by Jane Kerr
‘Sir, I’ve done plenty. My keepers are workin’ in pairs – one to lock the enclosures, the other to make sure it’s done right. I’ve put extra staff on overnight to keep watch. And my blacksmith’s been round and checked the padlocks on all the animal pens.’ He jabbed a finger in the air. ‘And I can tell you, Lord Mayor, we’re safer than Buckingham Palace.’
‘And what about the fireworks? Pyrotechnics is a dangerous business. It’s not simply about noise, there are safety concerns as well.’
Mr Jameson scowled. ‘Everything’s workin’ fine. We’ve just finished the final testin’ for our summer show, and it couldn’t have gone better. It’s goin’ to be the biggest and best you ever saw.’ He paused. ‘In fact, I’ll make this promise to you. If there’s any problems, I’ll close Belle Vue myself.’
‘I see.’ Mr Goadsby placed the tips of his fingers together and leant back in his chair. It creaked a little under the strain. ‘Thank you, Mr Jameson. I’ve no more questions.’ He looked at the men sitting on either side of him; they nodded back. ‘I think we’ve heard enough. You may wait outside.’
Danny sat with Mr and Mrs Jameson on the hard stone benches in the corridor. Underneath his feet, black and white tiles fanned out across the floor. He stared at the chessboard pattern until his eyes blurred. And when he lifted his head, a carved scroll glared back at him from the wall. Down the centre, picked out in gold leaf, were rows of names and dates.
Danny wondered if the list included Harold Goadsby, and what a person had to do to be included. And then he wondered if, one day, his name might be up there too. But the idea was so ridiculous that he didn’t bother lingering over it.
An hour later, they were called back inside.
Mr Goadsby wasted no time on polite greetings. ‘We’ve listened to both sides of the arguments. Mr Jameson is perfectly correct that his business brings money and jobs to Manchester. But Reverend Threlfall is also right to be concerned about noise, and safety. Two escaped animals are two animals too many. So we’re ordering Belle Vue to close . . .’
Danny sucked in a breath. Beside him, Mr Jameson half rose from his seat, his fists opening and closing.
‘. . . to close each Sunday. For the rest of the week, the park may stay open as usual. But on one condition – if there are any problems, the committee has given me the power to shut Belle Vue immediately. There’ll be no coming back to the Corporation with more excuses. My decision will be final. Do you agree to these terms?’
A pause. Mr Jameson had turned an angry shade of red. He seemed incapable of speech. Finally, Mrs Jameson nudged her husband in the ribs. ‘Yes,’ he said. Another nudge. ‘Sir.’
‘Very good, I’m glad we’re in agreement.’ Goadsby paused. ‘And Mr Jameson . . .’
‘Yes, Lord Mayor?’
‘Do be careful. Belle Vue is a valuable asset to this city. We’d hate to lose it.’
By the time they’d made their way out of the town hall, a swarm of newspaper men had already gathered on the stone steps, yelling and shouting.
‘Mr Jameson, what have you to say?’
‘A day’s closure. This must be another blow?’
‘Can your business survive this, sir?’
‘Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Please.’ Mr Jameson waited a moment for silence to settle, his smile broad. No one would have guessed that he’d cursed every step of his way out of the building. ‘Just as I expected, the Corporation have seen sense and are lettin’ Belle Vue carry on as usual. There’s just a small change on Sundays. Nothin’ that causes me a great deal of concern.’
He followed Mrs Jameson and Danny towards the waiting carriage but he stopped before climbing on board. ‘And of course, the good gentlemen of the press are welcome to Belle Vue in three days’ time – for the biggest, most fantastical show you’ve ever seen. It’ll be free entry to you all. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I have a business to run.’
He shut the carriage door with a slam and dropped down into the seat next to his wife. She tucked her hand into his arm as they pulled away. ‘There you are, Jamie. That wasn’t so bad, was it? I must say, I couldn’t believe it when I saw the Lord Mayor sitting there! But he seemed reasonable enough, don’t you think?’
The smile that Mr Jameson had pasted on for the newspaper reporters faded. ‘I wouldn’t say that, Ethel May. We’ve lost a day’s business every week. And for as long as the Corporation’s watchin’, everythin’ at Belle Vue has to work smoother than butter on hot toast.’ Across the carriage he caught Danny’s eye and his warning was clear. ‘So absolutely nothin’ can go wrong.’
