A Boy Called MOUSE

by Penny Dolan

  .

  CHAPTER 47

  A CUNNING PLAN

  It took almost a day to do it, but, among the shouts of stagehands, Mr Nick and Vanya’s fantastic flying device was raised up above the stage.

  The mechanism fitted perfectly into the height of the stage. The oiled gears and wheels spun silently, and the wires and ropes ran through metal eyes so they would not tangle. The rewinding wheel had powerful handles, so that the flying line could be drawn back fast. All the scenery would have to be specially designed around it, because the machine had to remain concealed until it was needed.

  ‘If the stage was any other stage, we would be in trouble,’ Vanya commented, ‘but here, with the space so tall, it will go well.’

  I stood on the stage, gazing up. How I admired the cleverness of Vanya and Nick, my two friends, as they stood beside me. Gradually I noticed that their eyes were fixed on me in an oddly fond way. They seemed rather on edge, as if something was about to happen.

  Nick coughed, smiled and patted my arm reassuringly. Vanya breathed in, and then he breathed out and said, all of a rush, ‘Mouse, we have something to ask you.’

  Vanya held up the newly made flying harness, all leather and straps ‘Could you . . . ?’ Vanya asked.

  Could I? What could I say? I’d heard Vanya and Nick working on their machine so often. I almost imagined I could draw it with my eyes closed. I trusted them, of course I did. I wasn’t afraid of going up so high, though I was more than a little worried about coming down again. Could I? This was a real live theatre.

  Then I felt a tingle of excitement, like the feeling I’d had when I danced on beams above Punchman’s booth and the crowd cheered. I started to imagine soaring over the audience . . .

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I will.’

  First I put on a thick cotton vest and a pair of cut-down linen breeches, and then the flying harness. Even with padding, the straps did not feel very comfortable. I strutted about, trying to get my body used to the weight.

  Kitty found me a pair of soft leather slippers, tightened by laces.

  ‘Won’t my boots do?’

  ‘Mouse, you must land like snowflake, not crashing elephant,’ said Vanya. ‘And what if a boot fell on someone’s head?’

  ‘What about barefoot?’

  ‘Believe me, the stage is full of splinters,’ said Kitty.

  Two of the stage crew were leaning over the railing, high above me. I seized the first rung. Hand by hand, foot by foot, I willed myself up, the long ladder thrumming at each step. I reached the iron gangway above the stage, where each of the ropes that raised the scenery ran in its own wooden groove on the wall.

  I stepped on to the grating and glimpsed the boards of the stage far below. What was it about this climb, with its changing pools of light and dark, that worried me so?

  Trembling, Nick climbed up to the walkway after me, because he must. He had to show me and the stagehand exactly how to clip the lines into place, and how to steady the anchor rope. He had to show me the long lines running down to the floor that would be used to haul me back from my flight. The burly stagehand far below grinned up at me. I paused and took in a deep hard breath.

  Way down below, in the middle of the stage, four safety cushions had been dragged up from beneath the stage traps. Though these squabs were bigger than a king’s bed, from this height they seemed smaller than Aunt Violet’s dainty armchair pads.

  Kitty and Vanya were watching from below, tiny as toy figures. Dog Toby was pattering around the stage, worrying in case it was my turn to come to harm.

  ‘Mouse,’ said Nick rather anxiously, ‘once you are ready, imagine you are diving down into water. Don’t worry about the machine. It will follow you.’

  He didn’t know that I had never been a swimmer.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Nick asked me. The stagehand had grasped the ropes.

  ‘Almost.’ I curled my toes around the iron ledge, getting my balance, and I wrapped my fingers around the handrail on each side.

  ‘Good luck, Mouse-boy! Go well!’ Vanya shouted, waving up at me. Toby danced about Vanya’s feet, barking his own wishes. I waved back at them. If the machine didn’t work, this gesture would be my last.

  I spied the long limbs of Hugo Adnam sprawled in the front row of the auditorium. He was pretending to study a script, underlining parts and scenes, but he too was waiting for me to jump. The future of his beloved theatre depended on the machine’s success.

