“Oh, Milo,” cried Mrs. Hammer, “thank goodness you’re all right!”
“I’m fine, Mrs. Hammer,” said Milo, squeezing her hand. “And thank you for trying to save me. You are very brave!”
“Oh, nonsense,” laughed Mrs. Hammer.
Suddenly Adele gave a shout.
Dr. Mangrove was nowhere to be seen. He had fled the laboratory, disappearing down the labyrinth of tunnels. On a hunch Milo hopped over to the smoking ruins of his uncle’s chamber and looked inside. A chill raced up his spine.
The powdery remains of Uncle Silas had vanished.
25
The Last Will and Testament of Silas Winterbottom
The Winterbottoms sat in the conservatory of Sommerset House waiting for Whitlam to arrive. As soft sunlight splashed across the black-and-white checkered floor, each member of the family sat quietly, still haunted by the events of the past few days.
Silas was dead. He had lured the children to Sommerset with a wicked plan to steal a soul and now he was dead. Milo’s body still ached from his time in the Soul Chamber, but as he sat close to his grandfather he felt better than he had in weeks. The maestro had jumped on a plane the minute he found out what had happened to his grandson, and he had not left the boy’s side since.
There had been no sign of Dr. Mangrove since his escape from the basement. The police seemed to believe that he had been eaten by Silas’s alligators—his shredded coat was found near a tunnel leading directly into the swamp and there was blood on it.
The doctor was not the only person to disappear from Sommerset—Bingle had fled in the dead of night, and no one had heard from him since.
When Whitlam finally entered the conservatory he was forced to step over Thorn, who was lying across the doorway. He was quickly followed by Mrs. Hammer carrying a pitcher of lemonade and a freshly baked pie.
“Oh, cousin, this is it,” whispered Isabella, tapping Adele’s hand. “We are about to become very rich…very, very rich!”
Adele frowned. “Us? Are you crazy? Uncle Silas has left everything to Milo—that’s the whole reason he wanted to steal his body, remember?”
“Well, I know that,” said Isabella crossly. “But don’t you see? Milo won’t want any part the estate—especially after what Uncle Silas did. And that means Sommerset will go to us!”
“What makes you think that?” said Adele.
“It’s simple really,” declared Isabella. “Milo knows how much we both love Sommerset, and let us not forget—we saved the poor orphan’s life. He will feel it is his duty to hand Uncle Silas’s fortune over to us. Just you wait and see!”
Adjusting his spectacles, Whitlam shuffled to the front of the room and stood before a bank of large windows overlooking the rose gardens.
“Well, children, you have certainly had a holiday to remember, haven’t you?” he said, winking at Milo (who gave the lawyer a smile in return). “On a serious note, I feel nothing but regret for my role in bringing you to Sommerset. If I had known what Silas was up to…well, I would have stopped him myself! You showed great courage—all of you—standing up to him and stopping his diabolical scheme. Congratulations all around, I say!”
As Mrs. Hammer, Rosemary, and the maestro applauded enthusiastically, Whitlam pulled a large envelope from inside his coat. “Now then, let us get down to business. Silas’s will.” He sighed heavily. “In fact, your uncle’s wishes are very simple really, and however objectionable I might find some of the contents—it is perfectly legal, and therefore I am duty bound to enforce it.”
The whole room watched expectantly as Whitlam broke the seal and opened the will. He cleared his throat.
“Now then…the great bulk of Silas Winterbottom’s estate, including Sommerset and all other assets and money has been left to Milo Winterbottom.”
All eyes fell upon Sommerset’s new heir.
“Congratulations, Milo,” said Rosemary warmly.
“Thank you,” said Milo, shaking his head. “But I don’t want it.”
“My boy,” said the maestro, looking tenderly at his grandson, “you should take some time to think about it, yes? This is a great thing you are giving up.”
“I have thought about it, Maestro,” explained Milo. “I don’t want Sommerset—I never did. The truth is…” He turned around, facing his cousins. “I want Adele and Isabella to have it. After what they did for me, it’s the least I can do.”
Isabella jumped to her feet and flew at Milo, hugging him brutally.
“Oh, cousin, you are too kind! Thank you, thank you! What a sweet little orphan you turned out to be!”
Still sitting quietly in her chair, Adele felt fresh tears slide down her freckled cheeks. She caught Milo’s eye and mouthed the words “Thank you, Milo.”
After all that they had been through together, it was all she needed to say.
“Who’d have thought it? Sommerset has two heirs!” said Rosemary, as she guzzled a slice of freshly baked peach pie.
“I’m afraid not,” said Whitlam gravely. “The terms of Silas’s will state that if Milo refuses the estate then Silas’s fortune will become the property of…Dr. Mikal Mangrove.”
Gasps were heard around the conservatory.
“What?” hollered Isabella. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“I wish I was,” answered Whitlam. “And that is not the worst of it. In the event that Milo does not choose to become the next heir of Sommerset, several other clauses in the will come into effect. The first is that two hundred thousand dollars will be paid to Adele’s mother, Prudence Winterbottom—on the condition that Adele is sent to Ratchet’s House until her eighteenth birthday.”
