The Catnap Caper

by Sarah Todd Taylor

  For Seren

  S. T.

  For Paul

  N.K.

  Maximilian flicked the soot off his tail and glared across the first-class carriage at Agnes. They were very close to the front of the train, with its belching smoke and smuts, and he was fed up with her flinging down the window every five minutes to point out everything she could see while filling the carriage with smoke. Agnes was always like this. On their visit to Fawley Castle last October she had insisted on freezing everyone by riding with the car window down so that she could catch a glimpse of the castle before anyone else.

  “Stop jiggling around like that,” Sylvia snapped as Agnes jumped up for the hundredth time to squeal with delight at yet another cow. Maximilian swiped a shower of soot from his nose and miaowed in annoyance. They were on their way to one of the most elegant cities in the world and he was determined to make a good impression, which would be very difficult if his fur looked grubby. He tucked his tail around himself and set to work grooming it to perfection.

  “I want to see Paris,” Agnes sulked. “We’ve come all this way and all you can do is read your silly book!”

  She collapsed on the seat next to Maximilian and tickled him on the top of his head.

  “I bet you’re excited, aren’t you, Max,” she said. “You’ll be seeing Madame Emerald again, and we all know how fond you are of her.”

  “And she’s Max’s biggest fan. Isn’t she, Max?” Sylvia said.

  Maximilian smiled. He was looking forward to seeing Madame again. It was almost a year since he had foiled a plot by a dastardly jewel thief to kidnap Madame and impersonate her at the Theatre Royal, where he lived. That had been Maximilian’s first case, and now Madame had rewarded him and his theatre friends with a trip to France, where she was one of the judges at the most prestigious singing competition in Europe – “The Voice of Paris”. Madame Emerald was elegant and brave and exquisitely talented. It would be wonderful to be in her company again.

  Across the carriage, Maximilian’s best friend, Oscar, smiled at him from the seat next to Sylvia. Unlike Maximilian, who was curled up in a relaxed ball, Oscar sat upright, his paws resting lightly on the edge of the wooden seat, as if ready to spring to the ground at a moment’s notice. Oscar had resisted all of Sylvia’s attempts to encourage him to have a catnap and Maximilian wondered whether he might be more comfortable on the train’s roof. Oscar lived on the roof of the Theatre Royal and never enjoyed being trapped indoors, even in a train carriage.

  “Do you think we’ll be able to go shopping?” Agnes breathed, her eyes gleaming at the magic of the word.

  Agnes and Sylvia were the two most talented members of the Theatre Royal’s chorus. It was, according to Agnes, “the best job in the whole world,” but they were not yet grand stars who could afford diamonds, chocolates and taxis. Maximilian knew that Agnes and Sylvia had little spare money after paying for their rather shabby rooms overlooking one of London’s less illustrious streets, but they loved to do what Agnes called “window-shopping”. This meant putting on their best coats and hats and walking along Bond Street looking at all the fine things in the windows and imagining what life would be like if they could afford even one of the splendid outfits they picked out in their minds.

  “I hear that Paris has the most wonderful shops in the whole world,” Agnes continued. “It has chocolate shops crammed with caramels and truffles in every flavour you can think of, and clothes shops just brimming with silks and satins…”

  Maximilian saw Sylvia shoot a wistful look at her book, but it was hopeless. Agnes was in full flow and did not stop until the train chugged into Gare du Nord station, pulling up at a crowded platform packed with smartly dressed travellers. Maximilian peered out of the window, careful not to let his nose press against it in case of dust. Across the platform a great green engine was being coaxed into life by two grimy-looking men in overalls shovelling coal into a spitting firebox. The air was thick with noise as passengers hurried to find their coaches, and porters dashed to and fro, pushing rattling cages crammed with luggage. Somewhere in the distance a shrill whistle blew and, with a combination of chugs and creaks, an engine began to pull out of the station, sending clouds of smoke up towards the glass roof.

