Outside, the five of them walked around the side of the Idle Slug. Apoline led the way, wearing a large black hat. Woe wasn’t sure what the hat was supposed to shield her from, as the sky above them was sunless and grey.
‘And what are those crawling all over the house?’ Mr Solt asked, looking up.
‘Tarantula vines,’ their aunt replied proudly. ‘They give the place a certain gravitas, don’t you think?’
Mr Solt nodded thoughtfully. The group moved around further to the backyard.
‘That over there,’ Apoline said, pointing to the large cage structure nearby, ‘is our aviary.’
Mr Solt looked at the birdcage only half-interestedly. ‘How many birds do you have?’
‘Thirty-three,’ said Apoline with a thin smile.
During their time at the Idle Slug, Whimsy and Woe would often try to guess just how many birds there were in the aviary. But neither of them had guessed thirty-three.
‘And this,’ Apoline said, opening her arms and coming to a dramatic stop on the footpath, ‘is our poisonous plant garden. The only one of its size in the world.’ Mr Solt looked on, thoroughly impressed. Mrs Solt clapped excitedly.
‘We have many species that —’ Apoline began.
‘How poisonous are the plants?’ Mr Solt interrupted.
‘Oh, very poisonous,’ Apoline responded. ‘I have tested them once or twice.’
This news didn’t shock the siblings. They had often wondered how many people Apoline had tricked into touching those plants. Then Mr Solt said something that made them both freeze with fear.
‘Show me.’
Apoline was momentarily confused by his demand.
‘A demonstration,’ he said, motioning to Whimsy and Woe. They happened to be standing next to two of the most poisonous of plants, the Deadnettle and the Black Root. They could see their aunt mulling it over in her mind. While Apoline’s punishments were unpleasant and dangerous, the siblings never thought she would get rid of them entirely. Who would look after the guests? But when Apoline’s mouth formed a smirk the siblings knew all too well, their stomachs dropped. Quickly, Woe tried to think of the antidotes required for the plants nearest to them.
‘Aunt Apoline . . .’ Whimsy began disbelievingly. And then she spotted it. The corner of a blue notebook protruding from Mr Solt’s breast pocket. A very familiar blue notebook. But before she could draw anyone’s attention to it, a bell rang from inside the house. Woe grabbed his sister’s hand in his and the two made their way towards the back stairs.
‘Another time, perhaps?’ Mr Solt suggested as Whimsy and Woe hurried past him, a smile on his lips and a threatening glint in his eye.
‘He’s the policeman,’ Whimsy whispered to Woe as they entered the house.
‘Who?’ Woe asked. ‘Mr Solt? He’s a villain more like it.’
‘Three years ago. He’s the monocled policeman who questioned us. That’s why he looks familiar,’ she explained as they climbed the stairs to Miss Ballentine’s room.
‘I don’t think so, Whimsy,’ Woe said, unsure. ‘Why would a policeman want to feed us to the poisonous plants?’
Whimsy put a hand on her brother’s arm, stopping him in the hallway.
‘I’m telling you, Woe, it’s him,’ she said earnestly.
Woe looked at his sister, her blue eyes wide with certainty. Whimsy’s memory was exceptional. She could recall every guest they’d ever had at the Idle Slug and she knew the colour, name and location of every plant in the poisonous plant garden. Sometimes she even remembered things about Woe that he couldn’t recall himself. If they had continued at school, Whimsy would have been at the top of every class, he was sure of it.
‘Okay,’ Woe said, nodding.
‘And I don’t know why he wanted to feed us to the plants,’ Whimsy replied honestly before knocking on Miss Ballentine’s door. ‘But I don’t particularly wish to find out.’
11
In which Apoline is upstaged by wet weather gear
The soot-covered yellow raincoat sat in the middle of the floor. Whimsy held her mother’s perfume bottle in her hands. She remembered her mother delicately dabbing the perfume on her olive skin, and then turning to Whimsy and doing the same. Two dabs on her wrists and two behind her ears.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she said, examining it.
