CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lady Macbeth
At the Empress Hotel, Novak was whisked upstairs to the Cutter Suite. Mater pointed at a purple tapestry chair at the edge of the dressing area. Novak bowed her head, obediently going and sitting down, only realizing as she did so that standing in front of her was Stella Manning, the most acclaimed actress in the world.
Stella Manning was as famous for performing Shakespeare on the stage as she was for her countless award-winning film roles. Her face was a magnet you couldn’t pull your eyes from. She wasn’t wearing a scrap of make-up, and her long red hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, but she looked magnificent.
‘In this dress,’ Mater pursed her gold lips, ‘your pedigree as a peerless actress will be indisputable.’ Reaching down, she took the long green skirt between her thumbs and forefingers and wafted the fabric so that it rippled out across the floor.
Novak felt a wave of revulsion as she saw that the dress was decorated with hundreds of emerald-green jewel beetles. Those poor dead beetles! she thought, closing her hand protectively over the bangle on her wrist. The jewel beetles on the dress were a different species to Hepburn – one she’d never seen before – but still, Novak didn’t want Hepburn to see or hear about the dress.
‘It’s called the Lady Macbeth. It’s inspired by the dress worn by the actress Ellen Terry in 1888, depicted in John Singer Sargent’s famous painting.’
Stella Manning stared herself in the mirror, extending her arm as if she were about to command an army. ‘Lucretia, darling, you have surpassed yourself. It’s exquisite.’ Her familiar voice sounded like sandpaper dripping with honey. Novak could see that Stella Manning enjoyed the way the flared sleeves, which widened at the elbow into bells of velvet, gave her every gesture emphasis.
‘The dress has a spandex corset that pulls in the stretched skin from your pregnancy. Do you see that?’
Stella Manning murmured that she did. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, her hands resting on the tiny waist that the corset created. ‘It’s like looking at my younger self.’
‘It is a powerful dress, made for a queen of the stage. Demure yet sultry,’ Lucretia Cutter declared.
Stella Manning frowned. ‘I have played the Scottish King’s wife many times,’ she said. ‘The name carries bad luck.’ She stroked the bodice of the forest-green gown. ‘For the Film Awards, I will need all the luck I can get.’ She looked at Lucretia Cutter. ‘I’m not getting any younger.’
‘An actress of your talents doesn’t need luck,’ Lucretia Cutter purred. ‘Are you really going to let a silly superstition put you off wearing it?’
Stella Manning frowned.
‘I made the dress for you. The colour perfectly complements your hair and skin.’
‘It does,’ Stella Manning agreed. ‘I look amazing.’
‘But if you don’t want it, I will find another actress to wear the dress.’ Novak watched Stella Manning struggle with her superstition. Mater looked away. ‘Ruby Hisolo Junior, perhaps?’
‘No!’ Stella Manning spat, her face suddenly spoilt by the ugliness of jealousy. ‘Not that glorified waitress.’
‘She’s very pretty,’ Lucretia Cutter murmured. ‘The next big thing, I hear.’
‘This dress is simply too beautiful to be unlucky,’ Stella Manning declared. ‘I love it.’ She turned round and looked at Lucretia. ‘I’ll buy it.’
Lucretia Cutter shook her head. ‘It’s not for sale, but I would be honoured if you’d wear the dress to the Film Awards.’
‘Really? A loan?’
‘The Film Awards is to be my greatest fashion show yet,’ Lucretia Cutter replied. ‘This dress was made to be worn by a true artist, and I would be honoured if the great Stella Manning would wear my Lady Macbeth to the awards.’
Stella Manning pivoted slowly, unable to take her eyes off her reflection.
‘The world will be stunned and awed by you in this dress.’ Lucretia Cutter’s voice was a whisper.
‘Yes.’ Stella Manning nodded. ‘You are a master of your art, you really are.’
‘The dress would have very little impact if you weren’t wearing it.’ Lucretia Cutter’s gold lips twitched. ‘The combination will be explosive.’
Novak thought that Mater looked like a hungry cat about to devour an unsuspecting mouse, and she wondered why the Film Awards were so important. Mater had always refused to dress celebrities for awards ceremonies in the past, saying it devalued her art. And now here she was almost begging an actress to wear her dress to the film awards. Novak stared at Lady Macbeth. Was it something to do with the dress?
