‘Oh, how terribly kind,’ whispered Freja.
‘My Mami told me how much you love the doll’s house and long for your Mami to see it. The chocolate house is too big and too fragile to send to the clinic, I think, but this way, your Mami can see the family who have lived in the house. And family is the most important part, ja?’
Freja nodded. ‘Ja.’ Closing the lid, she whispered, ‘Thank you, François-Louis, from the bottom of my heart.’ And, despite her shyness, she stretched up and kissed the chocolate sculptor on the cheek.
‘Please tell your mother that the Margrit Milk family comes with my best wishes,’ said François-Louis. He stood, clicked his heels, bowed and departed.
A movement nearby caught Freja’s eye. She turned around, smiling, hoping to see Wilhelm Tell, but instead she saw a woman sitting on another of the foyer’s blue velvet lounges. It was Blah Woman, the one who was so very dull and kept so very still that she almost disappeared into her surroundings. She must have been there the whole time, but Freja hadn’t noticed her before. She might not have seen the woman at all, except that, now, she had suddenly shifted and leaned forward.
Freja gave a small wave.
Blah Woman did not respond. Except, perhaps, for a slight narrowing of the eyes.
Freja felt a little tingle down her spine.
And one tiny poke at the back of her mind.
‘Silly,’ Freja whispered. Then, grabbing the chocolate box firmly in her hands, she stood and headed back towards the Palm Room.
She had taken only a few steps when the woman, suddenly full of energy, sprang to her feet and blocked her path.
A second tingle, longer, stronger, ran down Freja’s spine. She looked up into the woman’s face. The woman smiled, but although her mouth curled up at the sides, her eyes looked cold and hard.
‘Excuse me,’ whispered Freja, and she stepped to the left, but the woman stepped the same way, blocking her path once more.
‘What a pretty box,’ the woman cooed. Her voice was English, very prim. ‘May I take a look?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Freja. ‘This is a special gift for my mother.’
‘Just a peek,’ coaxed the woman. ‘I’ll be very careful.’ She reached out, her hands twitching.
Freja stepped back and clutched the box to her body. ‘No.’
The smile fell from the woman’s lips. ‘Give me the chocolate family,’ she snarled.
The woman must have been listening to Freja’s entire conversation with François-Louis. She knew exactly what was in the box. And she wanted it!
Freja clenched her jaw and shook her head.
The woman stepped closer, rubbing her hands together.
‘Hands!’ gasped Freja. She looked down at her new marmot slippers. She looked back at the woman’s fidgeting hands.
The marmots on Mount Pilatus suddenly scampered to the front of Freja’s mind. They’d barely arrived, squeaking and scolding, when they were joined, one after the other, by the woman with the flaming red hair, the woman in the cream fur coat and the Frenchman, Monsieur de la Fontaine. All had twitched and rubbed their hands like marmots.
‘Marmot hands,’ whispered Freja. Her eyes widened as the truth dawned upon her. ‘It’s you! You are the one who has been wearing all the disguises. You are the Margrit Milk chocolate thief!’
‘Come now,’ smirked the woman. ‘I did not steal all of the Margrit Milk chocolate. I bought quite a lot too. But now, I think, the Margrit Milk in your hands must be a gift from you to me. Come on, silly little girl. Hand it over and nobody will get hurt.’
‘Hurt?’ Freja stared at the woman. She didn’t look so very dangerous. But then Freja recalled the bruised and battered state of Herr Basil after the mugging. Herr Basil was a large man. Freja was just a small girl.
Freja’s eyes darted about. The foyer was empty. Rolf was being chased by Finnegan somewhere out on the terrace. Manfred was delivering her boots to her room. Tobias was in the kitchen discussing mushrooms with the chef. Even Wilhelm Tell had vanished once more. She was on her own.
‘The chocolate!’ demanded the woman.
Freja looked down at the pink box. The Margrit Milk family was a special gift for Clementine. Perhaps it was the last gift she would ever give to Clementine. A tear dribbled down her left cheek.
‘No,’ whispered Freja.
‘What?!’ shrieked the woman.
Freja looked up into the woman’s steely grey eyes and grew suddenly angry. And her anger made her bold.
