Dawn Undercover

by Anna Dale

  Dawn pretended to look shocked. Clop’s woollen mane was making her leg itch. She tried to ignore it.

  ‘Now,’ said Red, ‘before you set off, there are a few things I’d like to give you.’ He tipped up an envelope, and a little collection of cards, certificates and documents fell out. He offered some to Trudy before turning to Dawn. Eagerly, she held out her hand. ‘Here’s your library card,’ said Red, placing it in her palm, ‘and your junior bus pass.’ Dawn examined them excitedly. Both had Kitty Wilson written on them, in different handwriting, and the bus pass included a head-and-shoulders shot of Dawn with her new haircut. He also gave her a school report, a sheaf of Brownie badge certificates, and a Young Ornithologists’ membership card.

  Dawn popped all the documents, each handcrafted expertly by Jagdish, into a beaded purse that she was wearing around her neck. Red produced a handful of notes and loose change from his pocket and Dawn added the money as well.

  ‘Gosh, thanks,’ said Dawn.

  Red held up his hand. ‘Haven’t finished yet,’ he said, lifting a small rucksack from the floor. He unbuckled its strap and delved inside.

  Dawn watched with bated breath. It felt just like Christmas. ‘A lunch box and a flask!’ she said.

  ‘They’re not quite what they seem,’ said Red, unscrewing the fat, plastic flask. Inside was a pair of binoculars. The contents of the lunch box was an even bigger surprise. Red opened its lid to reveal a radio set complete with headphones and a little instruction booklet.

  ‘Wow!’ said Dawn. She could not wait to try it out.

  ‘Then, there’s this,’ said Red, taking a pack of playing cards from his pocket. ‘Each card is perfectly ordinary … except for the five of diamonds. P.U.F.F. have identified eleven men in Cherry Bentley who have lived in the village for ten years or less. If Murdo Meek survived the fall into the Thames, he would have turned up in Cherry Bentley sometime in the last decade. These eleven men are your main suspects, Dawn – and if you peel off the top layer of the five of diamonds you will find their names written beneath.’

  Dawn popped the pack of cards into her suitcase.

  ‘And something else …’ Red nodded to Emma who had been standing quietly behind him, watching the proceedings calmly. She crouched down to pick up a large cardboard box, brought it over to Dawn and placed it on her knee. Dawn began to lift up the four cardboard flaps which, to her bemusement, had been punched with holes.

  ‘Eighty-eight per cent of children in Cherry Bentley have a pet,’ explained Emma, ‘so we thought you’d better have one, too. I wanted to get you a rabbit, but unfortunately, we didn’t have the funds …’

  Dawn was a little disappointed. She had always wanted a rabbit – a big, fluffy, lop-eared one preferably. She peered into the box, not knowing what to expect, and was delighted to see the face of P.S.S.T.’s furriest member of staff looking up at her. ‘Peebles!’ she cried, and reached inside to stroke his head. ‘Are you sure it’s all right if he comes with me on the mission?’

  ‘Ye-es,’ said Emma, a touch reluctantly. ‘But he’ll have to go undercover, too. You must choose a new name for him, Dawn.’ Emma unfolded a piece of paper and studied it. ‘Now, according to the data provided by P.U.F.F., twenty-one per cent of cats in Cherry Bentley are named Tiger, nine per cent are called Smudge, eight per cent: Cookie, six per cent: Socks – and most of the others are named after fish or philosophers or jazz musicians. It’s up to you …’

  Dawn didn’t know the names of any philosophers or jazz musicians and she found it quite difficult to think of more than three types of fish.

  ‘How about Sardine?’ she said eventually. ‘I have those on toast sometimes with ketchup. They’re delicious.’

  ‘Sardine will be just fine,’ said Emma, smiling at her.

  Trudy cleared her throat. ‘Is that it, then? Can we go now?’

  ‘Actually, there’s one final thing,’ said Red. He held out his palm, upon which were two little white tablets.

  Dawn and Trudy stared at them suspiciously.

  ‘Mints for the journey,’ explained Red. ‘Could only afford one each, I’m afraid. Sorry.’

  Dawn held the Good Luck card in her hands and read it through one last time. Then she tore it in half and began to eat it. She offered a piece to Trudy but the secretary declined with a shake of her head.

  ‘It’s chocolate-flavoured rice paper,’ said Dawn. ‘Tastes lovely.’