  When I was with Charlie Punchman, I had learned to crow and shout and prance and call up a show. Here, at the Albion, I was no singer or actor. All I could hope to do was climb, and fly. I hesitated, feeling sick. I was afraid.

  ‘Let us see the machine at work,’ whispered Nick, behind me. ‘All the straps are fastened now.’

  I did not move.

  ‘Hey, Mousekin! It is time. Fly, Mouse, fly!’ bellowed Vanya, his jovial face beaming at me. ‘Have courage! Have delight!’

  Have delight! I took a deep breath and counted, ‘One, two, three . . .’ and then I let go, falling forward into a downward swing. The arms creaked, the harness squeezed tight into my ribs and Vanya’s lines took me arcing across the stage. Just when the rope was reaching full stretch, I heard the rollers swish along their runners and I flew further out over the seats, out above Adnam, who could not keep his eyes off me.

  I swung out then back, out then back. Then the lines tightened and, like a marionette, I was taken from one side to the other in a giant half-circle.

  Kitty and Vanya were clapping and dancing, Nick was cheering, Adnam was on his feet, and I swear that even the carved golden cupids around the theatre were smiling at me.

  I flew, I swooped, I soared. My mind was dazzled by the flight, by the action. Whatever Vanya and Nick had told me had gone out of my mind. What was supposed to happen next?

  I felt a tug at my waist, and the windlass turning, reeling in the line and lifting me up so I could land safely back on the stage.

  I met the boards with an inelegant thud, as the slope of the stage toppled me backwards and I collapsed on my behind.

  Everyone rolled about, gasping with laughter, but from an underlying sense of relief.

  Nick’s round face peered down at me. He was beaming like the man in the moon. Vanya was shouting, Kitty was cheering, while Dog Toby, responding to the atmosphere of celebration, raced across the cushions and jumped on to me, tail wagging madly.

  Adnam stood, applauding. ‘Gentlemen, you two are geniuses!’ He reached into his pocket and flung some coins at me. ‘See! The boy Mouse is hired. You can have his services whenever you want to work on your machine. But remember, it must be perfected in time for the play. The reputation of the Albion depends upon you!’

  So we continued. Now the machine was truly installed, Vanya made use of me almost daily, balancing this wheel, adjusting this line, checking for any damage to the straps. Nick asked me for daily reports. The stagehands muttered their observations as they passed.

  The only one who said nothing was Kitty. When the first flight went well, she had danced around and told the little girls all about it, but since then, day by day, she had grown more distant.

  ‘Kit, what is it?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, stabbing her needle into a piece of tough cloth. ‘Go back to Vanya. I’ve got lots to do here.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘No, Mouse. Just go!’

  .

  CHAPTER 48

  SCROPE ALONE

  So this was the place, Scrope thought as he dismounted. He had reached Murkstone Hall, and he would do what he had come to do. He sighed, hardly able to believe he had finally arrived.

  He had known the school was far away, but he hadn’t realised how far into the wilderness he would have to travel. No wonder nob
ody had built a railway along this route!

  The journey had been a nightmare. His horse had gone lame on him and needed to be rested and he had chosen to wait till she had recovered rather than ride an unfamiliar animal. Then, in another inn, he had come down with a dreadful fever and been an invalid in bed for a week or more. The ruts and potholes were so bad he had twisted his back and could only stand being in the saddle for an hour or so a day. Finally, a river had flooded, so he had had to go many miles out of his way in search of a passable road.

  Scrope knew that these all seemed like excuses for avoiding an awkward scene. But he hadn’t turned back, though he could have done, and now he was here at last.

  The iron gates hung loose in the pillars, and the building beyond was dark and ugly. Was this where the boy was sent?

  A soft voice in his head corrected his words: ‘This is where you sent the boy Mouse. You, yourself, Scrope!’ But he could not bear to think of that, not at this moment. He was gathering his strength for what he would face.

  To his surprise, a brisk command rang merrily across the cold, unfriendly landscape.

  ‘Now, boys! Get ready! Go!’

  The shouted order was almost obliterated by the joyful shrieks of a gang of assorted boys, both large and small, who came racing wildly towards Scrope.

