Poppy Pym and the Smuggler's Secret

by Laura Wood

  “You see,” Jack continued in a low voice, “the tale we were always told was that the brothers sold their souls through some sort of evil incantation and that’s how they always managed to avoid getting caught, and how Henry vanished like that. People in the village said the brothers could walk through walls, and fly through the night cloaked in darkness. The reason no one ever saw Henry again was that he was whisked away to safety by the dark forces that lurk in the castle.” All eyes swung back to the castle once more and Jack Jenkins shuddered as he added, “Some even say that he never truly left, and the restless ghost of Henry Redshank walks the hallways to this day, searching for the brother who abandoned him.” He trailed off then, but catching sight of our nervous faces his toothy grin burst forth. “Don’t look so worried,” he said, and laughed, “they’re only silly old stories.”

  I looked over his shoulder at the castle, that even with the sun shining seemed somehow sunk in shadows. Despite the warm weather a shiver snaked up and down my spine. Something spooky was definitely going on, and I had a feeling that the stories weren’t silly at all.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Could it be true? Had Henry Redshank really used some kind of dark spell to escape from Crumley Castle that night? Was the place actually haunted? I turned this new information over in my mind, as we made our way back for dinner.

  Obviously it was weighing on Kip and Ingrid as well, because after we had been walking in silence for a bit, Kip piped up in a super-casual but slightly squeaky voice, “So, what do you think about this incantation business then?”

  “I think there’s probably a more logical explanation for Henry Redshank’s vanishing act,” Ingrid said mildly.

  There was another silence. “But, you know … the castle did seem pretty spooky. We all said so when we first arrived,” Kip said eventually.

  I had to admit that this was true. Hearing Jack Jenkins talk about dark forces at work in the castle had made me feel all jittery, and Kip was right – I mean Crumley Castle was exactly what you would expect a haunted castle to look like, which was quite exciting apart from the bit where we had to sleep right next to it.

  “I don’t know,” I said slowly. “I’m not sure if I believe in evil spells and things, but if there were going to be ghosts anywhere, I guess they’d be here.” We had rounded a corner and now found ourselves back in the castle grounds, looking up at its hulking, shadowy bulk. I felt a stirring of butterflies in my belly. Even Ingrid looked uncertain, and Kip gulped loudly. “Still,” I said, trying to keep my voice nice and cheerful, “I’m sure those stories are just made up. We should get on with the mystery – and prove there was nothing magical about Henry’s disappearance!”

  Kip gulped again. “Yeah,” he said in his bravest voice. “No point getting scared by a silly story.” Unfortunately for Kip at that moment a loud gong rang out, and he jumped in the air while making a very un-brave squeaking noise. Ingrid and I politely pretended not to notice.

  “That must be them calling us in for dinner,” Ingrid said and Kip looked pretty torn. I could see the internal battle written all over his face: on the one hand the castle was potentially haunted by the unhappy ghosts of a notorious smuggler. On the other hand, there would be dinner, and dinner might even include pudding. In the end there was no contest: the food won and Kip squared his shoulders before striding manfully towards the door to the castle.

  As we joined the others in shuffling through the huge doorway I was full of excitement. Ghosts or no ghosts, it was thrilling to finally get a look inside Crumley Castle! It felt like a big moment as I gingerly stepped across the threshold, almost expecting a ghost smuggler to appear right there and then. He didn’t, of course, and I peered around, trying to take in every detail.

  On the other side of the huge door was a cool and slightly gloomy entrance hall. There was an enormous staircase reaching up from the middle of the room that split in two separate directions, and there were lots of closed doors that must lead off to the other rooms. The floor was made of big stone slabs and there were huge, faded rugs on either side of the staircase. On top of one of these rugs stood a table holding the gong that we had heard calling us in to dinner, and standing next to the gong was the man who must have rung it. He was an older man with a halo of white hair sticking out around his head, wearing a dark grey suit that had tails at the back and looked like it had seen better days. His face was all wrinkly, like a well-crumpled shirt, and he had a pair of gold-rimmed glasses perched on the edge of his nose, over which he was peering at us with obvious disapproval, when Agatha and Miss Susan entered from a door to the left.