  Agnes dashed to the door that led into the corridor running the length of the train and threw it open. There was a cry of alarm as it narrowly avoided knocking over an elderly woman in an elaborately-brimmed hat. The woman glared at Agnes and whisked her gloved hand at a nervous looking boy in a blue and cream uniform who was staggering under a pile of suitcases. Agnes muttered an embarrassed “sorry” and stepped out into the corridor, where she was instantly enveloped in green velvet.

  “My darlings!” cried a familiar voice, light and musical, and the beautiful face of Madame Emerald appeared at the door, her arms wrapped around Agnes. She was wearing a cloak embroidered with silver swirls and seed pearls, and the soft curls of her dark hair peeped out from under a close-fitted felt hat trimmed with silk roses.

  Maximilian sprang to the floor and miaowed his “we are overjoyed to be here and it is an honour to see you again” miaow. It was the longest and most melodic of his miaows and he had been practising it carefully, adding a celebratory whisk of his tail, so it was most irritating to have it ruined by Sylvia of all people. Not caring that he was in the middle of an elegant greeting, Sylvia threw herself at Madame Emerald and drowned him out with a cacophony of “thank you”s. Maximilian gave a little “I was talking actually” cough, but Madame Emerald, Sylvia and Agnes were too busy to notice him.

  It was only after Sylvia had said for the fiftieth time how excited they were to be in Paris, and Agnes had extracted a list of all the best shopping streets, and Madame had found out which carriage Monsieur Lavroche and Mrs Garland were in (the two of them having wisely decided not to travel in the same carriage as Agnes) that Madame finally disentangled herself from the two girls and looked at Maximilian.

  “There he is!” she said, her lovely face beaming down on him. “My daring rescuer. How has Max been?”

  “He’s solved another mystery,” Sylvia said proudly, referring to the events before Christmas when Maximilian and Oscar had prevented the Fawley family jewels from falling into the hands of a most audacious criminal.

  Maximilian miaowed his “may I present my good friend, Oscar” miaow and Oscar padded over to execute a charming bow. Madame Emerald clapped a hand to her chest.

  “You darling! Oh, it is so wonderful to have you all with me again!” she cried. “What an adventure we are going to have!”

  “I’m going to have the pain au chocolat,” declared Agnes, putting on an air of sophisticated elegance and trying out her best French accent.

  The waiter, his face one of bland politeness, took away the plate bearing the crumbs from Agnes’ five croissants and placed another silver coffee pot in the middle of the table.

  They were sat having a very late breakfast in a tiny café that looked out on to one of Paris’s gardens. Their waiter had raised an eyebrow on discovering that two of the seats at the table booked for five were meant for cats, but he had shown them to a charming spot and the cutlery and water glasses at Maximilian and Oscar’s places had been discreetly removed and replaced with two shallow dishes of cream. Nothing, it seemed, was too much trouble if it was for Madame Emerald. She had found them the finest suites in the best hotel in the city and had come to fetch them the next morning for as many pastries as they wanted while Monsieur Lavroche visited friends and Mrs Garland explored the city.

  “Tell us all about the competition,” Sylvia said, smiling thanks at the waiter as he delivered a plate piled high with pains au chocolat to the table.

  Madame Emerald settled back in her c
hair and folded her napkin on to her plate.

  “My sweets, it’s been such a month,” she said. “We’ve had concert after concert, some most thrilling, some very dreary, and now we’re down to the final four singers.”

  “And what are they like?” Agnes asked.

  Madame sighed. “Divine, each and every one of them. That’s what makes it so difficult.” She looked at Maximilian and Oscar.

  “Who would you choose, Max? There’s Albert, a really wonderful bass. Such deep tones and a very good, amiable man. Then there’s Julienne; she’s the most divine soprano, though she’d better make the most of her career before Agnes here catches up with her and nabs all the good roles.”

  Maximilian glanced over at Agnes, who had gone a very bright pink. Agnes had a beautiful voice and Maximilian was sure that she had a glittering career ahead of her.

  “Henri is a little precious about things,” continued Madame Emerald, “but he has some lovely top notes and can sing love songs with more feeling than anyone I’ve ever met. Then there’s Minette.”

