Alice-Miranda at School
Page 1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2010 by Jacqueline Harvey
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Originally published in paperback by Random House Australia, Sydney, in 2010.
Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Harvey, Jacqueline.
Alice-Miranda at school / Jacqueline Harvey. — 1st American ed.
p. cm.
Summary: Soon after arriving at the Winchesterfield-Downsfordvale Academy for Proper Young Ladies, resourceful seven-and-one-quarter-year-old Alice-Miranda finds her new boarding school to be a very curious establishment with no flowers in the gardens, a headmistress that has not been seen for years, and a mysterious stranger that seems to be hiding out on the premises.
eISBN: 978-0-375-89858-7
[1. Boarding schools—Fiction. 2. Schools—Fiction. 3. Secrets—Fiction.
4. Mystery and detective stories.] I. Title.
PZ7.H2674785Al 2011
[Fic]—dc22
2010023723
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
v3.1
For Sandy Campbell,
a dear friend much loved and missed
And for my husband Ian—
who reads and listens and laughs (a lot)
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
And Just in Case You’re Wondering …
Cast of Characters
Nana Jones’s Apple Pie
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Excerpt from Alice-Miranda on Holiday
Alice-Miranda Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones waved goodbye to her parents at the gate.
“Goodbye, Mummy. Please try to be brave.” Her mother sobbed loudly in reply. “Enjoy your golf, Daddy. I’ll see you at the end of term.” Her father sniffled into his handkerchief.
Before they had time to wave her goodbye, Alice-Miranda skipped back down the hedge-lined path into her new home.
Winchesterfield-Downsfordvale Academy for Proper Young Ladies had a tradition dating back two and a half centuries. Alice-Miranda’s mother, aunt, grandmother, great-grandmother and so on had all gone there. But none had been so young or so willing.
It had come as quite a shock to Alice-Miranda’s parents to learn that she had telephoned the school to see if she could start early—she was, after all, only seven and one-quarter years old, and not due to start for another year. But after two years at her current school, Ellery Prep, she felt ready for bigger things. Besides, Alice-Miranda had always been different from other children. She loved her parents dearly and they loved her, but boarding school appealed to her sense of adventure.
“It’s much better this way,” Alice-Miranda had said with a smile. “You both work so hard and you have far more important things to do than run after me. This way I can do all my activities at school. Imagine, Mummy—no more waiting around while I’m at ballet or piano or riding lessons.”
“But darling, I don’t mind a bit,” her mother protested.
“I know you don’t,” Alice-Miranda had agreed, “but you should think about my being away as a holiday. And then at the end there’s all the excitement of coming home, except that it’s me coming home to you.” She’d hugged her mother and stroked her father’s brow as she handed them a gigantic box of tissues. Although they didn’t want her to go, they knew there was no point arguing. Once Alice-Miranda made up her mind there was no turning back.
Her teacher, Miss Critchley, hadn’t seemed the least surprised by Alice-Miranda’s plans.
“Of course, we’ll all miss her terribly,” Miss Critchley had explained to Alice-Miranda’s parents. “But that daughter of yours is more than up to it. I can’t imagine there’s any reason to stop her.”
And so Alice-Miranda went.
Winchesterfield-Downsfordvale sat upon three thousand emerald-colored acres. A tapestry of Georgian buildings dotted the campus, with Winchesterfield Manor the jewel in the crown. Along its labyrinth of corridors hung huge portraits of past headmistresses with serious stares and old-fashioned clothes. The trophy cabinets glittered with treasure and the foyer was lined with priceless antiques. There was not a thing out of place. But from the moment Alice-Miranda entered the grounds she had a strange feeling that something was missing—and she was usually right about her strange feelings.
The headmistress, Miss Grimm, had not come out of her study to meet her. The school’s secretary, Miss Higgins, had met Alice-Miranda and her parents at the gate, looking rather surprised to see them.
“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones. There must have been a mix-up with the dates—Alice-Miranda is a day early,” Miss Higgins had explained.
Her parents had said that it was no bother and they would come back again tomorrow. But Miss Higgins was appalled at the idea of causing such inconvenience and offered to take care of Alice-Miranda until the house mistress arrived.
It was Miss Higgins who had interviewed Alice-Miranda some weeks ago, when Alice-Miranda had first contacted the school. At that meeting, Alice-Miranda had thought Miss Higgins quite lovely, with her kindly eyes and pretty smile. But today she couldn’t help noticing that Miss Higgins seemed a little flustered and talked as though she were in a race.
Miss Higgins showed Alice-Miranda to her room and suggested she take a stroll around the school. “I’ll come and find you and take you to see Cook about some lunch in a little while.”