‘Can I take it with me now?’
Lucretia Cutter shook her head. ‘This dress is under embargo. On the morning of the awards, my team will bring it to you, dress you, and chauffeur you to the ceremony.’ She signalled to Gerard, who stepped forwards. ‘I don’t want anyone to see it until you step out of the limousine on to the red carpet.’
Stella Manning looked at Gerard, reluctant to take the dress off, then sighed and turned her back so he could unfasten her. Gerard looked the other way as the actress carefully stepped out of the dress and stood in her lingerie, pulling at the skin on her stomach.
‘Pity the world doesn’t like a baby belly.’ She sighed and looked at Mater. ‘Do you hate yours too?’
‘Mine?’ Lucretia Cutter frowned.
Stella Manning looked at Novak, and back at Lucretia Cutter, confused.
‘Oh, I see. No. I used a surrogate for Novak,’ Mater replied, her face expressionless. ‘My work is too important to be interrupted by a pregnancy.’
‘Oh!’ Stella Manning’s eyes flickered over Novak.
Novak stared blankly back. She’d always known that she’d been grown in a test tube and delivered by a different mother, although she didn’t know the woman’s name. Gerard called her ‘The Stork’.
Stella Manning smiled at her. ‘Novak is a pretty name.’ She picked up her black cashmere sweater and pulled it over her head.
‘I named her after a handbag.’ Lucretia Cutter’s voice was flat. ‘She makes a great accessory, don’t you think?’
Novak didn’t move a muscle. She knew she was being scrutinized. Gerard had told her she was named after a famous movie star, from the days when the movies were in black and white. He’d shown her pictures of a beautiful platinum-blonde woman called Kim Novak.
‘A handbag? Huh!’ Stella Manning picked up her jeans, sliding first one leg and then the other into the figure-hugging denim. ‘Well, Novak. You must be excited about being nominated for a Film Award? It’s a rare honour.’
Novak nodded.
‘You mustn’t be disappointed if you don’t win. It’s an amazing achievement just to get nominated.’
Novak nodded again.
Stella Manning gave her a look tinged with pity and turned back to Lucretia Cutter, who was watching Gerard as he gently placed Lady Macbeth in its wardrobe box. ‘I’m grateful you thought of me for one of your dresses, Lucretia.’ She slipped on her leather jacket and picked up her sunglasses from the sideboard. ‘I’m looking forward to the awards this year.’
‘Me too,’ Lucretia Cutter said, her face splitting with an alarming smile. ‘It’s going to be the most memorable awards in the history of the academy.’
As Stella Manning turned to the mirrors to put on her sunglasses, the door opened and a tall thin man, with sandy hair and very blue eyes, entered the room.
‘Ah, come in, my dear,’ Lucretia Cutter stepped forwards.
Novak cried out and jumped to her feet before she could stop herself.
Standing in front of her was Darkus’s dad. He’d had a haircut and the beard was gone, but it was definitely him. She could see the scars on his neck, the same scars she had on her own body, scars from the assassin bugs.
All the adults were staring at her.
‘What is it?’ Lucretia Cutter’s voice cracked like a whip, a pencilled eyebrow raised above her sunglasse
s.
Novak sat back down and fixed her eyes on the floor. ‘I’m sorry, Mater. I . . . I didn’t realize you knew him. I thought he was an intruder.’
‘Stupid child,’ Lucretia Cutter laughed. ‘Bartholomew, allow me to introduce Stella Manning, the greatest actress of our time.’
Novak watched, her stomach knotting itself up, as Darkus’s dad took Stella Manning’s outstretched hand, bent down and kissed it. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘It’s a great honour to meet you.’
Novak studied his face for signs of grief and pain, but saw none. Her body was shaking with anger. Didn’t he care about what had happened to Darkus? Darkus had risked everything to save him. Why was he smiling at her mother in that way?
Novak fizzed with fear and outrage: Darkus’s own father had betrayed him.
