by Karl Fish
‘I’m sorry, ma’am, didn’t quite catch that,’ Thompson replied.
‘Never mind, Thompson. Any luck with those papers?’
‘There is writing on them, ma’am, definitely. They were not lying about that. I need a better source of light than intermittent morning rays if I am to decipher them all. I can confirm that Malling is on here, as assumed.’
‘Colonel Malling, please, remember your position,’ Wink fired back with authority as she continued to ponder the man in the photo. ‘Now, Thompson, Major Boyd Collingdale is our man right? Tread lightly, to begin with. I’m not sure how much he knows of Belchambers or the ‘tiger-lady’. If, Belchambers was telling the truth at all.’
Alighting the vehicle, Thompson was greeted by his number twos, Smith and Jones. Producing their identity cards and easing through the barricaded wooden sentry, they swiftly entered the Natural History Museum in their long black macs and fedoras.
*****
Sister Harvey’s alarm, as always, ensured her room jumped to attention at the end of each lesson. Post the enthusiasm of times tables, she had distributed more complicated long division and subtraction that almost all evacuees had struggled with alongside most of the Priory girls.
‘But what can she mean?’ Aggie whispered to Elizabeth.
‘Not a clue,’ came Elizabeth’s reply with a shrug.
Aggie made her way over to the teacher’s desk.
‘Sister?’ she asked
‘Not content with detention, Chatsmore, you dare interrupt my break time too?’ Sister Harvey replied bluntly. ‘We will have plenty of time to get to know each other after school, young lady.’
Huntington-Smythe cackled as she and her friends shoved past on her way out. Elizabeth grabbed her friend by the elbow and led her out.
‘You need to learn to take a hint, Aggie,’ Elizabeth advised.
‘I don’t understand,’ Agatha replied, confused.
‘Whatever it is you need to know and whatever it is Harvey may be inclined to divulge, she’s not telling you in standard class time.’
Aggie huffed and puffed as they made their way to the playground.
‘Perhaps I need Eric’s help,’ Aggie insisted, insinuating a preferential slur to his elder sister.
‘Honestly, be my guest. If Eric can help you, feel free to ask him,’ Elizabeth replied. Taking herself off on her own.
Eric, as quite often he was, stood isolated in the corner of the playground. Spitfire in hand, swooping and dive-bombing the invisible foe. No doubt another misdemeanour had encouraged the Brothers’ penance. Aggie looked on at him, trying to get his attention but he was too busy chattering away to himself.
‘Aggie,’ came the soft voice from behind. Agatha turned to see the youngest Peabody, Gemima, staring up with her large doe eyes.
‘Please, don’t fight with my sister,’ she said. ‘She doesn’t have many friends.’
‘Oh, Gem, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude to her, it’s just that I need–’ she said, stopping mid-sentence.
‘Need what?’ Gem asked.
Agatha’s attention was directed to a small group of Priory girls who were busily skipping. Two girls rotated the rope as one jumped in the middle until another girl would jump in and tag her out or she fell, whichever came first. The speed of the rope got quicker the longer they stayed in, all the while singing to a rhythmic tune.
‘Agaathhaaa!’ Gem said, extending her name and tugging at her skirt. ‘Aggatthaaaaaaaaa!’ Gem said as annoyingly as she could to gain Aggie’s attention.
‘Those girls. What are they singing?’ Aggie asked, transfixed on the skippers.
‘Playing, you mean,’ Gem replied. ‘It’s called skipping. Do you skip where you are from?’
‘I know it’s skipping, Gem, and, yes, I can skip, but what is the song?’
‘If you get a rope, I will get Elizabeth, and then all three of us will play,’ Gem replied.
‘OK,’ Aggie agreed.
Gemima sprinted across to where a disused rope from the Priory girls lay discarded on the playground floor. She quickly swiped it and sprinted back again, grabbing Elizabeth’s hand while leading her towards Aggie.
‘You take this in one hand,’ Gem instructed, handing a wooden handle to Aggie. ‘And, Lizzy, you have this. Now start spinning.’
Both older girls did as they were told and began rotating the rope until they found a steady speed.
