Stella risked a glance around. Perhaps the men would not recognise her, dressed as a boy. There were many boys in the audience. Could she creep out, hidden in the crowd, at the end of the show? That would be the safest way to escape. Unless Ben had already told the Professor where she was.
If they tried to grab her, she would scream.
A boy came down the aisle with a tray of ginger beer bottles and then a girl with a basket of oranges.
The violins played a swirling, rising melody and an enormous man with glossy black whiskers strode out in front of the curtain. He sang a sad song about being away from his love. His voice was like a foghorn.
Away, away beyond the foam,
Away, away from hearth and home,
Away, away across the sea,
My love, do you remember me?
There were sniffles throughout the audience. The mother of the large family wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, and the father blew his nose, making a sound like a trumpet.
Stella darted another glance behind. The men were looming dark shapes at the back of the theatre. She sank down in her seat, her heart thumping.
The enormous man sang a second sad song and then bowed deeply and strode off the stage as the audience sobbed and clapped.
The announcer called, ‘And now, Ladies and Gentlemen. The charming Fairy Bells.’
The orchestra played a polka, and the twelve Fairy Bells skipped onto the stage, smiling and sparkling in the limelight. They whirled around, turning this way and that in time to the music. They linked arms and kicked their legs high. They jumped and leaped. One girl (Ettie, Stella thought) flipped over onto her hands and back onto her feet, and the others followed, twirling over and over. Stella could hardly believe they were the same girls she had met in their dressing room, giggling and eating sweets. They were so clever, they seemed as if they were from another world.
The dance finished, and the audience cheered. The Fairy Bells stood in a row on the stage, curtsied and ran off.
The announcer stepped out again. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, the extraordinary conjurer and magician, Professor Starke.’
There was a moment of silence and then a drum roll. The gaslights in the theatre dimmed and the lights on the stage went out. A murmur went around the audience. Stella felt the back of her neck prickle.
The curtains drew apart and a figure appeared on the darkened stage. The Professor was dressed in black and wore a tall hat. His eyes were dark shadows behind the green, glinting lenses of his spectacles.
He waved his hand, cymbals clashed and dozens of candles flared into light on three tall candelabra. The audience gasped.
‘Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen,’ said the Professor, and reached out with a flourish. A large bunch of white flowers appeared in his hand out of nowhere. He twirled the flowers and flung them into the air. As they scattered, they turned into a flock of screeching bats and flapped away into the darkness. There were shrieks in the audience.
‘Venture into the unknown to witness marvels of magic.’ The Professor strode across the stage to a glass bowl full of water, resting on top of a pillar. He took a gold coin from his pocket and tapped it against the bowl. It made a clear ringing sound. He tossed the coin into the water. It changed into a fat goldfish and swam around the bowl.
He plunged his hand in, caught the fish and lifted it out of the water. He held it between his long, pale fingers as it flapped and gasped. The little fish glinted in the candlelight and then, with a flash, it burst into flames. The audience gasped again. Fire engulfed the Professor’s hand. He held up his burning hand with a faint smile on his lips. The golden flames flickered and blazed, and then dwindled and died away. Between his blackened, smoking fingers was a gleaming golden coin. He twirled it and dropped it back into his pocket and bowed. The crowd applauded.
He turned to a tall box in the centre of the stage. It was glossy black with a pattern of gold stars. It was the size of a narrow wardrobe. The Professor opened the door and showed the interior to the audience. It was empty.
He said, ‘Ladies and Gentlemen. Allow me to demonstrate the Cabinet of Mysteries.’
There was another drum roll. Stella looked quickly behind her. Something was happening at the back of the theatre, some kind of disturbance, raised voices and scuffling.
On stage, the Professor removed his hat and tossed it into the air. He caught it, reached inside and pulled out a large, grey rabbit. He placed the rabbit on the floor of the cabinet and shut the door. There was a clash of cymbals and a loud bang. Smoke billowed. The Professor stepped across the stage, waved his long fingers and flung open the door of the cabinet. The rabbit was gone. In its place was a small pile of blackened bones and a scattering of ashes. The audience gasped.
