The Vulture of Sommerset

by Stephen M. Giles

  The choice is yours, children.

  Will she live or will she die?

  ‘Oh, mercy, I thought I was done for! Thank heavens for you dear children!’

  The children had brought Mrs Hammer down to the kitchen, where she sat wiping fresh streams of tears from her bruised cheeks and clutching at Hannah Spoon’s arm. The young maid looked mournfully at Sommerset’s head housekeeper and gently stroked the back of her hand.

  ‘Sommerset is a fortress,’ Hannah said bitterly, ‘yet this black-hearted fiend is able to come and go without being seen. How is that possible?’

  ‘Good question, Hannah,’ said Adele gravely.

  The cunning and slyness of the kidnapper was as baffling as it was chilling. It seemed he had found some way to move about the house by stealth, snatching one member of the household after another.

  ‘My nerves cannot take much more of this!’ announced Isabella, throwing down her napkin on the kitchen table. She had been stuffing her face with coconut cream pie when Mrs Hammer was first brought into the kitchen, shaking and sobbing uncontrollably. ‘My appetite is ruined. First Aunt Rosemary and now Mrs Hammer! Who will be next? Oh, how glad I am to have Thorn.’ She reached down, stroking the bridge of her crocodile’s broad snout. Thorn growled softly, his tail wrapping around the back of her chair. ‘If that lunatic tried to grab me he would find himself on the lunch menu! Father says the world would be a much safer place if everybody had a crocodile of their own, and of course he is right.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Milo darkly, refusing to even look at his cousin. (He was still hurt and angry at her outburst the day before.)

  ‘Isabella,’ said Adele quickly, ‘you are certain Uncle Nathanial knows nothing of Mrs Hammer’s ordeal?’

  Now that the kidnapper had named his ransom it was more important than ever to protect the secret of Aunt Rosemary’s kidnapping.

  ‘Of course I am certain,’ snapped Isabella. ‘Father is having his afternoon nap. The man could sleep through a hurricane.’

  ‘Mrs Hammer,’ said Milo gently, ‘could you please tell us exactly what happened?’

  The housekeeper nodded and squeezed Hannah’s hand for moral support. ‘I went to the pantry to fetch some flour and sugar; I was baking an apple pie for dessert. The light was already on in the pantry. I remember thinking that was strange. I was reaching for the sugar when everything went black. I thought the light must have blown out and then . . .’ Her eyes narrowed, her voice trembling. ‘And then I felt this horrible pain at the back of my head . . . Next thing I remember was waking up in the wardrobe, tied up like a rack of meat. Mercy, I thought I was done for!’

  Hannah rubbed Mrs Hammer’s back and Adele reached over and offered the housekeeper a fresh handkerchief.

  ‘Whoever did this is the devil’s own,’ sniffed Hannah. ‘A madman!’

  ‘Mad and inhumanly strong,’ observed Isabella. ‘After all, he managed to hoist Mrs Hammer into the air, which cannot have been easy.’ She smiled softly at the mangled housekeeper. ‘You were terribly brave, dear; most people your age would have died from the shock.’

  ‘Isabella!’ said Adele.

  ‘It was a compliment,’ said Isabella.

  When the kitchen door opened all eyes swept rapidly towards it.

  ‘At last,’ said Milo as Levi entered the kitchen. The butler had been out in the grounds discreetly questioning the guards and garden hands regarding the villainous kidnapper. ‘Any news, Levi?’

  ‘You will not be surprised to learn,’ said Levi, climbing onto a footstool and pouring himself a cup of coffee, ‘that nobody saw our kidnapper. It is as if we are dealing with a ghost.’

  ‘Maybe we are,’ said Adele softly. She was not even slightly surprised that the kidnapper had not been spotted entering the grounds – it was her firm belief that he had been in the house all along. She knew, however, that saying so would only upset Mrs Hammer and terrify the others.

  Levi carried his mug of coffee over to the table and observed the ransom note which lay upon its surface like a stain. The children had gone over every line countless times, studying each ornate letter, as if the kidnapper’s words might reveal the whereabouts of their aunt.

