by Robin Jarvis
All at once, confusion broke out. Cries of alarm rippled through the crowd. Piccadilly looked round. The Raddle spinsters, as usual, had the same expression on their faces. Even in panic they were identical. No one seemed to know what was happening. Master Oldnose scowled. The disturbance seemed to emanate from the back of the crowd near the cellar door. Be gulped and wondered with dread what had crept out of that dark place. Something was forcing its way through the assembled mice. Master Oldnose drew back in fear.
‘Out of my way!’ shouted a gruff voice. ‘Let me through there!’
Piccadilly managed a smile – he knew that voice.
‘Hey! Avast there!’ A blue woollen hat bobbed into view amongst the sea of startled mice.
Master Oldnose was relieved, but glowered as he saw Thomas Triton emerge from the crowd. ‘Mr Triton,’ he declared, ‘what means this rude interruption?’
Master Oldnose was not fond of the midshipmouse, for on the few occasions they had met, Thomas had flagrantly disregarded his authority.
‘Evenin’ Nosey!’ greeted Thomas cheerily.
Master Oldnose’s mouth dropped open as he watched the midshipmouse barge past him. Thomas ruffled Piccadilly’s hair on his way then nipped behind the Chitters’ curtain.
Excited whoops then came from the crowd. ‘How do Algy! Hello Algy’s mum!’ called a small but unmistakable voice. It was Twit, finding it more difficult to get through the crowd than the midshipmouse had done.
Master Oldnose came out of his sulk and looked up quickly. ‘What you got in that bag, Twit?’ asked Tom Cockle.
‘Oh you’ll see Tom, you’ll see.’ Twit blundered out of the assembled mice carrying the Starwife’s bag as high as his little arms could manage.
‘Hello William,’ said Master Oldnose warmly. ‘Are you feelin’ well boy?’
‘The best I ever did!’ And as if to prove it Twit burst into a fit of joyful laughter.
The crowd thought he had gone potty and sighed and tutted with disapproval. Audrey had been following Twit unnoticed by everyone, but now she stepped out and took his paw.
‘He really is fine,’ she explained to them all, and hurried the still giggling fieldmouse into the Chitters’ rooms.
‘Audrey?’ Piccadilly stopped her. ‘What is going on? Why were you so long and why is Twit acting so barmy?’
‘He’s just happy because Oswald is going to get well,’ she answered. Piccadilly looked at her doubtfully. ‘Come off it,’ he whispered. ‘There’s no way to save him now.’
‘Oh yes there is,’ said Audrey in a strange, sombre voice. ‘There’s one way to save him.’ She turned suddenly and ran through the curtain.
The city mouse stared after her. He could have sworn he had seen tears in Audrey’s eyes. But if Oswald was going to be cured, why was she so unhappy?
In Oswald’s sickroom excitement charged the air. Thomas had told Gwen Brown about the Starwife’s bag and she was already boiling some water.
Oswald, lay still and silent on the bed like a broken statue of cold marble. He was unaware of everyone around him. He felt so weak that even breathing seemed a dreadful labour. It was as if he had been falling down a deep black well: gradually the light at the top had grown fainter and more distant, until he accepted that there was no way out for him. Down he sank into the blackest night imaginable. He could hear nothing but the darkness filling his ears and closing in around him. How easy it was to sleep and forget everything, all he had known and all he had been – to be one with the rich velvet blackness.
Mrs Brown came into the sickroom carrying a bowl of hot steaming water. Twit was about to drop the bag in when he hesitated. Was this a cruel trick of the Starwife? He glanced round at his friends and at once drew heart from Thomas’ wise, whiskered face. The bag plopped into the bowl.
At once the steam snaked higher and filled the sickroom completely. All who breathed it in felt refreshed and tingles ran all the way down their tails.
A silver light began to shine in the room. In his chair Jacob Chitter stirred in his sleep. Small stars gleamed through the steam and once again Twit felt as if he was swept up into the bright heavens. Only this time Oswald was next to him and there seemed to be music everywhere. As he looked at his cousin the fieldmouse gasped. For a moment it seemed as if he could see the Starwife lying in his place but the vision was snatched away and Twit could see that it was indeed Oswald lying there.
‘The water is cooler now,’ said Gwen. ‘Twit dear, see if he will drink it.’
Twit took the bowl from her and knelt beside Oswald. He used one paw to raise his cousin’s head and tilted the bowl slightly with the other.
