mouse would say when she heard the news in the morning.
5
TOO LATE
“WHAT’S TAKING SO LONG?” HENRY hollered, tapping a hind paw impatiently. He could never understand why girls took forever to brush their teeth and comb their coats in the morning. He was just about to pound on the door for the third time when it flung open and Victoria and Caroline giggled right past him, as if he were invisible.
“Finally!” he muttered sleepily as he sidestepped his sisters’ things scattered on the floor. He’d barely gotten the toothpaste on the brush when the door behind him flew open again.
/> “Henry, Henry,” shrilled Regina. “Henry! Come quick!”
Henry rolled his eyes and started brushing his teeth.
“Henry! This is serious! Isabel’s missing!” she shouted, yanking on his arm.
He stopped to spit and turned to look at Regina. Her whiskers were quivering.
“What do you mean she’s missing? Where is she?”
“If I knew that, she wouldn’t be missing,” hissed Regina hysterically.
Henry blinked the sleep out of his eyes. Before he knew it, all of his brothers and sisters were crammed in the doorway. Albert and Caroline rubbed their paws nervously while the others clutched their tails and looked to Henry for answers. He gulped hard.
“We were playing cat and mouse while Mother was out,” sobbed Beatrice.
“What time is it? Where were you playing?” he asked.
“What difference does that make? Isabel’s gone!” Regina shouted, flapping her paws every which way.
“I got that!” Henry snapped. “Just tell me what time it is and where you were playing.”
“It’s ten a.m., and we were playing in the dollhouse!” Beatrice blurted.
Henry raced out the door while the words trailed after him.
This is my fault, thought Henry. Then, just as he was about to climb up the chimney into the dollhouse, he heard voices from above. Next came scraping sounds, thumping and bumping. He turned on his paws, ran back, and slipped through the hole to the underground. He made his way under the floorboards and popped up behind a heating grate on the wall of the dollhouse room to see what was going on.
He peered out from behind the grate and swallowed hard as he watched a large man pluck items from the dollhouse with white-gloved hands. Henry scoured the growing collection of furnishings that were being placed in a bin: dressing tables, wooden bed frames, washstands, a trouser press, a chest of drawers . . .
