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- Herausgeber: The O'Brien Press
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Serie: Molly and Bram
- Sprache: Englisch
Dublin & London 1859: A Tale of Two Cities Bram Stoker: boy seeking adventure (and things to write about) Molly Malone: part-time fishmonger and full-time sneak thief! Best friends Molly and Bram are on a mission in London. Famous writer Charles Dickens has been kidnapped! The pals set out to search the darkest corners of the city. On their travels, they meet all sorts of characters, among them a foul-mouthed fowl and a Worshipful Company of Fishmongers. Can they solve the riddle of the disappearing Dickens before it's too late?
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Seitenzahl: 202
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
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‘An absolute riot of a read – funny and page-turning with some of the most eye-watering puns in history.’Louie Stowell, author of the Loki series
‘Molly and Bram are the barmiest, best and most brilliant duo around. There’s no mystery why kids love these books so much.’Shane Hegarty, author of the Darkmouth series
‘Alan Nolan is at the top of his game as he guides you through the cobble-stoned, foggy alleyways of Victorian London, hot on the tail of a mystery worthy of Sherlock Holmes himself!’Gary Northfield, author of the Julius Zebra series
3
Dedication
For Isla
Table of Contents
12
A Short List of Characters Contained Within, provided by the Most Considerate Author for Your Instruction and Delight:
Bram Stoker
The future author of Dracula, almost twelve years of age, yearns for adventure and to have stories to tell.
Molly Malone
Twelve years of age, accomplished sneak thief and part-time fishmonger.
Shep, Rose, Billy the Pan, Hetty Hardwicke, Calico Tom, aka The Sackville Street Spooks
Molly’s gang of child pickpockets, to whom she is part sergeant major, part mother hen.
Charles Dickens
World-renowned author of wonderful books such as A Christmas Carol, Oliver Twist, Little Dorrit, The Old Curiosity Shop, etc., etc., etc.
Henry ‘Harry’ Dickens
Charles’ eleven-year-old son, an aspiring magician, and his father’s greatest fan.
Madame Florence Florence
A fortune teller, variously known as the Seer of the What-Is-To-Come, the One Who Knows All, the Seventh Daughter of a Seventh Daughter, and the White Witch of Westmoreland Street.
Mr Bertram ‘Wild Bert’ Florence
A semi-retired Wild West trick-rider, zebra-wrangler and pony-vaulter, and Madame Flo’s husband.
Lady H
A mysterious, aristocratic woman who dresses completely in black.
Mr Grimble and Mr Bleat
Lady H’s two thuggish cockney henchmen, both born within hearing of the Bow Bells.
Bounderby and Caddsworth
A pair of bumbling detectives, one with a moustache and no beard, the other with a beard and no moustache.
Mr Abraham Stoker & Mrs Charlotte Stoker
Bram’s father and mother – his father is a strait-laced civil servant and Keeper of the Crown Jewels at Dublin Castle; his mother is a skilled storyteller and incurable chatterbox.
Prologue:
And, For An Encore …
The renowned author bowed low, the bobble on his long nightcap sweeping across the polished wooden boards of the stage as he allowed the rapturous applause of the adoring audience to wash over him. The red curtains swished closed, ruffling the soft, greying hair that stood out comically from either side of the cap, and the great man, drained from yet another dramatic reading from his most famous book, slumped into the chair beside his reading table. 14
He pulled the blue-and-white striped cap from his head, slung it onto the velvet-topped lectern beside the battered copy of A Christmas Carol that he always brought along but seldom referred to, and sighed a long, tired sigh.
The distinguished author closed his eyes and fondly imagined the rambling route he was about to take through the moonlit London streets to his lodgings in Doughty Street, when he was aroused from his reverie by a less-than-polite A-HEM.
‘Mr Dickens?’ asked a gruff voice. The great man looked up, his bushy eyebrows rising and a half-smile playing on his lips.
Standing before him were two tall silhouettes that cast huge, hulking shadows against the back of the closed stage curtain. ‘Mr Charles Dickens?’
The celebrated author nodded and wearily began to rise from his chair. Autograph hunters, he thought, they most likely have a copy of Oliver Twist or The Old Curiosity Shop that they would like me to sign. He sighed once again. Well, no matter; I am always happy to sign the odd book for a loyal admirer of my work.15
He was reaching for the quill that lay beside an inkpot on the lectern when, to his astonishment, his wrist has grabbed quite roughly by one of the massive men.