At first the water simply touched Oswald’s lips and trickled down on to the pillows.
‘Come on Cuz,’ cried Twit urgently. ‘Drink it!’
Everyone held their breath and watched. More of the precious water spilled on to the pillows. The albino looked dead.
Twit’s paw trembled as he feared they were too late. The pillow was very wet now and there was not much left in the bowl. Thomas lowered his eyes and removed his hat. Mrs Brown buried her face in her paws.
‘Oh Oswald,’ the little fieldmouse cried. ‘Oswald, Oswald.’ Twit’s little heart was breaking.
And then Oswald’s lips moved.
‘Look!’ yelled Twit. ‘He be drinkin’.’ Oswald swallowed the liquid and then opened one eye feebly. He gazed at them all and managed a smile.
‘Hooray!’ shouted Twit skipping round the room. ‘Hooray!’ He took Mrs Brown’s paw and dragged her into the dance.
Thomas stepped up to Audrey and said softly to her, ‘I’ll be off to Greenwich later to return the bag. No doubt I’ll be told details of your departure. She won’t leave anything to chance – everything will be planned and organised.’
‘Mr Triton, I have to go, don’t I?’ said Audrey. ‘I am the price of all this aren’t I?’
He nodded regretfully. ‘Alas miss, I’m afraid you are. Forgive me for taking you to her. I am truly sorry.’
Audrey smiled at him. ‘It isn’t your fault Mr Triton – she would have done it with or without you.’
They were interrupted by an impatient knocking on the wall. Everyone paused and listened.
‘Where’s my milk? What’s all that noise? Can you hear me Jacob?’ Mrs Chitter was in fine form by the sound of her.
Jacob Chitter jumped to attention in his chair. ‘Yes dear. Of course, dear, I . . .’ He paused suddenly as he noticed his son smiling up at him. ‘Oh Oswald,’ he said, and burst into tears.
Gwen Brown led the others out of the sickroom. Thomas hung back and collected the small cloth bag.
On the way out to the hall Gwen looked in on Mrs Chitter. She was sitting up in bed fussing with her hair. ‘Oh Gwen what is going on in there?’ she asked. ‘What does my husband think he’s doing, the old fool?’
‘Arabel,’ cried Mrs Brown. ‘Oswald is better! It’s all over now.’
Mrs Chitter dabbed her eyes and gave thanks to the Green Mouse. ‘Well if that isn’t the best news I’ve ever heard,’ she sobbed. ‘You see Gwen, I told you those pieces of onion would do the trick.’
In the hall, Thomas was telling an awestruck crowd about Oswald’s recovery. For a short time they simply blinked at the midshipmouse – not sure if they had heard him properly – and then with one voice they cheered.
‘My word!’ exclaimed Master Oldnose.
‘Let’s celebrate,’ called Tom Cockle.
Audrey felt miserable and dragged her feet back home. Arthur was munching away in the kitchen and getting crumbs everywhere.
‘Isn’t it terrific?’ he mumbled, with his mouth full.
‘Oh yes Arthur, I couldn’t be happier for the Chitters.’ Her voice fell and she sat down heavily.
Arthur swallowed and licked the crumbs round his mouth, forgetting the ones clinging to his whiskers. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked seriously, sensing his sister’s mood.
‘Didn’t Mr Triton
tell you?’ she asked wearily.
Arthur sat down beside her and said fearfully, ‘Tell us what? You’re all right aren’t you? You’re not coming down with what Oswald had are you?’
‘Oh no Arthur – nothing like that. My fate’s much worse than that,’ she said morosely. ‘It’s the miracle cure of the Starwife.’
‘That was amazing wasn’t it – really magic stuff that was.’
Audrey stared at him steadily. ‘It had . . . conditions, Arthur. We could only take the cure if I agreed to go with Twit to his field the day after tomorrow and . . . take Madame Akkikuyu with me.’
‘Audrey! That’s terrible. I thought that rat woman was dead.’ Arthur thought deeply for a moment then brightened. ‘But Oswald is cured now – they can’t make you go if you back out now can they?’
‘I’m afraid so. Oswald and his family will fall sick, again if I don’t stick to it.’
Arthur put his arm around her. ‘Don’t worry Sis,’ he soothed. ‘I’ll come with you. I promise. How long do you think it will take to get there and back?’