Alice-Miranda unpacked her case, folded her clothes and put them neatly away into one of the tall chests of drawers. The room contained two single beds on opposite walls, matching chests and bedside tables. In a tidy alcove, two timber desks, each with a black swivel chair, stood side by side. The furniture was what her mother might have called functional. Not beautiful, but all very useful. The room’s only hint of elegance came from the fourteen-foot ceiling with ornate cornices and the polished timber floor.
Alice-
Miranda was delighted to find an envelope addressed to Miss Alice-Miranda Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones propped against her pillow.
“How lovely—my own special letter,” Alice-Miranda said out loud. She looked at the slightly tatty brown bear in her open suitcase. “Isn’t that sweet, Brummel?”
She slid her finger under the opening and pulled out a very grand-looking note on official school paper. It read:
WINCHESTERFIELD-DOWNSFORDVALE ACADEMY FOR PROPER YOUNG LADIES
Dear Miss Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones,
Welcome to Winchesterfield-Downsfordvale Academy for Proper Young Ladies. It is expected that you will work extremely hard at all times and strive to achieve your very best. You must obey without question all of the school rules, of which there is a copy attached to this letter. Furthermore, you must ensure that your behavior is such that it always brings credit to you, your family and this establishment.
Yours sincerely,
Miss Ophelia Grimm
Headmistress
WINCHESTERFIELD-DOWNSFORDVALE ACADEMY FOR PROPER YOUNG LADIES SCHOOL RULES
Hair ribbons in regulation colors and a width of 3/4 of an inch will be tied with double overhand bows.
Shoes will be polished twice a day with boot polish and brushes.
Shoelaces will be washed each week by hand.
Head lice are banned.
All times tables to 20 must be learned by heart by the age of 9.
Bareback horse riding is not permitted in the quadrangle.
All girls will learn to play golf, croquet and bridge.
Licorice will not be consumed after 5 p.m.
Unless invited by the headmistress, parents will not enter school buildings.
Homesickness will not be tolerated.
Alice-Miranda put the letter down and cuddled the little bear. “Oh, Brummel, I can’t wait to meet Miss Grimm—she sounds like she’s very interested in her students.”
Alice-Miranda folded the letter and placed it in the top drawer. She would memorize the school rules later. She popped her favorite photos of Mummy and Daddy on her bedside table and positioned the bear carefully on her bed.
“You be a brave boy, Brummel.” She ruffled his furry head. “I’m off to explore, and when I get back I’ll tell you all about it.”
Alice-Miranda discovered lots of things. There was an enormous library, a swimming pool and a lake, fields to play games on, tennis courts, stables and classrooms, which—if she stood on tippy-toes and peered through the windows—looked to have the very best equipment. Winchesterfield-Downsfordvale had everything a school could possibly want and more, but she still couldn’t help feeling that something wasn’t right. There was something missing, something important that should have been there but wasn’t.
Alice-Miranda thought and thought, but she couldn’t work it out.
She was walking past the kitchen when she heard the unmistakable sound of muffled sobbing. She opened the screen door and marched straight inside. There among the pots and pans, amid a maze of stainless steel, sat Cook. The words on her lips bubbled and frothed like the pot on the stove behind her.
“She never likes anything I make. All that perfectly good food going to waste. I might as well be invisible.” Cook blew her nose into a tatty tissue, then wiped the back of her hand across her apron.
Alice-Miranda walked right up and tapped the woman on the shoulder. In one movement Cook seized the rolling pin in front of her and leapt to her feet.
“Hello, Cook—” Alice-Miranda stopped and inhaled deeply. “Ohh!” she exclaimed. “May I try one of those delicious-looking brownies there on the bench? The smell is driving my stomach mad.”
Cook didn’t know what to say. Children didn’t enter her kitchen, let alone ask for something to eat. She hesitated, slowly lowered the rolling pin back onto the bench and gave a funny sort of half-nod.
Alice-Miranda picked up the nearest brownie and took a giant bite. She was careful not to drop any crumbs.
“That’s the yummiest brownie I have ever tasted. And you know, I have had some rather good ones. Last summer Mummy and Daddy took me to Switzerland and we had lunch with their funny old friend the baron and his cook baked me some brownies but they weren’t anything to compare with this one. You must simply be the most superb brownie cook in the whole wide world.”
Cook couldn’t think of a thing to say. It was probably best, given that her usual response was to growl at anyone who dared to comment on her cooking.
Alice-Miranda held out her hand (she wiped the crumbs delicately on her handkerchief and popped it into her pocket first). “Please excuse me for being so rude. My name is Alice-Miranda Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones and I am very pleased to meet you, Mrs.… ?”
Cook frowned and somewhat reluctantly took Alice-Miranda’s tiny hand in hers.
“Smith,” Cook replied with a puzzled look.
“Well, Mrs. Smith, I am so pleased to have met you. I can’t wait to eat your delicious meals, and I want to say thank you very much for the brownie. You know”—Alice-Miranda tilted her head and thought for a moment—“we might even be related somehow. My mother was a Highton-Smith, and before that someone must have been simply a Smith.”
