by Jane Kerr
At last, Lord Cawthorne pushed open a door. “Here we are. I had this outbuilding connected up to the Hall and then converted to house my collection. I’m sure you’ll be impressed.”
Danny was the last to step out into the long, low room. And he wasn’t prepared for what he found. Glass cases lined the walls, each filled with animals.
They were all dead.
Dead, stuffed, and mounted. It was like being in a frozen zoo.
“Quite amazing, isn’t it?” said Lord Cawthorne. “My life’s work.”
Stunned, Danny followed the others as they spread out into the room. His head swiveled, trying to take everything in.
The exhibits ranged from ordinary cats and dogs to creatures he recognized only because of the Wormwell auction. In one corner, a lion shared its space with a leaping tiger and a snarling hyena. In another, a crocodile, wolf, and giant tortoise were circled around a small brown rabbit. Perhaps the most striking was a fully grown deer, complete with antlers, that sat on its head like a crown.
In the center of the room, the largest case held the most bizarre exhibit—part zebra, part horse, as though leftover pieces of animals had been stitched together. Pushing his nose to the display window, Danny looked more closely. The creature stood proudly, but its glass eyes were blank.
“A quagga,” said Lord Cawthorne, tapping his fingers on the glass. “One of only twenty-three in the world on display. They’re likely to be extinct soon, so it was a valuable find. It cost me a small fortune, I can tell you.”
Hetty began walking past the exhibits, reading aloud the labels as she went. “ ‘Zebra, shot by Ambrose Cawthorne, eleventh of November 1870, Africa.’ ‘Female baboon, shot by Ambrose Cawthorne, twenty-fourth of November 1868, Africa.’ ‘Sea lion stranded and culled off the American coast, fifteenth of December 1871 …’ ”
The more she read, the more dazed she sounded. And Danny knew why—because he felt exactly the same. Lord Cawthorne didn’t love animals. He killed them. This was no menagerie. It was a graveyard.
“Why do you do this? Why ever would you want to?” Hetty’s hands had risen to her hips.
“Henrietta! You’re a guest here. Remember your manners.” Mr. Saddleworth tried to pull her back, but she shrugged him off.
“That’s quite all right, Saddleworth. Some people don’t understand at first, but I’m happy to educate the girl.” Lord Cawthorne actually sounded glad of the opportunity. He cleared his throat.
“You see, my dear, there’s nothing like the challenge of hunting a wild animal. The most exciting moments of my life have been whilst big-game hunting in Africa. I remember, once, shooting a lioness. Even wounded, it still took days to finish her off.” He pointed. “There she is, in that corner on the left. One of the most satisfying kills of my life.”
Mrs. Applerow gave a soft murmur and held a handkerchief to her mouth. Her husband said nothing, but he put an arm around her shoulders. Danny noticed they didn’t get any closer to the exhibits.
“Of course these are not all hunting trophies,” Lord Cawthorne continued. “I have to confess that some of the more exotic exhibits are from zoos and menageries, which is why I know Albright.”
He nodded to the other man. “We have a business arrangement when his livestock is no longer of any use to him. Those too sick, too old, or too expensive to keep. And, of course, those creatures that are no longer of any interest to the public.”
Lord Cawthorne was so matter-of-fact that at first Danny didn’t understand what he meant. But then it became horribly clear.
“I have the animals brought here, shot, stuffed, and mounted by a taxidermist. Walter Potter, one of the top men in the country. He’s extremely skilled. Just look at the whiskers on the female ocelot and you’ll appreciate his talent. He has a real gift for zoological creatures and I think they bring a touch of color to my collection. It’s quite remarkable, isn’t it?”
No one responded. Perhaps Lord Cawthorne thought they were all speechless with wonder, but Albright was the only one who looked impressed. He was examining the ocelot closely, even though Danny knew he must have seen it many times before.
Then Hetty asked the question that Danny had been trying not to think about. “What about Belle Vue? Do any of them come from Belle Vue?”
