by Judith Eagle
And then everything happened quickly. Uncle stood and tried to make a run for the door. Peter yelled for Sergei and Sergei burst into the room in a flurry of sequins. Uncle, blindsided by this unexpected vision, staggered back and sank down into his chair.
‘You!’ Stella spat. She was breathing heavily now, a trapped animal, her lipsticked mouth not perfect any more, cracked and dry, curling down in a contemptuous sneer.
‘It’s all your fault!’ she erupted, wagging her finger at Uncle. ‘Running away as soon as you knew he,’ she jerked her head at Sergei, ‘was coming on tour. Coward … Leaving me to pick up all the pieces as usual.’
‘Oh, leave me alone.’ Uncle had his head in his hands. ‘Why did I ever get involved with you?’
‘You, you, you …’ Stella could barely get the words out, she was so full of rage. ‘If it wasn’t for me, you would never have got your horrible Braithwaite Manor to yourself. You’ve never done anything right! You mucked it all up right at the start when you lost him.’ She pointed at Peter.
‘Don’t you mean me?’ asked Clara. She was genuinely confused. ‘He lost me in the village.’
Stella laughed scornfully. ‘Haven’t you worked it out yet, you idiot?’ Clara flinched. ‘Edward left him in his basket at Charing Cross! All he had to do was bring you both back to Braithwaite Manor. But he couldn’t even get that right. He went to change your nappy, then when he came back, the boy baby had gone! I should have known then that he was useless.’
‘What?!’ Clara looked from Uncle to Peter. Peter’s eyes were like saucers.
‘Do you mean—’ started Sergei.
‘Clara!’ With all the noise, no one had heard more people clattering up the stairs. Amelia-Ann bounded into the room cradling Stockwell in her arms and behind her was … Clara gasped.
‘This is Jackson Smith,’ Amelia-Ann said proudly.
An extremely tall man clutching a briefcase ducked under the doorframe. He smiled apologetically. ‘Sorry, we’re a bit late,’ he said.
‘What have you brought him for?’ said Clara. Had Amelia-Ann gone mad?
‘It’s all right, Clara. He’s working for Peter’s granny! Tell them, Jackson, tell them what you’ve found out!!’
Stella wrenched herself out of Clara’s grasp and elbowed her way past Peter and Amelia-Ann in an attempt to leave the room.
‘I suggest you stop right there,’ said Jackson, coolly blocking her way. ‘The police are downstairs waiting to talk to both of you.’
Stella jolted to a stop, and even though she was motionless, something terrible seemed to emanate from her.
‘I have here,’ Jackson Smith continued, reaching into his briefcase, ‘a copy of the very same document you have there, Mr Jarvis, and if we read it correctly, we will see that this matter can be settled once and for all. But first …’ He stepped forward and clasped Sergei’s hand in his. ‘Sergei Ivanov? I am very pleased to meet you. And I see you have already made the acquaintance of the twins.’
Chapter Thirty
Twins! Peter stared at Clara and she stared back, and for a minute all the drama in the room just fell away. Then Clara felt the strangest thing. It was as if something unspoken passed between them.
‘That’s why,’ Peter said softly and stepped close to her so only she could hear. ‘I felt something here’ – he raised his fist and thumped it hard against his chest – ‘when Morden took me. It hurt. I thought I was having a heart attack! And then when I saw you again, it didn’t hurt any more.’ And then he was grinning and Clara was grinning and tears pricked at her eyes, happy tears, and everything felt real and true and the room shot back into focus, brighter and better than ever before.
‘This will,’ Jackson Smith was saying, ‘states quite clearly that Sue James is to be the guardian of Peter and Clara UNTIL such time as Sergei Ivanov, their father, is found.’ He looked squarely at Stella. ‘Ms James, I should also tell you that the police, in partnership with the French Gendarmerie, are currently looking into accusations that you poisoned Ms Starling and used that same poison on Elsa Trimble.’
Stella blanched. ‘It’s all lies!’ she spat. ‘You’ve made it up! You haven’t got any proof.’