Cook shook some imaginary crumbs from her apron and hesitantly asked Alice-Miranda if she would like a glass of milk to have with the rest of her brownie.
“Oh yes, please. Now, Mrs. Smith, I have a question. I’ve been looking all around this wonderful school, which has everything I could possibly imagine a school would ever need and more, but there’s something missing and I can’t work out what it is.” Alice-Miranda bit her lip as she pondered the problem.
Mrs. Smith couldn’t think of anything either. She believed it was just about the poshest school in the world. So after they had thought for a while, they ate their brownies and drank their milk and Mrs. Smith told Alice-Miranda about her grandchildren who lived all the way over the sea in the United States of America. Alice-Miranda thought that was marvelous and asked if she had been to visit them and see the Grand Canyon and the Empire State Building and all the other amazing things America has to offer.
Mrs. Smith shook her head and whispered sadly that she hadn’t ever been.
“Why not?” Alice-Miranda asked.
“Well, there’d be no one to cook Miss Grimm’s dinners, then, would there?” Mrs. Smith mumbled.
“I’m sure we could find someone to step in, just for a little while,” said Alice-Miranda.
Mrs. Smith fiddled with the pocket on the front of her apron. “I did ask once, a long time ago, and I was told that if I needed to take a holiday, then I should make it a permanent one.” Her voice quavered as she spoke.
“That’s terrible.” Alice-Miranda shook her head. “I’ll speak with Miss Grimm right away.” She stood up and headed for the door, but after a moment she turned back and faced Cook. “Mrs. Smith, holidays are very important. Everyone needs to have one sometime or another. I think Miss Grimm’s being a little bit selfish.”
Mrs. Smith stood with her mouth open as this tiny girl with cascading chocolate curls marched off into the garden. She felt a tickle around her mouth and realized that she was doing something she hadn’t done in years. She was smiling.
On her way to see Miss Grimm, Alice-Miranda passed by a large greenhouse. From inside, she heard the sound of shattering glass and a man’s angry voice.
“Oh, blast it all!” he bellowed.
Alice-Miranda walked straight to the greenhouse door and pushed it open. A giant of a man stood in front of a workbench, muttering to himself and shaking his fist. There was a little pile of glass on the floor at his feet.
“Good morning, sir,” she said, and took herself inside. “My name is Alice-Miranda Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones and I’ve just arrived this morning.”
The man looked at Alice-Miranda in surprise, but said nothing.
Suddenly Alice-Miranda rushed to the far corner of the greenhouse. “That’s the most beautifu
l Cypripedium parviflorum I have ever seen. Last year Mummy and Daddy took me to India and we stayed with Prince Shivaji and he had a beautiful greenhouse with loads of orchids—but there was nothing to compare with this lady’s slipper orchid of yours. It’s truly amazing. You must be the best gardener in the whole world, Mr.… ”
Alice-Miranda walked back toward him and held out her hand.
He took her tiny fingers into his large paw and gulped. “Charlie,” he whispered hoarsely. “The girls call me Charlie.”
“Well, that won’t do at all.” Alice-Miranda shook her head. “I will call you Mr. Charles. Anyone who grows such extraordinary flowers deserves more respect. Now, Mr. Charles, I see that you have a kettle on that little stove in the corner. Shall I make you a cup of tea and then you can tell me what it is that upset you so?”
Charlie nodded slowly. He picked up a dustpan and broom from the back of the bench and began to sweep up the glass at his feet.
Alice-Miranda quickly found some tea for the pot, boiled the kettle and made him the most delicious cup of tea he’d had in ages.
“Now, Mr. Charles, I know that it’s most annoying when you break something, but surely that’s not why you’re so dreadfully cross?” Alice-Miranda smiled kindly.
Charlie looked up. He wasn’t a very old man, but years of working outdoors had rewarded him with deep lines running the length of his cheeks. His eyes, the color of cornflowers, seemed to have lost their sparkle.
He began quietly. “Well, miss, it’s the flowers. I want to plant flowers, and Miss Grimm, she don’t like flowers. The place just looks sad without them.” Charlie stared down into his cup. “My dear old dad would turn in his grave knowing the state of this place.”
He could hardly believe that this slip of a girl had come along and made him tea, let alone that he was telling her his problems.
“Why would your father be upset?” asked Alice-Miranda.
“He was the gardener here for nigh on forty years before me. It looked a lot different back then, I can tell you.”
Alice-Miranda thought for a moment. “Surely it must only be some flowers,” she decided. “Take, for example, dahlias. My mummy doesn’t like them at all. By themselves they’re quite lovely, but when they’re planted en masse she says that they look like a reef of sea anemones—much better left in the ocean than in the garden.”