‘But that’s just it,’ wept Audrey. ‘I shan’t be coming back – I’ve got to stay with Akkikuyu for ever.’ Arthur gasped. ‘But that’s dreadful. Oh how shall we tell Mother?’
‘I don’t know,’ sobbed Audrey.
‘My dears!’ Mrs Brown was standing in the doorway, tears falling down her cheeks – she had heard it all.
She wrapped her arms around Audrey and kissed her. ‘There must be a way,’ she whimpered. ‘Oh what would your father do if he were here?’
An apologetic cough sounded behind them. ‘Forgive me good lady,’ said Thomas self-consciously. ‘I came to tell you about the party the rest of your Skirtings folk are arranging but I see you are busy. Excuse me.’
‘No, wait, please,’ called Gwen desperately. ‘Mr Triton, you seem to know this Starwife better than us. Is there any way she would release Audrey from this horrible bargain?’
Thomas’ eyes were grave beneath his frosty white brows. ‘No ma’am. I’m sorry, but the Starwife clings to a bargain like a limpet to a stone. She does not make idle threats either: that family will surely perish if Miss Audrey does not go.’ The midshipmouse fumbled with the cloth bag in his paws. ‘I must leave now,’ he said, tugging the edge of his hat. ‘I have to return this, you see. No doubt you will see me in the morning if I guess rightly about the messages I’ll find waiting for me.’ He turned and left the Skirtings and began the journey back to Greenwich.
‘If it’s all right with you Mother,’ ventured Arthur, ‘I’d like to go with Audrey to make sure she’s safe.’
‘I don’t need looking after,’ said Audrey indignantly. ‘Just you stay here with Mother!’
‘Listen silly,’ argued her brother crossly. ‘I can go with you, make sure you settle in, then come back and tell Mother how you’re doing.’
‘Oh,’ said Audrey – she could see the sense in that.
So could Mrs Brown. ‘That’s a very good idea Arthur,’ she said and hugged them both tightly.
Meanwhile, Algy Coltfoot and Tom Cockle had brought out their instruments – whisker fiddle and bark drum – and soon the strains of a melody came floating in through the hall.
Gwen Brown made her children wash the tear stains from their faces. ‘It may sound silly of me,’ she said, ‘but I don’t feel as though you’ll be away too long. Let’s regard this evening as a sort of grand going-away party. We’ll all be together again soon, you see.’
Audrey and Arthur agreed – for her sake – though in their own hearts they doubted her. Audrey went to fetch her tail bells, which she had not worn for weeks. She felt that tonight was a good occasion to wear them once more.
In the hall the other mice had not been idle. To celebrate the Chitters’ return to health, food had been brought out and decorations festooned the walls. Algy and Tom played ‘The Summer Jig’ and their audience danced and clapped heartily. Between tunes Mr Cockle slipped out a bowl of his own berrybrew and quaffed it down happily, hoping his wife wouldn’t see. Mrs Coltfoot was being congratulated on the success of her ointment and the Raddle spinsters were tittering on the stairs as usual.
Into this mirth came Twit. He was immediately grabbed and hauled into the dancing – until someone called for him to play on his reed pipe. The fieldmouse darted away to fetch it.
It was a joyful chaos of noise and laughter.
Soon the tensions of the last weeks were forgotten – forgotten by everyone except Audrey.
‘Perhaps this is the last time I shall wear bells on my tail or have a ribbon in my hair,’ she thought.
‘With a rat for company I’ shan’t need to look nice.’
‘Come on Audrey,’ said Arthur, suddenly interrupting her thoughts. ‘There’s some terrific food here. Mrs Cockle and Mrs Coltfoot have been busy.’
Arthur dragged his sister over to a crowded area where a cloth had been spread on the floor and laid with biscuits, cheeses, soft grain buns, jam rings and a large bowl of Mrs Coltfoot’s own speciality Hawthorn Blossom Cup. Gwen Brown was chatting mildly to Biddy Cockle.
‘Here she is,’ Arthur told his mother. ‘I found her over there all dreamy and sorry for herself.’
Gwen linked her arm in her daughter’s. ‘Try to be happy, my love,’ she said. ‘It’ll be all right, you’ll see!’
‘Where’s Piccadilly?’ asked Audrey suddenly. It occurred to her that he knew nothing of the bargain. Perhaps he would come with them to Twit’s field – it might not be so bad after all if the cheeky city mouse came too.
