The Cheshire Cheese Cat Read online

  PRAISE FOR

  A DICKENS OF A TALE

  REVIEWS

  “Readers with great expectations will find them fully satisfied by this tongue-in-cheek romp through a historic public House that is the very opposite of Bleak.”

  Kirkus Reviews

  “Language is a highlight of the novel; words both elegant and colorful fill the pages…the book is a success in every way.”

  School Library Journal

  “Expertly realized characters and effervescent storytelling…a delight.”

  Publishers Weekly

  “The first line of THE CHESHIRE CHEESE CAT is pure genius…[The story] is sure to spark dialogue about loyalty and bullying.”

  —The New York Times

  AWARDS

  Parents’ Choice Gold Award

  Kirkus Reviews Best Children’s Books

  School Library Journal Best Fiction

  ALSC Notable Children’s Books

  Honor Book, E. B. White Read-Aloud

  NCTE Notable Children’s Books in the Language Arts

  Bank Street Best Children’s Books of the Year

  VOYA Top Shelf Fiction for Middle School Readers

  Published by

  PEACHTREE PUBLISHERS

  1700 Chattahoochee Avenue

  Atlanta, Georgia 30318-2112

  www.peachtree-online.com

  Text © 2011 by Carmen Agra Deedy and Randall Wright

  Illustrations © 2011 by Barry Moser

  First trade paperback edition published in 2014

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  Book design and composition by Barry Moser, with Loraine M. Joyner

  e-book ISBN: 978-1-56145-846-2

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Deedy, Carmen Agra.

  The Cheshire Cheese cat : a Dickens of a tale / written by Carmen Agra Deedy & Randall Wright ; illustrated by Barry Moser.

  p. cm.

  Summary: A community of mice and a cheese-loving cat form an unlikely alliance at London’s Cheshire Cheese, an inn where Charles Dickens finds inspiration and Queen Victoria makes an unexpected appearance.

  ISBN 978-1-56145-595-9

  [1. Cats—Fiction. 2. Mice—Fiction. 3. Cheshire Cheese (Inn)—Fiction. 4. Taverns (Inns)—Fiction. 5. Great Britain—History—Victoria, 1837—1901—Fiction.]

  I. Wright, Randall. II. Moser, Barry, ill. III. Title.

  PZ7.D3587Ch 2011

  [Fic]—dc22

  2010052275

  DEDICATIONS

  To my luminous granddaughter, Ruby Rabbit

  —C. D.

  To Dawn, my sunshine and joy

  —R. W.

  For my friend Helen Casey-Brazeau and her Miss Bailey

  —B. M.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The authors wish to thank the following for helping turn this book into a reality:

  Our dear spouses, John and Dawn, for their patience, their advice, and the many hearty meals.

  Our friend Rohan Bayer-Fox for ensuring that these two presumptuous Yanks didn’t go too far afield. Any errors found herein are entirely our own.

  Fellow wordsmith Rick Walton for providing just the right touch of Dickensian inspiration.

  Our most splendid and Pippish editors, Vicky Holifield and Margaret Quinlin.

  Friends who generously read and commented on the manuscript: Tersi Bendiburg, Paula Lepp, Su san Rapaport, Dea North, and Bill Harley.

  The Ravenmaster at the Tower of London for the fascinating glimpse into the world of ravens.

  The Decatur Library for its excellent reference section and knowledgeable staff.

  And Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, of course, for inspiring this whole business on a misty London night in 2002, while in the company of Kates, Erin, and Lauren.

  LIST OF CHARACTERS IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE

  SKILLEY—A jaded street cat with a disgraceful secret and a shameful past.

  PINCH—A perfectly foul villain and Skilley’s nemesis.

  YE OLDE CHESHIRE CHEESE—This venerable inn is one of the grand ladies of London public houses. For centuries, she has attracted writers and word lovers the likes of Samuel Johnson, Mark Twain, and Arthur Conan Doyle. And cats. Let’s not forget the cats…

  PIP—A mouse of Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese with more than a few secrets of his own.

  NELL—The innkeeper’s misunderstood daughter, who dotes on the inn’s animals.

  CROOMES—The temperamental cook whose cheese is famous far and wide; she is often in a state of ill temper.

  MR. CHARLES DICKENS—A writer of some distinction who frequents the inn.

  HENRY—The portly innkeeper, who is desperate to rid his inn of cheese-thieving mice.

  ADELE—A barmaid, busybody, and hater of mice.

  MALDWYN—The proud creature hidden away in the inn’s garret, upon whom rests the future of the realm.

  A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR—You didn’t really expect a description, did you?

