It had not been a dream. Theo sat up in bed and saw the familiar shadows cast by the morning sun on the wall. He saw his bookcase of fairy tales and guides to manners. But when he closed his eyes he saw the robber, Brady, dissolving into a pool of oily slime and seeping into the deep hall carpet.
The events of the night before, brought to so sudden an end by the arrival of his guardian and the police, had left his mind scarred forever.
My rare disease, Theo thought. My special condition, which, by the way – sorry we didn’t mention it before – actually means that if you touch people they die.
Theo shivered inside. He had melted someone. The killing had been in self-defence, of course, which Mr Nicely had once told him was all right. But it didn’t make Theo feel much better. Strange thoughts and doubts flitted through his mind, images he could not drive away. He recalled the picture he had seen of that hideous figure, the Dodo. How could a real man come to resemble an extinct bird? Suddenly his world was full of mysteries and misgivings.
Theo ran through the events that had happened after Brady had melted. The old robber, Foley, had bolted – out through a side window – and hadn’t been seen again. Dr Saint had appeared and raced up the stairs without even checking to see if Mr Nicely was still alive. Not very saintly, Dr Saint, thought Theo. He didn’t know what his guardian had done upstairs, but he certainly hadn’t mentioned the secret room to the police. Theo didn’t mention it either.
Clarice came in with a cup of hot water, Theo’s morning treat. Tea was apparently too stimulating for him and might lead to enjoyment – never a good thing for someone like Theo. She proceeded to check his temperature, blood pressure, the circumference of his head and the endless other measurements and readings that made his life a masterpiece of tedium.
‘The thing is, Clarice,’ Theo said, ‘I was always told by Dr Emmanuel Saint that I was a mystery baby – abandoned at one of the orphanages run by his Society of Good Works, with just a note saying my parents had died and could someone look after me.’
Clarice searched for lice – or something – in Theo’s hair.
‘So what I want to know is,’ Theo continued, ‘why, hidden away in a secret room upstairs, is there a picture of a man who looks just like me?’
Theo put on a dressing gown.
‘Secrets, Clarice. That’s what you’re good for. You can’t hear, so you can’t tell tales, I suppose. Is Dr Saint being kind by employing a deaf maid, or is he actually being … careful?’ Theo sipped his hot water thoughtfully. It was the only hot drink he would get all day.
‘Dr Saint has been keeping secrets from me, that’s for sure,’ Theo resumed. ‘I can’t help wondering about everything now …’
Theo stopped. He was suddenly reminded of the mysterious gift he had received, the snow globe that covered a miniature London in black flakes. Had it been some kind of message? He needed to look at it again.
‘A special treat for you, Theobald!’ came the strident voice of Dr Saint from the doorway. Theo looked round. In came Mr Nicely, his head wrapped in bandages, beaming a big smile – but his eyes looked rather glazed and he was moving stiffly.
‘Your butler and, dare-I-say-it, best friend, is back on the case!’ grinned Mr Nicely. ‘I mean, back on duty,’ he corrected himself. ‘In fact, what I ought to have said, is I’m back doing what I love best,’ he added finally.
‘You’re rambling,’ snapped Dr Saint. ‘Now, just a final couple of words about last night, if you can both bear it.’
Theo looked around him. Here he was, in his room, back with the Three, the eternal trio that governed his life. But last night had been different. He had escaped the monotony – met new people. And killed one of them.
It wasn’t my fault, he told himself. I warned them about my gloves and they wouldn’t listen. Terrible things happen to people who don’t listen – he had learnt that from his books of fairy tales.
‘Now, Theo – you told us you heard the intruders crashing around, but you stayed in your room the whole time.’
Theo nodded. Yes, he had told Dr Saint that.
‘But you were awake from the first crash onwards, when they broke in and knocked out Mr Nicely?’
‘I tried to stop ’em, sir!’ Nicely protested. ‘Four or five of them overpowered me!’
More lies, Theo noted.
‘I was frightened,’ Theo said. ‘They bashed the door of my room in and had a quick look inside. They didn’t spot me in the shadows. Suddenly the police turned up and they fled.’
‘So,’ summed up Dr Saint, ‘when I found you standing in the doorway of your room, that was as far as you went all night. Of their criminal activities you actually saw nothing. But didn’t you hear anything unusual?’
‘Banging, crashing, footsteps on the stairs,’ Theo replied. At the mention of the stairs, he couldn’t help giving his guardian a searching look. Dr Saint seemed unsatisfied, troubled.
‘Nothing that would explain a pool of revolting slime in the hallway?’ Dr Saint said.