  “Ah, children!” said Agatha, “I see you’ve met our butler, Fuddling.” She gestured to the man by the gong, who bent forward slightly at the waist, his face remaining stony. “Now, let me show you through to the dining room where you’ll be having dinner courtesy of our housekeeper, Mrs Crockton.” She guided us through a doorway on the right and we found ourselves in another huge room with a very high, beamed ceiling from which two dusty candelabras hung. Cobwebs clung to the frames, though someone had placed new white candles in them which were lit, sending shadows dancing around the room. Despite the fact I knew it was still light outside it felt much darker in here, as the small high windows didn’t really give the sun a chance. There were two long tables stretching down the middle of the room, and the walls were hung with faded red-and-gold tapestries. We pulled out the heavy chairs and sat down, just as a door at the back of the room swung open to reveal Fuddling and a lady in an apron, who must be Mrs Crockton, carrying platters of food.

  A hungry “Oooooh” went around the room, but was quickly cut short by the sight of the grey-coloured meat, over-boiled cabbage and under-boiled potatoes that appeared in front of us.

  “Well, tuck in!” Mrs Crockton cried, beaming at us. “Oh, dear!” she exclaimed. “I’ve forgotten the gravy!”

  I suppressed a groan. My stomach rumbled and my ice cream felt like it had been a long time ago, and I remembered Pym was always saying that sea air made you hungry.

  Well, Kip must have been breathing an awful lot of air since we arrived, because he hoovered up everything that was put in front of him: the grey meat, the rock-hard potatoes, even the soggy cabbage. As Ingrid and I toyed with the food on our plate, Kip was looking around hopefully for seconds.

  “How can you enjoy this?” I whispered, poking at something that might have once been a carrot.

  “What?” Kip asked. “I’m hungry.”

  During dinner I had been keeping an eye on Miss Susan. She and Mr Grant weren’t eating because all the grown-ups were going to eat together later on, but the two of them sat at the top of our table, drinking cups of tea and keeping an eye on us. It was strange seeing Miss Susan outside of Saint Smithen’s. She seemed happy and relaxed, dressed in light trousers and a white T-shirt and talking to Mr Grant.

  Suddenly she looked up and our eyes met. It felt like I had stuck my finger in an electric socket. Goosebumps rose all over my arms and I couldn’t look away. Miss Susan frowned and turned to say something to Mr Grant before standing and making her way towards me. My mouth was dry as she approached and laid a cool hand on my shoulder.

  “Poppy, can I have a word?” she asked.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Miss Susan led me through the entrance hall and into another big, though much more cosy, room. “This is Agatha’s study,” she said, and I admired the walls lined with shelves and shelves of lovely books. Miss Susan glanced around and gestured towards two armchairs. “Have a seat,” she said. Taking a deep breath, I sat down and tried to avoid making eye contact with her. Looking into those green eyes that were a bit too much like mine made me feel too many things.

  Miss Susan sat across from me and cleared her throat. A heavy silence hung in the air like a soggy blanket on a washing line. “So, Poppy,” Miss Susan finally began, making me jump a little in my seat. “I wanted to talk to you about your recent … behaviour.”

  “My be
haviour?” I echoed blankly.

  “Yes.” Miss Susan nodded. “You’ve been a bit distracted and distant in class, I’ve noticed, since I got back from my sabbatical – rather jumpy. I had hoped that a change of scenery may help with whatever problems you were having, but it seemed like, at dinner, you were… Well, I just wanted to see if everything was all right?”

  My mind was buzzing. Miss Susan noticed me, she paid special attention to me – she seemed worried about me. Was this some sort of a maternal instinct? If she was the “E” who had left me at the circus then she must know I was her daughter – but she didn’t know that I knew that. It was all a bit of a minefield.

  Unfortunately, while I was riding this particular rollercoaster of emotion, Miss Susan was still looking at me. “Poppy, are you all right? Is there something you need to discuss?”