  She had been really touched to find Socrates, Jagdish and Izzie waiting for her in the corridor to say goodbye. There had been hugs and handshakes all round and then Socrates had presented her with the card, signed (in cochineal) by everyone in P.S.S.T.

  Loading the boot of the twelve-year-old white hatch-back, which was parked outside the hotel, had not taken very long as Dawn and Trudy did not have much luggage. Their two suitcases, Dawn’s rucksack, a crate filled with food and a few gardening tools were all that they were taking with them.

  The Good Luck card was almost gone. Dawn folded up the last piece and slipped it into her mouth. It had been a clever idea to give her an edible message, so that, once eaten, nobody else would ever have the chance to read it. She made sure that the cardboard box containing Peebles was positioned stably on her knees before fastening her seatbelt.

  Trudy switched on the engine.

  Dawn found herself glancing up at the rain-splashed windows on the second floor of the hotel to see if any faces were looking out. She wasn’t really very surprised to find that there weren’t. The staff at P.S.S.T. were a highly disciplined bunch. They wouldn’t risk being seen by a sharp-eyed passer-by who might wonder what was so fascinating about a girl and her mother setting off on a journey. Dawn took one last, lingering look at the grey-brick building. The flowers in its front yard were jewelled with raindrops and had never looked more beautiful.

  Phhrrtt. The gear stick made a noise like someone blowing a raspberry.

  ‘Pile of junk,’ muttered Trudy under her breath as she struggled to find first gear. ‘Probably won’t get us to the end of the road, let alone the sixty-odd miles to Cherry Bentley … Ah, that’s got it.’

  The car began to edge forward and Dawn’s heart gave a little leap of excitement.

  BANG!

  Trudy hit the steering wheel with the heel of her hand and said something rude.

  ‘What’s happened?’ said Dawn, clutching the cardboard box. There was a scrabbling sound coming from within it. She lifted up a flap and told Peebles calmly that everything was going to be all right.

  ‘I’m no mechanic,’ grumbled Trudy, turning off the engine, ‘but that sounded like a burst tyre to me.’ She got out of the car and Dawn did likewise, leaving the cardboard box on her seat.

  They crouched down by the two front wheels and prodded the tyres with their fingers. ‘Hmm … nothing seems to be amiss,’ said Trudy, scratching her head. ‘Perhaps I should take a look under the bonnet.’

  ‘What’s this?’ said Dawn, spying something trapped underneath one of the tyres. It was flat, orange, and crackled when she touched it. ‘Bit of litter, I guess.’

  ‘Can’t see anything wrong in here,’ said Trudy, propping the bonnet open. She let it slam shut. ‘Jump in, Dawn, and I’ll start up the engine again.’

  ‘I’m Kitty,’ Dawn whispered.

  ‘Oh, stop being such a smart alec, and get in the car!’

  Dawn and Trudy settled back into their seats. This time, the car moved away smoothly without being accompanied by any strange noises.

  ‘It’s a pity Red couldn’t have managed to borrow a snazzier model,’ moaned Trudy as they reached the junction at the end of the road. ‘No sun roof, no CD player … and,’ she said, winding down her window, ‘it smells of wet dog.’

  Peebles did not take to travelling by car. Throughout the journey, he wriggled about in his box so that Dawn had to hold on to it quite tightly, and he would not stop miaowing. Whenever she opened the flaps a fraction, a paw shot out and tried to hook its claws into her
dress.

  Apart from worrying about her anguished pet, Dawn found the journey very pleasant. The streets of London were lined with interesting buildings and their pavements were teeming with people. Satisfyingly, her mint lasted almost to the outskirts of London, dissolving to nothing as they went through Wanstead.

  On leaving the capital, Trudy joined a long, wide road with hardly any twists and turns. There were high banks on either side and, despite craning her neck, Dawn could not see what lay beyond them. With so little to look at, she decided to run through Red’s instructions in her mind. Consequently, they seemed to reach Cherry Bentley in no time at all.

  Dawn was familiar with the layout of the village, having studied the map and aerial photographs, but the real thing was far more impressive. The roads were narrow without any markings, trees were plentiful, and the grass was so shiny and lush that it almost looked good enough to eat. Cherry Bentley’s buildings were all different shapes and sizes. There were cottages with tiny, latticed windows, lime-washed walls and thatched roofs; imposing houses made from dull orange brick with half a dozen chimneys; a slate-roofed pub called The One-eyed Stoat, and a big church, built from stone, with a tower on one end that put Dawn in mind of a castle.