‘You’re coming with us, Dickens,’ said the first man, a snarl in his voice. Charles Dickens’ grey, bushy eyebrows rose further, and he tried to pull his arm back from the thug’s vice-like grip.
‘Heh heh,’ giggled the second man with a nasal laugh, ‘Old Charlie’s being kitten-and-cat-flapped, Mr Grimble, ain’t he?’
‘Kitten-and-cat-flapped, Mr Bleat?’ said Mr Grimble, with a raised bushy eyebrow. ‘Kidnapped, Mr Grimble,’ replied Mr Bleat.
16
The Diary of Master Abraham Stoker
Thursday 23rd of July 1859
19 Buckingham Street, Dublin
Dearest Diary,
Well, my old friend, the day is almost here. Tomorrow morning I will embark on a brand-new adventure – I shall, for the first time in my twelve years, leave the country of my birth and travel to another. Isn’t it simply thrilling?
Goodbye to the Reverend Woods’ famously boring school; farewell to dreary old Dublin; and good riddance to 19 Buckingham Street! At least, farewell, goodbye and good riddance for a few days.
The next time I write in your pages, my most Dearest Diary, I shall be en route to LONDON!
At six o’clock in the morning I shall rise and dress and breakfast, and then Mama, Papa and I will travel to Kingstown by carriage to catch the half-past-eight steam packet to Holyhead. There we will board a train bound for the biggest and most important city in the world with the express mission of retrieving my older brother Thornley from his end-of-term at17Withering Hall boarding school and bringing him home to dear old Dublin for the summer holidays.
And if that isn’t exciting enough, Dear Diary, my parents and I will not make a mere party-of-three – much to my surprise and delight, Mama has said I may bring a guest, and I have selected whom else but my best friend and fellow adventurer … Miss Molly Malone!
Oh, Diary, I find myself practically vibrating with excitement and shivering with anticipation! I have long desired to become a writer, and where better to find stories to tell and adventures to be had than the greatest city in the whole, wide world – London!
Until we speak, or should I say write, again,
Your friend,
Bram.
Chapter One:
So Long, Farewell, I Bid You All Adieu
In which Molly bids the Spooks a fond farewell.
‘It was the best of rhymes!’ exclaimed Billy the Pan indignantly.
‘It was the worst of rhymes,’ said Hetty Hardwicke with a sniff. ‘You couldn’t even call it a poem – it barely rhymed at all – who rhymes HerMajestywith tooscratchity?’19
‘I liked it, Billy,’ said Rose.
‘Yeah, me too,’ said Shep. ‘Read it again!’
Billy stood in the centre of Madame Flo’s velvet-lined sitting room and took out the crumpled piece of paper from the pocket of his ragged jacket. He looked around at his audience, cleared his throat and removed the saucepan from his head for extra respectful gravitas. Shep nodded his head encouragingly at his friend.
‘APowemondeHawlidayofMolyMalownetoLundun,’ read Billy out loud in as deep a voice as he could muster, ‘byree-nownedpikpokket,rispectidmemberoftheBrudderhudofBeggarmen–’
‘And Beggarwomen!’ interjected Rose, who never liked to see girls left out. Hetty snorted a scornful snort.
‘AndBeggarwimmen,’ continued Billy, darting a peeved look at Hetty, ‘and prowd member of de faymusDubblingang,deSakvillStreteSpoockes…me,BillythePan.’
‘Get on with it, you lanky eejit,’ jeered Hetty.
Billy the Pan cleared his throat again and, raising his saucepan in the air, read out his poem.20
O, deerist Moly
Weewillmizzyewsoe
AsawftoLundun
Yewwilgoe
Furstondeboawt
Denbyderayle
WitowrfrendBram
Yewwilsetsayle
HaveagudtymeinLundun
WithBramandHurMatchisty
Ihopedathurflees
Don’t get too scratchity.
‘And another thing,’ said Hetty, ‘Her Majesty doesn’t even have fleas anymore! Molly keeps her dog nice and clean.’
‘Which is more than can be said for yourdog,’ said Billy. ‘Prince Albert’s got so many fleas, his fleas have fleas.’
‘Face it, Billy,’ snarled Hetty, ‘You’re about as good at poetry as you are at pick-pocketing!’
‘Well, I …’ said a voice from behind them, ‘… LOVED it!’21
‘MOLLY!’ exclaimed Rose and Shep in unison as they ran to their friend and hugged her.
