Alice-Miranda Holds the Key 15

by Jacqueline Harvey

  Chessie was debating whether to go into one of the shops and ask for help when she spotted a man in the distance she thought looked vaguely familiar. Come to think of it, she’d just seen him getting off the train from the city. He was tall and slim with a shock of dark hair. And then she realised – he was her mother’s new husband, Anthony Tavistock. Chessie’s stomach felt as if a swarm of butterflies had hatched inside it. She walked as close as she dared, dragging her noisy suitcase along the footpath.

  Chessie was only a few metres away when she heard his phone ring. He pulled it out of his suit pocket and answered. He turned around and, for absolutely no reason at all, Chessie ducked into the open shopfront of the greengrocer, pretending to examine a bunch of bananas.

  ‘Anthony Tavistock speaking,’ the man answered.

  At least she had the right person, Chessie thought. It would have been embarrassing to ask a perfect stranger if he was her stepfather.

  ‘Look,’ he said sharply, ‘my wife is extremely competent and, no, she doesn’t have any other commitments or distractions at the moment.’

  Tears pricked at Chessie’s eyes. Is that what she was? A commitment? A distraction?

  ‘Are you going to buy those, sweetheart?’ asked a round man wearing a long apron over shorts and a singlet.

  Chessie leapt into the air. She shook her head and dropped the bananas back onto the display before she turned and ran up the street as fast as she could. She wiped her face on her sleeve and tried with all her might not to cry, but this time there was no stopping the flood. She ran past the butcher and the patisserie, charging along the street until the shops disappeared and there were only houses and a park. Chessie dashed into the empty playground and fell to her knees behind a bush, where, for the next hour, she sobbed her aching heart out.

  Cecelia Highton-Smith straightened her husband’s tie, then turned her attention to Alice-Miranda. She tucked a rogue ringlet behind the girl’s ear.

  Marjorie Plunkett smiled at the family. ‘The press is ready when you are,’ she said.

  ‘I just wish we had some good news to tell them,’ Hugh said. Things had gone from bad to worse in the past twenty-four hours. There were many more reports of food poisoning and Marjorie hadn’t made any headway. This left Hugh with no other choice than the one he was about to announce.

  Alice-Miranda slipped her tiny hand into her father’s. ‘You’re doing the right thing, Daddy,’ she said gently, looking up at him with her brown eyes as big as saucers.

  Hugh sighed. ‘Let’s just hope we can get this solved sooner rather than later.’

  Marjorie led the way into the Kennington’s foyer to the waiting media.

  ‘Good morning, everyone,’ Hugh said, walking to the microphone that had been set up for the press conference. ‘I think you all know my wife, Cecelia, and our daughter, Alice-Miranda. And of course, Marjorie Plunkett, Head of the Secret Protection League of Defence.’

  Alice-Miranda gave a wave and smiled at the sea of journalists, cameramen and sound recordists. Cecelia managed a tight smile, but Marjorie gave nothing away. Several flashes went off as the photographers got shots of the group.

  Hugh explained that, until the source of the contamination was found and dealt with, all Kennington’s stores would be closed immediately and there would be a complete recall of products purchased in the past ten days with full refunds. He promised that every employee would continue to be paid as per usual and he would be working with his suppliers to ensure that they weren’t out of pocket either. His first responsibilities were to his customers and staff. Marjorie then spoke for several minutes about the reason for SPLOD’s involvement – that this was an unprecedented situation and, due to the number of people ill and the extent of the apparent contamination, it was only proper that the investigations be carried out by a national agency with a wide range of resources at hand. Then it was over to the journalists for questions. The first few were directed at Hugh and Marjorie, but then a young woman with a dazzling set of white teeth put up her hand.

  ‘My question is for Alice-Miranda,’ she said loudly. ‘You’ve recently had a stay in hospital too. Can you confirm the rumours that you were actually a victim of the food-poisoning outbreak and that the story about the horseriding accident was just a cover-up?’

