by Penny Dolan
I had nowhere to go. My feet were rubbed raw inside my boots, so I had to think before making every step. I had no idea what to do.
Outside the Red Lion several large barrels had been stacked, waiting for a dray-cart that hadn’t arrived. I sneaked between their oak bellies and crouched down. They stank of stale beer, but I was weary to my bones, and my eyes drifted to a close.
A vile mist rose from the drains, creeping like doubt. How had I thought I could find Ma and Isaac in this huge city? It was all too vast, too impossible. My plan was only a dream, a pretence. I bit my sleeve to stop my teeth from chattering, and dreaded the hours ahead.
Well after midnight, shrill, childish voices woke me. Two small girls appeared around the corner. Rough wool shawls were gathered over their trailing gauzy skirts. Giggling and singing, the little girls danced over cracks in the pavements and hopped along the kerb, their legs thin as those of foals on a farm. Tinsel strands sparkled in their hair, and their cheeks were smeared with paint.
Out of the night, a large coach rattled into view, pulled by two well-groomed horses: a gentleman on his way home. It kept close to the kerbside, and the hoof-beats slowed to a walk. I had reason to be suspicious of carriages, and this one was slowing almost to a stop. The cab door opened. Someone reached out, inviting the girls to come closer, to come inside.
‘Watch out!’ I yelled, darting out and dragging the two girls back to safety. I slammed the door hard against that beckoning arm. A voice inside yelled in pain and shouted to the driver. The carriage moved off at a brisk pace.
Turning to the small startled girls, I smiled in as friendly a way as I could. ‘Don’t worry. The man’s –’
‘Got you, you pig!’ An enormous bag of laundry shoved me down against the paving stones. A girl about my own size was pummelling me violently, her long plaits flying about in fury. As I squirmed, she landed a fierce punch on my nose. ‘Don’t you dare hurt my sisters! You vile serpent! You spotted toad!’
The two tiny ones howled like banshees.
‘Didn’t hurt them!’ I mumbled. My mouth was stuffed with cloth, but the thumping continued.
‘Just because they’re younger than you, you sneak-thief, you cutpurse, you filthy beggar! You’ll be sorry you ever went near them –’
‘Kitty, please,’ one small girl screeched, ‘it wasn’t him.’
‘What?’ The attack ceased.
‘This brave boy saved us from a nasty man in a big coach,’ said the other, ‘so please don’t keep hitting him.’
Kitty removed the bundle from my chest, but kept her hand raised, ready to strike again. ‘Why didn’t you say?’
‘Mouth full,’ I mumbled, pointing, ‘of shirts.’
‘Stand up then, whoever you are,’ said Kitty, rather awkwardly.
I sat. I stood, eye to eye with Kitty. Then I swayed and blood gushed from my nostrils. Everything circled around me.
‘Kitty! You’ve done a murder!’ The small girls howled in fear and grief.
‘Shut up, Dora. You too, Flora. Of course I haven’t.’ Kitty glared at them. ‘And it’s your fault for running ahead of me anyway. I told you not to go so fast.’
I mopped my gory face with Punchman’s bright handkerchief.
‘Fancy silk and all,’ she said. ‘Must be a thief!’
‘Somebody gave it to me,’ I sniffed, as the blood dribbled down my chin.
‘Oh heavens! Just take this, boy.’ Kitty dragged a half-clean shirt out of the bundle and dabbed at me, even though I was caked in dirt already.
‘Thank you,’ I muttered.
Small Flora patted my hand sympathetically, as if I was an injured pet or a lost soul. ‘Shall we take this kind boy home, Kitty?’
‘Maybe he’s a poor runaway orphan lost in a deep, dark wood,’ lisped little Dora.
‘We’re not in a pantomime wood now, Dora. We’re in the middle of a blooming big city,’ Kitty snarled. ‘Fairy tale’s over. I’m sorry, boy, but we have to go.’
The cascade of blood had stopped, but my head was buzzing. ‘Help me,’ I begged, ‘please!’
‘Oooooh! Yes, yes, yes! Let’s help him!’ cried the little ones, delighted with such a plot. ‘He did save our lives, didn’t he?’
‘Maybe he’s an escaped prince,’ Flora added, peering into my eyes. ‘Are you under a spell, boy?’