Chapter Eighteen
‘Danny! DANNY!’
Danny lifted his head. It was the day after the town hall meeting, and he was crouched behind a pile of luggage at Longsight Train Station. Hiding.
Mr Saddleworth was due to leave for Paris this morning, and Danny had come to the station in yet another attempt to see Hetty. There was so much he wanted to tell her but, most importantly of all, he needed her advice. Because he still didn’t know what to do about Charles Larkin – or his incredible story.
Unfortunately, shortly after arriving at the station, Danny had realized there’d be little chance of talking to Hetty. She was too closely guarded by her aunt. Miss Carkettle seemed to have eyes everywhere, and the protective instincts of a grizzly bear. Still, he was going to wait as long as he could – just in case.
‘Danny!’
The shout came again and Danny peered out from his hiding place. Further along the platform, Mr Saddleworth was weaving through the waiting passengers towards him. He caught Danny’s eye and waved.
‘I thought it was you! Didn’t you hear me, lad? I’ve been shouting for a good five minutes.’
Shaking his head, Danny stepped away from the luggage pile.
‘Well, I’m glad you’re here. I’d hoped to catch a word before I left Belle Vue.’ Lightly, Mr Saddleworth placed a hand on Danny’s shoulder. ‘While I’m gone, I want you to look after Maharajah. He’ll be your responsibility. There’s no one I trust more.’
‘Me?’ Danny’s surprise must have been obvious because the grip on his shoulder only tightened.
‘Yes. Of course! Why would I ask anyone else?’ A sudden glimmer of understanding sparked in Mr Saddleworth’s eyes. ‘Look, however Victoria managed to escape, I don’t believe it was your fault. And I’ve told Mr Jameson that. You just have to be patient. Let him calm down. It’s a busy time – and he’s got a lot on his mind.’
Yes. Danny knew that better than most. Not only had the Manchester Corporation closed Belle Vue on Sundays, but last night a water pipe had burst in the new tea rooms, flooding the ground floor and destroying the stockpile of food.
It was likely to take several days for the building to dry out – and almost as long to replace the hoard of hams, pies and currant cakes stored in the waterlogged larder. With thousands of extra visitors expected in just two days, the flood was not only unfortunate, it was a disaster.
And it also meant that once again, Danny had still not been able to speak to Mr Jameson. The menagerist had hardly been home. And if he was honest, Danny was glad. Every time he’d imagined telling the Jamesons about Larkin, his stomach cramped. It was far easier not to say anything at all.
He looked at Mr Saddleworth. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’ll take care of Maharajah.’
‘Good. I didn’t doubt it for a moment.’
Mr Saddleworth glanced across the platform to where Hetty was standing with her aunt, and his face softened. Miss Carkettle was fussing over a loose curl that had come unpinned, but Hetty was refusing to stand long enough for her hair to be put right.
‘And be a good friend to Hetty, won’t you?’ he said. ‘I don’t think she’s quite forgiven me for inviting Aunt Augusta to Belle Vue.’
‘Yes, sir. I will. I promise.’
‘Thank you. I knew I could rely on you.’
Striding back to his daughter, Mr Saddleworth pulled Hetty into a last embrace and wh
ispered something into her ear. She smiled, nodded then kissed his cheek. And a few moments later, as the train steamed out of the station, Hetty stood and waved until it disappeared from sight.
As he watched, Danny felt a stab of envy. Hetty and her father didn’t always agree – but there was be no doubting the bond between them. And it seemed to him that his hopes of finding something similar were as far away as ever.
Later that night, standing underneath Hetty’s bedroom window at Kirkmanshulme Cottage, Danny remembered the promises he’d made to Mr Saddleworth.
To take care of Maharajah.
To be a good friend to Hetty.
And to face Mr Jameson’s temper with more patience.
And he wondered whether Mr Saddleworth would approve of what he planned to do. Although, it was too late to change his mind now. Danny had already been here a half-hour, waiting for the household to go to bed, and working out how to attract Hetty’s attention when it did.
