A Boy Called MOUSE

by Penny Dolan

  ‘No. You tell them first, Father!’ he howled. ‘You begin. Tell them you ignored the boy. Let them know you never spoke to him as if he was your grandchild, just as you have never spoken to me except as a servant.’

  The old man looked up from his porridge and gaped. His bony hands rose feebly and tears dribbled down his hollow cheeks.

  ‘Father?’ Adeline gasped. ‘How did you treat my boy?’

  The old man gathered his energy together. When he turned towards her, his gaze was venomous.

  ‘How dare you ask! It was you, girl, who took my own boy away,’ he hissed, and turned to glare at his firstborn son. ‘And you, Albert, agreed to go. You left me, and everything I’d built for you. You chose her and a glasshouse of plants, rather than doing your duty by your own father. Why should I have treated the boy as a dear little darling?’

  ‘Because he was your grandson,’ Adeline spoke, hardly comprehending. ‘We thought you would care for him.’

  ‘Like you expected me to look after everything at Epton Towers for you?’ said Scrope, his voice cracking. ‘Who, out of all of us, failed most?’

  Aghast, Adeline stared at Scrope, her eyes brimming. True and trusted friend, he remembered. That was what she had called him long ago. The silence went on for a long time.

  Eventually, Albert spoke decisively. ‘Whatever we have done in the past must be left for another day.’ He rang the bell to summon the servants and arrange a carriage into town. ‘First we need to work out how to find the boy. So, brother Scrope, explain this Mr Button to us. Why exactly do we find this person meddling so harshly in our lives?’

  .

  CHAPTER 69

  A TRICK OF THE LIGHT

  There were splinters of wood on the floor.

  ‘Stay!’ Vanya ordered, as he blocked the narrow doorway.

  Toby obeyed. So did I. For a breath’s space, the little child I once was cringed away from the face I was about to see, the man who took me to Murkstone Hall, who tightened such webs round my life. I was glad to be protected by Vanya’s mighty bulk.

  Then Dog Toby barked sharply, reminding me of Punchman’s bravery, and my fear shrank back to its cave.

  Through the gap between Vanya’s arm and side, I could see the smiling mask of Mr Button. Against the wall, concealed in a sack, was Kitty. Button had grasped one of her wrists, but Kitty barely responded, though whether from harm or terror or choice I could not tell.

  Vanya stayed calm and steady. ‘I have come to take the child away.’

  Button regarded Vanya dismissively. He ignored the little dog too. ‘You think I will give this wretched boy up now when he is about to bring me good fortune? You are mistaken.’

  Charlie Punchman’s instructions came into my mind. Don’t forget, Mouse, timing is everything. Always wait for your entrance, Mouse. And then, when that moment comes, make the most of it! I stayed lurking behind Vanya’s huge bulk.

  ‘Huh! I can see no way out for you. That is surely a pity!’ Vanya mocked, stretching out his arms so that he blocked the doorway entirely.

  Button wrenched Kitty upright. She muffled a shriek. ‘There certainly is a way out, you great idiot. I assume you’re after this piece of vermin?’ A pistol gleamed in his hand.

  Toby growled.

  ‘Which creature do I go for first, do you think, boy or dog?’ Button gloated.

  ‘Is no matter,’ Vanya retorted. ‘The dog? Then I will get you. Me? I am well prepared for fellows like you.’ Vanya was playing for his moment in time too. ‘The poor child? What harm has he done you, eh?’ He moved half a pace forward. ‘Or is it some harm that you did to the boy that makes you so angry?’

  ‘Harm young Mouse?’ Button chuckled. ‘Mouse? No, Mouse has been what you might call my long-term investment. There are people who are aching to see his silly face, you see. People who long to see this!’

  Scornfully, Button tugged off the sacking and glanced down to mock the face he thought he’d see. Instead, with Puck’s cap askew, and her hair tumbling down, there was Kitty.

  ‘What the hell’s this?’ He put the pistol to Kitty’s throat.

  Out from the shadows I sprang, out from behind Vanya. ‘Did you want me, Button?’ I shouted, darting forward. ‘Was it me, me? Did you want little Mouse?’