“Ratchet’s House!” shouted Adele. She tried to get up, but her legs turned to jelly. Dropping, she fell back in the chair. Silas had taken her greatest fear and brought it to life.
“There is more,” continued Whitlam somberly. “The second clause concerns Miss Isabella. Your uncle kept a detailed dossier of your activities in London over the past year.” The old lawyer paused awkwardly. “I refer to the theft of valuable objects from the homes of your school friends. This dossier is to be delivered to the London police authorities. I have no doubt that there is enough evidence in there to have both you and your father locked away for a very long time. I am sorry.”
Isabella tried to remain as calm as possible, but naturally it did not work.
“This is an outrage!” she cried. “A travesty! Why, if Uncle Silas wasn’t already dead, I’d kill the old bag of bones all over again!”
“I knew my brother was a swine, but this is inhuman!” said Rosemary, passing out tissues to Adele and Isabella. “Now, Whitlam, am I right in assuming that if Milo does become Sommerset’s new heir…then none of these awful clauses will be carried out?”
Whitlam nodded. “That’s right.” He smiled sadly at Milo, who looked completely dazed by the turn of events. “Your uncle was prepared to do whatever it took to persuade you.”
The boy was trapped. Even in death Silas was controlling them. What choice did he have but to accept the mantle of Sommerset’s new heir? He could hardly believe he was thinking such a thing! But if he didn’t, what would become of his Adele and Isabella? Not to mention Dr. Mangrove. If that evil genius was still alive, he must never gain access to Sommerset. Who knew what diabolical inventions he could build with Silas’s fortune?
“All right,” said Milo, as a deep unease swelled within him. “I will do what Uncle Silas wanted. I am the new heir of Sommerset.”
A scream tore across the room. It was Mrs. Hammer. She jumped to her feet and ran to the large windows.
“Moses!” she cried, pointing toward the large evergreen oak tree just beyond the rose gardens. “He just fell from that tree! The branch snapped and he fell!”
***
They rushed from the drawing room, through the
entrance hall, and out into the rose garden.
“Over here!” Isabella shouted as she ran between the stone columns at the edge of the rose garden.
“Quick!” she screamed suddenly. “Somebody call the doctor—Moses is badly hurt!”
The old gardener was flat on his stomach, his calloused fingers clawing at the dirt as he dragged his body away from the oak tree.
“Moses, stop!” cried Milo. “You mustn’t move!”
Ignoring the warnings, Moses clawed at the ground, pulling himself onto the soft green grass of the rose gardens. His shattered legs dragged behind him like two bags of coal.
“Where are you going, Moses?” said Rosemary desperately. “Please, don’t move until help arrives!”
Groaning, Moses pulled himself along the trellised archway and stopped beside a bed of red roses. Then he plunged his fingers into the dirt.
“What’s he doing?” said Isabella.
“Moses, what is it?” Milo asked, throwing his crutches to the ground and dropping down beside the gardener. He put his hand on the old man’s back. “Moses?”
“I do hope the ambulance hurries up!” said Mrs. Hammer fearfully.
It was Adele who solved the mystery. She peered over Rosemary’s shoulder and looked down at the garden bed.
“They’re letters,” she said. “I think he’s writing something!”
When Moses was done, his eyes closed, his body deflating into the soft grass like a punctured tire.
Milo looked down at the rose bed and saw what was written in the soil.
Dig.
Without actually making a decision to do it, Milo plunged his hands into the dirt.
26
Sommerset
A rusted copper box buried under a bed of red roses and caked in decades of mud and dirt was resurrected from the gardens of Sommerset. Once again, the Winterbottoms gathered together in the conservatory waiting for Whitlam, trying to come to terms with the blackest day in Sommerset’s history. Moses was dead. He had drawn his last breath in the very gardens he had tended for so many years.
The police examined the branch that had caused him to plunge from the tree. They were certain it had been tampered with, sawed down so that it would break when Moses stood upon it. One of the gardeners overheard young Knox telling Moses that the master wanted him to trim the evergreen oak that very day. Then Mrs. Hammer recalled Silas having a meeting with Knox in his office right after he intercepted the note Moses wrote to Milo promising him the truth about his uncle. When the police questioned Knox in his quarters, the boy quickly turned to jelly and confessed everything. Silas had offered him the head gardener’s job in exchange for doing away with Moses. The young gardener was arrested and taken away.
In the conservatory at the foot of Silas’s empty chair, Thorn kept a vigil as if he were awaiting his master’s return. Isabella sat on the floor near the beast, stroking his long back, while Adele picked nervously at her fingers and tried as hard as she could not to think about Moses. Naturally, that was all she could think about.
The maestro, who had been talking with the police, returned to the conservatory and sat down next to his grandson just as Whitlam made his entrance.
“This has been a day of great tragedy,” said Whitlam, scratching at his curly white hair, “and great revelation. My colleagues and I have thoroughly examined the contents of the buried box. I have in my hand two documents. One is a letter from Moses; the other is the final will of Lady Cornelia Bloom.”