  Trudy drove slowly when they reached the Green and told Dawn to keep her eyes peeled for a road called Cow Parsley Lane. Dawn tried her best but found herself being distracted by the vast, grass-covered spread of land to her right. Towering lime and oak trees were scattered all around the border of the Green and at its lower end was a duck pond surrounded by weeping willows. The pond was literally swimming in feathered creatures.

  ‘There it is!’ said Dawn, having managed to tear her eyes away from a little brood of ducklings who appeared to be playing follow-my-leader. ‘Cow Parsley Lane.’

  Trudy flicked on the indicator and turned the wheel sharply. Dawn heard their suitcases clunking in the boot.

  Daffodil Cottage was a sweet little place about halfway down Cow Parsley Lane, on the left. Its walls were the colour of vanilla ice cream and it had a white front door with three steps leading up to it. The front lawn was freckled with daisies, and dandelions sprouted in the cracks in its flagstoned path. Dawn fell in love with it instantly.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ said Trudy. As soon as the car had stopped outside, Dawn had thrown open her door and, carrying the cardboard box in her arms, had begun to walk up the garden path.

  ‘How about some help with the cases?’ said Trudy.

  ‘Oh … sorry.’ Dawn put Peebles down and joined Trudy at the boot of the car.

  ‘It’s a lovely place, Cherry Bentley, isn’t it?’ said Dawn. ‘Don’t you think the air smells all clean and fresh? And aren’t the houses pretty? I never realised the sky was so big – I suppose that’s because I’ve spent my whole life in a city full of high-rise …’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Trudy vaguely, unlocking the boot.

  What happened next was so surprising that Dawn was rendered speechless. Trudy, on the other hand, had no problem expressing her shock. She screamed at the top of her lungs and fell backwards into the road. A grubby hearthrug seemed to tumble out of the boot and land on top of her.

  ‘Thank goodness for that!’ said a boy’s voice, and a red-faced Felix sat up between two suitcases. He squinted and shaded his eyes. ‘It was getting a little bit stuffy in here,’ he said as he clambered over the crate of food, clutching a holdall. ‘Hello,’ he said to Dawn, as if emerging from the boot of a car was the most natural thing in the world. ‘So, where are we, then?’

  ‘Get this hairy animal off me!’ said Trudy, giving Haltwhistle a shove. The dog licked her cheek and showed no signs of shifting.

  ‘Haltwhistle! Off!’ commanded Felix. He got hold of his dog’s collar, and tugged. ‘Come on, boy. Let’s have a look around, shall we?’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing,’ said Trudy, as Haltwhistle sprang off her and ambled into the front garden. ‘Ugh … smelly brute,’ said Trudy, brushing dog hairs from her clothes.

  ‘What are you doing here, Felix?’ said Dawn, finding her voice at last. ‘I… I thought Red said that you couldn’t come.’

  ‘Huh!’ said Felix. ‘As if I was going to take any notice of what he said! Red was dim enough to tell me that you were leaving on your mission today – so my dog and I got up extra early and hid round the corner from your hotel until you came out. Then I thought up a really superb wheeze to keep you busy while we sneaked into the boot of your car. I blew into a crisp packet and then slid the open end under the wheel of your car, trapping the air inside. When the tyre rolled on top of it – it popped.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Dawn. She remembered noticing a piece of litter underneath one of the front tyres. If only she had realised its significance at the time.

  ‘You were meant to think that the tyre had been punctured,’ said Felix.

  ‘We did,’ said Dawn.

  ‘I know.’ Felix looked very smug. ‘You fell for it like a couple of suckers.’

  ‘Wipe that smirk off your face,’ said Trudy, giving Felix an icy stare, ‘and get yourself and your odious hound into the car right now. I’m taking you back to London.’

  ‘No, you’re not!’

  ‘Don’t argue with me.’

  ‘Shh,’ said Dawn urgently. She had noticed an elderly lady walking lopsidedly in their direction. Although it was no longer raining, the little plump woman was wearing a mackintosh, a rain hood and rubber boots. She held a walking stick in one hand and a bunch of keys in the other. Two small, wiry-haired dogs were trotting at her heels, tussling with each other over a piece of soggy material.

