The Deptford Mice 2: The Crystal Prison (8 page)

‘Audrey! That’s terrible. I thought that rat woman was dead.’ Arthur thought deeply for a moment then brightened. ‘But Oswald is cured now – they can’t make you go if you back out now can they?’

‘I’m afraid so. Oswald and his family will fall sick, again if I don’t stick to it.’

Arthur put his arm around her. ‘Don’t worry Sis,’ he soothed. ‘I’ll come with you. I promise. How long do you think it will take to get there and back?’

‘But that’s just it,’ wept Audrey. ‘I shan’t be coming back – I’ve got to stay with Akkikuyu for ever.’ Arthur gasped. ‘But that’s dreadful. Oh how shall we tell Mother?’

‘I don’t know,’ sobbed Audrey.

‘My dears!’ Mrs Brown was standing in the doorway, tears falling down her cheeks – she had heard it all.

She wrapped her arms around Audrey and kissed her. ‘There must be a way,’ she whimpered. ‘Oh what would your father do if he were here?’

An apologetic cough sounded behind them. ‘Forgive me good lady,’ said Thomas self-consciously. ‘I came to tell you about the party the rest of your Skirtings folk are arranging but I see you are busy. Excuse me.’

‘No, wait, please,’ called Gwen desperately. ‘Mr Triton, you seem to know this Starwife better than us. Is there any way she would release Audrey from this horrible bargain?’

Thomas’ eyes were grave beneath his frosty white brows. ‘No ma’am. I’m sorry, but the Starwife clings to a bargain like a limpet to a stone. She does not make idle threats either: that family will surely perish if Miss Audrey does not go.’ The midshipmouse fumbled with the cloth bag in his paws. ‘I must leave now,’ he said, tugging the edge of his hat. ‘I have to return this, you see. No doubt you will see me in the morning if I guess rightly about the messages I’ll find waiting for me.’ He turned and left the Skirtings and began the journey back to Greenwich.

‘If it’s all right with you Mother,’ ventured Arthur, ‘I’d like to go with Audrey to make sure she’s safe.’

‘I don’t need looking after,’ said Audrey indignantly. ‘Just you stay here with Mother!’

‘Listen silly,’ argued her brother crossly. ‘I can go with you, make sure you settle in, then come back and tell Mother how you’re doing.’

‘Oh,’ said Audrey – she could see the sense in that.

So could Mrs Brown. ‘That’s a very good idea Arthur,’ she said and hugged them both tightly.

Meanwhile, Algy Coltfoot and Tom Cockle had brought out their instruments – whisker fiddle and bark drum – and soon the strains of a melody came floating in through the hall.

Gwen Brown made her children wash the tear stains from their faces. ‘It may sound silly of me,’ she said, ‘but I don’t feel as though you’ll be away too long. Let’s regard this evening as a sort of grand going-away party. We’ll all be together again soon, you see.’

Audrey and Arthur agreed – for her sake – though in their own hearts they doubted her. Audrey went to fetch her tail bells, which she had not worn for weeks. She felt that tonight was a good occasion to wear them once more.

In the hall the other mice had not been idle. To celebrate the Chitters’ return to health, food had been brought out and decorations festooned the walls. Algy and Tom played ‘The Summer Jig’ and their audience danced and clapped heartily. Between tunes Mr Cockle slipped out a bowl of his own berrybrew and quaffed it down happily, hoping his wife wouldn’t see. Mrs Coltfoot was being congratulated on the success of her ointment and the Raddle spinsters were tittering on the stairs as usual.

Into this mirth came Twit. He was immediately grabbed and hauled into the dancing – until someone called for him to play on his reed pipe. The fieldmouse darted away to fetch it.

It was a joyful chaos of noise and laughter.

Soon the tensions of the last weeks were forgotten – forgotten by everyone except Audrey.

‘Perhaps this is the last time I shall wear bells on my tail or have a ribbon in my hair,’ she thought.

‘With a rat for company I’ shan’t need to look nice.’

‘Come on Audrey,’ said Arthur, suddenly interrupting her thoughts. ‘There’s some terrific food here. Mrs Cockle and Mrs Coltfoot have been busy.’

