Silas and the Winterbottoms

by Stephen M. Giles

  ‘Cousin, there’s a madwoman in the house!’ cried Isabella, trying desperately to wake Thorn from his nap so he could attack the intruder. ‘Call security!’

  ‘An intruder?’ Rosemary laughed raucously. ‘Heavens, no! I’m your long-lost Aunt Rosemary. Now come over here and give me a kiss!’

  Adele was the first to move, walking carefully down the spiral staircase to the library’s ground floor. As she crossed the room towards her aunt, Adele was struck by the rapturous smile on her face and the brilliant red hair on her head. The professor had never spoken much about her sister Rosemary, apart from calling her a fat spinster who had wasted her life travelling the world like a bag lady!

  ‘What a beauty you are!’ Rosemary cried, swallowing Adele up in her embrace and planting a kiss on her cheek. She looked admiringly at Adele’s hair, her mouth blooming in a gigantic grin. ‘Magnificent! Isn’t red hair a joy?’

  ‘Well … I suppose,’ said Adele rather meekly.

  ‘Oh, hair can be such a dull business,’ declared Aunt Rosemary. ‘All those blondes and brunettes clogging up the streets. But red – now that’s a colour people notice!’ She giggled, tapping her niece’s freckled nose. ‘Wonderful! Wonderful!’

  Blushing furiously, Adele found it rather difficult to speak. The thought that someone might actually be glad to have red hair was utterly shocking. After all, her mother considered Adele’s hair a great tragedy, a curse. And it was … wasn’t it? Even asking the question was bold and new and the girl’s stomach began to tingle.

  ‘And as for you,’ declared Rosemary, turning her attention to Isabella (who was appalled by the pear-shaped, red-cheeked, buck-tooth creature stalking towards her). ‘Well, you’re as pretty as a picture. And what marvellous eyes! I don’t think I’ve ever seen a lovelier shade of blue.’

  ‘Well,’ said Isabella, offering her aunt a faint smile, ‘that is very kind of you to say, Aunt Rosemary. And your eyes are very … black.’

  ‘It’s a Winterbottom curse, I’m afraid!’ said Rosemary with a grin as she slipped off her coat and threw it carelessly over a chair. She hugged Isabella, planting a wet kiss on her pretty cheek and stunning the poor girl into silence. ‘Heavens, you remind me of your father! He was a beautiful child, our Nathanial.’

  Isabella managed a proud smile even as she wiped the slobber from her face. ‘Our baby pictures are practically identical.’

  ‘You’ve never seen a boy more in love with himself than your father.’ Rosemary let out a roar of laughter. ‘And so short! I had dolls taller than he was!’

  The girl’s smile fell away, replaced by a tense glare. ‘Come now, Aunt,’ said Isabella, trying to sound light-hearted, ‘I am sure you’re exaggerating. Father wasn’t all that vain, surely?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Rosemary, dropping down onto the couch and letting out a lengthy sigh, ‘Nathanial was the vainest child who ever lived, ask your Uncle Silas.’ She giggled again. ‘His favourite toy was the mirror. The silly boy would spend hours at a time staring at his own reflection. It was love at first sight, our mother used to say.’ As quickly as she sat down, Rosemary jumped up again. ‘I must keep moving! I want to introduce myself to your cousin Milo and then have a nap before dinner. I’m dead on my feet!’

  With that she grabbed her coat and swept from the library, twirling around when she got to the door and waving at her nieces using both plump arms.

  ‘Lovely to meet you, pets!’

  ‘Miserable cow!’ snapped Isabella, when her aunt was safely out of earshot. She sat down on the rug, leaning back against the sleeping crocodile. ‘She’s just jealous because my father is rich and handsome and she is a fat ugly cow with big buck teeth and awful clothes. Did you see those big wooden buttons on her coat? I’m certain she made them herself. Probably carved them with her teeth!’

  ‘I thought she was very nice,’ said Adele.

  ‘Don’t be fooled, Cousin!’ Isabella crossed her legs and flicked her silky hair back over her shoulders. ‘Aunt Rosemary might act all jolly and fat and nice but she came here for one reason only – the money.’

  ‘You think so?’ said Adele, alarmed. The last thing she needed was more competition.

