Alice-Miranda at Camp 10

by Jacqueline Harvey

  Hugh Kennington-Jones telephoned his brother as soon as his meeting finished.

  ‘Hi Ed, did you find it all?’ Hugh asked.

  ‘More than I imagined,’ Ed replied.

  ‘Oh really? That sounds promising. Do you think we’ll be able to add some funds to the trust?’ Hugh enquired.

  Ed laughed. ‘Put it this way, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about Pelham Park’s financial security again.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ Hugh said.

  A loud whumping sound began to drown out their conversation.

  ‘Hugh, we need to talk about something I found,’ Ed began. He could barely hear himself speak.

  ‘Sorry Ed, I’ve got to get going.’ Hugh could see his wife sitting in the back of the chopper, tapping her watch.

  ‘But it’s important, Hugh.’ Ed realised he was yelling.

  ‘Sorry, I can’t hear you. I’ll speak to you in a few days,’ Hugh shouted, then rang off.

  Ed sighed. He’d do some investigating of his own. Maybe he was wrong about the Monet.

  Matron Bright was nowhere to be found and the office was locked. Ed thought he might use one of the computers to do some research but none of the keys on the ring she’d given him worked. The woman wasn’t lying when she said she was security conscious. Ed calculated the time difference in New York City and called his assistant, Callum Preston, to see what the young man could find out for him.

  He let the studio phone ring until the answering machine picked up. It was strange to leave a message after hearing his own voice on the other end of the line.

  ‘Callum, could you give me a ring as soon as you get this? I need you to do something for me urgently. Thanks. Oh, it’s Ed.’ He terminated the call.

  His stomach grumbled and he realised that it was after seven thirty. He wondered if his dinner had been delivered to his room already.

  Ed was walking across the Great Hall when a woman dressed in trousers and a smart white shirt buzzed her way in through the front doors. Tall and slim, with short brunette hair, she looked about forty and was carrying a small radio.

  He wondered if she was an employee. Perhaps she’d have a key to the office.

  ‘Excuse me.’ Ed intercepted her at the bottom of the stairs.

  She looked at him.

  ‘Do you work here?’ he asked.

  Fenella Freeman was about to ask if she looked like the rest of the ridiculously smiley staff but stopped herself.

  ‘I just thought you might because you had a swipe to get in,’ Ed tried again.

  ‘Oh, that.’ Fenella realised what he was talking about. ‘No, my father is one of the residents and all of the next of kin have one, in case they’d like to visit out of hours.’

  ‘I see. Thanks, anyway,’ Ed said. He held out his hand, offering for her to walk upstairs first.

  ‘But if you’re not on staff and you don’t live here, may I ask what you’re doing?’ Fenella’s detective instincts had kicked in. She’d never seen him before and he did seem a bit lost.

  ‘I’m Ed Clifton,’ he replied.

  Fenella frowned and shook her head. ‘Sorry, I’m afraid that means nothing to me.’

  ‘Um, I’m a Kennington-Jones. My brother and his wife own Pelham Park,’ Ed explained.

  ‘Oh.’ Fenella wondered why she’d never heard of the man before. ‘I didn’t realise there was a brother.’

  ‘Probably because I was dead.’

  Fenella flinched.

  Ed looked sheepish. ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘Sounds intriguing,’ Fenella said. ‘I mean the being dead and now undead part. Were you missing?’

  ‘I guess you could say that. I left home a long time ago and my mother died the very next night and my father thought it best if he buried us both,’ Ed said. ‘That’s really sounding creepy, isn’t it?’

  ‘Especially if they had a funeral.’ The woman opened her eyes wide in mock horror.

  ‘Apparently so.’ Ed grinned tightly.

  Fenella’s horrified expression was genuine this time. ‘Your father must have been a monster.’

  ‘He was a particular type of man. A lot like his own father, from the little I can remember of my grandfather,’ Ed said.

  Fenella wasn’t surprised to hear that. It was Ed’s grandfather who had kicked her father and grandparents off the estate years before.

  ‘So may I ask what brought you back here, after how long?’ Fenella said. ‘It doesn’t sound like this place holds a lot of happy memories.’