He held out his hands. ‘For my next demonstration, I will need a brave volunteer. Who will be courageous and step into the Cabinet of Mysteries?’
The gaslights in the auditorium flared up again.
Children pushed and shoved each other and squealed and craned their necks around. People hooted and whistled. But nobody stood up.
‘Come, Ladies and Gentlemen. Venture onto the stage and step into the unknown,’ said the Professor.
Suddenly, a figure appeared beside Stella. It was Scuttler. Before she could think, he clasped her wrist and pulled her to her feet.
‘Professor. Here’s a volunteer,’ he called.
Stella’s heart lurched. She could hardly breathe. ‘No, no,’ she gasped.
‘Come up on stage, my boy,’ said the Professor with a thin smile.
The audience cheered. Scuttler dragged Stella down the aisle to the stage. She tried to twist her hand away, but his grip tightened and she yelped in pain.
He pulled her up a narrow flight of stairs. She dropped the Atlas. Before she could pick it up, Scuttler jerked her away roughly and dragged her onto the stage. ‘Hold still, brat,’ he muttered, ‘or you’ll get hurt.’
The Professor said, ‘Welcome our brave volunteer.’ He gestured at Stella. The audience clapped and hooted and whistled and the orchestra played. The lights were dazzling. Stella blinked out at rows and rows of grinning, shouting faces. The noise was like waves crashing on shingle.
She looked around desperately. The Professor’s men stood all around the edges of the stage. There was no escape. She saw Ben in the shadows, pale and miserable, his hands black with ink.
‘Now, my boy, step into the Cabinet of Mysteries,’ said the Professor.
Scuttler dragged Stella across to the cabinet and pushed her inside. The Professor slammed the door.
She was trapped.
She flung herself against the door, but it was shut tight. She yelled and thrashed and kicked. The music from the orchestra and the roars from the audience were deafening.
There was a clash of cymbals, a loud bang and choking smoke. The floor dropped away under her and she tumbled down into darkness.
Stella landed hard, the breath knocked out of her. Rough hands grabbed her. She kicked and struggled. Her flailing boot connected with something soft. A man cursed. Her head hit something. She was pinned to the ground. An evil-smelling cloth was shoved into her mouth and she was bundled into a blanket. She could not move, she could barely breathe.
There was a scuffle somewhere nearby, a confused jumble of voices.
‘Stop! Police! Help!’
‘Grab that one too. Don’t let her scarper.’
‘Let go!’
There was a yell, more scuffling and a man cursed again. ‘She bleedin’ bit me.’
The world spun around.
Stella woke and slept and woke again as she was jolted uncomfortably. Her head hurt. It was dark. She struggled, but could not move. There were voices nearby. She tried to call out, but could not make any sound. She was dizzy and felt as if she might be sick.
She woke again and her head felt a bit clearer. She was lying on something hard. There was a lurching motion, creaking and horse’s hooves and the rumbling sound of
cart wheels. She tried to move, but her arms and legs were pinned. Things were piled on top of her. Was it day or night? She felt as if she might choke. Her mouth was full of cloth. It tasted revolting, of sweat and tobacco. She managed to spit it out and gasped for air. The hairy blanket covered her head, rough against her cheek. She wriggled around and tried to turn over, but she could not move. Her head hurt. She slept again.
Time passed. The cart was slowing. Someone called to the horse, the harness jingled and the cart lurched to a halt. Men’s voices spoke, above her and close by.
‘Here’s the causeway, Charlie.’
‘It’s right creepy out here.’
‘Take a nip of this. It’ll put heart in you.’ Stella heard the chink of a bottle.
One of the men gasped. ‘Look.’
‘What?’
‘There, Scuttler. Just there. I seen another one.’
‘Bleedin’ fiddle faddle. There ain’t nothing, Charlie.’
‘My gran told me about them lights,’ said Charlie, his voice low and wavering. ‘They lead you out into the marsh and nab the soul right out of your chest.’
‘There ain’t no such thing, Charlie,’ said Scuttler. ‘Your gran was off with the fairies. Take another nip.’
