The Magpie Society One for Sorrow

by Amy McCulloch

  ‘It’s a trapdoor,’ I say, marvelling at the ingenuity.

  ‘It was,’ Audrey replies. ‘Wherever it led, it doesn’t go there now.’

  She’s right. There are some boards buried deep in the ground at uneven levels that look like they might once have been a staircase, but the tunnel – or whatever it was – is blocked by earth and dirt. It’s impossible for us to get any further. I don’t know whether to feel disappointed or elated. ‘You know what this means though?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There was a Magpie Society. All those steps lead here. Maybe this was a hideout or a meeting place or something.’

  ‘A long time ago.’

  ‘Maybe, but it was here.’ I lean forward and shake one of the old planks, and to my surprise it comes loose, revealing a shallow cavity.

  ‘Is there anything in there?’ Audrey asks. She jams the phone closer so the light goes all the way back into the hole and instantly we spot something. ‘What is it? I’m not putting my arm in there, Ivy! You grab it!’

  I put my arm into the gap and pull out what looks like an old journal, wrapped in plastic. The cover is so thick with dust that I can’t see anything. Using the cuff of my sleeve, I wipe it down. Underneath the layers of dirt and dust is a scribble of pen – no, it’s a magpie. Beneath the magpie drawing, I can just about make out the words ILLUMEN HALL: 1897 debossed into the old, dusty, red leather case.

  I carefully unwrap it from the plastic and open the first page. Audrey squeals excitedly. ‘It looks like a yearbook! A super-old one at that.’

  She’s right. As I flick through each page, I’m met with the black-and-white faces of students in old school photographs.

  ‘Wait, stop!’ Audrey says. I look down and almost drop the book in shock.

  In the middle of the rows and rows of students’ faces, unmistakable even in the gloom, is the picture of a girl who looks exactly like Lola.

  32

  Ivy

  Although the photos aren’t very clear, the likeness is uncanny.

  ‘Is that Lola?’ Audrey asks. ‘Surely not?’

  We look at one another in shock, and then back at the photo.

  ‘No, it can’t be. This yearbook is from 1897 …’ I turn the book over and look at the cover again to be sure. Then I flick back to the photo. ‘And this girl’s name is Lily Ellory. Look at this.’

  Underneath her photo is a handwritten scrawl. When I show Audrey, her hand flies to her mouth. It’s eerily quiet between us. The only noise is the evening birdsong and the distant crashing of waves against the cliffs.

  ‘Can you read that?’ As Audrey holds the phone light over the writing, I notice her hand is shaking slightly.

  ‘I can’t quite make it out – her writing’s so small and scribbly.’ I squint at the page. ‘The year I almost died,’ I read aloud. ‘I owe all my … things? Thanks? THANKS – I owe all my thanks to the … magpies.’

  ‘This must be something to do with the Magpie Society!’ At that moment, Audrey’s phone battery dies, leaving us sitting in semi-darkness among cobwebs and cold stone.

  ‘Oh crap.’ Audrey grabs my arm.

  ‘Let’s go.’ I shove the book into my bag and replace the slab with the etching. Just as we close the door behind us, we hear a deep voice and see torchlight flicker nearby.

  ‘Oi! Someone there?’ It’s Mr Tavistock. If he catches us, he will lose it.

  Audrey drops to the ground like she’s in the army and we’ve come under fire.

  ‘Let’s crawl around back,’ she whispers as she starts shuffling along the ground as close to the building as possible so as not to get stuck in the foliage. Together we reach the back of the outhouse and wait until the coast is clear. But, just as we’re about to leg it back across the field, we come face to face with him. We scream in unison as he appears in front of us, his features accentuated by the moonlight.

  ‘You shouldn’t be out here.’ His voice is low and angry. I’ve never heard him use that tone with me before.

  ‘Sorry, we were just watching the bats. It’s part of our research for … er … science,’ Audrey chips in quickly.

  ‘Yeah, we’re learning about migration,’ I add.

  ‘Well, Jesus, watch them from somewhere else. That building could have fallen down on you both any second! It’s old and crumbling. Don’t go back in there.’ He clutches his hand to his chest like he’s waiting for his heart to stop thumping.

