Great Animal Escapade

by Jane Kerr

  Spinning on his heels, he ran back towards St Mark’s, pushing his arms and legs as fast as they would go. At the house, a shaft of light spilt out on to the front step. He knocked loudly but this time it took far longer for Reverend Threlfall to yank open the door.

  Danny didn’t bother with polite greetings. ‘I need to speak to your sister again.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I think there’s been enough drama for this evening, don’t you? Mr and Mrs Jameson will have my apology in the morning. As will you.’

  The door began to close. Hastily, Danny stuck his foot into the gap. ‘I don’t want an apology. I just need to speak to Constance.’ He softened his voice. ‘Please. I’ll be quick. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.’

  The vicar stared unblinkingly at him. ‘Very well,’ he said at last. ‘If it’s so urgent. She’s through there – in the parlour. But please be brief. This evening has been most upsetting. For both of us.’

  Constance showed no surprise at his return. ‘Danny. How lovely! I’ve been telling Eustace all about the animals, just like you said.’

  ‘I know, Constance. That’s good.’ He sat next to her, and slipped the keys from his pocket on to the sofa. ‘But I want to ask you about these. The keys you had in your hand when I saw you at the reptile house. Who gave them to you?’

  ‘Those?’ Constance shrugged. ‘A man gave them to me. He said I should keep them. To open the cages, and that I shouldn’t use the hammer again, on the padlocks. He wanted me to let the animals go free. He said it was a good thing. And that I should carry on.’

  Danny’s heart thumped in his chest, but he made his voice calm. ‘What did the man look like, Constance?’

  She sighed. ‘Just a man.’

  ‘Do you know his name?’

  ‘No. I’m sorry.’ And then her eyes widened, and when she answered it was as though she was presenting him with a gift. ‘But you must know him, Danny. He’s the man with the missing finger.’

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  The man with the missing finger.

  It could only be George Dalton. There was no one else Danny knew who matched the description. But why would Dalton want to make trouble for Belle Vue? And why, just before the biggest night of the year, had he handed over a set of keys to Constance Threlfall, and encouraged her to let loose a cabinet of venomous snakes?

  It made no sense. Unless . . . unless, all this time he’d been blaming the wrong person. An uncomfortable suspicion slithered along Danny’s spine like the trail of a cold fingertip. ‘What’s the time?’

  Something about his desperation must have shown because Reverend Threlfall simply pulled out a pocket watch from his waistcoat. ‘Nearly nine o’clock. Why?’

  Danny didn’t answer. The show was due to start in a little over an hour. The edgy suspicion grew stronger.

  ‘I have to go. Take care of Constance!’ Spinning on his heels, he raced out of the parlour and back through the house, leaving the vicar staring after him, the pocket watch still dangling from his fingers.

  The Belle Vue firework factory was the obvious place to look for answers – and for George Dalton. But by the time Danny had battled through the crowds again, the building looked empty. And when he tried the handle, the door was locked.

  He cursed, picturing the set of keys lying where he’d left them – on the sofa next to Constance. How could he have been so stupid? So careless?

  He rattled the door handle again. Should he keep trying? Or look elsewhere? Or maybe it would be best to find the Jamesons. They must already be wondering why he was so late. And yet he couldn’t leave the factory without making certain Dalton wasn’t inside.

  Twisting sideways, Danny shoved against the door. It buckled, bowed but held solid. He tried again, slamming the wooden panels so hard that he was sure at least one would break. But nothing gave.

  Heart drumming, he forced himself to think. He’d been a thief, a pickpocket and a housebreaker. Only a few days ago, he’d squeezed through a coal hole into the cellar of the Frog and Bucket. There had to be a way into this building.

  Stepping back, he scanned the walls. A little to the left, just a few feet above head height, was a narrow rectangular window. It would have to do.

  He paced backwards then ran straight at the wall, arms stretched as far as they could reach. Barely a breath away, he jumped. The tips of his fingers caught on the ledge of the window. And held. Tightening his grip, he took the weight of his body on both arms, boots scrambling for purchase on the bricks below. And just as he thought he’d have to let go, he found the right angle and heaved himself up on to the ledge. He’d done it!