  ‘Of course! Think about it – she’s been gone for thirty years without a word and suddenly, just when her rich brother is dying, she pops up again.’ Isabella nodded with certainty. ‘Trust me – she wants Sommerset all for herself.’

  Adele moved closer to her cousin and whispered, ‘What should we do?’

  ‘I’ll think of something,’ said Isabella firmly. ‘We’ve just got to keep our eyes open and make sure Uncle Silas isn’t taken in by her cheap tricks.’

  ‘I’m glad you are here, Isabella,’ said Adele. ‘You know so much more about people than I do. I don’t think I’d have any chance of getting Sommerset without your help.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Isabella, smiling sweetly. ‘That’s what cousins are for.’

  Way down in the very depths of her heart, in the small part of Isabella that wasn’t a selfish criminal, she felt a stab of guilt for the way she was deceiving her cousin. But what choice did she have? Isabella and her father would be bankrupt within six months if she didn’t win over Silas. In fact, she really had no choice other than to string Adele along and then destroy her at just the right moment.

  ‘Now are we done yet?’ Isabella moaned. ‘We’ve been in here for hours.’

  ‘It’s only been twenty minutes,’ said Adele. ‘Besides, I’d gladly spend all my days roaming these shelves.’

  Isabella rolled her eyes. ‘How strange you are, Cousin.’ She lay back resting her head against Thorn’s circular tail.

  ‘And even if I was offered a million dollars I wouldn’t part with a single book from these shelves,’ declared Adele. ‘Not one.’

  ‘Who would want them, anyway?’ said Isabella with a very unladylike snort.

  Adele laughed. ‘Lots of people, silly. My dad knows collectors who spend their whole lives roaming the world looking for books just like these.’

  ‘They do?’ Isabella sprang up, her blue eyes glistening. ‘So you’re telling me these books are valuable?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Adele, rather pleased that her cousin was finally taking an interest in the library. She pointed down to the glass cabinets along the far wall. ‘Some of those in there are priceless.’

  ‘How funny,’ said Isabella with a little giggle. She lay back down and closed her eyes, yawning loudly. ‘Still, what do I care about a bunch of silly old books?’

  ‘Milo hates you,’ said Rosemary, picking a piece of roasted duck from her gigantic molars. ‘I was watching him all through dinner and every time you spoke he’d give you such a look – eyes like daggers!’ She laughed heartily. ‘And he’s a smart boy, a good boy – I can tell. He won’t be easily fooled, even by an expert like you, Silas.’

  Rosemary rested her very ample backside against her brother’s mahogany desk and picked up a crystal bowl full of walnuts.

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ said Silas, rubbing his temples. It had been a long day and his frail body yearned for sleep. ‘You always did have an over-active imagination, Sister.’

  ‘Baloney!’ said Rosemary, crunching loudly on a walnut. ‘You know exactly what I mean. This game you’re playing – choosing an heir from among three children you know nothing about – it’s doomed to failure.’

  Putting the bowl aside, Rosemary passed through the open French doors and stepped out into the courtyard, which was bathed in the pearly glow of a half-moon. Silas joined her, his cold bones welcoming the warm evening breeze.

  ‘And why do you think it will fail?’ said Silas casually.

  ‘Well for a start, Milo thinks you’re the devil himself,’ said Rosemary. ‘And Isabella and Adele are only after your fortune – and why wouldn’t they be? You’ve been dangling it in front of them like a prize at a carnival. Instead of looking for the best in the children, you’re encouraging the g
reed in them.’

  ‘Sister, I have no interest in who is the most worthy,’ Silas told her. ‘My estate will go to the one I deem most suitable. Whether they are honest or kind is of no consequence.’

  Rosemary laughed heartily. ‘Silas, you’re as nutty as a fruitcake!’

  ‘How dare you!’ hissed Silas (he was particularly sensitive to any suggestion that he was insane). ‘I assure you, dear Sister, I am perfectly sane.’

  Plucking a sunflower, Rosemary sniffed it deeply. ‘We Winterbottoms come from a long line of complete nutters, Silas, and you know it.’

  Ignoring the accusation (mostly because it was true), Silas headed towards a large set of grand iron gates. ‘Come,’ he snapped, ‘I want to show you one of my favourite gardens.’

  ‘Now? Silas, it’s very late.’

  ‘The flowers only open at night,’ he said, the wheelchair moving swiftly down the path. ‘Come along, Sister, the night is fading fast … and so am I.’