‘Ready!’ Gem shouted, running in and jumping. ‘Shall I sing the song now?’ Gem asked, panting for breath between words and jumps.
‘Yes,’ Aggie and Elizabeth replied together.
‘There was once seven sisters from the Seven Sisters, forty-nine they called them. How about you? A gipsy curse upon them saw the youngest off to heaven. Take one away from forty-nine and you’re left with forty-two.’
Both girls stopped spinning the rope. It caught Gem’s ankles and sent her somersaulting over, cracking her head on the ground.
‘Oww!’ the young Peabody whimpered before her eyeballs rolled and the whites of her eyes disappeared into the top of her head.
‘Gemima!’ Elizabeth screamed diving down to her youngest sibling.
Blood had begun to run from a wound in her head. Aggie ran to get help. The nuns walked calmly over.
‘For pity’s sake, call for the doctor!’ Elizabeth shouted at them, but they were still dawdling.
‘Come on, Lizzy!’ came Eric’s voice as he broke ranks from the boys’ side and grabbed Gem’s legs. Elizabeth grabbed Gem’s upper body and between them, they began carrying their youngest sibling out of the school.
Aggie followed them through the corridors, opening doors as they went. At the main door, Dove and Harvey were in heated conversation.
‘Whatever is going on here?’ Sister Harvey barked, observing the familiar face of the Peabody clan.
‘Gem’s ’ed’s split wide open!’ Eric shouted. ‘Blood everywhere. Needs a doctor.’
Dove stood in front of them trying to get a better understanding of the wounds. Sister Harvey meanwhile had already unbolted the doors.
‘Quickly then. You know where Dr Beckworth’s surgery is,’ Sister Harvey reassured them.
‘Sister Harvey, is that wise?’ Dove questioned.
‘By the time we’ve sent word and old Beckworth has waddled down the street they will be there already,’ the nun replied curtly to her teaching superior. ‘Not you, Chatsmore,’ she said, pulling Agatha tightly by the shirt as she tried to pass.
Agatha looked on helplessly as the Peabodys rushed their baby sister uphill. There was a loud screech of brakes.
‘What on earth is that?’ Dove shouted.
Dove and Harvey stepped out of the threshold and onto the Steep. Aggie stared out to see as much as she could between the two ladies. A large ambulance truck had swerved and was angled sideways up the Steep. Two large men were shouting angrily with indecipherable language at the Peabodys who were standing motionless in front of them having just missed being run down. Elizabeth took a breath and ordered her brother onwards. Eric took up the mantle and they continued to carry Gemima onwards to the doctor.
Moments later the commotion had passed. The men had managed to right the direction of the vehicle and it travelled down the hill, stopping not far from the school. Aggie continued to observe from inside the school’s windows. The hulking men then left their van once again to help the cloaked men inside to find their feet, or if in wheelchairs to set them down safely. Most of the men were quick to head towards Le Chat Noir but she noticed a single forlorn figure being escorted by the orderlies away from the Steep and towards the river. He turned briefly. He was not burned, as far as she could make out, not like the men she had seen in Cecile’s café. Instead, he sported a magnificent curling moustache. Aggie did not recognise him but she certainly recognised the much larger men. They were responsible for Purrsia escaping. That had led to Lyle’s threats. Her heart began to beat fast again. Her anxieties multiplyin
g as she stood there frozen, struggling for air. The bell rang and broke her temporary paralysis, the noise of girls rushing back in, singing the skipping song which had become infectious during the break and inspired, no doubt, by Sister Harvey’s lesson.
‘There was once seven sisters from the Seven Sisters, forty-nine they called them. How about you? A gipsy curse upon them saw the youngest off to heaven. Take one away from forty-nine and you’re left with forty-two.’
‘Miss Chatsmore,’ came Sister Harvey’s voice, breaking Aggie’s concentration. ‘Are you joining us or shall we make that double detention?’
*****
Belle was too shocked to respond. Fourteen years’ worth of lies. Lies from those she held most dear to her; her father Montague and Nathaniel Noone.
‘I don’t know what to say to you both,’ Belle spoke softly, stunned at the revelations.