Another hour passed. Finally, the cottage settled into silence. Stooping, Danny grabbed some stones and threw them at a small window tucked under the eaves. The pebbles spattered against the glass. He waited in the darkness, counting off the seconds slowly. And, just as he was about to scoop up another handful, the window slid open.
‘Who is it?’
‘Me!’ The hiss emerged far louder than Danny expected, and he had to lower his voice to carry on. ‘Hurry up! I thought you wanted to be in the show? We’re going to be late for rehearsal.’
The flash of a smile was his only answer, then Hetty ducked away from the window and disappeared from sight. Danny waited, far less patiently than before, and although it was probably only a few minutes until she returned, it felt much longer. ‘Are you ready?’
Leaning across the window ledge, Hetty peered down. A red tasselled shawl hung loosely from her shoulders, and Danny realized she must have taken time to change into her show costume. ‘Yes. Did you bring a ladder?’
Danny shook his head and his mouth curled up – they wouldn’t be needing a ladder tonight.
Stepping back, he gave a sharp whistle. Immediately, Maharajah’s solid outline emerged from the line of trees that shielded the cottage from the rest of Belle Vue. He stomped forward – as quietly as a fully grown elephant was able to – and stopped just below Hetty’s window.
‘Oh my word!’ Hetty brought a hand to her open mouth, her eyes wide.
Danny wanted to laugh but he didn’t dare risk the noise. Instead, he whispered, ‘Come on. We have to go!’
‘Fine! I’m coming.’ Cautiously, Hetty slid one leg over the window frame. Her foot landed on the cur ve of Maharajah’s back but he stayed steady as a mountain, not seeming to care about her fumbling.
Apparently satisfied with her foothold, Hetty swung her other leg across the ledge and, for a heartbeat, she stood, delicately balanced on Maharajah like a ballerina considering her first stage leap.
Abruptly, Maharajah stomped away from the cottage. And with a small, panicked squeak, Hetty fell forward, lying sprawled across the elephant’s back, her hands clinging tight to the harness. Moments later, a lamp flickered on in one of the downstairs rooms.
‘Quiet!’ Heart drumming, Danny pushed back against the wall, and watched the small halo of light move from window to window, getting closer and closer. Until finally, the kitchen door cracked open, spilling light across the courtyard.
Danny held his breath. Why had he thought this was a good idea? It was almost as ridiculous as Mr Jameson taking Maharajah to church.
‘Go on. Get away! Be gone!’ Aunt Augusta’s tart voice pierced the darkness. And with an indignant meow, a tabby cat stalked out of the cottage and along the garden path. Within moments, she’d disappeared among the trees, and the door slammed shut behind her.
Danny let out a breath. And then another. And another. But he didn’t breathe easily until Maharajah knelt down and Hetty’s feet finally touched solid ground.
She grinned at him. ‘What are you waiting for? Let’s go!’
Despite running, they were still late. Most of the red and blue soldiers had already trooped across the footbridge to Firework Island. And a trickle of Spanish villagers followed. It was to be the first official rehearsal of ‘Prince Dandip and the Fight for Flamenca’, and the air fizzed with nerves and excitement.
‘Wait!’ Hetty grabbed Danny’s arm as the three of them reached the bridge. ‘I want to thank you – for helping me, I mean. For keeping your promise about the show. For coming to get me tonight. I wouldn’t be able to do this without you.’
Danny shrugged, embarrassed. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘It isn’t nothing to me.’ She paused. ‘I forgot to ask. What was it you wanted to talk to me about? The day Aunt Augusta arrived . . . you said it was important.’
Briefly, Danny cast his mind over all that he wanted to tell her. The shooting in the maze, Charles Larkin’s revelation, and Danny’s growing certainty that someone was making trouble for Belle Vue. But there wasn’t near enough time to say everything he wanted to. And besides, over Hetty’s shoulder, he could see Crimple’s large figure hovering. The story would have to wait. ‘I’ll tell you later. After the rehearsal. Come on!’
Gripping the harness, Danny swung his leg across Maharajah then shuffled forward to sit in the dip behind the elephant’s skull. It was as though the hollow had been made just for him. He leant forward, wrapping his arms as far as he could around Maharajah’s neck, before burrowing his face against the rough skin.