  This could be the moment! I could confront Miss Susan right now, tell her that I knew the truth, and ask her all the questions bubbling away inside me.

  Instead, I mumbled, “No, thanks. I’m fine … just a bit tired.” I just wasn’t ready to have the conversation now. Once I asked the question I knew I wouldn’t be able to take it back … and I didn’t know if I was ready to find out the whole truth just yet. What if I didn’t like what I heard?

  Miss Susan got to her feet. “OK, if you’re sure,” she said. “But if there is anything bothering you, you can come to me.” Her pale cheeks went a bit pink. “I know I may not be your favourite teacher,” she said quietly, “but I take my duties very seriously.” With that she straightened her shoulders, and guided me out of the room and back to the dining room, which was full of noisy chatter and laughter.

  Slipping back into my seat I noticed that the tables had been cleared and there was a piece of paper in front of me. “What’s this?” I asked, picking it up.

  “It’s a map of the castle that Mr Grant just handed out,” said Kip. “It shows you where we can go and where is off limits. We’ve got free time for the rest of the evening. What did Miss Susan want?”

  “Oh, nothing,” I said. “She was just checking in about some homework.” I tried to keep the tremble out of my voice but I caught Kip and Ingrid exchanging concerned glances. “Really, I’m fine,” I snapped, immediately feeling terrible at the shock on my pals’ faces. Fortunately, just then, everyone started getting up to leave and so the moment passed.

  “What shall we do now?” asked Ingrid brightly. “Is it time to get on with the investigation?”

  “Yes!” I agreed enthusiastically, happy to focus on the mystery at hand. “And I think maybe we should start by talking to someone who knows this place pretty well!” I pointed to the back of the room where Mrs Crockton had just appeared through the swinging kitchen door once more.

  With everyone else gone, the three of us edged over towards her. Mrs Crockton was busy laying one of the tables for the grown-ups’ dinner, and I cleared my throat to let her know we were there.

  “Oh, hello there!” Mrs Crockton exclaimed. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “We just wanted to say thank you for a lovely dinner,” I said sweetly.

  “Yes, it was all very … special,” Ingrid chimed in.

  “Oh, aren’t you little ducks,” Mrs Crockton said, seeming pleased. “I’m still finishing up the other meal for the oldies. Would you like to come into the kitchen for a hot chocolate?”

  “YES!” Kip pumped his fist in the air and barrelled after her into the kitchen. The three of us sat at a scrubbed wooden counter while Mrs Crockton bustled about, making three steaming mugs of cocoa with lots of squirty whipped cream on the top, that fortunately disguised the slightly burnt taste of the milk.

  “Thank you!” we all chorused, slurping away noisily.

  “Who’s that?” Kip’s voice suddenly piped up. He was pointing towards a silver picture frame on one of the kitchen shelves that held a photograph of the Booths smiling with their arms around a teenage girl with long, gingery hair.

  “Ah!” Mrs Crockton’s eyes softened. “That’s Jenny, the Booths’ daughter, a dear girl. She’s seventeen and a bit of a handful, all right. Such a shame you couldn’t all meet her. I think it would do her good having some young folk around this draughty old place, but I understand she’s off visiting some friends this week. A last minute thing, I heard.”

  There was a pause and I cleared my throat. “We were actually wondering if you knew anything about the Redshank brothers?” I asked. “We were learning about the history of the castle and heard about Henry Redshank’s disappearance. It sounded like quite the mystery.”

  “Oh, it was that,” Mrs Crockton said, nodding. “Vanishing from a locked room like that… It isn’t natural.”

  “Do you know which room it was that Henry was trapped in?” I asked breathlessly.

  “Not the exact one,” Mrs Crockton replied. “Apparently it was the library – that’s what all the records say anyway – but the castle doesn’t have a library any more, though I suppose it would be Agatha’s study.”

  “Oh, yes!” I exclaimed, having just recently been in there. “It’s full of old bookcases.” Mrs Crockton nodded again.

  “Who was it who lived here when the Redshank brothers disappeared?” Ingrid asked keenly.