Clara stepped forward. ‘We have, actually,’ she said. And a wave of victory swept through her as she reached under the horrible grey scratchy dress to retrieve the film canister of soup that was still tucked into the waistband of her jeans.
* * *
It was in a state of high excitement that everyone piled into Ekaterina’s and Jackson Smith’s cars and drove to London.
Sergei, who everyone agreed looked the spit of Clara, couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed that Peter’s hair was the exact same colour as Christobel’s. He had photos in his wallet which he pulled out to show them. Christobel laughing, Christobel jumping in the air, Christobel blowing a kiss to the camera, her curls blowing in the wind, her eyes squinting against the sun. The photographs were faded and worn, but they were infused with a special warmth.
However, while the others all chattered and laughed, Clara found she was almost stunned into silence. Her life had exploded into glorious technicolour. Everything felt enhanced, heightened, as though a painter had taken his brush and boldly swept it across her entire being, banishing all the darkness and making it vivid and bright.
‘That’s why we can both wriggle our ears, Clara!’ Peter crowed. ‘I should’ve guessed! Specially ’cause 99.9999 per cent of people in the world can’t do it.’
Clara hugged herself. She felt like she wanted to cry, even though she had never been so full of sheer, utter joy. She was actually someone. Someone with meaning. Not an unwanted niece saddled with a guardian who didn’t care for her or even like her. She was a daughter, a wanted daughter, and a sister. She mattered.
Her father and brother mattered.
* * *
On the ward, Granny was up and sitting cross-legged on the bed. She looked different, thought Clara. Maybe it was the emerald-green sweater she was wearing, or the plum-coloured lipstick, or the grey eyeshadow that seemed to turn her blue eyes violet. ‘No more poison in me!’ she laughed and held out her arms, inviting Peter and Clara to climb on the bed. ‘Children, I want you to tell me everything. From start to finish and not leave one bit out.’
‘Can I do it?’ asked Amelia-Ann. ‘Jackson told me everything on the way to Leeds. Pretend I’m a lawyer in court laying out the whole deadly dastardly thing. I promise I’ll tell it good!’
So Amelia-Ann took the floor, pacing up and down the ward in her white high-heeled shoes and yellow fisherman’s coat, her red hair billowing about her like a crown.
Clara noticed how Peter flopped against his granny. Very gently, she allowed herself to lean against Granny too. She smelled like sweet orange blossom. One of the nurses went round the ward propping up the other patients against their pillows so they could have a good view of the proceedings too. Stockwell crept under Granny’s bedclothes and turned round three times before settling.
Amelia-Ann looked very commanding, thought Clara. She could just picture her in the future, holding absolute sway in court.
‘Now, Peter,’ said Amelia-Ann, ‘as you know, your granny adopted you after you were found at Charing Cross with nothing more than a scrap of red ribbon tied to your basket.’
‘No!’ interrupted Clara. ‘I didn’t know that! What scrap of red ribbon? I thought you’d stolen mine!’
‘What do you take me for?’ asked Peter. ‘I’m not a kleptomaniac.’
So they both had red ribbons, thought Clara, given to them by their mother. If only they had worked that out before!
‘Anyway,’ resumed Amelia-Ann, ‘where was I? Oh yes, about a year ago Mrs Trimble here …’
‘Oh, do call me Elsa,’ said Granny.
‘Thank you, Elsa. About a year ago, Elsa asked Mr Jackson Smith Esquire, Private Investigator, if he would look into Peter’s beginnings. She thought that one day Peter would want to know more about who he was
and where he came from.’
Peter jumped off the bed and stared indignantly from Granny to Jackson. ‘Why didn’t you tell me what you were doing?’ he exclaimed. Clara couldn’t help but silently agree. It would have saved a lot of trouble.
‘We didn’t want to get your hopes up, in case nothing came of it,’ said Granny.
‘And at that point,’ added Jackson, ‘we had no idea your next-door neighbour was involved or how much danger you would all be in.’
‘You can say that again,’ said Peter.
