by Jane Kerr
As well as last night’s break-in at the blacksmith’s yard, he’d come as close to drowning as he ever wanted to. He and Sandev had chased off a prowler, and it was very likely that someone had ransacked his room at the pub in Stow.
Could Arthur Albright be behind it all? And what would be the point? There’d been no major delays, apart from the setback caused by the damaged bridge. The Elephant Race was still on schedule. More or less.
Then there was a nagging worry that Danny still hadn’t shaken off. He was almost certain they were being watched. Had someone seen through his disguise and set Scatcherd on his trail? Or were Inspector Quick and the Edinburgh police keeping track of their journey? And if so, why? And the last, most disloyal thought—the one he’d been trying hard to avoid—was this: Could Mr. Jameson have arranged the accidents to get more publicity for Belle Vue? He’d already done it before, at Waverley Station, Danny was sure of it. But had he tried again?
Danny climbed the hotel stairs, dragging his toes against each step. Then a sudden panicked thought sent him whirling back—through the reception hall and out into the yard. If someone was serious about stopping the Elephant Race, there was only one certain way to do it. Through Maharajah.
Heart hammering, Danny sprinted towards the barn where Maharajah had been bedded down for the night. He burst through the doors and spun around, not entirely sure what he was expecting to find. But it certainly wasn’t this: silence. Peaceful, unbroken silence.
Carefully, he edged towards the back of the building. Stopped. Looked both ways. And pivoted on his heels just to make sure.
Nothing.
No trouble. No upset. No sign of disorder.
Maharajah lay sleeping in the straw, breathing heavily. Even the Wormwell wagon stood undisturbed in the darkness. Solid and sturdy after the blacksmith’s repairs.
Danny’s chest eased. Everything was fine. There had been no need to panic. He was becoming ridiculous, jumping at shadows and imagining trouble that wasn’t there. But, just as he’d let down his guard, footsteps rustled through straw and something collided heavily with his back. He wasn’t alone.
Automatically, Danny turned, grappling blindly in the dark. His arms hooked around a small, slight body and held on tight. Sliding a hand upward, he slapped a palm across an open mouth. Sharp teeth sank into his skin. Jerking, he loosened his grip and hissed out a silent curse.
“Serves you right! It’s me, you idiot. Who did you think it was?”
Danny’s pulse slowed. An embarrassed flush spread over his skin and he blessed the cover of darkness. He should have known Hetty would come after him. Deliberately, he stepped back, hoping she hadn’t noticed the slight shake of his fingers. He could still feel the blood rushing through his body.
“I just wanted to talk to you.” Hetty paused, and her eyes searched the shadowed corners of the outbuilding. Danny recognized her edginess because it matched his own. Then she brought her attention back to him.
“Do you know the police have been here?”
Danny nodded.
“Well, I’ve been thinking about the last few days … about the break-in and everything else that’s happened. What if the police have discovered something? What if … ?”
Despite himself, Danny’s heart picked up. He leant closer.
“What if Albright has been paying someone to slow us down. And what if that person is someone close to us. Someone who’s near enough to know all our movements.” Hetty paused. “And what if it’s—”
But she didn’t get a chance to say any more. Behind them, the door creaked open. Lamplight spilt across the floor. Crimple stood on the threshold.
“Oi, what are you two doing here?”
Hetty’s shocked gaze caught Danny’s, and in that moment, he knew exactly what she was thinking. Then she turned and put her hands to her hips.
“What do you mean? We’ve been watching over Maharajah, because you weren’t here. The question should be: Where have you been?”
Crimple glowered and Danny was near enough to smell the beer on his breath. “A man’s got to eat, hasn’t he? Anyway, what I do is none of your business. Get back to the hotel.”
The following morning was gray and gloomy, much like Danny’s mood. He’d had no further time alone with Hetty. Last night, Crimple had marched them both back to the hotel and straight into Mr. Saddleworth’s temper.
“Henrietta! Danny! There you are! You should have been asleep hours ago. Up to your rooms now.”
Danny had obeyed reluctantly. But he’d spent most of the night tossing and turning.
Could Hetty be right? Was Nelson Crimple behind all those odd events and near catastrophes? He turned over the possibility carefully.