  ‘Almost forty years. I’m here because of my mother’s art collection. It needs to be catalogued and disposed of,’ he explained.

  Fenella said nothing, wondering where this vast collection was stored.

  ‘Heavens, I do apologise. I’ve been rambling and I don’t even know your name,’ said Ed, smiling at the woman.

  ‘Fenella. DS Fenella Freeman.’ She couldn’t help herself. It was force of habit to use her rank and title. She held out her hand, which Ed took in his. He was taken aback by the strength of her grip.

  A shiver ran down Ed’s spine. After what he’d just found in the cellar, having a detective in the house had thrown him. ‘A member of our fine constabulary. You said that you were visiting your father. What’s his name?’

  ‘Donald Freeman,’ Fenella replied.

  He wondered why that name rang a bell then realised that her father was the elderly gentleman Alice-Miranda had been talking to that morning. But there was something else ticking away in the back of his mind. He was sure that name meant more to him.

  ‘Are you heading up?’ Ed asked.

  Fenella nodded and the two of them walked upstairs side by side.

  ‘It was nice to meet you, DS Freeman,’ Ed remarked as Fenella turned to walk down the passageway on their left. ‘Freeman … You’re not related to Niall Freeman, are you?’

  Fenella stopped and turned around. ‘He’s my brother,’ she replied tersely.

  ‘Oh, that’s great. Niall’s a genius. I love his work.’

  ‘Of course you do.’ Fenella smiled bitterly. It was always about Niall, she thought to herself.

  On his way down the hall, Ed pulled out his phone and stared at the screen. With DS Freeman in the house he really wanted to speak to Callum as soon as possible.

  As he pushed open the door to his room he could see a covered plate on the small table. Ed pulled off the silver cloche and was surprised to find the food still hot. He picked up the fork, stabbing at a piece of meat, before he rang home again.

  He was almost ready to give up again when Callum answered.

  ‘Cal, is that you?’ Music blared in the background.

  ‘Sorry, I can’t hear you,’ Callum shouted.

  ‘Well, turn the volume down!’ Ed yelled.

  ‘Hang on a tick, I’ll just turn the volume down,’ the young man shouted. ‘Sorry about that. Callum Preston speaking.’

  ‘Cal, it’s Ed.’

  ‘Oh, hi. Are things going well? Have you seen Alice-Miranda? Please give her my best.’

  Callum was clearly up for a chat. Ed wasn’t. ‘Cal, I need some help and you must be very discreet about any enquiries you make.’

  ‘Sounds serious. Anything wrong?’

  ‘I’m not sure but I need you to investigate a painting for me. Look up Waterloo Bridge, London, by Monet and tell me where it hangs.’

  ‘What are you talking about? It doesn’t. It was stolen from the Kunsthal in Rotterdam,’ Callum said.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Ed asked.

  ‘Absolutely. It was all over the papers. That painting was destroyed in a fire by the thief’s mother,’ said Callum. ‘Don’t you remember? Big heist and then all that beautiful work gone.’

  ‘Oh gosh.’ Ed put the fork down on the edge of his plate. ‘That’s why I knew about it.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Ed?’ Callum asked.

  ‘The good news is that the painting is in one piece,’ Ed said.

  ‘Rea
lly? How do you know?’ Callum demanded.

  ‘Because it’s sitting in the cellar with my mother’s collection,’ Ed replied.

  ‘Wow!’ Callum gasped. ‘Are you serious? What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘I’m not sure. But you mustn’t breathe a word. I can’t quite believe it myself and I’m almost afraid to look at what else might be there.’

  ‘Does Hugh know?’ Callum asked.

  ‘Not yet. He’s off the grid for a few days,’ said Ed. ‘Not a word to anyone, Cal. Not a word, you hear me.’ And with that he ended the call.

  Ed’s mind was in a whirl. How had a recently stolen painting worth tens of millions of dollars ended up in the cellar at Pelham Park among his mother’s artworks? It just didn’t make any sense at all.

  Donald Freeman was dozing in front of the television when Fenella let herself into his apartment. She’d knocked but when there was no answer she used her key. Fenella walked past her father and into the kitchenette. She put the radio on the table then turned and filled a glass of water at the tap. Through the window she could see the cross on top of the rise, where the Kennington-Jones family crypt overlooked the estate. Gosh people could be cruel, she thought. Fancy Ed Clifton’s father having a funeral for him when he knew full well that his son was alive. But then, perhaps cruelty ran in the family.