“No. I’ve none from there yet. But I hope to persuade Mr. Jameson soon.” Lord Cawthorne smiled slyly. “Of course, I’m not sure who I’ll be doing business with in the future. We’ll have to see who wins this bet.”
He glanced at his pocket watch. “Speaking of which, I know you’ll all be anxious to get some sleep. There are still seventy miles to go to reach Belle Vue, and I expect it’ll be a dash to the finish. Isn’t that right, Albright?”
“Possibly, Your Lordship. Although of course, I have no doubt about who’ll end up the winner. No doubts at all.”
Everyone was quiet as they walked back along the corridor, or so it seemed to Danny. Mr. Saddleworth put an arm around Hetty and whispered something into her ear. He didn’t hear what was said but she tucked a hand into her father’s arm. Their differences appeared forgotten. And despite a small spark of envy, Danny was glad.
An army of footmen guided the guests to their chambers. Danny’s room was even grander than he could have imagined. Velvet curtains draped the windows, each wall was lined in patterned silk, and Persian rugs covered the floor. In the center, the four-poster bed looked bigger than some rooms in Cowgate.
It was a poor boy’s dream, but Danny knew he couldn’t relax and enjoy it. All he could think about was the Abbeystead menagerie—the dead eyes in dead faces. Restlessly, he prowled around the room, his fingers stroking across the finery. He picked up a silver picture frame, then put it down again. He needed to do something. He couldn’t stay here.
Easing open the door, Danny peered along the corridor, then crept towards the stairs. Somewhere, a clock ticked loudly, but there was no other noise. Lightly, he padded down the wide steps and almost bumped into a figure at the bottom. His heart jumped.
“Prince Dandip!” Arthur Albright leant casually against the balustrade. “How fortunate! I’d hoped to have a private word.”
Danny didn’t imagine there was anything Albright could say that he would want to hear, but curiosity stopped him from running. The menagerist stepped a little closer.
“We may have had our differences this past week but I’ve heard good things about you. You’re a hard worker, I’m told. Clever too. And I’m sure by now you’ve realized exactly what sort of a man Jameson is. A chancer with more dreams than business sense.”
Albright paused. Perhaps he was hoping for a reaction, but Danny kept his face blank. He didn’t trust this man for a moment.
“So I’d like you to come and work at my menagerie in Leeds. I’ll need good people once the Belle Vue collection arrives. And you’re famous now. Forget Maharajah. Visitors will come just to see Prince Dandip. And I can make sure you reap the rewards.”
Stunned, Danny let the words sink in. The last thing he’d expected was a job offer. There must be some mistake. What was Albright up to? More publicity for his menagerie? Or was there another, more sinister reason?
“You don’t have to answer now, but think about it. Here’s something to help make up your mind.”
He pressed a coin into Danny’s palm—a gold sovereign, just like the one Mr. Jameson had given him at Waverley Station. Danny turned it over carefully, feeling the hard, round edges. It felt more like a burden than a comfort. But better to keep the money now and work out what Albright wanted later. He slipped the coin into his shirt cuff next to the first.
“Good. I hope that’ll convince you. You can give me your answer tomorrow. And remember what I said: you’ve a richer future with me than at Belle Vue. And I’ve no intention of losing this bet.”
Albright’s stare burnt into his back as Danny walked away; it wasn’t pleasant. As soon as he could, he darted down another corridor and then along a second hallway. It took se
veral attempts, but eventually he found an unlocked door that opened on to the courtyard.
There was only one place he wanted to be.
Sidling around the outside of the main house, Danny passed the menagerie before reaching the adjoining stable block. Abbeystead’s horses had already settled for the night, and apart from the occasional snuffle and snort, it was quiet.
In the far corner, a flickering lantern hung from a hook in the rafters. Below it, Sandev sat on a small wooden bench, a book in his hand and his legs stretched out. As Danny came closer, he shifted so there was enough room for them both to sit.
Nearby, Maharajah was just emerging from sleep. He needed only four hours a night, and often snored noisily, much to Danny’s amusement. The elephant climbed to his feet and trundled over, nudging Danny with his trunk.
