Octavia Bloom and the Missing Key (Through The Fairy Door Book 1)
Page 1
First published in the UK in 2020 by Inlustris Publishing, Wales
Text © Estelle Grace Tudor, 2020
Cover designed by 100 Covers © Map by Adam Charters ©
‘Wattle’ Artwork by Adam Tudor ©
Interior formatting and design by Evenstar Books ©
Inlustris Publishing, 2020
The right of Estelle Grace Tudor to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Paperback ISBN 978 1 8380292 0 3
E-book ISBN 978 1 8380292 1 0
Hardback ISBN 978 1 8380292 2 7
For my magic ones…
Dean, Adam, Chloe,
Nathan & Jake.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Glossary of Names
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Chapter One
Hide-and-Seek
Crouched down, quiet as a mouse, Octavia Bloom was holding her breath.
The dust floating like glitter in the old attic was tickling her nose. Laughter bubbled up inside her, which she quickly suppressed by biting down on her lip. It wouldn’t do to make a noise and give away her position as she hid behind the old striped sofa. If she kept quiet, she was certain to win this round of hide-and-seek. Her sister and cousins wouldn’t think to look up here. The attic at Grandmother’s house was strictly forbidden.
Well, it was a castle, rather than a house, cut into the craggy cliffs of the Cornish coast. Checking that she was still alone, Octavia crept over to the arched window and looked down at the thundering waves below. As she stared at the swirling water, she imagined great battles being fought and terrifying pirates having many adventures here. Octavia wasn’t afraid, though; she was nearly ten, thank you very much. This wasn’t the first time she had sneaked up to the attic, looking for adventures of her own. At this very moment her pocket was stuffed with handfuls of moss and her little doll. The patch of weak sunlight underneath the window was perfect for playing fairyland in.
Nibbling absentmindedly on a biscuit she had snatched from the kitchen, she thought about which part of the castle to explore next time. There was certainly much to discover in this draughty old castle – secret nooks and winding tunnels, perfect for a game of hide-and-seek. The last time Octavia had been hiding in Grandmother’s bedroom, she had fallen against a brick sticking out of the wall near the window. It had pushed into the wall, revealing a secret drawer in the window seat. In it was her grandmother’s charm bracelet and some pieces of crinkled parchment. Octavia wiped the crumbs from her mouth as she remembered the drawings of exotic-looking flowers she had seen on the top sheet. That wasn’t really surprising; her grandmother was a keen gardener and spent many hours with her hands wrist-deep in soil in the Castle hot-house.
Deep in thought, Octavia jumped as a hand clamped down onto her shoulder.
“Found you!” a gleeful voice sing-songed. Octavia looked up to see her older sister, Felicity.
“How did you find me?” she asked, disappointed that her little hideaway had been found.
Felicity frowned, shaking the dust from her cotton skirt. “You left the door ajar, silly! Now come on – you know we’re not allowed up here. We promised Grandmother, and we don’t want her to tell Mum and Dad that we’re not sticking to her rules.”
Octavia pulled a face. “I don’t see why we have to follow the rules at all. If Mum and Dad didn’t go off every school holiday, they could be here having fun with us.”
Felicity looked at Octavia and sighed, before explaining for what Octavia felt was the hundredth time. “You know they go on important research trips with Aunt and Uncle. They have their company to run and natural medicines to make that help people, Tavi,” she admonished, hands on her hips.
“I know that,” Octavia said with exasperation, “but I wish just once they’d take us with them. I’d love to explore a steamy rainforest or visit the far east.” Her expression grew dreamy as she imagined the adventures she would have.
Felicity threw up her hands, and a smile twitched at the corner of her lips. “Come on. It’s nearly teatime, and Martha and Beatrice have already gone down.”
At the mention of their twelve-year-old twin cousins, Octavia gave a cheeky grin. “They always follow Grandmother’s rules.”
Felicity rolled her eyes, but didn’t comment as she grabbed Octavia’s hand and pulled her towards the small, wooden door.
With a yelp, they let go of each other’s hands as a spark of static leapt between them and shot like a beam into a dark corner of the attic, where it illuminated the skirting board, reflecting off an old, discoloured gilt mirror.
Felicity gulped. “You saw that too?” she asked.
Octavia nodded mutely. Curiosity getting the better of her, she made her way across to the glittering corner.
“Tavi, don’t…” Felicity whispered.
Octavia knelt, running her hands over the skirting board, where the glimmer solidified into a tiny door surrounded with climbing ivy and flowers.
“Fliss, look at this,” she breathed.
Felicity hesitated, then joined her sister. “Where did that come from?” she asked, her green eyes wide.
Octavia tentatively tried to turn the miniature golden door handle.
“It’s locked, but – wait, what’s this?” She pointed at a miniscule scroll of parchment in front of the door. The sisters looked at each other. Just as Octavia reached out to take it, a shout echoed along the corridor and up the stairwell.
“Octavia! Felicity!”
