by Laura Wood
“What’s all the commotion?” he asked in his deep, rumbling voice.
“Jenny and Miss Susan have been kidnapped!” Mrs Crockton burst out before anyone could say anything.
Stanley Goodwill and Jack Jenkins both looked shocked. I watched Horatio’s face very carefully. It was difficult to know what he was thinking.
“But – but that’s awful. Just awful!” Stanley Goodwill fretted, his pale watery eyes bulging. “Why would anyone kidnap them?” He turned to Jack as if looking for answers. Jack turned to Horatio who remained as still as a statue.
“It’s a ransom demand,” Bernard said bitterly, his eyes flickering towards Horatio Muggins. “Someone seems to think we have access to two million pounds.”
Horatio frowned.
“We’re not supposed to tell anyone!” Agatha screeched hysterically. “We shouldn’t be talking about it. What if the kidnapper hurts them?”
“Who would do a thing like this?” Jack Jenkins asked, glancing around the room as though looking for any clue.
“An excellent question,” I said, and Kip and Ingrid came to stand either side of me. “And one that I think we know the answer to.” I looked at Kip and Ingrid, who both nodded. This was the right moment. “The game’s up, Horatio Muggins! We know you kidnapped Jenny and Miss Susan. Now tell us where you’ve hidden them!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“What?!” There was a collective gasp and everyone’s eyes swivelled to Horatio’s face. He looked surprised and angry – probably upset that three kids had wrecked his scheme to nab two million pounds.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, roughly.
“Ahhhh! You deny it?” I cried, really getting into the role of a detective revealing her solution to the mystery.
“Deny what?” he snapped menacingly. “Kidnapping? Yes, as it happens, I do.”
“What – what are you talking about, children?” Agatha stuttered. “You think that Mr Muggins had something to do with this?”
“We don’t think!” exclaimed Kip. “We know!”
“We overheard him,” Ingrid said nodding.
“There’s no wriggling out of this one, Muggins,” I said, doing my best Dougie Valentine impression. “Your goose is well and truly cooked!”
“My goose?” Muggins looked really confused now, and I worried that he wasn’t playing his part very well. In Dougie Valentine when the criminal is accused they get angry and reveal their whole evil plot. “What are you lot on about?” Muggins said instead, scratching his head.
“We heard you on the phone,” I said, a little less confidently now. “You said you were going to get the money from the Booths, that they had no choice but to agree to your terms. We know that you’re the kidnapper! But you won’t get away with it on our watch!” I folded my arms, striking a triumphant pose, and Kip and Ingrid followed suit.
Horatio Muggins rubbed his hand over his face. “Well, this is what you get for listening in to other people’s conversations that don’t concern you,” he said finally. “I’m NOT a kidnapper. I work for a bank.”
“What?!” I yelped.
Agatha and Bernard were nodding wearily. “It’s true, Poppy,” Agatha said. “We didn’t want everyone to know because we were embarrassed, but we borrowed a lot of money from the bank to renovate parts of the castle and the campsite.” (Me, Kip and Ingrid already knew this fact, of course, but only through listening in on another private conversation between Miss Susan and Agatha in her study and so I thought it best to pretend that this was brand-new information.)
“This is brand-new information,” I said loudly.
Agatha gave me a funny look, but continued. “The bank sent Horatio to stay with us for a couple of weeks to oversee the project, and to determine if the castle was worth further investment.”
“Which it is, by the way,” Horatio added, with just a ghost of a smile. And for a second Agatha and Bernard looked almost happy, until they remembered what was going on. “So I’d be the last one to make ransom demands,” he said. “I knew that the Booths didn’t have that sort of cash, in fact I was trying to get them an extension on their loan so that they’d have the time to get the campsite up and running.”
“But … but you made a threat,” I said desperately. “You said that no one had been hurt yet, but that they had to take it seriously!”
Muggins looked puzzled for a moment, then his brow cleared. “I was talking about health and safety regulations,” he said. “We need to make sure everything’s bang up to code.”