‘As it happens, Her Majesty actually still has a couple of fleas,’ said Molly, glaring at Billy and Hetty, who didn’t notice Molly’s glare as they were too busy glaring at each other. ‘I just hope they aren’t charged the full ticket price on the boat!’
Her Majesty, Molly’s beloved knee-high, brown-furred, floppy-eared, floppy-tongued mutt sniffed loudly and licked Molly’s knee to show that she took no offence.
‘Just tell this scraggy dimwit here to leave Prince Albert out of it,’ said Hetty, her voice rising in outrage. ‘Prince Albert might have more fleas than Her Majesty, but at least he doesn’t wear a stupid saucepan on his head!’
‘Ah, Hetty,’ said Rose. ‘You know Billy has to wear that saucepan for work, it makes him stand out from all the other beggarmen – punters rap on the side of the pot for luck and then give him a ha’penny – it’s how he makes his living.’
‘Besides that,’ said Billy, polishing his slightly rusty saucepan with a very dirty jacket sleeve and placing 22it back on his head, ‘I think it makes me look very fashionable.’
Molly sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘Shep,’ she said, ‘did you have any luck getting me a travelling trunk?’
‘Yes!’ said Shep and eagerly pushed a large table-cloth-covered rectangular shape into the centre of the room. ‘Madame Flo borrowed it from her pal, The Marvellously Mystical Michelangelo Malvolio – you know him, his patch is three down from Flo’s fortune-telling tent in Smithfield Carnival.’
‘Ah, yeah,’ smiled Molly, ‘Magic Mick! How is the flamboyant old fraud?’
‘He’s grand, Mol,’ replied Shep. ‘He said to say thanks very much for the favour you did for you-know-who about the who-knows-what, that time they got stuck in the you-know-where – he said you’d know what he was talking about.’
Molly nodded, but to be honest, she couldn’t quite remember what favour she had done for Magic Mick – she did so many good deeds for so many people that she had a hard time keeping track of all of them. But doing favours for people meant that they, in turn, owed hera favour. And the favour she 23asked from Magic Mick was one that only a magician could perform.
Rose bounced to her feet and, with a very magician-like ‘Ta-daaa!’ swished the patterned tablecloth off the rectangular shape. It was a big red travelling trunk with a curved lid. The trunk was tall – the top of the lid came up to Rose’s chest – and its sides were festooned with labels and triangular stickers: some that read Buenos Aires, others reading New York, Glasgow and Oslo; there was even one that read Kathmandu. According to the labels, this huge travelling case has seen a great deal of travel. Rose opened the catch with a soft KLIKK and lifted the lid. ‘It’s big because Magic Mick hides his assistant in there during his act,’ she said.
‘Plus, two turtledoves, five hamsters, seven rabbits and a Norwegian Blue parrot,’ added Shep.
Molly came closer for a better look. In the lid of the trunk were compartments for toiletries – toothbrush, washcloths, hairbrush and so on. There was a pull-out drawer for boots, and another for books (Molly had specifically requested the book drawer). The inside of the trunk looked very normal; Rose had neatly laid 24out some of Molly’s petticoats and dresses, and they seemed to completely fill the trunk’s interior.
‘Janey Mack, Rose,’ said Billy the Pan, ‘how many dresses do you think Molly will be wearin’ in London? That trunk is massive and it’s full to the brim – she’s only goin’ for a week!’
‘Ahhh,’ said Rose, ‘the trunk does look full up, but this is no ordinary travellin’ trunk – right, Shep?’
Shep nodded. ‘Yep,’ he agreed, ‘this trunk was made by the Marvellously Mystical Michelangelo Malvolio himself – just look at this!’ He reached out his hands to both sides of the trunk and pressed two tiny hidden buttons, then, with a flourish and a cry of ‘Abra-ka-boouushh!’ he whipped out a wooden tray that held Molly’s dresses – the dresses were stacked four-deep and wobbled as he held it high in the air. The tray had stretched from one side of the box to the other and had completely concealed a large space underneath.
Molly’s eyes widened. ‘It’s like a dog kennel!’ she said, walking around the trunk and peering in. ‘It’s got a little doggy bed, a built-in bowl, it’s even got a holder on the side with a tiny toy bear in it!’25
‘That’s just in case Her Majesty gets bored while she’s on her journey; I asked Magic Mick for that meself,’ said Shep proudly. At the mention of her name, Her Majesty jumped up and laid her shaggy paws the side of the trunk, trying to look in too.