  Alice-Miranda’s eyes widened in surprise. She stepped forward. ‘Oh my goodness, no. I can assure you I fell off my pony, Bonaparte, while on my way back from visiting Mr Frost and his daughter at Wood End. I have my best friend, Millie, to thank for being so brave in the heat of the moment, as well as the wonderful staff at the children’s hospital in Chattering for looking after me so very well. Especially Mrs Tigwell – that woman makes the best hot chocolate. My face is still a little colourful and so’s my ankle, but apart from that I’m almost completely better.’ Alice-Miranda’s forehead puckered. ‘I can’t imagine why anyone would spread a rumour like that. It’s simply not true.’

  The woman who asked the question suddenly looked sheepish.

  ‘But as lovely as you are to ask after my health, this press conference isn’t about me,’ Alice-Miranda pointed out. ‘This is about making sure we get to the bottom of this situation. Everyone is working very hard to find answers and I’m sure that, with the help of the best minds in the country, it will only be a matter of time until things are sorted.’

  ‘Mr Kennington-Jones, have you thought about having your daughter handle all your public relations in future?’ a young fellow piped up. Alice-Miranda had seen him on the television before. ‘She’s got a high believability factor.’

  Everyone in the room laughed, including Marjorie, who usually remained impassive at press conferences.

  ‘She sure has,’ one man agreed.

  ‘She’s adorable,’ gushed the ladies.

  ‘I’d swap her for my daughter any day,’ confessed a woman with flaming-red hair. When all eyes turned to her, her face swiftly took on the same hue as her locks. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud. My daughter is just going through a bad stage,’ she mumbled.

  The briefing concluded with a further short statement from Marjorie before the four of them walked back out to Hugh’s office.

  ‘Well, that wasn’t nearly as awful as I’d been anticipating,’ Hugh said with a smile.

  Marjorie grinned. ‘That fellow was right, you know. Next time you have to address the media, send Alice-Miranda. She’ll have them charmed and thinking about everything but the problem at hand before you know it.’

  Anthony Tavistock walked out of the florist with an armful of white roses. He’d finished his meetings earlier than expected and was planning to surprise Jemima, although the call he’d just received had come as a bit of a surprise too. Apparently, Mr Prigg had been making some enquiries about purchasing several horses. The breeder had phoned Anthony to check that the property had the right facilities and that his wife would be completely committed, as he didn’t sell his stock to just anyone. Anthony had almost choked when the chap had mentioned the cost of the animals. He couldn’t imagine Jemima was going to be happy when he put a dampener on her plans and, even worse, when he told her that, instead of renovating Bedford Manor and filling the stables, she might need to think about what she could do to contribute to the household income. Perhaps he could break the news to her gently during a nice lunch tomorrow.

  He hopped into his battered Landrover and within a few minutes was on the road to Penberthy Floss. He’d always loved that stretch of road with its stone walls and rolling green fields. He was about to turn into the driveway when a shiny red sports car zoomed around him at high speed. He laughed when he realised it was Violet Appleby. The woman had a terrible reputation for her lead foot.

  Anthony continued along the tree-lined drive to the house. He parked outside the garage and walked across the courtyard to the kitchen door.

  ‘Something smells delicious,’ he said, entering the warm room. ‘Hello Mrs Mudge.’

  Beverley Mudge turned from wh
ere she was stirring a bubbling pot on the stove. ‘Good evening, sir. I thought I’d make your favourite.’

  Anthony’s eyes lit up. ‘Don’t tell me. Coq au vin?’

  She shrugged, her eyes glimmering. ‘There’s no putting anything past you.’

  ‘Lucky me,’ he said, drawing in a deep breath. ‘I’ll look forward to it. Is Jemima around?’

  ‘I think Lady Tavistock is upstairs, sir,’ Mrs Mudge replied.

  In truth, she didn’t know where the woman was, nor did she care. Jemima Tavistock was a cagey one at best, always on the telephone and skulking around corners, trying not to be heard. Beverley Mudge wondered what sort of secrets the new Lady Tavistock had. She was hiding something, that was for sure. With each passing day, Beverley was more and more convinced of it.