  ‘This statue, the Vulture of Sommerset,’ the butler said. ‘It must be of great importance to our kidnapper. He has proved he will do anything, hurt anyone, to get it.’

  ‘Vulture indeed,’ said Mrs Hammer with contempt. ‘I’ve worked in this house for nearly fifty years and I’ve never set eyes on any silver vulture. The man is a fool as well as a monster.’

  ‘Three days,’ said Milo gravely. ‘That’s no time at all.’

  ‘I will start in the library,’ said Adele, getting to her feet. ‘The ransom note says the statue has been at Sommerset for over a century; it’s possible that one of the Blooms knew something about it. I will check the records.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Milo. ‘I’ll start searching the attic – it is full of trunks and old chests that haven’t been opened in years. Perhaps the Vulture of Sommerset is there.’

  ‘And I shall take a bath,’ declared Isabella. ‘This afternoon’s events have given me a dreadful headache.’ Before her cousins could protest (and point out that she was the most self-centred creature who ever lived) she added, ‘And then I will take Father to the summerhouse for afternoon tea – that will allow you to search without arousing his suspicions.’

  The children departed, shooting off in different directions about the house, while Hannah Spoon helped the frail old housekeeper to her bedroom for a long rest. Adele was just starting to sift through a stack of letters belonging to Captain Bloom’s mother when Levi appeared on the library’s second-floor landing.

  ‘Miss Adele, I would like to ask you a favour,’ he announced, tucking his pocket watch back into his blue waistcoat.

  ‘Of course, Levi,’ said Adele. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I would like to make a little investigation of my own. I have, you might say, some suspicions. They are only new, like seedlings, but I would like to watch them and see what grows.’ Recognising the intrigue swelling in Adele’s eyes he held up a hand in protest. ‘Please do not ask any questions, Miss Adele. If I am wrong it could cause much pain to the innocent party. It is better to wait until I am sure.’

  ‘By all means Levi,’ said Adele, her heart galloping. ‘You suspect someone?’

  ‘I will let you know, miss,’ was all Levi would say in reply.

  The head butler bowed graciously then began his descent down the library’s narrow spiral staircase.

  ‘Levi,’ said Adele, springing up and leaning over the polished rail, ‘forgive me for prying, but you seem to know a great deal about . . . this sort of thing. Have you had any formal training?’

  The butler smiled softly. ‘I have, miss,’ he answered. ‘Prison was an excellent teacher.’

  With those words Levi left the girl with the wild red hair still leaning over the rail, her mouth agape.

  The night had long taken hold, wrapping the island in a cloak of darkness. Finally Sommerset House was at rest. On the third floor a figure was slipping down the hallway. He was dressed in black so that the night would cling to him, his hand tightly clutching the object concealed beneath his coat. He stopped at the landing, surveying the dense emptiness of the hall, and then began his descent down the grand staircase, his steps light and smooth. The silence thrilled him and the taste of victory was honey in his mouth. How easy it had been!

  Nathanial Winterbottom grinned and the whites of his teeth cut the darkness.

  DARK DEEDS

  Milo yawned, covering his mouth. He was crouched over an open trunk, rummaging through a collection of woolly blankets and old coats, the aroma of ancient mothballs wafting up and making him feel rather queasy. The attic’s long gallery of gabled windows were shuttered up, reducing the brilliant morning sun to a rusty haze. Milo held his breath and dug all the way to the bottom of the trunk, feeling around for the silver statu
e. He found only a small jar of old pennies and a thimble.

  When Milo stood up he took care to avoid hitting the oak beam directly above his head. He moved to the next trunk, and with little enthusiasm he unlatched the lid. Thousands of dust particles leaped up, churning in the pale light. Inside the trunk were several small paintings wrapped in cloth, a few dozen sketches on stiff parchment and an assortment of quills and dry ink bottles. Frustrated by another collection of useless junk, Milo looked at the dozens of trunks scattered around the attic and considered giving up. But how could he? The Vulture of Sommerset could be in the very next trunk he opened . . . or the one after that. Stifling another yawn, Milo moved on.

  ‘I admire your persistence, child.’

  The voice was cold and raced up Milo’s spine like a thread of ice.

  ‘Go away,’ said Milo sharply. He could not bring himself to turn around and face the ghost who had come to haunt him. ‘You are not real.’

