Alice-Miranda at Camp 10

by Jacqueline Harvey

  Sloane walked into the room. She looked at Millie and then at the new girl, who she assumed was Caprice.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, rushing to Caprice’s side.

  Millie shook her head and dumped a handful of tissues on the table in front of Caprice.

  The girl took them, then blew her nose and wiped her face.

  Millie was waiting for it. More lies.

  Caprice stared at Sloane. The girl’s brilliant blue eyes glistened. ‘I …’ she began. Millie was ready. ‘I … I was feeling really homesick and Millie got homesick too.’

  Millie flinched. She wondered what the girl was playing at.

  ‘Don’t worry. Everyone does sometimes,’ Sloane said. But she wondered about Millie. That seemed strange.

  Millie wanted to go back to her room but she didn’t like the idea of leaving Caprice on her own with Sloane. She hovered on the other side of the table.

  ‘I’m Sloane,’ the girl said gently. ‘You must be Caprice. We’re sharing a room. Thanks for what you did before. It’s never been like that in there – ever.’

  Caprice nodded slowly. ‘That’s okay,’ she snuffled.

  ‘It probably won’t stay that way for long,’ Sloane said apologetically.

  Caprice looked at her. ‘I’m sure it will,’ she said. There was an iciness to her voice that Millie didn’t miss.

  ‘You must be even more optimistic than Alice-Miranda,’ Sloane grinned.

  ‘No. I’m not.’ Caprice shook her pretty head and pressed her lips tightly together.

  The back door opened and Mrs Howard bustled through.

  ‘Hello hello,’ she greeted the three girls, failing to notice Millie’s red face or Caprice’s wet eyes. ‘You’re just the three I need. Mrs Smith has asked for some girls to help Charlie put out the extra tables and chairs in the dining room. Off you go.’

  Millie opened her mouth to object when she saw Mrs Howard raise her eyebrow.

  ‘Is something the matter, Millicent?’

  Sloane answered for her. ‘They were both just a bit homesick.’

  Mrs Howard frowned. She’d never known Millie to be homesick in all the years she’d been at school. ‘Really?’

  Caprice gave a theatrical sniff. Millie nodded.

  But Mrs Howard wasn’t convinced. ‘Well, in my experience there’s nothing like some manual labour to take your mind off home.’ She brushed her hands together. ‘Off you go, girls. Charlie’s in the dining room.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Sloane said to Caprice as they headed out the door. ‘You’ll get used to it. I hated school when I first came but now I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Caprice smiled at the girl. ‘It’s good to have a friend.’ She turned and narrowed her eyes at Millie, who thought she might be sick.

  Hugh Kennington-Jones scanned the page in his hand. He’d been going over the numbers for hours and the same solution kept bubbling to the surface. He was deep in thought when there was a knock at the study door.

  Cecelia Highton-Smith popped her head around. ‘Hello darling, can I interest you in a cup of tea and some chocolate cake? Dolly’s been baking this morning and I have to say it’s one of her best.’

  ‘Ah, that would be lovely.’ Hugh pushed the chair back and stood up, stretching his arms above his head. He turned and stared out the window across the field.

  Cecelia set the tray down on the corner of the enormous leather-topped desk.

  ‘Is something wrong, Hugh?’ He had seemed preoccupied for the last few days.

  Hugh spun around. ‘I’ve been going through the finances for Pelham Park and I’m afraid the nursing home wing is costing far more than we ever expected. The apartments are fine, the residents purchase those and contribute to their upkeep, but we always said that we’d provide high care at no cost and I want to be able to keep doing that. It just has to be sustainable. I can’t keep moving money from Kennington’s to pay for it.’

  Cecelia bit down on her pinkie nail. ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘I don’t know but the more I look at it the more I wonder if we’re going to have to sell to one of those specialist aged-care providers,’ Hugh replied.

  ‘No, the whole model will change,’ Cecelia said with alarm. ‘We always said that we wanted the place to be about giving back. Half the residents are former staff of Highton’s and Kennington’s or people who’ve lived on the estates. I know Daisy has finally decided to book Granny Bert in too.’