Woe unravelled the yellow raincoat. ‘Let’s see what Apoline is trying to hide.’ He spread out the burnt pieces of paper and ash like the pieces of an irregular jigsaw puzzle. He began with the piece that said Dear Apoline Mordaunt, I regret to inform you and tried to put together the rest of the letter with the legible scraps they had. Whimsy put down the perfume bottle and joined Woe, picking up a scrap that said no longer. She placed it next to the first scrap. Woe found a piece that said continue investigation and placed that next to no longer.
‘They will no longer continue the investigation,’ Woe said dismally.
‘Do we know when this letter was sent?’ Whimsy asked. They sifted through the bits of paper for a date. Their hearts fell when there wasn’t one to be found. Woe then came across a piece and moved it next to no longer. It now read no longer abandoners. The siblings looked at each other in shock before Whimsy shuffled eagerly through the pile. Most of the pieces were burnt beyond recognition. Except for one more. It had two words on it. With shaking hands, she dusted it off and placed it next to abandoners. The pieced-together letter now read no longer abandoners but abductees.
‘Abductees,’ Woe breathed.
‘Woe,’ Whimsy said.
‘I know,’ he replied.
Then with a swift creak and a bang, the attic door swung open. Apoline’s unmistakable white hair appeared through the hole in the floor, followed quickly by the rest of her.
Whimsy and Woe scrambled to their feet as their aunt stalked over to them. She was angry. She was more than angry. She was practically steaming with fury. Woe tried to remember what they had done or what they had forgotten to do. Then it occurred to him. The soot from the chimney. Her room. He glanced at the perfume bottle on the floor which was now precariously close to Apoline’s pointed black shoes.
‘I thought I made myself very clear —’ she broke off as she noticed Woe glance at the perfume bottle. When she bent to pick it up, she saw the pieces of paper on the floor.
‘What’s this?’
‘The letter you tried to burn from the Royal Police Department,’ Woe replied.
‘How . . .’
‘A raincoat,’ Woe said.
If this last comment made less sense to Apoline than it did to the siblings, she gave no indication of it. Instead, she replaced the snarl on her lips with a broad smile. The smile did not make the journey up the rest of her pale face to reach her cold eyes.
‘From these pieces scattered about, I see you haven’t managed to salvage a date.’ She searched their faces. ‘That letter could have been sent yesterday.’ She stepped forward. ‘Or perhaps it was sent two weeks ago. Perhaps even six months ago. Or was it in fact a year ago? My memory just isn’t what it used to be, I’m afraid.’ She took another step, her right foot now squarely over the pieces of the letter. Then, twisting her foot with grim purpose, she squashed the delicate papers into the wooden floor. She lifted the stopper from the perfume bottle.
‘No!’ Whimsy gasped.
‘Don’t!’ Woe yelled.
Apoline slowly poured the entire contents of the bottle onto the papers. Smirking, she let go of the bottle and watched it fall to the ground, where it smashed into thousands of tiny crystalline pieces. With one last, icy smile, she turned on her heel, strode down the spiral staircase and closed the attic door behind her.
12
In which the destruction of property reveals more
On their hands and knees, Whimsy and Woe scooped up what scraps of paper remained amongst the broken glass. Woe picked up the stopper from the perfume bottle and held it in his hands. Whimsy opened the worn recipe book Constance had left behind to a ch
apter on eggless quiches and placed the remnants of the burnt — and now soggy and perfumed — letter inside. Then she pulled out two biscuits from her apron pocket.
‘Where did you get those?’ Woe asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.
‘Mr Solt’s tea tray,’ Whimsy replied, handing a biscuit to him. They sat, nibbling on their biscuits silently, letting the revelation that their parents had been abducted sink in.
‘Who would take them?’ Whimsy finally asked.
Woe shrugged his shoulders. ‘A nemesis?’ he guessed.
‘Our parents had a nemesis?’
‘Well, there was that time Friedrich outsang them at the My Morose Monster and Me audition.’
Whimsy laughed, a sound her brother relished hearing. Soon there was silence again. After a time, Whimsy asked quietly, ‘Do you think they’re okay?’
Woe wanted to reassure his sister but he couldn’t help but wonder the same thing himself. ‘I hope so.’