I was stunned. Horatio Muggins was innocent!
“But what about the inheritance?” Fuddling burst out suddenly, startled out of his usual stoney-faced silence.
“There is no inheritance,” Bernard replied, “just the castle and a whole heap of bills.”
“So Ada Booth … lied to me?” Fuddling murmured.
“And it serves you right, you old grump,” Mrs Crockton snapped. “You ought to be ashamed of the way you’ve been sulking around.”
Fuddling really did look ashamed now. “I’m sorry, sir, madam,” he said with a little bow towards Agatha and Bernard. “I thought you were withholding my own inheritance from me, I thought you were being stingy, not hiring any extra help. I didn’t realize…”
“Oh, Fuddling.” Agatha sighed. “I wish you had said something sooner. We would never do anything like that!”
“I see that now, madam.” Fuddling was going a bit pink around the edges. “I apologize.”
“Well, this is all very interesting,” said Mr Grant, his voice taut and anxious, “but we’re no closer to finding out who has Jenny and Elaine.” He turned to Agatha. “I know you’re scared, but I think now it might be time to call in the police.”
“Oh, but we can’t,” Agatha wailed. “What if the kidnapper hurts them?”
“Yes,” Jack Jenkins cut in, “if the note says no police, then maybe we should do as it says. We don’t want anyone to get hurt.” There was panic in his voice; he was obviously as shaken as the rest of us.
Mrs Crockton nodded. “It would be terrible to do anything to put them in greater danger,” she added.
“But what else can we do?” Mr Grant said, pacing restlessly around the room.
“I can’t bear this!” Agatha screeched. “I hate it here, Bernard. I hate this place! As soon as we get Jenny back safely we have to leave. I can’t stand to be here for another moment. It’s been nothing but misery for us.”
Stanley stepped forward and put a hand on Agatha’s shoulder. “There, there,” he said gently. “You’ve had a difficult time; you can only do what’s best for your poor family.”
“We can’t just leave, Agatha.” Bernard looked anguished. “We’ve worked so hard. We’ve invested everything…” He was drowned out by the sound of his wife’s sobs. Bernard seemed to crumple, and he stared helplessly at his wife. “You’re right,” he whispered. “Don’t worry, Aggie. We’ll get Jenny back and then we can leave this place behind.”
“But this doesn’t help us with our immediate problem,” Mr Grant’s voice cut through their conversation. “Which is how are we going to track down Jenny and Elaine in the first place?”
I felt my stomach tighten. If Horatio Muggins wasn’t the criminal then I didn’t know who was. And that meant that I didn’t know who had Miss Susan or where they had taken her. My breath started coming in short, sharp gulps.
“Are you OK, Poppy?” Ingrid asked.
“I need to get some air,” I whispered.
“We’ll come too,” Kip replied, but I shook my head. I needed a minute or two to myself.
“I’ll come right back,” I said. “Don’t worry.”
With that I ducked out of the room and down the corridor, through the entrance hall and out the front door, where I sat down on the big stone steps, sucking in big lungfuls of fresh, salty air. Outside it was hard to believe it was still sunny, although the early evening air was a little chilly. I shivered. I still felt sick a
nd panicky. What if something happened to Miss Susan? I still had so many questions. I was angry, but that didn’t mean I wanted anything bad to happen to her. I felt all muddled up inside like a tumble dryer full of sad and scared feelings. Tears were running down my face, and I didn’t seem to be able to stop them.
“Poppy?” I heard Ingrid’s voice and turned to see her and Kip standing uncertainly behind me.
“I told you not to come,” I said angrily, dashing the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand.
“Sorry, Poppy, we just wanted to see if you were OK … and to talk about what we should do next,” Kip stammered.
“I don’t know what we should do next!” I said, and my voice was trembling. “I don’t know what to do. Everything’s such a mess.”
“Poppy…” Ingrid began, reaching out towards me, but I cut her off.
“I’m fine!” I said, panicking as I felt another wave of tears building up inside me. “I’m FINE. Please … just leave me alone.”
