The Pigeon Pie Mystery (36 page)

But Pooki wouldn’t be derailed. “I would like you to take me to the Royal Aquarium.”

Mink span round. “The Royal Aquarium?” she repeated, horrified.

The maid nodded. “That is my dying wish. I cannot die without seeing whether those lions bite off Countess X’s head,” she said, her chin raised.

“For all we know she’s already had it bitten off.”

Pooki shook her head. “It would have been in your newspaper, ma’am. I read it every night and it has not been mentioned.”

Turning back to her list of suspects, the Princess muttered about possibly going the following week.

“Ma’am, I might not be here next week. I need to go this afternoon.”

“This afternoon?” Mink repeated. She paused, then looked out the window. “I really don’t think we should go out, Pooki. Look, there’s a crow in that tree.”

The maid approached the window and peered. “That is not a crow, ma’am,” she replied, tapping the pane. “That is a blackbird.”

AS THEY SAT IN TRAFFIC
, Mink gazed up at Big Ben through the greasy window of a hansom cab, unable to believe where she
was going. When, in 1875, a music and dancing licence was sought for a grand new aquarium in Westminster, the owners insisted that Londoners needed more than just fish. There would be a summer and winter garden, and the ignorati would not only be entertained but enlightened with a concert hall, a theatre, and a picture gallery. The composer Arthur Sullivan, whose operatic collaborations with W. S. Gilbert would invoke a craze for pirates, was lined up to direct the musical arrangements of the band. A division bell in direct communication with that in the House of Commons was installed in the conviction that the venue would be patronised by both Houses of Parliament. Respectability would be further ensured by not admitting unaccompanied women after dusk.

However, on the day of opening, the tanks in the vast hall with its magnificent glass and iron roof contained neither fish nor water. It wasn’t long before the great Mr. Sullivan no longer appeared with his baton, and the public, never keen on self-improvement, remained indifferent. The vision to educate the masses clouded, and an altogether different means of attracting them hove into sight. They duly showed up, this time in an undignified stampede, lured by women shot out of cannons, fasting Italians, alligator charmers, bulls that could climb ladders, and performing fleas. Drunks, pickpockets, and prostitutes also joined in the jamboree, and so much fun could be had that one year the council refused to recommend the renewal of its licence, until it was pointed out that the often fishless aquarium was just as tawdry as everywhere else.

After the Princess reluctantly paid their shilling entrance fees, Pooki turned to her and said, “Ma’am, we must go and see Professor Finney’s famous dive immediately, as he only performs it once a day and I cannot miss it.” They squeezed past the visitors and women hawking curiosities in matchboxes, and sat as close as they could to the tank of water sunk into the floor. Within minutes the entertainer appeared on a high platform underneath the aquarium’s dome, wearing a misshaped suit. After tweaking the ends
of his elegant moustache, he climbed into a sack and pulled it up over his head. His vertiginous manager then appeared, called on at the last moment, as the maestro’s assistant was prostrate following a misguided attempt to juggle some wine casks. With trembling fingers the substitute tied the sack, struck a match, and held it against his gold mine. He then kicked the professor in the shins and started praying. At the signal, the flaming performer tipped forward and plunged headfirst towards the water, black smoke billowing behind him. Much to the disappointment of the audience, the human inferno was extinguished as soon as he entered the tank. But it wasn’t the end of their excitement. For he started to thrash around, attempting to break free from his sack before drowning. Once out of it, he struggled in the water to rid himself of his forsaken suit, ruined by so many incandescent flights ending in cold plunges. Finally he hauled himself out of the tank, his moustache collapsed, smoldering yet triumphant in a jaunty bathing costume. A Russian strongman then climbed up the steps to the platform, tossed the manager over his shoulder, and carried him down, a feat the audience wildly applauded on account of the man’s staggering corpulence. It wasn’t, however, part of the spectacle. For the manager, whose future earnings rested on the professor’s ability to outwit his reef knot, had long since fainted.

Her palms red from clapping, Pooki then insisted on seeing the performing dogs, and took off through the crowd, Mink struggling to keep up. They arrived just as a fire broke out in a small wooden house on the stage. Two collies on their hind legs then fetched the fire escape and placed it against the wall of the blazing building. Ralph, the four-legged fireman, leapt up the ladder, jumped into the flames, seized a doll, and carried it back down the ladder. The hero then promptly rolled over onto his back, paws in the air, seemingly dead. As Pooki clutched the Princess’s arm, his canine colleague stalked off on two legs and returned with an ambulance and a policeman with a hairy muzzle. The body was
put onto a bier, and Ralph’s whiskered widow appeared, dressed in full mourning, and stood inconsolable next to it. The dearly departed was then loaded into the ambulance and wheeled off to the melancholy strains of a funeral dirge.

It was too much for Pooki. As the audience left their seats, she remained where she was, waiting for a happy ending, despite Mink’s insistence that the show was over. “I’ve just seen Ralph cocking his leg against a contortionist,” the Princess added. But there was no appeasing the servant, and not even the offer of a piece of gingerbread improved her mood.

“Let’s go and watch the Champion Jumper of the World,” Mink suggested, changing tack. “Then we can go and see whether Countess X still has her head.”

The servant perked up the moment she saw the diminutive Henri Flight dressed in a splendid red leotard and white tights, his hair slicked to improve his trajectory. He sprinted up to a nonchalant grey horse that had seen it all before, took off with both feet, and hurled himself over it, landing politely on the other side. Even the Princess held her breath when he proceeded to negotiate a row of eleven chairs, rising five feet into the air and travelling for fourteen over them. When the applause finally faded, he turned to the audience and asked for a volunteer. Before Mink realised what she was up to, Pooki started for the stage with the fearlessness of a woman whose days were numbered. Taking off her bonnet, she put on the top hat offered by Mr. Flight, who promptly lit the candle protruding from the crown. Not once did she flinch as he jumped over the table behind her, extinguished the flame with a gentle tap of his tiny feet, and landed on the ground in front of her with the grace of a dove.

