A spark of hope kindled in him. Having the mare within breathing distance made him feel less alone. ‘G’night, girl,’ he called.
The horse reminded him of the saddle on the back of the chair. It was worn but well-loved, its leather buttery with polish. Why was it here? Had it belonged to his father?
Detective Trenton had told the twins that ancient DNA was often found in hidden places. ‘At Blakeney Park, your dad’s DNA might linger in the crease of a saddle he once polished. Your mum’s might be in the woodgrain of her favourite bench on the estate. Traces of it are always there, just waiting to be discovered.’
Jude lifted the saddle flap. He found he could quite easily picture his dad’s strong hands tightening the girth or rubbing the brass buckles till they shone.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a light flicker. He rushed to the window.
Through the spiny branches of the trees, a torch beam flashed intermittently from a window at Blakeney Park. Someone was sending an SOS. Could Jess be in trouble?
Jude was about to call the housekeeper for help when he realized that if Jess had been told about the stable room and was trying to signal him, it wasn’t an emergency. The Morse code SOS was unmistakable: three short flashes, three long, and three more short.
Over the years, Gabe had spent hours teaching the twins the Morse code alphabet. Jude forced his tired brain to remember it now. With the aid of the notepad and pencil he found by the phone, he decoded the pattern of flashes.
-.-- --. ..-.
Y-G-F? What did that mean?
Seconds later, he burst out laughing. ‘“You Gotta Friend!” I do have a friend. And so do you, Jess!’
What he didn’t have was a torch. Lifting the lamp on to the windowsill, he used a T-shirt to cover the light for long and short pauses.
-.-- --. ..-.
A volley of red flashes showed him that his message had been received. Jess’s window went dark. Jude didn’t mind. He felt better just knowing that she was OK.
As long as they had one another, they could survive anything.
Tiredness hit him like a sledgehammer. He was asleep, still smiling, before his head hit the pillow.
Jess couldn’t sleep. Harsh moonlight streamed on to her bed and lent an eerie gleam to the eyes of the dolls on the window seat. She’d been so aghast to learn that Jude would be sleeping in the snow-plastered horse barn, she’d forgotten to hide them from sight.
The minute Marina and the housekeeper had left her room, Jess had dug her torch out of her suitcase. She’d watched the distant barn until she saw Eddie’s burly figure emerge. He’d set off down the lane and been swallowed by the night.
Only then did Jess begin trying to signal Jude. When at last a light in the distant barn flashed back, she’d wept with relief.
Now it was 11.05pm. Somewhere, a dog kept howling. It made her think of Sam. Were the quarantine staff giving him cuddles? Would he like Blakeney Park? Would Blakeney Park like him?
Going on tonight’s performance, there was no guarantee that Blakeney Park or its occupants would even like her and Jude.
Watching her brother being marched from the grand house as if he were a bread-stealing orphan from Victorian times had left Jess feeing wretched. The joy of her new room had evaporated at a stroke. She didn’t buy the story about the unreliable decorator. Every wrong or accidental thing that had happened since they’d arrived had felt deliberate and designed to unsettle them.
But the room situation seemed especially mean. What could Jude have done to upset anyone? For hour upon hour, he’d been as polite and good-natured as it was possible for any boy to be.
If it were true that his own room wasn’t ready, why hadn’t they put him in a spare one in the actual house? There had to be at least ten of them. Blakeney Park probably had more four-poster beds than Buckingham Palace.
Jess sat up. She had to investigate. If there was a perfectly good vacant room close by, she’d know that there was something weird going on.
She padded across the fluffy rug and peered into the corridor. The lights were low and the house silent. Presumably the Blakeneys had retired to their quarters.
Jess crept along the red carpet, listening at doors. The first one she tried was locked. The second revealed a broom closet. She was listening at a third when she heard footsteps. To avoid being discovered, she ran down the stairs opposite.
The footsteps kept coming, descending the marble steps. Jess sprinted along the ground-floor passage and darted through the first open door. She found herself in a drawing room with a Steinway piano and a great many Persian rugs. Dying embers in the fireplace sent copper lights chasing across the artwork and vases.