  He stood mesmerised, guilty and afraid, but they were only charging at the gate pillars. With screams of success, they smacked their hands against the stone and turned, racing back merrily the way they had come.

  One last boy rested at the gate, out of breath. He grinned inanely, full of the pure pleasure of the race.

  ‘Is this Murkstone Hall, boy?’ Scrope asked hesitantly. ‘Is this where I can find Mr Bulloughby?’

  The boy’s grin was instantly gone. His eyes were full of terror. ‘No, mister, Bulloughby’s not here and we hopes to God he’s never here, never again.’ His gabble ended in a cry for help. ‘Mr Jarvey! Mr Jarvey, here’s a man to see! Come quickly!’

  A tall thin man loped along the path, a little unsteadily. ‘Are you all right, Niddle?’ he asked, ignoring the visitor.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Niddle answered, moving close to his side.

  The teacher leaned against the pillar, unable to speak until he too had caught his breath, but he fixed Scrope with a fierce eye. When his wheezing had quietened, the teacher asked ‘What do you want, sir?’

  ‘I believe,’ Scrope said, ‘that there is a boy called Mouse at this school.’

  ‘There was once.’

  Once?

  ‘He ran away,’ the teacher added.

  ‘Ran away?’ Scrope echoed. This was Adeline’s son he was asking about. ‘Was he sometimes happy? Was he treated fairly well?’ he blurted out, wishing it could be true. ‘Was Mr Bulloughby kind to him?’

  The man and boy stared at each other, as if Scrope’s questions were preposterous.

  ‘What do you think?’ asked the teacher, almost violently. ‘What do you think life was like for any of these boys while Bulloughby was around? It was grimmer than the halls of hell, and even worse than that for Mouse, with Bulloughby always at his back. Thank God that man has left us in peace for a while, and all good wishes to Mouse, wherever he is.’

  ‘Come.’ Jarvey turned the boy towards the school. ‘Time to go back inside, Niddle. Run. There’ll be some good hot stew waiting, and this visitor must have far to travel tonight. We won’t keep him.’

  ‘Goodbye, sir,’ said Niddle wistfully. ‘If you see Mouse, tell him about us. Tell him his friend Niddle says hello.’ The boy trotted happily back up the path.

  Jarvey’s eyes blazed at Scrope. ‘I will tell you this, sir. Wherever Mouse has gone to can be no crueller than this place was to him, thanks to Bulloughby and that dreadful monster Button.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Scrope did not know what else to say.

  ‘Furthermore,’ Jarvey added, his words chillingly cold, ‘whoever sent a child in their care to this place deserves very little sympathy. Do you understand, sir?’

  He left Scrope standing alone on the stony path.

  .

  CHAPTER 49

  KITTY CAUGHT

  Though the wonderful machine needed perfecting, I still had to earn my keep. As Kitty did not seem to need much help, I was often busy sweeping between the rows of seats in the auditorium.

  Anything I picked up – anything valuable, not apple cores or trampled playbills – had to go straight to Smudge’s waiting hands. I once gave a gilt bracelet in to Vanya, but that was before I understood how sweeping worked. Smudge had not forgiven me.

  Then handfuls of sawdust were scattered between the rows to soak up any damp patches. I worked away with my broom, though every so often I glanced at Hugo Adnam and his cast rehearsing onstage.

  One afternoon, in a flurry of expensive scent, a woman entered the theatre. She swirled past me in a neat costume of mauve satin, and her tip-tapping heels made footprints through the sawdust.

  ‘Adnam,’ Bellina Lander cried, ‘it’s me, darling. I’m back at last!’

  Everything and everyone stopped, even Adnam.

  Bellina Lander was strikingly beautiful. Her skin was ivory pale, her eyes burned like green fire and her hair was a curtain of dark silk. She attracted every eye, and every ear, and she knew it. Nevertheless, by the time I had swept five more rows, I’d realised that Miss Lander had her own way of rehearsing. She was quickly bored by anything other than her own part, and she adored Adnam and ignored everyone else.

