The Amazing Adventures of Freddie Whitemouse (10 page)

‘Not tonight, no, really not tonight.’

To his surprise, his mother supported him. ‘You leave him alone now, or you won’t get any supper. Come over here, Freddie, and keep an eye on the little ones.’ So he crouched
by the Hat where five little pink noses were pointed upwards and a minute squeaking conveyed their hunger.

Eventually there was the silence that meant everyone was nibbling, and Mrs Whitemouse returned to the Hat dragging a long strip of ham that was mostly fat. ‘Half for all of you, and half
for me,’ she said. She nibbled off a piece of outside rind and put it in the Hat, whereupon all the pink noses pointed at once to the middle of the nest and a most satisfactory skirmish
ensued.

‘Poor little Lavinia’s aunt has died. You’d think she would be relieved, but not she! Cried her eyes out, she did, comes every afternoon to tell me what a good mouse her aunt
really was – says it was only the accident that turned her difficult.’

A picture of Lavinia in the kitchen, being bullied by bossy Horatio, came to him; and then when Freddie had rescued her, her bright trustful eyes, her lovely translucent ears that blushed a
darker pink when he looked at her, and her tiny delicate feet kept so charmingly clean, her glossy fur that was the grey of all good mice but somehow seemed to him a grey like no other. And she was
alone – a state unsuitable for any mouse . . .

‘I’ll go and visit her tomorrow,’ he said as casually as possible.

His mother darted a quick look at him. But, ‘Do, dear,’ was all she said.

Soon all the food was finished and everybody settled down to sleep.

But Freddie could not sleep. He tried counting ants in his mind; he went over and over again his last terrific bravery in jumping onto the horrible, dangerous cat’s back; he imagined
living grandly in the doll’s house; smashing one small pane of glass and discovering an outside route to the attic; he went over his last meeting with the sorcerer toad and wished he had
expressed his gratitude for all that most respected creature had taught him . . . It was no good. He simply could not sleep a wink.

Eventually he gave up trying and crept very quietly around all his sleeping relations before running to the passage that led to the kitchen. There was a junction in it that led to the den where
Lavinia had lived with her aunt.

All the while he was running, he did not think at all of what he would do when he got there. He simply knew that he must see her. Now – outside the passage to her house, he paused. What
could he say? He should have brought an offering – some food. He could have chewed a daisy off the Hat and laid it at her feet. But he had nothing. The passage was not straight, but wound
around several corners. When he could dimly see that he was nearly there, he called her name. There was no answer, but he became aware of a strange sound – a low subdued sobbing.

He entered the den. It was quite small. There was one large bed – empty. But in the opposite corner were some bits of hay and paper. Lavinia lay on her side, her face buried in the hay,
and she was crying so much it was no wonder she had not heard him.

‘Lavinia,’ he said gently.

She uttered a small shriek of terror and turned to face him. ‘Go away! I told you never to come here! I’ll – I’ll get Freddie to come and fight you!’

‘I am Freddie. There’s no one else here. You’re safe with me.’

When she seemed calmer, he said, ‘Was it Horatio you were frightened of?’

She nodded. Two last tears dripped down her face, but her eyes were fixed on his – as bright and trusting as he had remembered them.

‘Well, he’s never going to bother you again.’

‘Would you mind awfully staying until it’s morning?’

‘I wouldn’t mind at all.’

The translucent part of her ears turned a deep pink.

‘Oh, thank you, Freddie! Thank you so much. You could have my aunt’s bed.’

‘I’d rather stay here – with you.’ She had been trying to tidy her face and he put his nose against hers: she smelled deliciously of salt and fresh breadcrumbs and she
kept quite still while he licked her sodden fur dry. ‘In fact, I want to stay with you forever. If you agree?’

Without saying a word, she threw herself into his arms.

And so began their life together. Gradually he told her all about his adventures and what he had learned from them. He told her about the grand house on the top floor, about not wanting to be a
mouse, and the sorcerer; he told her about being a tiger and the jungle, about being a dog and Poppy and Alphonse, and finally about his decision that it was much better to be a mouse. Which it
was; it most certainly was. And Lavinia, who had listened with rapt attention, naturally agreed with him. ‘But then, you are no ordinary mouse,’ she said, and although he said of course
he was, he didn’t actually feel ordinary at all. I do hope you agree with him.

The End

BOOKS FOR ADULTS BY
ELIZABETH JANE HOWARD

Love All

The Beautiful Visit

The Long View

The Sea Change

After Julius

Odd Girl Out

Something in Disguise

Getting It Right

Mr Wrong

Falling

The Cazalet Chronicles

The Light Years

Marking Time

Confusion

Casting Off

All Change

The Lover’s Companion

Green Shades

Slipstream

Elizabeth Jane Howard was the author of fifteen highly acclaimed novels.
The Cazalet Chronicles
–
The Light Years, Marking Time
,
Confusion
,
Casting
Off
and
All Change
– have become established as modern classics and have been adapted for BBC Radio 4. In 2002 Macmillan published Elizabeth Jane Howard’s autobiography,
Slipstream
. In the same year she was awarded a CBE in the Queen’s Birthday Honours list.

She died in January 2014, having written, but not yet published, her first children’s book,
The Amazing Adventures of Freddie Whitemouse
.

First published 2016 by Mantle

This electronic edition published 2016 by Mantle
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com

ISBN 978-1-4472-9347-7

Copyright © Elizabeth Jane Howard, 2016

Illustrations © Bethan Woollvin, 2016

Front cover illustration by Bethan Woollvin
Author photograph © Michael Trevillion, Trevillion Picture Library

The right of Elizabeth Jane Howard to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Pan Macmillan does not have any control over, or any responsibility for, any author or third-party websites referred to in or on this book.

You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital,
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liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

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