Quickly, Hetty slid into the space behind him and looped her arms around his waist. He put out a hand to make sure she was secure, and the bright silk of her costume slid against his fingers. Looking up, he scanned the way ahead.
The bridge was wide enough to fit an elephant – but only just. It was built from a series of wooden planks balanced on brick columns that had been planted into the lake. Railings ran on either side, but Danny suspected they were more for show than for safety.
He was just about to urge Maharajah forward when a fist curled around the elephant’s harness. Crimple was staring up at them. ‘Why don’t I lead him across? It looks narrow. Might be safer.’
‘No!’ Instinctively, Danny pulled the reins free, shaking his head. ‘No, I can do it!’
He whistled sharply, and Maharajah stomped forward. The first few steps seemed easy enough. Maharajah’s weight made the bridge sigh and sway slightly, but the planks held solidly. Below them, the water lapped against the bricks. Danny didn’t look down.
Once, not so very long ago, he’d almost drowned; it had been Maharajah who’d saved him, striding into the river to scoop him up in the coils of his trunk. The rescue had sealed their friendship – and left Danny with a lasting fear of deep water.
Maharajah stomped a little further along the bridge. Now they were almost halfway across, and Danny couldn’t help stiffening. The sway was getting stronger. He tried to force the tension from his arms and shoulders, but the jittery, uncomfortable feeling wouldn’t go away.
Abruptly, Maharajah stopped stock-still and silent. Hetty leant sideways to peer around him. ‘What’s the matter? Why won’t he move?’
Frowning, Danny shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
He raised his ankus and whistled. Nothing. Then he whistled again, digging his knees into Maharajah’s sides. The strange tension grew stronger. Danny pressed again. And slowly – almost reluctantly – Maharajah took another step.
That was all it took.
With an ugly snap, the wooden boards beneath their feet gave way. And in the gap between one breath and the next, all three of them plummeted downwards.
The ring of Hetty’s terrified scream echoed in Danny’s ears, alongside the panicked hitch of his own breath. Desperately, he struggled to hold on to the harness but it was no good. The leather slipped through his fingers and he was flung sideways, tossed like a leaf in the wind.
He landed heavily, air hissing from his lungs, and when he could breathe again, D
anny realized he was lying on one of the broken planks – and it was slowly tilting towards the swirling water.
Frantically, he reached for the nearest support – one of the brick columns sticking upright from the lake. He locked his hands around it and clung on. Abruptly, the plank beneath him stopped sliding.
Spreading his legs wide apart for balance, Danny stood gingerly, and took in his first view of the damaged bridge. Half of it looked untouched, but the section nearest the island was in pieces. And while the supporting columns remained, most of the horizontal planks that criss-crossed the bridge had collapsed. Worse still, Maharajah lay sprawled on his side, slumped across the splintered wood.
But where was Hetty? Where was she?
Hastily, Danny scanned the chaos. His pulse began to speed up. He couldn’t see any sign. Nothing at all – apart from the red tasselled shawl caught around Maharajah’s trunk.
Danny looked again. Suddenly, the shawl moved, falling back to reveal gold curls and a pale face. And with dawning horror, he realized Hetty was dangling off the end of the bridge. And all that was stopping her falling was Maharajah’s tight grip.
Abruptly, the bridge gave another groan, and Maharajah began sliding towards the water, taking Hetty with him. Danny’s heart pounded. If they both fell, the chances were that Maharajah’s great weight would crush her.
‘Hold on. We’re coming!’ The shout came from the island, and Danny swung round. A handful of soldiers had begun edging their way across the broken boards.
‘Stop! STOP!’ Panicked, Danny held up his hand. ‘You’ll . . . you’ll bring it down! All of it!’ In the same moment, another timber crashed down into the lake, and Maharajah slid another few inches towards the water. Hastily, the men retreated.
Danny’s chest heaved. Adjusting his balance, he examined the gap between him and Hetty. It looked possible, but only just. He knelt and stretched out carefully along the plank. It wobbled but held firm. He reached out an arm, making sure to keep focused on Hetty’s face. Her skin was turned chalk-white, but her eyes were brave. ‘Grab my hand. I’ll pull you up!’