by Laura Wood
I nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, that’s exactly what I thought,” I said. “If we can find out how Harry Redshank got up to the castle in the first place, that might help us to work out what happened next.”
We all fell silent, mulling over the potential mysteries that Crumley Castle and Smuggler’s Cove might hold. My eyes wandered to the front of the bus, where Miss Susan was nodding and moving her hands as she chatted with Mr Grant in the seat next to her. Whatever she said made Mr Grant break into a short, rumbling laugh. As she turned her head towards him I caught a glimpse of her upturned mouth and smiling eyes.
I felt my heart squeeze in my chest, and from somewhere far away I heard Ingrid asking if I was OK. I dragged my eyes away from Miss Susan and saw that Ingrid’s face wore a worried frown. Kip’s hand reached for my shoulder. I must have looked very odd indeed. I forced a smile.
“I’m fine,” I said, my voice only betraying a slight tremble. “It’s just a bit hot in here. It’s making me feel a bit carsick,” I added. Kip’s hand was rapidly withdrawn, but Ingrid still looked worried. I had the feeling that over the last few months she knew there was something on my mind that I hadn’t been telling her, but so far she hadn’t pushed me to tell her what it was.
We were interrupted then, to my relief, by Mr Grant who threw his head back and began singing a noisy tune that involved lots of clapping and cheering at the right time. Everyone joined in enthusiastically, and the bus was filled with a rackety melody that almost drowned out Kip’s terrible honking singing voice. (Kip has a lot of talents, but singing is just not one of them.)
After that the long journey passed uneventfully. There was some more singing and we managed to make a decent dent in Kip’s confectionary collection. (Kip even won back some good feeling after the backpack debacle by offering an enormous bag of jelly worms around to everyone.) Eventually, we pulled off the busy main road and into a narrow, wiggling lane that was banked on either side by rambling hedgerows. We began winding our way along, holding our breath and hoping we wouldn’t meet any cars coming the other way as the coach squeeeezed through, branches scraping along its sides. Then, all of a sudden we reached the top of a hill and the view opened up in front of us like a perfect postcard.
“The sea!” someone squealed, and we all cheered at the first sight of all that big, blue sparkling water, stretching right out to meet the sky. I held my face up to the window again and took a deep breath of salty air, cheering and hollering along with everyone else. The whole coach was humming with anticipation, as we waited for our very first glimpse of Crumley Castle … and suddenly, like something out of a dream, it appeared.
CHAPTER SIX
The castle was huddled on top of a cliff, like a big, dark monster, overlooking the golden curve of Smuggler’s Cove and the shimmering blue sea. It had certainly not been well looked after in recent years, and it looked very different to the castle in Pym’s photograph. The moat was empty and decidedly swan free, and the gardens at the front of the building were wild and overgrown. Some of the windows had boards over them, but all of these imperfections only seemed to add to the drama of the scene. Up close, Crumley Castle looked less like something from a fairy tale and more like something from a seriously spooky ghost story. Despite the clear blue skies, I almost expected to see forks of lightning strike the conical roof of the crooked turret, and to hear the rumble of thunder fill the air. The whole building practically crackled with adventure.
It was brilliant. And I could see that Kip and Ingrid felt the same as I did.
“Even if we didn’t know there was a mystery here, we’d definitely suspect there was,” I said excitedly, jumping down from the coach and on to the sweeping gravel driveway.
Ingrid was nodding. “It looks like somewhere a vampire would live,” she said. Then, seeing Kip’s horrified face, she quickly added, “In a story, I mean, not in real life, obviously. Because there’s no such thing as vampires.”
Kip was still looking a bit worried, so I chimed in as well. “We are going to have so much fun exploring this place!” I said. “There’s going to be such a lot to see… Where do you think the kitchens are? They must be massive! Think how much cake there must be!” My food-related distraction tactics proved successful once more and Kip’s eyes lit up in greedy anticipation, all thoughts of spooks and vampires banished in an instant.
We were interrupted then by the arrival of several people. A woman with gingery hair ran up to Miss Susan and threw her arms around her. “Elaine!” she exclaimed.
