‘More chamomile tea, Priscilla?’
DB and Priscilla Winterbottom – and Nigel Henshaw, who was not yet dressed as Oz – were seated in Lavinia Levinson’s dressing room. Onstage, the concert was well under way. The children had been requested to stay backstage until after the interval. Easier for the police to keep track of them that way, Scotland Yard had decided. Priscilla Winterbottom was not happy to have been included in this decision.
‘Just a tad bit more,’ said Priscilla, holding out her cup. ‘And I’ll take another biscuit as well. It’s the least you can do, after all, considering I’m stuck back here thanks to you. Where’s Oz?’
‘He’s in the restroom,’ said DB, filling her guest’s cup to the brim.
Priscilla took a few sips, ate a piece of shortbread, then blew her nose into her hankie. ‘This is going to be an exciting evening,’ she said, smiling a sly ferret smile.
‘Very exciting,’ agreed DB, winking at Nigel.
The younger boy fingered the MICE-6 badge on the collar of his shirt.
‘Haven’t seen that before, Nigel,’ Priscilla said sharply. ‘Are you a jewel thief now as well?’
‘Just a little souvenir I gave him,’ said DB smoothly.
Priscilla, who was filled to the brim with cough syrup and chamomile tea, yawned. Nigel bent down and pretended to tie his shoe, then reached over and turned up the heater. Squeak had suggested making the dressing room as warm as possible. ‘That always worked in our nest back home when I was a mouseling and Mum wanted me to go to sleep,’ she’d said.
Priscilla yawned again. ‘Too much excitement, I suppose,’ she said. ‘What with the Crown Jewels missing and all.’ She shot DB a smug look.
DB just smiled. She pretended to yawn. Priscilla yawned back. ‘I could use a nap – how about you?’ DB said, patting the sofa cushions encouragingly. ‘It’s been a long day. What with being at Scotland Yard all night and everything, I mean.’
‘I don’t know how I’d be able to stand it, if I were you,’ said Priscilla, sipping more chamomile tea. ‘You might as well just confess. Everyone knows you did it. Scotland Yard knows it, the newspapers know it – everybody. You and Oz are nothing but common thieves. I shouldn’t even be in here with you. Who knows what you might do?’ She clutched the pearl necklace round her throat dramatically.
DB gritted her teeth and smiled politely. She pretended to yawn again. Priscilla yawned back and glanced longingly at the sofa. ‘Maybe I will just close my eyes for a minute. Nigel?’ Her voice rose sharply.
‘Yes?’ the younger boy replied.
‘Wake me at the interval,’ Priscilla ordered. ‘And don’t forget. You know what will happen if you forget.’
Nigel nodded unhappily. ‘Yes, Priscilla.’
Priscilla Winterbottom stretched out on the sofa. DB quickly dimmed the lights. Nigel turned the heat up a bit more. As the girl’s eyelids drooped, Nigel quietly pulled on Oz’s dinner jacket. DB waited until Priscilla’s breathing was deep and even, then began stuffing the chest and belly of the jacket with cushions from the chairs. When she was done, she placed Oz’s glasses on Nigel’s nose and sat him down in a chair in the corner furthest from the door. ‘There,’ she said. ‘You’re Oz.’
‘He’s not Oz,’ mumbled Priscilla sleepily.
There was a knock at the door. A policeman poked his head in. ‘Everything all right in here?’
‘Just fine, officer,’ said DB.
‘Oz is in the loo,’ mumbled Priscilla, her eyelids fluttering in a vain attempt to open them.
‘No, he’s not,’ said DB soothingly. ‘You were dreaming. He’s right here. Nigel is in the restroom.’
The policeman peered at the bulky figure in the corner. ‘You kids make sure you stay put this time,’ he said. ‘No funny business.’
‘No, sir,’ said DB as he withdrew.
‘Let’s hope Oz gets back here on the double,’ DB whispered to Nigel. ‘If he’s not back by the interval, our goose is cooked.’
‘I love cooked goose,’ Priscilla murmured, and started to snore.