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Praise for the Cheshire Cheese Cat: A Dickens of a Tale

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedications

  Acknowledgments

  List of Characters in Order of Appearance

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eightteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Epilogue

  A Note From the Authors

  Glossary

  A Smattering of Pattering

  Colophon

  CHAPTER ONE

  HE WAS THE BEST OF TOMS.

  He was the worst of toms.

  Fleet of foot, sleek and solitary, Skilley was a cat among cats. Or so he would have been, but for a secret he had carried since his early youth. A secret that caused him to live in hidden shame, avoiding even casual friendship lest anyone discover—

  “Scat, cat!” A broom came down hard out of London’s cold and fog. Startled, Skilley leapt sideways and the broom whiffled empty air.

  The cat, however, refused to scat.

  He eyed the dead fish, then the broom, calculating the distance between the two.

  “Off now, you thieving moggy!” the fishmonger shrilled. As if reading his thoughts, she kicked the fish under her stall and cocked the broom for another swing.

  Angry women with brooms unnerved him. The only encounter Skilley dreaded more was one with Pinch, the terror of Fleet Street.

  With a flick of his peculiar tail, Skilley turned his back to the fishwife, putting all the disdain he could muster into the sway of his hips.

  But once he had rounded the corner, he flitted into an alley, where he ran its length with darts and dashes. Pausing at the end of the passageway, he surveyed the familiar cobblestones and his spirits lightened.

  Huddled over her fire, on a near corner, was the crone who sold roasted chestnuts for a ha-penny. A few paces from her, a boy hawked mulled cider. Down the street, the song of the rag and bone man mingled with the rattle of carriages and the hum of pedestrians.

  Ah, Fleet Street, Skilley thought.

  Home to some of the finest eating and drinking in London, the street was a perfect gathering place for scavengers. And down a certain modest court stood a most particular pub, famed as a haunt for London writers: Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese.

  Skilley peered through the gauzy mist.The inn’s hanging wooden si
gn twitched in a swirl of January wind. Skilley shivered and looked longingly toward the cozy tavern.

  There has to be a way in, he thought.

  “Whatever it is you’re thinkin’—don’t,” came the warning, followed by a soft, dangerous purr.

  “Ah, Pinch.” Skilley’s tone was pleasant, but this outward calm belied the clenching of his stomach. “And a fine day to you.”

  Cold-blooded and volatile, Pinch was not a cat to be trifled with. “You can keep your ah, Pinch and your fine day.” His eyes narrowed and the hackles on his ginger-striped shoulders rose in challenge. “Just mind you keep away from The Cheese.”

  “The Cheese?” Skilley asked, unblinking. “What of it?”

  “Mice,” Pinch said.

  “Mice?” Skilley’s eyes widened with pretend innocence.

  “Aye, mice. The Cheese tavern is overrun with ’em.”

  “Ah.”

  “Grandest cheese in England, or so they say. And where there’s that manner of cheese, there’s mice aplenty.” He paused and gave a pleasurable groan. “Fat and juicy. Plump and round, young and…tender.” His nose twitched as though it could already smell a nest of baby mice.

  “Mice aplenty, you say?” Skilley interrupted.

  “The tavern is my ’ome. You ’old your distance.”

  Skilley sat and licked a paw, a token of his indifference. As an added touch, he stroked behind his ear. “I wasn’t aware you had a home, Pinch.”

  “Aye, but I do. And that there’s it.” He nodded toward the inn.

  “Hmmm, odd that,” said Skilley. “A cozy tavern for a home, and yet here you sit on the icy cobblestones passing the day with the likes of me.”

  “Well, it will be my ’ome soon, you watch and see. The place is ate up with mice, and the master’s witless for want of a mousekiller.”

  “The Cheese is looking for a mouser?” A not-unpleasant chill danced up Skilley’s spine.

  “Yes, and I’m it. Cross me and s’elp me I’ll rip out your…”

  But Skilley had dropped the thread of the conversation. A mouser, eh? A plan began to nibble at his mind—a plan of such elegant simplicity he was amazed he hadn’t thought of it before.

  Stretching lazily, he rose, and with a last twitch of his crooked tail said, “You are a cat among cats, Pinch, and I thank you!”

  “For what?” the ginger cat snarled after him. “What’d I do?”

  Skilley didn’t answer. He was already engrossed in the audacity of a scheme so bold, so cunning, it would surely set him up for the rest of his nine lives.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “What do you hear?”

  “Pip! Tell us what they’re say—”

  “Shhhh.” Pip raised a single digit on his tiny paw and pressed it to his lips. His fellow mice fell begrudgingly silent.

  Pip closed his eyes and pressed a fuzzy, delicate ear to the thin wall between himself and the chop room of Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese. To his dismay, the wall was not thin enough. He could catch only a word or two, which made it difficult, even for him, to understand the language of the humans.

  Human language was a talent he had mastered while living in the pocket of Nell, the innkeeper’s daughter.

