Angus MacMouse Brings Down the House Read online

  For Georgina,

  who makes the music in my heart

  Contents

  1. It’s a Rat!

  2. Mortimer’s Plan

  3. In Rosemary’s Room

  4. Harriet to the Rescue

  5. Opening Night

  6. A Knock at the Door

  7. The Interview

  8. Angus Takes a Bow

  9. Caught Napping

  10. Missing!

  11. Carlo’s Button

  12. Change of Heart

  13. An Argument

  14. Brutus

  15. A Magic Suit

  16. Never Give Up

  17. Great Caesar’s Ghost!

  18. One More Time

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  1

  It’s a Rat!

  Angus MacMouse was all alone in the world, living in a narrow back alley in Brooklyn, New York, and scavenging for a meager meal wherever he could. Every day was a struggle to avoid prowling cats, trash trucks, tramping feet, rat poison, mousetraps, bad weather, nasty rats who stole his food, and other perils. Every night as he curled up in his nest of string and rags, he hoped desperately that something might happen—something wonderful and magical—that would change his unhappy life forever.

  One dreary night something did happen.

  Angus had spent a long, damp, miserable evening huddled in the rain behind a trash can that oozed a foul-smelling liquid. He was trapped there by a scrawny orange cat. The hungry cat had surprised him, pounced on him, and nearly had him for dinner. Angus was wet and slippery from the rain, and the cat had lost her grip on his skinny tail. But the cat did not give up her meal so easily and chased Angus, zigzagging wildly down the alley until he darted into the narrow space behind the garbage can, his heart pounding in terror.

  Then the waiting had begun. He heard the cat softly creeping through the puddles around the trash can … back and forth, back and forth. Sometimes he caught a glimpse of frightening golden eyes peering at him, and then a paw would dart into the narrow space, slashing and scratching, trying to grab the tender brown mouse with razorlike claws.

  At last, not liking the cold rain, the cat grew impatient and gave up the hunt. She hissed angrily and wandered away to find an easier meal. Still, Angus waited. He had known cats who were clever enough to come back just in time to catch an unsuspecting mouse as he was about to make his escape. But Angus knew all their tricks. Finally, he peeped out, his dark eyes shining and his nose quivering as he cautiously sniffed the night air. The cat was gone.

  Angus crept out of his hiding place. He shivered and pulled his threadbare coat around his shoulders. Now that the danger was past, he remembered how hungry he was. He hadn’t eaten anything for two days except a soggy crust of bread and a rotted apple core. Staying close to the brick walls of the buildings, he scampered along the alleyway searching for something to eat. There was a diner nearby that might have some tasty crumbs to offer, but the rats there were mean and selfish. He hurried along his way, stopping often to sniff the air for lurking cats.

  Why does life have to be so difficult? he thought in despair.

  Just then, something in the damp, dark alley made his ears prick up and his whiskers tremble. It was heavenly music floating through the air. Even with his sensitive ears he could barely hear it above the sound of the pelting rain, but as he scurried down the alley it got a little louder. Where could it be coming from? Desperate not to let it slip away, he stopped again to listen. Then, his ears tingling, he ran faster and faster, following the magical sound until he came to a dirty cellar window. A dim light shone through the grimy glass. In one corner the glass was cracked and a piece was missing, making a perfect mouse-size hole. Angus squeezed through.

  Inside the cellar, the music grew louder, and Angus followed the sound as if he were tracking down the finest piece of aged cheese. But his excitement made him forget how hungry he was; nothing mattered now except the beautiful music. He had to find where it was coming from. He had to get as close to it as he could. Nothing he had ever known in his short, dismal life was so glorious or thrilling.

  He climbed over boxes and crates. He scrambled over piles of rope. He sneezed when he tripped over some dusty old programs. He wandered past racks of colorful costumes and a whole forest of painted trees. All the while, the music kept getting louder until, finally, it was so loud it made his ears twitch, and he could feel the floor vibrate beneath his feet. A bright beam of light fell on him from above. Angus looked up. The light was coming from a crack that outlined a trapdoor in the ceiling. A long rope dangled from it. The music was up there, he was sure of it! Eagerly, he climbed up the rope toward the light—and the music.

