The Elephant Thief

by Jane Kerr

  “That must have taken some time.”

  “I imagine it did, but I wasn’t there. Sandev and Crimple made sure everything that was needed came with us in the wagon. All I know is that we have to arrive in Belle Vue by the nineteenth of April—seven days from leaving Edinburgh. Otherwise Mr. Albright wins the zoological collection.”

  Mr. Kibble made another note. “And it was in Edinburgh that the Prince was reconciled with his long-lost friend? How fortunate that he reached the auction just in time to see Maharajah being sold. And how lucky that the train was delayed so they could be reunited. Some might call it an incredible coincidence, don’t you think?”

  “Yes. You could say so.” Hetty shifted uncomfortably. It was obvious to Danny that she was far happier spinning stories about his past than lying about more recent events. “But this has been reported in great detail already, Mr. Kibble. It was in all the Scottish papers.”

  “You’re quite right.” To Danny’s surprise, the reporter snapped his notepad shut. It seemed an abrupt end to the interview, although he’d certainly be glad to see the back of Mr. Kibble. “I’ve taken up a lot of your time. I’m very grateful to you.”

  “Can you tell us when the Times will publish the story?” Hetty asked politely.

  “I’m afraid I can’t give you an exact date. I’ve a little more research to do. To make certain all the details are correct. Now if you’ll excuse me? Your Highness, Miss Saddleworth. It’s been a pleasure.”

  He gave a brief nod and left the room in swift strides. Hetty waited until the door closed before jumping up excitedly.

  “Well, I think that went very well. Everyone will be even more fascinated by Prince Dandip. And Mr. Jameson will be delighted with the publicity, don’t you think? I hope Papa will be pleased too. I mentioned several times that he’s an animal doctor, and how people always want his advice. Imagine us appearing in the Times of London …”

  Hetty was giddy, but Danny didn’t share any of her excitement. He was even more certain than ever that it could only be a matter of time before the truth came out. And then he would be back, exactly where he’d started. At Frank Scatcherd’s mercy.

  They got ready to leave Langholm at sunrise. Danny still felt weak and he had to force himself out of bed, but he knew they couldn’t stay any longer. Time was becoming more and more precious.

  At least there were no more signs of trouble. Crimple had met them for breakfast after a night repairing the broken wheel with the blacksmith, while Sandev had kept watch over Maharajah in the stables. No one had seen anything unusual.

  Light was already streaking across the dark sky as they arrived to collect the wagon. The blacksmith yawned as he unbolted the gates to his yard. Danny’s jaw itched in sympathy. He was so tired he could have slept standing up.

  No one else appeared any brighter; Crimple was grumpy from lack of sleep, and both Sandev and Mr. Saddleworth seemed caught up in their own thoughts. Even Hetty was quiet. The two cart horses stamped impatiently in the cold, their breath creating clouds in the spring air.

  Only Maharajah was unconcerned. Danny gave him an apple and felt a gentle nudge in return. A wave of affection swept through him. This animal had saved his life. In that moment, Danny knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do in return.

  “We left the wagon through here.” Crimple led them to the back of the blacksmith’s yard. “And I checked everythin’ before I left last night, so I know …”

  He stopped suddenly, blocking Danny’s view. Then he stepped aside.

  Horrified, Danny stared. The wagon stood in the center of chaos. Its cargo had been ransacked; every box and bag pulled out and overturned. The contents spilt across the floor in a sprawling tangle.

  Ropes and harnesses were now mixed with buckets, chains, and cleaning brushes. Sacks of food had been tipped up and shaken, leaving fruit, vegetables, and some sugar cane rolling across the yard. One large hay bale looked as though it had been pulled apart, straw by straw.

  “Who … who would do this?” Hetty’s shock echoed Danny’s. There was something about the destruction that was almost spiteful. “And why?”

  “It weren’t like this when I left. I promise you.” Crimple looked dazed. “I know it weren’t.”

  Mr. Saddleworth picked up an apple sack that had been slashed open. His face was furious. “Well, whoever it was, if they were hoping to find valuables, they won’t have had any luck. There’s nothing here worth stealing.”