‘You cannot blame your father or Nate,’ Gideon insisted. ‘If you need to be angry with anyone, be angry with me.’
‘I’m not angry. Well, maybe a little. No, actually, make that a lot. I am angry. My teenage years were those of nightmares. But I just cannot believe it is true,’ Belle replied.
‘Whatever anger you feel you need to let it out and direct it my way. Nate has suffered enough. Your father had found every day painful since.’
‘Don’t think so little of me,’ she insisted. ‘I do not blame you for wanting to protect her. I cannot blame you for your loss. I am no longer Belle with the bunches and a foolish teenage girl as I was back then. I blame the men responsible for where we find ourselves and will do anything to help you.’
Gideon embraced her. A tear trickled down his cheek. It prompted him to remember his niece.
‘Nate, we need to find a news vendor,’ he suddenly said of his friend.
‘OK,’ Noone responded, fetching his hat and coat.
‘Be careful. We do not know if we are being watched by OSIRIS or Waverley for that matter,’ Gideon explained.
‘It’s not Waverley I fear,’ Noone replied with a smile.
‘Don’t be long, Nate, please,’ Belle insisted
‘I won’t, Belle,’ he said affectionately ‘Or shall we call you Professor Soames from now on?’
‘Belle’s fine. But Professor Gideon Belchambers, what shall I call you?’
Gideon beamed back at her. ‘You may call me Gideon for now, one Professor to another.’
*****
It had been days since Professor Malcolm had breathed fresh air. His clothes were filthy and he could do with a long soak in a bath. He was just grateful to be outside. The orderlies had organised a small group of men, consisting of those accustomed to Sunday visits to Ambledown and eager to escape the monotony of convalescing at the Institute Silvera. They were excited to soon be dining at Le Chat Noir and liaising with the feline residents.
‘List?’ the huge man with the glinting tooth grunted at the Professor.
‘Of course,’ Professor Malcolm replied in an accommodating tone, handing over his list of requirements.
‘Wear,’ came the second orderly’s grunt, forcing a large dark cloak over the Professor before manhandling him into the van and onwards towards Ambledown.
The short, unusually silent drive from the Silvera Institute was that of country roads and coastal cliffs. Meticulous Meredith Malcolm recalled in fractured memories the dappled lights of the roads as he had first set sight on the white building rising up from the coast.
Arriving at the entrance to the market town he read it out loud, ‘Ambledown.’
‘Quiet. No talk,’ came the familiar grunt from the driver.
Professor Malcolm had been warned not to converse or make eye contact with any other patient from the Institute. Several attempts had been made by them to start a singsong en route but the driver and his muscle-bound helper had slammed on the brakes and threatened the hooded figures.
As the van descended the beginning of a very long and winding hill, the churchyard and spire of St Joan’s passed them on the right. Slightly south and opposite to the church a large black asymmetrical building came into view, set back from the road and dwarfed by the flint and mullioned Keep that ran alongside it. The van sped onwards until a fork in the road, overlooked by three alehouses and divided by a large angel monument, took their direction down a precarious moss-cobbled drove-way.
‘Look out!’ came a cry from one of the men at the back.
The driver slammed on his brakes and the van slid sideways. Two on looking children, carrying the limp body of a third, were frozen motionless as the vehicle careered towards them. Smoke exuded from the wheels as the tyre rubber screeched on the stone tiles. With inches to spare, the van came to a stop. The driver and his accomplice rushed out of the vehicle screaming at the children.
‘Hello, old chap. I’m Goodfellow. Archibald Goodfellow,’ came the voice from the cloaked gentleman next to the Professor holding out his hand. ‘Who might you be?’ he enquired.
At that moment, Professor Malcolm did not know who to trust.
‘Don’t be shy. We won’t have long until the apes return.’ Goodfellow chuckled. ‘Come, let’s have a look at you,’ he said and began feeling the Professor’s face.
Meredith Malcolm moved away from the stranger’s advances. He then noticed that Archibald Goodfellow’s eyes were clouded white. He was blind.
‘Apologies, Mr Goodfellow. I am Meredith Malcolm,’ he replied and allowed him to continue.
