Part 13 (2/2)

At that moment the door opened and the mute footman appeared with a tray. He served in silence, then retreated, closing the door behind him. Oswin Fielding helped himself to some sugar and finally got to the point. ”I have some news, Yeoman Warder Jones.”

”I thought as much,” the Beefeater replied evenly.

”As you know, things have been going rather well with the menagerie. Very well, in fact. The Tower has been enjoying its highest visitor numbers for years. Her Majesty is immensely pleased.”

Balthazar Jones continued to look at him in silence.

”However, as you also know, a number of giant otters arrived from Guyana not so long ago, followed by a pair of oryx from Qatar, and a herd of wildebeest from the President of Tanzania. Quite what that man was thinking of, I have no idea. Then this morning we heard that the Americans are sending over a couple of grizzly bears. At best these people are being generous. At worst they're just PR stunts.”

The man from the Palace adjusted his rimless spectacles. ”The Queen's very great fear is that, the longer the menagerie stays open, the more it will encourage foreign rulers to send her increasing numbers of animals,” he continued. ”Before we know it the Tower will be a veritable Noah's ark.”

The equerry leant forward. ”Between you and me, when she heard about the grizzlies she hit the roof. If you thought her shortbread was misshapen last time, you should have seen what came out of the oven earlier. Unrecognisable.”

Balthazar Jones swallowed.

”Her Majesty has made the decision to transfer the animals back to London Zoo before things get out of hand,” said the equerry.

”What do you mean?” asked the Beefeater.

”The menagerie is going to have to close, I'm afraid.”

Balthazar Jones was unable to reply.

”The Queen's decision in no way reflects upon the efforts you have made, Yeoman Warder Jones. On the contrary,” the equerry continued. ”She very much appreciates the care and attention you have shown to the collection of royal beasts and wanted to tell you in person, but she was suddenly called away. She has decided that you will remain Keeper of the Royal Menagerie, even though it will be just an honorific t.i.tle. It will add a little intrigue for the tourists too. We're sure that the renewed interest in the Tower will continue, what with all the coverage it's had around the world. In appreciation of what you have achieved, Her Majesty has decided to make a small, but significant increase to your salary.”

”But what about the animals?” asked the Beefeater, clutching his armrests. ”They're all settled in. The d.u.c.h.ess of York is looking even better than when she first arrived. You should see the gloss on her coat. The fancy rats have learnt all sorts of tricks. And the Komodo dragon has just laid some eggs. It was a virgin birth. They can do that, you know.”

There was silence.

”And I've just put the glutton on a diet.”

The equerry closed the file in front of him and sat back. ”I'm afraid the decision is final,” he said. He studied the penholder on his desk, while the Beefeater stared at the floor.

”So when are they going back to the zoo?” Balthazar Jones asked.

”Tomorrow.”

”Tomorrow?” he asked, looking up. ”That's a bit soon, isn't it?”

”The sooner we act, the sooner it will put a stop to this nonsense.”

Balthazar Jones brushed the black crown of his Tudor bonnet with his fingertips. Eventually, he stood up. ”Make sure you don't use the same removal people who lost the penguins,” he said, and headed for the door.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, the Beefeater flung back the waxy sheet that he hadn't washed since Hebe Jones left, already feeling the blade of abandonment. He dressed as quickly as possible, clambering over the ruins of the wardrobe as he hunted for a clean pair of socks. Gripping the filthy rope handrail, he fled down the stairs to feed the animals one final time, and to say his goodbyes in private. the Beefeater flung back the waxy sheet that he hadn't washed since Hebe Jones left, already feeling the blade of abandonment. He dressed as quickly as possible, clambering over the ruins of the wardrobe as he hunted for a clean pair of socks. Gripping the filthy rope handrail, he fled down the stairs to feed the animals one final time, and to say his goodbyes in private.

By the time he came out of the Brick Tower, a number of vans and lorries were already parked inside the fortress, and he spotted Oswin Fielding pointing at one of the towers with what looked to be a new silver-handled umbrella. As the animals were herded into the vehicles, the Beefeater stood issuing a stream of instructions to ensure their comfort and making sure that they had plenty of water for the journey. The equerry asked him to leave, insisting that he was getting in everyone's way.

Unable to sit down, he paced the moat, and came to the spot he had once shown Milo where two medieval lion skulls had been unearthed in the 1930s. He sat down on the damp ground, and, as he fiddled with a piece of gra.s.s, he remembered the time he had told his son of the original menagerie's demise.