  The window latch was not particularly complicated so it didn’t take long to unfasten. Pushing against the wooden frame, Danny wriggled through the gap. Inside, the jump down was far easier because one of the workbenches had been shoved against the wall. Lightly, he hopped to the floor then looked around.

  The factory was almost empty. Every box of fireworks had been stripped from the workroom, leaving only dust and dirt and the faint, unpleasant smell of sulphur. The bare shelves weren’t particularly surprising. ‘Prince Dandip and the Fight for Flamenca’ was set to be the biggest show Belle Vue had ever seen. Every firework, rocket and shell would be needed tonight.

  No. That didn’t particularly worry Danny. But what tipped his uneasiness into blind panic was the fact that every single barrel of gunpowder was gone.

  What had Tom said? There’s enough gunpowder here to blow up the island.

  . . . to blow up the island.

  ‘. . . to blow up the island!’

  His blood turned cold.

  Danny left the same way he’d entered, clambering on to the workbench and out through the window. Outside, half-formed fragments of music drifted across the lake, mixing with the laughter and hum of the crowd. The orchestra was tuning up. The show was about to start. And soon the entire cast would be parading across to Firework Island to take up their positions. But Danny wasn’t going to be with them.

  Because every instinct – every sixth sense for trouble – was screaming that something was wrong. That tonight, another disaster was about to strike Belle Vue. And if he did nothing, there would be no one else to stop it.

  But his only clue was the identity of the man with the missing finger – George Dalton.

  He’d already searched the factory. Now the most obvious place to look was on Firework Island. Dalton had spent the last few days rigging the complicated system of explosions that would turn Mr Jameson’s ideas into reality. Tonight of all nights, the pyrotechnist had to be there.

  Frantically, Danny headed towards the lake, trying to keep from being caught up in the crowds. But it was impossible. Every route across Belle Vue was packed with people. He could only move at a snail’s pace. It wasn’t fast enough.

  With rising panic, he tried to remember the shortcuts through the park. Somewhere there was a path that cut behind the lake and ran parallel to Kirkmanshulme Lane. It was narrow and so overgrown that hardly anyone used it. But it was probably his best chance.

  When Danny found the track, it was wilder than he remembered, with weeds up to his knees and thorny bushes that tugged at his clothes. And now that dusk had fallen, it was almost completely dark.

  He pushed on anyway, finding his way more by touch than by sight. And suddenly, as if conjured from his imagination, there was George Dalton. Not on Firework Island. But here, on this overgrown, isolated track. Far away from the crowds.

  Instinct stopped Danny from crying out – from moving any nearer. Instead, he tucked himself low to the ground and watched. Dalton appeared to be talking to someone. But while Dalton’s face was lit by lantern light, his companion was nothing but shadow.

  ‘What d’you want? I’ve not much time.’ Dalton sounded surly; whoever he was meeting, Danny didn’t think there could be much affection between them.

  ‘I want your promise that everything’s ready. I’ve been waiting weeks for this.’

>   Danny’s blood jumped. He knew that voice. He’d listened to it for several hours in a committee room at Manchester Town Hall. It was the crisp, no-nonsense tones of Manchester’s Lord Mayor. Mr Harold Goadsby.

  ‘Of course it’s ready. I rigged it up meself. There’s twenty barrels, in three separate stockpiles on top of the hill. Enough to blow up the whole island. Once the fuse is lit, they’ll explode one by one. Only needs a single match.’

  ‘I’m not interested in how you’ve done it, only that it’s going to work.’

  ‘It’ll work.’ A little defensiveness had crept in amongst the gruffness. ‘But I’ll be needin’ to light the fuse in the next few minutes . . . while there’s no one on the island. Because once it starts, it’ll be quick. Even I’m not goin’ to have much time to get clear. And I won’t risk people bein’ hurt. My grandson’s in that show.’

  ‘Yes, you’ve already told me. Several times. I’m not a fool.’ Goadsby’s words were laced with impatience. ‘But remember, the whole point is to have an audience. I want the maximum effect. And I want it in public. I don’t want anyone to ever forget tonight.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Nobody will.’

