Eighteen
Stella looked into the teacup at the shape of the monster. ‘W-what is it?’ she asked.
‘It is the fetch,’ said Mr Cornelius. ‘There is no doubt. It is particularly clear.’
‘What is the fetch?’ asked Stella, frowning.
Mr Cornelius hesitated. Then he said, ‘Have you seen it?’
Stella shook her head. ‘No. Not really. In a dream, I think. What is it?’
‘A creature from the old stories. People used to say the fetch came at night to snatch people and drag them down underground. When I was a child, my grandmother would warn me not to sing in the street after dark, because the fetch was attracted by the sound of voices. She told me stories of children who were shouting and laughing together at dusk, and suddenly they would look around and one of them was gone. And even now, whenever someone goes missing, people will say that the fetch has taken them. There have been a number of disappearances, just lately, and there has been some talk.’
Stella felt her heart beating in her throat. She thought about Luna. Had she been taken by the fetch? ‘Is it real? Or is it just a story?’
Mr Cornelius said, ‘There are those who still believe it.’
Stella asked, ‘What does it mean, to be taken down underground? What is down there?’
‘People used to believe that the fairies lived underground, inside hollow hills,’ Mr Cornelius said. ‘Perhaps it was true once. Fairies and dragons and sleeping armies. Here in Wakestone, there were stories about a giant’s palace full of monsters and treasure, deep underground, below Wakestone Hill. The palace of the King of the Mountain.’
‘A giant’s palace? That’s just a fairy story,’ said Stella.
‘As you say,’ said Mr Cornelius. ‘Stories such as these are still told to frighten children. If you are not home by nightfall, the fetch will snatch you and drag you down underground, and the King of the Mountain will eat you up.’
‘It can’t be true,’ said Stella.
‘Perhaps not,’ agreed Mr Cornelius. After a moment, he said, ‘In the old days, there was always much coming and going between humans and fairies. A baby was stolen and a fairy child left in its place. Children were enchanted and taken underground to work as servants, or fairy creatures came up to our world and fell in love. So now there are people who have a drop of fairy blood. A tiny bit of old magic. Fey, they are sometimes called, as I am sure you know.’
Stella nodded.
Mr Cornelius went on, ‘I believe we understand one another. People dislike speaking of such things, and that is prudent, because there are dangers. People who are fey are often treated with suspicion and distrust. Some things are best kept secret. Your friend Ottilie has discovered this, of course.’
Stella nodded again. She knew that was true. She remembered Mrs Spindleweed saying fiercely, Stay secret, stay safe.
She thought about Ottilie, who could open locks because her grandmother’s great-great-grandmother had been a fairy lady. And she remembered her friend Ben, from Withering-by-Sea, who could see visions in a pool of ink, because his grandmother had been part selkie. People with a drop of fairy blood. A tiny trickle of old magic.
Like herself. And her sister, Luna.
Stella wanted to ask Mr Cornelius if he was fey, but felt it would be impolite. Instead, she asked, ‘What about —?’ She hesitated. ‘In my dream, I was underground, I think. It was dark, and there was a green light. And I was — I mean, there was music. Someone was singing.’
‘Music? The fairies were always said to love music.’ Mr Cornelius thought for a moment. ‘My great-grandfather was a musician. He played the violin so beautifully that the fairies came for him, one night, when he was asleep. They took him deep into a wood and through a door that led underground, and they made him play all night as they danced. When morning came, he returned home. His family were overjoyed to see him. He had spent only one night with the fairies, but in our world, a whole year had passed. They had thought he was dead.’ Mr Cornelius smiled. ‘So the story went. And my grandmother used to say if you climbed up to the top of Wakestone Hill at midnight and lay on the grass with your ear to the ground, you would hear music playing, far below, in the King of the Mountain’s palace.’ He smiled again. ‘I was never brave enough to attempt it.’
Stella did not know if she believed these stories or not. She looked at the creature at the bottom of her teacup. She shivered. ‘Where are my friends, do you think? Are they underground? I think something dreadful might have happened to them.’ She glanced out of the window, at the grey clouds and the roofs and chimneys of the town. ‘They might be anywhere. I don’t even know where to start looking.’