By 1822 the collection had dwindled to an elephant, a bird or two, and a bear, Balthazar Jones explained to the boy as they sat on deckchairs on the Salt Tower roof. That year, Alfred Cops, a professional zoologist, was appointed keeper, and he became the first to actively purchase animals for the menagerie, rather than relying on gifts to the king or souvenirs from explorers. A collector himself, he also exhibited his own animals alongside the royal beasts. Six years later, the menagerie had over sixty species, and nearly three hundred animals. As well as kangaroos, mongooses, and dog-faced baboons, it boasted a five-fingered sloth, a pair of black swans from Van Dieman's Land, a kangaroo rat from Botany Bay, a boa constrictor from Ceylon, a crocodile from the River Nile, and a Malayan bear from Bencoolen presented by Sir Thomas Stamford Raffles. Visitors were charged nothing extra to watch feeding time at three o'clock, lion cubs were allowed to wander loose amongst the crowds, and there was always a long queue to see the female leopard with an appet.i.te for umbrellas, m.u.f.fs, and hats.

”So then why did they close it, if everyone wanted to go?” Milo asked.

”Unfortunately, the menagerie's popularity was not enough to save it,” the Beefeater explained, resting his feet on one of his wife's flower tubs.

After George IV's death in 1830, the Duke of Wellington, an executor of his will and Constable of the Tower, set in motion a plan to transfer the one hundred and fifty royal animals to the gardens of the Zoological Society of London in Regent's Park, which later became known as London Zoo. The new king, William IV, who had little interest in the menagerie, gave his approval in 1831 and the move went ahead.

”But how did they get there?” asked Milo, feeding Mrs. Cook a fuchsia.

The animals made the long journey across London on foot, Balthazar Jones told his son, herded by Beefeaters carrying the small birds and pheasants in baskets. The elephants were placed at the front in an effort to prevent injuries, but the five-fingered sloth suddenly snapped out of its life-long stupor and darted ahead, producing the first casualty. Despite the bags of flour that had been placed inside their pouches to slow them down, the kangaroos arrived way ahead of the rest. They were closely followed by the ostriches, one of which kicked a zebra. A stampede broke out, which the Beefeaters struggled to contain. By the time the serpents turned up, many of their undercarriages had been rubbed raw, and for the next three months they continuously shed their skins. The last to arrive-two days after the storks-were the pair of black swans from Van Dieman's Land, smelling strongly of ale. Issued with leather booties to protect their feet during the mammoth trek, they had been invited into numerous taverns along the way by drinkers seduced by their footwear. They didn't refuse a single invitation, and a number of public houses across the country changed their name to the Black Swan in the creatures' honour.

”So what happened to the keeper?” asked Milo.

Alfred Cops also sold some of his own animals to the Zoological Society, Balthazar Jones replied, but continued to show the rest at the Tower, and the entrance fee was dropped from one s.h.i.+lling to sixpence to continue luring the crowds. Following the escape of a wolf, and a monkey biting a member of Wellington's garrison on the leg, in 1835 the keeper closed the attraction in accordance with the King's wishes. The remnants of his collection were disposed to an American gentleman and exported to America. Six hundred years of keeping wild animals at the Tower of London finally came to an end.

Milo picked up the tortoise. ”Was he a good keeper, Daddy?” he asked.

”Yes, son, a very good keeper. He loved the animals very much. Hardly any of them died. Unfortunately the secretary bird, which had a particularly long neck, stuck it into the hyena den, and that was the end of it.”

There was a pause.

Milo turned to his father. ”A bit like Mrs. Cook's tail?” he asked.

”Exactly. Wouldn't have felt a thing.”