Charlie said, ‘Sun’s nearly gone down.’
‘Sooner we get over, sooner we get back.’
There was a distant, sobbing cry. As it died away, Charlie muttered, ‘Cripes. This place gives me the shivers, Scuttler.’
‘Me too, Charlie. Me too. But think on this. There ain’t no police on our tail. We got the nippers away, and we got away clear. They’re still watching the theatre, likely. Watching the Professor. Ha-ha. They never looked in the laundry basket.’ He laughed. ‘It’s a golden strike for me and you, Charlie. And off to The Smoke for us.’
‘What’ll happen to the nippers?’ asked Charlie.
‘Not our affair,’ said Scuttler firmly. ‘Don’t you go soft on me now. This time tomorrow, we’ll be far away.’ He chirruped to the horse and the cart started moving again.
Where were they going? Desperately, Stella struggled to move, but it felt as if bundles of clothes were piled on top of her, weighing her down.
Close by her ear, a groan made her jump. Someone else was trapped as well. Who else had they captured?
‘Is anyone there?’ Stella tried to whisper, but her throat was dry and the blanket muffled the sound. There was no answer.
She twisted her head from side to side, trying to free it from the enveloping blanket. She wriggled determinedly until she uncovered one eye. Her face was pressed against the wall of a basket. She blinked and peered out between the gaps in the wicker.
She had a lurching, flickering view of the world outside. She was in a basket on the back of a cart. She could see a narrow road winding away behind. The land was flat and marshy, with scattered rocky outcrops and stunted, twisted trees. The last of the daylight reflected on pools of stagnant water. It was grey and misty and raining.
She could smell salt and dead fish. The cart jolted across sand and seaweed. Stella could hear waves breaking on shingle. Then, all at once, they were travelling on a causeway, out over the sea.
The causeway was only a few inches clear of the water. The flagstones were uneven and broken and draped with seaweed. The cart lurched. What if it overturned? Dark water stretched away on both sides and lapped at the edges of the causeway. It looked deep and cold. Stella was trapped in the basket and she could not move. She did not want to drown. Her heart thudded as she watched the shoreline until it dwindled and became only a vague grey blur in the rain. Then it was lost behind, and she could see only the narrow causeway stretching across the grey water and the darkening sky above. She shivered.
‘Tide’s coming in,’ said Charlie, sounding nervous. A wave broke over the causeway, the foam like lace. ‘Sooner we get there, sooner we get back.’ Scuttler clicked his tongue to the horse. The harness jingled and the cart gave a frightening lurch.
An uneven line of poles marked the edge of the causeway. A black bird with a long neck was perched on top of a pole, a wriggling silver fish in its beak. As the cart trundled past, it swallowed the fish, made a loud cry and flapped away.
Another wave broke over the causeway with a rush. Stiff with fear, Stella watched the dark water swirling around the wheels of the cart. Minutes passed. At last the cart began to climb up and away from the sea, past rocks and scrubby plants.
Stella hadn’t realised she had been holding her breath. She let it out with a shuddering gasp.
The cart lurched to a stop. The men jumped down. The basket jerked and then the lid opened and things were lifted off her. She was pulled and dragged and then slung over a shoulder and carried.
She had a glimpse of a jumble of rocks and stone steps leading up to a tall tower. It had an uneven, broken outline against the sky. As if it had been once part of something larger. A castle, perhaps. She could see water all around. An island.
A key turned in a lock and then she was carried up a narrow spiral staircase. Up and up. Another door opened and she was dumped down onto a hard floor.
It was a small round room. Broken furniture and a torn tapestry lay in a heap. A tiny window with no glass let in the rain. Stella struggled to free herself from the entangling blanket. She was shaking and numb with cold.
Charlie came in and dropped another bundle onto the floor.
‘Gert!’ gasped Stella. Gert had a piece of dirty cloth fixed around her mouth and was wrapped in sacking and tied with rope. She was making muffled, angry noises and her eyes looked furious.