Arthur dragged his sister over to a crowded area where a cloth had been spread on the floor and laid with biscuits, cheeses, soft grain buns, jam rings and a large bowl of Mrs Coltfoot’s own speciality Hawthorn Blossom Cup. Gwen Brown was chatting mildly to Biddy Cockle.

‘Here she is,’ Arthur told his mother. ‘I found her over there all dreamy and sorry for herself.’

Gwen linked her arm in her daughter’s. ‘Try to be happy, my love,’ she said. ‘It’ll be all right, you’ll see!’

‘Where’s Piccadilly?’ asked Audrey suddenly. It occurred to her that he knew nothing of the bargain. Perhaps he would come with them to Twit’s field – it might not be so bad after all if the cheeky city mouse came too.

‘Piccadilly was over there before with the dancers,’ said Mrs Brown, relieved that Audrey had snapped out of herself.

Audrey left her mother behind and went in search of the grey mouse. The musicians were now playing ‘Cowslips Folly’, a lively dance in which a ring of boy mice rushed round a central circle of girl mice and chose a partner from them. Audrey hovered at the edge of the dancing. She saw Piccadilly choose Nel Poot three times. Miss Poot was evidently enjoying all the attention and she was brazen enough to wave at Audrey!

At first Audrey was amused – everyone knew how dotty Nel Poot was. But when Piccadilly chose her a fourth time the smile twitched off Audrey’s face and her foot began to tap bad-temperedly. What did Piccadilly think he was doing?

‘Cowslips Folly’ ceased and the musical trio went to see if there was any food left. Audrey watched the dancers break up, but before she could turn away Piccadilly caught her glance, excused himself from Nel and sauntered over.

‘Did you want summat?’ he asked her. ‘Only Miss Poot thought you were trying to get my attention.’

Audrey answered casually. ‘Yes, I did as a matter of fact. I just wanted to say goodbye to you and take this opportunity to thank you for all you have done for me and my family.’

‘You gone soft in the head?’ laughed Piccadilly. ‘What you on about?’

‘I’m leaving,’ said Audrey, enjoying the moment. ‘Arthur and I are going with Twit to his field on a visit.’

Piccadilly’s face fell and his shoulders drooped sadly. Audrey bit her lip and cursed her stupid tongue.

‘I see,’ he managed. ‘I hope you have a nice time,’ he muttered, staring at the ground miserably. ‘When was all this decided?’

‘Oh we decided as soon as Oswald got better,’ she said. ‘We’re going the day after tomorrow. You can come and wave us off if you like.’ How could she be so cruel, she wondered. Had the Starwife put a spell on her too?

Piccadilly raised his head as if stung. He stared at Audrey incredulously, then, with anger said, ‘Sorry ducks but I’m goin’ back to the city tomorrow.’

‘Oh,’ gasped Audrey. . . ‘Well, Whitey’s better now, ain’t he and there’s nowt to keep me here is there?’

‘I suppose not,’ said Audrey in a small voice. She wanted to tell him of the terrible bargain that she had to keep – surely he would not think she was cruel then. ‘Piccadilly—’ she began.

‘Listen to that,’ he said cocking one ear to the band. ‘That’s the “Suitors’ Dance” and I promised Miss Poot.’ The city mouse left her and Audrey’s eyes pricked with wretched tears.

The rest of the evening swept by merrily. Nobody noticed Audrey slipping away to her room with her paws over her eyes.

Slowly the party broke up. Those from the Landings yawned and made their way up the stairs. The Raddle sisters tittered at Tom Cockle who was sound asleep and snoring loudly with an empty bowl of berrybrew at his side. Biddy Cockle scolded and shook him, then with some help from Algy, Tom Cockle staggered home singing at the top of his voice about a mouse called Gertie. Biddy was not amused and made him sleep in the spare room for three days afterwards.

Eventually, Piccadilly was left alone in the hall. ‘I must go tomorrow,’ he told himself miserably. ‘Back to the grit and grime of the city.’ He bowed his head and wept silently beneath the crescent summer moon.

It was not yet dawn. The greyness of night lingered reluctantly in corners and doorways. Somewhere, behind the tall tower blocks and council estates the sun rose slowly over the hidden horizon and the night shadows shrank deep into the earth for the rest of the day.