  ‘You’re right – we won’t go back in. Sorry, Mr T!’ I smile at him as we turn to walk back to the school.

  ‘You won’t catch many bats around this time of year; they’re flying south or hibernating. You might spot some in my cottage garden if you hurry – there’s this huge, beautiful beech tree they roosted in over the summer. I can make you a cup of tea too.’

  Audrey looks at me with alarm and shakes her head.

  ‘That’d be great!’ I say enthusiastically.

  Audrey pulls me back and whispers, ‘Not a good idea. I’ve heard strange things about this gardener guy.’

  ‘Trust me, Audrey, he’s completely harmless. Plus, he might have some info about the Magpie Society. He’s been at the school longer than anyone.’

  She sighs as we follow him back to his cottage.

  ‘OK, fine, but I do have one very important question before we go any further.’ Audrey looks at me, her face full of concern. ‘How do I stop my hands from stinging so bad?’

  She rubs them together frantically as I laugh. ‘We need to find you a dock leaf to rub on them …’

  She looks back at me, half smiling. ‘What the hell is a dock leaf?’

  ‘This.’ I bend down and pluck a broad, ruffled, dark green leaf from a plant on the ground.

  Audrey stares at it with scepticism, then snatches it from my hand. ‘You know, half the time I’m not sure whether to trust you, Ivy Moore-Zhang.’

  ‘Just a little further, girls,’ says Mr Tavistock as he points down a path overhung with long, wispy branches.

  ‘When have I ever led you astray?’ I reply with a grin.

  ‘You haven’t. But each path looks spookier than the last – and I’m not sure I like where this is going.’

  33

  Audrey

  When we arrive, I’m pleasantly surprised. Mr Tavistock’s cottage looks like it could have been plucked from a fairy-tale picture book. The bricks are worn and mismatched in size and colour, but somehow they seem to work together perfectly. A thatched roof overhangs the entrance, and vines crawl up a trellis. Under the moonlight, it looks positively quaint. Now this is more like the vision of England I’d had before I arrived.

  Inside, it’s warm and cosy. It’s sparsely decorated, with a threadbare rug on the floor and a battered leather armchair that I’m sure must have come from one of the old common rooms. Everything’s very neatly arranged and immaculately tidy.

  ‘Tea? I just put the kettle on before I heard the commotion you girls were making outside.’

  ‘Sure,’ I say hesitantly.

  ‘Yes, please,’ says Ivy. ‘But let me make it. You sit down.’

  Mr Tavistock smiles gratefully and settles into his leather armchair. I perch on a footstool as Ivy heads into the kitchen. Almost on cue, a loud whistle sounds from the stove-top kettle. I can see Ivy pottering around in there, choosing teacups from the cupboard above the sink, grabbing milk and sugar and arranging it all on a tray. She even finds cookies to put on a little plate. It’s like she’s right at home. I stare at her. But then my eyes drift around the room. There are lots of old black-and-white photographs of the school, at different stages of development. I even spot the canteen being built, the huge glass structure just a pile of steel beams in one photograph. It’s like a time capsule.

  Ivy comes back into the living room with the tray and Mr Tavistock pokes the fire with a metal rod.

  As I settle into the comforting warmth of the room, I’m wondering why I ever believed the stories about Mr Tavistock being creepy. He lo
oks tired but friendly, and he’s clearly very attached to the school. Ivy rearranges his cushions so that he’s comfortable, then kneels down at the low wooden table and pours the tea.

  After his first sip, Mr Tavistock turns to us – as if the Earl Grey blend has boosted the sharpness in his eyes and woken his mind. There’s a twinkle there that was missing before. ‘So, what have you girls really been up to? Don’t tell me that bat story again – I know better than that.’

  ‘Yeah, that was a bit of a stretch. Actually … we were studying this.’ Ivy whips out the yearbook from her bag. I immediately raise my eyebrows at her. Should she really be discussing that with him?

  ‘Where did you get that?’

  ‘We found it in the library,’ Ivy says. ‘And there was a picture of that outbuilding in it, so we thought we’d check it out – since it looks so different.’

  Ah, so she’s not going to tell the truth about everything.

  Ivy continues. ‘Do you know what that outbuilding was used for?’