‘My, my, impressive facial fluff, sir.’ Archibald chuckled. ‘So, if you are not burned on your face, I assume your lower body?’ he suggestively gestured to the nether regions.
Professor Malcolm did not know what to say and became immediately embarrassed. The other men had been listening in and began to laugh.
‘Don’t worry, he’s pulling your leg. He’s off to see his fancy lady, Cecile.’
‘Too right!’ Archibald Goodfellow howled before starting off a rousing rendition of Run Rabbit Run.
‘Mr Goodfellow, sir,’ the Professor whispered while the others sang. ‘Do you know of Professor Belchambers?’ he asked.
‘Cecile, my good lady, is a dear friend of his,’ Archie replied. ‘Why?’
‘I need to get a message to him,’ Professor Malcolm quickly said. ‘Do you have a scrap of paper?’
‘Not on me, I’m afraid. What is it? Just tell me,’ Archie said just as the orderlies returned. Professor Malcolm had no time to answer.
‘We say quiet!’ they bellowed, entering the van cab as the hooded patients subdued their song. A crunch of gears and acceleration of speed saw them move on and park at the bottom of the Steep.
The journey was brief but, in that time, Archie Goodfellow had reached inside his wallet and produced a single pound note. He squirrelled it towards Meredith Malcolm who in turn covered himself with the hooded cloak and then returned the note to Archie. Only it was damp in places. Archie could not see but a confused expression still peered towards the Professor.
The orderlies then manhandled the patients out from the van. Those able to walk were hauled out, those in wheelchairs unceremoniously heaved to the floor, and poor old Archie’s head caught the doorframe as he alighted.
‘You, come with us,’ they ordered Professor Malcolm. ‘Two hours!’ they shouted at the other men, who were gesturing rudely as their backs were turned.
Professor Malcolm turned briefly to see the sightless figure of Archibald Goodfellow sniffing the pound note
‘Be sure to have a wonderful afternoon, gentlemen,’ Archie shouted sarcastically at the orderlies while brazenly waving the Professor’s pound note in front of himself.
‘I’ll be sure to spend my pocket money with great zest.’ He laughed before launching into song.
‘Run rabbit, run rabbit, run – run – run!’
*****
‘What took you so long, Nate?’ Belle asked Noone as he finally returned from his paper run.
‘Had to be sure I wasn’t followed. You know,
it’s a beautiful day out there now,’ he advised.
Belle moved to the blinds, drew them, and then looked upon the lemon negatives that she and Nathaniel had so painstakingly pieced together the evening before.
‘Astounding,’ said Gideon, moving closer to examine them.
‘Extraordinary!’ echoed Belle.
Belle and Gideon spent the next half an hour pouring over the glyphs and calling out names.
‘Horus, RA, OSIRIS, deity, workers, scarab, smoke – no, wait, that could be water, no it’s probably smoke, though, not sure. Anubis – agreed!’ they spouted out names and references as they examined.
So much talking at speed and Noone was not keeping up.
‘Even at our best guess, Belle, there are millions of combinations to their order,’ Gideon suggested.
‘We can at least take a stab. An educated guess at least. You know a scarab would not be a pre-cursor to Horus or the eye of RA.’
‘You cannot be sure of that,’ Gideon suggested. ‘But you’re right. Let us try and fathom this out.’
‘Pass me a pencil, Gideon. Otherwise, we will be forever reliant on the light outside,’ the pencil was passed and Belle began tracing the negative.
‘If it’s all the same, I shall read the paper,’ Noone replied. ‘I’ll leave the Professors to it.’
He began reading the paper cover to cover; particularly the advertisements. He should have known to go to the back-pages first. While Belle and Gideon continued their massive task Noone completed his.
Fortnum’s announcement: All departments now open and fully stocked! Remember – Num’s the word!
‘Gideon, take a look at this?’ he said, shoving the paper under his nose. ‘Do you think it is fake? Or do you think Wink is fishing for Jennifer James?’ he asked.
‘I can’t be sure of that but look beneath it,’ Gideon replied.
Under the dominant calligraphy of the Fortnum’s advertisement, which represented four-fifths of the page was a dark black box with white writing on it.
Thought for the day from Gideon’s bible:
