The Vulture of Sommerset

by Stephen M. Giles

  With more luck than skill Rosemary manage to steer her bicycle into the elevator just as the doors began to close. She was rising past the second floor when she seemed to realise that what Isabella needed was a little advice.

  ‘Don’t be in such a panic about your guests, pet!’ she called, her voice filling the cavernous hall. ‘Aristocrats pick their noses just like the rest of us!’

  Isabella’s pretty face took on the colour of a lava flow. ‘Pick their what? How dare you! For your information, the duchess never goes near her nose!’

  Fortunately, before Isabella’s head could actually explode with rage, Mrs Hammer and a conga line of parlourmaids and under-butlers marched past her and took their positions by the front door. It took Isabella a second or two to realise what was happening. ‘The duchess!’ she cried.

  Isabella dashed across the hall, taking her place by the orchids just as a long black car pulled up in the portico. She looked down to check that her gown was free of creases and noticed the half-eaten apple still in her hand. She gasped. The duchess was stepping from the car. Desperately Isabella looked around – the hall had dozens of rare urns and priceless art but not a single rubbish bin. There had to be somewhere she could stash a half-eaten apple! Then she saw it.

  ‘Thorn!’ she hissed, waving madly at the beast. As Thorn slowly raised his scaly head, the young Miss Winterbottom took aim and hurled the apple across the chamber. With perfect timing the crocodile snapped open his terrifying jaws and the flying fruit disappeared into the dark cavern of his mouth. Isabella turned back just as the duchess and her daughter swept through the front door, a smile breaking across her face like a sunrise. ‘Your Grace, Lady Charlotte,’ she said, ‘welcome to Sommerset House!’

  On the second-floor landing of the Sommerset library, under the glow of a single reading lamp – which was only slightly more radiant than her mass of curly red hair – Adele Winterbottom was time-travelling. For many months now she had occupied herself with the history of Lady Cornelia Bloom (who had gifted Sommerset to Adele and her cousins from the grave) and her eccentric relatives. The Blooms had built Sommerset from the ground up and Adele’s curiosity about the family was richly rewarded by the bounty of old documents, letters and journals stashed away in the grand library. Sitting at a long banister table stacked high with books, the girl was lost in the diary of one Captain Percy Bloom – Lady Bloom’s older brother and the most interesting member of the Bloom clan by far. She read and re-read each line, savouring the words as she would a fine meal. When she was completely satisfied, Adele would lift the yellow paper with the skill and care of a microsurgeon and turn the page.

  3 January, 1871

  Spent much of the night travelling on foot through the jungle – the Valley of Brume is far behind me, yet it lingers. At all costs I must avoid the main tracks and stay out of sight. The locals are a violent breed and would not hesitate to separate my head from my body if they discover that I have a sample of the Panacea. I will endeavour to reach the monastery by sunrise and from there my passage home should be a simple one. The importance of this discovery is on a scale that I cannot yet comprehend. The powers of this plant defy all scientific reason and yet I cannot deny what I have witnessed. I will send word to MM once I am back in civilisation. He has been waiting for this discovery even longer than I have. Until then I will push on. There is much ground to cover before I am once again amongst friends.

  ‘He did it,’ whispered Adele, the wonder sparkling in her dark eyes. ‘He stole the Panacea.’ Opening her notebook She copied several lines from the diary entry. Then a frown set in. ‘But who is MM?’

  Ever since she had stumbled across the private journal of Captain Bloom behind a concealed wall on the library’s third floor, Adele had been utterly transfixed. The captain was a botanist with a thirst for reckless adventure. His obsession was a rare plant whose very existence was a matter of strong debate – in fact, most people considered it a myth. The Panacea was a plant capable of curing any ailment known to mankind. And Captain Percy Bloom had found it.

  In many ways Adele had become something of an explorer herself: an explorer of the Sommerset library’s many mysteries and treasures. Her first discovery had been Theodore Epstein Bloom’s stash of dangerous books. But that was just the beginning; there were treasures secreted away in every nook and cranny of the vast library. Books, letters, dangerous objects, cryptic messages – all waiting to be unearthed. Among Adele’s best finds were a priest’s hole (used to hide from assassins) on the first floor, and an ancient pistol concealed within a book of seventeenth-century Latin psalms.