  Button turned from Kitty, his eyes widening as another green-faced child danced in front of him. He could not mistake this one. This was the true Mouse.

  ‘You!’ he gasped, and suddenly Vanya sprang forward, wrestling Button to the ground. The pistol slipped from his grasp, and Toby’s teeth dug into his arm.

  I rushed across, grabbed the pistol and pulled Kitty to her feet and away from Button. We looked like two bruised green beans dropped in a muddy gutter.

  Vanya was not calm or steady any longer. Like a bear, he hauled Button back to his feet. He dragged him up the steps, skinning the man’s hands and shins, and across to the waiting cab.

  ‘Get in, you cockroach, you black beetle!’ he roared, squashing Button tightly against the corner of the cab. Kitty and I jumped in, with Dog Toby at my heels, and I handed the pistol over to Vanya.

  ‘Now we visit the respected constables at their station, I think,’ announced Vanya. ‘They will welcome you so well!’

  Vanya returned us to the theatre. The gas lamp was still flickering above the stage door.

  ‘It is us. We are back,’ called Vanya as we entered. ‘All is well with the children.’

  Adnam came rushing forward, his face hollow with worry. We stood there onstage, still daubed in green.

  ‘Kitty? Are you all right, dearest child?’

  Kitty stepped back from Adnam’s outstretched arms. ‘Yes, I am,’ she said, ‘but that awful man’s not, and good riddance to him.’

  ‘And Mouse?’ said Adnam. ‘What happened?’

  Vanya started to tell Adnam our tale.

  ‘Please,’ said Kitty, ‘I am so very tired . . .’

  That night we were taken up to Adnam’s very own rooms at the top of the theatre. Peter brought us sweet cake and settled us down to sleep, wrapped in several thick cloaks that smelled of greasepaint.

  I woke only once. Adnam was sitting there, staring down at Kitty. I drifted off again, but I wished it was not Button’s face that I saw in my dreams.

  ‘Toby, where are you?’ I murmured, reaching out. I was glad to find the little dog’s body snuggling beside me again.

  .

  CHAPTER 70

  A KETTLE ON THE BOIL

  ‘Righto!’ shouted the sergeant to the constable on desk duty. ‘That nasty red-faced fellow is banged up for the night, and I’m away round the corner for my supper. The shop’s yours to watch for a while, lad.’

  When Vanya had first brought Button to the police station, Button was wary of the sergeant with the fierce handlebar moustache. However, he still had enough wits to gather several facts about the establishment where he was – not too wisely – being deposited.

  Though the station had a well-polished desk, that piece of furniture was almost its only efficiency. As Button was dragged through the station towards his solitary cell, he assessed the situation watchfully. By the time his prison door clanged shut, he had a plan.

  The pale-faced constable was a young lad, not quite used to the ways of the world. Desperately weary from too many night shifts, he had filed away twenty scrawled statements, put the kettle on to boil and settled himself by the fire.

  Soon his sitting had turned into a snoozing, in which he imagined himself tackling the latest felon in the most heroic manner. This idle quarter-hour was just long enough.

  Button’s shouts roused the bemused constable, who woke amid a cloud of scalding steam from the boiling kettle. Quickly he took the kettle from the fire, then hurried to the cell. He peered
through the peephole into the gloom beyond, and saw nobody.

  Alarmed, he unlocked the door and stepped inside. To his horror, the new prisoner was missing. What would he tell his sergeant? What would happen to him now?

  Then Button rolled out from under the low bunk, sank his teeth deep into the leg of the law and laid the lad low with a blow. The keys clattered to the floor.

  All went just as Button intended. Free again, he crept past the empty desk without even admiring the expensive mahogany and disappeared into the icy mists of the dawn.

  .

  CHAPTER 71

  ADNAM THE GREAT

  Despite everything – the kidnapping, the distress, the recovery – the Dream itself had to continue. However, it continued, as we quickly discovered, with a certain difference.

  Just before the next performance, Adnam called everyone together. He took his usual place, centre stage, while the costumed actors nudged each other, gossiped and muttered around him, until he signalled silence.