She watched her mother wrap an arm around Darkus’s dad’s waist and kiss his cheek. ‘Stella, this is one of my oldest, and dearest friends, Bartholomew Cuttle. After more than a decade apart, we’re working together again, on something really big.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Darkened Heights
Darkus poked his head between the front seats of the car, and Virginia grinned at the green tiger beetles sitting on his head. Uncle Max changed up into third gear and the car bunny-hopped through the streets of Camden towards Regent’s Park and Towering Heights.
‘What are you going to say to your dad?’ Virginia asked. ‘He might not be happy to see us.’
‘I don’t know.’ Darkus frowned, thinking back to the argument they’d had that evening. ‘I need to make him see that he’s in danger.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t care if he shouts at me.’
‘I just wish he’d talked to me, before he ran off trying to be a hero,’ Uncle Max said. ‘We’re all on the same side, for goodness’ sake.’
‘Are we?’ Virginia asked. ‘How can we know that? We don’t know what Darkus’s dad is planning to do.’
Darkus opened his mouth to protest, to say that they were all fighting for the same thing, but he had to admit his dad was behaving strangely. What if he wanted to be with Lucretia Cutter? What if her research into beetles was too tempting for him to resist? What if Darkus was in the way, and that was why Dad had wanted Uncle Max to take him to Wales?
The car was thick with an uncomfortable silence.
Darkus reached up and lifted Baxter on to his palm, looking into his friend’s shining eyes. He smiled at the rhinoceros beetle, who opened his mouth, smiling in reply. At least with Dad gone, there’d be no more talk of him giving up Baxter. He looked down at the beetles lined up either side of him on the back seat: a compact battalion of luminous-spotted fire beetles to combat darkness, mottled Hercules beetles for their strength, bombardiers for their talent with firing acid, and titan beetles, which had a vicious bite. They were experienced fighters now; Darkus has been training with them ever since the Battle of Nelson Parade.
He stroked Baxter’s elytra. ‘When we send the beetles into Towering Heights,’ he said, ‘we should get them to check the cells for Spencer Crips.’
‘That’s a good idea!’ Virginia nodded. ‘And we need to keep our eyes peeled for yellow ladybirds.’
‘Yellow ladybirds?’ Uncle Max said. ‘There was a very large one in the front room yesterday.’
Virginia’s and Darkus’s heads snapped round.
‘I’m afraid to say,’ Uncle Max lowered his voice to an exaggerated whisper, ‘I accidentally squashed it with the sole of my shoe!’
Virginia burst out laughing as Uncle Max waggled his eyebrows.
‘I’ll not have Lucretia Cutter’s spies in my house.’
Despite the late hour, Camden Town was alive with staggering revellers. The closer they got to Towering Heights, the more nervous Darkus felt. He hadn’t returned to the big white house since they’d busted his dad out of Lucretia Cutter’s cell. He shook his head; he still couldn’t believe that Dad would voluntarily walk back into that house. Darkus felt his nails cutting into his palms and realized he was clenching his fists.
He looked out of the window; the familiar parkland of London Zoo was on their left. Uncle Max pulled over. ‘I don’t want to get any closer, in case the car is recognized,’ he said over his shoulder.
Darkus nodded. The old mint-green Renault 4 was pretty memorable.
They cautiously got out of the car, the beetles following Darkus like a scuttling shadow. As they got close to the house, Darkus became aware his heart was thumping like a bass drum. The familiar brick wall rose up in front of them, behind it the tall copper-beech hedge.
‘Can you get up and over?’ Darkus whispered to Uncle Max.
‘Don’t worry about me, lad.’ Uncle Max reached up and jumped, pulling himself up and over the wall. Darkus heard a thud as he landed safely on the other side.
Virginia bent her knees, clasping her hands together, offering him a step up. Darkus slipped his foot into her hands, and in a second was sitting on top of the wall, reaching down to grab Virginia’s hands and pulling her up to sit beside him. The beetles scurried up the wall and over it, as the children dropped to the ground in unison. Darkus and Virginia wriggled through the copper-beech hedge, their arms over their faces to avoid getting scratched.
Uncle Max was standing on the edge of the giant paved chessboard patio. ‘The whole house is dark,’ he whispered.
‘It’s the middle of the night,’ Darkus replied.
‘There are no cars in her driveway.’ Uncle Max pointed. ‘And there’s a large padlock on the garage door. I think the house is empty.’
