The Body Thief

by Stephen M. Giles

  “It’s not like any rose I’ve ever seen,” he said.

  “Of course not. It was created right here by a leading scientist—an expert in genetic modification. It is one of a kind. Remarkable, don’t you think?”

  “Remarkable,” said Milo, unable to hide his excitement. “Mr. Boobank would go crazy for this. Could I take a cutting?”

  Silas laughed. “The Phoenix rose is a private pleasure,” he said. “It is not for public consumption. You see, the roses in this garden will decorate my coffin.”

  “A flower this special should be shared,” said Milo as he wandered down to the far end of the garden. “Seems selfish to keep it all to yourself.”

  “Well,” said Silas, following after his nephew, “as the next heir of Sommerset you may do with them what you wish.”

  The words did not reach Milo right away, but when they did his face grew pale.

  “Who, me?”

  Silas nodded. “Indeed. I have given it a great deal of thought and I am going to leave my estate to you, Milo.”

  “Wait.” Milo shook his head. “But I don’t want it.”

  “Ah, but you will in time,” said Silas softly. “You see, I know that you would come to care for this place as deeply as I do. Your cousins do not have your soul, child. You know how important it is to protect what you love and keep it from harm. I truly believe that you and the maestro would be very happy here at Sommerset.”

  An uncomfortable feeling settled on Milo. His uncle’s words eased their way inside him and began to make real sense. It was as if Silas were casting a spell over the boy, and he did not like the feeling one little bit.

  “If you love Sommerset so much, Uncle Silas,” he told him, “then give it to someone who wants it—because I do not.”

  “Why not?” snapped Silas, his calm manner slipping away. “I am offering you the world!”

  “Well, I don’t want your world!”

  “Then you are a fool!”

  “You don’t get it, do you?” Milo found himself crouching down in front of his uncle, looking deep into his dark eyes. “When my father asked you for help, begged you for help—what did you do? You sent us to live on top of a volcano!”

  “Milo, you must understand,” said Silas defensively. “I was simply trying to be a good brother. Your father needed money and so I offered him a job. If I had known there was even a remote possibility that the volcano would erupt, well, I would never have suggested the idea.”

  “Liar!” shouted Milo. “You were warned about the volcano! You couldn’t get anyone else to clear that land, so you lied to my father, and he believed you because my mother was sick and he was desperate.” Milo felt the tears stinging his eyes. “It would have been so easy for you to lend my parents the little amount they needed. Instead, you sent them to their graves.”

  “Perhaps you are right, Milo,” Silas said softly. “What happened on that peninsula, the devastation it wrought, has haunted me. Every day I think of your parents and wish that I had simply given your father the money he needed. The truth is, I have enjoyed great fortune in my life, but I have not shared it.”

  The admission took Milo by complete surprise. Was Silas actually admitting his guilt?

  “Death is coming for me,” he told the boy, his head hanging low, “and I am trying to make up for some of the wrong I have done—especially to your parents. Please believe that I never intended any harm to come to them…or to you. I know all about your life, Milo—how much you and your grandfather struggle just to get by.”

  “We do just fine,” said Milo, but the strength seemed to have left his voice.

  “Believe it or not, Milo, your father and I were very close at one time, and I know how deeply he cared for his family. What would he want for you—a life of grim despair in Winslow Square or a life of luxury right here at Sommerset?”

  Milo did not answer.

  “You think that if you accept Sommerset, then you are betraying your father, but that is not true. Your father would want this for you.” Silas took a shallow breath. “Well, take some time, and think it over.”

  He left Milo in the secret garden, surrounded by the rarest flower on earth—the orange and red blooms sparkling in the morning sun like a fire storm.

  14

  The Night of Comings and Goings

  As the door opened a shard of light cut across the darkened hallway. Isabella popped her head out and looked up and down the corridor. No one around. She stepped out of her room, quiet as a mouse, and moved along the hall.