  The more time Adele spent in the library the less she wanted to be away from it. Sometimes she felt as if Theodore Bloom had left all of these mysteries for her and only her to unearth. Just the thought of this made her stomach tingle. She looked down at Captain Bloom’s journal and smiled sadly. How dearly she loved getting lost in his adventures. If only her mind were not troubled by the world outside . . . and the boy who had become a bigger riddle to her than the Sommerset library would ever be.

  ‘Thought I’d find you in here!’ hollered Aunt Rosemary as she climbed the library’s spiral staircase (stopping several times to catch her breath). ‘Isabella’s going to have a fit if we don’t come down for dinner.’

  ‘Do I have to, Aunt Rosemary?’ asked Adele.

  ‘Of course not, but I think it’s the right thing to do. Isabella’s lost her mind over these aristocrats.’ Rosemary gave a throaty chuckle. ‘Just like her father. Desperate to be part of the in crowd.’

  By the time Rosemary reached the landing her plump cheeks were the same shade of toffee-apple red as her curly hair. She was still wearing her faded blue and yellow summer dress and was twirling a red rose in her hand.

  ‘All right, I’ll come,’ said Adele. Reluctantly she closed the journal and placed it inside the oak box which sat upon her desk, locking it away.

  ‘Made any new discoveries?’ asked her aunt, pinning the rose to her hair.

  ‘Oh yes!’ said Adele, her face brightening immediately.

  ‘Brilliant! You can tell me all about it as we walk to the dining room.’

  Linking arms, Adele and her aunt walked from the grand library.

  ‘Let me get this straight,’ said Rosemary as they passed down a long moon-streaked hallway overlooking the rose gardens. ‘Captain Bloom stole the Panacea?’

  Adele nodded gravely. ‘Not only that, he intended to bring it back to Sommerset and share it with his friend, MM.’

  ‘Ah yes, the mysterious MM.’

  ‘It’s clear from the journal that Captain Bloom needs his help to make use of the Panacea. This morning I found a letter from Captain Bloom’s father, Theodore, written to his wife while he was in China. He didn’t like MM at all – called him a wicked man and told Mrs Bloom to keep their son away from him.’

  ‘I wonder why?’ said Rosemary, frowning. Then she laughed loudly. ‘Will you listen to me? I’m on tenterhooks over a diary written in 1871! But honestly, I cannot wait to find out how it ends!’

  Adele smiled, blushing. ‘It really is the most exiting thing, don’t you think?’

  ‘I do indeed,’ agreed Rosemary, digging into the pocket of her sundress and pulling out a lone walnut which she quickly crushed between her enormous teeth. ‘The captain is full of surprises!’

  They had just turned into a vaulted corridor lined with dull portraits of various dead Winterbottoms when Adele stopped suddenly. She had her eyes fixed on the door at the far end. It was closed but a dim light washed around it.

  Adele left her aunt’s side and hurried over. She knocked twice. ‘Milo?’

  No answer.

  ‘Milo, I know you’re in there. Please come to dinner – you must eat something.’

  ‘Leave him be, Adele,’ said Rosemary softly. ‘I know the boy hasn’t been himself lately, but you mustn’t worry so. It might be that he’s missing his grandfather. It feels like the maestro and his Wrinkly Sym
phony Orchestra have been on tour for an eternity! Perhaps Milo just needs a little time to himself, that’s all.’

  Putting her hand on Adele’s shoulder Rosemary tried to move her away from the door, but the young girl stood firm.

  ‘I hear him sometimes, Aunt Rosemary,’ she whispered. ‘He cries out in the night. He calls out his name.’

  Rosemary knew who her niece was referring to: the villain who had nearly destroyed them all. Her own brother no less. ‘I can’t say I’m surprised.’ Rosemary dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘The poor boy believed that Silas was going to steal his body to escape death. Who wouldn’t have a few dark dreams after such an experience?’ She shook her head. ‘Soul swapping – I’ve never heard of such nonsense!’

  ‘The science was sound, Aunt Rosemary,’ said Adele. ‘Dr Mangrove was crazy but he was also brilliant. That day, when Isabella and I reached the laboratory and found Milo and Uncle Silas locked in the Soul Chamber – something was already happening. We thought . . . we thought that it was too late, that Milo was already gone.’