  Silas Winterbottom gave a soft sigh. ‘Must we do this again?’

  Milo felt as if he was drowning. How could his uncle be here when he was wide awake? Nightmares did not happen when you were awake!

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Silas dismissively. ‘The real nightmares always happen when you are awake. You of all people should know that.’

  The boy wanted to scream but he felt powerless, as if Silas would snatch his cry and bury it. How did his uncle know what he was thinking?

  ‘Look behind you, child,’ instructed Silas calmly. ‘I am certain it will ease your mind.’

  Cautiously Milo turned around. The air seemed to catch in his throat as he glimpsed the ghastly figure standing at the far end of the attic, his face glowing like moonlight. The ghost lifted a bony finger and pointed at the floor beneath Milo’s feet.

  ‘Observe.’

  Milo looked down and a gasp rushed from his lips – he was looking at himself! There he was, curled up beside the paintings and sketches from the trunk, fast asleep.

  ‘You sleep peacefully for such a troubled soul,’ said Silas gently. ‘I am not surprised that you surrendered to exhaustion. After all, you and your cousins have been rather overworked of late . . . searching for dear Rosemary.’

  ‘You know about that?’

  ‘I know many things, child. For instance, I am aware of the very large secret you are keeping. I know how much it weighs on your mind.’ Watching the terror seep into his nephew’s eyes seemed to delight the old man, and a thin smile curved his white lips. ‘Don’t worry, child, the dead tell no tales.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Then allow me to enlighten you,’ said Silas playfully. ‘For some months now you have locked yourself away in my study, putting together a most intriguing plan. It has thrilled me to observe how skilled you are at espionage. Calling on the services of my old friend Crabb was a master stroke. He is an oaf but he knows how to follow orders and he gets the job done . . . no matter the cost.’

  The shame coloured Milo’s pale cheeks a brilliant red. His uncle knew everything.

  ‘What has impressed me most,’ continued Silas, looking carefully at the boy, ‘is how skilfully you have kept Isabella and Adele in the dark. They have no idea what you are up to. Not a clue.’

  Silas was suddenly closer than before, mere centimetres from Milo. He placed his rakish hand on the boy’s shoulder and a flood of searing heat bubbled under Milo’s skin.

  ‘Your heart is growing hard, child, and that is a good thing. Do not be distracted from your goal . . . do what you must, be ruthless . . . and if anyone, anyone at all, stands between you and what you want – crush them.’

  ‘No!’ shouted Milo, shuddering from the pain in his shoulder but unable to pull away. ‘I am not like you and I never will be! I don’t want to hurt people or crush them.’

  ‘Ah, but you will,’ declared the ghost, his voice crackling. ‘What Crabb is doing for you could bring untold grief to the people you love the most, especially your grandfather. The shock alone might kill him. You know this very well, child, yet it does not stop you.’

  There was no point arguing; Milo realised that. After all, it was all true. Every word.

  ‘I have to do this,’ whispered the boy. ‘I have to know for sure.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ said Silas, lifting his hand from the boy’s shoulder. ‘Be proud of your courage, Milo; from the very beginning you have allowed nothing to get in the way of your plan; nothing and no-one. That is the truth, is it not?’

  Milo nodded, his head bowed. ‘Yes.’

  And the uncle, long dead, could not hide his delight. The boy would soon be his.

  Even with the blood-red shawl wrapped around her shoulders, Adele could still feel the chilled breath of dawn on the back of her neck. She knelt before the library’s massive marble fireplace, surrounded by a sea of papers arranged in untidy bundles, and warmed her hands. How long had she been awake? It felt like forever that she’d been combing through the documents, notes, letters and diaries of the Bloom family for any mention of the Vulture. No luck so far.

  ‘Aunt Rosemary, where are you?’ she whispered, her voice fading quickly in the vaulted cathedral of the library. She thought of Theodore Bloom’s note, concealed between two pages in Dr Mangrove’s book, and the words fell from her lips. ‘The Lost dwell in the Forgotten Room . . . can thee find the door?’