STANDING ALONE ON THE WHARF as the early morning light flickered on the Thames, Balthazar Jones watched as the first vehicle slowly left the Tower, carrying the giraffes that had never been a gift from the King of Sweden. Next came the Komodo dragon with its eggs, the result of an immaculate conception. The reclusive ringtail possums followed, dreaming with their tails perfectly coiled below them, along with the sugar glider that had been given one final tickle with a toucan feather. Sitting in the lorry's footwell was the cage containing the male lovebird, its leg still in a splint following the a.s.sault by its partner. Sensing an emergency, the crested water dragons rose onto their back legs and started running back and forth inside their van, their hands stretched out either side of them to keep their balance. Then came the glutton, which, despite having been put on a diet, had managed to hide a number of raw eggs within its fur. The giant otters, which he had never gotten to know, were in the truck behind, and, judging by the smell, the zorilla left next. The monkeys followed them in a vehicle with blacked-out windows lest the Geoffroy's marmosets feel threatened during the journey. And finally came the birds, which were flying from one end of their lorry to the other, headed by the wandering albatross exposing its pink patches. The only creature that failed to take to the air was the concussed hanging parrot, which clutched its perch with its toes for the entire length of its upside-down journey. as the early morning light flickered on the Thames, Balthazar Jones watched as the first vehicle slowly left the Tower, carrying the giraffes that had never been a gift from the King of Sweden. Next came the Komodo dragon with its eggs, the result of an immaculate conception. The reclusive ringtail possums followed, dreaming with their tails perfectly coiled below them, along with the sugar glider that had been given one final tickle with a toucan feather. Sitting in the lorry's footwell was the cage containing the male lovebird, its leg still in a splint following the a.s.sault by its partner. Sensing an emergency, the crested water dragons rose onto their back legs and started running back and forth inside their van, their hands stretched out either side of them to keep their balance. Then came the glutton, which, despite having been put on a diet, had managed to hide a number of raw eggs within its fur. The giant otters, which he had never gotten to know, were in the truck behind, and, judging by the smell, the zorilla left next. The monkeys followed them in a vehicle with blacked-out windows lest the Geoffroy's marmosets feel threatened during the journey. And finally came the birds, which were flying from one end of their lorry to the other, headed by the wandering albatross exposing its pink patches. The only creature that failed to take to the air was the concussed hanging parrot, which clutched its perch with its toes for the entire length of its upside-down journey.

Feeling a chill as he watched the last vehicle leave, Balthazar Jones turned and walked to the van he had hired for the day, and drove out of the Tower headed for the zoo. Next to him on the pa.s.senger seat was the cage containing the common shrew, which had finally squeezed its colossal hips out of the door of the tiny house.

Arriving at the wrought-iron gates that had nearly decapitated the giraffes, he parked at the entrance and carefully carried the cage inside, putting the creature's breathtaking girth down to a diet of Fig Rolls fed to it by the equally corpulent Yeoman Gaoler. He checked to see that all the animals had arrived safely, and stood watching as they rediscovered their enclosures. After witnessing the extraordinary sight of the reunion between the wandering albatross and its mate, he gave a toucan feather to the sugar glider's keeper, who looked at it in confusion. Returning to his van, he stood on the pavement checking each direction. Once he was certain that he wouldn't be seen, he slid open the door and bowled a grapefruit along the ground through the main gates. The bearded pig hesitated for a moment, then bounded after it, its ta.s.selled tail flying at full mast over its generous b.u.t.tocks.

WHEN REV. SEPTIMUS DREW PUSHED OPEN the heavy oak door of the Rack & Ruin, one of the Beefeaters was standing on his head performing an ambitious impression of the hanging parrot's historic cry as it dropped from the White Tower weathervane. On recognising the chaplain's skinny ankles, the Beefeater immediately turned himself upright and apologised for his rendition of the unholy avian profanity. It wasn't the first time that the clergyman had heard it: the parrot's l.u.s.ty shriek had been repeated around the Tower with unreserved enthusiasm whenever the Ravenmaster pa.s.sed, much to the man's humiliation. the heavy oak door of the Rack & Ruin, one of the Beefeaters was standing on his head performing an ambitious impression of the hanging parrot's historic cry as it dropped from the White Tower weathervane. On recognising the chaplain's skinny ankles, the Beefeater immediately turned himself upright and apologised for his rendition of the unholy avian profanity. It wasn't the first time that the clergyman had heard it: the parrot's l.u.s.ty shriek had been repeated around the Tower with unreserved enthusiasm whenever the Ravenmaster pa.s.sed, much to the man's humiliation.

The chaplain approached the birdcage and looked at its yellow occupant, which suddenly started to disgorge a melody. Bending down to watch the creature empty itself of its cursed notes that threatened to choke it, he kept an eye on Ruby Dore. As soon as the landlady was free, he approached and asked whether he could talk to her in private. She looked up and hesitated. ”They locked the Well Tower again after they took away the fancy rats,” she replied. ”I'll meet you in Wakefield Tower in a couple of minutes.”

After looking at the small oratory, where the imprisoned Henry VI was said to have been murdered while kneeling in prayer, he joined the tourists heading to the lower chamber, which housed the instruments of torture exhibition. He listened to their murmurs of disappointment as they read the information panel stating that torture had been very rare in England. Their mood lightened, however, as soon as they saw the rack with its tantalising rollers that turned in opposite directions, the manacles from which prisoners would hang from their wrists, and the Scavenger's Daughter with its gruesome metal bars that compressed the body into an agonising kneeling position.

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