A Boy Called MOUSE

by Penny Dolan

  ‘Mouse, I’m your mother.’

  Mouse, I’m your mother? She is my mother?

  Too much, much too much. I closed my eyes, clutched my mouse medal and welcomed the dark.

  .

  CHAPTER 79

  AFTER THE FALL

  Sergeant Trudgewell turned up the gas light, and wrote a detailed report of the case in his plainest, clearest handwriting.

  .

  INCIDENT REPORT

  .

  9.05 p.m. I was called to Albion Theatre. Arrived to find two persons apparently deceased and an intermission act onstage. Cause of death reported to be a fall from upper gallery. After a brief investigation, I arranged for the bodies to be conveyed to station mortuary. The play continued.

  Person A. Male, aged about 40. Small, round-faced, red complexion. Wearing a black suit. Pockets contain pistol (fired), bullets and a life preserver. Also small notebook, pencil, skeleton keys, several coins and sundry items. Carried no identification or evidence of his abode.

  NB. Body fits the description of a known felon, Mr Button, recently escaped from police cells to the east of the city.

  Person B. Male, aged about 35. Tall, thin face. Gentleman? Wearing clothes of quality. Before I could undertake further investigation, the body was identified by Mr Albert Epton of Epton Towers as his younger brother.

  Sergeant Trudgewell rubbed his weary eyes, and longed for a cup of strong tea. He had expected an easy night of it: perhaps a pair of drunken beggars, or a failed pickpocket or a stray dog. Instead, all that fuss at the theatre had ended up on his shift. He stuck his pen sullenly into the inkwell. How he hated writing reports!

  On the other hand, as the incident had occurred in such a public place, the whole story would be in the papers. He would have to get his wife to look out for the article. Maybe he would stick it in his scrapbook, next to the report on the runaway donkey scam. Maybe, if there was a picture, he might even frame it, if the toffs in the tale turned out genuine.

  Cheered slightly, Trudgewell turned back to his laboured writing.

  Account of incident as follows:

  .

  Two members of the audience, Clegg and Smith, were seated in the upper gallery, known as the gods, close to the site of the altercation.

  Smith reported that the man now known as Button darted to the rail at the start of the main flying display, causing annoyance to several persons, who shouted diverse unrecorded expressions.

  Clegg shouted out that the man must be inebriated.

  Smith kept silent, having observed a pistol in Button’s hand and a most maniacal gleam in his eyes.

  Both men heard one shot fired. Smith added that the assailant then cried, ‘That will finish you, Vermin.’

  There were screams below.

  Clegg said that as Button raised his pistol once more, a tall man raced forward. He grabbed Button to restrain him, but then seemed to throw both himself and Button over the rail.

  Clegg and Smith both peered over the railings but could not see exactly what was happening below.

  As a Miss de Salle appeared onstage, Clegg and Smith decided to remain in their places, though they later came forward to give evidence. They were not unfamiliar to several officers at this Station.

  As Trudgewell laid down his pen, a young constable rushed in, his face pale beneath his pimples.

  ‘It’s the mortuary!’ he cried. ‘You have to come, sarge.’

  They descended the stairs.

  At the foot stood a cleaner, bucket and mop in hand, shaking ceaselessly. ‘In there. Never saw such a fing in my life before. Never.’

  The two officers adjusted their uniforms, took a firm grip of their truncheons, and entered the mortuary with slow, deliberate steps.

  On a slab at the back, beneath a stretch of cloth, lay the long form of Deceased Person B, name of Epton.

  The chest was moving slightly, and a dimple appeared and disappeared in the linen sheet, just above where a mouth might be open.

  ‘Heavens almighty, sarge!’ the constable gasped. ‘I think the geezer’s breathing.’

  ‘More blooming paperwork,’ said Sergeant Trudgewell gloomily. ‘And I don’t fancy being the one who has to explain it to that family of his, neither. They were angry enough at him being brought here. Toffs, eh? Always survive.’

  .