  ‘I know, I know. That’s why I’ve been racking my brain.’ Hugh poured the tea and then some milk into the fine china cup.

  ‘Surely there must be something of value over there that we can sell. There’s all that furniture and bric-a-brac in the cellar we said we’d send to auction one day.’

  Hugh looked at his wife. A smile crept across his face. ‘Oh, Cee, you’re a genius!’ He strode over and wrapped his arms around the woman and gave her a smacking great kiss on the lips.

  ‘What was that for?’ Cecelia giggled. ‘I can’t imagine that we’ll make a fortune from a bunch of old sideboards and your father’s predilection for stuffed animals.’

  ‘No, not that.’ Hugh shook his head. ‘Mother’s art collection. When she died, father had all of the paintings she loved taken down to the cellars and stored in a vault off to the side. He said he couldn’t bear to look at it any more. I suspect that had as much to do with my brother’s disappearance. I poked my head in there during the renovations and thought we should do something about it one of these days. But I hadn’t given it another thought until now. Actually, it’s unforgivable to have left it doing nothing all this time. It could be the answer to our problems.’

  Cecelia frowned. ‘I hadn’t even realised there was a vault down there.’ She had avoided the cellars during the transformation of the house, preferring to banish all those dreadful taxidermied beasts there. ‘Is there much in the collection?’

  ‘Masses. Mother loved her art and father hated it in equal measure, I think. I’m sure that some of it is museum-and gallery-worthy but we’ll have to get someone in. I’m no authority.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask your brother to sort it out?’ Cecelia suggested. ‘He’s always saying he wants to come and see us and this gives him a proper reason to be here. No more excuses that he’s too busy – because this is work. Ed’s an expert after all and he’s family.’

  ‘Do you think he’d come? There are so many bad memories for him at Pelham Park.’ Hugh walked back to the desk and picked up his tea cup.

  Ed Clifton was Hugh’s elder brother by fourteen years. Hugh was just a small boy when he was told that his mother and brother had been killed in an accident, but that wasn’t the truth at all. One fateful night, with the rain beating down and the thunder overhead, Hugh’s brother had left home, defying his father’s wish that he work in the family business. The young man, then known as Xavier, had decided to pursue his art. His mother had helped him leave and given him a painting, which she told him to sell to fund his studies.

  The very next evening, Arabella Kennington-Jones was killed in a car accident. Hugh’s father said that his brother was with her and he buried the two of them, side by side – except, of course, one of the coffins was empty.

  Xavier set about building a new life for himself in New York. He donated the painting, a Renoir of a mother and her son, to the Metropolitan Museum, where he could look at it any time he liked and so could the rest of the world. He changed his name from Xavier to Edward, his middle name, which he paired with his mother’s maiden name, Clifton. Over the years he became a highly successful artist and critic. He had long believed that his younger brother wasn’t interested in a relationship with him, not knowing that Hugh had grown up thinking he’d died. It was only when Alice-Miranda visited New York with her parents that fate threw her together with her uncle, and the brothers were reunited.

  ‘I was talking to him last week and mentioned the upcoming anniversary celebrations at P
elham Park. I said that he wouldn’t know the place these days and he seemed interested. He was asking lots of questions. Coming back might give him some sense of closure with your father and mother,’ Cecelia said.

  ‘You’re absolutely right, and there’s no harm in asking. He can only say no,’ Hugh said thoughtfully.

  ‘Why don’t you call him now and explain what we’re trying to do. He should have a chance to see if there’s anything he’d like for himself anyway,’ Cecelia suggested.

  Hugh smiled at his wife. ‘How do you do that?’

  ‘Do what?’ she asked.

  ‘Make me fall in love with you again every single day.’ Hugh sat down and picked up the telephone.

  ‘It’s a gift, darling.’ Cecelia winked then turned and walked out the door.

  Louella Derby had just sat down when the phone rang.

  ‘Good afternoon, Winchesterfield-Downsfordvale Academy for Proper Young Ladies, this is Louella Derby speaking.’

  There was a long pause as she listened to the caller. ‘Yes, of course. I’m sure that she’d be very happy to talk with you right away, Ma’am,’ Louella said. ‘May I just put you on hold for a moment?’