  As Pip strained to listen, his thoughts returned to that blackest of days when his entire family, including five brothers and sisters, had been cruelly murdered by some unknown hand.

  Croomes the cook. Pip harbored no doubt there. Her bloody cleaver was found nearby, was it not?

  Pip alone had been left alive—unseen, no doubt, due to his unusually small size. Nell had heard his squeaks and rescued him from the bloody carnage. Her anger and distress was such that her breath came in gasps as she carried him away up, up, up the twisting, winding, impossible stairs of the inn.

  She’d stopped only when she reached the safety of the attic. Holding the frightened little thing in one cupped hand, she’d used the other to search and find the bag of lamb’s wool. She’d torn away a small cloud of it, pressed it deep into her apron pocket, and then, with much tenderness, she’d nestled Pip safely inside.

  When she heard his hiccuped sobs, Nell’s anger melted away, replaced with a welling up of grief that was as much for herself as for the mouse.

  Nell’s mother had not experienced a violent death. Quite the opposite. Her passing had followed a short and rather unremarkable illness. Still, there had been no proper good-bye. Her young mother had simply fallen asleep and never again awakened, like some princess in an ancient tale. Nell and her father were left feeling as though she’d never really gone, as though they might yet encounter her suddenly on a stair.

  Everyone agreed that Nell had not been the same since that day. The less charitable among the inn’s inhabitants went so far as to suggest she had gone a bit soft in the head.

  Whether Nell were sane, daft, or merely heartsick, the young mouse had found a friend in the newly orphaned girl. Reaching into her pocket, she’d stroked his downy back with a fingertip and whispered, “You sleep now. No one will hurt you, so long as you’re with me.”

  And she’d choked back a sob.

  It had been the best and worst day of Pip’s life.

  That is, until this afternoon, when he finally quieted his fellow creatures enough to hear spoken again, in the rumbling voice of the innkeeper, that ominous word…

  Cat.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The moment Skilley left Pinch’s side, he set his plan in motion. Careful to seem unhurried lest his rival might be watching, Skilley wove a path among the bustling humans until he lost himself in the crowd. He waited but a few moments. Then, with a leap and a lightning sprint, he sped to the unimposing front door of Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese. Not to the back door, mind you, where smelly fish bones and gelatinous puddings were hurled daily into the gutter—and where no doubt, even now, Pinch and the other toms and tabbies would be assembling for the evening meal.

  No. Skilley marched directly to the front door.

  Unthinkable impudence for a cat.

  Halted by a brief moment of doubt—not in the plan itself, but in its execution, he paused. It was a perfect plan that was now perfectly ruined by… a door.

  Of all things.

  Skilley hated doors.

  He sat back on his haunches and considered the situation.

  He looked at his right paw.

  Then his left.

  He examined the confounding doorknob. While he stared, as if in answer to his unspoken wish, a gloved hand reached out from the fog and pushed open the door.

  “Good evening, Sir Puss,” said the owner of the hand. His voice sounded like the rolling bass notes of the great pipe organ at Saint Paul’s Cathedral.

  Skilley ignored the greeting and darted inside. The man and his companion followed close behind. “A slab of cheese and a loaf, Henry,” the first cried to the landlord. “Mr. Collins is feeling a bit peckish this afternoon.” He pulled a leather-bound notebook from the pocket of his greatcoat and set it on a table.

  “And who’s this with you?” Henry asked.

  “Why, you know my friend, Wilkie! He’s just penned a work that will take London by storm. It’s about a ghostly woman in white—”

  “Writers,” Henry sighed. “No, I meant old tom there.” The innkeeper tilted his head in the direction of the cat.

  As all eyes turned upon him, Skilley shot back the most ill-tempered expression he could muster, hoping to impress them with his sincere ferocity.

  “Just another loyal patron for The Cheese,” said Mr. Collins with a laugh and a respectful bow toward Skilley. “Give him a slice of your best, Henry.”

  The gentleman of the musical voice swept off his hat and cloak and hung them on a peg. “Perhaps he’s heard of your troubles and wants to recommend himself as rat catcher. He has a fierce enough look about him.”

  The man’s words seemed serious, but the tone made Skilley think that laughter lay not far behind.

  I’ll have to keep my eye on this one, he thought.

  “MOUSE catcher, if you please, sir,” corrected Henry, lowering his voice. “There’re no rats at The Cheese, sir, Providence be praised! Though enough mice to drive Adele to hysterics and my poor little Nell to near madness! Since Croomes came to our kitchen these ten winters ago, our Cheshire cheese is finer than ever, and it would seem every mouse in London who’s got wind of it has come to claim his share.” Henry heaved a great sigh of consternation. He turned to Skilley. “Let’s see here, then, mouse catcher.”