by Laura Wood
“Ah, thank you!” Miss Susan said, lifting the tray out of her hands. “I’ll bring it down when we’re finished.”
“No bother, duck,” Mrs Crockton said, winking at me over Miss Susan’s shoulder and bustling back down the corridor.
Miss Susan settled opposite me and poured two mugs of tea. “Now, Poppy,” she said, leaning back and blowing on her drink, “what did you need to talk to me about?”
“Yes,” I said. “Right. Well, it’s actually a bit awkward. And a bit … complicated…”
“I see,” she said expectantly. “Go on.”
“OK,” I began, taking a deep breath and starting at the beginning, just as I had practised in my head. “Well, the thing is that before we came here I was reading in this book, about these smugglers called the Redshank brothers—”
“Smugglers?” Miss Susan said coldly, and I saw a frown beginning.
“Yes, they were from Crumley and one of them, called Henry, disappeared from the castle—”
Miss Susan put her mug down with a thud and held up her hand. “This is what you wanted to talk to me about?” she exclaimed. “Smugglers?”
“Yes, but—” I tried to explain, but Miss Susan was squeezing the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.
“Honestly, Poppy!” she snapped, “I thought this was something imporrrrtant! I’m very busy, you know, and there’s a lot going on – a lot of serious things.”
“I know!” I exclaimed. “That’s why I’m trying to tell you. It all started with the smugglers, it was a mystery you see, but then we realized…” I was interrupted again by Miss Susan’s humourless laugh.
“A mystery? Oh, showing off and chasing after trouble again, Poppy? When will you learn?” She got to her feet. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t think about this at the moment. Frankly, I have a terrible headache and a lot on my mind, and I don’t have time for you and your silliness.”
And suddenly I had had enough. Something big and angry was welling up from deep inside me and this time there was no way to stuff it back down. I leapt to my feet.
“Oh no, you’d never have time for ME, would you?” I shouted right at her, and her anger was replaced with a look of astonishment.
“What … what is that supposed to mean?” she said, her hand moving to her throat.
“I think you know what that’s supposed to mean!” I yelled then, because yelling felt really, really good.
“I absolutely do not,” said Miss Susan, two pink spots appearing on her cheeks. “And I won’t be spoken to like this, Poppy. You’re out of line. I’m your teacher.”
“I know who you are,” I muttered dangerously, and a silence as sharp as peanut brittle filled the room.
Then the pink spots on Miss Susan’s cheeks got darker, or the rest of her face got paler – or maybe a combination of the two.
“I think you are overexcited, Poppy,” Miss Susan said shakily. “You had better go and calm down.”
But it was too late. My anger was bubbling over like a saucepan full of rage porridge.
“I am not overexcited,” I shouted. “I am telling you that I know your secret!”
Miss Susan gasped and sank back into the chair, her head in her hands. “Poppy…” she said sadly, but I didn’t let her say anything else.
“I know the truth.” I finally said the words out loud. “I know that you’re my mother.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
I was shaking now, and the room was silent again, but it was a different kind of silence. Miss Susan got to her feet.
“Poppy,” she began, and I steeled myself for what came next, waiting for her to tell me why she had left me at the circus, why she had kept me a secret, why she hadn’t told me herself.
Instead she said, “I’m sorry, Poppy. I know you think… I mean, I have to tell you…” She trailed off hopelessly here before taking a deep breath. “I am not your mother,” she said finally, and her voice sounded cold and distant.
It felt as if all of the air had been bashed right out of me. “W-w-what?” I asked, in a daze.
“I said: I am not your mother,” Miss Susan repeated.
I felt tears welling up inside me, threatening to burst out at any moment. “You’re … you’re lying. I know you are!” I gasped.
Miss Susan was still pale, and her mouth was set in a thin, straight line. “I’m not lying, Poppy, it’s the truth. I’m not the person you’re looking for.” Her voice was flat and empty.