‘Piccadilly was over there before with the dancers,’ said Mrs Brown, relieved that Audrey had snapped out of herself.
Audrey left her mother behind and went in search of the grey mouse. The musicians were now playing ‘Cowslips Folly’, a lively dance in which a ring of boy mice rushed round a central circle of girl mice and chose a partner from them. Audrey hovered at the edge of the dancing. She saw Piccadilly choose Nel Poot three times. Miss Poot was evidently enjoying all the attention and she was brazen enough to wave at Audrey!
At first Audrey was amused – everyone knew how dotty Nel Poot was. But when Piccadilly chose her a fourth time the smile twitched off Audrey’s face and her foot began to tap bad-temperedly. What did Piccadilly think he was doing?
‘Cowslips Folly’ ceased and the musical trio went to see if there was any food left. Audrey watched the dancers break up, but before she could turn away Piccadilly caught her glance, excused himself from Nel and sauntered over.
‘Did you want summat?’ he asked her. ‘Only Miss Poot thought you were trying to get my attention.’
Audrey answered casually. ‘Yes, I did as a matter of fact. I just wanted to say goodbye to you and take this opportunity to thank you for all you have done for me and my family.’
‘You gone soft in the head?’ laughed Piccadilly. ‘What you on about?’
‘I’m leaving,’ said Audrey, enjoying the moment. ‘Arthur and I are going with Twit to his field on a visit.’
Piccadilly’s face fell and his shoulders drooped sadly. Audrey bit her lip and cursed her stupid tongue.
‘I see,’ he managed. ‘I hope you have a nice time,’ he muttered, staring at the ground miserably. ‘When was all this decided?’
‘Oh we decided as soon as Oswald got better,’ she said. ‘We’re going the day after tomorrow. You can come and wave us off if you like.’ How could she be so cruel, she wondered. Had the Starwife put a spell on her too?
Piccadilly raised his head as if stung. He stared at Audrey incredulously, then, with anger said, ‘Sorry ducks but I’m goin’ back to the city tomorrow.’
‘Oh,’ gasped Audrey. . . ‘Well, Whitey’s better now, ain’t he and there’s nowt to keep me here is there?’
‘I suppose not,’ said Audrey in a small voice. She wanted to tell him of the terrible bargain that she had to keep – surely he would not think she was cruel then. ‘Piccadilly—’ she began.
‘Listen to that,’ he said cocking one ear to the band. ‘That’s the “Suitors’ Dance” and I promised Miss Poot.’ The city mouse left her and Audrey’s eyes pricked with wretched tears.
The rest of the evening swept by merrily. Nobody noticed Audrey slipping away to her room with her paws over her eyes.
Slowly the party broke up. Those from the Landings yawned and made their way up the stairs. The Raddle sisters tittered at Tom Cockle who was sound asleep and snoring loudly with an empty bowl of berrybrew at his side. Biddy Cockle scolded and shook him, then with some help from Algy, Tom Cockle staggered home singing at the top of his voice about a mouse called Gertie. Biddy was not amused and made him sleep in the spare room for three days afterwards.
Eventually, Piccadilly was left alone in the hall. ‘I must go tomorrow,’ he told himself miserably. ‘Back to the grit and grime of the city.’ He bowed his head and wept silently beneath the crescent summer moon.
5. A Meeting at Midnight
It was not yet dawn. The greyness of night lingered reluctantly in corners and doorways. Somewhere, behind the tall tower blocks and council estates the sun rose slowly over the hidden horizon and the night shadows shrank deep into the earth for the rest of the day.
Piccadilly quietly rose from his bed and put on his belt. He checked everything was where it should be: small knife – yes, that was there, mousebrass – yes, the belt was looped through it securely, and finally, biscuit supply – well, the leather pouch was there but it was empty. He wondered if Mrs Brown would mind if he took some of her biscuits. It might take a long time to walk back to the city. Piccadilly frowned – it would seem like stealing to take without asking, but he wanted to slip away without any fuss – maybe he ought to leave a note. He crept into the Browns’ kitchen.
The biscuits were next to the crackers, so Piccadilly took two of each, broke them into small pieces and slipped them into his pouch. He looked around for a bit of paper to write on. Then he wondered what he could put – it needed a long explanation to tell Mrs Brown why he was going but how could he put into words all that he felt?