  ‘Well, of course he wasn’t gone,’ said Aunt Rosemary firmly. ‘Milo Winterbottom is the same sweet boy he’s always been. And as for that evil quack Dr Mangrove – if he hadn’t run away like he did after your uncle bit the dust I’d have boxed his ears good and proper!’ Rosemary took a deep breath and the joy drifted back into her eyes. ‘But let’s not talk of such things. Keep your eyes on the road ahead, that’s what I say.’ She kissed Adele on the temple. ‘We’d better get to the dining room before Isabella sends out the hounds!’

  Adele glanced back at the study door one last time before setting off after her aunt. As she crossed the hall, Adele was unaware that an eye was pressed to the keyhole, watching her leave. When he was completely sure they were gone, Milo Winterbottom pulled back from the study door and returned to his work.

  ISABELLA AND THE DUCHESS

  The Duchess of Casale and her twelve-year-old daughter Lady Charlotte looked remarkably alike. Both were shaped like avocados, with round pink faces, cleft chins and long auburn hair swept up on their heads like a beacon. And both had the sort of nose you could ride a billycart down. The only real difference between the two was that while Lady Charlotte wore a modest string of pearls with her yellow gown, the duchess sported a sparkling pink diamond only slightly smaller than her head.

  The jewel bewitched everyone who saw it as dinner got under way, especially Hannah Spoon, who was so busy staring at it that she wound up pouring the chicken and truffle soup into Isabella’s fingerbowl. Fortunately the duchess was deep in conversation with Adele about the restoration of several ancient books in the Sommerset library and did not notice. The same could not be said for Lady Charlotte, who found the whole thing deeply shocking.

  ‘Where on earth did you find her?’ she asked Isabella as the maid fled back to the kitchen in search of another fingerbowl.

  ‘She came with the house,’ said Isabella apologetically. ‘Born and bred on a turnip farm, I’m afraid.’

  ‘It cannot be easy for you, Isabella,’ said Lady Charlotte, ‘coming from such humble beginnings and having to host dinner parties and charity events in such a grand house.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t suppose they had very many balls back where you grew up. Where was it again? I can never remember the name . . .’

  ‘Grimethorpe,’ said Isabella flatly. ‘But I only lived there until I was nine, then Father and I moved to London.’

  ‘Yes, well, it’s not your fault, is it?’ said Lady Charlotte, patting Isabella on the hand. ‘You mustn’t be ashamed for growing up poor. Lots of people do it, I’m told.’

  It should be noted that Lady Charlotte Latimer disliked Isabella immensely. In fact, she hated all the Winterbottoms. Everybody knew that the entire family were a pack of criminals, lunatics and paupers! The only reason they weren’t all begging on the streets was because their weirdo uncle had died mysteriously and left them his fortune. And ever since then you couldn’t pick up a newspaper without seeing yet another headline about the Billionaire Cousins. Journalists wrote gushing stories about the millions of dollars the children gave away through their Winterbottom Trust. Photographers stalked the woods outside Sommerset trying to snap a picture of them. It seemed as if the whole world was infatuated with the snooty little brats. What right did they have to become obscenely rich and world famous? It was not as if their mother was the third cousin of a deposed king!

  Lady Charlotte comforted herself with the knowledge that while Isabella Winterbottom had all the money in the world, she did not have an invitation to the Summer Ball at Klidemarsh Castle . . . and she never would.

  ‘What is wrong with you?’ whispered Isabella, excusing herself from the table and pulling Hannah Spoon aside as Mrs Hammer and the serving maids filed out of the dining room to await the next course.

  ‘The necklace, miss,’ said Hannah, still unable to take her eyes off the duchess’s rare diamond, ‘it’s the most beautiful thing I ever saw in my life.’

  ‘Well snap out of it,’ hissed Isabella. ‘And stop staring at the duchess, it’s creeping her out!’ Isabella shot the duchess a smile which wasn’t returned and then she made matters worse by waving at her like she was setting sail on a long voyage. ‘I want that Summer Ball invitation,’ she growled to Hannah, ‘so stop drooling or you’ll be sleeping in the stables tonight!’

  When Isabella returned to the dining table the duchess was giving Adele and Rosemary a detailed history of her pink diamond. The jewel was given to her by a sheik on her twenty-first birthday and was considered the largest of its kind in the world.