  Rosemary chuckled sadly. She slid the sunflower into a buttonhole on her dress and followed her brother into the fragrant darkness.

  Pale moonlight filtered through the frosted arched windows, bathing the wide corridor in a blue fog. At the far end of a long hall, a figure appeared and moved quickly along the corridor. Glancing back as she went, Adele’s anxious face glowed a steely blue. She crossed through two sets of doors before entering a much narrower passageway which curved around the perimeter of the eastern tower.

  She had been coming this way since her second night at Sommerset House. It was Mrs Hammer who had told her about the secret chamber at the back of the library which allowed access to the magnificent cathedral of books without having to pass through any of the main rooms.

  Adele’s late-night visits to the library were the jewel in her day. She would spend hours alone, going from shelf to shelf, touching the spines of ancient texts, stopping when a particular book grabbed her attention and diving into its pages. A deep peace would fill her and all the worries and anxieties about her mission at Sommerset fell away.

  Coming to the end of the passage Adele entered a small anteroom linked to an ordinary-looking broom closet. She stepped inside, closing the door behind her, and glanced down at her feet.

  Only in Darkness will you see the Light.

  The words were engraved in a worn slab of white marble at the threshold to the library’s hidden door. Mrs Hammer had explained that the inscription was the work of Theodore Epstein Bloom, the eccentric millionaire who had built Sommerset all those years ago. ‘He was a spy, apparently,’ Mrs Hammer told her. ‘Quite mad, they say. Legend has it that Theodore stumbled across a number of writings that he believed were a threat to mankind. That’s why he built this place – to hide the secrets. It was he who carved this message but he died soon after and no-one ever understood what it meant.’

  Adele’s spine tingled as she pushed on the back wall and it began to open. She stopped. There were voices – no more than a whisper – coming from the far end of the corridor.

  Stepping back, she slipped out of the broom closet.

  ‘Hurry, Bingle, we must be quick!’ It was Mrs Hammer’s voice, she was sure of it.

  ‘Shhhh!’ hissed Bingle.

  Hidden by shadows, Adele crept towards the vestibule linking both passageways. Carefully she crossed the anteroom, hugging the wall as a faint glow from the gardens fell across her face. Uneasily she craned her neck around the corner and peered down the narrow corridor.

  It was difficult to see at first but gradually the darkened figures took shape and she clearly made out Mrs Hammer pacing nervously back and forth. Then she saw the unmistakable figure of Bingle, limping. He was accompanied by a third person. A short, bulky figure draped in a long black robe.

  The cloaked figure wore a wide hood which made it impossible for Adele to see who or what it was. Holding an arm each, Mrs Hammer and Bingle guided the figure along the passage, stopping in front of a small door about halfway along.

  Suddenly Mrs Hammer turned. Adele held her breath. It felt as if Mrs Hammer was looking right into her eyes.

  ‘Did you hear something?’ whispered the old housekeeper.

  Following her gaze, Bingle squinted into the darkness.

  ‘Hear what?’ he said curtly. ‘There’s no-one there. Come, we must hurry.’

  Hastily Bingle opened the door and together he and Mrs Hammer led the mystery guest inside, shutting the door behind them.

  A minute ticked slowly by before Adele began to move again. She crept down the corridor on tiptoes and pressed her ear against the door. Carefully she began to turn the handle – it creaked and twisted like a rusty hinge. She stopped. Footsteps were coming towards her. Releasing the handle, Adele ran back down the corridor. She stumbled, her slippers skidding on the polished floor, and fell heavily against the wall. She hid in the darkness, heart pounding.

  Mrs Hammer and Bingle emerged into the corridor looking rather relieved. They exchanged glances, nodding solemnly to each other like they were sealing a secret pact, before walking briskly back towards the servants’ quarters.

  Adele let out a sharp breath and stepped out of the shadows. Moments later she was opening the door. Inside she found a rather dull-looking storeroom filled with rows of neatly stacked supplies – large boxes with labels like Third Floor Light Fittings and Silverware Polish. She crossed into a small alcove filled with pots and pans stacked on makeshift shelves and hanging from the ceiling on large metal racks. Long shadows loomed against the walls and ceiling. There was no sign of the cloaked stranger – but there were no windows and there was only one door leading in and out. She stood for a few moments listening intently. Quiet as a graveyard.