  Jemima Tavistock had likely broken every road rule to get to her destination in the time she had. She’d just about stood on the brakes when she thought she saw a police car lurking in the bushes on the side of the motorway. Fortunately, she’d been wrong, although she’d come close to being rear-ended by the car behind her.

  She pulled into the car park and switched off the ignition, then opened the glove box and retrieved a brown wig. She quickly put it on and checked that it was secure, tucking her own hair tightly underneath. Jemima felt around for the sunglasses she had hidden before taking a few deep breaths. She hopped out of the car and walked around the corner to the bus stop, where she waited just a few minutes before jumping on the number 16 that would take her where she needed to go.

  After the press conference, the Highton-Smith-Kennington-Joneses stopped off at Highton Mill to pick up some supplies. While Cecelia paid a visit to the butcher, Alice-Miranda and her father sat in the car, completely lost in their own thoughts. Hugh couldn’t remember ever having felt so utterly helpless, except perhaps the night that his mother had died and his brother disappeared from his life for nearly forty years. Even then, this was not the same. He’d been a tiny boy, just five years of age, and now he was a man, responsible for the livelihoods and wellbeing of tens of thousands of employees. He couldn’t fail them.

  Alice-Miranda’s thoughts wandered to Miss Grimm. Millie had called that morning to relay the worrisome news. She hoped that the poor woman was feeling better and made a mental note to call the hospital when she got home. During her musings, Alice-Miranda’s eyes fell upon a young girl trundling a small black suitcase behind her. She was carrying a blue backpack and clutching a toy dog and looked rather upset. Alice-Miranda wondered if she should go and see if she was all right. She was just about to step out of the car when her mother returned.

  ‘Well, I’m not sure what Dolly’s ordered, but from the weight of it, this piece of meat is big enough to feed an army,’ Cecelia said as she slid into the front passenger seat. She hefted the oversized brown paper bag to a spot by her feet.

  ‘Mummy,’ Alice-Miranda said, ‘should we see if that girl across the road is all right?’ She pointed out the window.

  ‘Which girl, darling?’ Cecelia craned her neck to see.

  Alice-Miranda looked up and down the street, but there was no sign of the girl or her suitcase. ‘Oh, she’s disappeared.’

  Alice-Miranda shook her head. She was sure there had been a girl. In fact, there was something about her that had given Alice-Miranda a strange feeling and now she most likely would never know why.

  Francesca Compton-Halls stood in the telephone box with the last of her change. She felt crushed with exhaustion and paused, her hand hovering above the coin slot. It was getting late and Chessie needed to talk to her mother, but she was scared. She took a deep breath and dialled the number, listening to it ring until Jemima finally answered.

  ‘Hello Mummy,’ Chessie said, mustering as much enthusiasm as she could.

  Her mother’s response was terribly confusing. She seemed excited to hear from her yet, when Chessie asked why she had to spend the break with Granny, the reply she got was unexpected, to say the least – particularly after Chessie’s earlier conversation with her grandmother. Her mother explained that Granny had begged to have her and, as Jemima was so busy, it had worked out perfectly. Jemima said she would try to visit Chessie next week when she wasn’t so stressed and frantic with the house. She was in a dreadful rush to get somewhere and would speak to her again later. Chessie thought on her feet, though, and told her mother that Granny’s phone was on the blink again, so they would call her instead.

  When she hung up the phone, she felt completely betrayed. She had no idea where she would go, but it was clear that Bedford Manor was definitely not an option. Perhaps the best thing was to go to her grandmother’s house. She had a vague recollection of a spare key hidden inside a cast-iron frog in the garden. She could stay there until school started up again. She retraced her steps to the train station and looked up at the timetable to see when the next train was due.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Chessie said to a young railway guard. ‘Can you tell me what time the next train to Nibley Green will be coming?’

  The lad shook his head. ‘I’m afraid you’ve missed it. The last one came an hour ago. There’s only another train due from the city and then I’m off for the night. There’ll be one through at nine in the morning for Nibley Green, but that’s it for the day, being Sunday and all.’