I stared at her. She must be lying. The necklace – and the photograph…
The truth was, she hadn’t wanted me then, and she didn’t want me now. The room began to spin, and with my knees trembling beneath me I ran out of the door as fast as I could.
“No, Poppy. Wait! We need to talk!” Miss Susan called after me, but I just kept on going. I couldn’t stand to be near her for a single moment longer. I ran along the corridor, and down the stairs, through the entrance hall, and the gardens, around the winding coastal path, past the village and out on to the empty beach. I ran and ran without stopping until my lungs felt like they were on fire, and when I reached the water I shouted out into the sea in a voice as big as I had left. Then I sat down on the sand and cried.
I don’t know how long I sat there, but eventually I stood up and dusted myself off. I felt determination coursing through me like cherry cola through a twisty straw. If Miss Susan wanted to pretend she wasn’t my mother then that was just fine by me. I hadn’t needed her for the last twelve years and I wasn’t about to start needing her now.
On top of the feelings of sadness and hurt there was another feeling, an angry feeling. Before we had even had our fight Miss Susan had refused to listen to me … even when I was trying to help solve a kidnapping. What had she said? Showing off and chasing after trouble again. I stuck my chin out and pulled my shoulders down. Well, we’d just see about that. We would just have to save Jenny ourselves, and then when Miss Susan finally realized just how completely brilliant I was, THEN I would tell her exactly what I thought of her. I spun on my heel and stomped back up towards the castle. I needed to find Kip and Ingrid. We had work to do.
“What do you mean you didn’t tell her?” Ingrid asked when I had found them waiting for me in the castle gardens. She frowned over her glasses at me.
“I mean, she wouldn’t listen,” I said. “I tried to tell her, but she just said I was showing off and chasing mysteries again, and she was too busy and she didn’t have time for me.” I left out the rest of the conversation for obvious reasons. I could already feel hot tears prickling behind my eyelids and I told myself sternly that I could not cry in front of Kip and Ingrid. Then they’d definitely want to know what was going on.
“Oh dear,” Ingrid said glumly. “Well, I think we should try and talk to her again and really make her listen.”
“I told you,” I snapped. “She’s not interested in helping. We’re better off without her.”
Ingrid looked surprised by my outburst. “I only meant—” she began.
“I know what you meant,” I interrupted, and suddenly my voice came out sounding small. “But you weren’t there. She won’t listen. I tried but…” I trailed off miserably.
There was silence then. Kip and Ingrid exchanged a look.
“Are you all right, Poppy?” Kip piped up cautiously. “You seem a bit … well, not yourself.”
“I’m fine,” I said, and I tried to inject a bit more cheerfulness into my voice, “but if Miss Susan isn’t going to take us seriously, we had better solve the whole thing ourselves. It’s the only way to help Jenny and her parents. We just have to find the kidnapper and rescue Jenny. Easy.”
“Oh yeah. Easy,” Kip said, but he smiled and nudged me with his elbow.
“OK,” said Ingrid, taking a deep breath. “Where do we start?”
“Well I think the first thing is to check out the tunnel and the path we didn’t take last night. It might lead to Jenny’s room.” The others nodded. “We’ve got a bit
of free time before dinner – let’s go now!” I added.
They both agreed, and we darted out in the direction of the path – almost bashing into Jack Jenkins who was coming up to the castle, a toolbox in his hand.
“Careful!” he said lightly. “Where are you lot off to?”
“Um – nowhere!” I said, flashing him a ginormous smile. “What are you doing here?”
He grinned. “I’m here to fix a lamp.” He lifted the toolbox and gave it a little shake. “Are you lot sneaking off to get ice cream?” he whispered.
“Yes! Busted!” I whispered back, raising a finger to my lips. “Don’t tell! We’re not supposed to leave the grounds unsupervised.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” he said, moving towards the castle. “Try the sticky toffee cheesecake flavour. It’ll blow your mind.”