‘Will you all stop interrupting?’ said Amelia-Ann crossly. ‘I’ve barely started! Anyway, Jackson went to Paris where he did some investigating and met the nurse who looked after you two when you were babies. Next, he paid a visit to Stella’s flat and found—’
‘We were there!’ burst out Clara. ‘But we hid outside the flat!’
‘Yes, Clara,’ said Amelia-Ann. ‘Well, while you were hiding, Jackson found a fake ID. As we all now know, Stella’s real name is Sue James. But even better than that, he discovered the twins’ birth certificate. Jackson, show it to Elsa.’
‘Oh my goodness!’ said Granny as she scanned it. ‘Peter, we had to guess your birth date when we found you. So no more birthdays in April, for you! It’ll be the eleventh of January from now on, just like your sister.’ The word ‘sister’ gave Clara a warm glow.
‘And the other document you found?’ continued Amelia-Ann. ‘The one the nurse said she saw Christobel give to Stella for safekeeping?’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Jackson. ‘That was the copy of the will that Stella was flummoxing Mr Jarvis with earlier today. She really was charged with being the children’s guardian, you know.’
‘She tricked us all,’ said Peter. ‘Christobel, me, Granny, Clara. Even Mr Starling in a way.’
‘She could be extremely charismatic,’ said Jackson. ‘Many notorious criminals are.’
‘Clara?’ Amelia-Ann said. ‘D’you want to read this out?
‘“In the event of my death,”’ read Clara, ‘“I wish Sue James to look after Peter and Clara. My brother Edward shall be temporary guardian of Braithwaite Manor. This arrangement should last until my beloved Sergei Ivanov is able to return to the West. The house shall then pass to him and my darling children. Signed: Christobel Starling.”’
‘But Stella didn’t look after us!’ cried Peter. ‘She dumped us on him! All she cared about was dancing Christobel’s roles!’
‘Correct,’ said Jackson Smith. ‘And, because Edward was weak and obsessed with regaining control of Braithwaite Manor, he complied.’
‘But,’ said Amelia-Ann, ‘as we heard earlier, Mr Starling made a mistake almost as soon as he reached England. He lost Peter.’
‘And just like that, we were separated,’ said Clara.
‘But even so, they thought they had pulled it off. Until—’
‘They found out that Sergei was coming on tour!’ interrupted Clara, dancing ahead of the story.
‘Yes,’ agreed Amelia-Ann. ‘Stella knew that if Sergei found out about the twins, he would be entitled to the house. So she planned to track Peter down, make sure that both of you were well and truly out of the picture, sell the house, its valuables, and escape with the proceeds before anyone found out the truth.’
‘So Uncle wasn’t selling all that stuff to pay off his debts?’ asked Clara.
‘We believe,’ said Jackson, ‘that Stella had instructed him to sell as many valuables as he could to fund their … retirement, shall we call it? … In South America.’
‘So you’re telling us that when Stella moved in last year, she already had everything planned?’ asked Elsa. ‘It’s shocking!’
‘Indeed she did,’ pronounced Amelia-Ann. ‘She had got wind of your investigations and she knew she had to get you out of the way too!’
‘Hence the soup,’ said Jackson.
‘She knew exactly what she was going to do,’ pronounced Amelia-Ann. ‘Poison Elsa, pack Peter off to Braithwaite Manor. The Mordens were offered the house at a good price as long as Peter and Clara were “included”. The only spanner in the works was your uncle,’ she said to Clara, ‘running off because he got scared.’
Amelia-Ann had stopped pacing now and stood quietly while everyone digested the dreadful facts.
‘Yesterday I had no children. This morning I had one. Now I have two!’ Sergei exclaimed, as if he could hardly believe it.
‘And my real name is Peter Starling!’ said Peter. ‘A proper ballet name! Sergei, did I tell you, I really, really like ballet? D’you think it’s in my genes?’
‘And he’s good at it!’ added Clara.