Mr Cornelius said, ‘When I hear that someone wishes to use a lockwitch to open an underground door, and I see the fetch in the tea leaves, then this is where my thoughts go: it seems probable that someone is attempting to open a door that would be better left closed. And, if the fetch is indeed about, then I must suspect that door has already been opened.’
‘But why?’ asked Stella. ‘Why would anyone want to do that?’
‘Curiosity. Greed, perhaps. Where there are rumours of treasure, there are greedy men who wish to find it. As surely as night follows day.’
Stella thought for a moment, and then asked, ‘If that’s true, what do you think I should do?’
Mr Cornelius shook his head. ‘I cannot tell you what to do. You must choose for yourself. There is peril, that is clear.’ He hesitated, and then said, ‘Sometimes the right path is also the most difficult one.’
Stella nodded.
‘Let me see your hands.’ Stella held out her hands, and Mr Cornelius took them in his own, studying her palms with attention. He looked at her fingers and the backs of her hands. ‘There is strength here. And kindness. And courage.’ He traced the lines on one of Stella’s palms. ‘I see twins. Does that have any particular significance for you?’
Stella nodded again, but did not say anything.
Mr Cornelius looked at her.
She swallowed. ‘What should I do?’ she asked again. ‘How can I find my friends? I need to rescue them.’
Mr Cornelius smiled. ‘Nobody can see the future. It is bound up with the choices we make. But if you are determined, then I can tell you that you held the clue here in your hand.’ He laid a finger on Stella’s palm.
‘What do you mean —?’ Stella stopped as she remembered the walking stick, with the heavy, engraved silver knob on the end. ‘Oh. I hit one of the Gabbro brothers with the gentleman’s walking stick. He took it, and then threw it over the garden wall.’
Mr Cornelius nodded. ‘If you wish to find your friends, you must find that stick.’
‘Yes, I see,’ said Stella. ‘Thank you.’
‘Is there anything else you would like to ask?’ said Mr Cornelius.
Stella shook her head. She knew what she needed to do.
‘Do you believe you have received a penny’s worth of advice?’
Stella nodded. ‘Yes, I do. Thank you very much.’
Mr Cornelius started to say something, and then hesitated. After a moment, he said, ‘Take great care, my dear.’
The jackdaw, Nicholas, had been dozing on the mantelpiece. Now he woke with a cackle and flew down onto the table. He picked up the penny, flapped back to the mantelpiece and dropped it with a clinking sound into a small box.
As Joe and Stella went down the stairs, they heard Mr Cornelius playing the piano again, the tinkling notes drifting down from above.
‘I told you he was scary,’ said Joe. He looked over his shoulder at Stella. ‘Did he tell you anything?’
‘Yes.’ She explained about the walking stick. ‘It belonged to the gentleman. The Gabbro brothers threw it over a garden wall. I need to go back and find it.’
‘Easy as winking,’ said Joe. ‘I’ll help you.’
‘It was on the corner of the High Street, close to the school,’ said Stella. ‘It will be dreadful if someone sees me. Or if the Ga
bbro brothers come looking.’
‘We’ll turn you into a scrapper,’ said Joe, grinning. ‘They won’t know you.’
Back up in the attic room, Stella told Liza what Mr Cornelius had advised her to do. Liza was busy making flowers and did not stop working, but she said, ‘Take my coat, Stella. We’ll mind your cat.’ She nodded to the bed, where the two little girls were playing with Midnight. ‘We’re getting along fine. He’s a good hunter, so he is. He already caught a mouse for his dinner and ate it right up.’
The little girls nodded solemnly.
Stella pulled off her own coat and put on Liza’s. It was thin and patched and reached past her knees. ‘Thank you,’ she said, as she rolled up the sleeves. She hesitated, looking at the little girls, who were watching Midnight pounce on a piece of rolled-up newspaper. She lowered her voice to say, ‘Mr Cornelius saw the fetch, in my tea leaves.’
‘The fetch!’ Liza gasped.
‘There ain’t no such thing,’ said Joe.