We escaped down towards the village. Kip was uncharacteristically silent, his bottom lip stuck out a little. “Is something wrong?” I asked him.
“It’s what Jack said,” he answered despondently.
“I don’t think he’ll tell on us, don’t worry,” I said, trying to be reassuring.
“Not that,” he wailed. “It’s the ice cream! I’ll never make it to S in my alphabetized mission at this rate, and sticky toffee cheesecake flavour sounds AMAZING.”
“Fine,” I said. “One quick ice cream stop and then we solve the mystery.” After all, I reasoned, it was no good trying to fight crime on an empty stomach.
Kip beamed. Moments later we emerged from Honeybee’s clutching waffle cones: sticky toffee cheesecake for me and Ingrid, ginger nut and honeycomb for Kip. “Gahhhhhh!” I mumbled through a delicious mouthful. “This is amazing! Kip, you should definitely have had one!”
“No way!” Kip exclaimed. “If you’re not going to take it seriously and stick to the system then you don’t DESERVE THE ICE CREAM. It’s the only way to be truly scientific about it. Plus,” he added, stuffing his face, “this is pretty good too.” He pulled out a little card from his pocket.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I started keeping a score card with tasting notes, just to be thorough,” he said, and he slurped on his ice cream thoughtfully. “I’m giving this one four out of five for flavour and five out of five for mouth feel.” He handed me his ice cream briefly while he made a note.
“Mouth feel?” I whispered to Ingrid, and she shrugged.
We managed to demolish our cones by the time we reached the entrance to the cave, and I think we were all feeling revived by the health-giving benefits of delicious ice cream. We found the entrance easily enough and this time we knew exactly how to open it. Rolling the rock out of the way we pulled out our trusty torches once more and entered the cave. The stack of tins was still there, and nothing else had been disturbed. There was a familiar groaning sound, and the entrance to the cave sealed behind us. Now the space we were standing in was blacker than black and our torches cut tremulous golden shapes in the darkness.
“Still spooky.” Kip’s voice bounced off the walls, echoing back to us over and over again like the cries of an unhappy ghost.
“Er, yep,” I whispered dryly. “Let’s not make it any worse, eh!”
Kip placed the torch beneath his chin and pulled the most gruesome face he could manage.
Ingrid and I giggled weakly. It would be funnier when we were back out in the sunlight.
Without another word the three of us began making our way up the tunnel until we came to the fork where we had turned right the day before.
“Here goes nothing!” I said, taking the left turn. The tunnel got pretty narrow this way, and the three of us walked in single file, our torches carving an arc of light on the ground in front of us. Then, just as we had before, we reached what appeared to be a dead end – only this time we knew better. “Now, where do you think the secret switch will be?” I muttered, pressing on the different bricks. Finally, one near the bottom moved in slightly, and the wall began to slide silently to the left, revealing a room beyond.
There was no tapestry this time and as we moved forward the door slid closed behind us. Fortunately for us the room appeared to be empty. Unfortunately, it definitely wasn’t Jenny’s bedroom.
“Where are we?” Kip hissed.
“I have no idea,” I whispered. “But I don’t like it.”
Just then, Kip gasped. “Arghhhh!” he cried, his voice shrill. “Is that … a bear?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Kip was right – it was a bear. It stood towering over us in the corner to our left, its mouth open in a ferocious snarl and its claws extended – it was terrifying. Fortunately it was also dead and stuffed. There were many other stuffed animal heads lining one of the long walls. Foxes, badgers and deer with big antlers all stared down at us with glassy, vacant eyes.
“Well, this place isn’t creepy at all,” I muttered sarcastically, then I jumped as a large grandfather clock began to chime four o’clock. (Although maybe chime is the wrong word, it was actually more like a dusty wheeze.)
“But, where are we?” Kip asked again. “This can’t be Jenny’s room.”