“Agatha!” Miss Susan replied, returning her hug.
Behind Agatha was a tall, pale man. He had dark hair that was turning grey, and a sort of crumpled, worn-out look about him. He introduced himself as Agatha’s husband, Bernard Booth. As well as the Booths there were two other men who had emerged from the castle at the sound of us spilling from the coach. A small man with thinning hair, and watery blue eyes behind thick glasses bustled forward. He was wearing a soup-stained cardigan and baggy brown corduroy trousers, and he smelled terribly musty. He began shaking Miss Susan’s hand enthusiastically.
“How do you do?” he wheezed. “I’m Stanley Goodwill, a distant relation of Bernard’s. Delighted to meet any friend of dear Agatha’s. Delighted!” He was still shaking Miss Susan’s hand and he kept repeating the word “Delighted!” while smiling vaguely at the huddled group of students in front of him.
“Stanley’s been here for quite some time,” Agatha explained. “He was living with Bernard’s Great-aunt Ada before she passed away, so he knows the castle far better than us. He’s a very respected historian, and he’s writing a book on Crumley Castle.” Stanley Goodwill rocked back on his heels and beamed around at everyone some more.
This news caught my attention. Perhaps this historian would have valuable information about the castle and the story of the vanishing Redshank brothers. We would have to try and get an interview with him at some point soon. I filed this away for discussion with Kip and Ingrid later on.
The man standing behind Stanley Goodwill was absolutely enormous – nearly as big as Boris the strongman. He was in his early twenties and his large, square head was shaved. A gold hoop earring sparkled in his left ear. Despite the heat he was wearing a very smart black suit over a black shirt. Poking out from under his sleeves I could just see the edges of tattoos on both arms. The man stayed silent and Agatha’s voice shook a little as she introduced him. “And this is Horatio Muggins,” she said, her hands fluttering in his direction. “He’s… he’s…”
“He’s a friend of the family,” Bernard said, finishing her sentence. And there was an awkward pause. “It’s lovely to have you all here at Crumley Castle,” Bernard eventually continued with a forced cheeriness.
By this point we were all getting a bit restless. Introductions were all well and good, but there was a castle and a beach to explore after all. There was only so long we could stay still with polite smiles smeared across our faces.
Luckily, Mr Grant seemed to know exactly what we were thinking. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you all,” he said, “but I think after that long journey this lot are ready to stretch their legs and do some exploring! Where do you want us?”
Agatha’s hands fluttered by her sides again. “Of course, of course!” she cried. “Right this way, children.” The men all disappeared back into the castle, Bernard Booth and Stanley Goodwill chatting easily and Horatio Muggins following silently behind.
Agatha led us along the front of the castle, and down some steps at the side into a large field that overlooked the sea. Laid out in neat rows were lots of white tents, trembling slightly in the salty breeze.
“You’ve put all the tents up already!” Mr Grant exclaimed. “Thank you! That must have been an awful lot of work.”
“Fuddling did it.” Agatha smiled a smile that was like an especially weak cup of tea. “He’s our butler – we inherited him with the castle. He used to be in the army, I think – anyway he’s terribly efficient.”
She shrugged. “Now, over there” – she pointed in the direction of a long low building at the edge of the field – “we’ve converted one of the old stable blocks into bathrooms. You’ll eat in the dining room in the castle itself, although there is a firepit down there” – she pointed towards the cliff edge – “if you want to have a campfire. Obviously we’ve put the fence along the edge there, but please do be careful, it’s quite a drop.”
“It’s all looking so wonderful, Aggie!” Miss Susan said warmly.
Agatha smiled her weak tea smile. “Thank you!” she murmured. “We’re a bit nervous, you know – it’s such a big investment. So you must let me know how you get on. This is our trial run before we open up the campsite to the public, so any problems – no matter how small – must be ironed out.”
Mr Grant turned to face us, a silver whistle hanging around his neck. “Right, you lot! Two to a tent, girls this side and boys over there. Drop your stuff off and get settled so that we can hit the beach!” There was a big cheer at this and everyone scrambled off.