‘You don’t know that, Joe,’ said Liza. She added in a whisper, ‘People say Mr Cornelius had a grandson what was taken by the fetch.’
‘You shouldn’t listen to stories like that, Lize,’ said Joe. ‘People go missing all the time. It don’t mean the fetch took ’em. That girl from Crookback Court went missin’ last week, selling onions at the market. Likely she just went off with someone. And a couple of scrappers went missin’ a few weeks back. People say it was the fetch, but I reckon the toshers did for ’em.’
Liza shrugged and said, ‘I heard that Mr Cornelius’s grandson was a musician. He played the harp in the street, and at dances and that. And one day the fetch grabbed him and took him down underground. That’s what people say. And that’s why Mr Cornelius stays in that room there. He’s waiting for his grandson to come back. Ten years he’s been waiting, or more.’
Stella remembered the photograph of the handsome young man in Mr Cornelius’s room. No wonder he was sad, if he had been waiting for so many years for a grandson who might never return.
Joe was bashing her hat out of shape. ‘Maybe there were fairies and fetches, and who knows what else, back in the old days, but there ain’t no such things any more.’ He gave the hat a final thump and passed it to Stella. It was squashed and unrecognisable. She put it on her head.
‘You look right different,’ said Joe with a grin. ‘Here.’ He put his finger into the ashes of the fire and rubbed it against her cheeks. ‘Now you look like a scrapper.’
‘Good luck,’ said Liza. She put out her hand and Stella grasped it.
‘Thank you so much for all your help,’ she said.
Liza held Stella’s hand tightly for a moment. ‘You be careful.’
Nineteen
Joe led Stella through a maze of narrow laneways and courts, past tenements and around the back of warehouses. They emerged on the busy High Street. It was misty and drizzling. Carts and coaches and omnibuses splashed through the puddles. They made their way along the street, in and out of the crowds, past the grand shops, and reached the corner where the men had captured Agapanthus and Ottilie.
‘He threw the stick over here,’ Stella said, pointing at the high garden wall.
‘We can get over that, easy enough,’ said Joe, eyeing the worn bricks. ‘We’ll go round the side so nobody sees us.’ He led Stella around the corner, into a quieter street. He looked up and down. There was nobody in sight. ‘Come on,’ he said, and quickly clambered up the wall. He got his leg over the top, leaned down and held out his hand. Stella started to climb. It was not too difficult, although she was hampered a bit by Liza’s long, flapping coat. She jammed her boots in between the bricks and gripped with her fingers. Joe grabbed her hand and hauled her up onto the top of the wall. From there, they could see a large house with shuttered windows. Just below them was a flowerbed full of straggling, wintry plants.
‘Quick,’ whispered Joe. They dropped down into the flowerbed. Joe peered out cautiously at the house. ‘There ain’t nobody home, I reckon.’
They made their way around the edge of the garden, keeping close to the wall, and came to an overgrown kitchen garden. There were rows of onions and Brussels sprouts, and cabbages gone to seed, and lots of tangled weeds.
‘Where did they chuck it, do you reckon?’ whispered Joe.
Stella looked up at the wall, trying to remember the night before. ‘Over there, I think,’ she said, pointing.
They began to search, pushing the weeds aside. Joe poked around in a big clump of leeks. Stella gingerly investigated a huge, dead artichoke plant with spiky leaves. There was no sign of the walking stick.
‘It ain’t here,’ said Joe. ‘I reckon somebody already found it.’
Stella looked up at the wall again. ‘It might be over that way. Or maybe —’ Then she saw it, above their heads, stuck in the branches of a tree. ‘Look!’ she said, pointing. ‘There it is.’
‘I’ll get it down,’ said Joe, and he picked up a stone and threw it hard. It hit the stick, which wobbled, but did not fall. The stone fell and smashed the glass of a cucumber frame. Inside the house, a dog started to bark.
‘Oh no!’ said Stella.
‘Quick!’ said Joe. He picked up another stone and flung it. The stick toppled out of the tree and landed amongst the cabbages. Stella darted over and snatched it up.
