A distant booming cry echoed across the marsh, throbbing and dying away.
‘Cripes,’ whispered Gert. ‘What was that?’
‘A tarabuso,’ said Mr Capelli reassuringly. ‘A bittern. A bird, only.’
‘It’s right creepy out here,’ said Gert, her voice shaking a bit.
‘It ain’t far now,’ said Ben.
They came across a mossy wall that followed the track for a short distance, and then disappeared into the water, a tumble of broken stones. Then they passed a cottage, half-sunk in the marsh, covered in moss and ivy. Beyond were piles of broken stones, and a second cottage, its windows empty and dark and fringed with tiny ferns. Further on were more houses, some of them only moss-covered mounds.
A ruined church tower loomed out of the mist. A tree grew inside the church. Its branches stuck out through the empty windows and the holes in the roof. In the churchyard, stone angels lay amongst toppled gravestones, covered with moss. Ferns grew everywhere. Thickets of ancient holly and yew twisted together, entangled with ivy.
‘I remember this,’ whispered Ben. ‘We walked from here.’
Mr Capelli clucked to the horse and drew the wagon to a halt. Beside the road, a row of tumbledown houses huddled together. Beyond, more cottages were only indistinct shapes in the mist. It was very quiet and very cold.
Stella imagined there were voices in the silence, just beyond hearing. She turned to look, but the village was silent and still. The dark, empty windows of the houses stared back at her.
They climbed down from the wagon. The ground was extremely boggy. Water soaked into Stella’s boots. She wrapped the blanket tightly around her shoulders.
Mr Capelli spoke to the horses and the cats, and shuttered the windows on the wagon.
‘It’s this way,’ said Ben. He led them through the drowned village.
Stella tried to walk on the firmer parts of the ground, grass tussocks and patches of moss, but her boot went unexpectedly into a pool of black mud. She pulled it out with a revolting sucking sound. It seemed very loud in the silence.
Gert giggled then put a hand over her mouth.
Ben led them past the churchyard and along a narrow, fern-lined passage between two houses, to the edge of the village. They passed a water mill, sunk into the marsh. Its wheel was crooked and rotten and draped with slime. Water dripped slowly into a stagnant green pond. Beyond the mill, they pushed through a tangle of brambles and twisted trees that clung to the side of a low hill. Mossy stone steps led upwards. They climbed the steps to a ruined stone wall and passed through an archway into an overgrown garden. Moss grew thickly between broken flagstones. Ivy tangled in amongst the trees.
It was very still.
Ben pushed his way in, through the thicket of holly and ivy. Stella and Gert and Mr Capelli followed gingerly. They reached a clearing and stopped at the edge of a gaping dark hole. An ancient tree lay cut down, its roots curled high into the air. Its mossy branches were gnarled and twisted and broken. Its few remaining dry leaves made a faint whispering sound, although there was no breeze.
Stella felt tears prickling her eyes. She laid her hand on the tree. The bark felt smooth under her fingers.
Ben touched the tree sadly. He said, ‘It was horrible out here that night.’
Shadow, tucked into the neck of his coat, made a small squeak.
Stella imagined the drowned village in the dark. The Professor and his men cutting down the tree by lantern light and digging up the roots. And Mr Filbert, wrenched from his long sleep, appearing suddenly from the heart of the fallen tree, snatching the little bottle and fleeing across the marsh. Desperate to keep it safe.
She felt a cold ache in her heart. The tree must have stood here, on this hill in the little village, for many, many years. People had entrusted their secrets to it. But the village had been drowned and abandoned. And the tree had become old and overgrown. And now it was dead.
She blinked back her tears, looked around the clearing and found a patch of moss in a sheltered corner beside a huge stone. She crouched down and dug with her fingers in the ground. The earth was soft and dark. It did not take long to dig a hole. She took the little bottle from her pocket, laid it in the hole and covered it up.
Then she carefully planted the hazel twig above the bottle and pushed earth around it. The twig would grow into a tree and protect its secret. The silver bottle would be safe.
She stood up and rubbed her eyes with her sleeve.
Gert nodded. ‘That’s prime,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ said Mr Capelli. He made a flickering gesture with his hand to his forehead and his heart, and bowed his head.
‘Goodbye, Mr Filbert,’ whispered Stella.
Ben held Shadow against his chest and mumbled something that Stella did not hear.
They stood in silence for a moment. Then they turned away from the fallen tree and went back through the thicket and the archway in the wall and down the hill to the empty village.
Just as they reached the church, the mist parted and a shaft of weak sunshine shone through. It fell on the moss and the curling ferns and, all at once, every tiny water droplet caught the light and twinkled. The drowned village sparkled, as if it were scattered with diamonds. It was quite beautiful.
Again, Stella could almost hear voices, this time laughing and singing. Just beyond hearing, just out of reach. She held her breath. For a moment, the village sparkled and the silent music swirled. Then the mist closed in again and the drowned cottages were lost to view.
Stella breathed again.
‘Cripes,’ said Gert. ‘That was like magic.’
‘Gran Dio,’ whispered Mr Capelli.