“Doesn’t look like a typical seventeen-year-old’s room to me,” I said, looking around. “Unless Jenny’s really into dead stuff.”
The room was high-ceilinged and long, with large windows that were covered in heavy red velvet drapes blocking out most of the sunshine. What little light filtered through had a faintly red glow which only added to the room’s creepy feel. There was some battered but comfortable-looking furniture – a couple of old sofas and armchairs covered in a faded floral pattern drawn near a huge ornate fireplace, and a table on which bottles of alcohol stood next to some glasses. There was also another, smaller table with an old-fashioned telephone next to the sofa, and to the right of us a pile of large, old chests with big iron padlocks. The room was finished off with a number of moth-eaten animal-skin rugs (heads still very much attached).
Ingrid had pulled a sheet of paper from her pocket and was staring at it intently. It was the map that Mr Grant had given us of the castle.
“Given the direction we came in, and the furniture, I think this must be the drawing room,” she said, pointing to the map. “The grown-ups use it, but it’s off limits to us.”
“What a shame.” I shivered, trying to avoid all the different animal eyes that were staring right at me.
“Mmm,” Ingrid nodded. “It’s not very … homely.”
Kip grunted. “Well, that’s a bit of an understatement,” he said, still nervously eyeing up the bear as though he expected it to attack at any moment.
“So this is the drawing room,” I agreed, “but if there’s no entrance into Jenny’s room, that means that we must have been wrong about the kidnapper using the tunnels…” I trailed off, deep in thought. After all this, were the tunnels and the kidnapping unrelated? My brain couldn’t quite work out how everything fitted together – it seemed like there were so many different puzzle pieces to this mystery, and I wasn’t even sure that the puzzle pieces were all from the same puzzle at all.
“Does this mean we are still dealing with ghost smugglers as WELL as kidnappers?” Kip didn’t sound pleased.
“And speaking of smugglers,” I piped up, “do you think THIS is where Henry Redshank came out when he escaped up to the castle?”
Ingrid was looking at the map doubtfully. “I don’t think it can be,” she said. “Not if the cook ran into him where she said she did in the hallway, he’d have had to be behind her. He must have come through the library.”
“But how could he if Moira was in there?” Kip said. “Did he sneak past her?”
Before I could answer the three of us froze, as we heard the sound of two pairs of footsteps coming towards the drawing room. How were we going to explain what we were doing here? We all dived for a hiding place. Ingrid and I rather sensibly threw ourselves behind the two large chests to our right. These were big enough to offer good coverage, and I felt like we were pretty
well hidden. Kip on the other hand decided for some reason to hide behind the stuffed bear. This was sort of OK because the bear was very big, and Kip was very small (please don’t tell him I said that), but it also meant that Kip had to press right up against it, clinging to one enormous leg. He did not look happy about the situation.
The footsteps grew louder, and we heard two different voices.
“Thank you for your help, Jack,” the first one said, and it was the low, beefy voice of Horatio Muggins.
“No problem,” Jack Jenkins replied. “Just a little issue with the wiring.” He must be talking about the lamp he had come up to fix.
“Can I get you a drink?” Horatio asked.
“Let me,” Jack replied. “What will you have?”
“Whisky,” Horatio said, falling back into one of the sofas with a groan.
More footsteps approached, and I heard a voice that made my blood run cold. “Has anyone seen Agatha?” Miss Susan asked, sounding agitated. I felt a wave of muddled-up feelings wash over me, and had to concentrate very hard on keeping my breathing as quiet as possible.
“Nope,” Horatio Muggins replied, taking a swig from his glass. “Get the lady a drink, Jack.”
“Sure. What would you like?” Jack asked politely.
“She likes that horrible sweet sherry,” Horatio answered with a shudder. “Nasty stuff. No one else will touch it.”
“No, thank you,” Miss Susan interrupted. “I don’t want anything. It’s a bit early,” she added pointedly.