‘Silly! He’d be a frog.’ Dora nudged Flora with her elbow. ‘Or a pretty bird.’
‘Please, please! Let us take him home with us, dearest Kitty,’ they pleaded.
Then Flora’s baby-sweet eyes glinted with cunning. ‘Or we’ll tell the Aunts that you weren’t looking after us properly. Won’t we, Dora?’
‘Mmmmmmm.’ Dora nodded. ‘We would.’
This threat hit Kitty hard. ‘Be quiet, you two,’ she said, stuffing the bloody shirt back into her bundle. She hoisted the weight up on her back again and glared at me. ‘You! What’s your name?’
‘Mouse.’
The girls giggled.
‘Mouse! Honestly, it is,’ I added, and had to admit to a fact that has puzzled me more and more, ‘though I don’t know why.’
Kitty’s brown eyes viewed me with curiosity. She almost smiled. ‘Well then, you homeless Mouse, if you want help you’d better move those ugly boots of yours. One chance. Come on, girls. Quick march!’ And she strode off.
I could not help Kitty with the bundle. I could barely hobble along, but I had to keep up or be lost in a warren of streets and alleys. Her figure, in a dull grey dress, marched ahead, while the little girls skipped on either side of me as if I was some sort of prize.
‘Don’t worry, Mouse,’ said Dora. ‘She’s nice really.’
‘No, I’m not!’ Kitty snapped back, without turning round. ‘Hurry, all of you. The Aunts will be waiting.’
.
CHAPTER 27
BITER BIT
‘Where is the boy?’ Old Epsilon’s question had turned into a continual drone. ‘I want him here. I need him . . .’
Scrope dragged his topcoat from its hook, put on his boots and hurried outside. He would go himself. He would search for that faraway school, and find out what was going on.
He had just ordered his roan mare brought from the stables when an elderly man ambled up on a weary old nag.
‘Message for you, good sir,’ he cried, and handed Scrope an envelope.
Having sent the messenger away, Scrope rested against the mounting block to read the letter, expecting to see that the boy was about to arrive, but some unwelcome words appeared.
. . . I suspect, dear Scrope, you do not want your father to know about your plans for the boy. You always had so many plans and wishes and, by chance, I have kept all your letters as proof.
Alternatively, you might prefer the child to perish before the loving reunion you mentioned. I am happy to remain quiet about either scheme, but my discretion will cost you.
One important point: up till now you have been lazy about your debts, all borrowed on promises of Epsilon’s riches. I am a little weary of waiting, so from now on I expect all moneys to be paid promptly . . .
Scrope felt sick to his stomach. The deceiver! The traitor! The turncoat! Yet, deep inside, Scrope knew that he should have seen this all along, this truth behind Mr Helpful Button, with his red-cheeked smile and his busy little notebook.
Scrope thought and thought . . . and thought. Maybe it was best to do the simple thing. He could go to this Murkstone Hall and get the boy, and then he could sort out things with Button.
If the little man was there at the school, Scrope would have the benefit of surprise. If not, collecting the boy would be an easy enterprise.
But those last words? Paid promptly? Maybe it would be best not to go empty-handed, just in case things became awkward. Scrope returned to t
he house to find what he could find.
.
CHAPTER 28
A PLACE OF GREAT CLEANLINESS
We crossed an empty marketplace, where skeletal dogs and cats fought for the last grisly scraps, and rats, eyes shining, ran along the drains and gutters. Water, oozing from a cracked horse trough, made foul puddles among the dung.
‘I’m so thirsty!’ Flora sighed dramatically, pulling Dora towards a dripping pump stand.
‘No! Don’t you dare!’ Kitty scolded, marching us on. ‘And keep your skirts out of the muck!’
We passed beggars huddling against the warmth of a baker’s shop. Was that was where I would be tomorrow night? A bridge took us over a darkly glittering ditch, and then we came to a row of shuttered shops and a broader, kinder street.
‘This way!’ Kitty said, as we turned down an alley and entered a tiny square. ‘Welcome to Spinsters’ Yard.’
The faded buildings staggered this way and that. Some seemed so ancient that only their timbers held them upright.
Kitty slipped a key into a tall gate in a wall, jiggled it until a latch clicked and we were through to a big backyard.