Octavia picked up the little scroll and hastily shoved it into the pocket of her shorts, where it nestled between the moss, biscuit crumbs and doll. The sisters scrambled to their feet in terror, running for the doorway, Octavia almost tripping over the untied lace of her trainer. They burst through it together, and Felicity paused to close the attic door firmly behind them. They tiptoed down the wooden steps into the shadowy stone corridor. Looking around, they darted into the nearest room to catch their breaths and watched dark clouds roll in over the sea, visible from the large, arched window.
Moments later, the door was flung open as a tall, austere, silver-haired woman glared into the room.
“Girls, where have you been? I have been looking the length and breadth of this Castle – and look at the state of your clothes!”
“S-sorry, Grandmother, we were playing hide-and-seek and didn’t hear you,” Felicity stuttered, looking sideways at Octavia and shaking her head slightly.
Evelyn Bloom, the girls’ grandmother, ran a tight ship and afternoon tea was at 3.30pm sharp.
When Octavia had re-tied her laces, she and Felicity meekly followed their grandmother down to the drawing room where Martha and Beatrice, their summer dresses spotless and blonde braids shining, sat at the table. They cast curious glances at their cousins, who both shook their heads.
“Later,” mouthed Felicity, taking her seat opposite them.
As she passed by, Octavia patted the head of Bronwen, her Old English sheepdog, who gazed up at her with adoring eyes. Sitting down, she sneakily took a biscuit and fed it to Bronwen, who took it gently and lay down under the table, crunching on it as quietly as she could. Octavia was so glad to have Bronwen at the Castle too; it was comforting to have a piece of home with her.
Pouring tea from an ornate black and gold teapot, Grandmother speared the girls with an intense look.
“I have some news,” she announced. “My sister, your Great-Aunt Clara, will be coming to stay. She has had a leak in her river boat and needs somewhere to stay whilst it is being repaired.” This last sentence was uttered with a twist to the lips, as if the words had left a bad taste in her mouth. The sisters were as unalike as Octavia and Felicity were. Octavia, with her flaming tresses coming loose from her braids to wave in wisps around her heart-shaped face, was a free spirit who regularly arrived at the tea table with a smudge on her nose and a gleam in her eye. Felicity, who disliked dirt and took pride in her ebony locks, always keeping them tidy in a French braid, had a lot more in common with their older cousins.
“When will Great-Aunt Clara arrive, Grandmother?” Martha asked politely, taking an iced bun from the china cake stand. She dropped it abruptly as there came a clatter from the hall.
An indistinct voice muttered, “Who put that clanking suit of armour there?”
Grandmother raised her eyebrows in dismay. “I fear that should answer your question, Martha, dear.” She placed her napkin upon the table and rose as a squat lady appeared in the doorway, drenched from head to toe and laden down with an odd assortment of bags. A knobbly walking stick and a gilded golden cage topped off the ensemble, the latter of which housed a red squirrel, its bright eyes fixed upon the tea table.
“You are dripping all over the Axminster carpet.” Grandmother sighed.
“Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist, Evy!” Great-Aunt Clara boomed, her loud voice in sharp contrast to her diminutive size. “It’s raining cats and dogs outside – not that you would notice, locked up here in your mighty fortress. And besides, it’s about time this draughty old castle was brought up to date. We’re nearly in 1990, for goodness’ sake – it still looks like how Mummy and Daddy had it decorated in the fifties!” She aimed a wink at the four gobsmacked girls, dropped her bags, and bent to unlock the cage.
“Do not let that animal out!” hissed Grandmother, backing away, almost knocking into the table in her haste.
“Evy, you know perfectly well Rowan here is the perfect gentleman and has excellent table manners.” Great-Aunt Clara gently lifted out the squirrel and placed him onto her shoulder.
Bronwen rose her shaggy head and eyed Rowan with interest. The two animals stared at each other for a moment before Bronwen gave the equivalent of a doggy shrug and laid her head back on her paws. Rowan tilted his head in apparent satisfaction and resumed his appraisal of the tea table. Open-mouthed, Octavia watched the exchange, enjoying the unexpected teatime diversion.
Taking a napkin and rubbing her frizzy, steel-grey hair dry, much to the horror of Grandmother, Great-Aunt Clara sat herself down and looked closely at the four girls.
“Well now, let me get a good look at you. I haven’t seen you all since you were babies,” she said, curious eyes shining. She beamed brightly. “Of course, you are Martha and Beatrice: you have the look of your dear mother Anastasia, with your golden hair.”
She turned to look at Felicity and Octavia, the latter of which had gone off into a daydream, already planning to sneak off back to the attic and investigate the tiny door. Her fingers were itching to take out the little scroll and read it.
“Felicity, I would recognize your lovely raven hair anywhere. I had never seen such a shock of hair on such a small baby before.” She smiled. “And Octavia – you were still in Genevieve’s tummy when I came to visit, but Evy wrote to tell me you had the Blooms’ fiery hair.” She nodded proudly. “In every generation, up crops a little girl with copper curls. We’re the magic ones,” she added with a wink.