Instinct had already convinced him someone was trying to cause trouble. Ever since the first night in Stow, when he and Sandev had chased the prowler, he’d felt uneasy. But not all the pieces fitted.
Crimple had seemed as shocked as everyone else to find the ransacked wagon this morning. And he definitely couldn’t have been the prowler. That man had been slight and wiry, not big and thickset.
Yet, whenever anything had gone wrong, Crimple had always been nearby. He was at the reins of the wagon when the wheel broke; he was in the hotel when Danny’s room was disturbed; and he was only a short distance away when Danny had fallen into the river.
By sunrise, Danny’s head swam, and he was happy to get back on the road. He needed wide, open spaces. They were climbing up and over Shap, the highest point on their route. Walking alongside Maharajah, Danny could feel his muscles stretching and tightening with the march uphill. But, at the top, the view was worth every ache.
Sunlight split the clouds, brightening the moors to a vivid green. In the distance, snow showered the mountains and the wind whipped across Danny’s face, stealing his breath. It was like standing on the roof of the world. He stepped right up to the edge and looked down. Cowgate’s dirty, choked streets were a lifetime away. And despite everything, he felt his spirits lift.
On the other side of the peak, the wind dropped from a gale to a gust, and it was easier to breathe. They stopped to eat in the shelter of some rocks, close to a stream. Crimple stayed in the wagon. But before Danny could catch Hetty’s attention, he was called away to help Mr. Saddleworth check and clean Maharajah.
Strangely, this had become the favorite part of Danny’s day. While he worked, Mr. Saddleworth would tell stories of his adventures. Most were about animals that Danny had never heard of and countries he didn’t even know existed.
Today he welcomed the distraction.
“Paris is beautiful,” Mr. Saddleworth said, running a hand over Maharajah’s front feet. “Not now, perhaps. The city’s still getting over the Prussian war. I was there last year, but, to be truthful, I wasn’t much help. No one was interested in saving the zoological animals. Most were killed to feed the starving. I even saw a butcher selling camel steaks and slices of an elephant’s trunk.”
A week ago, Danny wouldn’t have turned a hair at the idea—when he’d been hungry, he’d eaten anything he could beg or steal—but now the thought made his stomach churn. He wiped a cloth down Maharajah’s back leg, taking extra care to be gentle.
“And in some countries, elephants are not killed for food but for money. Hunters chop off the trunks, skin the heads, and cut away the tusks for ivory. It’s barbaric. I’ve seen them used to make ladies’ fans and chess sets. And some tusks are kept as trophies. It’s cruel and ugly and—”
Mr. Saddleworth stopped abruptly, and Danny realized Hetty was standing just behind them. From the horrified look on her face it was obvious she’d been listening.
“I’m sorry, Henrietta.”
“No, Papa.” Hetty was shaking her head vigorously. “Don’t. I’m not a little child, and I’m not going to faint away whenever I hear anything unpleasant.”
“I’m your father. It’s my place to protect you.”
“Then how will I learn anything important? I need to
know what goes on in the world even if it’s bad. Anyway, I need to talk to you.” She took a deep breath and flicked a glance at Danny. He knew immediately what she was going to say, and part of him wanted to hold her back. It was too soon.
“I think Albright has been paying someone to sabotage the Elephant Race. Ever since we started, odd things have been happening. I don’t mean big delays, but small things. Like the wagon getting stuck in the river. Or Danny falling into the water. Then there was the break-in, and now your map’s disappeared.”
She’d begun to talk more quickly. “And I think it’s Nelson Crimple. He’s always watching us and acting suspiciously. He doesn’t like Danny. And I don’t think he likes Maharajah much either. And—”
“Enough, Henrietta! Stop.” Mr. Saddleworth was frowning. “This is ridiculous. You might not like Crimple but that doesn’t mean he’s done anything wrong. He’s one of Belle Vue’s most loyal staff. Losing the Elephant Race would mean losing his job. And besides, how would he have been able to ransack the wagon? The blacksmith was with him all night. I know because I checked.”
“But, Papa!”
“As for the rest of it—the map, the river, the bridge. Let’s be logical. We’re walking more than two hundred miles across country, there are bound to be a few accidents. But that’s all they are. Accidents. Nothing more. You’ve created a drama out of nothing.”