I stumbled at this gateway, and in that pause I was lost, trapped in a maze of washing lines and clothes props. Wet cloth flapped and slapped and cracked against me, suddenly parting to reveal the three girls mounting six stone steps, to where a woman with a lighted candle held open a door.
‘At last!’ she called. ‘We were worried.’
Afraid that the light would vanish and the door shut against me, I dashed forward through the washing. Kitty waited, with a half-smile, then grabbed my wrist and pulled me through into their home.
What? I had arrived in a giant wardrobe, where there were more garments than any one person could need. Shirts, gowns, chemises, petticoats, drawers and pantaloons were everywhere. Some hung rudely from long racks suspended from the ceiling. Some were folded in neat, pious stacks. The air was warm with the scent of lightly scorched cloth and hot irons.
Flora sighed impatiently. ‘Do come along! We’re in the next room!’
‘Here he is,’ Kitty said, pushing me forward. ‘Boy, meet Aunt Indigo and Aunt Violet.’
Aunt Indigo stood tall as an ancient empress. Replacing the candlestick on the mantelpiece, she stared down at me sternly. Aunt Violet, an oil lamp glowing at her side, sat holding a piece of fine needlework. Behind her wire spectacles, her gaze was as steely as that of her larger sister.
‘Who on earth is this, Kitty?’ Aunt Indigo frowned.
What did I look like to these women? My garments steamed with the sudden warmth. More than ever before, I felt my clothes were tattered and filthy from my outdoor life. I was ashamed to be indoors, in their clean, crowded room.
‘I am sorry,’ I muttered, almost too low for them to hear.
Kitty glanced at me, and almost grinned. ‘He needs a place for the night, Aunts. I think we should help him.’ Her voice was firm and steady.
‘Truly, truly, we should because . . .’ Dora started, but Kitty glared at her fiercely.
‘How did you meet him?’ Aunt Violet asked.
‘On the way home, Aunts.’ Kitty’s brown eyes flashed me a message: ‘Don’t tell them what happened, Mouse. Don’t!’
Desperation echoed in my voice. ‘Please? I’ve got nowhere to stay. I’ve only just arrived, and I’m not in trouble or anything. I’m here because . . .’
How could I explain? How could I admit to asking about my Ma, when I wasn’t even sure of her name, or who she was?
‘I’m looking for a lost relation,’ I said, feeling dizzy. After so long on the road, this clean, pleasant place was weakening me. ‘Let me stay for one night?’
‘And your name is?’ Aunt Indigo had crossed her arms over her dark blue bosom and was tapping one foot sharply beneath her long skirt.
‘He’s Mouse.’ Flora and Dora giggled hysterically.
I nodded and shrugged. ‘Yes. Mouse. That’s what I’m called.’
Raising one eyebrow, Aunt Indigo cast a querying glance at her sister. Aunt Violet smoothed the long fringes of her mauve shawl, adjusted her glasses and regarded me intently. Her look was more kindly than that of once-upon-a-time Madam Claudine, but I shuffled awkwardly, feeling wretched as a beggar’s dog.
Suddenly Aunt Violet smiled, and all was decided. ‘Well, young Mouse, you look honest enough, and if we don’t take you in tonight, nobody else will. We will worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.’
‘But you’ll have to sleep down here, in the armchairs,’ added Aunt Indigo. ‘Kitty, get the boy some blankets. Little ones, go and help her.’
Clearly the Aunts wanted to speak to me alone. ‘First things first, Mouse. You have been travelling for a very long time, haven’t you? Have you got any luggage?’ asked Aunt Indigo.
‘Nothing.’ I spread out my hands. ‘This is all I have.’
‘Furthermore . . .’ Aunt Indigo approached me and sniffed. ‘Exactly as I thought. We have a certain requirement.’ She pointed at the door leading back to the yard. Was she sending me away? ‘You need a wash, boy.’
‘We’ll find you something clean to wear afterwards,’ added Aunt Violet quickly, seeing my alarm.
Aunt Indigo whisked me across the flip-flapping yard and into a small outhouse. She lit a candle-stub, revealing jugs and buckets, scrubbing boards and mangles, and one vast wooden tub full of almost warm rinse-water. A copper boiler sat in a corner, steaming gently, though the fire underneath had been damped down.
