by Paul Mason
The Duke smiled. ‘I’d say you were the very best sort,’ he said. ‘Your actions thus far speak of both courage and intelligence. But your stair riding leaves a lot to be desired.’
Stella and Tom smiled for the first time. They were slowly getting over the shock.
‘What do you want of us?’ said Stella.
‘I’d like to see you stay, of course,’ laughed the Duke. ‘You have no idea how lonely it gets being stuck here all on my own. Besides,’ he said, his dark eyes sparkling, ‘I can see we’re going to have lots of fun!’
Chapter Four
Hide and seek
Though the Duke of Wellington, or the ‘Iron Duke’ as he was known, had earned a reputation in his life for being severe and strict, as he got older he had developed a soft spot for children and their games, and the years of being a lonely ghost had mellowed him further.
If you had the run of a real-life castle, and shared it with such a ghost, what do you think you would get up to? I’m sure you would come up with a whole list of fun things. I’ll also bet that somewhere on that list is ‘hide and seek’. It’s obvious, isn’t it?
The entire castle from the Lord Warden’s rooms at the top, to the stone dungeons below, including the outside courtyards and the battlements, was ‘in bounds’. (Being too large, the gardens weren’t part of the game, and besides, the Duke couldn’t appear there – he could only haunt the castle.) There were all the bedrooms to hide in. Queen Victoria’s room had a massive wardrobe to climb into, and the bedrooms on the ground floor had desks to crawl under. There were plenty of thick curtains to sneak behind, and the carpets on the floors made it easy to pad around without being heard.
The game was most fun creeping around in the dead of night in pyjamas with torches. But the ghost kept on winning, being able to walk through walls and disappear into furniture, so they had to change the rules and he went into a bit of a sulk.
Tom’s invention was a game called Snapping Crocodiles. It was a simple game. The entire living room floor area was a crocodile-infested swamp, and the only way to get around was by jumping from chair to chair. Fall in and you would be crocodile dinner. The twins bounced from chair to chair and laughed to see the Duke’s legs sink into the sofa when he tried it.
One night they took apart the grandfather clock which had stopped, and, following the Duke’s instructions, they put it back together again to make it work. The next day, the staff were completely startled and baffled when it started to chime loudly again, the first time it had done so in years.
When the nights got colder, they lit the gas fire and lay around it reading books, drinking hot chocolate, and eating toasted sandwiches. The Duke, being a ghost, didn’t need to eat at all. But he was thrilled to have someone to take the books off the shelf and turn the pages for him, and he began re-reading his favourite books with all the enthusiasm of a child.
‘Turn!’ he would command, followed by, ‘Thank you.’ Stella and Tom took it in turns to be his book person. So if you could hear them as they sprawled on the floor on those evenings it sounded like: ‘Munch, munch, slurp, slurp. Turn! Thank you. Munch, munch, slurp, slurp. Turn! Thank you,’ and so on.
Stella discovered that the gift shop was now stocking pink princess costumes with tall hats and veils. She borrowed one, and it quickly became her favourite thing to wear. (She had never had dressing-up clothes before, so she had a lot of catching up to do.)
With Tom in his knight’s pyjamas and Stella dressed like a queen, they turned the castle into a royal court, with the Duke as their best general, a part he played with some delight.
But perhaps their favourite thing of all was to be tucked up in bed, cosy and warm while the wind and rain howled off the sea and battered the windows, and listen as the Duke talked about his amazing life.
‘Who was the toughest person you ever fought against?’ asked Tom one evening.
The Duke thought for a moment. ‘Hmm. Napoleon Bonaparte was perhaps my greatest adversary, but have you ever heard of Tipu Sultan, the Tiger of Mysore?’
The twins said they hadn’t. ‘Was he called the Tiger because he was fierce?’ Tom asked.
‘Fierce?’ The Duke stopped and mimicked the cut and thrust of a sword. ‘Oh yes, he was fierce alright. A bold warrior who fought the British many times. In his last battle he fought right till the end to defend his capital.’