Hetty’s chin had come up. “What about the police? Why were they here?”
“They came to see Mr. Jameson, not to speak to Crimple. And if there was any evidence against him, I’d know about it.”
Mr. Saddleworth lifted his hands to Hetty’s shoulders, and Danny knew the moment she realized the argument was lost. Frustration stiffened her spine.
“I agree we have to be more careful—all of us—but these accusations are completely unfounded.” As Hetty arched away, he sighed and dropped his hands. “I’m trying to be a good father to you, Henrietta, and I’ve allowed you a lot of freedom on this trip because I doubt your Aunt Augusta gave you very much. But I’m warning you, if this behavior continues, you will lose it.”
Hetty’s eyes flared. Danny could almost hear the battle going on inside her head.
But in the end she turned away. And he knew he’d failed her. When a few words of support might have made a difference, he couldn’t say anything. What good was he as a friend if he couldn’t even do that?
The fourth night of the Elephant Race would be different from the others. Instead of stopping at a village inn, they’d been invited to stay at Abbeystead Hall. Danny wondered if it was as grand as it sounded. He couldn’t believe a few days ago he’d been living in slums and tonight he would be the guest of an English lord.
“Lord Cawthorne loves animals,” Mr. Saddleworth explained. “He has his own collection, and he’s been writing to Mr. Jameson for advice on which animals to add to his menagerie. When he heard about the Elephant Race, he insisted we stop at Abbeystead. It’s quite an honor.”
They’d pushed hard to arrive by late evening. Eventually Danny had given up walking and climbed back on to Maharajah. Now his arms ached, and his shoulders were stiff from keeping upright. But at last, Abbeystead’s tall chimneys could be seen, poking out from between the trees.
Danny and Maharajah led the way, trooping up the long gravel driveway while darkness fell. As they drew nearer, the house unfolded like a paper fan, becoming larger and even more impressive. Danny couldn’t quite believe it was real. Every window blazed with light, illuminating the courtyard in the dusk. Water gushed from a fountain of stone lions, and the wide, smooth lawn looked as though it had been ironed flat.
A man stood on the front steps, dressed in black tie and tails. He might have been smiling, but it was difficult to see beyond the large mustache that curled above his lips. At his heels, several dogs yapped noisily.
“Welcome, Your Highness. Welcome, everyone.” His voice was a boom. “I’m delighted you were able to visit. I’ve been reading about your progress. I’m Cawthorne.”
He strode towards Maharajah, then circled him before coming back to the point where he’d started. “So this is the animal that the whole of the country is talking about. I can see why. He’s an incredible creature. A quite remarkable specimen.”
Lord Cawthorne reached out to touch Maharajah’s trunk but the elephant jerked away. He seemed oddly skittish. Danny gently smoothed a palm across one ear.
“So how big would you say he is? About twelve feet to the shoulder? And fully grown?”
“Roughly that, Your Lordship,” Mr. Saddleworth replied. “But Mr. Jameson could tell you more.”
“Yes. It’s unfortunate that he couldn’t be here. We’ve never actually met, but I’ve enjoyed our correspondence.” Lord Cawthorne glanced towards the steps where another man had appeared. Gold buttons glittered on his waistcoat. “However, I believe you already know one of my other guests. Mr. Arthur Albright of the Yorkshire Zoological Gardens?”
“No. I’m afraid I haven’t had that pleasure.”
Mr. Saddleworth didn’t look pleased. He wasn’t the only one. Danny tensed as Albright walked down the steps towards them. Instinctively, he slid an arm on either side of Maharajah’s neck and curled his body over the warm skin. The urge to protect was surprisingly fierce.
“Mr. Saddleworth, I presume? What a fortunate meeting!” Albright smiled—the kind of smile that showed all his teeth but no warmth. “And, Your Highness. I’d certainly not expected to see you all here. Surely by now, you should be miles farther on?”
Dinner was served in the grandest room Danny had ever seen. A huge gaslight dripping with glass beads hung over the long table. Hetty said it was a chandelier. Whatever it was called, he’d never seen anything so magnificent. He managed to stop staring only when Hetty elbowed him in the ribs.