Ben grinned at Stella, but did not say anything.
Beyond the church, the wagon was a cheerful red, blue and gold shape in the mist. The cats yowled a welcome, and Shadow squeaked in reply.
Mr Capelli patted the horse’s neck, climbed up and took the reins.
‘And now, we go home,’ he said.
They found the road again without any trouble. The wagon rolled on towards Withering-by-Sea, through the drizzling rain and fading light. Mr Capelli hummed to himself and inside the wagon the cats chirruped and mewed. Shadow made an occasional ear-splitting squeak. Stella sat between Gert and Ben, wrapped in a blanket, warm and safe and extremely muddy.
The drizzle was becoming heavier. Reluctantly, Ben put the pages of the Atlas back into a tidy pile. As he closed it, something fluttered out. Stella bent and picked it up from the footboard. She had forgotten about the photograph. It was damp and blotched with seawater, but still clear.
Gert said, ‘What’s that?’
‘It’s that photograph I found,’ said Stella. ‘What do you think? Is that me?’ She passed the photograph to Gert, who studied it with her head on one side.
‘Could be you,’ she said. ‘You’ve got the same eyes. But there’s two of you. Twins, looks like. Is that really your ma there, do you think?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Stella.
‘You need to ask those Aunts of yours,’ said Gert. ‘Something odd going on with you, girl. Something secret.’
Stella imagined the secret lurking inside her chest. Curling and uncurling in the dark. She looked at the three faces in the photograph. They stared back at her, wide-eyed. She remembered again the strange moment on the island. When it felt as if she had faded away and disappeared and the Professor’s clutching hand had passed right through her.
Like being lost in the mist. But truly lost. Lost and gone.
She took a breath and said, ‘You remember, on the island? With the Professor? Did I — I mean — Did you see —?’ She stopped. She found she couldn’t ask, Did you see me disappear? But she wanted to know.
Ben said, ‘I always knew you was fey.’ He looked at her and nodded. ‘First time I seen you.’
‘So I did — I did —’
He nodded again. ‘Yes. It was like you were there, but not there.’
‘You couldn�
�t see me?’
‘Nope. Just for a second or two. But I knew you was there, and when I grabbed your arm, I saw you again.’
Stella said, ‘It felt so strange.’
‘Was that the first time?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘Yes, of course.’ But then she thought of the many times she had hidden, from Ada and the Aunts. She had always been extremely good at hiding. At being overlooked. She remembered that night in the conservatory, when she had been hiding from the Professor’s men, and she was certain Scuttler would see her, but his eyes had slid over her. As if she had become part of the shadow.
‘Maybe,’ she said thoughtfully. She remembered again what Aunt Condolence had said. Disgraceful, even for a half — And she had stopped. A half what? Who was she? The Aunts knew and they did not want to tell her. She looked at the photograph again. Then she pushed it into her pocket and buttoned the flap. ‘I’ll find out,’ she said. ‘If they won’t answer my questions, I’ll find out another way.’
Gert nodded. ‘That’s flipping right, girl,’ she said. ‘You do that.’
It was dusk when they reached Withering-by-Sea and the lights along the Front were twinkling in the drizzle. On the pier, the steam organ played and the merry-go-round twirled and sparkled.
As they drove along the Front, a little boy came running up beside the wagon. He shrieked, ‘It’s her! It’s Gert! Mrs Mac! Mrs Mac!’ and sped away towards the pier, waving his arms and yelling. Further away along the Front, someone looked up, pointed and shouted something. Out on the pier, a man waved and began to run towards the theatre.
By the time they reached the pier, children were skipping beside the wagon, calling out and laughing, and a crowd had gathered. Mr Capelli clucked to the horse, the wagon lurched to a halt near the turnstiles and they all scrambled down.
The Fairy Bells, a shoal of small, sparkly figures, tumbled through the turnstiles and darted through the crowd. They surrounded Gert, hugged her and jumped up and down.
‘You’re back!’
‘Where were you?’
‘What happened?’
‘Mrs Mac’s flipping beside herself.’
They hugged Gert some more and giggled and spun her around.
‘The coppers were here.’
‘Everyone was that upset.’
‘We was up all night.’
A large woman pushed her way through the excited girls. She grabbed Gert and hugged her hard. She held her out at arm’s length, looked at her, gave her a vigorous shake and then hugged her again.
‘Where were you, girl? Frit me half to death.’
‘The Professor snatched us, Mrs Mac,’ said Gert. ‘Mr Capelli brought us back.’
Mrs MacTaggerty gave Gert another hug and then turned and grabbed the surprised Mr Capelli and embraced him too. ‘Thank you,’ she said, tears rolling down her face. ‘Thank you for bringing her back.’
‘It was nothing, Madam,’ said Mr Capelli, when he got his breath back. He straightened his hat. ‘It was less than nothing.’
Mrs MacTaggerty hugged him again, making him gasp. Then she hugged Stella, and then Ben, which made Shadow puff up like a porcupine and hiss. Then she hugged Mr Capelli once more.
‘Thank you,’ she said again, still crying. She wiped her eyes, and blew her nose on a lace-edged handkerchief.