  It was no use. She had racked her brain trying to conjure an answer to the forgotten room. She had thought and considered and wondered and worried until her mind seemed to blister. Every thought she summoned sent a sharp ache through her skull. It hurt to think.

  Now the journal of Captain Bloom rested carefully in her hands, and her eyes slowly travelled over the artful lettering. How she longed to get lost in his adventures once more – they seemed to call to her, offering relief from kidnapped aunts, impossible ransom demands and phantom rooms. Was it so wrong to seek escape from her misery? Surely it was not such a terrible crime. After all, she would not stay long; just a few pages, perhaps three or four . . . hardly any time at all. Besides, who knew what she might learn along the way?

  With that promise in mind she turned the page.

  4 February, 1871

  Rumours have reached Sommerset that I am a jewel thief! Father asked me to swear that I did not steal the Lazarus Rock from its sacred site at Trangara. Without hesitating I gave him my word. How the heavens shall curse me! But what choice did I have? Father has restricted my allowance. Without the Rock I would not be able to raise the funds necessary to pursue Dr Mangrove’s work on the Panacea. Until the shadow of suspicion falls from me I shall keep the Lazarus Rock with the map of the Valley of Brume safely out of reach where none but I can find them!

  Were that not enough to torment me, Father has it in mind that Dr Mangrove is doing the devil’s work. He has forbidden the good doctor from setting foot on Sommerset and he is not for turning. Old Mangrove, the devil? Such folly! He is a true man of science using his genius to extend life – what evil can dwell in such a noble pursuit? I shudder to think what Father would do if he knew that MM was already his guest at Sommerset. How blessed I am to have the secret room! I have assured MM that as long as he stays within its walls he is as invisible as heaven itself – unseen and unheard.

  ‘I knew it!’ declared Adele triumphantly.

  Captain Bloom stole the Lazarus Rock! Not only that, he smuggled Dr Mangrove onto the island and hid him away in a secret room. Any remaining doubts Adele had about Aunt Rosemary still being in Sommerset House perished in the lines of that journal entry. And yet, being right did little to dull the terror which rose around her like a mist. If Dr Mangrove had been in the forgotten room, then he was the only person alive who knew its exact location. The enormity of that thought struck her like a punch to the stomach.

  Could it be? Had Dr Mangrove returned to Sommerset seeking revenge? No! She would not even think it!

  Hungry to learn more, Adele returned to the journal. She follow
ed Captain Bloom’s first weeks back at Sommerset, struck by how utterly boring it all was – there was a great deal of chatter about home-cooked meals and shooting parties but hardly any mention of Dr Mangrove or the secret room.

  That all changed in the last days of February 1871.

  24 February, 1871

  At last the detectives have gone! For days they have searched Sommerset House looking for the Lazarus Rock. Their efforts were in vain, of course; the Rock is too well hidden. But a dark cloud has descended over the Bloom family name and it is all my doing! Worse yet, MM grows ever hungrier for the map. He claims it is his right to know the location of the Panacea. He rages that we do not have enough of the Panacea to conduct the experiments he has designed. He calls me a fool for protecting the location of the Valley of Brume. Something is happening to my old friend; something diabolical. MM has begun to crush the miraculous plant and take it as medicine! The lines around his face have vanished and his eyes sparkle like an infant’s. The Panacea has halted the aging process! Now MM frets that the supply will only last him a century. Only a century! He toils day and night, studying the properties of the Panacea. He is using a small portion of the extract to develop a seed – from it will come a rose like no other, he tells me, which shall rise from the ground like a phoenix – and he speaks endlessly of a chamber from which souls shall be free to jump from one body to another. There is such fury in his eyes if I dare to question what he is doing. In truth, my old friend has begun to scare me.

  26 February, 1871

  MM has discovered the location of the map and the Lazarus Rock! He searched every inch of the room and found the markings on the floor. This set his curiosity afire and he pressed me with questions about the key, but I remained as silent as the grave. Later I caught him attempting to breach the entrance with an axe. It was a most useless exercise – the safe is impenetrable without the Vulture – but MM’s failure provoked a great rage – he came at me with a sword, roaring like a lion! The axe was mere inches from my head before MM came to his senses! It is clear to me that he has lost his mind. I must get him away from Sommerset. But how?