Sandev watched. “Mr. Crimple is still in the kitchens looking for food, but I suspect Maharajah would prefer whatever is in your pocket.”
Danny pulled out one of the apples that he’d taken from Lord Cawthorne’s dinner table and held it up. Whatever the outcome, the Elephant Race was nearly over. The notion was surprisingly sad. Just as Mr. Jameson had promised, it had been more than a journey. It had been an adventure.
They sat in silence. Maharajah munched a second apple, Sandev occasionally turned another page of his book, and Danny was happy just to sit. He had a lot to think about.
A few days ago, he’d had nothing. Now he had two job offers along with two gold sovereigns. He knew which one he wanted—and wanted more desperately than anything he could ever remember. But now, more than ever, his future hinged on the Elephant Race. The result would decide everything. For him and for Maharajah.
At least there was one certainty. In the morning, they would leave Abbeystead—and the strange, dead menagerie—far behind. It couldn’t come soon enough.
If Danny had to guess, it must have been past midnight when he heard a noise outside. A metallic rattle and crash, as though someone had tripped over a badly placed bucket. Then silence. Beside him, Sandev put down his book. They both listened.
A horse snorted in one of the stalls. A door creaked on its hinge. And after that, there were footsteps. Danny was sure of it. They were the soft steps of someone who did not want to be found, and they were getting closer. He held his breath.
Once again it fell quiet.
Danny exchanged a glance with Sandev. The mahout didn’t need to do anything except nod towards the door. Together, they rose to their feet and crept into the passageway that ran between the stalls. In the silence, it was possible to catch the rhythm of rapid breathing. Someone was still inside.
“Who is there?” Sandev’s voice cracked the quiet.
Abruptly, a door banged, loud as a bullet. Now the footsteps weren’t disguised. They were heavy and obvious. Danny didn’t hesitate. He raced towards the noise. Sandev followed.
Side by side, they sprinted down the passageway. A little way ahead, a wall lantern picked out a slight outline, but it was no more than a blurred silhouette. All Danny could be certain of was that the shadow belonged to a man and he was fast. He’d already reached the end of the stable block.
Then, just as he turned the corner, the figure stumbled and Danny saw something drop from his jacket. It clattered loudly on the wooden boards. Briefly, it looked as if the man would fall as well, but at the last moment, he regained his balance and ran into the yard. Danny followed. The gap was narrowing. They were going to catch him.
Suddenly, the man darted to the right, through a stone archway and into the Abbeystead gardens. It was a clever move. Paths crisscrossed the grounds and looped around trees and bushes. There were plenty of hiding places.
But this time Danny was not giving up. He was not going to let the stranger disappear until he found out what was going on.
Without stopping, he swung through the archway. Almost immediately, a cry ripped through the night. It was a raw sound, similar to the noise Danny had heard at Waverley Station when Maharajah had destroyed the carriage. Only this was a thousand times worse. Because this was the sound of an animal gone wild.
And it was coming from the stables.
Danny knew he had no choice. He had to go back. They couldn’t carry on the chase. He gave a final glance towards the gardens where the intruder had vanished, but the cries were getting worse.
Sandev had already turned around. Breathing hard, Danny followed, and something else became obvious. Clouds of smoke were billowing on the night breeze. The bitter taste filled his mouth. A steady plume rose from one of the hayloft windows.
The stables were on fire.
Sandev must have seen it too. He was racing ahead. “Run to the house! I will go to Maharajah. You get help. Hurry!”
Danny ran. Whether you lived in a slum or a grand mansion, there was little more terrifying than fire. He’d seen it destroy whole streets in Edinburgh, blistering through tenements and gutting buildings until an entire neighborhood had been reduced to ash.
But as he got closer, Danny saw the alarm had already been raised. Abbeystead’s stable master was sprinting barefoot from one of the estate cottages. He stopped only to pull on his boots.
“I want those animals out of there now! I need everyone’s help—I don’t care who you are. We’ve got to be quick. Let’s move!”
The yard buzzed with activity as quickly as the order was given. Grooms began dragging horses from the stable block. One stallion reared up, hooves clattering on the cobbles, his eyes wide and terrified.