  CHAPTER 80

  EGGS AND TEA

  The thick weight of sleep that had been holding me down grew lighter. I woke, with relief, in my small bed at Nick’s. It felt the very best place to be. Time ticked reassuringly, the chimes sang their orderly songs and Toby waited, head on paws, beside me.

  Something was not right, I remembered. Something had happened. I tried to think, and the flashing of lights started up again, and the screams and the darkness and the drag of the flying lines. That most magical Puck had been torn from the air. He had tumbled to the ground, fallen and flung as surely as if he was caught in a gale.

  Fragments from last night swirled in my mind like a scattered script torn and thrown to the winds. Scenes came and went . . .

  For some reason – though it was not in Mr Shakespeare’s playscript – I heard Miss de Salle begin singing, and the fairy dancers pattering to and fro. Mumbled words rumbled around me, questioning, wondering, whispering and fading away.

  Then Vanya lifted me and carried me offstage to the green room. I lay heavy against his chest as if asleep – maybe I was – while strangers crowded around me.

  I heard some kind of medical man talking, and checking me here and there, and murmuring again, but then he had gone. I heard the Aunts talking, making arrangements about nursing, and Nick’s soft voice agreeing with every hushed suggestion.

  Who were they talking about? Me? Kitty? Where was Kitty? Kitty? I wanted to see Kit and tried to sit up, but Vanya told me not to worry.

  Kitty was already onstage, being the one and only universal Puck. She was the one playing tricks in the midsummer forest with a magic potion and an ass’s head, not me.

  Unknown voices buzzed around my head, the words strung out with an emotion I didn’t recognise.

  ‘We’ll take the boy back with us,’ said the lady. ‘Won’t we, Albert?’

  ‘No, madam, I beg you,’ Vanya growled, firmly as a bear guarding its own cub. The rumble of his comforting voice held me safe. ‘Arrange all the help you can, sir, madam. That will be welcome.’ Vanya’s tone grew fierce. ‘But I tell you now that it will not be good for the boy to wake in a strange new place. It may alarm his mind for ever. Do you want that? The doctor said he must be kept very, very peaceful. The boy is not as wounded as we feared, but he is still injured and shaken.’

  Silken skirts rustled crisply, as if the lady had drawn herself up. She drew a sharp intake of breath, ready to refuse. ‘But I have waited so very, very long,’ she protested bleakly.

  Then the man’s voice, which was steady and kind, broke in. ‘Adeline, this man Vanya is right. The child should be with people he knows when he first recovers. When his mind is rested, we can make proper plans.’

  The lady sobbed quietly. Was this over me? The things she said worried my head, but they could not be true. She was not Ma, so why did she fuss so, making me tired and muddling my memories?

  ‘Have no fear, lady. Mouse is among very good friends,’ said Vanya. ‘We will be most careful of this boy. You will see him soon.’

  She sighed most grievously.

  ‘Adeline, I have all the names and addresses we need. We will not lose the boy again,’ the man said. ‘And now we must go. We are wanted at Scotland Yard. Questions are being asked about the incident. And about you know who.’

  I was not sure who it was they were talking about, or what had happened to me. All I recalled was the flash of fire and the pa
in just after the shot.

  ‘Very well, Albert,’ the lady breathed, resigned to Vanya’s plans. ‘However, I shall send our own doctor round to minister to the boy. You understand that?’

  All at once, her hand gripped mine, though my eyes stayed closed. ‘Child, if you can hear me,’ she insisted, ‘remember that we will meet again. I will not leave you this time, my little Mouse. I will talk to Hugo Adnam when he comes offstage. I will make him promise me that.’

  Their footsteps passed through the green-room door and were gone. As I started to wonder, everything, even Vanya’s strong arms, dissolved into the welcome darkness.

  Another and another and another dream passed. I was trying to catch the pages of a playscript, but the sheets flew away from me as I reached out. Even when I had caught hold of each single page, it was impossible to place them in order, one by one. The wretched plot was fluttering away from my grasp.

  How would I ever understand what I was supposed to do, or be?