To her dismay, voices sounded in the corridor and continued right into the room. Jess dived behind a sofa, bumping a stool against the piano.
‘What was that?’ she heard Marina Blakeney ask sharply.
‘Only the wind in the chimney,’ replied her husband. ‘You know what these old houses are like. No wonder there are so many ghost stories written about them.’
He switched on a lamp. ‘See? No restless spirits here.’
‘I could use a gin and tonic,’ said Marina, plonking herself down on the very sofa Jess was hiding behind. ‘What a day it’s been. My nerves are shredded.’
Jess’s nose wrinkled. The sofa was dusty and she had to fight back a sneeze. She had a worm’s eye view of Clifford’s black shoes as he walked over to an antique cabinet and poured two drinks, adding ice from a silver bucket.
Jess couldn’t believe her ill luck. The couple seemed to be settling in for a leisurely fireside chat. Her nose itched and itched. What if she sneezed? She tried tickling the roof of her mouth with her tongue. She’d read somewhere that it could stop a sneezing fit in its tracks. Thankfully, it seemed to work.
‘What are we going to do with the castaways – now they’re here?’ asked Marina.
‘We’ll do what we promised,’ Clifford told her. ‘We give them a home and the finest education money can buy until they come of age. I’m a man of my word, my dear.’
‘Sure you are.’ Her tone was as brittle as a cuttlefish. ‘When it sells papers.’
‘Nobody’s asking you to be the twins’ second mother, Marina. Most of the time they’ll be at school, and when they are here, you’ll hardly see them. Give them the run of the estate and they’ll be off tobogganing or building snowmen. They’re accustomed to fending for themselves. Gabriel
Carter seems to have been a hands-off father, to put it generously.’
‘Speaking of fathers, I got a big shock when I saw the boy without his bandages. Didn’t you?’
‘Anyone would.’ Clifford’s husky voice was impatient. ‘He’s been through a lot. They both have.’
‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it.’
‘My darling, I think you’re overtired. You’re seeing ghosts everywhere. I have just the cure. Did I tell you that I picked up a little something for you on my travels?’
Marina said kittenishly, ‘No, you didn’t.’
‘Couldn’t resist. Emerald suits you so well. Shall we go upstairs? I’ll collect it from the safe.’
Jess’s heart was pounding out of her chest by the time their voices faded. She counted to fifty before daring to venture back out. As she scooted up the stairs, Lizette appeared at the top.
‘Jess, what on earth are you doing out of bed? You’ll catch your death of cold in bare feet.’
‘I got lost looking for the bathroom,’ was Jess’s lame excuse.
Lizette’s disbelief showed, but she said gently, ‘I expect you’re missing your brother, aren’t you? Whatever you do, don’t go sneaking into the grounds at night. Clifford’s security guys use these Hound of the Baskervilles guard dogs. Trust me, they’re not pets.’
She smiled warmly. ‘Come, Jess, let’s get you tucked up in bed. I’ll make you some hot chocolate to help you sleep. Everything will seem better in the morning.’
16
TRUST NO ONE
‘I feel as if I haven’t seen you in a month,’ said Jess, laughing, then almost crying as she and Jude were reunited at breakfast the next morning.
Jude hugged her tightly. ‘Me too, sis. Hey, thanks for the Morse code. It helped.’
‘Helped me too. But, Jude, you won’t believe what happened after . . .’
Lowering her voice, she described the sequence of events leading up to the drawing room escapade. ‘Then I overheard Marina and Cliff—’
Jess stopped mid-word. A maid with a tray was hovering behind the silk screen that concealed the scullery and kitchen. Was she eavesdropping? How long had she been there?
‘Cook made you pancakes to help you feel at home,’ the woman said, entering the room with an air of defiance. As she set down a tray of small, anaemic batter rounds, the windows began rattling loudly.
‘Don’t worry, it’s not an earthquake. Just the helicopter taking Mr Blakeney to his London office,’ announced the maid. She watched the chopper rise over the snowfields. ‘The newspaper business hardly stops for the holidays. He’ll be gone for the next week.’