  ‘I told you there wasn’t anyone around!’ snapped Bingle as he thrust open the storeroom door again and hobbled in.

  Adele slid under a narrow table in the corner.

  ‘I know what I heard,’ said Mrs Hammer anxiously. ‘Footsteps, that’s what!’

  The old housekeeper entered the alcove, sweeping her eyes over the floor like there was a mouse on the loose. ‘I was sure I heard footsteps.’ But there was less certainty in her voice. ‘I really did.’

  ‘It was just your imagination,’ said Bingle impatiently. ‘Do let’s go, Mrs Hammer. I need to rest this foot – the pain is unbearable.’

  ‘This whole thing feels wrong, Bingle,’ said the housekeeper.

  ‘We are doing what we are told, Mrs Hammer. Right and wrong have no part to play.’

  Adele waited until the footsteps had trailed away, listening for the sound of the storeroom door clicking shut before she emerged from hiding. When she was certain Mrs Hammer and Bingle were truly gone she ran out of the storeroom and charged down the long corridor, cold fear thumping in her heart. Someone was being hidden in Sommerset House; that much she was certain of. And even though the sight of the cloaked stranger had terrified her, she was determined to find out exactly who it was.

  SECRETS

  Milo spent his first few days at Sommerset snooping around the island trying to learn more about his mysterious uncle – but he had little luck. It was as if everybody who worked for Silas Winterbottom was too terrified of the sick old man to say one word against him. Milo was starting to fear that his mission was doomed to failure.

  It was as if his uncle’s shadow loomed above the entire island like a thunder cloud.

  Wiping a trickle of sweat from the back of his neck, Milo headed up a set of stone steps covered by an arbour of velvety green leaves, which led up to the orchard. At the far end of the grove Moses was throwing a net over the branches of a large orange tree. Milo waved to him. The old man saw him but did not respond. Instead, he tied a length of cord around the trunk to fix the net firmly in place then shuffled off in the opposite direction.

  ‘Don’t take it personally,’ came a voice from above.

  Milo looked up just in time to see a gangly teenager leap from a nearby tree.

  ‘He’s like that with ev
eryone,’ the boy remarked, sliding a pair of pruning shears into his overalls. ‘I’m Knox by the way. Jeremiah Knox.’

  ‘Hi, I’m Milo.’

  ‘I know who you are,’ said Knox with a smirk.

  Milo smiled awkwardly. ‘So, I guess you work for Moses?’

  ‘I work for Mr Winterbottom,’ Knox corrected him. ‘Moses is just a crazy old man. The truth is, it’s me who runs the gardens here at Sommerset.’

  ‘But you’re just a boy,’ said Milo doubtfully.

  Knox flashed him a foul look. ‘I’m old enough,’ he muttered. Burying his hands deep in his overalls the young gardener appeared set to stalk off when he turned and said, ‘He and the master hate each other, you know?’

  ‘Who, Moses?’ said Milo. Finally someone was willing to talk about Uncle Silas!

  ‘That’s right,’ said the teenager slyly. ‘His boy was in the car with Lady Bloom when it crashed.’

  ‘Lady who?’ said Milo.

  ‘Lady Bloom – she’s the one the master was all set to marry,’ said Knox, clearly relishing the fact that he knew more about Silas Winterbottom than his own nephew. ‘It was her family that built Sommerset; they lived here for over a century. When Lady Bloom died she left the whole thing to your uncle.’

  ‘You said there was a car crash?’

  ‘Happened about fifty years ago,’ said Knox, pulling an orange from the branch above his head. ‘Lady Bloom was driving out in the forest, going real fast they say. Something happened and she lost control of the car. Ran right into a tree, they say. Dead.’

  ‘And Moses’s son – what happened to him?’

  ‘He was hurt real bad.’ Knox drove his thumb into the top of the orange and began to peel it. ‘His brain ain’t right, if you know what I mean. The old man still goes to visit him in the nursing home. I tried to ask him about the accident once and he nearly bit my head off.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘They say Moses knows all your uncle’s secrets.’

  From the opposite end of the field a rather ill-sounding bell began to ring. Milo looked down the grove just as Rosemary rode out from behind a lemon tree, pedalling furiously in their direction.