  Danny knew Mr. Saddleworth was right, because he’d already checked. The scattered cargo was mostly equipment needed to clean, feed, and train Maharajah, plus some day-to-day essentials for the trip—battered pans, old camping blankets, and towels. Nothing that would have raised more than a few shillings at an Edinburgh pawnbroker’s.

  But last night, the intruder had torn everything apart. They’d missed nothing. One large crate hadn’t even been opened since the auction. Now papers streamed across the floor. A corner of a book peeked out from the mess. Leaning down, Hetty cleaned off the cover.

  “It’s a scrapbook of newspaper cuttings.” She turned the pages. The dust made her sneeze. “They’re all stories about Maharajah. Here’s one from the Blackpool Gazette—‘Mayor Welcomes Elephant Sensation to North Pier.’ And another from the Liverpool Daily Post—‘Miracle Maharajah Lifts the Weight of Ten Men.’ It’s even got a cartoon!”

  As Hetty flipped through the rest of the scrapbook, Danny noticed several rolls of paper curled under the wagon. Curious, he tugged one free.

  The poster was bold and bright and instantly recognizable. Maharajah stood in a circus ring alongside his keeper. Two large hoops were hooked over his trunk, and a blue feather sprouted from his headdress.

  “ ‘Maharajah the Magnificent Appears Tonight, Courtesy of Wormwell’s Royal Number One Menagerie. Come and Marvel at the Strongest Beast in the British Empire,’ ” Hetty read aloud over his shoulder. She reached out a hand. “Look, Danny. That harness is the one he’s wearing now. And, Sandev, that’s you! You both look wonderful.”

  “Thank you, Miss Henrietta.” Sandev made his elegant bow. “Those were happy times. But I am sad to say Mr. Wormwell was a gambling man. When he died, the menagerie had to be sold. There was no money left to carry on. And no job for me.”

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.”

  “Do not worry. I have other offers. Everything will be well.” As usual, Sandev’s solemn face gave nothing away. If he was upset about leaving Maharajah behind in Manchester, Danny couldn’t tell. An uncomfortable twinge twisted his stomach. He was pretty sure it must be guilt. If it weren’t for him, Sandev would probably have a job at Belle Vue.

  “But I’m sure if I asked Mr. Jameson, he’d give you—”

  “Henrietta, leave Sandev alone. It’s his business, not yours.” Mr. Saddleworth was still sifting through the clutter. “We need to concentrate on clearing this. Danny, you collect the papers with Henrietta. Sandev, sort out Maharajah’s equipment. Check it carefully. Crimple, you do the rest.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I want to speak to the blacksmith, ask him to check the wagon.”

  Danny was surprised how quickly they managed to turn the chaos into some sort of order. Many of the food sacks were torn, a brush had been snapped in half, and some of the fruit was badly crushed. But much of the rest was salvageable.

  The blacksmith gave them a new crate for the papers, and Danny rolled up one of the posters to keep for himself. Within an hour, they’d reloaded the supplies and were ready to get back on the road.

  Crimple finished harnessing the horses. “Find any problems with the wagon, Gov?” he grunted, giving a final tug on one of the leather buckles.

  “No, it’s all clear. No sign of anything unusual.” Mr. Saddleworth climbed up and took the reins. “What do you think, Crimple? Could Albright have been responsible for this?”

  The keeper shook his head. “Don’t see why Mr. Albright would bother. It held us up a bit, but we soon got it sorted. If he wer
e wantin’ to stop us properly, he’d do somethin’ a bit more permanent. I reckon it was just kids.”

  Danny wasn’t so certain. Perhaps the intruders had been disturbed. Maybe they would have damaged the wagon if they’d had more time. The edgy feeling had returned. He’d even started to wonder if Frank Scatcherd had something to do with it. But the idea was ridiculous. He was miles away and, so far, no one else had realized that the boy pickpocket from Cowgate was Prince Dandip of Delhi.

  Or had they? Fleetingly, he thought of Alfred Kibble, and his precise, exact questions.

  “Will you report this to the constable, Mr. Saddleworth?” asked Sandev.

  “No, it would only delay us. I can’t find anything missing, and we don’t know who’s responsible. Maybe it was children, or a local villain who’s seen the publicity and was looking for money. But I want you all to be especially vigilant from now. We don’t need any more setbacks.”