‘No!’ shouted Freja, and she turned around and ran, across the foyer, down the service corridor and into the cloakroom. Inside, she pushed the cardboard carton full of chocolate against the door. It wasn’t much, but it would keep the woman at bay for a moment.
Freja slipped into the secret passageway and closed the entrance with a click. She leaned against the wall and listened as the cloakroom door was banged upon, slammed against, then shoved slowly open.
‘Stupid chocolate!’ the woman snapped, and kicked the cardboard carton over and over again. Then everything went silent. For a long time.
Freja imagined the woman’s confusion, her eyes darting back and forth along the rows of coats, her hands fidgeting nervously. She’d definitely seen Freja go into the cloakroom. Now she’d be wondering how the girl had managed to vanish into thin air.
Freja smiled, hugged the pink box to her chest and started to creep up the spiral staircase. But she had only taken a dozen steps when a noise below brought her to a halt. A shaft of light spilled into the secret passageway.
‘You knew about the secret passage!’ gasped Freja.
‘Of course!’ The woman chuckled up at her. ‘I have used it many times to slip undetected into the cloakroom. There are so many wonderful disguises in there, and it has been a perfect place to hide my own private collection of wigs, hats, gloves, moustaches, glasses . . .’ Her voice faded out as she crept, slowly, smoothly, up the stairs.
Freja continued to climb so that she remained one full turn of the spiral staircase away from the woman.
The woman increased her speed.
‘Leave me alone,’ said Freja, ‘or I’ll scream.’
‘Go ahead,’ said the woman. ‘These walls are very thick and no-one will hear you. And even if they do, they will think it is just another re-enactment of one of those silly scenes from the writer’s novel.’ She made a sudden dash, taking two steps at a time.
Freja ran, faster and faster, spiralling onward and upward, until she arrived at the top. Breathless and dizzy, she staggered against the wall and it gave way. She stumbled and found herself in a second secret passageway. It was pitch black and damp, and smelt like bats and rotting socks.
‘Come here, silly little girl,’ sang the woman.
Freja’s skin crept. She had no choice but to head blindly along the passageway and hope that it led her away from the woman to safety. If Freja couldn’t see, then the woman couldn’t see either.
Freja ran, one hand clutching the chocolate box to her chest, the other feeling along the wall to guide her way. She ran, stumbled, regained her footing and ran again until she collided with a solid surface. Fumbling around, she found a latch and pushed a panel that opened into a pretty round room. Freja realised that she was in the turret at the opposite end of the castle to their own suite.
The room was furnished with a four-poster bed with a crimson velvet canopy, a crimson velvet armchair, a round table and a Persian rug. Crimson velvet curtains flapped in the breeze from an open window. The same window from which Madame Belmont had been pushed by Herr Basil just yesterday.
‘Three storeys down,’ Freja whimpered. ‘I have to get out of here.’
She dashed to the door, but it was locked. She felt around in her hair for a bobby pin that she might use to pick the lock, but all she found was a withered edelweiss from a few days ago.
‘I’m coming, silly little girl!’ Blah Woman’s voice was full of slippery-slimy cheer.
; Freja cast her eyes around the room. ‘If I was a character in one of Tobias’ crime novels,’ she murmured, ‘what would I do?’
There was only one thing to do.
Freja tossed the chocolate box up onto the canopy of the bed. Then, using the curtains as a rope, she climbed up there herself. The bedposts, designed to take nothing more than a swathe of velvet, creaked beneath her weight. Freja grimaced and lay down, spreading her arms and legs wide to even the pressure. She had just grown still when she heard the woman enter the turret, walk to the centre of the room, stop and sigh.
Freja smiled. Safe at last, she thought, thanks to Tobby and his wonderful story ideas.
And that was when the canopy ripped.
CHAPTER 34
It’s what’s inside that counts
The canopy ripped and Freja plummeted, landing on the soft mattress.
‘Well, hello,’ said Blah Woman, smiling, her face now filled with genuine delight.
Freja scrabbled around, untangling herself from the velvet. She sprang to her feet and was horrified to see the pink box sitting on the floor between herself and the woman.
‘Ooh! Wonderful!’ The woman rubbed her hands like a marmot who had just discovered a clump of mushrooms.