“OK,” said Ingrid quietly. “If that’s what you want.” She turned and left, tugging an uncharacteristically speechless Kip along behind her.
I kicked at the gravel and felt the tears burning my eyes again. I sat down on the step and pulled my knees up to my chest until I was in a tight little ball, and then I cried big body-shaking cries until there were no tears left in me. What was I doing? How could I be so mean to my best friends? And where was Miss Susan? Where was my mother? Had I really just found her, only to lose her again?
Eventually, when my big tears had turned into snotty, snuffling noises, I came to a decision. It was time to come clean to Kip and Ingrid. None of this was their fault and I just hoped they could forgive me for being so terrible. Together, I knew, we could find Miss Susan and Jenny. We could fix everything.
I took a shuddering breath and stared out across the grounds. Idly I noticed Annabelle in the distance. She was walking away from the castle with a spring in her step. It seemed strange that she looked so carefree when all this craziness was erupting everywhere else.
“What are you crying for?” A sing-songy voice at my shoulder made me jump. “Have you finally realized what a loser you are?”
I swung round, my gaze spinning from her to the figure strolling through the castle grounds. “Annabelle!” I exclaimed. “How can there be two of you?”
Annabelle tipped her head to one side and gave me a long look.
“Is this some sort of trick?” she said, suspiciously. “One of your weird little magic games? Well, not interested, freak.”
“No,” I gasped, “I just…” I turned to where I had seen Annabelle standing only seconds earlier. Only, of course, it wasn’t Annabelle at all. The girl turned and waved. Same ponytail, same clothes… It was Barbie, and Annabelle skipped off to meet her, muttering darkly about weirdos and losers. “Sorry,” I called, half laughing and half crying because my feelings were so muddled. “I thought there were two of you, but luckily there’s still only one!”
And just like that the final piece of a one-thousand-piece jigsaw of a clear blue sky fell neatly into place. Suddenly, I knew what had happened to Henry Redshank. I knew the truth. “I thought there were two of you, but there’s only one,” I whispered. I could hear Doris’s voice going round and round in my head. The easiest way to disappear someone is if they were never there in the first place. Of course there was no Henry Redshank. There never had been, because Henry Redshank was Moira Booth.
CHAPTER THIRTY
How had she done it? I wondered. How had Moira Booth tricked them all? Henry Redshank had been her all along, dressing up like a man and having all sorts of swashbuckling adventures with Tom. She must have locked herself in the library that night, pretended to have an argument and shouted through the door in both voices while she took off her disguise and got rid of it somehow. It was genius. But something was nagging at my brain: Pym’s premonition about the pistol. How had Moira hidden it? She had definitely had one, but no gun was found in the search of the library so she must have stowed it somewhere. The answer flashed across my brain like the most incredible lightning in a stormy sky. There must have been a secret hiding place in the library. Something small, something just big enough to stow these things way, something no one had found in over two hundred years.
I made my way back into the castle and noticed immediately that the library door was ajar. All the grown-ups were still in the drawing room and I simply couldn’t resist. I had to know if I was right. I hurried in and pulled the door firmly shut behind me. Over the fireplace the portrait of Moira Booth watched me with a mischievous twinkle. “You were one seriously cool lady,” I whispered, and I could have sworn her almost-smiling mouth turned up even further. “Now where is your secret hiding place?” I stared thoughtfully at the portrait, examining every detail. It was almost, I thought, as though she was looking at something with that secret smile. Perhaps it was silly, but I stood back and followed her eye line. The portrait was looking straight at one of the old, carved bookshelves.
I made my way over and began running my hands over the shelves, looking closely for any sign of a hidden compartment. It was then that I noticed a small knot in the woodwork. Pressing my fingers against it I felt something click and a small drawer opened in the shelf. My heart was pounding. Had I found it? I carefully eased the drawer open and looking inside I caught my breath. What I saw was an old-fashioned pistol and a fragile-looking envelope. As carefully as I could, I gingerly moved the gun aside, and with trembling fingers lifted the envelope gently from the drawer. It felt like tissue paper in my hand. My legs were shaking and I sat down in a nearby armchair, staring at the yellowing paper. I gently opened the envelope and extracted its contents. A letter! When I saw the words written there I felt my heart stutter.