He broke off some of his biscuit and placed it in the middle of the room. At first there was nothing. Then a faint squeak was heard. From near the yellow-and-grey-patterned wallpaper came Eloise. Eloise was the mouse that appeared, reappeared and occasionally brought friends. She scurried across the floor, headlong towards the biscuit crumbs. They watched as she enjoyed the sweet morsels in her tiny paws.
‘All this time,’ Woe said. He ran a hand sharply through his shaggy hair before standing up. ‘All this time I have been so angry at them . . . for leaving us . . . and they never did.’ He paced the attic floor, still holding the glass stopper in his hand. ‘And Apoline knew, our aunt knew and she kept us here . . .’
‘In this prison,’ Whimsy finished for him and then, suddenly, Woe threw the stopper at the yellow-and-grey-patterned wall.
Whimsy braced herself, expecting the glass stopper to smash into a million pieces like the rest of the perfume bottle, but it never did. Instead, it went straight through the wallpaper, leaving a hole the size of a fist and revealing a strange green glow.
‘How . . .’ Whimsy began, surprised.
Together, Whimsy and Woe walked over to the hole in the wall. Crouching down and looking through it they could see various objects covered in white dust cloths and a large circular window covered on the outside by tarantula vines. Woe began knocking on the yellow-and-grey-patterned wall.
‘Apoline must have had it walled up before we arrived,’ he said.
‘Can we unwall it?’ Whimsy asked. She began pulling at a piece of the wall where it was fraying. The dampness of the attic had turned the plaster into soggy cardboard. The wallpaper came off in strips as the wall behind it crumbled. They pulled at it one small piece at a time. The hole became bigger and bigger until it was large enough for them to crawl through one after the other. Woe went in first, sliding along on his stomach. He coughed at the dust he disrupted on the floor. Whimsy followed him. The room was dark and grimy, and the only light came from the hole they had made and a murky trickle of greenish-grey light from the vine-covered window.
Whimsy pulled the cloth off the nearest object. It was a grand piano, black and gold and in fine condition. She could make out the glint of a faint signature on the lid. Magnus Montgomery. How did Apoline know the legendary Magnus Montgomery? Why was his piano here? And why was it hidden? She ran her hand gently along the keys and tried to imagine Apoline doing the same. Woe pulled off a sheet near him to reveal a large oil painting of their father and another woman. Their father looked about eighteen and the woman, who was similar in age, had long golden hair. They both had green eyes.
‘Apoline,’ Woe breathed. It took a moment for the two to recognise her without her mean expression or bone-white hair. The sight of their father brought a familiar sting to Whimsy’s eyes.
The next sheet revealed a large wicker basket and the remnants of a red hot-air balloon. Another covered some suitcases, an oversized gramophone, a gas burner and a broken mirror.
‘Why would Apoline hide these things away?’ Woe wondered aloud.
‘She mustn’t have wanted us to find them.’
‘But most of it is broken or beyond repair,’ Woe said, spinning a lopsided globe which quickly broke away from its axis, fell to the floor and rolled across the room.
Whimsy and Woe revelled in examining the collection of old and broken things until their aunt’s shriek reverberated up through the floorboards. Quickly, Whimsy and Woe ducked out of the room and spent the next few hours serving lunch, cleaning the aviary and watering the poisonous plants. As the hours passed, their thoughts remained on the hidden room in the attic.
When they had finally finished their chores, they returned to the hidden room once more.
‘There might be something here that could help us,’ said Woe, thinking. He pulled off one of the sheets that covered a worn lamp. ‘Or help us help our parents.’
Whimsy wasn’t sure how a worn lamp, a cracked mirror or Magnus Montgomery’s piano could help them or their missing parents but together Whimsy and Woe searched through the items. It was only when a distant clock made a distant chime that the two realised the lateness of the hour and that their kitchen duty was fast approaching.
One at a time, they both shuffled back through the hole in the wallpaper.
‘Hello, children.’
13
In which a villain is caught red-handed
There, standing in the middle of the attic and looking awfully pleased with himself, was Mr Solt.
‘Forgive me, I must have taken a wrong turn on the way to my room,’ Mr Solt said, looking around.