  When I woke properly, Nick was nearby, attending to his clocks as ever. Dog Toby lay beside me, nuzzling my back.

  ‘Well, well! Good day to you at last, young Mouse!’ Nick pushed up his glasses and placed his watchmaker’s tools neatly on the bench. I was so pleased to see him, so pleased to be here. ‘You have slept more than four whole days through, and now you must break your fast,’ he said calmly.

  Nick seemed to return in a moment, bringing me a cup of soft egg and a dish of buttered bread. Then the doorbells jangled loudly and the shop shook. Vanya, forgetting to step gently, had arrived, but Nick said not a word of reprimand.

  Vanya’s big face peered down at me. ‘So, flying boy, how is it with you now you are down on the ground?’

  ‘Very achey.’ I winced as I tried to change my position. ‘Was Kitty all right? What about Adnam? Was he very upset? Is he angry with me?’

  As Vanya sat, he tipped back his head and roared with laughter. ‘Mouse, do you not understand this business? Adnam is sorry about your fall, most certainly, but –’ he grinned widely – ‘I have to tell you, Adnam is also most delighted. You have done him an excellently good turn.’

  ‘Pardon? I don’t understand.’

  Vanya and Nick swapped glances, amused.

  ‘Fame, my boy. Rumour! Gossip! Tickets for Adnam’s Dream have become more valuable than gold dust.’ Vanya opened out his expansive hands, enjoying his tale. ‘The newspapers tell such stories about a poor child shot inside the Albion. Bang!’ He clapped his hands together emphatically. ‘Is boy dead? Killed, the poor young actor? Such things make the blood freeze, the heart tremble. That’s so, yes?’

  He leaned forward, eyes wide with amusement. ‘But such scares also make people grow very, very interested. To go to a play, knowing it might be the scene of a murder, Mouse! To witness the dreadful danger of the flying machine! Huh! Even fools who never think of seeing the play are wanting tickets. The papers are full of news about the Albion, and the box office is very, very busy.’ Vanya slapped his thighs and laughed contentedly. ‘So you see, Mouse, Adnam’s dream happens. Hurrah! This winter, his Albion is even bigger news than the great Lyceum! It is the most famous theatre of all!’

  All this puzzled me. Slowly I spooned up a little of the soft egg, feeling I had forgotten something. Then it came to me.

  ‘What about Kitty? Is she flying? Why hasn’t she been to see me? Is she all right?’

  ‘She is. She has. You were still asleep,’ Nick told me.

  ‘Kitty is most triumphant in Dream,’ added Vanya. ‘Don’t worry, Mouse. She does not do the big wild flight like you, brave boy, not now her father watches over her. Kitty says she will come and see you again very soon, especially now you are awake. Enough words, Mouse. Eat, child. Finish your food. The Aunts have sent a fine jam sponge cake and a baked rice pudding, so there is plenty to tempt you to get better.’

  While I ate, slowly feeling stronger, Nick pulled out some scraps of paper covered in tiny pencil sketches, and hesitated.

  ‘Excuse me, friend Vanya,’ he asked cautiously, ‘does our Mr Adnam have any thoughts about his next season yet? Because if he still has to decide, you might like to look . . .’

  Vanya slapped the small clockmaker on the back so hard that Nick burst into a coughing fit. ‘Most definitely, my friend Nick! Especially after all this triumph! And if he has not, then I shall make him think on this matter. We have ideas, do we not?’

  They whispered excitedly, scribbling and scratching down their thoughts. Another hour chimed. I tried to get up, but Vanya stopped me.

  ‘Do not worry, Mouse. Just you rest. You will need to be strong for all the meetings ahead of you.’

  I lay there, not knowing what Vanya meant, though, when the first meeting came, I was glad I had been kept ignorant.

  .

  CHAPTER 81

  ONE LAST LOOK

  ‘It seems,’ said Vanya,’ that I am to take you, Mouse. We are both needed, so that the police can be sure of the evidence.’