  While Bellina rehearsed her major scenes, all the actors and stagehands had to be on or around the stage to give her an audience. Whenever one of her minor scenes was in rehearsal, another actress had to stand in and read the lines for her, because La Bellina had more important things to do.

  ‘Don’t worry, Hugo! I’ll pick up everything at the dress rehearsal. I’ve acted this part before, darling, or something like it. Must fly! See you soon.’

  Meeting the beautiful Bellina Lander was like biting into a sugar bun and finding a sour lemon. So what on earth had Kitty done to upset this glittering star?

  I tried asking the little ones. ‘Flora? Dora? Have you always been dancers?’

  ‘Since we were as teeny-tiny as kittens,’ Dora purred.

  ‘And Kitty danced like you?’

  ‘Mouse, she was the very best dancer. Didn’t we tell you that yet?’

  ‘Then why isn’t she onstage now?’

  ‘We don’t know, Mouse,’ they whispered demurely, though I am sure they knew something was not right.

  I tried Miss Tildy.

  ‘Och, Mouse, I’ve only been here a short while. It’s probably the usual story.’ She waved one hand airily about. ‘It’s easy to place pretty wee bairns and babbies in a show, but it gets harder to use girls like yon Kitty. Nobody needs a fairy once she’s more than elbow high, certainly not our audiences. She’ll find it easier once she’s a well-grown lass, I expect.’

  Miss Tildy was quite determined to see nothing nasty within the Albion Theatre.

  In the end, I went back to Kitty herself. She was down at the end of the furthest corridor in the hosiery room, folding up some old stockings. Her shoulders drooped, and loose strands of hair fell across her face.

  I perched on a basket beside her. ‘Kitty, I am sorry. I didn’t expect to be the one trying out Vanya’s flying machine.’

  She looked up at me and nodded. ‘I know. It’s not just that, Mouse.’

  ‘What happened with Bellina Lander, Kit?’

  ‘You really want to hear the story?’ Kitty took a very deep breath.

  And then she told me.

  ‘I sometimes think that Adnam keeps this theatre running on promises and dreams. Last year he had scraped out all of his pockets to keep the Albion alive. Then we had a run
of bad luck. A play intended to save our fortune was dull. A reliable actor broke his leg. An actress ran away with a lord. The creditors would soon be at the door.

  ‘Then Adnam asked La Bellina to take on the leading role, and surely bring in the crowd. We all felt hopeful, until we heard what she was demanding.

  ‘Don’t think of her as a fragile butterfly, Mouse. Bellina decided the show should run on past midnight. That hour might suit her, but it would be harder work for all the rest of us: all the ordinary actors, the crew, the musicians and dancers, everyone. Did she think about how late they’d get home to their families and lodgings? No! Did she even consider the fairy dancers? Not at all! While Bellina would be dining with her grand friends, the little kids would be trailing home through the most dangerous part of the night.’

  ‘That’s not right,’ I told Kitty. ‘Anyone can see that.’

  ‘Exactly. Especially me, Mouse. I just got angry.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I told her, straight out. I couldn’t help it! Everyone heard what I shouted.

  ‘“Don’t you care, Miss Lander,” I said, “that these little ones will be walking home by themselves? You’ll be sending them into the streets when there’s drunks and ruffians and night creatures about. You don’t find that many constables and omnibuses about after midnight, do you? Or maybe you’d like the little girls to sleep on the steps of the theatre? What does Hugo Adnam say about this new idea? Has he agreed? Have you asked him?”

  ‘The stage boomed as I stamped my foot, but voices were agreeing with me too.

  ‘“How dare you, Miss High-and-Mighty?” I saw her lips shrink to a thin scarlet line. “The Albion can find new fairies any day of the week, believe me.”’

  Having seen the rehearsals, I could almost imagine La Bellina’s face as she said those words. Kitty’s voice dropped to a murmur.

  ‘In the end, Adnam turned down her midnight scheme and wouldn’t let a single fairy be sacked. But La Bellina wasn’t finished.’ Tears glistened in Kitty’s eyes. ‘She threatened to leave the company there and then if she ever saw me appearing on the Albion’s stage again. With La Bellina newly advertised in all the papers, it would have ruined Adnam. He had no choice, did he?’