  Winding down the grand staircase Isabella angrily pulled a large cloth bag from beneath her dressing gown. The object of her fury was Milo Winterbottom. How dare he ignore her in the garden…and to tell a lumpy creature like Hannah Spoon that she looked pretty was practically criminal!

  Isabella picked up a small bronze clock from a long table on the first-floor landing and slipped it into the bag. Hadn’t she gone out of her way to welcome Milo when he arrived at Sommerset? Of course she had! And hadn’t she hugged him dearly and told him how sad it was that his parents had been eaten by sharks? Oh, yes, she had! And didn’t she invite the poor orphan to go horse riding with her? Well…no. But she meant to, and that was practically the same thing!

  Moving stealthily toward the drawing room, Isabella saw a shadow sliding across the far wall. She froze. Someone else was wandering the halls of Sommerset House! She spun around just in time to see a fuzzy red Afro disappear around the corner.

  Adele!

  A flash of anger gripped Isabella’s pretty face. That tomato-haired little brat was up to something! Dropping the bag, Isabella took off after her cousin.

  ***

  Adele was on the hunt. En route to the library she had spotted Bingle coming down a set of stairs behind the servants’ quarters. He was holding the same cloak she had seen draped over the mysterious houseguest a few nights before. She followed Bingle back to the storeroom, where she now had her ear pressed against the door.

  She could hear whispering and the shuffling of feet.

  Behind her a slick gray shadow inched along the stone floor. From the darkness a hand emerged bathed in pale moonlight. It moved closer toward her—the fingers flexed, coming down softly onto her shoulder.

  Adele jumped, her body seizing up. She covered her mouth to trap the scream that threatened to tear out as she spun around.

  “Whatever are you doing, cousin?” whispered Isabella with a sly grin.

  Before Adele could answer, the door handle began to turn. Grabbing her cousin by the arm, Adele jumped, pulling both of them into the tapestry of shadows splashed across the far side of the corridor.

  Bingle and Mrs. Hammer stepped out into the hall.

  “You are certain no one saw you?” Mrs. Hammer said anxiously.

  “I’m positive,” replied Bingle, wiping his brow with a blue handkerchief. “I took the back stairs, and Dr. Mangrove was covered by the cloak the whole time. No one saw a thing.”

  “I still don’t understand why Dr. Mangrove has to be hidden away in the basement,” said Mrs. Hammer.

  Bingle chuckled softly. “The master stores all of his treasures in the basement, Mrs. Hammer, you know that.”

  “I still don’t like it, Bingle,” said Mrs. Hammer. “Why the need for all of this secrecy? And what on earth is Dr. Mangrove building down there?”

  “The master’s affairs are private,” said Bingle tersely. “If you are smart you will ask no more questions, Mrs. Hammer. Curiosity can be a dangerous thing.”

  Mrs. Hammer gulped loudly. “Yes, yes…I’m sure you are right.”

  “Good. Now are you certain the entrance is sealed?”

  “Yes. I checked it twice.”

  “Then let us go,” said Bingle as they hurried down the corridor. “I will collect the good doctor before sunrise.”

 
Alone again, Adele and Isabella stepped out into the dim light.

  “I have a bad feeling, Isabella,” said Adele softly. “Who is this Dr. Mangrove?”

  But Isabella was not listening, her greedy mind busily spinning. Uncle Silas keeps his treasures in the basement, that’s what Bingle said. She had visions of priceless artworks, royal jewels, and mountains of gold and silver.

  Her skin tingled at the possibilities.

  “We must find a way down to the basement,” said Isabella, opening the storeroom door.

  “It’s no use,” said Adele. “The entrance isn’t there. Or if it is, it’s so well hidden I cannot find it.”

  “But, cousin, we have to! There could be a fortune down there!”

  Adele frowned at her cousin.

  “This isn’t about money, Isabella,” she said crossly. “Didn’t you hear what Mrs. Hammer and Bingle were saying? Uncle Silas is up to something, and this Dr. Mangrove is involved. We have to find out what is going on.”