Freja shook with fear and anger. ‘You are a bad person,’ she said. ‘You have deceived everyone. Except for me. I know exactly who you are. You’re Monsieur de la Fontaine, the Frenchman who wanted to buy all of the Margrit Milk from Herr Berna’s factory. You stuffed your clothes with pillows and stuck that silly moustache onto your face and spoke with a French accent. A very good French accent.’
‘Why, thank you,’ smirked the woman.
Freja frowned. ‘You’re also the thief who stole the newly delivered blocks of Margrit Milk chocolate from Schokoladen-Fantasie. You’re the cat burglar in the puffy ski gear who broke into Café Schokolade-Schokolade and stole all the Margrit Milk creations. You’re the woman with the flaming red hair who sat in Leckerbissen without eating her gâteau or drinking her hot chocolate.’ Freja stopped, tugged her ear, then continued as more pieces of the puzzle fell into place. ‘Because you weren’t there to eat chocolate . . . You were there to look around, to find a spot where you might break in during the night, so you could steal all the Margrit Milk!’
The woman sighed. ‘Yes, but that annoying woman, Frau Niederhauser, messed up my plans by fitting those ridiculous wooden shutters. She made it impossible for me to break in.’
‘So you had to work out another way to get the Margrit Milk chocolate,’ said Freja. ‘Which is when you started buying huge amounts of chocolate. You’re the woman in the cream fur coat who wanted to buy all of the Margrit Milk creations in Leckerbissen and . . . and . . .’ Freja shuddered. ‘You’re the ninja who mugged Herr Basil! So nasty! And you’re the old Swiss woman who bought all the chocolate fob watches.’
The woman nodded, stepped forward and picked up the pink box. ‘And now, I am the woman who has stolen the Margrit Milk family from Leckerbissen’s chocolate doll’s house.’ She raised one eyebrow and added, ‘Twice!’
Freja gasped, suddenly understanding. ‘Of course! Yesterday, when you were disguised as the red-haired lady and bumped into the doll’s house.’ She sniffed. ‘And now.’
The woman lifted the lid on the pink box. She peered inside, her eyes bulging with greed.
‘But why?’ whispered Freja. ‘Why did you steal all that chocolate? And why was it always Margrit Milk?’
The woman sat the box on the table. She took out the chocolate father and held him in the air, away from her face and body.
‘You don’t even like chocolate, do you?’ asked Freja.
The woman rolled her eyes. Taking the chocolate father by the head in one hand and the feet in the other, she snapped him in half.
‘No!’ shouted Freja.
But the woman ignored her. Crushing the chocolate father in her hands, she sifted the shards through her fingers, until all that remained of him was a pile of chocolate crumbs on the floor. Then she repeated the process with the chocolate mother and the three chocolate children.
The destruction complete, the woman snapped, ‘It’s not there!’
Freja looked at the mess on the floor and frowned. Oddly, the swan family flapped through her mind once more.
And then, suddenly, Freja understood!
The swans had mugged Tobias, not because they were angry, but to get what was inside his pocket — the sandwich.
Freja ran her eyes back and forth across the chocolate crumbs once more. She slapped her forehead as the truth now became clear.
‘You don’t want the chocolate!’ cried Freja. ‘You’re after something that’s inside the chocolate! That’s why the Margrit Milk that you stole from Schokoladen-Fantasie was melted and spread thinly over the log in the forest. And why you bought the chocolate fob watches and broke them into tiny pieces. But you didn’t want the chocolate buttons or the chocolate feathers because they were too small for anything to be hidden inside. And that’s why you bumped Herr Basil’s beautiful chocolate gâteau to the floor. It wasn’t an accident! You needed to break it apart to see if there was something inside.’ Freja stopped to catch her breath. ‘But what? What were you hoping to find inside the Margrit Milk?’
The woman’s cheeks reddened. Her mouth turned down at the sides. Her hands no longer fidgeted and fussed like a marmot’s, but formed two tight fists. So tight that the knuckles turned white.
‘There’s nothing inside,’ said Freja, her words now racing to keep up with her thoughts. ‘Margrit Milk chocolate is pure and smooth — except for the funny little pieces that are dropped into the vats from time to time and end up in Leckerbissen’s Museum of Hidden Trash and Treasure. But that’s just worthless stuff like buttons and pencils and spoons and keys and —’
‘KEYS?!’ the woman shrieked. She dived at Freja, grabbing her by the shoulders. ‘What keys?’