  Angus slipped through the crack and stood in the middle of the stage of the old Brooklyn Opera House, his mouth open in awe, his tail quivering. Never had he seen anything so spectacular. Stunned, he let a faint squeak! escape his lips.

  Brilliant lights illuminated the stage from every direction. He could feel their heat on his wet fur. Dozens of people dressed in elaborate costumes moved about, singing a rousing chorus. Angus felt giddy. He was surrounded by a sea of light, and color, and motion, and sound.

  Suddenly, the chorus ended, the music became very quiet, and a spotlight beamed down on a dark-haired woman as she swept onto the stage. It was Minnie McGraw, the great soprano! Angus remembered seeing her picture on posters outside the opera house. There was a roar of applause from the audience as she moved to the center of the stage. Her enormous gown almost knocked him over as she walked past. Then she stretched out her plump arms, took a deep breath, and began to sing. The music from the orchestra soared and Minnie’s magnificent voice soared with it. Angus felt his heart pound in his chest as the music engulfed him and filled the opera house right up to the rafters.

  He turned around, and beyond the glare of the footlights, he saw the orchestra. The trumpets, flutes, and trombones gleamed. The violinists’ bows went up and down, up and down, as if they were dancing. A man beat an enormous drum that made a sound like thunder. Another man, a very important-looking man wearing a black tuxedo, waved a white stick in the air. All the musicians watched him as they played. The man with the stick reminded Angus of the policeman on the corner who directed traffic. The policeman made the cars stop and go, and it seemed that the man in the tuxedo made the music stop and go. He made it get loud or soft, fast or slow, happy or sad. He was the man in charge of making the music.

  Angus had a thrilling thought: If I had a little white stick, I could make music too.

  Then … it happened.

  Minnie McGraw was reaching the end of her aria when she looked down and saw Angus standing quietly in the middle of the stage. Her face twisted in horror. She did not scream exactly, but her famous soprano voice kept getting higher, and higher, and higher, until she hit a note that no human being had ever hit before. A crackling noise came from the ceiling of the opera house, and every eye turned to look at the enormous crystal chandelier that hung over their heads. The orchestra stopped playing. The audience gasped. Then they heard a tinkling sound as thousands of crystals shattered and fell to the floor like glittering rain.

  Some people cowered and screamed. Others clapped and cheered. Some yelled, “Bravo! Bravo!”

  Minnie McGraw nearly fainted. She collapsed on the stage and began fanning herself.

  Angus was confused and frightened. Had he done something wrong? As the audience rushed to leave, the huge velvet curtain came down with a thud. Everyone onstage gathered around him. They all looked very upset.

  “Aach! It’s a rat!”

  “Oh, he’s horrible. Filthy creature!” r />
  “Look at those beady eyes.”

  “And that ugly tail.”

  “He ruined the opera!”

  “Troublemaker!”

  “Ne’er-do-well!”

  Through the angry crowd a sweet voice called, “Wait! Don’t hurt him!”

  A beautiful girl pushed her way into the tight circle that surrounded Angus. She smiled as she reached down and gently scooped him up in her hand.

  “You’re frightening him. He’s not a dirty rat. He’s just a dear little mouse. Look … he’s shaking. Poor little fellow.”

  “Throw him out in the alley where he belongs,” said the baritone.

  “Feed him to the cat!” cried the tenor.

  There was a murmur of agreement from the chorus. The beautiful golden-haired girl looked worried for a moment, but then her face brightened.

  “Daddy!” she cried, as a short, round man with a long mustache came huffing and puffing onto the stage from the wings.

  “I saw the whole thing!” he panted. “It was absolutely incredible! What a stroke of luck!” He glanced over at Minnie, who was still slumped on the stage, her dress billowing around her like a soft, pink cloud.

  “Minnie, darling,” he said, “you were marvelous! Stupendous! People will be talking about this for years!”

  “Daddy?”