‘No, no,’ said Rose, ‘you don’t get in that way, girl.’ She reached down to the back of the trunk, peeled back one of the triangular destination labels (fittingly, it read LONDON) and pressed a button that was hidden behind the sticker. Immediately a dog-sized door at the trunk’s side swung silently open.
‘Welcome to your new home, Her Majesty,’ said Shep with a low bow. Grinning a doggy grin, the Sackville Street Spook’s beloved mutt trotted though the little door and into the trunk. She settled herself down on her new dog bed with a wide, satisfied yawn and gave the toy bear a friendly sniff.
‘It’s perfect!’ proclaimed Molly. ‘Well done, Shep!’ The small boy’s face lit up with pride and pleasure.
‘I don’t know why you have to bring your dog with you to London, anyway,’ said Hetty. ‘It seems like an awful lot of fuss.’26
‘Dog-nappers,’ said Molly, ‘that’s why. A couple of eejits tried to rob Her Majesty when I left her tied up outside Mulligan’s fishmongers last week – I’m not lettin’ her out of my sight ever again after that.’
‘Don’t worry, Hetty,’ said Billy the Pan, ‘them dognappers wouldn’t be bothered to take Prince Albert; he’s just too pug-ugly.’ Hetty furrowed her thick eyebrows and growled at Billy, sounding just like her dog.
‘Enough!’ said Molly, standing up. ‘I’ll be gone for five days, and business will have to go on as usual while I’m away.’ She furrowed her eyebrows and looked at the Spooks: red-haired Rose in her faded blue dress and tattered pinafore; little Shep with his tight, jet-black curly hair and his dribbly nose even wetter than Her Majesty’s; then there was wiry-haired Hetty with her own dog on a rope; and lastly, skinny, long-limbed Billy with his ridiculous saucepan hat. Hmmmm,timetochoose…
Hetty was whip-smart and knew the back alleys, lanes and cobblestone passageways of Dublin like the back of her grimy hand; but she had a big mouth and, what was worse, a sharp tongue – either of 27which could land the Sackville Street Spooks in a big heap of trouble.
Billy was older and had been with Molly’s gang of underage pickpockets and sneak thieves for longer than anyone. Maybe he wasn’t the shiniest fork in the cutlery drawer, but he was brave and loyal, and, most importantly, people liked him. And where prickly Hetty sometimes behaved like a porcupine in a balloon factory, Billy tended to have a light touch – and a light touch was a pickpocket’s best weapon …
‘Billy,’ said Molly, her mind made up, ‘I’m leavin’ you in charge while I’m in London.’ Out of the corner of her eye she could see Hetty opening her cavernous mouth, a look of outrage spreading across her slightly grubby face. ‘Hetty, you’re second in command,’ said Molly quickly. ‘You’re the best yapper I know; there’s a lot you can teach the younger ones about talking your way out of sticky situations.’
Hetty’s open gob closed with a KLOPP; she wrinkled her nose, but looked mostly mollified by Molly’s words. ‘I s’pose second in command is better than third,’ she said and flomped down onto Madame Flo’s threadbare sofa. 28
Molly sighed a silent sigh. ‘No time for sitting down, Hetty,’ she said in a cheery voice. ‘C’mon, lads, let’s get this tricked-out travellin’ trunk on the back of the carriage – we have to be in Kingstown by eight o’clock!’
* * *
An hour and a half later, after crossing the River Liffey at Carlisle Bridge and the Dodder at Balls Bridge, and following the coast road through Booterstown, Williamstown and Blackrock, the horse-drawn carriage carrying the Sackville Street Spooks – and a travelling trunk containing Her Majesty – pulled up at the gate to Kingstown Harbour’s East Pier.
As Billy, Hetty and Shep carefully unloaded the trunk off the carriage and onto a porter’s barrow, Rose and Molly gazed at the massive hulk of the PS Hiberniamoored at the side of the wharf, with its gangplank down and passengers lining up to board. The sides of the wooden paddle steamer were painted red and gold, and in the centre a tall white chimney belched grey smoke from its black-painted cap. Fore 29and aft of the chimney were three tall masts and in the rigging the ship’s crew were busy unfurling wide white calico sails. Either side of the ship were two enormous, powerful-looking steam-driven paddle wheels, both of which seemed to be quivering with energy and anticipation for the voyage ahead.
‘This is where I leave yiz,’ said Molly to the Spooks, ‘Look after each other, and try not to get into toomuch trouble!’
‘No worries, Mol,’ said Shep, then whispered, ‘an’ don’t worry about Hetty and Billy; me an’ Rose will stop them two eejits from eatin’ each other alive!’