  She paused and peered over at the counter where a sweet-faced girl with auburn bobbed hair was counting up a customer’s bill. The customer barely made eye contact with her as he handed over several notes in payment and left with his change. Maximilian saw her eyes flick to the tip jar on the counter and just for a second her lovely smile flickered a little.

  “Minette,” Madame Emerald called, raising her hand in greeting.

  The girl beamed at Madame Emerald and, slipping out from behind the counter, joined them at the table.

  “Yes, Madame?” she said. “Is there anything more we can get for you?”

  Maximilian looked over at Oscar. “What a voice!” he miaowed. Oscar nodded. Minette’s voice was low and lilting, like the melody of a calling dove. Maximilian and Oscar often disagreed over voices. Maximilian adored the high tones of Madame and Agnes, whereas Oscar, though admitting that they were skilled, preferred the lower tones of the voices called mezzo-soprano. “They may be less flashy,” he would say, “but they are often far superior.”

  They were united in their admiration of Minette’s voice, though, and liked her even more when she whisked a jug of cream from the tray of a passing waiter and generously topped up the dishes in front of them.

  “Minette, these are my friends from London,” Madame said, introducing them all. “Minette is our final contestant. You will hear her at our concert this evening.”

  Sylvia and Agnes gushed enthusiastically about how much they were looking forward to hearing everyone sing. Maximilian miaowed his “it will be a delight to be at such an illustrious event” miaow and Oscar inclined his head in a very handsome bow.

  Minette, blushing a little at all the attention, said that she must get back to the counter and was about to leave when the door of the café burst open and Mrs Garland fell through, her arms overflowing with bags and parcels. Barely able to see over the top of them, she shimmied her way between the tables and headed for where they were all seated.

  “Oh, you saved me a chair. How lovely of you,” she blustered, not seeing Maximilian, and, before Sylvia could warn her, she dropped her pile of parcels all over him. Maximilian cried out in alarm as a hail of buttons and bags and ribbons poured down, leaving him smothered under a mountain of brown paper and twine.

  “Oh, Max!” cried Sylvia, stifling a giggle.

  Maximilian shook his head with annoyance and a bundle of ribbons fell out of a bag and garlanded his ears like a multicoloured wig. He let out a miaow of irritation and Sylvia could bear it no more. She screamed with laughter and covered her face with her hands. Agnes joined in and even Madame Emerald smiled rather wryly at him. It was most undignified.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Max,” Mrs Garland gasped, snatching the ribbons from his head and gathering the parcels up into her arms. A passing waiter provided a chair for her without a word, as well as a small table for her things. “I’ve found the most wonderful haberdasheries. Sylvia, your dress for next season’s winter show will have this on it.” She dug through one of the bags and produced a piece of lace so fine that Maximilian had to squint to see it. Sylvia peered at it doubtfully.

  “Will the audience be able to see that?” she said.

  “Ah,” said Mrs Garland. “Watch this.”

  She held the lace up to the morning sun streaming through the window. It seemed to explode in a myriad of rainbows, shimmering with light and colour. Sylvia’s eyes widened and Maximilian could see that Agnes was looking a little envious that she would be getting a costume made from such finery. Mrs Garland had plenty for everyone, though, and after she’d packed the lace away, they spent a happy half-hour rooting through her purchases, discussing how beautiful the company would look once Mrs Garland got to work on it all with her needle and thread.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” Madame Emerald said eventually, looking at her watch. “We have a few hours before I need to be back at the concert hall and there are so many sights that I want to show you all.”

  They packed up and paid their bill, wishing Minette good day. Maximilian noticed that Madame left a very generous tip as they made their way to the door. Madame had just taken hold of the handle when the door flew open once more and a small, round woman wrapped in a brightly coloured shawl almost collided with her. Ignoring them entirely, the woman looked wildly around the room. She dashed to a table where an elderly woman was reading the morning paper, where she collapsed into a chair and burst into tears.

  As Max was shepherded out of the café by Agnes, he heard the woman blurt out one word through her sobs.

  “Kidnapped!”