She looked at everyone crowded round the bed. Her brother, her father, her best friend. If Elsa was Peter’s adopted granny, could she be her granny too? Clara thought she probably could. She felt a kind of swell, an unfurling of her chest, as if her heart was actually lifting and opening. It was a feeling she had never experienced before, and yet she knew exactly what it was. She felt like she belonged.
Two Years Later
Newspaper cutting from 1976
Q&A WITH JUDITH EAGLE
How would you describe The Secret Starling?
An old-fashioned adventure story with lots of twists, turns and buried secrets.
Can you share with us a little about the inspiration behind The Secret Starling?
I had a picture in my head of a lonely girl stuck in a gloomy mansion in the middle of the Yorkshire moors, miles and miles from anywhere. I have always loved The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett and Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë – both books that feature wild moors, forbidding mansions and plucky heroines. When I started writing The Secret Starling my only intention was to somehow set Clara free.
Which came first, the title or the novel?
The novel. Originally, the working title was Far Away (in an early draft the first line was ‘Far away in the wilds of northern England’). But when it was finished The Secret Starling just popped into my head and it seemed perfect.
How much research did you do and how much of that research made it into the book?
I read a lot about Peter’s hero, Rudolph Nureyev, and I saw a brilliant documentary about his life, which was very inspiring. I also read about the Bolshoi Ballet, the Russian ballet company, which has been full of intrigue and in-company feuding for almost as long as it has been in existence.
The book is set in the 1970s which is when I grew up so I had a very clear idea about what it was like back then – the food the children eat, for example, and the journey on the London Underground. Not all the places are real though. The Newspaper Library in Colindale is real (my dad used to go there to do research) but the library in Leeds is a re-imagining of the library I visited as a child, but transplanted up north.
Please can you tell us a bit about your writing process?
I’m not a natural plotter and planner. When I start writing I can picture the setting in my head and I have a feel for the characters, but I definitely do not know where the story is going to take me. That said, the time does come when I have to at least try to get the plot sorted! I use spider diagrams, post-it notes, and long walks during which I rack my brains until they hurt. With The Secret Starling one of the most important things was to try and make the implausible plausible. So however outrageous the story, I needed to make it believable.
I constantly jot down ideas in a little notebook, on scraps of paper or on my phone. Ideas often come first thing in the morning, when you are in that sleepy just awake state. I try to focus on the part of the story I’m currently writing and then let my mind wander.
As to where I write, most of the time it’s in my bedroom, although my favourite thing to do on a Saturday is to go to the British Library.
How do you choose characters’ names, find a character’s voice and decide where to set your story?
I can’t remember consciously choosing Peter and Clara’s names. They just sort of came with the characters. Amelia-An
n though is named after Ameliaranne Stiggins, who was a character in a wonderful picture book I read as a child.
With voice, when I started on the first draft, I tried telling the story from Peter and Clara’s point of view in alternate chapters. I scrapped this idea early on, but it was a really useful way of developing their voices and differentiating their characters.
I wanted to set my story in recent history, before mobile phones and the internet were invented, so that Peter and Clara couldn’t just find out things by Googling them! Also, I might just be imagining this, but I think children in the 1970s had more freedom to roam about on their own. My sisters and I used to go all about London on buses when we were only ten.
The relationship between Clara and Peter is central to The Secret Starling, even though they are so different from each other. Can you tell us a little more about their characters and what they mean to you?
Despite her upbringing, Clara is unfailingly optimistic and has learned about the world through the books she reads. I think this has given her a sense that anything is possible. Plus she has got through years and years of living with Uncle, which has made her quite robust. A sort of ‘if I got through that, I can get through anything’ attitude. Peter is more pragmatic, a mixture of tough and gentle. He is a really good adoptive grandson, kind and considerate, but he is also a bit wild, although always with the best of intentions.
Both characters feel very familiar to me. There are elements of my husband in Peter – who got up to all sorts of mischief as a boy. I didn’t get up to much mischief! I was an optimistic bookworm like Clara. But like Peter I loved ballet, and I really enjoyed researching and working on projects about the things that interested me.