Piccadilly quietly rose from his bed and put on his belt. He checked everything was where it should be: small knife – yes, that was there, mousebrass – yes, the belt was looped through it securely, and finally, biscuit supply – well, the leather pouch was there but it was empty. He wondered if Mrs Brown would mind if he took some of her biscuits. It might take a long time to walk back to the city. Piccadilly frowned – it would seem like stealing to take without asking, but he wanted to slip away without any fuss – maybe he ought to leave a note. He crept into the Browns’ kitchen.

The biscuits were next to the crackers, so Piccadilly took two of each, broke them into small pieces and slipped them into his pouch. He looked around for a bit of paper to write on. Then he wondered what he could put – it needed a long explanation to tell Mrs Brown why he was going but how could he put into words all that he felt?

In the end, Piccadilly simply wrote:
‘Have gon back to the city. Thank you for having me. Have took some biskitts hope you don’t mind
–
Piccadilly.’

He was not very good at writing. Long ago he had neglected his schooling for more exciting adventures. Now he regarded his handiwork with some doubt. Would anyone read his note? His handwriting was unsteady and he had pressed too hard with the pencil. He pulled a wry face. ‘I bet Audrey can read an’ write perfect,’ he grumbled to himself.

Outside the house a sparrow began to sing to the new day. Piccadilly looked up quickly. It had taken longer than he had intended to write that note. Now he had no time to spare. He propped the piece of paper on the table, tiptoed out of the Brown’s home and passed through the cellar doorway. Quickly he scrambled down the cellar steps and through the Grille into the sewers.

The morning stretched and shook itself. The clouds were few and wispy – it was going to be another blazing June day.

When Audrey woke, her mother handed the note to her. She read it quietly and with dismay. ‘Has he really gone?’ she asked.

‘Yes love,’ said her mother. ‘Arthur has looked everywhere.’

‘Oh, it’s all my fault,’ was all Audrey was able to say.

She ate her breakfast dismally as she thought about Piccadilly. Her heart told her that she was the reason he had gone off without a word. When Arthur came in she avoided his accusing eyes and went to start her packing.

Arthur was unhappy too. He had begun to consider Piccadilly as his best friend and he guessed that Audrey had something to do with his abrupt departure. It was about time she stopped playing games with everyone. Ever since poor old Piccadilly had arrived she had used him, made him feel guilty for surviving the horrors of the rats when their father had not. She had sent him into peril with Oswald, down into the rat-infested sewers to look for her mousebrass and had never really apologised for that. She really was a silly lump. To cheer himself up Arthur went with his mother to see the Chitters.

In the sickroom even the air felt healthier. The sickly smell had gone completely. Oswald was propped up in bed with a great smile on his face as Twit told him funny stories. Mrs Chitter was up and about, chiding and tutting, finding dust where there was none and rearranging all her ornaments. She herded Gwen Brown into the kitchen where she demanded to know all the latest doings of everyone in the Skirtings.

Arthur sat himself on the end of the bed next to Twit and waited for a tale to end. Idly he looked about the room. Something was missing, something which had seemed such a fixture that now it was gone he couldn’t think what it could be. Oswald saw his puzzled expression and laughed.

‘Father’s gone to bed finally,’ he said. ‘It does seem odd without him in here doesn’t it? I wanted to get up today but Mother wouldn’t let me. She says I’ll be here for at least two weeks – or until she’s satisfied with my health.’

‘You’re in bed forever then,’ giggled Twit, holding his feet and rocking backwards.

‘Twit says he’s going home tomorrow and that you and Audrey are going too – I’m so jealous Arthur. I wish I could go too.’

Arthur caught a quick, cautionary glance from the fieldmouse and understood that Oswald had not been told about the Starwife’s bargain.

‘Still . . .’ continued the albino. ‘I suppose my hayfever would have driven me crazy in the country. I can’t wait for you to come back and tell me all your adventures.’

‘I will,’ said Arthur.

‘Of course we shall all miss cousin Twit but he says he might come visiting again. I’m going to be terribly bored all alone here, but I suppose I should count myself lucky really.’

A knock sounded outside and the patter of Mrs Chitter’s feet accompanied by the clucking of her tongue came to them as she went to see who it was. There were some muffled words which the three friends were unable to catch but presently Arthur’s mother popped her head into the sickroom.

‘Arthur dear and Twit, could you step out here for a moment please?’

Soon Oswald was left alone to stare at the table covered in raw onion.