  Crimple flicked the reins, Danny whistled to Maharajah, and they left Langholm behind.

  The country road rose up into the hills before dropping down to follow the River Esk once again. It was cold, wet, and exhausting. And when they finally crossed the border into England, Danny didn’t feel excited. He was just too tired.

  At least people were still turning out to greet them. In Longtown, crowds lined the streets, spilling into the market square and beyond. If Mr. Jameson had been here, he would be dancing a jig; this was exactly what he wanted.

  But as they crossed the town’s arched bridge, the faces blurred away and all Danny could see was the water. Coiling around the rocks, churning along the shore, and slamming against the bank. And he remembered the strength of the current, dragging him under.

  He wiped a damp palm across his shirt. His heart raced. Air was pumping in and out of his lungs as fast as butterfly wings. It was no good, he couldn’t do this anymore.

  On shaky legs, Danny slid down from Maharajah, not even bothering to call him to a stop. The dismount wasn’t graceful. He almost fell beneath Maharajah’s feet and it was only by luck that he wasn’t hurt.

  “What’s the matter?” Hetty scrambled from the wagon. “Danny? What is it?”

  Reaching his side, she tried to shield him from the curious spectators, but Danny hardly cared. Feelings were shaking loose inside him and he couldn’t calm enough to pin them down. Confusion. Fear. Shame. Crouching, he let his chin slump on to his chest. How stupid to be terrified of water when he’d faced so much worse.

  Something rough rubbed the back of his neck, and a strong grip wrapped around his chest, pushing him off-balance. It was Maharajah. Danny tried to pull away, but the elephant wasn’t letting go. If anything, his grasp only tightened.

  Then, dumbfounded, Danny realized what was happening. Maharajah was rocking him, just like a mother would cradle her baby. In Cowgate, he’d seen women nurse their children in the same way while they gossiped across the alleys. He’d always wondered what it felt like. And now he knew.

  He curled into the warmth and let himself be held. His fear dissolved like dust in rain.

  Danny didn’t climb back on to Maharajah after they left Longtown. Instead, he walked at the elephant’s side, trying to stretch his stiffened muscles. The shakiness was gradually disappearing, and it was good to have solid ground beneath his feet.

  He tried to match his strides to Sandev’s. The mahout seemed to have the energy of ten men. So far, he’d walked every step of the way, without a rest in the wagon, or a single word of complaint. It made Danny want to do the same.

  Hetty strode between them. Her clothes were no longer spotless. Dirt and dust circled the hem of her dress, another smear streaked down one sleeve, and her hair hung in an untidy plait. The jaunty little hat was long gone. Danny couldn’t believe she was the same girl who had arrived at Hawick Station. He liked this one much better.

  “This is the best adventure! Aunt Augusta would never let me go anywhere. She says curiosity is vulgar, and young ladies should only show interest in sewing and the weather.” Hetty flung out her arms and spun in a circle. “But one day I want to travel the world. Maybe I’ll go to India with my papa and see elephants just like Maharajah.”

  Danny felt a tug of longing at the idea. More and more, he was realizing that this journey wasn’t only about reaching Manchester but about a hundred other places he could visit once he got there.

  “That is not possible, I am afraid.” Just for a moment, it looked as though Sandev’s mouth might curl into a smile.

  “Why not?” Hetty stopped mid-stride. Her hands settled on her hips, in a way that Danny recognized meant business. “Don’t you think I can do it?”

  “No, Miss Henrietta. Forgive me. I think you could do anything you want. But I am afraid you will not see elephants like Maharajah in India. Because he is an African elephant. They are much larger. More powerful, with bigger ears and tusks.”

  Hetty’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. I thought Maharajah was from India.”

  “You are not the only one to think so. Maharajah was young when he joined Mr. Wormwell’s menagerie. Smaller and not so strong. But people loved him. For years, we traveled the country together. He and I even performed for Her Majesty.”

  “Maharajah has met Queen Victoria?”

  “Yes, most certainly. Of all the animals, he was her particular favorite.”

  Danny’s jaw loosened, and pride uncurled in his chest. Of course Maharajah was special, but to be recognized by the Queen surely proved it. Lightly he brushed a palm along the elephant’s trunk, feeling the thick ridges of skin bump against his fingers. Maharajah curled towards the touch.