  ‘Good. And after that, Belle Vue should be ripe for the picking. No one will want to be part of a business plagued with so many unfortunate accidents.’ He drew out the word. ‘Animal escapes. Bridge collapses. Protests. Explosions. Jameson’s investors will be desperate for their money back. He’ll have to sell.’

  Danny’s pulse began to jump in his neck. He’d heard enough. He may have been wrong about who was causing the accidents – but he’d been right about why. Goadsby wanted to damage Belle Vue so badly that it would never survive.

  He needed to find Mr Jameson and raise the alarm.

  Carefully, Danny edged back, making sure to keep his breathing slow and steady. No sudden moves. No loud and unexpected noises. And maybe – just maybe – he might have been able to sneak away, undetected. But suddenly, a firework shot into the sky, exploding into bright bursts of colour. For a moment, it seemed to light up the whole of Belle Vue. And when it died away, George Dalton was staring straight at Danny.

  ‘It’s the Jameson boy!’

  ‘Then what are you waiting for? Get him after him!’

  Danny spun on his heels and ran, tearing a trail through the long grasses and overgrown ferns. Leaves and thorns clung to his clothes and scraped at his skin. Even so, he wasn’t worried. He could easily outrun Dalton. The pyrotechnist wasn’t a young man, and Danny had desperation on his side.

  Within a few minutes, the rough track emerged on to one of the cinder paths, and Danny could have sung with relief. He knew this area well – all the shortcuts and all the hiding places. There was no chance of Dalton catching him now.

  Ploughing down the side of the elephant paddock, he raced through the copse of trees and around the pond. Already the beat of Dalton’s footsteps was growing fainter and fainter as Danny sprinted further and further away.

  Ahead, a fence blocked the path. Curling his hand around one of the posts, Danny took a jump and landed solidly on the other side. Relieved, he raced towards the keepers’ hut, turned the corner – and ran straight into the barrel of a gun.

  ‘Stay where you are!’ The order was followed by the unmistakable click of a trigger being pulled back. And Goadsby stepped out from the side of the hut, a small ornamental pistol cradled in one hand. Its pearl handle glinted cruelly.

  Danny stopped, chest heaving. The mayor smiled. ‘Good. And just in case you’re wondering, boy, I’m quite prepared to shoot. And tonight, nobody will come running to help you. After all, what’s one gunshot amongst all this noise?’

  Heavy footsteps thudded on the path behind them and for one moment Danny felt a jolt of hope – but then Dalton appeared from around the corner. He was breathing heavily.

  ‘You took your time,’ Goadsby sneered. ‘I thought we’d lost you. It’s just lucky you ran in a near complete circle, otherwise I might not have tracked you down.’

  Dalton scowled but he was too busy trying to catch his breath to reply.

  ‘Still, I suppose it’s better if I deal with the problem myself.’ Staring at Danny, Goadsby used the pistol to motion towards the hut. ‘Get inside, boy. Now!’

  For a moment, Danny hesitated. His first instinct was to run but Goadsby was holding the gun with surprising confidence. Perhaps it would be better to play for time while he worked out a plan.

  Slowly, he shuffled across the threshold. The two men followed. The hut was small, with only a few sticks of furniture – a table and two chairs, plus a small metal brazier that the keepers only ever lit in the winter months.

  ‘Get over there. And sit on the floor.’ Goadsby gestured with his gun once again, and Danny sank to the ground near the table.

  ‘What we goin’ to do with him?’ Dalton looked unhappy. Sweat had plastered the grey curls to his skull, and his mouth was set in a sullen line. ‘You never told me I’d have to deal with anythin’ like this. I was just to start a few explosions and light a fuse! That’s what you said. That’s what we agreed!’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think he’s going to be a problem. In fact, it’s all worked out rather perfectly.’ Cunning sharpened Goadsby’s face. ‘We’ve already made sure the boy took the blame for most of the other accidents. So, it’ll be easy to pin this on him as well. He’s a former thief and a known troublemaker. And he paid at least one visit to the firework factory. One can only imagine the damage he did there . . .’

  ‘But we can’t—’

  ‘And before you start fussing, Dalton, just think: if you’re to set up on your own, your reputation needs to be faultless. No one will want to do business with the man who blew up half of Belle Vue. So . . .’ He kicked a thin, polished boot into Danny’s side. ‘Here’s your scapegoat. Right at our feet.’