A tiny brown-and-white dog dashed from the side of the house, barking shrilly. It snapped at Joe. He scrambled up the wall. The dog turned and chased Stella. She ran around the cabbages and through the onion bed with the dog nipping at her heels. Panting, she reached the wall, passed the stick up to Joe and began to climb. The dog bit her ankle. She squeaked. The dog grabbed her coat and hung on. She fell off the wall, landing with a thump. The dog growled and seized one of her plaits.
‘Stella!’ gasped Joe, laughing. He reached down. ‘Quick.’
Stella wriggled away from the dog, scrambled to her feet and clambered up the wall again. She grabbed Joe’s hand, and he heaved her up on top.
The little dog jumped and barked.
A burly, elderly man came stomping around the corner of the house. He took the pipe from his mouth. ‘What’s all this, then?’
‘Let’s go,’ said Joe. He looked down at the street and whispered, ‘Flippin’ heck.’
Just below them, two ladies with umbrellas had stopped on the pavement and were deep in conversation.
‘Come on,’ whispered Joe. ‘Get ready to run.’
They dropped from the wall, startling the ladies. One of them gave a screech and tried to clout Joe with her umbrella.
‘Quick,’ he gasped. They dashed across the High Street, ducking between a carriage and a milk cart. The carriage horse whinnied and reared. There were shouts and the tinkling sound of broken milk bottles. Stella followed Joe as he sped into a laneway, skirted a cart that was unloading bolts of fabric and darted around a corner into an alley. He was gasping for breath and laughing. He looked around, and then leaned against the wall, clutching his middle.
‘Oh,’ he panted. ‘I thought we were done for, so I did. Let’s see what we got.’
They inspected the stick together. It was made of ebony, with silver bands, and a heavy silver knob on the end, decorated with scrolls and curlicues. There was writing engraved across the top of the knob. It was difficult to read because it was very fancy and curly, and the silver was worn and shiny with use. Stella followed it with her finger as she read it out to Joe.
Presented to
Thaddeus Garnet, Esq.
of Lantern Street, Wakestone
on the Occasion of
His Fortieth Year of Fellowship
of the Royal Guild of Artificers
‘Thaddeus Garnet,’ she gasped in surprise.
‘Who is he? D’you know him?’ asked Joe.
‘Yes. Well, no. But I know who he is. I’ve seen him. He’s Miss Garnet’s brother. She’s our Headmistress.’
‘D’you reckon it’s him what took your friends, then?’<
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‘Maybe,’ said Stella doubtfully. It seemed rather unlikely. ‘Lantern Street. Do you know where that is?’
‘It’s the little street behind the museum,’ said Joe. ‘Bookshops and that.’
Stella remembered the street. She had noticed the bookshops the day before. ‘Well, let’s go and look.’
‘Prime,’ said Joe. ‘Come on.’
Joe led the way through the winding back streets, swinging the walking stick as he went. They reached Museum Square and made their way past the fountain and around behind the museum.
Lantern Street was a narrow, cobbled laneway, overshadowed by the back of the museum on one side and the steep slope of Wakestone Hill on the other. They walked slowly along, looking carefully at the little shops. They passed two bookshops and a store that sold old coins. The next window had a crowded display of seashells, coral and fossils. They peered in, and then went on, past a shop that sold maps and prints, and another bookshop.
‘Look.’ Stella pointed at a hanging sign painted with fancy gold letters. She read it aloud to Joe.
Thaddeus Garnet, FRGA
Artificer
Scientific Instruments and
Mechanical Contrivances
In the window of the shop was a display of microscopes and telescopes and thermometers, and several other complicated devices that Stella did not recognise.
A little card was propped against a shelf: Closed. Stella tried the door. It was locked. She knocked, but there was no answer.
Joe peered in through the glass, cupping his hands around his face, then stood back and gazed at the upstairs windows. ‘Let’s try round the back,’ he said.
A little further along the street, a narrow passageway led through to a lane at the rear of the shops. They walked along it, and Joe counted the doors. He stopped. ‘This one.’
Cautiously, they opened the gate into a little yard with a copper boiler and a lavatory. They went along the brick path to the back door of the shop. Joe knocked, and then tried the handle. The door opened.
Wakestone Hall Page 12