  “Kidnapped?” asked Oscar. “Are you sure?”

  They were sat on the roof of the Opéra Musique, the grand concert hall where “The Voice of Paris” competition would be held. It was the most beautiful concert venue in all of Paris: a perfect circle of green and gold. Four tiers of plush velvet seats of exquisite sea green rose high up to the painted ceiling, from which hung a chandelier shaped like a vast sunburst suspended in mid-air. From the wooden panelling that ran round the balconies to the ornate plasterwork that covered the ceiling and cascaded down the walls, everything was covered in gold.

  The roof, of course, was as plain and dusty as any old rooftop in London, and Oscar had made a beeline for it, saying that he felt far more at home there than in all the finery below.

  “She definitely said kidnapped,” said Maximilian. “And did you see how upset she looked?” His tail tingled, the way it always did when he could sense that a mystery was nearby. What a pity he had been whisked out of the café. It was irritatingly bad timing, when there was the possibility of another case at his paw tips.

  Oscar sighed. “Well, we’re unlikely to see her again,” he mused. “I suppose this one will have to be solved by the police.”

  Maximilian frowned. It would be rather splendid to solve a kidnapping. Though Maximilian did not like to admit it, one of his favourite things about the cases he had solved had been how much of a fuss everyone made of him afterwards, and a kidnapping would make him a real hero. It was true that he had rescued Madame Emerald from a team of kidnappers, but he hadn’t actually known that she had been kidnapped, so he wasn’t sure that counted.

  Oscar looked at him wryly. “It’s no good sulking about it,” he said, causing Maximilian to frown even more, because no one likes to be caught sulking.

  “I think I will go and see what they are up to downstairs,” he said with great dignity and, sticking his tail in the air to show he was not sulky and was certainly not storming out, he left Oscar on the roof and headed for the dressing rooms.

  He found Sylvia and Agnes gathered in the suite of rooms that had been reserved for Madame Emerald. Madame and Sylvia were lounging on a huge sofa while Agnes riffled through a rail of dresses, exclaiming with delight over each one and teasing out the skirts to hold against herself.

  “They’re insisting that each of the judges has a different outfit
for every night of the competition,” Madame Emerald was saying. “Can you imagine the extravagance?”

  Maximilian padded into the room and sprang up to a particularly comfortable-looking chair. The cushion sighed as he sank into it, enveloping him in softness. In the Opéra Musique even the dressing rooms were opulent, with plush seating and carpets and beautifully carved dressing tables accentuated with gold lacquer work. Madame’s dressing table was covered with bouquets of flowers and chocolate boxes in pastel shades tied up with silk ribbons. Maximilian thoroughly approved of all this splendour. He draped his wonderful tail over the arm of the chair, glad to see how beautiful it looked against the dark red of the fabric.

  He was just settling back for a short catnap when Minette walked past the dressing room. A deep-green dress was draped over her arm and she waved happily at Sylvia and Agnes as she passed.

  “Is that your gown for this evening, Minette?” Madame Emerald called.

  Minette paused and came into the room, shaking out the dress in front of her. It was a simple gown of green chiffon with a delicate frill at the shoulder and a fluted hem. Maximilian could see that it would look extremely pretty on her, but it was very plain compared with the magnificent gowns that hung on Madame’s rails.

  “I found it in a market in town,” Minette said, her cheeks pink with excitement. “Isn’t it lovely? It only had a tiny tear next to the buttons, but I managed to fix it and it’s a perfect fit.” The words came out in a rush and Minette paused and looked down at the floor.

  Maximilian began to suspect that Minette did not have much money. She had looked very longingly at the tips jar in the café and now here she was performing in Paris’s most illustrious singing competition in a hand-me-down gown.

  Madame rose to her feet and put a hand on Minette’s arm. “You will look utterly charming, my dear,” she said kindly. Minette lifted her chin and smiled. She opened her mouth to thank Madame when a tall, dark-haired woman appeared at the door, dressed from top to toe in sequins. Her frock was midnight blue, cut strikingly low down the front. At her throat was a double strand of diamonds.