  Fenella’s mind wandered to her own grandfather and what could have happened all those years ago for him to be so heartlessly dismissed from Pelham Park. It sounded as if the Kennington-Jones elders had a lot to answer for. She’d love to know the truth.

  Fenella walked back into the sitting room where her father had begun to snore – throaty grunts punctuated by whistling breaths. She removed the little black leather-bound book that was open on his chest and sat it on the table beside him. There was no point waking him. She’d call in the morning and let him know about the radio.

  The Barn Owls arrived back at camp just as Mr Lipp was rushing about rounding up the Winchester-Fayle Singers for choir practice.

  The rest of the children were to use their spare time before dinner to have showers and tidy their rooms for an inspection that Miss Reedy had promised for that evening.

  ‘Hurry along, everyone. Mr Trout’s waiting for us in the hall,’ Mr Lipp directed.

  Clearly Mr Trout was rehearsing already as pounding piano music echoed through the camp.

  The children arrived in dribs and drabs. When Figgy wandered in last, fifteen minutes after the rehearsal had started, Mr Lipp looked as if he was set to explode.

  ‘Glad you could join us, Figworth.’

  The teacher was flapping his arms and strutting about like a peacock. His suit was just as colourful too, as he’d traded his beige safari gear for one of his more traditional ensembles. This time it was a pair of pink plaid trousers, a bright yellow shirt and a polka-dot cravat.

  Figgy slunk into the back row and began opening and closing his mouth like a giant carp.

  The song reached its explosive crescendo and Mr Lipp made the children hold the last note for far too long. Most of them lost their breath well before he cut them off. Except for Caprice, who warbled like a songbird.

  ‘Stunning, Caprice. Absolutely beautiful. But as for the rest of you, learn to hold a note,’ Mr Lipp huffed.

  An hour after the rehearsal had started, Alice-Miranda put up her hand. ‘Excuse me, Mr Lipp, but aren’t we supposed to be at dinner?’

  He looked at the clock on the wall and then at his watch. ‘Oh goodness,’ he blustered. ‘Yes, yes. We don’t want Miss Reedy sending a search party.’

  The children looked sideways at one another, glad that Alice-Miranda had spoken up. The rumbling of stomachs threatened to drown out the singing.

  ‘Off you go,’ Mr Lipp said. ‘We’ll reconvene tomorrow.’

  In the dining room, the children were greeted by Miss Reedy, who seemed remarkably relaxed. She’d been too busy with Mr Plumpton, plotting a little getaway for the end of term, to notice their lateness.

  ‘Sorry, Miss Reedy. Mr Lipp didn’t realise the time,’ Alice-Miranda apologised on behalf of the group.

  ‘Oh, goodness,’ she said, glancing at her watch then at the bain-maries, which she hoped the staff hadn’t already started to clear. But the children were in luck. The mystery meat and rice dish hadn’t been a huge hit with the students and there was plenty left. ‘Run along, everyone, you must be starving,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘What are we doing after dinner?’ Alice-Miranda asked.

  ‘I think the camp leaders have a trivia night planned,’ Miss Reedy said.

  Alice-Miranda grinned. ‘I love trivia.’

  Sloane rolled her eyes. ‘Only because you’re so good at it.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ Caprice said with a smirk.

  Caprice’s plans to make Alice-Miranda look stupid backfired horribly. In the early rounds she fed Millie a stream of incorrect answers, which the girl reluctantly attempted to get Alice-Miranda to use. In the end Caprice was forced to change her plans. What a pity Alice-Miranda’s buzzer was about to fail.

  ‘This has been one of the most exciting trivia competitions we’ve ever seen at Bagley Hall,’ Beth said. She and Lionel, another one of the instructors, were acting as quizmasters. They were dressed in gaudy checked jackets with pork pie hats and oversized glasses. Miss Reedy commented that she thought they looked like used car salesmen. Mr Plumpton wondered if they’d borrowed their jackets from Mr Lipp.