  Over this last week, I had been tapped and checked and my chest and shoulder strapped up by Dr Bliss, who had been sent by the fine people – the ones we will come to later – and who was a good fellow.

  Once the medical man had taken samples of our water supply and observed the freshness of the sheets the Aunts sent over for my bed and discussed the importance of good plain food with Nick, he was content to give me a few days of grace.

  By the end of the week I was up on my feet, and by the next I could walk across to the Aunts’ and back again. That was when Vanya told me what had to happen next.

  A carriage was now on hand to take me everywhere, though this outing was certainly not to a fine address. The gas flame flickered behind the dark blue glass above the imposing red brick entrance. Nobody would have mistaken the purpose of this building.

  We arrived at the officer’s desk. We waited, Vanya and I. We listened to the jangle of keys and the cries from the distant cells. We watched as police constables came in from the fog, coughing and grumbling, with their lanterns still alight. Faint foggy tendrils followed them into the station.

  A grizzled, grey-faced doctor, complete with black bag, appeared from deep within the police station. His lips were still curled in distaste at whatever he had just attended to. He nodded to the sergeant and handed him a bill.

  We waited while the medical man was escorted off the premises, then the sergeant turned to us.

  ‘Walk this way, please.’ His heavy boots rang on the stone steps. We followed.

  The iron door clanged opened. The tiled room was cold as ice. It smelled strongly of carbolic and something unhealthy, and the floor had just been swilled with water. Beyond the long empty tables, a man was sweeping a broom across the wet floor towards a drain.

  I glanced up at Vanya, and then grabbed tight hold of his strong arm. Vanya placed his hand firmly over mine, but it was not the place that scared me.

  ‘Ready?’ said the sergeant.

  ‘Not quite,’ I answered.

  He paused, but not patiently.

  Who was I going to see?

  The one who fired the shots.

  Did I know who he would be?

  Yes. I did. I knew his face well.

  Had I known him long?

  Maybe my life long.

  Did I know why he hated me so?

  No. Sometimes I thought he hated everyone.

  Sometimes I thought he just hated me.

  ‘Ready, boy?’ The sergeant was brisk. He had other work to do and wanted to get this over with.

  I squeezed Vanya’s arm even more tightly.

  ‘Only one glance, Mouse,’ Vanya said. ‘Then all is over.’

  ‘Yes.’ I took a breath. ‘I’m ready.’

  The sergeant drew back the coarse clot
h. I could identify at once what was there.

  Laid out on the slab was Mr Button. His piggy eyes were closed. His shiny round cheeks were dull. His skin had a waxy look, and his hair lay wetly against his scalp.

  Once I believed it was Bulloughby – that horrid headmaster, and his foul son Grindle – weaving the trouble around me; but then I thought of the times Button had appeared at that school. Did that rough, ignorant bully of a man fear Button as much as I did?

  I stared at what was left of that vindictive, red-cheeked man. His round eyes were shut and sunken. His everlasting smile had faded. The hands that had once sought my friend Punchman flopped out of a rough shroud.

  This was all that was left of Button, the cunning one who had sat tugging at the threads of the web. Button, the great dark spider, always watching and waiting. Button, the rotten heart of it all.

  But no more. Button was dead. Button was gone. It was a kind of ending.

  .

  CHAPTER 82

  MIRROR, MIRROR, ON THE WALL

  ‘Stand still!’ The Aunts insisted on making me both presentable and respectable.

  Everyone except me had decided that my new story was wonderful. I had long-lost parents, and I was their long-lost child, and they wanted me to be back with them and part of their life. Adnam and Vanya had explained that this had to happen, that I must go into this new life that I knew nothing about. I had decided nothing.

  Vanya and Nick and the Aunts had tried to hold the moment off as long as they could, but it was a bare pretence. These long-lost, new-found parents could insist on my presence. They would shape my very future. I would no longer be living as I had been doing. True, my arm was not fully recovered, so it was impossible for me to fly in Adnam’s Dream.

  All I could do was wait to see what happened. Now I was strong again, Adnam himself was taking me to meet the people who called themselves my parents.