  “Well, of course we do!” said Isabella with a flick of her hair. “That…that is exactly what I meant, cousin. Why should I care if Uncle Silas’s basement is full of priceless treasures? Stuff and nonsense! The important thing is to discover what is going on down there…and I think the perfect person to do that is you.” She yawned loudly. “I am exhausted, cousin; I really must go to bed.”

  “Bed?” Adele was stunned. “How on earth could you think of sleeping now?”

  “Oh, cousin, the basement will still be there in the morning,” said Isabella playfully (actually, she was thinking about the bag full of stolen property she left back in the entrance hall). “Besides, all of this excitement has exhausted me. Good night, cousin.”

  Alone again, Adele made her way toward the secret entrance. There were thousands of books on the library’s towering shelves. Surely one of them would be of help in her quest. Sommerset House had a basement, and she was going to find a way in.

  ***

  “I trust you were not seen.”

  “We were careful,” said Dr. Mangrove, smiling confidently. The doctor was an odd-looking man—completely bald (with neither eyebrows nor eyelashes), he possessed a round, puffy face, waxy skin, beady eyes, and teeth a putrid shade of yellow.

  “Of course you were,” said Silas faintly, taking another shallow breath.

  Thorn sniffed suspiciously at Dr. Mangrove’s shoes, then dropped to the ground beside his master’s bed. His belly was full, and the fat little man did not look all that appetizing.

  “Your pulse is weak,” said the doctor as he held Silas’s bony wrist. “I fear the medicine is no longer helping.”

  “That is why you are here, Mangrove,” said Silas, resting his head back on a stack of silk pillows. “I trust everything is going smoothly down below.”

  “Perfectly,” said Dr. Mangrove. “Do not worry about anything.”

  “Ah, but I must worry,” said Silas, sounding utterly exhausted. “The road ahead is fraught with danger. There is still so much to do.”

  “Yes, you are right.” Dr. Mangrove rubbed his thick hands together. “But we are so close, I can almost taste it. The choices we make now are critical.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Three children and you can only pick one,” said Mangrove, smiling grimly. “From what you have told me, each of them has their charms. Deciding who shall inherit and who shall go home is a complex matter.”

  “Not really,” said Silas. “I made my choice long ago, but one must always plan for the unexpected, and that is why I invited three young Winterbottoms to the island. I don’t need to remind you, Mangrove, how very delicate this project is. After all, you have been working toward this day for a lifetime…for many lifetimes. We have but a single chance to get it right, and if the chosen one fails me, then we will have two healthy specimens as backup. I have been watching my guests closely. In truth, I have rather enjoyed toying with them; mind games are excellent sport for a dying man. I need to know how they think, how they react, what they feel. In short, I must see into their very souls.”

  Mangrove was nodding, his eyes brimming with admiration for the sickly old man. “You have thought of everything, old friend.”

  “Indeed.” Silas closed his heavy eyes. “But as for the children going home, well, that is simply out of the question.”

  “Oh?” Dr. Mangrove licked his lips.

  “Even the slightest chance of discovery is too great,” said Silas with cool certainty. “No, it was clear to me from the very beginning that the remaining children must never leave Sommerset.” He sighed gently. “Not alive anyway.”

  As Silas and Dr. Mangrove continued their meeting in the secrecy of the master’s bedroom chamber, outside an ear was pressed to the door taking in every terrifying word. Fear consumed the eavesdropper who dared not make a sound. Discovery would mean certain death. With a racing heart, the figure moved rapidly from the master’s bedroom chamber, rushing toward the welcomed darkness of the landing.

  ***

  A hand slid into the back recesses of a narrow drawer and pulled out an object wrapped tightly in white cloth—it looked like a mummy emerging from its tomb. With great care the object was being unwrapped. Layer after layer unwound until the knife fell onto the table.

  Gripping the white handle, the knife was pulled from its sheath—the blade glistened, throwing blinding balls of white light onto the ceiling. A deep sense of satisfaction pulsed through the silent figure standing alone in the bedroom.