  ‘Well, apart from the Lazarus Rock,’ said the duchess with a hint of regret. ‘That contains the largest diamond on record. Not that it should count. The Rock has been missing for over one hundred and fifty years.’

  The Lazarus Rock, thought Adele. Why does that name sound so familiar?

  ‘Duchess,’ she said softly, ‘do you know the origins of the Rock?’

  ‘It belonged to the people of Trangara,’ explained the duchess, wiping her small mouth with a napkin. ‘They worshipped it like a god and believed it was responsible for every good and bad thing that happened to them. The Rock vanished in the late eighteen hundreds – stolen. The tribe went into a blind rage when the thievery was discovered, murdering any foreigner within a hundred miles of the village. Legend has it that every year on the anniversary of the rampage their screams can be heard in the jungles of Trangara.’

  ‘What a revolting story,’ said Isabella with a giggle. Then, on account of the withering stares coming at her from Lady Charlotte and the duchess, she added, ‘And yet so fascinating. Jungle murders are a great interest of mine.’

  Rosemary snorted rather loudly and launched into a belly laugh which shook the table and seemed to frighten the guests. Adele, meanwhile, could not hide her growing curiosity with the duchess’s story.

  ‘How did they know it was a foreigner who stole the Rock?’

  ‘The Trangara people regarded the Rock as sacred,’ explained the duchess. ‘They dared not touch it for fear of suffering the wrath of their god. They knew only a foreigner would do so, propelled by greed. You see, many had tried to steal the Rock in the past and had met a very bloody end.’ The duchess looked around the grand oval dining room and set her gaze on a portrait of Captain Percy Bloom sitting atop a camel in the Sahara Desert. ‘There were very strong rumours that he was the thief. My grandfather had a great interest in the case and he told me there were whispers that Captain Bloom was in Trangara during the autumn of 1870. The very month the Rock went missing.’

  Adele’s mouth fell open. Of course! The Rock sounded familiar because she had read of it once in Captain Bloom’s journal. It had been nothing more than a passing reference, but still . . . and the Captain had been in Trangara before making the journey east to Budatta in search of the Panacea. It took every ounce of Adele’s willpower not to leap from her chair and race back to the library to re-read all of the jour
nal entries Captain Bloom made in Trangara. Could he really have stolen the world’s largest diamond?

  ‘If only Captain Bloom could float down from that portrait and tell us what really happened,’ said Aunt Rosemary with a chuckle.

  All this talk of stolen gemstones and tribal murder bored Lady Charlotte to tears. Her mother was always babbling on about such things and once she got started it was nearly impossible to shut her up. But tonight was not about her mother. No, tonight was all about making Isabella Winterbottom squirm.

  ‘The mystery lives on,’ the duchess said grandly, ‘because the Lazarus Rock was never –’

  ‘That is a lovely dress you are wearing, Adele,’ interrupted Lady Charlotte. ‘Wherever did you get it?’

  Adele, her mind still reeling with thoughts of Captain Bloom, did not hear the question at first. Then she looked down at the pale blue dress she was wearing and a little smile broke across her face.

  ‘It was a gift from my dad,’ she said softly. ‘He sent it from Paris when he was attending a book restoration conference there last spring.’ Adele’s father, Walter Fester, had been the one good thing in her life before she’d come to Sommerset. Her mother, you may recall, was a thoroughly deranged professor who, in a despicable attempt to make money, had accidentally created a breed of man-eating sparrows. And while Walter had become a regular visitor to Sommerset, Adele had not laid eyes on her mother in over a year. The ghastly woman refused to visit her daughter until the ‘ungrateful brat’ saw sense and handed control of her vast fortune over to her.

  ‘Book restoration is such important work,’ said the duchess sombrely. ‘To bring ancient books back to life is a fine pursuit! How lucky you are to have the Sommerset library for your own personal use.’

  Before Adele had a chance to respond Isabella butted in. ‘For the record,’ she announced, ‘I chose the dress for Adele.’ She smiled wildly at the duchess. ‘Uncle Walter hasn’t a clue about anything apart from smelly old books, so naturally he came to me for help. I have an eye for fashion, everybody says so.’ She sighed. ‘The press pays a great deal of attention to what I wear, so naturally I must have the very best. Which is why I get all my dresses from Paris.’