  We all waited – cast, stagehands, lighting men, dressers, musicians and even the fairy dancers – to hear whatever Adnam had to tell us. He stood there in his royal robes, a wreath of golden leaves in his carefully arranged locks, and began.

  ‘Ladies, gentlemen, dear friends and helpers, we all know that Shakespeare’s Dream is a play about deceptions and errors, but there has been a deeper deception, which I now choose to reveal.’

  Everyone crowded closer to catch Adnam’s words. He sighed deeply, as if the Albion’s future balanced on this revelation.

  ‘I must admit I did not try to stop this deception. In a sense I encouraged it, though now I find it has almost cost a precious life. So, friends, no matter what it costs this struggling production, I will tell you the truth.’

  The mutters of concern changed to curiosity as Adnam beckoned me forward.

  ‘Who do we have here? We all know, don’t we? It is Puck, our dazzling sprite, our young climber of heights, our fearless flyer, our blithe boy. And many thanks to him too!’

  There were smiles and some applause. I bowed nervously, not sure of what was coming next.

  Adnam’s smiles turned grim. ‘But is not Puck a shape-shifter, a creature of mystery, a creature who is not what he appears? Or what she appears?’

  She? She? That word, passed on, hummed like a swarm of bees.

  ‘Yes, she,’ continued Adnam. ‘As some of you have guessed, more than one cunning sprite has been deceiving us. Young Kitty?’ He invited her to step forward too. Kitty hesitated, but Adnam took her hand and brought her centre stage too. ‘Behold our other Puck!’

  Bellina Lander’s cheeks flushed with bright patches of rage. If she could have become a spitting cat and scratched Kitty’s eyes out, I’m sure that’s what she’d have done.

  ‘That child?’ she screeched. ‘How could you let her onstage, after all you promised me, Hugo?’

  La Bellina rushed over to strike him, but he deflected her blow easily. Shamed, she swirled about in her long robes and stood with her back to him, panting with anger.

  ‘Some of you know that Kitty was once the best fairy dancer we had onstage,’ Adnam said, beaming generously at all. ‘I, for one, welcome her somewhat disguised return to the boards.’

  There was much applause, though not from La Bellina.

  ‘In fact, Kitty will continue to share the role of Puck with our bold flyer, young Mouse, and both their names will appear on tonight’s cast list. So now you know what I, Hugo Adnam, choose, come what may.’

  ‘Well done, lad! Well done, lass!’ There were many cheers, with the loudest from Vanya. Then Adnam silenced us with a raised hand.

  ‘I have done many things for the sake of the Albion, for these rough boards that give you all your noble employment, even the proud Miss Lander. My dream was to make this theatre into something grand and fine, not a tawdry playhouse to amuse common sots and hussies. I believe we have had some success.’

  Greater applause rang out. I saw that Adnam’s speech was almost a play that he was performing right here under our noses.

  ‘I tried, against my better judgement, to keep a proud lady in my company,’ said Adnam. ‘But now I say, go stamp your feet if you wish, Miss Lander. Leave my theatre if you want to. Go. Stay. I no longer care.’

  The fight had gone out of La Bellina. Her beautiful face was like a blank mask.

  Adnam’s proud voice faltered. ‘But in following my dream, there was a story that I pushed to the back of my mind. I do not want to do so any longer.’

  He hung his head for a moment, then raised it towards Kitty and the girls. He was not being Hugo the great actor then. All at once, something was so, so clear to me that I didn’t know why I had not seen it before.

  ‘More than a dozen years ago, friends, I loved a dear, kind woman. Then the dark angel we will all one day meet took her away. Bitterly, I turned away from the little ones I should have loved and gave my heart entirely to the Albion.’

  In one single movement, Adnam lifted Kitty up high.

  ‘This Kitty is that dear woman’s child and my own daughter, and her two little sisters are my own children too.’ He stood the astonished Kitty gently down to the stage and declared, ‘Forgive me, Kitty. You too, Flora and Dora. Yes, I am your father.’

  By then, Miss Tildy and all the actresses were blubbing. Even Peter was dabbing softly at his eyes. Flora and Dora, never missing a cue, rushed forward into Adnam’s embrace. Utterly exhausted, he crouched down and whispered in their ears.