Billy wiped his eyes with a filthy sleeve and, snorting back a sniffle, rapped on the side of the travelling trunk. From deep within, Her Majesty barked back a muffled woof.
Chapter Two:
Waves, Trains And Round Carriage Wheels
In which Molly and Bram set sail for Wales, and go loco for London
‘Ah, Molly,’ said Bram, looking at his gold-plated pocket watch, ‘you’re right on time!’ Molly waved a hand in greeting to Bram’s parents as she strolled towards the gangplank. A red-faced 31porter huffed and puffed noisily behind her, pulling her enormous travelling trunk along on his trolley; he shook his head and grunted sharply as he began to push the barrow up the incline of the gangplank onto the ship.
‘I see you’ve brought, ahem, a large wardrobe with you, my dear,’ said Bram’s mother, eyeing the trunk. ‘What a clever girl; I do soapprove – the weather in London is sochangeable and it is soimportant that one provides oneself with options for everyoccasion.’
Bram hid a smile behind his hand and hugged his friend. ‘Isn’t this wonderful, Mol?’ he grinned, ‘I know you’ve been to New York, but I’ve never even left Ireland before – I am sure we shall have a simply splendid time in jolly old London!’
Molly turned to Bram’s parents. ‘Thank you somuch for inviting me to come,’ she said, using the most high-pitched, upper-crust voice she could muster. ‘I am solooking forward to visiting the city and seeing allthe sights – Buckingham Palace, the British Museum, even the Tower of London where people got their heads chopped off!’32
‘Hrrumph,’ said Papa Stoker.
‘You are most welcome, Miss Malone,’ said Bram’s mother. ‘It will be good for Bram to have someone to explore with!’ She leaned in close to Molly and squeezed her arm affectionately. ‘And don’t worry about having to use your, a-hem, upper-class accent around me, Molly,’ she whispered with a wink. ‘Bram has told me all about the realMiss Malone.’
Molly shot Bram a look. ‘Sorry, Mol,’ he said quietly. ‘You couldn’t pretend to be the wayward ward of a wealthy landowner for the whole trip. And besides that, your put-on plummy voice was driving me to absolute distraction.’
As they began to board the ship, Bram pointed ahead towards the red-faced porter who had just reached the top of the gangplank with Molly’s trunk. ‘I thought you said you didn’t trust porters with your travelling trunk,’ he whispered.
‘I don’t,’ replied Molly quietly, ‘but it turns out it’s a little too heavy to carry myself.’
‘Too heavy?’ hissed Bram. ‘Mol, how could your trunk be too heavy? All I brought was a change of clothes and two books to read on the train – my 33diary and my copy of AChristmasCarol, the one Charles Dickens signed for me when we met him. What on earth are you bringing to London?’
Before Molly could answer, a haughty and imperious voice sounded from behind them.
‘Steward,’ it snapped, its tone upper-class and as sharp as a razor, ‘the gangplank is obstructed – kindly move these riff-raff out of my way, I demand to board immediately!’ The deep voice belonged to a tall, broad-shouldered woman who barged past the Stokers in a very brusque manner. The woman was dressed head to toe in black – her dress was black lace; her large bustle at the back was black; her overcoat and hat were black; even the veil she wore over her face was black. Despite the veil, Molly could see that the woman’s head was held at an angle that seemed to be suggesting that her well-bred nostrils were, at that very moment, being forced to smell something (or someone) rather unsavoury. She carried a silver-topped blackthorn cane that swished savagely as she walked.
The Ship’s Steward who tip-toed along in her wake gulped a quiet gulp. ‘At once, Lady H,’ he said, 34and then, with an apologetic look, addressed the Stoker party. ‘I am so sorry,’ he stuttered, ‘Lady H has paid extra for premium first-class passage.’
‘I say,’ said Bram. ‘Papa has booked first-class tickets for us too!’
‘Ah,’ said the Steward with a pained expression as he padded up the gangplank in the snooty Lady’s wake. ‘Lady H’s tickets are premiumfirst-class, she booked them for herself, and her travelling companion.’ A young boy in uniform trotted behind the Steward. He held a black rectangular cage with metal bars on three sides; inside the cage was a large, fluffy white cat.
‘Her name’s Estella,’ said the boy to Molly and Bram as they boarded the steamer. ‘The cat, I mean, not her Ladyship.’
‘Hrrumph,’ said Papa Stoker, ‘buying first-class tickets for a cat? And premium