She didn’t exactly sound disappointed.
Lizette came rushing in, apologizing for not being there to greet them on their first morning. Something about Caspian needing something. She seemed harassed.
Once she’d had a steadying sip of coffee, Lizette explained that, while the family took their meals in the main dining room, the twins would eat with her. Jude couldn’t hide his relief. He’d been worried that he’d have to be on his best behaviour, wearing his best clothes and trying to make conversation with Caspian, three times a day.
Over breakfast, the twins got to grips with British terminology. According to Lizette, what Americans called ‘biscuits’ were scones in the UK, while ‘cookies’ were biscuits. And what Americans knew as flapjacks were called ‘Scotch pancakes’ or ‘drop scones’ by the Brits, even though they looked nothing like scones or pancakes. At the same time, British flapjacks were basically oat, honey and seed breakfast bars!
In the UK, fries were known as ‘chips’; chips were ‘crisps’; a zucchini was a ‘courgette’; and arugula was ‘rocket’. But nothing was as odd as the maid’s reaction when Jess asked for ice with her orange juice. It was as if Jess had requested a rare, hard-to-extract gem, not mere frozen tap water.
‘Don’t look so worried! You’ll get the hang on it soon enough,’ Lizette told the twins with a smile.
Jess and Jude had their doubts. It was going to take time to adjust to stately home life.
There was no one around when the twins left the tea room. Lizette had gone to find Caspian. Jude, who’d left his boots at the entrance, tried an experimental slide along the polished wooden floor in his socks.
‘How about a speed-skating duel?’ he said to his sister. ‘These slippery corridors are better than ice rinks.’
Jess giggled. ‘Jude, we can’t . . . Can we?’
They were battling it out for the Sock Skating World Championships, laughing wildly, when Marina stepped in via a side door. Absorbed in checking her phone, she didn’t see the children until they were one sock slide away from a head-on collision.
The twins swerved, skidded like cartoon characters, and went down in a tangled heap, still laughing.
‘I’m glad you find Blakeney Park so entertaining,’ said Marina with a chilly smile, ‘although I’d thank you to remember that there are artworks in this house worth more than your yacht. In fact, now might be a good time to acquaint you with one or two rules.’
The twins listened with growing dismay as the number of house rules swelled to seventeen.
No running, sock skating or ball games anywhere in the hall.
No loud music. No cell phones. No internet. No unsupervised phone calls.
No backchat, discourtesy or swearing.
No fraternizing with the help or chatting to visitors unless expressly invited to do so.
No touching of art, ornaments or sporting trophies. No visiting the Blakeney Park library and no borrowing of books.
‘But, why?’ cried Jess, before she could stop herself.
‘Our library is not for children,’ Marina informed her. ‘It’s stacked to the ceiling with first editions and other irreplaceable books. How do I make this simple? Spend all the time you like in your bedrooms and bathrooms, the games room and the tea room. The rest of the house is off limits to you. Don’t take it personally. If we lived in the suburbs, I’d give you free rein, but our stately home is a museum. I hope you understand. Please be aware that the entire top storey of the house is our family living quarters. That, especially, is out of bounds.’
‘What about Sam?’ Jude asked nervously.
‘Who’s Sam?’
‘Our dog. He’s arriving on Wednesday. He’s not used to the cold. If he can’t come in the house, can he hang out with us at the stables and stay in my room at night?’
Marina laughed. ‘Oh, wait, you’re serious? Absolutely not. Some of our horses cost a king’s ransom. If they were to be bitten . . .’ She shuddered. ‘Doesn’t bear thinking about. Don’t worry, Jude – Eddie’s prepared a great kennel for Sam. He’ll have plenty of blankets and be as snug as a bug. If you do take him for a walk, please keep him on a lead at all times. We have sheep to protect.’
The valet sidled in with a silver platter. ‘Your post, Mrs Blakeney.’
‘Thanks, Terence.’
Marina flicked through the letters, frowning at a pale blue envelope with a curlew bird stamp. She tucked it into her back pocket and flashed a pearly smile.