Sandev and Crimple had not been invited to eat with them. Instead, they were sent to the Abbeystead kitchens. Danny might have been more worried if he hadn’t heard Mr. Saddleworth’s whispered order to Sandev. “Stay with Maharajah in the stables tonight. Do not leave his side.” As it was, Albright’s presence at Abbeystead was already making Danny uneasy—and he still had to get through dinner.
As guest of honor, Prince Dandip was seated next to Lord Cawthorne; Hetty was on his other side.
Sitting opposite—almost hidden by gold-edged china and a huge vase of flowers—were Mr. Saddleworth and Albright. And at the far end were the two other dinner guests. They were introduced as the local vicar, Reverend Edgar Applerow, and his wife, Beatrice.
Mrs. Applerow was a smaller, softer version of Mrs. Jameson. She had a gentle manner and a kind smile. Danny was more suspicious of her husband. His face was all straight lines, and he bowed his head to pray with a passion that Danny had only ever given to his food. It was the first time he had ever been asked to say grace before a meal, and he fidgeted uncomfortably.
“… and may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen.”
As several footmen carried in bowls of soup, Danny felt his unease grow. He looked down at the cutlery lined up on the stark white tablecloth. There were so many pieces; he didn’t know which to choose.
“Copy me,” Hetty whispered. She lifted one of the silver spoons, so Danny did the same. In his other life, he would have slipped it into his sleeve and then sneaked out of the house but he couldn’t do that anymore. However tempting.
There were seven courses in all, each one announced by Ogden, the Abbeystead butler, in a heavy, solemn voice. After the pheasant soup came a fish course of turbot and tartare sauce, then a choice of creamed lobster or wild duck, both wrapped in pastry.
As each plate was brought in, Danny watched Hetty carefully to check he didn’t make any mistakes. At last, the main dish arrived; roasted partridge, served with potatoes, peas, and asparagus.
“Shot the birds myself, just this morning,” Lord Cawthorne said proudly, selecting several pink slices. Under the table, he fed scraps to his dogs, while gravy dripped from t
he curls of his mustache. Occasionally he would turn to Danny and shout slow questions in a booming voice.
“SO WHAT DO YOU MAKE OF THE ENGLISH WEATHER, PRINCE DANDIP?”
“I’m afraid he doesn’t speak English, Your Lordship,” Mr. Saddleworth said quietly. “But he can hear. And his understanding is better than most.”
Lord Cawthorne frowned, swiping at his dripping mustache. “How very peculiar. These foreigners must learn the language. Prove they’re not barbarians. There’ll be no educating them unless they speak English.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Your Lordship. Well said.” Albright nodded vigorously. All evening, he’d been tripping over himself for Lord Cawthorne’s attention, pouring out flattery as though it were cream.
Danny caught Hetty’s glance and she rolled her eyes. It wasn’t difficult to know what she was thinking. Her dislike of Albright was obvious. Looking down at his plate, he fought not to laugh. Instead, he concentrated on his food, scooping up mouthfuls with what he hoped was the right fork.
Ice cream and fruit sorbets followed the meat course. They’d been shaped to look like flower buds and Danny had to hold in a gasp when the crystal bowl was set in front of him. The crisp petals looked too beautiful to eat, but he managed it anyway, breaking off frozen pieces and letting them dissolve on his tongue.
Finally, the footmen brought in Stilton cheese, alongside apples and grapes. By the end, Danny’s sides ached. Even he hadn’t been able to finish every plate. He considered shoveling the leftovers into his napkin, but he only had time to grab a couple of apples for Maharajah.
Lord Cawthorne rose from the table as the last dish was cleared. “Perhaps now you’d like to see my menagerie.” It was nearer to an instruction than an invitation. “I’m rather proud of it.”
“Is it not a little dark?” asked Mrs. Applerow. She glanced outside nervously.
“Oh no, not at all, madam. My animals are all indoors. I’ll show you.”
Stalking ahead, Lord Cawthorne led the way through a large paneled hall before opening a door into a narrow corridor. Gas lamps, fixed at regular intervals, lit the way, and as they walked, shadows flickered on the wall. It seemed to Danny that they were moving farther and farther away from the main house.