‘Get in the tub, Mouse,’ Aunt Indigo said, handing me a block of soap, a scrubbing brush and a clean rag. ‘Leave your clothes on the floor. There’s a towel on the hook, and we’ll bale out the water in the morning.’
I was left alone. Glad of such practical kindness, I removed my crusted garments. My tarnished mouse medal still hung around my shoulder, but as I pulled at the fraying string, the threads broke. Catching the medal before it slid into the water, I placed it on a safe shelf. Then I plunged into the tub and washed away all those years of filth and wretchedness.
Eventually I was scrubbed and dry. Looking away from the scummy tub, I tugged on the clean garments Aunt Indigo had flung through the door. With my silver medal down deep inside my sturdy breeches pocket, I scampered across the yard and back into the warm house.
Ma, I thought, if I was running to you, would it be to a place like this? Or where? And would you still welcome me in?
I saw Aunt Indigo handing round cheese on toast, and my belly grumbled with hunger. Side by side, Dora and Flora chewed, eyes closed and almost asleep.
‘Help yourself, Mouse,’ Kitty said.
Blinking back tears of exhaustion, I reached out for the plate so fast I was almost snatching.
Aunt Indigo tapped me on the shoulder, not unkindly. ‘Don’t eat too fast, boy, or too much, or you’ll end up with pain in the stomach. There’ll be more in the morning, when you’ll want it.’
The clock on the mantelpiece struck twice. ‘Say goodnight to everyone, darlings, and take the tinsel out of your hair before you go to sleep,’ Aunt Violet said, shooing the little ones upstairs to bed.
At last I could ask. ‘Please? Where have Flora and Dora been? What have they been doing? Do parties go on so late in the city?’
Kitty and Aunt Indigo stared at each other as if I’d asked something so obvious they didn’t understand me, then they started to laugh.
‘Children’s parties? Oh, Mouse!’
‘Mercy me!’ said Aunt Violet, coming back downstairs. ‘We forget that we live a rather strange life, don’t we?’
‘And we’ll tell you about it tomorrow,’ yawned Aunt Indigo, dragging two chairs together and flinging down an old velvety cape for me to use as a cover. ‘Time for our own beds too.’
‘Goo
dnight, Mouse! Sleep well!’ Kitty, beaming jauntily, followed her aunts upstairs.
I lay there, in the darkness. I smelt the soap in my hair, I heard the Aunts snoring gently overhead and I pinched myself. What kind of good wishes had Wayland and Punchman sent after me if they had brought me to this comfort? I hardly knew myself that night.
I woke, unwillingly. I had not slept so deeply since my long-ago life at Ma Foster’s farm. I wriggled about under the crimson velvet cover, feeling easy, clean and happy, and trying to keep the search for Ma and Isaac quietly at the back of my mind.
‘Hello, boy!’ Flora and Dora, their curls tied in rags, peered at me over the arms of the chairs. Though the sun shone brightly through the window, they were still in their nightdresses. The little girls beamed at me.
‘We saw your eyelids moving,’ said Flora.
‘So we didn’t actually wake you up, did we, Mouse?’ said Dora. ‘Come on, sit up, do!’
‘Did you know we’re fairies, Mouse?’ Flora told me importantly.
‘We are fairies almost every night,’ Dora added.
‘What? You pretend to be fairies?’
‘No! Stupid boy! We are fairies!’
I could not work out what they were talking about. ‘Pardon?’
They giggled. ‘We are fairies at the famousest theatre in the city, silly Mouse.’
‘Tell me. What exactly does a fairy do?’
Flora began. ‘Well, we make sure our hair is clean and curled and everything, and then we go to the theatre, and get told what to do, and we wear pretty dresses, and shoes –’
‘– and wings. Don’t forget our wings!’ Dora fluttered her arms to demonstrate.
‘Then we do the proper dancing, and smiling –’
‘And sometimes singing –’
‘And then we do lots and lots of curtsying at the end.’
‘Then we do it again the next night, and the next. Though sometimes we have to be heavenly angels,’ sighed Dora, raising her eyes piously.
‘Or dark and midnight spirits.’ Flora’s voice became spitefully doom-laden and she put out spiky fingers. ‘But mostly we’re fairies,’ she ended brightly.