Except me; I held back for a moment, listening hard in case Agatha and Miss Susan had anything revealing to say. It had occurred to me that the sort of conversation that took place between these old friends may prove useful in my investigation into Miss Susan.
“It’s so good to see you, Aggie,” Miss Susan said in a low voice, squeezing her friend’s arm. “But where’s Jenny?” she asked, looking back towards the castle. “I can’t wait to see her; she must be so grown-up now!”
Agatha made a funny noise and then began to cough. A trembly hand tucked a strand of gingery hair behind her ear, but her voice was quite jolly when she said, “Yes, she’s seventeen now, if you can believe it! But Jenny’s away with some friends this week. I’m sure she’s enjoying a break from us overbearing parents!”
That was the last I heard of their conversation, because Ingrid was tugging at my arm. “Come on, Poppy, or all the good spots will be taken!”
It didn’t seem like Miss Susan and Agatha were about to have a chat about Miss Susan’s long-lost secret baby anyway, and they began making their way towards the castle, so I allowed myself to be dragged off quite happily. The two of us secured an excellent spot near the steps to the castle and we dumped our backpacks in the tent. Inside were two purple foam mats and two neatly rolled red sleeping bags.
“This is so brilliant!” I said, clapping my hands together. “I can’t believe we’re camping together for a whole week!”
Just then the blasting of a whistle filled the air. Sticking my head out of the tent, I saw Mr Grant gathering the troops.
“Come on, Ingrid!” I cried. “It’s time to get exploring!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
We wound our way in single file down the coastal path, which was rugged and twisty, cut into the side of the cliff, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore rang out all around us. Near the bottom of the cliff we came to the village of Crumley itself. It was small but perfectly formed: a collection of buildings huddled around a tidy little village green. There was a pub called the Smuggler’s Arms with a skull and crossbones flying outside, a tiny post office and convenience store, and a shop called Rita’s Range that sold buckets and spades and postcards and nets for catching tiny crabs you might spot in rock pools. There were also three places of particular interest to us: Stan’s Plaice, the fish and chip shop; the Buttered Muffin bakery; and most importantly of all Honeybee’s Ice Creamery. It was in front of this final establishment that our procession came to a screeching halt.
Mr Grant raised an eyebrow. “Oh, all right!” he said with a grin. “We are on holiday, after all. In you go.” These were the magic words and we all flung ourselves through the doors, scrabbling for our spending money and crowding round the display that held dozens of tubs of ice cream. The two ladies behind the counter were scooping as fast as they could to keep up with the orders that were coming thick and fast. Beside me Kip was making a noise like a wounded animal.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, looking him over to make sure none of his limbs had fallen off or anything.
“It’s impossible!” he whimpered. “Look at all these flavours… How can I possibly decide?”
“We’re here for a whole week,” I said soothingly. “Don’t forget, we can come back and try every flavour.”
“You’re right,” Kip said seriously, his head tilted to one side as he squinted at the display. “Better have a system in place … don’t want to miss any. I think I’ll do them alphabetically.”
We emerged moments later, Ingrid with a strawberry cone, me with butterscotch and chocolate sauce, and Kip, a double helping of banana and bubblegum flavour.
“Soooooo goooood,” I mumbled, my mouth full.
The others made noises of agreement, as our procession towards the beach started up again. Slurping happily at the end of my ice cream I felt a wave of contentment washing over me. The sun was shining, we were on our holidays and I was eating ice cream with my best pals. There was even a mystery to solve, and I reminded myself that I needed to get cracking on some investigative research. As we rounded a final corner I realized we had reached the site of that very mystery … Smuggler’s Cove!
Miles of golden beach stretched in front of me, and it was hard to believe that smuggling and gunfights had taken place here. I kicked off my flip-flops and joined the others in running and whooping across the sand, feeling it squish between my toes. Throwing myself forward I started turning cartwheels along the shoreline before sinking my feet into the cool water. Next to me Ingrid and Kip were both pink cheeked and wild-eyed. Most of the group, including Mr Grant, were in the water now. The wind whipped at my braids and we all waded further in, screeching and giggling.