  The secretary pressed the ‘hold’ button and then hesitated before buzzing the intercom.

  Miss Grimm’s tired voice came through. ‘Is it urgent, Mrs Derby?’

  ‘I’m so sorry to bother you, Miss Grimm. I know you’ve had a hectic day but there’s someone you’ll want to speak to on the other line.’

  ‘I doubt there is anyone on earth that I want to speak to at the moment, even the Queen herself. And if it’s the builder telling me about another problem, hang up. I’ll call him back tomorrow when I have the energy to deal with whatever disaster he’s going to throw at me time this time. Now I must get –’

  ‘No, no, please don’t hang up. It’s Her Majesty,’ Mrs Derby said quickly.

  ‘Queen Georgiana?’ Miss Grimm was suddenly wide awake. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I suppose you tried but I was too busy feeling sorry for myself. Did she say what she wants?’

  ‘Not exactly, but she’s heard about the delay with the new boarding house and has a proposal that could be a lifesaver for both of you.’

  ‘Well, don’t just sit there talking, Mrs Derby. Put her through and, for heaven’s sake, don’t cut her off. I haven’t got her direct line and it takes hours to get through that lady-in-waiting of hers. What’s her name?’

  ‘Marmalade,’ Louella Derby replied.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Marmalade. That woman’s more terrifying than a terrier in a room full of tabbies,’ Miss Grimm replied, smiling at the image.

  There was a long silence.

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ Miss Grimm snapped.

  ‘You actually,’ a deeper voice replied.

  Ophelia Grimm almost fell off her chair. ‘I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. I hadn’t realised my secretary had transferred the call.’

  Ophelia took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. Although she’d met the Queen on several occasions and hosted her for tea in the study, she still couldn’t get used to the idea that the monarch of their country was on the other end of the telephone.

  ‘How may I help, Your Majesty?’ she asked.

  ‘I was wondering if I might pop around and see you,’ said Queen Georgiana. ‘I have something to discuss and it might be easier if I laid it all out in front of you.’

  Ophelia nodded fiercely then realised she hadn’t actually replied. ‘Yes, of course, Ma’am. Any time that suits.’

  ‘What about in ten minutes? I’m over at Chesterfield Downs for the night. We had some new horses arrive this afternoon and I thought I’d come and see how they were settling in.’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Miss Grimm.

  ‘And don’t make a fuss. I’d rather no one knows I’m there. I was supposed to have this sorted out months ago – I’ll look a right twit if it goes ahead and I haven’t had it trialled.’

  Ophelia was intrigued. ‘Yes, Your Majesty, I won’t breathe a word. Might I suggest your driver parks in the front? I’ll come and open the main doors. The girls never use that side of the building and they should all be in the house getting ready for tea when you arrive.’

  ‘Splendid. If we can come to some sort of arrangement, I rather hope you can tell the girls the good news this evening,’ Queen Georgiana said. ‘There’s no time to lose. Hang on a tick, dear.’ There was a short silence while Queen Georgiana ran her eyes over the proposal in front of her.

  Ophelia Grimm wasn’t certain that she was still on the line when suddenly Her Majesty’s voice boomed, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’

  ‘Is everything all right, Ma’am?’

  ‘I’ve just realised I need some boys for this as well. Right. Well … Yes, that’s it. Can you get onto Professor Winterbottom and have him meet us too? The old boy owes me a favour. I gave him a hot tip in the first at Ellingworth. The man made a small fortune, I believe.’ And with that Queen Georgiana hung up the telephone.

  Miss Grimm dialled the number for Fayle School. She glanced at her watch, hoping the Professor hadn’t already gone to tea. She was about to give up when he answered. Ophelia raced through the Queen’s request, noting the favour she had done him, and the Professor said that he’d be over in a flash. She looked around her study. There was a pile of enrolment papers on the desk and several stacks of books that Miss Reedy had suggested the girls could study this term, which she wanted to read for herself.

  ‘Mrs Derby!’ Ophelia called as she reefed open the double doors.

  Louella leapt from her seat. ‘What’s the matter, Miss Grimm?’