  “Not now, Rosemary! We’ve got to find that rat.”

  “Daddy?”

  “Rosemary, please! Daddy is very busy.”

  “But, Daddy, look. I have him right here in my hand. Isn’t he the sweetest thing? Can I keep him?”

  Rosemary held out her hand and Angus, feeling quite comfortable and safe there, decided to tidy himself up a bit and began washing his whiskers with his paws.

  Mortimer Brimley looked at Angus. His eyes grew large and the ends of his mustache wiggled as he smiled. He was not looking at a small mouse. He was looking at a huge opportunity.

  2

  Mortimer’s Plan

  Angus watched as Mortimer Brimley paced back and forth on the stage, muttering to himself while he preened his perfectly waxed mustache. Every once in a while he stopped his pacing, looked at Minnie, then looked at Angus, stroked his mustache, and said, “Hmmmm. …”

  In the wings, the cast and crew huddled in little groups, whispering to each other. Chorus members, wearing their colorful costumes, relaxed on the stage while they waited for Mortimer. After ten minutes of pacing, gesturing, and muttering, he suddenly clapped his hands together with a startling smack. Angus trembled, and even Rosemary jumped.

  “Attention! Attention, everyone!” shouted Mortimer. The performers gathered around him. Taking a deep breath so he looked even rounder than before, he said, “Ladies and gentlemen! This is the big break our little company has been waiting for, and we must seize the moment. So here is what we are going to do. We are going on a wor-r-rld tour-r-r!” he announced, rolling his r’s with gusto. When he was excited, Mortimer’s Scottish brogue became more pronounced. “Aye, a world tour, Minnie. Just think of it! The whole wor-r-rld will want to hear you hit the high note that no soprano has ever hit before—the note that shattered the chandelier in the Brooklyn Opera House. We’ll go to London, Paris, and Rome. Three weeks in every city should suffice. And finally, we’ll come home in triumph to New York!”

  Mortimer helped Minnie get to her feet and began brushing her off. “Didn’t I always tell you I’d get you to the Metropolitan someday? This is our big opportunity!”

  Minnie was still shaken and upset. “B-b-but Mortimer,” she stammered, “I—I don’t think I can do it. I was terrified by that awful mouse. You know how I hate mice. I’ll never be able to hit that note again.”

  Mortimer put his arm around Minnie, gave her a gentle squeeze, and with a voice as soft as velvet he said, “Ah, Minnie, darling, you must trust your manager. Hasn’t Morty always taken good care of you? Don’t worry, I’ve thought of everything. Of course you can hit that note again. And again, and again! All we need is that mouse.”

  “Oh no, Morty, please! I can’t stand the little creatures,” Minnie pleaded. But it was no use. When it came to her career, Mortimer always got his way.

  He stroked his mustache again with satisfaction, and smoothed the lapels of his finely tailored suit. “I have it all worked out. You see, every performance must be a surprise. No one will know when it’s going to happen. Minnie, you will be singing your lovely little heart out. The audience will be thrilled by every magnificent note. We’ll let the mouse loose on the stage sometime during the performance—but no one will know when. The audience will be on the edge of their seats! And Minnie, here’s the trick—you won’t know when it’s going to happen either. I guarantee you will hit that high note every time! Trust me, the audience will love it!”

  He pointed a stout finger at his daughter. “Rosemary! You’re in charge of the wee mouse. Don’t let anything happen to him. He’s our ticket to fame and fortune.”

  “Don’t worry, Daddy. I’ll take very good care of him,” said Rosemary, still holding Angus in her hand.

  “Morty, please. …,” Minnie began, her cheeks flushed and her chin trembling. But Mortimer was already rushing off to his office to make preparations.

  Rosemary had a small, cheerful room, with a narrow bed and a small window that looked out over the street below. Tucked in one corner of the room was a lovely Victorian dollhouse.

  When she brought Angus home late that night, she set him down in the neatly furnished parlor. Without wasting any time he ran upstairs and downstairs, carefully sniffing everything as he inspected each charming little room. He decided immediately that this was by far the most wonderful house he had ever seen.