  ‘Blimey!’ muttered Arthur Boddy. ‘Knock me down with a feather!’

  Eventually, Adnam rose, breathed deeply, and spoke. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your attention. Please remember we have a play to put on this evening. Go, break a leg! Good luck, all!’

  As we hesitated, Adnam’s voice rang out again. ‘Are you still with my company, Miss Lander, or do I have to make other arrangements?’

  La Bellina’s sigh was so melodramatic that it was a wonder she did not faint with the effort. She gave the very slightest nod of agreement, and swept off the stage.

  It seemed to me then that Adnam, being Adnam, could not have revealed his secret in any other way. An actor was what he was, playing out his own life both onstage and off.

  Only one person did not move. Kitty. She had not returned to Adnam’s fatherly embrace, as Flora and Dora had done. She looked across at me and half smiled, but I could not read her thoughts. So the great Hugo Adnam was her own father? How did it feel to learn that after so long?

  But we had not time to ponder. Within a few minutes, the curtain would rise, and we would begin again. That night the Albion would stage a story like no other.

  .

  CHAPTER 72

  DIFFERENT PLACES

  The Chief Inspector listened respectfully to Albert and Adeline. Privately he thought that their explanations did not entirely make sense, and it was odd that the brother, Scrope, remained silent.

  Besides, a report had just arrived on his desk. He read, with growing alarm, the account of a Mr Button’s sudden escape. As he sucked thoughtfully on his pipe, the Chief Inspector arranged for several urgent telegraphs to be sent and tried to calm his audience.

  ‘Madam, sirs, there will be news but not immediately,’ he told them. ‘Go back to your hotel. I will send a messenger if anything is discovered.’

  They trudged out into the fog. Albert and Adeline held hands grimly. Scrope scuffed his boots in their wake.

  A pitiful, grubby-faced boy appeared out of the mist. His rectangular wooden suit advertised all manner of amusements. He tried to step aside, but the weight of the boards almost toppled him into the gentlefolk instead.

  ‘Sorry, madam. Sorry, sirs,’ he chirped.

  ‘No matter,’ Adeline murmured. Did anythin
g at all matter just now?

  Apologetically, as if they were flowers, the boy thrust a fistful of printed flyers into Adeline’s hands.

  Back at their hotel, the three sank into padded velvet chairs. They were too wrung out to face any meal. When a waiter appeared silently at their side, Albert ordered drinks.

  Scrope stared hard at his glass, downed it in one, then wished he had another. What else could he do?

  Albert took small melancholy sips.

  Adeline gazed into space, not reaching out for her drink at all. Her fingers were still clutched tightly around the flyers.

  ‘Let me take those, my dearest,’ Albert said eventually, trying to prise them out of her hand.

  Adeline shook her head, then let her eyes focus once more. She glanced listlessly at the smudged print gathered in her grasp. There, among the crumpled lists of plays and players, she read one name.

  ‘Oh!’ Adeline gasped, and, without another word, leaped up from her armchair, and ran out through the hotel doors.

  ‘Quick!’ said Albert, gathering up his wife’s fur wraps. ‘After her!’

  The swirling fog transformed every gas lamp into a yellow orb. Cabs and omnibuses were hung with warning lanterns. Only the rattle of wheels on cobbles alerted pedestrians and crossing sweepers to approaching vehicles.

  Horses appeared out of the thick gloom, tossing their blinkered heads nervously. Cab drivers struggled to find their familiar stopping places at the theatre steps.

  The never-ending murk silenced the audience that flocked towards the Albion. They were heavily wrapped in furs and shawls, cloaks and capes, mufflers and overcoats, but they hurried forward determinedly. Tonight they would be the Albion’s most welcome guests.

  One single green carriage came to a steady halt. The driver leaped down, and helped his passengers descend to the pavement. The smaller woman, neat and trim, reached for her purse, but the cabbie shook his head and gave a friendly grin.

  ‘No, madam, thank you. This is himself’s carriage. Mr Adnam told me to take good care of you both.’