  Chapter Thirty

  ‘Now, here’s the plan.’ Goadsby pushed the gun into Dalton’s hand, and closed his fingers around the handle. ‘You stay here with the boy. Knock him out. Kill him. I don’t care. Just as long as he doesn’t leave here and raise the alarm.’

  ‘I can’t kill him!’ Danny heard the horror in Dalton’s voice with something close to relief. The pyrotechnist might be a cheat and a liar but he was obviously not a murderer.

  ‘I’m sure if you try hard enough, you’ll manage to think of something. Because let me make this clear – if he gets free then the entire plan is worth nothing. Do you want that?’

  ‘But why do I have to do it?’

  It was a whine, and Goadsby did nothing to hide his contempt.

  ‘I’m a member of the Manchester Corporation. Chairman of the licensing committee. And the city’s Lord Mayor. I am a great many things. But what I am not – is a common thug. So, you take care of him. And before you start complaining, remember the only fingerprints on this whole business are yours. No one can tie me to anything. I’ve made very sure of that.’

  ‘But it were all your idea! I only went along with it because—’

  ‘Well, now you’re up to your neck in it,’ Goadsby interrupted. Beneath his words, a threat thrummed loudly. ‘I’ll go and make sure the fuse gets lit. I’ll even put a match to it myself, if I have to. But you stay here and take care of the boy. Remember, you owe me. And you know what will happen if you fail.’

  He left without waiting for a response, letting the hut door slam shut behind him. Dalton flicked an anxious look at Danny. The sweat that had dampened his forehead was now darkening his shirt collar.

  Swallowing visibly, he used the pistol to point at the floor. ‘You stay right where you are. Hands in front where I can see them. And no movin’ about.’

  Cautiously, Danny stretched out his arms and did as he was told. Dalton was a nervous man with a gun. It wasn’t a good combination. If anything, he was more dangerous than someone who knew what they were doing. Warily, Danny watched as Dalton began pacing the floor.

  ‘Any moment,’ he muttered. ‘Any moment �
�� and that explosion will sound. Any moment. And then this will all be over.’ He grabbed one of the wooden chairs, and sat on the edge of the seat, rocking backwards and forwards. Then abruptly, he leapt up again, and resumed his pacing.

  Nervously, Danny flicked a glance towards the door. It seemed a long way away. He was going to have to be patient and clever; distract Dalton long enough to make a move. ‘Why? Why did you do it?’ he asked.

  For a moment, Danny didn’t think Dalton would answer, but then he twisted on his boot heel and spat into the dirt.

  ‘Goadsby made me.’ He paused but Danny said nothing. More than anyone, he knew the value of silence. And finally, Dalton sighed.

  ‘A while back, I did some work for him. Jameson never knew anythin’ about it. It was a private job. Goadsby had been boastin’ to his rich friends about becomin’ Lord Mayor – and he wanted a fireworks show. Somethin’ big and fancy. I said I’d do it. But it went wrong. One of the rockets exploded. It’s how I lost my finger.’

  He gave a half-laugh. ‘But worse than that, the roof of Goadsby’s house caught fire. Burnt down one gable end before they could stop the flames.’

  Almost absent-mindedly, Dalton slumped back into the chair. ‘He was furious. Said I’d been careless. Negligent, he called it. Said I’d go to prison for all the damage I’d caused. But he never told the police. Didn’t even ask for any money. He just said that one day he’d want a favour. And whatever it was, I’d have to do it.’

  So, it had been blackmail. Goadsby had forced Dalton to be part of his plan in return for staying quiet. But something told Danny it wasn’t quite the full story.

  ‘I still don’t understand,’ he said. Mentally, he measured the gap between them. If he was going to get closer, Danny needed to keep Dalton talking. ‘Why would the Lord Mayor of Manchester want to ruin Belle Vue?’

  ‘It’s simple. Jameson is sittin’ on a gold mine here. He’s got more than a hundred acres of land and he’s buildin’ enough shops and factories to make a small town – a brewery, gasworks, blacksmiths, ice cream parlour, bakery, ballroom, and that’s not even all of it. They make money all right, but Goadsby reckons they could bring in a lot more. With the right man to steer them.’