  “I hope you’ll be comfortable in my dollhouse. I’m twelve now, so I hardly play with it anymore—but it’s much too pretty to put up in the attic,” said Rosemary as she plumped the tiny pillows on the little bed. She smiled at Angus. “It’s the perfect size for you. Now make yourself at home, and I’ll go find you some food.”

  Food! Angus was starving. But he was exhausted too. He climbed up the stairs to the bedroom and curled up on the soft canopy bed. He thought he would just rest there while he waited for Rosemary to return. Maybe she would bring him some cake, or some biscuits, or …

  Angus drifted off into a deep, peaceful sleep.

  Something amazing and wonderful was happening. Minnie McGraw was singing and Angus was conducting the orchestra. He stood on the podium next to the important-looking man. They were both wearing black tuxedos, and Angus had a little white stick that he waved around with great authority. When he pointed at the violinists, they played more furiously When he slowed down, all the musicians slowed down too. Angus was making the music, and it sounded magnificent. The important-looking man lifted him up and the audience burst into wild applause. Angus bowed again and again as the audience cheered.

  But something was not quite right. Why was Minnie still singing?

  Angus opened his eyes and realized, to his great disappointment, that he had been dreaming. The roar was not applause at all; it was a garbage truck lumbering down the street. And the singing … where was the singing coming from?

  Angus looked around Rosemary’s room. The early morning sun was streaming through the white lace curtains. Rosemary’s empty bed was rumpled; her nightgown and robe lay in a heap on the floor. The door was open and the singing seemed to be coming from somewhere down the hall. He recognized the melody of the aria that Minnie McGraw had sung the night before. The voice was similar to Minnie’s, but more sweet and sunny, like a summer morning.

  How beautiful, he thought as he yawned and stretched. It must be a radio.

  Sniff! Sniff! His nose twitched as he detected the tantalizing smell of ripe cheese. He leaped from the bed and scurried down the miniature stairs into the dollhouse kitchen. On the table Rosemary had left him a fine slice of English Cheddar, some sunflower seeds, and a dish of fresh water. Angus sat down quickly and ate every bite. He was washing his
whiskers when Rosemary danced into her room, singing Minnie’s aria in a beautiful, clear voice. Angus stared at her, his mouth open in surprise. It wasn’t the radio after all. Rosemary could sing.

  “Ah, there you are!” Rosemary said cheerfully. “Awake at last. And I see you enjoyed your breakfast too.” She sat down on her bed and looked at the newspaper she held in her hand. “Well, Daddy was right. Minnie’s incredible high note last night has caused quite a sensation. He’s busy right now making all the arrangements. I hope you like to travel, little mouse, because we are going on tour.”

  3

  In Rosemary’s Room

  The Brimley house was small and cramped, but to Angus it was heaven. He was warm and dry, there were no hungry cats to chase him, and his new friend, Rosemary, was kind and thoughtful.

  Mortimer was rarely at home. He went to work at the opera house every day and Rosemary often went with him. “Taking good care of the mouse” meant that wherever she went she brought Angus along too, carefully carrying him in a small, soft purse.

  Rosemary loved to be around the stage and the performers, and she helped out whenever she could with small jobs, whether it was painting scenery or mending costumes. Everyone in the company knew her and tried to look out for her—not because they had to, but because they liked her.

  Every time they went to the opera house, Angus hoped that he would hear the beautiful music again. But day after day he didn’t see the orchestra or the man in the tuxedo. Sometimes a lady came and played the piano so the singers could practice, but it wasn’t as grand.

  Angus was disappointed, but the buzz of activity was always exciting. He found out that Mortimer was not only Minnie’s manager, he was also something called an “impresario.” Angus wasn’t sure what that meant, but he could see that Mortimer was in charge of almost everything. Perhaps the hardest part of Mortimer’s job was keeping Minnie McGraw happy.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve thought of everything,” said Mortimer at least ten times every day as he prepared the opera company to go on their world tour. But his pampered star was upset. Often, she refused to come out of her dressing room.