  Chessie gulped and clutched Rodney to her. Where would they sleep? She probably had enough money to go to a hotel, but people would ask questions about a ten-year-old girl on her own. She had to find somewhere else. There were always empty farm buildings on the edge of villages like this. At school they had several and sometimes when girls were upset or wanted to bunk off lessons they’d run away and hide in one of them.

  Chessie trundled her bag behind her, her stomach grumbling loudly. She told herself she’d be fine once she got to Granny’s. The woman had enough tinned food to survive a war.

  There was a sweet-looking French patisserie, but after a quick peek through the window, Chessie couldn’t see any bread left on the shelves. She would have loved a cupcake, but the man inside looked much too friendly. He might ask her questions she wasn’t prepared for. At the end of the row of shops she found a small general store. A pimply young lad stood behind the counter, flicking through a magazine. He didn’t even look up when she entered. She hurried through the aisles, picking up a loaf of bread, the smallest container of butter she could find and a tiny jar of jam, then walked to the counter. Now all she had to do was find somewhere warm and dry for the night.

  Alice-Miranda knew immediately whose four-wheel drive was parked by the kitchen door when they returned from the village. Before her parents could say a word, she was out of the car and inside in a flash. Shilly was holding court with Millie and her mother at the kitchen table. Alice-Miranda dropped her crutches and hobbled over to greet her friend.

  ‘This is the best surprise ever!’ Alice-Miranda exclaimed as the two girls hugged each other tightly.

  Millie beamed. ‘You can’t imagine how much I’ve missed you.’

  Pippa smiled at the child. ‘You’re looking almost as good as new – well, apart from that black eye.’

  ‘At least it’s only the one colour now,’ Alice-Miranda replied, taking a seat. ‘It was purple and yellow and green before yesterday. Mummy said it resembled the make-up at one of her favourite designers’ fashion shows last year, which I guess is perfectly all right if I were going for a “just gone ten rounds with the world boxing champion” effect. I feel absolutely fine now and even better because you’re both here. I’m planning to give up the crutches for good tomorrow.’

  Cecelia and Hugh entered the kitchen and Pippa hugged both of them, whispering some quiet words of comfort.

  ‘We’ll be fine, Pip,’ Hugh said. ‘Now that the stores are closed, no one else can get sick, and Marjorie is confident they’ll have some leads soon.’

  Mrs Shillingsworth hopped up and bustled over to the stove to make a fresh pot of tea while Cecelia invited Pippa and Millie to take
a seat.

  ‘That cake’s impressive, Shilly,’ Alice-Miranda said, spying the lemon-iced confection sitting under the large glass dome on the bench. ‘When did you find time to bake it?’

  The woman arched an eyebrow in the child’s direction. ‘You can thank Mrs Greening for that. She’s decided to bake her way out of the blues and assures me that she’ll keep up the morning and afternoon tea supplies so Dolly and I don’t have to worry – not that I’d have been worried, mind you. I’m sure I could source a packet of biscuits in the pantry.’

  ‘Her cakes are the best!’ Alice-Miranda grinned, then quickly added, ‘Hers and Mrs Oliver’s, and you do always find the best biscuits, Shilly.’

  Cecelia finished unpacking the meat from the butcher and popped her head around the fridge door. ‘How are things coming along with the preparations for the garden party?’

  Shilly grimaced. ‘It’s going to be a race to the finish, but I’ve got Mrs Greening and Lily coming up tomorrow. Daisy too, although she might have to mind the Treloar children again so she’ll only be able to do short days. Dolly’s arranged for Doreen Smith to come and give us a hand with the cooking, which is marvellous as it frees up Dolly’s time to work in the lab.’

  ‘Do you mean Bentley Treloar’s children?’ Hugh asked.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Shilly said. She lifted the whistling kettle off the stove. ‘They live on the other side of the village. Daisy said their regular nanny has fallen ill and the poor man was in a bit of a bind. She’s been taking care of the children while he works nights and I understand his wife works away during the week.’