  ‘Okay, so we’re down to the final round and it looks like we have two Barn Owls in the lead: Caprice and Alice-Miranda,’ said Beth. She led a huge round of applause.

  ‘Go Alice-Miranda!’ Sloane cheered.

  ‘Go Caprice,’ Figgy yelled.

  ‘Girls, we need you to come out the front,’ said Lionel.

  Alice-Miranda and Caprice walked to the table that had been moved into place for the final. Two buzzers sat side by side. The girls took their seats and smiled at the audience.

  Millie didn’t say a word. She moved off to the side and looked at where the power cords for the buzzers were plugged into the socket. Her eyes followed the cords to be sure which was which.

  ‘Now, if the first person to buzz gets the question wrong, then the other will have an opportunity to answer. Best of three,’ Lionel said.

  Beth moved back to the whiteboard to record the scores.

  ‘First question. What is the capital city of Portugal?’

  The girls pressed their buzzers. Alice-Miranda’s flashed first.

  ‘Yes, Alice-Miranda.’ Lionel looked intently at the child.

  ‘Lisbon,’ she replied.

  ‘Correct!’

  A huge cheer went up around the room.

  Caprice’s eyes searched the room for Millie.

  Millie had spotted her target. Fortunately, the teachers were too busy drinking tea and watching the competition to notice her.

  ‘Second question. This is a history one. Name the Egyptian pharaoh responsible for the building of the Great Pyramid of Giza.’

  Both girls jammed their hands on the buzzers, but Caprice made it first.

  ‘Yes, Caprice?’

  The girl smiled sweetly. ‘Khufu.’

  ‘Well done!’

  The children cheered wildly again.

  ‘Okay, this is it. The third and final question. Whoever gets this right wins the title of Bagley Hall Quiz Champion – well, for this week anyway.’ Lionel grinned.

  Miss Reedy stood up from her seat at the teachers’ table and addressed the students. ‘Settle down, everyone. Before we finish I’d just like to say that both girls have been very impressive and we will be taking their performances into account when adding up today’s individual scores.’

  ‘But the winner gets more points, don’t they?’ Caprice demanded.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Miss Reedy slowly. She was a little surprised by the girl’s tone.

  Caprice smiled at the teacher then glared at Millie, who was
still crouched next to the power points.

  ‘Last question.’ Lionel couldn’t believe that he was using the cards generally reserved for students in high school. These little girls were amazing. ‘What is the longest river in the world?’

  The girls hit their buzzers simultaneously but only Caprice’s lit up.

  ‘Caprice.’ Lionel looked at the girl through his oversized quizmaster glasses.

  ‘The Amazon,’ Caprice replied smugly.

  Lionel bit his lip and looked at his card. ‘I’m afraid that’s incorrect.’

  Caprice’s jaw hit the ground. ‘It can’t be wrong. I know these things.’

  Lionel looked at Alice-Miranda. ‘Do you know?’

  The child nodded. ‘I think so. Is it the Nile?’ She looked at Lionel expectantly.

  ‘It’s the Nile!’ Lionel shouted and the crowd went crazy. The young man walked over and raised Alice-Miranda’s hand in the air.

  Caprice’s face was as dark as a moonless night.

  Alice-Miranda looked about for Millie and gave her friend a wave. Millie gave a half-hearted smile. She wondered what evil plan Caprice was plotting for her punishment. It wasn’t her fault the stupid girl didn’t know the answer. She’d done what she was asked, and it sickened her to the core.

  Alice-Miranda turned to Caprice and held out her hand. ‘Thanks for a great match.’

  Caprice turned her head the other way. But when she spotted Beth frowning at her, she quickly turned back to Alice-Miranda and grabbed her hand. She shook it vigorously then leaned across and gave the tiny child a hug too.

  ‘You were fantastic,’ Caprice simpered.

  ‘Thanks, Caprice. You were pretty amazing yourself.’

  Beth presented Alice-Miranda with a tiny plastic trophy.

  Miss Reedy stood and walked to the front. Judging by the contagious yawns that were spreading around the room, Miss Reedy was hopeful that the children would have an early night and her hallway patrols would be over quickly. She was feeling quite tired herself. She tapped the microphone and addressed the students.