  ‘Quickly, come and help me tidy up. The Queen’s coming.’ She picked up the papers from her desk and dumped them into the secretary’s outstretched arms.

  ‘When, Miss Grimm?’ she asked as she balanced the pile and took them to her own desk.

  ‘About ten minutes,’ Ophelia replied.

  ‘Goodness, she’s always given us more warning than that,’ Mrs Derby called over her shoulder.

  ‘Not this time. And you’re not to tell a soul. Help me get this done and then you can go and stand guard at the front doors. Oh, and Professor Winterbottom’s on his way too.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Grimm.’ Mrs Derby raced back into the headmistress’s study and cleared away the cup and saucer on her desk.

  The chair in the centre of the teachers’ table sat empty, awaiting the arrival of the headmistress. Miss Reedy had held off for as long as she could, but had relented and directed the children to the servery half an hour ago. It wasn’t fair to keep them waiting any longer and Mrs Smith was worried about the pasta drying out and the sauce becoming gluggy.

  It had taken longer than usual to get everyone through but at least the horrendous noise had died down once the girls and staff were busy eating.

  Miss Reedy leaned closer to Mr Plumpton and said quietly, ‘I can’t believe she’s not here. Tonight of all nights.’

  The man frowned. ‘Yes, I’d have thought she’d have some announcements to make.’

  ‘I can do the announcements, Josiah. It’s just not a good look with the new teachers and students. I’m sure many of them have heard rumours of the past situation, when we never saw her at all. She’s been so wonderful of late. I do hope nothing’s wrong.’ Miss Reedy scanned the tables, keeping an especially close eye on the latest arrivals. She had an excellent vantage point as the teachers’ table sat on a small podium overlooking the room.

  ‘She’s probably been held up by the builders,’ Mr Plumpton said. ‘That stable conversion has turned into a bit of a nightmare.’

  ‘Yes, well, surely the girls and teachers should come first?’ Miss Reedy raised her eyebrows.

  ‘I know my girl comes first,’ he whispered. Miss Reedy’s cheeks flushed bright red.

  Mr Plumpton moved his right hand and brushed it against her left. She started as if he’d jabbed her with an electric cattle prod.

  Miss Reedy l
eapt to her feet and pointed. ‘You! Little girl with the blonde plaits, what’s your name?’

  The small child looked up and swallowed hard. Her eyes were fixed on Miss Reedy like a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding truck.

  ‘Yes, you,’ Miss Reedy said.

  ‘Essie,’ the girl squeaked.

  ‘Hmm. Essie, are you acquainted with the objects known as cutlery? You know, knives and forks?’

  The child nodded. ‘Of course, Miss Reedy.’

  ‘Then might I suggest that you use them?’ the teacher said sternly. She’d caught the child picking up a strand of spaghetti with her fingers.

  Several other girls reached for their silverware.

  Miss Reedy glared. Essie stared at her plate, not game to look up again. The teacher slowly sat down.

  ‘Goodness me, what are the parents teaching these children? It’s no wonder they ship them off to boarding school – at least we still have a focus on manners.’ Miss Reedy shook her head and concentrated on her own meal.

  Across the room, Caprice Radford twirled her fork around the long strands of pasta with an expert touch. She’d had a miraculous recovery from her alleged homesickness. ‘Is she always so mean?’

  Millie thought that was rich coming from Caprice.

  ‘Oh no, Miss Reedy’s not mean at all,’ Alice-Miranda replied.

  ‘But she is strict,’ Sloane added. ‘You don’t want to get on her bad side.’

  Jacinta looked up from where she was sitting opposite Caprice. ‘We used to call her a fire-breathing dragon with a toothache. But she’s not like that any more, not unless girls do something really awful.’

  Caprice grinned. ‘Sounds like a great name if you ask me. Who’s that man next to her?’

  ‘That’s Mr Plumpton,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘He’s our Science teacher.’

  Caprice snorted.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Alice-Miranda asked, wondering what the girl was getting at.

  ‘Just look at him. He’s the shape of a bowling pin and he’s called “Plumpton” – seriously?’ Caprice rolled her eyes.