The mystery was truly solved! It all finally made sense now. I felt a smile spreading across my face. What a woman! I definitely had a new hero. Moira Booth was just about the coolest person I had ever heard of. Disguising herself as a man and running around having all these adventures – Brilliant! I wondered if she and Tom Redshank ever met again? As the letter was still in the drawer it seemed unlikely. The thought made me sad.
I looked down at the letter again, and my attention turned to the PS. My detective instincts were kicking in once more. Moira mentioned a message from Tom carved into the tunnel … but we hadn’t found that and I felt certain we would have noticed such a clue. Did that mean… Could that mean … there was another tunnel? A secret passage that we hadn’t found yet! It seemed that the other tunnels had been used in the kidnapping; was it possible that this new one would reveal where Miss Susan and Jenny were being hidden? If so there was no time to lose. Carefully, I returned Moira’s letter to its hiding place. I couldn’t wait to tell Kip and Ingrid about it later – if they were still talking to me, that is.
I crept from the library, closing the door behind me and checking that no one was around. The coast was clear. I stood with my hands on my hips. Where could the hidden tunnel be? Unfortunately, I knew the answer was that it could be anywhere in the enormous castle. I almost shouted out in frustration. I was so close to solving this thing, I could feel it. I just knew that our two mysteries were linked together. Now I knew the truth about Moira and somehow I felt as if she had guided me to this second tunnel. Surely I was missing something. It was then that I remembered Mrs Crockton’s ghost. That was it! The final clue I needed. There was no way the ghost of Henry Redshank was haunting the castle … not if Henry Redshank was Moira Booth all along. Perhaps Mrs Crockton hadn’t seen a ghost disappearing through the wall at all. Perhaps, just like with the disappearance of Henry Redshank, there was a much less supernatural explanation. What if it hadn’t been a ghost, but a person disappearing into the secret passageway? Hadn’t Mrs Crockton said that the air had got a little colder before the ghost disappeared? Almost as though it was creating a draught by opening a secret door! Moving as stealthily as possible I made my way across the hall to the di
ning room. A quick look here and in the kitchen revealed that the grown-ups must still be in the drawing room formulating a plan. Well, I thought, hopefully they won’t have to worry for much longer.
Mrs Crockton had seen the ghost through the open kitchen door, so I ran to the wall opposite. I began frantically pressing on the stones there. My blood was pumping and I knew with all of my mystery-solving instincts that I was on the right path. Finally, a small stone moved beneath my fingers and with the tiniest click the wall began to slide sideways. If I had had a moustache I would have twirled it right there and then, but I had to make do with a tiny fist pump instead. Staring into the gloom ahead, I knew that all the answers I was searching for lay inside.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Fortunately, I had learnt my lesson from earlier, and the first thing I had done on returning to the castle was to put my little torch in the pocket of my shorts. I clicked it on and stepped through into the tunnel, the door swinging shut behind me. Straight away I saw something that made my heart skip a beat. Scratched into the side of the tunnel in jagged letter were the words
THANK YOU
And the letters TH and MB carved into a heart.
TR and MB – Tom Redshank, and Moira Booth! It was amazing to finally understand a story that had baffled people for hundreds of years. I traced my fingers over the shallow scrawl. I guess Tom hadn’t had a lot of time to write anything more eloquent, what with the customs officers after him and an escape to plan. I shivered as I imagined the scene – easy to do in the cold, dark tunnel that was exactly as it would have been 250 years ago. It was so strange to think that all these people were real people, and not just characters in a story – that they had stood here, scared and hurt. I was glad that Tom had got away, and that Moira had managed to help him. Their story was a real love story, one full of adventure and near-death experiences – all soppy romances should have more of those, I decided.