Theo shook his head. Just in time he remembered to show polite curiosity in other people’s interests. ‘It sounds fascinating. May I see it?’ he asked.
‘No,’ blurted Mr Nicely. ‘Horrible slime is not for you, Theobald Saint. Disgusting oily substances are not a suitable sight for the ward of the most respectable gentleman in London. Slime indeed!’ Mr Nicely tutted. He turned to his employer. ‘Possibly some home-made explosive cocktail that went wrong, sir. They may have been planning to blast their way into a vault or safe on the premises.’
‘We may never know,’ muttered Dr Saint crossly. ‘But the Deep-Clean Team from Good-As-New Carpets have had a devil of a job shampooing it out.’
‘I’ve said a million times, sir,’ Mr Nicely observed, ‘we should have CCTV all over this place and my mate Doogie from the old Horse Guards Regiment watching screens all day.’
‘Empire Hall is the seat of a charity, Mr Nicely!’ replied Dr Saint, turning on his heel to leave the room. ‘Why on earth should we have to put up with oafish security guards and nosy television cameras …’
Their voices died away. Clarice gave a funny bobbing curtsy and left too. Theo munched his morning bowl of seeds in thin milk. A long, empty day awaited him, while the Three went about their business. He would be left alone for hours. He went and found his mystery birthday present.
Theo opened the box, where the globe lay in its shredded paper like a glass egg in a nest. Who could it be from? He shook it and watched, as once again the black flakes swarmed inside. Had it really been meant as a message? Had the sender known that a shadow was about to pass over Theo’s world? And if someone really cared about him, why hadn’t they included a simple note or something?
Then it struck him. The shredded paper. Theo pulled the packing out of the box. He studied the strips closely by the light of the window. There it was – a glimmer of writing. The silver ink that had shown up so clearly on the black wrapping paper was barely visible at all on the white shreds.
Long years of confinement had made Theo adept at methodical tasks. He laid out all the strips of crumpled paper, silver-line-side-up, and started to piece them together. It was a fiddly business, but he had an idea. He prised open the framed photo of Mr Nicely, slid out the glass and used it to flatten the strips. It wasn’t long before he had pieced together the words: Theo. You are in danger and must get out! Come to the graveyard alone!–A Friend.
‘What are you doing, young master?’ Mr Nicely shouted from the hallway. He had found Theo standing by the study window that looked out on the back lawn.
‘Just enjoying the view,’ Theo sighed. He hadn’t been surprised to find the window was securely locked.
‘You don’t want to go opening them windows,’ chuckled Mr Nicely, putting a firm hand on Theo’s shoulder. ‘What have I told you since you was a nipper? Keep away from the winders and never set foot in the garden … There’s something on the roof that wants to eat you!’
The butler hadn’t wheeled out that old family legend for years. Maybe the bang on the head had shaken up the contents of his well-regimented brain a bit.
When evening fell, and Theo had eaten his millet and greens, he was left alone to study his books and listen to the quiet flow of the traffic as it ceaselessly circumnavigated Hyde Park. He had been in the Mercy Tube and was now feeling suitably sick. That rotten feeling in your guts is us showing we care for you, Dr Saint had reminded him. Theo was no longer so sure.
He pulled back the curtain and looked out into the night. His own reflection stared back at him in the tall windowpane. He looked at himself, considering his face in a new way. Up till now he had always been the invalid, the pathetic one, never someone who could be special or admired.
But now, when he looked at his tall, gaunt reflection he didn’t see himself. He saw the Candle Man.
There was a light tap at his door. Clarice was standing there, with a finger to her lips. She beckoned him. Theo was too surprised to act, but the maid grabbed him and pulled him into the corridor. She pointed down the hall, where two doors were open, one into the kitchen, and another beyond that into the garden. She pushed him towards the exit.
With his heart pounding, Theo blundered through a dark scullery and stumbled outside. The cold night air hit him, as he found himself on a gravel path. Clarice gestured to the rear garden wall, where a gate was standing open. It led to the back of the cemetery.
Theo was about to head down the garden when Mr Nicely emerged from a side passage. His smart waistcoat was unbuttoned, he was sipping from a brown bottle and humming a little song. Theo turned, but Clarice had disappeared and shut the back door.
The butler hadn’t seen Theo yet, but he was drawing nearer. There was no way Theo could cross the lawn without Mr Nicely seeing him. Theo stepped into the shadows by the wall. Here he found a pile of crates. He climbed up on one, then on top of a big wheelie bin, and from there on to the low scullery roof. With luck, Mr Nicely would pass by beneath him without seeing him at all.
Theo held his breath. Then something flew down off the roof and carried him away.