Danny tried to slide past. All he wanted to do was get to Maharajah. He could still hear the elephant’s cries, and Sandev had not come back. What was going on?
“Oi, you heard what Mr. Barnabus said. Everyone has to help. Even if you’re a prince. Here, take him.” Before Danny could refuse, a set of reins was thrust into his hands, and immediately, the stallion reared up again.
Wrapping the reins around his palms, Danny yanked down. Pain sliced through each shoulder and he had to use all his strength just to hold on. But to his relief, the horse obeyed, his hooves dancing skittishly on the cobbles. Danny tightened his grip and looked around. They stood in the center of a storm.
Servants were spilling out of the main house, most still in bedclothes. Danny spotted Ogden dressed in a striped nightshirt, trying to organize the firefighting. It was hard to believe this man was the same dignified butler who’d calmly served up a seven-course dinner.
“Come on, you good-for-nothing idlers!” he yelled. “I want a line of men over here, with buckets. Fill them from the kitchen pump. Get on with it!”
But Danny could tell that their efforts were already too little, too late. The fire had spread, licking across the stable roof to the neighboring menagerie, and fanning smoke over Abbeystead. The heat was close to blistering. Sweat bathed Danny’s top lip and trickled down his temples. And still there was no sign of Maharajah or Sandev. He had to find them.
Dragging on the reins, Danny pulled the frightened stallion away from the fire to the front formal gardens. Almost immediately, the horse broke free, galloping across the sweep of lawn that had looked so perfect when they’d first arrived. Danny watched, just long enough to make sure the animal was safe. Then he turned and ran.
The courtyard seemed even more crowded than before. On the far side, Lord Cawthorne and Arthur Albright had just emerged from the main house, both still dressed for dinner and looking as useful as toy soldiers at Waterloo. Danny made sure they didn’t see him.
Pushing through the servants, he headed towards the stables. The fire was burning fiercely at one end, but it hadn’t yet spread to the stalls where Maharajah had been kept. A sudden, splintering crack split the air and sparks showered over the roof.
“I wouldn’t go in there, Your Highness,” a groom shouted, raising his arms against the heat. “It’s not safe and the elephant’s gone berserk. He’s acting crazy. Someone’s going to get hurt.”
But Danny ignored the warning. He didn’t think
even a royal command could have stopped him now. Shouldering open the door, he went inside.
The smoke was thick and black, much worse than in the courtyard. It was almost impossible to see more than a few yards. And it was even more difficult to breathe. Crouching low, Danny struggled out of his waistcoat and covered his mouth with the silk. Then he followed the noise. Maharajah’s roars were still deafening, and every so often they would be interrupted by a furious and repeated thumping. What was happening?
Blindly Danny scrambled on, scraping his hands and knees on the rough floorboards. At last, through the smoky haze, he spotted Sandev. The mahout stood among a group of Abbeystead’s stable lads. And trapped in a corner, facing them, was Maharajah.
But Danny’s relief lasted no longer than a heartbeat. Because this couldn’t be Maharajah—the gentle animal who’d carried him from Edinburgh and rocked him with his trunk; who’d swung Hetty gently over the River Esk and let the village children tug his tail.
No. This creature was mad and savage and angry. His head rolled back, his ears flapped wildly, and the gold eyes seemed blind to everything. Against the wall, he was beating out a rhythm with his tusks. Pieces of brickwork crumbled to the floor.
“Danny!” Sandev had spotted him. His voice was little more than a whisper and coughs racked his body. Maharajah gave another bellow. “He will not let me near him. He is terrified of the fire. We have to get him out.”
Danny inched closer. And he knew with bone-deep certainty that if ever there was a time for gentleness, this was it. Carefully, he drew the ankus from his belt and balanced it lightly between his fingers. He hesitated, trying to plan the best approach.
Sandev couldn’t help. The mahout had collapsed into a corner after another violent coughing fit, his eyes now held only confusion. Then one of the grooms pushed forwards. Danny recognized the stable lad who’d brought out the frightened stallion. He was stocky with wide shoulders and big hands.