Freja whimpered, ‘It was just one little key. I found it yesterday when I was making chocolate curls and —’ She stopped, terrified by the greed in the woman’s eyes.
The woman squeezed Freja’s shoulders, leaned in close and hissed, ‘Where is the key now?’
Freja blinked and the final piece of the puzzle fell into place. She said, ‘You’re Jane, aren’t you? And the key is Lady P’s — the one that will open Lord P’s safety deposit box.’
‘Where is my key?’ snarled Jane. Her bony fingers dug into Freja’s flesh.
Freja winced. ‘But it’s Lady P’s key, not yours.’
Jane shouted, ‘WHERE IS MY KEY?!’ and shook Freja so violently that she bit her tongue.
Freja tasted blood. She felt dizzy and scared, but she would not be a part of the betrayal of Lady P. ‘I’m not telling,’ she whispered. ‘Because it’s Lady P’s key, not yours.’
Jane’s face turned purple with rage. ‘I have worked too hard and overcome too many obstacles to allow a silly little girl to foil my plans. I snatched the key from Lady Pembleton’s neck, then pushed her down the mountain so that she would be out of my way, but that stupid, annoying woman survived! So I fled back to Lucerne and hid overnight in a place where I thought no-one would come looking for me — a chocolate factory.’
‘Berna Schokolade,’ Freja murmured.
‘All I had to do,’ growled Jane, ‘was wait out the night, catch the morning train to Zurich, go to Barclay’s Bank, open safety deposit box 1054A and take what was inside. Then I would be rich! Rich! Rich! Rich for the rest of my life.’
‘But you dropped the key,’ whispered Freja.
Jane let go of Freja’s shoulders and threw her hands in the air. ‘So foolish of me,’ she snorted. ‘I took the key from my pocket in the wee hours of the morning. I held it before my face and laughed. I laughed at the idea that I was about to be rich. I laughed and laughed and laughed with joy. I laughed so hard that I stumbled and dropped the key and it fell —’
‘Into the vat of Margrit Milk chocolate,’ finished Fr
eja.
‘I tried to fish it out, but the vat was deep. I was covered in melted chocolate and the sun was rising and I had to flee before anyone saw me there! But I did not give up. I have spent the last week searching, sneaking, burgling, stealing, buying, looking through every piece of Margrit Milk chocolate from that wretched batch to find the key that will make me rich.’ Jane took a deep breath, then bellowed, ‘So you can understand that I am not about to let one silly little girl get in my way!’
Grabbing Freja by the shoulders once more, Jane shoved her to the open window and held her out over the sill.
Freja’s body went limp with terror. Her gaze slipped down to the terrace three storeys below. Madame Belmont’s trampoline was still there! But it looked so small. And was it too far over to the right anyway? It was hard to tell from this height — when your heart was racing, your vision blurring and your lunch about to resurface.
Jane pushed Freja’s upper body a little further from the turret and snarled, ‘Last chance, little girl. Where is my key?’
Freja took one final glance at the tiny trampoline far, far below. Then, turning back to Jane, she said, in a voice loud and clear, ‘It’s not your key.’
Freja closed her eyes and felt Jane let go of her shoulders. Her body fell backward, but at the same time something rough and sharp closed around her ankle. She was being dragged back into the room! Her head hit the floor and she opened her eyes to see Finnegan pulling the fluffy marmot slipper from her foot. At the same time, from the corner of her eye, she saw Jane tottering, waving her arms wildly in the air, then disappearing — head, then shoulders, then body and legs and feet.
‘Boofle!’ said Finnegan through a mouthful of fluff. He blinked at Freja, leapt onto the bed and shook the slipper from side to side to kill it.
Freja crawled to the window, stood up, took a deep, fortifying breath and looked down. There, spread out on the trampoline, lay Jane. Her leg was twisted at a strange angle and she moaned. She would not be able to slip away unnoticed this time!
The Girl, the Dog and the Writer in Lucerne (The Girl, the Dog and the Writer, #3) Page 21