  “Ahhh, well that would be Moira Booth,” Mrs Crockton said with a smile.

  “Moira Booth?” Ingrid murmured. “Like Agatha and Bernard Booth?”

  “That’s right,” agreed Mrs Crockton, “Bernard’s a distant relative. That’s why he inherited the place when the last owner, his great-aunt Ada, died without any children.”

  “Oh yes, Agatha mentioned someone called Ada,” I said beadily. “She said that Stanley Goodwill who we met earlier used to live here with her.”

  “Yes, he did,” Mrs Crockton nodded again, “he came here to do some research on the castle years ago now, and he ended up staying and looking after her. Stanley was devoted to Ada, though I have no idea why. She was a real tyrant – very mean spirited and always stirring up trouble. Stanley was her second cousin once removed, or so he always says. I’m not sure what that means he is to Bernard … these family trees are very muddling.”

  I murmured in agreement. It was certainly difficult to keep track of everyone.

  “But Stanley’s so much a part of the furniture now, I don’t think Agatha and Bernard could get rid of him even if they wanted to. He took Ada’s death very hard, poor thing. He was with her right to the end.”

  “And when did the Booths – the new ones I mean – inherit Crumley Castle?” Ingrid asked.

  Mrs Crockton pursed her lips. “Oooh. About six months ago, I reckon,” she replied. “And a world of trouble it’s brought them too. This draughty old place with everything broken and needing looking after. It’d be a weight around anyone’s neck, this old money pit. Still, I suppose Ada left them her money so they’ve got the cash to invest in this new-fangled campsite, maybe that will turn things around.”

  “Couldn’t they just sell it?” Kip asked. “A massive old castle like this must be worth a fortune!”

  Mrs Crockton shook her head. “No they can’t, more’s the pity. The castle has been in the Booth family for generations and that’s the way the inheritance is set up. If they want the castle and the money then they have to live here. If Agatha and Bernard don’t want it then it goes to the next person in line. Not that anyone’s ever had much luck living here. Something strange at work,” she said again, her words hanging in the air.

  “Do you live here in the castle as well?” I asked.

  “Oh, no!” Mrs Crockton shuddered. “I live in the village. I couldn’t live in the castle.”

  “Why not?” mumbled Kip, through a mouthful of whipped cream.

  “Well, on account of the ghost, of course.” Mrs Crockton waved a carrot peeler in our direction.

  Kip went very still. “Mmmm,” he said, and his voice was a bit squeaky. “We did hear something about that.”

  “The ghost of Henry
Redshank, you mean?” I asked.

  “Oh yes,” Mrs Crockton carried on with her peeling, and carroty curls twirled from under her fingers. “Some say he vanished out of this castle as if by magic, but if you ask me, he never really left at all – leastways his soul didn’t.” She was gesturing with her carrot peeler again, punctuating her sentences with a jabbing movement.

  “So, you really think there’s a ghost here?” I asked. “Really, truly?”

  Mrs Crockton turned to look right at me. “I don’t think,” she said in a low voice. “I know.”

  “You … know?” I whispered, excitement pulsing through me. “Do you mean…”

  “That’s right, dearie. I saw it with my own eyes … as clear as I see you sitting there. The ghost of Henry Redshank.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “You saw a ghost?!” All three of us burst out at once.

  Mrs Crockton seemed very calm. “Yes,” she said mildly. “I was standing right here in the kitchen looking through that open door.” She pointed to the door that opened to the dining hall. “A shadowy man he was, and he vanished, right through that wall, just disappeared through it like it wasn’t there.” My eyes followed her pointing finger to the dining hall’s stone wall. It certainly looked very sturdy. No human being could possibly pass through it.

  I goggled at her as if she was a ghost.

  “What did you do?” asked Ingrid.

  “Were you scared?” Kip whispered.

  Mrs Crockton smiled. “Well, I was a bit shocked at the time, you understand – I dropped the pile of laundry I was holding all over the floor. But I always knew the place was haunted … and that I had ‘the sight’, just like me old granny.”