Puzzled looks were exchanged around the room.
“Well, go on, then!” snapped Isabella impatiently. “What does it say?”
“Yes, well,” said Whitlam. “I should first make it clear that we have conducted extensive handwriting analysis of Lady Bloom’s letters and documents—the will is authentic. As such, Silas’s will is no longer valid.”
Everybody in the room seemed to gasp at the same time.
“Lady Bloom wrote a new will just a few days before her death,” continued Whitlam. “The letter Moses left makes it very clear that Lady Bloom had grown concerned about Silas’s behavior—he had become controlling and obsessed with Sommerset. He refused to allow Lady Bloom’s family and friends to visit the island and kept Lady Bloom a virtual prisoner. According to Moses, she feared for her life, which is why she left a copy of the new will in his possession—in case anything should happen to her. It was for this reason that Moses sent his son Ezra with her on the day she was to deliver this new will to her lawyers in town. She did not tell Silas what she was doing. However, Moses saw him walking into the forest with an ax in the early hours of that morning. Lady Bloom’s car hit a tree that had mysteriously fallen across a sharp bend in the road—the police believed the branch had been deliberately cut, but they couldn’t prove it. As we know, Lady Bloom was killed instantly, and the boy suffered severe brain injuries requiring lifelong medical care. Being a cunning fox, Silas agreed to take care of all the boy’s medical expenses on the condition that Moses kept his mouth shut about everything. Moses never let on that he had a copy of Lady Bloom’s will…until today.”
“Heavens above!” said Rosemary, shaking her head. “What a tale! But then, nothing my brother has done would surprise me now. So, Whitlam, here is the million-dollar question—who did Lady Bloom leave Sommerset to?”
“Yes, who?” said Isabella anxiously. Murder, secret wills, blackmail—she found the whole thing utterly, tragically romantic!
“Well,” said Whitlam, “that’s a very good question. It was Lady Bloom’s wish that once both she and your uncle were gone, the estate and all of its assets should go to the youngest generation of Blooms and Winterbottoms.” The old lawyer grinned. “And as Lady Bloom has no living relatives, that means Sommerset now belongs to Adele, Isabella, and Milo Winterbottom!”
The three Winterbottom children looked at each other wide-eyed and slack jawed. Could it really be true—Sommerset was to be shared by all three of them? The answer was yes! Naturally Adele and Isabella were elated, hugging each other and jumping about the place, but Milo did not react.
“Did you hear, my boy?” said the maestro, putting an arm around him. “Just a few hours ago you tried to give Sommerset away, and now it has come back to you again. Fate is trying to tell you something, yes? Maybe now you will listen to it.”
“So, Milo,” said Adele rather nervously. “Sommerset is ours to share…what do you think?”
“I think…I think Uncle Silas would hate the idea of Sommerset being shared by three Winterbottoms. It would drive him crazy. Well, crazier.” Milo smiled shyly and stood up, joining his cousins in front of the fireplace. “I think it’s perfect!”
That night the island has its first real celebration in years. Every member of the household gathered in the ballroom to hear the maestro play his violin as Rosemary and Mrs. Hammer read a poem in honor of Moses. Then the children gathered outside in the garden and lit a candle for the old gardener, wishing him well on his final journey home. They laughed and talked through the night, making plans for the bright future that seemed to stretch out before them, and as the sun began to rise over the island, the whole family raised their glasses to Lady Cornelia Bloom, thanking her for the gift of Sommerset.
Epilogue
From behind a cover of thick vines and cypress trees he watched them at play in the gardens of Sommerset. His eyes, small and bright, studied the Winterbottom children with jealous fascination. They had everything he required—health…youth…fortune.
He looked up at the full moon. It was late. Clutching the cylinder containing the powdery remains of his benefactor, Silas Winterbottom, the ancient doctor turned away and headed back into the depths of the darkened forest.
He had work to do.
Acknowledgments
This tale was inspired by a book entitled Aunt Jane’s Nieces written nearly a century ago. I loved the stor
y so much that I set out to write a new version of this delightfully old-fashioned book and everything was going along swimmingly until the young Winterbottoms and their revolting uncle hijacked the story. Suddenly I found myself writing a far more sinister story involving deadly reptiles, murderous villains, a secret assassin, and three young cousins fighting for their very lives. Naturally, I was thrilled!
Despite the change of direction, it was the magic of L. Frank Baum that inspired me, after a lengthy spell in the wilderness, to get back to the keyboard and try again. And so I thank him.
I owe a huge thank-you to the entire team at Sourcebooks Jabberwocky, but most especially to Rebecca Frazer for all her efforts on behalf of this book. Thanks also to Troy Cummings for his brilliant illustrations. Finally, a very special thank-you to my agent Ann Behar, whose boundless optimism and tenacity have made my literary dreams come true.
About the Author
Stephen M. Giles lives near the beach in Sydney. He has worked as a film classifier and a market researcher, but these days he spends most of his time wandering around his imagination—which is where he met the Winterbottoms.
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