  ‘Hello there, my dears,’ she said, waving her stick. ‘I saw you arriving from my kitchen window!’ The old lady’s face was soft, pink and powdered and reminded Dawn of a marshmallow. ‘I live just up the road at Bluebell Villa,’ she said. ‘I’m Mrs Cuddy, your landlady, and these are my little dumplings: Honeybunch and Lambkin.’ The old lady gazed with affection at her dogs. Dawn stretched out a hand to pat them; then changed her mind when she heard one growl. There was a ripping noise as the rag they were fighting over split in two. ‘Dumplings!’ said Mrs Cuddy warningly. ‘Play nicely.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Trudy, holding out her hand. ‘I’m Sandra Wilson and this is my daughter, Kitty.’

  Dawn stepped forward.

  ‘Kitty, is it?’ said the old lady. ‘I see … yes. I believe you mentioned your daughter when you wrote and asked to rent my cottage.’ Mrs Cuddy dropped the keys into Trudy’s palm before shaking her hand. ‘But tell me, Sandra … who is this handsome young man?’

  ‘I’m her son,’ said Felix, quick as a flash.

  ‘Wayne,’ added Trudy.

  ‘ Wayne?’ mouthed Felix. He rolled his eyes.

  ‘And your dog?’ said Mrs Cuddy. ‘Er … it is a dog, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Dawn swiftly, before Felix could launch into his anecdote about Haltwhistle’s grandfather almost winning Crufts. ‘His name’s … um … Fred.’

  Mrs Cuddy nodded. ‘Charming.’

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t mention that we were bringing Wayne and Fred with us,’ said Trudy smoothly. ‘It was a last-minute decision.’

  ‘That’s all right, my dear. I quite understand. I wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without Honeybunch and Lambkin. You just make yourself at home and if there’s anything you need – just give me a tinkle. Tutty-bye, now!’ Mrs Cuddy turned round and set off up the road, with her dogs close behind her.

  ‘Ha ha,’ said Felix, swinging his holdall on to his back, ‘you’re stuck with me now.’

  ‘Don’t bet on it,’ snarled Trudy.

  ‘Yes, you are. Mrs Cuddy is bound to notice if I suddenly disappear. How would you explain it? She might think you’d murdered me or something.’

  ‘Don’t tempt me,’ said Trudy.

  ‘Wayne!’ said Felix in disgust. He pulled a face. ‘Why’d you have to come up with a dreadful name like that?’

/>   Trudy smiled thinly. ‘It just seemed to fit,’ she said.

  Dawn wasn’t paying much attention to their bickering. She had noticed that Haltwhistle was getting a bit too close to the cardboard box which she had left on the path. He sniffed one corner and made a whining sound.

  ‘Get away from there!’ shouted Dawn. Angry spitting noises came from inside the box and Haltwhistle wagged his tail. ‘Leave … er … Sardine alone!’ said Dawn, striding over to the dog. She attempted to push him aside but she might as well have tried to move a block of granite. ‘Call your dog, please,’ said Dawn, glaring at Felix. She wrapped her arms protectively around the cardboard box.

  ‘Haltwhistle! Here, boy!’

  ‘You have to call him Fred,’ hissed Trudy.

  ‘I will not!’ said Felix. ‘He’ll never answer to that.’

  Trudy gave a spluttering laugh. ‘He doesn’t seem to answer to his real name. I don’t see that it matters what you call him! Brainless lump that he is.’

  Felix was enraged. ‘Take that back!’ he snapped. ‘My dog is remarkably intelligent. He knows seventy-three different commands –’

  ‘For goodness sake, keep your voice down!’ hissed Trudy. After she had slammed the boot, she walked up the garden path, a suitcase in each hand. ‘So much for keeping a low profile,’ she said, throwing Felix an evil look. ‘Let’s hurry up and get inside.’

  Dawn glanced uneasily over her shoulder as Trudy opened the front door. Was anybody watching them? Had they been overheard? Her heart felt very heavy all of a sudden. She had known that Operation Question Mark was going to be a difficult challenge. Now, with the arrival of the insufferable Felix Pomeroy-Pitt, it looked almost impossible.

  Chapter Twelve

  Slow Progress

  ‘Why aren’t there any daffodils?’ said Felix in the same snooty tones that he had used when commenting on the ‘prehistoric kettle’, the ‘funny knick-knacks’ and the ‘cabbagey smell’ inside Daffodil Cottage. He put his hands in the pockets of his shorts and strolled around the small patch of lawn in the back garden with the air of a lord inspecting his estate. ‘There isn’t a single daffodil anywhere,’ he noted with scorn. ‘Rather a lot of weeds, though. Perhaps I’ll rename the place “Weed Cottage.”