  ‘Oh, it’s been abandoned for a long time. I think it used to be a cottage for another gardener, but it was condemned after a small fire and then left to crumble.’

  ‘We’re also trying to find out who this woman was …’ I open the page with the Lola lookalike.

  Mr Tavistock studies the photograph for so long, I almost think he’s fallen asleep. But then he closes the book and places it gently down on his lap. ‘Oh yes, I know the story of Lily Ellory. She was the first female pupil to attend Illumen Hall.’

  ‘Really?’ Ivy asks. ‘That’s so interesting.’

  ‘Yes, it would have taken a lot of courage for her to come to the school at that time.’

  ‘And what about the little note? Do you know what that means … about the magpies?’

  He shakes his head. ‘I don’t know a thing about that, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say.

  ‘That’s a shame,’ says Ivy, almost at the same time and our shoulders slump simultaneously. Every time we think there’s a lead, it slips through our fingers.

  ‘But Ellory. Yes. Ellory … There’s a few interesting stories there.’

  ‘The likeness to Lola really is amazing,’ Ivy says in a half-whisper. ‘Was she related to the Radcliffes at all?’

  He shrugs. ‘I don’t know. If you’re interested in learning more about her, I think Lily Ellory’s granddaughter still lives in the village. Be worth asking around the market to find her.’

  ‘Great, we will,’ I say more brightly.

  ‘Just remember that curiosity can be a tricky companion, a bit like Shadow here,’ he says. His black cat, lithe and strong, springs up into his lap when Mr Tavistock says his name. ‘It might lead you down paths that were covered up for a reason.’

  There’s a thud at the rear of the cottage, through the kitchen. Ivy and I spin round.

  A hulking presence bends through the low back door, blocking out the light. He stamps his feet on the mat, then calls out, ‘Any supper left, Granddad?’ His gruff voice seems to shake the foundations of the little cottage.

  He takes a few steps forward, so his face comes into the light of the living room. Or what part of his face that isn’t obscured by either a scruffy beard or the hairiest eyebrows I’ve ever seen. He’s way too tall for the tiny cottage, and he has to bend down even lower to get under the beam because his hair is piled up in a messy topknot.

  Ivy scrambles to her feet, almost knocking over one of the teacups. ‘We’ve taken up too much of your time, Mr T. We’re going to be late for our dinner anyway.’

  ‘What’s Ms Cranshaw cooked up for you tonight? Something special for the remainers?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘What I wouldn’t do for a slice of her steak-and-kidney pie right now,’ Mr Tavistock says, licking his lips.

  I resist the urge to shudder. What is it with British folk and offal? I take my cue from Ivy though, and stand up too. I thought she might grill Mr Tavistock some more, but now she seems real keen to leave. I sneak a sideways glance at the guy whose presence neither Mr Tavistock nor Ivy seem to be acknowledging.

  ‘Just don’t let me catch you near that outbuilding again, you hear?’

  ‘Loud and clear. Come on, Audrey.’

  ‘Thanks for the tea,’ I say with a small wave.

  We slip out through the front door, and Ivy breathes a sigh of relief.

  It lasts only a millisecond as a grubby hand, with dirt under the fingernails, reaches out to grab her. I let out a shout, then snatch her other arm so she’s caught between us. The guy steps outside.

  ‘I thought I told you to stay away from my grandfather,’ he says.

  ‘Let go of me, Ed. He invited us in for tea. Relax.’ She shakes him off, then storms across the field. There’s nothing else to do but follow. I look back at Ed, who’s watching us leave.

  ‘What the hell was that about?’ I ask as soon as I catch up with her.

  ‘Ed’s a little possessive of his granddad. Just forget it.’

  I’m curious, but Ivy’s mouth snaps shut and I don’t want to push.

  As we head back, we spook a bunch of birds, who fly up into the sky with a few indignant squawks. It’s too dark to tell what sort they are, but I can take a good guess.

  ‘You don’t think Mr Tavistock will know where that book really came from? What if he tells someone we have it?’ I nervously bite my fingers.

  ‘Nah, he hasn’t a clue. We need to find Lily Ellory’s granddaughter though. We should go into Winferne tomorrow.’

  ‘Good plan.’

  We both fall silent as we come to terms with our eventful day.