Scuttler glared at Gert. ‘She was yelling for the coppers. So we had to nab her too. Serve her right. Spitfire.’ He rubbed a painful-looking red mark on his wrist. He turned to Stella. ‘You’ve given us a mort of trouble, girl. The Professor’s in a right fury. Turning the boy against him. And now all them police crawlin’ everywhere, watching him. Suspicious. Take you right away out here, he says. Sort this out for good. Where you can’t give no more trouble.’
Stella bit her lip so she would not cry.
‘Professor’ll be here next low tide,’ said Scuttler as they turned to leave. ‘You give him his thingabob, and all’s rug. Think on that.’
‘Please don’t leave us here,’ said Stella, shivering.
‘Tide’s coming in, Scuttler,’ said Charlie, halfway out the door.
‘Think on that.’ Scuttler turned back, his face close to Stella’s. His furtive eyes were pale and milky, like undercooked eggs. His breath smelled of gin and old meat. ‘Give the Professor his little niggle thing, and you and your friend, both of you, back home safe, like nothing happened. Otherwise . . .’ He shrugged and, without more words, turned and left, slamming and locking the heavy door behind him.
Otherwise . . . Stella heard the men’s footsteps hurrying away down the stairs. She crawled across to Gert and pulled off her gag. She tried to untie the rope. Her fingers were cold and stiff, and she had to use her teeth to loosen the knots.
Below, a door slammed.
Gert spluttered and coughed. She said, ‘Flipping heck,’ and spat bits of cloth out of her mouth. ‘Nobble me granny. Stinking gumbleguts. Mangle their gizzards. I bit one of ’em, though. Made him flipping yell.’ She gave a satisfied grin. She pulled away the rope and sacking and stretched her arms and legs. She was still wearing her spangled yellow dancing dress. She rubbed her arms and did some jiggling dance steps. ‘Cripes, it’s freezing. Where are we? Can we get out?’
‘I don’t know.’
Stella stood up stiffly, stumbled across the room and clambered onto a broken chair to look out of the narrow window. A gust of icy wind and a spatter of raindrops blew in. She leaned on the sill and looked down. Far below, in the fading light, the causeway stretched away across the sea. Parts of it were already underwater. The cart drove out along it. Waves lapped around its wheels.
Gert climbed up beside her, and together they watched the cart until it dwindled to a
tiny dark shape and was lost in the dusk and the rain.
‘Blimey,’ said Gert.
Stella climbed down and went to the door. She rattled the rusty iron handle back and forth uselessly. She looked around the tiny room and shivered again. It was cold, and getting colder. It would soon be dark. The heavy door was locked. The window was too narrow to climb through, and too high up. There was no way to escape.
They were trapped, quite alone, in the middle of the sea.
High up in the tower, Stella and Gert huddled together, wrapped in the torn tapestry, the sacking and the blanket. The tapestry was damp and stiff and smelled of mould, but it was thick and kept out some of the cold. Outside, the wind howled. Swirling gusts of icy air blew in through the window. Stella shivered.
‘I knew the Professor was a twisty cove, all along,’ Gert said. ‘I saw him shove you in his cabinet. I know how that trick works. It’s simple. There’s a trapdoor, it opens under, and drops down, like that. So I ran down under the stage to save you. But them skitching rumguzzlers caught me too.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Stella.
‘Weren’t your fault.’ Gert shrugged. ‘I should’ve gone straight for the coppers. They were everywhere, looking for you. I didn’t stop and think. Mrs Mac’s always saying, think first, girl. She’ll be throwing fifty fits right now. D’you reckon the police’ll be able to find us, all the way out here?’
Stella said, ‘I hope so.’ But it seemed unlikely. How would they know where to look?
‘So what’ll we do when the Professor gets here? I’ll flipping bite him too. I’ll make him yell.’
‘We should run,’ said Stella. ‘He can’t catch both of us. Perhaps one of us can get away from him and run along the causeway to get help, if the tide’s out.’
‘I’ll bite him first. Then I’ll run,’ said Gert. ‘What’s he want with you, anyway?’
Withering-by-Sea Page 11