‘Was it you that killed him?’ Stella wanted to know.
The Duke paused for a moment. ‘No, he did not die by my hand. The battle had been raging for some time; we had bombarded Tipu’s fortress something savage. His walls were already breached and the battle almost won before I found him, his sword still in his hand. The Tiger certainly roared to the last.’ The Duke shook his head at the memory, his face serious. ‘He wasn’t one of those rulers who sit comfortable miles away and pretend to know what they’re doing.’
‘Then why did you fight him?’
The Duke sighed. ‘The reasons why countries fight can be thorny. But for a soldier, the whole art of war consists in getting at what is on the other side of the hill. The British wanted to conquer India, and Tipu Sultan stood in the way. Plain and simple.’
Stella and Tom thought about this for a moment. The Duke continued. ‘And on the very afternoon we buried him, out of nowhere came the foulest, most ferocious storm I have ever encountered. It was the most unsettling thing.’
‘Do you think the gods were angry that Tipu had been killed?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps.’ He looked reflective, then went on, ‘I saw a marvel, though, Tipu’s Tiger1 – a wonderful toy from his palace. It’s a large mechanical beast of a tiger, carved out of wood and painted with stripes. When you turn the handle it growls and bites with its jaws. And what do you suppose the tiger is biting?’
‘A British soldier?’ guessed Stella.
‘Clever girl,’ the Duke chuckled. ‘A fierce plaything for a fierce ruler. Now off to sleep, both of you.’
Chapter Five
Harry Parkin
The head caretaker of the castle was Harry Parkin, known as ‘Parky’. Parky was a large man, well over six feet tall, and the moth-eaten hat forever perched on his head made him look even taller. Parky had bristly eyebrows that rested above large, sad eyes; ears the size of small plates; and a nose that was quite broad and bulbous. His face hung down in folds and looked gloomy most of the time, and that’s because he was.
Even though the other staff had worked for him for years, no one ever invited him to sit with them at tea to have a biscuit and a chat, and ask him about his news.
In truth, there wasn’t much to tell. Looking after the castle was his whole life. And when Parky’s work was done each day, he went home to the caretaker’s cottage on the grounds near the woods, where he lived all by himself.
But because the castle was his life, it meant that Parky knew every corner of it, from top to bottom. And lately he was beginning to suspect that something was not quite right. He wasn’t sure exactly, but he had the feeling that someone was doing something secretive about the place. That the castle was keeping a mystery from him, and this made him suspicious.
First, there was that business of the grandfather clock, broken for years. Parky had never managed to get it working, but then one morning it suddenly rang out as loud as a church bell. He hadn’t fixed it, none of the other staff had, so how had it come suddenly back to life?
Then there were things like the books on the shelves – it wasn’t that they had been moved, or were out of place. It was something else, something he alone could feel. It was almost as if they were being enjoyed again.
Same with the rooms: though they were spotless as always, they were somehow not as stale. Less like a museum, and more like a... like a home. Yes, that was it. Like a home. There was an almost imperceptible heartbeat running through the castle. Parky couldn’t quite place it. He didn’t dare bring it up with the other staff; they would think he was cracked.
Could someon
e really be hiding here? Parky kept his thoughts to himself, and started doing a second round of the castle at the end of the day, to make sure the rooms were empty. He also began to lay traps.
‘There, see – stuck between the bottom of the door and the doorframe. That tiny slip of paper.’
It was evening, and the Duke and the twins were out and about.
‘You’re meant to open the door and the paper falls off unnoticed. An old trick to see if someone has been in your room. That crafty bounder has laid us a trap.’
‘What’s a bounder?’ Stella asked. She carefully removed the slip of paper and made a note of where it had been stuck so she could put it back again.
‘An ungentlemanly person, a conniving cad. That man Parkin.’
‘The caretaker?’
‘The very same.’ The ghost began to pace the hall. ‘Well, well, well, so old Parky suspects something, does he? I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but it was probably only a matter of time.’