“Now, Clara, don’t go filling the child’s head with nonsense!” Grandmother ordered, placing a cup of steaming tea in front of her sister.
“Oh, you’re cross because you had Dad’s mousey hair,” Great-Aunt Clara chortled, helping herself to a generous slice of carrot cake. Crumbling a piece onto a saucer, she held it up to Rowan, who nibbled delicately.
Octavia, who had been snapped out of her reverie, watched this larger-than-life character with utter fascination. Magic! She knew there was something in the air; she’d been able to feel it in her fingers ever since the miniscule, glittering door had appeared. Tingling and sparking like electricity. She had to get back to the attic!
Unable to contain her excitement, Octavia wriggled in her chair until Grandmother, irritated, snapped, “Octavia, please sit still.”
Absentmindedly brushing crumbs from her lap, Great-Aunt Clara asked, with a sideways glance at her sister, “When is your birthday, Octavia? You are nearly ten, are you not?”
“Yes, I’ll be ten on October the fourteenth,” Octavia confirmed.
Her Great-Aunt jolted as if she’d been stung. “October the fourteenth…” she quavered. “What a coincidence.” Rowan placed a tiny paw on her cheek, which had paled abruptly.
“How so?” Octavia asked, leaning forwards, confusion shimmering in her violet-blue eyes.
Grandmother stared from her sister to Octavia, then swiftly checked the tiny watch attached to her gold charm bracelet. “Is that the time? You may be excused, girls,” she said in a clipped, no-nonsense voice.
Great-Aunt Clara was staring into space as the girls placed their napkins on the table and pushed back their chairs. They cast curious glances her way as they walked toward the door.
Great-Aunt Clara’s voice floated behind them. “We must talk. It’s time we told them—”
Octavia slowed her steps as she heard Grandmother hiss, “Not now!”
Grandmother caught up with them and ushered them from the room. “Ask Mrs Fawcett to come and clear away the tea things,” she ordered, closing the door behind them with a snap.
When Beatrice had come back from speaking to Mrs Fawcett, the housekeeper, the four girls burst into a run up the wide staircase, Bronwen at their feet, sliding on the shiny flagstones as they entered the room which housed their ‘secret hideout’. An ornate Chinese screen separated half of the room, which overlooked the tumbling waves. Behind the screen was an assortment of tapestry cushions and faded velvet bed throws. The girls and Bronwen threw themselves down upon them.
“What was that all about?” Felicity started, but Octavia, bursting with excitement, jumped in.
“Oh, never mind that! You’ll never guess what we found!” she directed at Martha and Beatrice.
Martha sniffed, trying to feign indifference; Beatrice looked eager, but she always wanted to please Martha, so she said nothing. Without waiting for a response, Octavia ploughed on.
“It was a tiny golden door hidden in the attic.”
Martha and Beatrice exchanged looks. Octavia was renowned for having an overactive imagination.
“Tell them, Fliss! You saw it too.”
Felicity nodded. “It appeared on the skirting board with little flowers woven all around it.”
Vibrat
ing with excitement, Octavia withdrew the tiny scroll from her pocket, brushed bits of moss and biscuit crumbs from it, and said, “Look, this was outside the door.” The four girls bent over the scroll, heads touching, the lamplight bringing out golden flecks in their hair.
“Time is running out…” they read together. What could it mean? Bewildered, they looked at each other.
“I think we should go back to the attic and investigate,” Octavia announced. The other three girls shook their heads, and Bronwen gave a grumbling growl in disagreement.
“We cannot risk Grandmother finding us,” Martha vetoed. Martha, as the eldest, always tried to make the younger ones – especially Octavia – abide by the rules.
“Then we’ll go at midnight, when she is sure to be asleep,” Octavia said. She placed her hand in the centre, waiting. Felicity, after a moment’s hesitation, placed hers on top. Martha, with a shrug, placed hers on top of Felicity’s. Beatrice quickly followed suit. Bronwen added her heavy paw and, giggling, Octavia went on, “It’s agreed; we’ll meet in the corridor outside of our rooms at midnight. Don’t forget to bring torches.”
Back in her room, Octavia turned the little scroll over in her hands, mesmerised by the tiny writing, the golden ink shining. What could it all mean?
Chapter Two
Midnight Magic
“Ow! That was my foot!” Martha moaned, bending to rub her foot, thickly encased in pink fuzzy socks. Bronwen guiltily shuffled out of range of Martha’s glare.
“Shh!” hissed Felicity, looking around the corner to check the coast was clear. The four girls and Bronwen crept along the corridor and up to the next floor towards the attic, their torches casting an eerie glow that illuminated the stone floor. Suits of armour and faded tapestries lined the walls, seeming to loom over the girls as they passed by. The girls moved closer to Bronwen at a skittering noise behind them. Pausing, they looked around for the source of the noise.