People were all talking at once. A tall man with a magnificent curly moustache said something in a foreign language, and a woman with tattoos all over her bare arms slapped his shoulder and laughed. Someone patted Stella on her back. Two of the Fairy Bells (Ettie and one of the Marys, Stella thought) grabbed her hands and swung her around in a circle. Then Gert and two or three more girls joined them and, arm in arm, they whirled around until they were breathless and giggling.
Gert gave Stella a hug. ‘I didn’t think we’d make it back,’ she said. ‘When we were locked up in that tower, I thought we were done for. And then I thought we’d drown in the sea, for sure. It’s flippin’ good to be home.’ She hugged Stella again, grinning.
Mr Capelli said, ‘Stella Montgomery. We must go. Your Aunts will be most frightfully worried. And the police are still searching for you. We cannot waste time. I must deliver you home.’
Gert said, ‘Thank you, Mr Capelli,’ and shook his hand. She gave Ben a quick hug. ‘I’ll see you around, boy.’ She wrapped her arms around Stella again and squeezed her tightly. ‘Goodbye, girl. Good luck,’ she said.
‘Goodbye, Gert,’ said Stella. She bit her lip. She was determined not to cry. She turned away and climbed back up onto the wagon, beside Ben.
‘Goodbye, goodbye!’ Gert and all the Fairy Bells shouted, waving their arms and jumping up and down. Mrs MacTaggerty wiped her eyes again and waved her handkerchief.
Stella swallowed the lump in her throat, smiled as well as she could and waved.
Mr Capelli clucked to the horse and flicked the reins, and the wagon started to move. They drove away from the pier along the Front, away from the music and the happy crowd, past the pleasure gardens and the smaller hotels, and then began to climb the hill, towards the Hotel Majestic.
Stella looked up at it. All its windows were glowing. It looked like an enormous lantern.
They turned into the drive of the hotel and Mr Capelli drew the wagon to a stop. Stella took a deep breath. She was home. She could feel tears pricking in her eyes and she blinked them away.
‘Goodbye, Mr Capelli.’ She hugged him tightly. ‘Thank you so much for everything.’
‘Goodbye, Stella Montgomery,’ he said. ‘Good fortune.’
She leaned through the window into the wagon and said goodbye to the cats, one by one.
Then she turned to Ben. ‘Goodbye. Good luck,’ she said. She stroked Shadow’s head. ‘Goodbye, Shadow.’ Shadow purred and rubbed her chin against Stella’s fingers.
Ben said, ‘Goodbye, Stella.’
She gave the Atlas a last hug and passed it to him. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘This is for you.’
He looked startled. He held it carefully, as if it were very precious. ‘Are you sure? Don’t you want it?’
She shook her head. ‘I know it by heart. I don’t need it any more.’ She climbed down from the wagon and looked up at him. ‘And I want you to have it. You will need it. You’re going to see the world.’
She waved goodbye.
‘And I’m going to find out who I am,’ she said.
Sounds were coming from inside the hotel. A murmur of voices. A booming echo and a bird-like twittering. Perhaps Aunt Deliverance was shouting at Aunt Temperance. A twang and a creak that sounded like Aunt Condolence’s Particular Patent Corset.
Stella hesitated for a moment.
She waved for the last time.
Then she turned and walked up the steps to the front door of the hotel.
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank Suzanne, Hazel and Jane for reading parts of the manuscript and for their encouragement, all the lovely people at ABC Books, especially Tegan, Chren and Kate, the May Gibbs Children’s Literature Trust, and my agent, Jill Corcoran.
About the Author
JUDITH ROSSELL is a writer and illustrator of children’s books. When she is not working, she makes morning calls on her acquaintances, practises her deportment, and decorates articles, such as lampshades and pincushions, with tasteful and artistic arrangements of dried ferns and human hair. She lives in Melbourne, Australia.
www.judithrossell.com
Copyright
The verse in chapter 10 is from song 10, ‘Solemn Thoughts of God and Death’, in Divine Songs Attempted in Easy Language for the Use of Children by Isaac Watts, first published in 1715.
The verse in chapter 18 is from the song ‘Married to a Mermaid’ by James Thomson (1700–1748) and David Mallet (1705–1765).
The ABC ‘Wave’ device is a trademark of the Australian Broadcasting Corporation and is used under licence by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia.
First published in Australia in 2014
This edition published in 2014
by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia Pty Limited
ABN 36 009 913 517
harpercollins.com.au
Copyright © Judith Rossell 2014.
The right of Judith Rossell to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
HarperCollinsPublishers
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National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:
Rossell, Judith, author.
Withering-by-Sea : a Stella Montgomery intrigue / Judith Rossell.
ISBN: 978 0 7333 3300 2 (hardback)
ISBN: 978 1 4607 0190 4 (ebook)
Stella Montgomery ; 1.
For ages 9-12.
Fantasy fiction.
Adventure stories.
A823.4
Cover design by Hazel Lam, HarperCollins Design Studio
Cover and internal illustrations by Judith Rossell
Withering-by-Sea Page 15