  ‘I wonder how Lily almost died?’ I ask. ‘And who saved her? Because I highly doubt a group of actual magpies rescued her, however clever they might be.’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s a real mystery. The sooner we figure this out, the sooner Clover can stop her podcast. And, if this Magpie Society did have something to do with Lily Ellory and then with Lola’s murder, it’s up to us to figure out what they did. And why.’

  34

  Ivy

  As morning breaks and the autumn sun starts pouring on to the polished wooden floorboards, I’m woken by the cackling of magpies outside our window. The little birds I’d been leaving food out for are disturbing my sleep.

  I can’t help but feel that we’re running out of time. Half-term will fly by and, when school starts again, we won’t be able to investigate nearly as easily. Maybe Clover has hyped us up, but it feels like there’s a lot more to Lola’s death than meets the eye. I want justice for her and, if this society has anything to do with it, then I want to figure it out.

  Audrey stirs as her alarm starts shrieking beside her head. ‘Did yesterday really happen? Or have I just woken up from the weirdest dream?’

  ‘I’m afraid your hands will tell you the answer to that.’ I pull back the duvet and jump up, slipping on my dressing gown.

  Audrey groans as she looks down at her hands and sighs at the speckled rash that’s still very much there. ‘Are we heading out into town to try and find Lily Ellory’s granddaughter today?’ she asks, rubbing them together.

  ‘I think we should. I thought we could find Mrs Trawley – the woman who spoke to Clover on the podcast. She sounded like she might have loads of information.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  ‘We can go via the canteen to grab breakfast before signing out.’

  ‘I’m kinda freaked out by all this, Ivy – not gonna lie. Are we really cut out for investigating? It sounds like this Magpie Society thing is probably real – what if the whole thing gets really dangerous? If I get booted out of IH, it’s highly likely my dad will actually disown me and I’ll be homeless in the middle of nowhere in the UK.’

  I chuckle, but Audrey has a point. It could be dangerous. Lola’s dead and Clover’s life has been threatened. This is a real and very serious situation we’re sticking our noses into. I have no idea what could happen or how to handle it
, but if I set my mind to something I have to give it one hundred per cent. And I’d rather do that with Audrey helping me. We have to trust each other.

  ‘Honestly? I can’t promise you we won’t find ourselves in over our heads, but I’m into this now, Audrey, and I know you’re invested too. We may as well be invested together. Two heads are better than one and we can’t stop now! Call me crazy, but I just have this feeling that we’re about to uncover something massive.’ I pull my clothes out of the wardrobe and head to the bathroom to shower and change.

  ‘OK, fine,’ Audrey calls. ‘But I’m wearing my cheap jeans today!’

  We devour our freshly baked croissants on the bus and make our way to Winferne Bay’s Saturday market. Every week locals set up stalls to sell fruit and veg, plants and flowers, pottery, cakes and, if you’re lucky, you might catch a rarely seen Mr Hogan selling his gourmet dog biscuits and hand-made wooden spoons. It’s all very cute and kitsch, but I usually avoid it unless I’m craving a freshly made doughnut. It’s all a little twee for me.

  ‘So Mrs Trawley runs this stall for – what was it? Vintage mirrors?’

  ‘Over there,’ says Audrey. It’s not hard to spot: it’s a sunny day and we’re almost blinded by the refractions coming out at all angles.

  ‘Hi there – excuse me – are you Mrs Trawley?’ I ask. As we approach her table, she beams up from her little plastic chair. She’s painting tiny gold daisies on an antique bronze hand mirror.

  ‘I am indeed! But call me Maggie, please. What can I do for you girls?’

  Although very old and wrinkled, she has a softness about her. Her face is warm and her eyes are bright. She wears silver rings on every finger and each fingernail has been carefully painted blood-red. Her long grey hair is tumbling down over one shoulder and she’s wearing a black silk headscarf that’s tied in a bow at the side. She must be in her late seventies, early eighties.

  ‘We’re actually here to ask you about a woman called Lily Ellory, if you can spare a few minutes?’ Audrey dives straight in and I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Considering how hesitant she was to come out this morning and hunt for answers, she’s now taking the lead. Mrs Trawley puts down her mirror and looks around.