Fear spread its icy tentacles into the siblings’ hearts as Mr Solt’s narrow, brown eyes settled on them. They were now trapped in the attic with the man who only a little while ago had requested that they be fed to poisonous plants.
Mr Solt’s gaze moved to the hole in the wallpaper behind them. He arched one of his thin red eyebrows. ‘Are you remodelling?’
‘Uh, we have a small rodent problem,’ Whimsy said, thinking quickly. The last thing they needed was for Mr Solt to mention the gaping hole in the wallpaper to Apoline.
‘Rodents?’ Mr Solt echoed distastefully.
‘Oh yes, they’re all over the place,’ Whimsy continued, hoping this would make Mr Solt leave in disgust. Instead, he turned and observed their collection of treasures. With a gloved hand, he picked up the half-empty bottle of Dr Bondig’s Bilious Balm and examined it.
Woe made a move towards Mr Solt but Whimsy held onto his arm.
‘Dr Bondig and your father were friends,’ he said. ‘Did you know that?’
Whimsy and Woe glanced at each other. How did he know their father? How did he know their father’s friends?
Mr Solt put down the bottle and noticed Constance’s cookbook. ‘And your mother,’ he continued, ‘she was a terrible cook. Once, she made a hideous inside-out cake with seven layers. It looked nothing like the picture.’
‘How do —’ Woe tried but Mr Solt held up one of his long, thin hands.
‘A spontaneous trip to the grocery store is a very convincing argument.’
‘You are the policeman,’ Whimsy murmured.
Mr Solt laughed. ‘You have an excellent memory, little girl.’ Then he pulled off one of his green gloves and showed them the palm of his hand. It was stained with a red dye that matched the red of his hair and goatee. Then he pulled a monocle out of his top pocket and placed it over his eye. ‘Disguise is an actor’s best friend. And I couldn’t take the risk that you would go running to Apoline the moment I stepped out of the carriage.’
Whimsy and Woe were struggling to digest what Mr Solt was saying.
‘It took me some time to convince my fellow policemen that your parents were not worth finding. I was rewarded handsomely for my part, of course. Policemen don’t get paid very well, you know,’ he said. ‘It all went according to plan until that insufferable Fry conducted his own investigation and . . .’ Mr Solt trailed off as he put his glove back on and clenched his
fist angrily.
Whimsy’s and Woe’s minds swirled. Ignatius Solt, the policeman with the blue notebook and monocle who’d assumed they didn’t know what the word spontaneous meant, had covered up their parents’ disappearance. For three years, they had felt anger towards their parents for abandoning them, anger which was now directed towards the man in green standing before them. They wanted to scream at him, shout for someone to come quickly, that they had found the culprit, that he had merely dyed his hair. But nobody would hear them, nobody would come, nobody would believe them. Especially Aunt Apoline. Questions whirled around in their minds. And with each question, the siblings felt themselves lose their composure a little more. Where were their parents? Were they okay? Who else knew they had been abducted? Did Apoline? Who was Fry? And most of all, who had rewarded Mr Solt handsomely?
Whimsy chose her question carefully. ‘What do you want?’
Smiling now, Mr Solt took a step closer to them. ‘Inclementia has always wanted children.’ He took another step closer. ‘And her birthday is coming up.’
Whimsy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She tried to imagine what life would be like living with Inclementia and the man who had made their parents disappear. She saw her and her brother in rags, dirty, bruised and hungry while the Solts cackled happily. She shook her head of the dark image.
‘Our aunt is our custodian,’ Woe said forcefully.
‘Apoline won’t give you up without a fight. But perhaps she will for the right price . . .’ He was now within an arm’s reach of them. They could smell his breath, which reminded them of the time Cook had served only cabbage dishes for three weeks.
‘You tried to have us fed to the plants,’ Whimsy said falteringly, unnerved by Mr Solt’s proximity. ‘Why?’
‘Oh,’ he chuckled, ‘sometimes my impulses get the better of me. We all have our quirks.’ Placing his hands on his knees, he bent down to come eye to eye with Whimsy and Woe.
‘You can’t buy us —’ Woe began.
Whimsy and Woe Page 4