‘But we’ve been really, really careful to put everything back exactly the way it was. We haven’t left a crumb on the carpet or a wrinkle in the bedspread.’ Stella was puzzled. ‘If anything, the castle is in better shape than when we first moved in.’
‘I suspect that’s the problem – Parkin knows this castle as well as I do. He can tell the mood of the place has changed. That new life has been breathed into her.’ The Duke stopped pacing. ‘It was a mistake to fix the clock. Blast it! I knew it at the time.’
The Duke tried to slap his hands together angrily but they went through each other and he stumbled off balance. Tom tried not to laugh. The Duke glared at him.
‘This is no laughing matter. If Parkin finds you out, then you’ll have to leave. And none of us want that now, do we?’
Tom’s grin faded. ‘So what do we do?’
‘We must lie low and not set off any traps. I followed him around this afternoon, hidden in the walls and watched him lay at least four more.’ The Duke thought for a moment. ‘There are two more doors with slips of paper, one that has a book resting up against it on the inside, and he’s even dusted the kitchen floor with a little flour to catch footprints.’
Tom whistled. ‘Smart man. But why doesn’t he just lie in wait for us?’
‘If we trigger the traps, that will be his next move. We will have to be vigilant. Now, don’t you two worry. As long as we’re one step ahead of him, things should be alright.’
And with that, they settled down to watch The Simpsons and eat carrot cake.
Chapter Six
Mrs Crank
Avoiding Parkin became something of a game, and it’s fair to say that both teams found themselves enjoying it. Getting to the bottom of the mystery had enlivened the caretaker. He was almost certain now that someone was hiding in the castle and he would find them. He had noticed, however, that whoever it was, they were really looking after the place. In his mind, that made them competitors, rather than enemies.
The contest between the caretaker and the twins wasn’t entirely fair as Stella and Tom had the advantage of having a ghost on their side, and the ghost of Britain’s greatest ever soldier to boot. (If you’ll excuse the pun.)
By sneaking about the castle undetected, Wellington was able to sniff out Parky’s plans before the caretaker could put them into action: the decoy chocolates left on the dining table, tempting someone to take one; the single hairs stuck to the sides of drawers that would fall off if they were opened; the books placed carefully, left open on a specific page – waiting for someone to move the book or change the page by accident.
The twins avoided them all, but there were still a few close calls. These tended to happen outside in the grounds, where the Duke couldn’t haunt.
One time the twins were lounging about in Leafage, their hut in the woods, not doing very much at all other than listening to the birds in the trees and the rustling of the leaves. Rarely did anyone ever enter this bit of the woods, since the tourists mostly stuck to the paths, so they generally felt safe there. But that afternoon they heard footsteps, dangerously close. Through the gaps in the hut, they could see Parkin clomping in their direction, rake in hand, looking at the hut, a perplexed look on his face. They were trapped.
But just when he was almost on top of the hut, Parky’s walkie-talkie crackled to life and he turned back to the castle in a hurry. Stella and Tom quickly ducked out of the hut and ran the long way around the grounds, and sat in the Queen Mother’s gardens, panting but relieved.
A few days later, when they went back into the woods they were surprised to see Leafage was still there. They had expected to see it broken into pieces. Not only was it not broken, inside the hut the floor had a new, thick carpet of leaves. Now it was the twins’ turn to be puzzled.
But as it turned out, the twins didn’t have to worry much longer about Parkin seeking them out. The caretaker soon had other, much more distressing things on his mind.
A smart-looking lady, as sharp as the creases in her suit, swept into the castle one morning with two assistants. They came direct from the head office of the company that ran the castle, and they did not bring good news.
‘Call Mr Parkin if you please,’ the lady said. (Though the way she said please, it was clear she didn’t mean it.) ‘Tell him Mrs Crank, Director of Marketing, is here to see him.’ She fussed with her large hairdo that sat on top of her head like a beehive. It had taken Monsieur Rafael an hour to get it just right, and she wasn’t going to let a single hair fall out of place. The train journey hadn’t helped.