‘Goodness, for a couple of lucky children, you look awfully glum, Jess and Jude. After the carefree life you’ve led, I imagine that having rules and responsibility will take some getting used to. But you’ll adjust. Trust me, Clifford and I only have your best interests at heart.’
‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am,’ chorused the twins.
‘Excellent. This afternoon, Lizette will go through your lesson plans for the next couple of weeks. As far as I can make out, you’ve spent the last year on vacation. You have a lot of catching up to do.’
‘We have to keep reminding ourselves how lucky we are,’ Jess said, through chattering teeth. Collars turned up against the teeming rain, the twins were sloshing through dirty snow with Sam. ‘If it wasn’t for the Blakeneys, we’d never have seen Sam again.’
The Swiss Shepherd was shivering too, but his tail wagged continually. Being outside in the rain with his beloved master and mistress beat the alternative: freezing alone in his small, scary kennel next to the larger runs of the guard dogs.
Three long days had passed since he’d been delivered by a pet courier, yet his separation anxiety seemed to be getting worse. He couldn’t bear to be parted from the twins. His quarantine experience had left him fearful that he’d never see them again. He loathed and detested his tiny run. For hour upon hour, he’d whined and howled and tried to claw his way out. Some mornings, his paws bled.
‘Nothing I can do about it,’ said Eddie, when the twins begged to be allowed to let Sam off his lead in the garden, or have him sleep in Jude’s stable room at night. ‘It pains me to say it, but you’re guests here. The Blakeneys have already gone above and beyond flying your mutt over from the Caribbean and paying for his quarantine. Why should he get more pampering than the guard dogs? My advice? Don’t go making waves. It’ll end in a tsunami.’
Jess didn’t doubt it.
That’s not to say that life at Blakeney Park was all rules and gloom. There was much to enjoy. Jess found, to her surprise, that she loved the infamous English weather and the beautiful countryside. It made her feel like a character from Castle of Secrets.
In between rainy dog walks and homework, she spent hours curled up in a rocking chair beside the wood-burning Aga in the kitchen – the warmest place in the house – before the cook banished her for offering unsolicited recipe advice.
Jude was in his element hel
ping Seth, the stable manager. He’d even been allowed to groom Autumn, the bay mare, a fifteen-year-old ex-racehorse.
‘She’s the most placid, sweet-natured Thoroughbred I’ve ever met, but she has an independent streak and doesn’t usually take to strangers,’ Seth had told Jude. ‘She liked you from day one, though. She’d have been around in your dad’s time. Maybe there’s something in your voice or the way you walk that reminds you of him.’
Recalling how the mare had leaned over her stall door to brush his arm with her velvet muzzle on that first dreadful night, Jude swelled with pride at the possibility that he’d reminded her of his dad.
All the same, the comment had got him thinking.
He and Jess had hoped to learn more about their parents from any estate staff who’d worked with Jim and Joanna twelve years before. Oddly, it turned out that there were none.
‘After his father passed away, Clifford wanted a clean sweep of staff,’ explained Seth. ‘Fresh start. No reminders. When you’re grief-stricken, that’s the kind of thing you do. And most of the original help had been with Robbie Blakeney from the beginning. They were more like family, to hear the housekeeper tell it. That’s not Clifford’s way, I can tell you. Mary’s sister, Gladys, worked with your dad, but she died years ago. I doubt you’d get anything out of Mary, though. She’s a closed book.’
With so much going on, the mishaps at the welcome party and the mysterious events of their first night at Blakeney Park had been pushed to the back of the twins’ minds. But they were not forgotten. Not at all.
No matter how many times Jess replayed Clifford and Marina’s conversation in her head, she still couldn’t make any sense of it. If the couple had no interest in fostering her and Jude – the horse boy’s ‘castaway’ kids – why had they volunteered to do it?
And why had they been so shocked to see Jude without his bandages?
She kept thinking about Caspian and Mark kidding around about the twins’ being after their inheritance, and about the welcome party guest she’d overheard referring to Caspian as the ‘Prince of Blakeney Park’.
Wave Riders Page 11