Darkus looked at each of the windows, trying to detect a source of light, but there was nothing. All the ground-floor window shutters were closed. He ran lightly across the patio and pushed his face up against the glass, cupping his hands around his eyes. Peering between the slats of the shutters, he could make out a giant white shape. He pulled away and frowned.
‘The furniture is covered in sheets.’ He looked at Uncle Max.
Virginia ran straight up to the black front door. She fell to her knees and pushed her fingers into the letterbox, lifting the flap and peering through. ‘It’s empty,’ she hissed.
‘The house is closed up,’ Uncle Max said. ‘There’s no one home.’
‘It can’t be.’ Darkus’s voice faltered. ‘Where’s Dad?’
Uncle Max walked over to Virginia and hammered the brass scarab knocker down on to the door. Darkus and Virginia jumped. ‘What are you doing?’ Virginia stepped back, her eyes wide.
‘I’m seeing if there’s anyone in,’ Uncle Max replied.
Darkus held his breath, staring at the door, but no one came. His shoulders dropped as he started breathing again.
‘Shall we look round the back?’ Virginia suggested, becoming braver now she knew there was no one home. ‘We might find a clue.’
Darkus nodded, and they crept round the side of the building.
‘Where did everybody go?’ Darkus whispered. ‘Where’s Novak?’
‘This isn’t the only building Lucretia Cutter owns, Darkus,’ Uncle Max replied. ‘She could be anywhere.’
‘If Dad came here and found the house closed up, he might have gone back home. He could be there right now, wondering where we are,’ Darkus said hopefully.
‘There’s the servants’ entrance.’ Virginia strode across the white gravel of the driveway, to the blue door, and pushed her ear against it. As she did, the door swung open and Virginia stumbled into the skirts of a woman, who screamed.
Virginia flew backwards, yelling, as Uncle Max and Darkus rushed forwards.
The woman in the house saw Darkus and screamed even louder.
Uncle Max held his hands up. ‘It’s OK! It’s OK! We mean no harm.’
‘It’s you! The . . . the beetle boy,’ the woman gasped, shock written across her face. ‘You’re dead! She shot you! Novak said!’
‘Hello, Millie.’ Darkus smiled. ‘She did shoot me, but I’m not dead.’
‘A thousand apologie
s, my good lady.’ Uncle Max gave a courteous bow. ‘We didn’t meant to startle you.’
Millie looked crossly at Uncle Max. ‘Was it you doing that terrible knocking?’
‘Ah, yes, sorry.’ Uncle Max cleared his throat. ‘I thought no one was in. My apologies if I woke you.’
‘You gave me a terrible fright,’ Millie said, her hand on her heart as she tried to calm herself. She looked at Darkus. ‘If you’re looking for the little miss, she’s gone. They’re all gone, to America, for the Film Awards.’
‘Millie, did a man come here this evening?’ Darkus asked. ‘Clean-shaven, short wavy hair, sandy-coloured with grey bits. He has blue eyes . . .’
‘There were these two horrible men here, not two hours ago – one giant bald man and one skinny half-crazed creature. They were banging and knocking, insisting they had an appointment to see Madame Cutter, that she owed them money.’
Virginia grabbed Darkus’s arm. ‘Humphrey and Pickering!’ she hissed.
‘They wouldn’t believe me when I said she’d gone away. I had to shut the door on them, and they smashed a window! They only went away when I told them I’d called the police.’ Millie put her hand over her heart again. ‘When you started knocking, I thought you were them, come back to rob the place.’
‘I can assure you, we have no such intentions. My name is Maximilian Cuttle. We are looking for my brother.’
‘Oh, no!’ Millie’s hands flew up to her cheeks. ‘I forgot!’ She thrust a hand into her white apron and pulled out a lavender envelope. ‘Are you the Maximilian Cuttle who lives on Nelson Parade?’
‘Well, yes I am,’ Uncle Max nodded.
‘Then this is for you. I’m so sorry, I was meant to bring it to you earlier this evening, but when those two men came knocking and shouting, I forgot all about it.’
‘What is it?’ Darkus asked as Uncle Max tore open the envelope.
‘Thank goodness you came.’ Millie shook her head. ‘I’d have felt terrible forgetting a thing like that. I promised little Novak that I’d get the letter to you as soon as I could.’
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