“It’s FREEEEEEEZING!” Kip hollered, the waves lapping around his knees, soaking the bottoms of his shorts.
“You wimp!” I cried, flicking water in his direction. That was all it took, and suddenly everyone was screaming, laughing, splashing each other in an epic water fight. Even Mr Grant joined in and it was really, especially excellent when we all banded together to completely soak him.
“All right, all right, I surrender!” he laughed, holding his hands up. “Let’s sit in the sun and dry off a bit or it’ll be a very soggy walk back to the castle.”
We made our way over to some flat rocks that stretched out along the edge of the cove and into the water, and clambered up on top of them. The dark flinty grey stones had been smoothed by the sea and warmed by the sun, and they made the perfect spot to dry out. Squinting back over the beach I spotted Annabelle and Barbie and some of their pals. They had all wrinkled their noses up at the thought of getting their hair wet and so had plonked themselves down on the sand, their faces turned up towards the sun as they worked on their tans. They were talking to a tall man I couldn’t see properly because of the sun. When Mr Grant noticed he waved cheerfully to the man and jogged over to them.
“Who’s that?” I wondered aloud.
“Who?” asked Kip, propping himself up on his elbow.
“That man talking to Mr Grant.” I pointed.
Ingrid shielded her eyes with her hand. “Looks like we’re about to find out,” she said, as Mr Grant and the stranger started walking towards us.
As they got closer I realized that the man with Mr Grant was younger than I had first thought, maybe about seventeen or eighteen. He was also very, very handsome with muscly arms and long bleached hair flopping into a pair of twinkly blue eyes. He had the sort of suntan that you only get from being outside all the time. No wonder Annabelle was following along behind, twirling her blonde hair around her finger, I thought with a roll of my eyes.
“Children!” Mr Grant called as he got closer, and we all gathered around. “I want to introduce you to Jack Jenkins … our surfing instructor!”
There was a ripple of excitement at this news, although I saw Ingrid’s face fall a little bit.
“Surfing? Cool!” our friend Riley yelled, high-fi
ving the boy next to him.
Jack Jenkins smiled, showing off lots of straight, white teeth. “Hi, guys!” he said. “I’m excited to be working with you this week. We’ll have you riding the waves in no time!”
There were more cheers and a crowd huddled around Jack, shouting out lots of questions about surfing. He laughed and began trying to answer them all. An older girl in a bikini came up and wound her arm around Jack’s waist, whispering in his ear. “Be with you in a minute, Betsy-kins,” he said in a soppy voice, giving her a starry-eyed smooch. With a smirk, Betsy wandered back to her friends, her hips swinging confidently. “Sorry about that!” Jack grinned. “The ladies love me!” He laughed and I struggled to control my need to eye-roll. The conversation turned back to surfing. When there was a lull I saw my opportunity.
“Do you know anything about the Redshank brothers?” I asked. Might as well see if this guy had any local gossip to add to our investigation, I thought.
Jack looked surprised. “The Redshank brothers?” he asked. “Sure, they’re a bit of a local legend. They were famous smugglers,” he explained to the rest of the group. “They used to live in Crumley and smuggle illegal goods right here in Smuggler’s Cove. They were always having all sorts of adventures together, sailing around and getting into trouble, but no one could ever catch them – it was like they were untouchable. They actually sound like pretty cool guys – Henry Redshank was supposed to be the finest shot in the country and his brother Tom was an amazing swordsman.” Jack’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm, and he continued: “One night they were nearly caught and Henry just disappeared up at Crumley Castle, completely vanished from a locked room.” He turned his head towards the shadowy presence of the castle, sitting imposingly on the top of the cliff.
“I read that the other brother, Tom, managed to escape too,” I said quickly.
Jack nodded. “So the story goes. When the officers tried to pinch them on the beach right here, Tom left his brother behind and sailed off. Apparently he escaped to France and never came back to England, because they would have put him in prison … or worse, but what happened to Henry…” Jack shrugged his shoulders here. “Nobody knows. It was all very mysterious, and actually pretty spooky.” His eyes met mine and I felt a thrill of excitement as I realized there was more to the story.