Soon after, Parky came running into the ticket office, he whipped off his gardening gloves and thrust out a large hand, red and sweaty at Mrs Crank2.
‘Sorry, I was just out in the compost pile.’
Mrs Crank stared at Parkin’s hand, but declined to shake it.
‘It’s just that I wasn’t expecting anyone from head office,’ he went on.
‘We’ve come unannounced.’
‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ Parky smiled nervously. Visits from head office were rarely something to be cherished.
‘We’re here to turn this place around. It’s been underperforming for years. We’re here to make changes.’
‘Underperforming? I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean,’ said Parkin, puzzled.
Now one of the assistants unrolled a large poster and stuck it up near the entrance to the ticket shop. ‘Wellington Hotel Spa,’ it read. ‘Be treated like a Duke in historical surroundings. Massive Re-development. Coming Soon.’
Parkin read the words with horror. His eyes widened. He leaned on the ticket counter for support. ‘I’m still not sure I understand,’ he said.
‘We’re going to turn this old castle into a boutique spa and hotel,’ said Mrs Crank. ‘By the time we’re through, you won’t even recognise the place.’ She gave a wide smile. ‘It’s going to be wonderful.’
Parky wasn’t the only one in a state of shock. That night the Duke of Wellington lay on his campaign bed (or rather, lay half on, half in), recovering his composure. Stella and Tom were squeezed into the Duke’s armchair.
‘But they can’t be serious. I’ve never heard such a ridiculous idea. It makes my blood run cold.’ The duke thought for a moment. ‘Well, it would if I had any blood.’
‘What is a spa?’ asked Tom.
‘It’s a place where ladies come to be pampered,’ said Stella. ‘They get mud smeared on their faces and have bits of cucumber on their eyes. They walk around in towels a lot and people rub their feet.’
‘It sounds absolutely ghastly,’ said the Duke. ‘This castle has been here for centuries and deserves better. I shan’t have beastly sightseers occupying my rooms. This is my home, after all.’
‘Our home too,’ said Stella. ‘But perhaps the time has come for us to give up the castle and go away. We’ve had a good run here.’
‘Never! You’re not going anywhere,’ the Duke snapped. He wagged his finger at the twins. ‘The hardest thing
of all for a soldier is to retreat, and I don’t intend to start now!’
Stella and Tom smiled at the old ghost. They had come to love his bluster and determination.
‘First we must find out exactly what we’re up against. This will require some strategy, some espionage.’ The Duke was bursting with life. ‘I’ll start tomorrow!’
Chapter Seven
Verruca fish
Mrs Crank marched up the stairs, and a small group trotted behind her, struggling to keep up. There were the two assistants, Mr Pitt the architect, Jezzard the builder and, last of all, Parkin.
The ghost followed them, hidden inside the walls.
Mrs Crank stopped at the top of the staircase. ‘Now this terrible blue colour will have to go – make a note, Jezzard. And all these stuffy old paintings on the walls will come down. Light and space is what this place needs, light and space.’
Parky’s face was getting longer by the minute. This tour was depressing him.
‘But that blue has been used for generations,’ he argued. ‘We spent a long time getting the match just perfect to preserve the history.’
Mrs Crank glared at him. ‘As I keep having to tell you, this castle is no longer in the business of preserving history, Mr Parkin. It is in the business of making money. Light and space, don’t you see?’ She turned to Jezzard. ‘Use Jasmine Blossom on this corridor, from top to bottom.’
Jezzard scribbled it down in his notebook. The assistants scribbled it down in theirs.
‘Have you had any more thoughts on what you want to do with that poky little Wellington’s room?’ The architect gestured through the open doorway to the Duke’s chambers.
‘Ghastly, isn’t it?’ Mrs Crank sniffed. The architect nodded in agreement. ‘And that awful wallpaper.’ She turned to Parkin. ‘Before the builders start you will see to it that all these effects are removed. They can be sent to a museum.’ The assistants quickly jotted this down.