Two tall assistants then walked on, and the athlete turned to the audience and requested a volunteer to perform the “human obstacle.” The crowd went silent, fearful to move, lest they be deemed willing. On her way back to her seat, Pooki suddenly
darted to the stage before Mink could grab her. She was promptly hoisted into a horizontal position between the assistants, her feet and head resting on their shoulders. The entertainer charged at them, rose into the air like one of the Maharaja’s kangaroos, and sailed over the maid, who didn’t so much as blink.

Praising his volunteer’s fearlessness as she returned to her place, the almighty jumper then called for half a dozen brave men to take part in the final act: the human wall. Not to be upstaged by a skinny Indian servant, six men with wives in the audience strode onto the stage and lined up one behind the other as instructed. However, an argument soon broke out, as none was willing to stand at the end. “Stay where you are,” the Princess ordered the servant, but Pooki shot out of her seat and took the position at the back. As Mr. Flight thundered towards them, the men grabbed one another, shut their eyes, and swore, while the maid gazed in awe as he passed over her head like a shooting star.

When Pooki returned to her seat, the Princess immediately grabbed her arm. “If you want to see Countess X, we’ll have to go now, as it’s time to leave,” she hissed. They found the woman standing inside a caged arena, head intact, wearing a faded ball gown and grubby evening gloves. Encouraged by the rips in the Countess’s dress, the maid insisted on sitting in the front row. A door shot open at the back and three bored lions wandered out, dragging their tails. The artiste cracked her whip, and they lumbered up onto their podiums, where they yawned, revealing their devastating teeth. The whip sounded again, and the beasts sat on their haunches, raising their clawless paws as if shooing away butterflies. After another crack, they lowered themselves to the sawdust and started to drag themselves around the ring with the reluctance of children taken to a picture gallery.

As the ponderous procession continued, one of the lions suddenly came to a halt and flicked its ears forward. Swishing its tail, it stared at the spurious aristocrat. The entertainer frantically
waved her whip, but the beast let out an almighty roar. Suddenly it sprang into the air with even more ease than the Champion Jumper of the World, and landed in front of the Countess. She staggered back in dread, all too aware of the horror that was to befall her. But it was useless. Before she had time to raise her arms in defence, the king of the jungle had licked her on the nose and settled down for a snooze at her feet.

“Perhaps we should come another time, ma’am,” suggested Pooki, standing up without bothering to clap.

“I think once in a lifetime is quite sufficient,” the Princess replied curtly, heading for the exit. As they passed a sign for the Living Freaks, who refused to go out in daytime in order to retain their mystique, Mink held onto Pooki’s arm. But the servant had not the least interest in entering on account of the three-legged man. “The General’s pigeon pie had three legs, and it has caused me a lot of trouble,” she said.

They had almost reached the exit when the servant came to a sudden stop. “Ma’am, there is the doctor you like,” she said.

The Princess followed her gaze and saw Dr. Henderson talking to a man with a snake draped around his shoulders. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t like him at all. And anyway, he’s in love with Lady Bessington,” she replied, looking quickly away.

Pooki continued to stare at him. “He has seen you, ma’am, and is coming over.”

Mink turned her back. “Then let’s pretend we haven’t seen him.”

“It is too late for that, ma’am, because I have given him a wave.”

The Princess turned round and acknowledged the hesitating general practitioner with a nod. He smiled as he approached and raised his hat.

“Dr. Henderson, how lovely to see you,” Mink said. “I expect you’ve come to watch the bicyclists performing tricks on their machines.”

“I’m actually here on a professional basis, standing in as the on-duty
doctor as a favour for a friend. The sword-swallowers sometimes take things a bit too far.”

The Princess held his gaze. “Men do have a tendency to show off.”

The general practitioner glanced at Pooki and took a step towards the Princess. “I understand you’re trying to clear your maid’s name. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

Mink raised her eyebrows. “Don’t worry yourself about that, doctor, I can manage perfectly well on my own. I’ve no need of anyone. Particularly you.”

“Everyone needs someone, Princess,” he said.

“What rubbish,” she snapped.

He paused. “There’s no greater poverty than a loveless life,” he said tenderly.

The Princess looked away, then turned back. “How seductive, Dr. Henderson. I fear you’ve been spending too much time with the snake-charmers,” she replied tartly, and headed for the exit.

Once they were settled in a hansom, Pooki gazed out the window and said, “You must be very much in love with Dr. Henderson, ma’am. You were even ruder to him than you were the last time.”

Mink looked at her. “You do realise that a servant should never talk to her mistress unless to deliver a message or ask a necessary question?” she snapped.

“Ma’am, I am no ordinary maid,” she said, turning round. “I am at death’s door, and it is my duty to speak out, because soon I will be silenced.”

“You’ve always spoken to me like this. And anyway, you’re completely wrong about Dr. Henderson,” she replied, looking at the view.

Pooki shook her head. “I do not think so, ma’am. You are going to have to risk your heart one day. It is the only way to mend it.”

Mink suddenly turned back. “Speaking of love, I still haven’t forgotten that business with you and the watercress seller.”

“I do not talk to him anymore, ma’am. I do not want to waste his time, as I am going to the scaffold.”

“We’ll see about that.”

They continued without a word.

“Ma’am?” came a shaky voice after a while. “You will have to hurry up and find out who did it. It said in your newspaper that the Queen has taken an interest in the case, as the General died in her palace. That policeman needs a culprit.”