  The day was coming when Silas Winterbottom would pay for his cruelty.

  Soon it would all be over.

  15

  Persuasion

  Isabella never entered a kitchen if she could possibly avoid it. Kitchens were revolting places where pasty-faced servants and potbellied cooks spent their miserable days preparing delicious food for people like her. The only time Isabella made an exception was when she had a complaint, which is why she was standing beside a table covered with freshly baked banana bread, whining loudly about the temperature of her iced tea (which was much too cold for her delicate mouth). It was during this visit to the kitchen that she unexpectedly learned a very useful piece of information—Uncle Silas’s beloved crocodile was allergic to chicken meat. Very allergic.

  Mrs. Hammer was instructing a new kitchen hand and she made a great fuss regarding Thorn’s feeding requirements. Under no circumstances was the beast to be fed chicken. Ever.

  This gave Isabella a most wonderful idea.

  With a fresh glass of room-temperature iced tea in hand, she went in search of Adele and found the glum little redhead curled up with a stack of books in the library looking thoroughly miserable.

  “There you are,” she said, flopping down next to Adele in front of the gigantic marble fireplace. “So, cousin, have you made any progress finding a way into the basement?”

  Adele shook her head. “I am sure there must be something here that would help…a book or a map. But there are so many books to search through—it will take me years to check every one.”

  “Never mind, cousin,” said Isabella with a giggle. “You are such a clever little thing—I am sure you will work it out. Now, on to more important matters. I’ve had the most wonderful idea to help you win over Uncle Silas.”

  With little enthusiasm Adele closed the book on her lap and picked up another, scrolling through the index. She sighed heavily. “That’s nice, Isabella.”

  Reaching across, Isabella closed the book her cousin was reading.

  “Dearest, you still want to be Uncle Silas’s heir, don’t you?” asked Isabella.

  Adele hesitated for a moment. Did she still want it? Chasing that prize had led her down a very dark path—scheming, plotting, working as a spy for her uncle. So much had happened lately and her thoughts were a great jumble. The only thing she was certain of was Ratchet’s House and
how terrified she was of being sent there. Regardless of what Uncle Silas was hiding in the basement, he was still the master of Sommerset, and she had to prove herself to him. She simply had to. And as for Isabella—well, while she was almost certainly a book-stealing criminal, Adele had no choice but to trust her.

  After all, who else could she turn to for help? Aunt Rosemary would be horrified if she knew why Adele had really come to Sommerset, and while Milo claimed to hate Uncle Silas and want nothing to do with his fortune, how could she be sure? Oh, it was all so confusing! All Adele knew for certain was that without help she would never win over her uncle.

  “Yes,” she said faintly. “Of course I do. But why do you want to help me so much, Isabella?”

  The pretty girl seemed shocked by the question, but her eyes soon took on their usual knowing gleam. “Because you deserve this, cousin,” she said. “You may not be pretty or quick-witted or even terribly interesting—but you are good and kind. Besides, I couldn’t bear to think of Sommerset going to that insane little orphan, and I certainly have no need for it.” Isabella patted her cousin on the hand. “Come now, cousin, you must show more determination. Uncle Silas will not hand Sommerset to you without a fight. You are going to have to win his heart.”

  “Because that worked so well last time,” said Adele, remembering Silas’s bitter reaction to her ideas for Sommerset.

  “Well, that’s why you must do something spectacular this time!” declared Isabella, jumping to her feet. “And my idea will make Uncle Silas think you are the sweetest girl who ever lived!”

  “It will?”

  “Yes! Who does Uncle Silas love more than anyone else on this island?” asked Isabella.

  “That’s easy,” answered Adele. “Thorn.”

  “Exactly! And tonight you are going to cook Thorn a special dinner all by yourself. Uncle Silas will see how much you care for the beast, and he will love you for it!”

  Adele quickly came to see that her cousin’s idea was a clever one.

  “Yes, it just might work!”