  “Come on!” Mr. Saddleworth shouted. “I’ve already told you. We haven’t got time for dawdling. It’s the third day and we’re not even halfway to Belle Vue yet. Let’s go!”

  It seemed to Danny that their pace quickened after that. Crowds greeted them in every town but Danny practiced his royal wave—polite but distant—and he kept Maharajah moving.

  Finally, just before midnight, they arrived at the George Hotel in Penrith. It was Crimple’s turn for the night watch, so he disappeared to the stables with Maharajah, while everyone else waited for Mr. Saddleworth to book rooms. Bone-weary, Danny slumped into a corner of the reception hall. He hadn’t planned on falling asleep, but his eyelids fluttered closed without waiting for permission.

  He was jerked awake by the heavy tread of boots and deep voices that didn’t sound local. Two men were talking to Mr. Saddleworth at the front desk. The older one had a crumpled face that matched his crumpled suit, and Danny was almost sure he’d seen him somewhere before. And then he remembered.

  It was the same man who had been talking to the animal keepers at the Wormwell auction. The man who’d chased him away from the wagons. But what was he doing here, miles away from Edinburgh? Suddenly, Danny didn’t feel quite so tired anymore.

  Edging closer, he slipped behind an armchair near the reception desk. His sixth sense for trouble was screaming like a siren. He peered around the chair. The older man was shaking hands with Mr. Saddleworth.

  “I’m Inspector Clarence Quick from the Edinburgh City Police. I believe you’re with the Belle Vue party. I’m looking for Mr. James Jameson. Is he here?”

  “No, I’m afraid he and his wife traveled ahead of us to Manchester. They left by train yesterday.”

  “That’s a pity.” The inspector frowned. “I’m anxious to speak to him. I have some questions about his purchase of an elephant from Wormwell’s Royal Number One Menagerie. I believe the animal’s name is Maharajah. And he’s being ridden by an Indian prince called …” He glanced at his colleague for help.

  “Dandip, sir.”

  “That’s right. Prince Dandip. A rather urgent situation has arisen.”

  “Can I be of any help?” Hetty’s father sounded curious but not particularly concerned. He’d probably never had reason to be wary of the police. Unlike Danny. “My name’s William Saddleworth. I’m in charge while Mr.
Jameson’s away.”

  “Thank you. Unfortunately, I expect he’s the only one with the answers we need. We’ll have to reach him at Belle Vue. I wish you a safe journey.”

  Inspector Quick tugged the brim of his hat, and Danny thought he would leave without another word, but then he stopped. “A friendly warning, Mr. Saddleworth. If I were you, I’d watch how you go on from here. There are a lot of unscrupulous characters about. And not everyone is exactly who they seem. Do be careful.”

  Danny leant his head against the back of the chair and tried to bring his panic under control. But already his imagination was running in wild loops.

  Had the police been sent after him? Did someone suspect that Prince Dandip of Delhi was really a street pickpocket from Cowgate?

  Or was it just possible that Inspector Quick was on the trail of something much, much bigger?

  “What do you think you’re doing, lad?”

  Danny jerked back against the chair. Mr. Saddleworth was peering down at him, his face lined with suspicion. Straightening, Danny yawned and stretched out his arms, hoping he looked like he’d been napping, not eavesdropping.

  “Well, if you’re that tired, perhaps you should go to bed. I’ve booked us all rooms and Sandev’s already gone up.” Mr. Saddleworth gestured towards the stairs. “I almost forgot. Have you seen my map? The one marked with the route to Belle Vue? It’s not in the wagon.”

  Frowning, Danny shook his head. Mr. Saddleworth was rarely without his collection of maps and charts. His detailed planning was the main reason they’d managed not to stray off course.

  “I suppose it must have been thrown away with all the mess from the break-in. I’ve a spare copy. It just means I’ll have to spend the next hour marking out the route again. And I’ve enough to do.” Mr. Saddleworth sighed. “Go on. You get to bed.”

  It was more of an order than a suggestion but Danny wasn’t tired anymore. The restless, uneasy feeling was growing. On its own, a lost map was insignificant, but added to the list of mishaps over the last few days it suddenly seemed far more important.