‘You said that Dr Mangrove couldn’t be in two places at once,’ said Adele, keeping her voice low, ‘and you were right.’
‘Well, of course I was, Cousin,’ said Isabella tartly. ‘Mangrove is a big fat wizard!’
‘No,’ said Milo trying hard not to laugh, ‘we don’t mean that.’
Isabella frowned. ‘Well what do you mean?’
‘Dr Mangrove isn’t working alone,’ whispered Adele. ‘All this time we’ve been looking for one kidnapper when in fact there are two.’
‘Two kidnappers?’ cried Isabella, her voice fleeing the confines of their huddle and travelling to the four corners of the vaulted library.
‘Keep it down!’ hissed Milo.
‘I hardly raised my voice, you silly boy!’ snapped Isabella, folding her arms.
‘When you think about it, Dr Mangrove needed an accomplice,’ said Adele, her sharp mind weaving this new discovery into the tapestry of clues she had already spun about the kidnapping. ‘Someone who could move freely about the house without attracting any unwanted attention.’
Milo nodded gloomily. ‘I hate to admit it, but it’s a brilliant idea.’
‘Move about freely?’ said Isabella, her enthusiasm suddenly consumed by something far more sinister. ‘But how could Dr Mangrove’s accomplice move about freely? Surely someone would notice a stranger?’ She gasped as the answer bloomed in her mind. ‘You don’t mean . . . ?’
‘I’m afraid we do,’ said Milo with certainty. ‘There are over fifty people living and working at Sommerset House – footmen, under-butlers, maids . . . all kinds of people. Who better to do Mangrove’s dirty work than one of them?’
Adele took a deep breath. ‘Which only leaves one question.’
‘Yes,’ whispered Milo, for he had been wondering the same thing. ‘Who is the traitor among us?’
As the children huddled beneath the landing and considered the terrifying possibilities, they were unaware that Dr Mangrove’s accomplice, the traitor of whom they whispered, hovered only two floors above them, crouched behind Adele’s work desk, listening carefully. The villain crept silently towards the crowded desk, which had a breathtaking view of the cavernous library, and began to push a pile of heavy books towards the edge of the banister. There were four large atlases, a thick reference book on healing plants and a complete history of Budatta entitled Savage Land. With some urgency the steady hands sent the collection over the edge. They dropped, falling with the velocity of large rocks. A mad grin pulled across the traitor’s face. As long as the Winterbottoms did not move, it would be a direct hit.
Adele saw something flicker above her; a shadow . . . a moth. Something. She looked up; the books were plummeting just centimetres above. Throwing her arms out, she pushed her cousins away just as the missiles struck – four of the heavy volumes pounded her skull while the fifth, Savage Land, hit an armchair and bounced, landing on Thorn’s tail. The beast reared up, roaring wildly.
It was over in the blink of an eye. Adele plunged to the ground, flattened like an insect under a boot. Milo and Isabella scrambled to her side, pushing the books from her head. The blood forged a river down her freckled face, matting the frizzy red hair to her skin.
The cousins shook her and called her name, begging her to wake up.
But she did not.
WOUNDED
‘Why doesn’t she open her eyes?’
Isabella was whispering as she paced anxiously in the corner of Adele’s bedroom, crossing and uncrossing her arms and trying very hard not to think of death. Her cousin’s limp body lay on the bed but only her blue sneakers were visible, surrounded as she was by Dr Lashmore, two nurses, Mrs Hammer (who was filling a bowl with warm water to clean the wounds) and Hannah Spoon.
‘She was hit very hard, Isabella,’ said Milo softly. ‘Just let the doctor do his job.’
Milo stood with his back to the window, staring at the crowd gathered around Adele. His eyes swept from the bed to the clock above the fireplace, stealing quick glances at the time. The boy was running very late.
‘Oh, if I ever get my hands on that traitor!’ hissed Isabella.
There was no doubt in the girl’s mind that the avalanche of books which had rained down on them was the work of Dr Mangrove’s accomplice, and Milo agreed with her wholeheartedly. The timing alone was proof.
‘Why, Cousin,’ moaned Isabella, looking bleakly at Milo, ‘why did you let that monster escape?’
Milo said nothing. He felt awful enough without Isabella adding to his guilt. The boy had been so focused on Adele’s injuries that by the time help arrived and his thoughts turned to the traitor, the villain was long gone. Milo had bolted upstairs, charging down the narrow book-filled corridors with murder in his heart. He wanted to choke the assassin with his bare hands for what he had done to Adele! He checked every inch of the library’s first and second floors and found no sign of the traitor.
‘It just makes my blood boil,’ fumed Isabella, ‘to think that someone who works in our house did this to Adele!’ She huffed. ‘Servants are a devious bunch. We should flog them all until someone confesses!’
‘Isabella!’ Milo frowned at his cousin and pulled her close. ‘We agreed not to say anything about the traitor, remember? It must stay between us. For now, anyway.’
‘Fine,’ said Isabella with a groan. She hopped up on the yellow windowsill. ‘You know, Cousin, I’ve been thinking it over,’ she whispered, ‘and I believe Dr Mangrove’s accomplice is that mad cow from the laundry – you know, the one with the hairy chin.’
‘Mrs Drysdale?’
‘That’s her,’ said Isabella accusingly. ‘She has the sneakiest eyes I’ve ever seen!’
‘Mrs Drysdale retired six months ago. She went back to New Zealand to live with her daughter.’ Milo looked at his cousin sternly. ‘You shouldn’t make accusations without proof, Isabella. It’s not fair.’
Milo stole another glance at the clock. A wave of panic gripped his chest. Twenty minutes. He was twenty minutes late.
‘Oh, Cousin, must you always pick on me?’ said Isabella mournfully. ‘I am half-mad with worry about our cousin and Aunt Rosemary –’ She stopped. ‘Cousin, why do you keep checking the time?’
‘I don’t,’ said Milo quickly.
‘You do. If you’re not looking at Adele, you’re looking at the clock.’ Isabella tilted her head and studied her cousin’s face. ‘Are you late for something, Cousin?’
Milo shook his head. ‘I . . . no, of course not.’ He shrugged. ‘I was just checking the time. That’s not a crime, is it?’
‘Well that all depends, Cousin.’
Across the room Mrs Hammer was in a flap. ‘Get some extra blankets from the second-floor cupboard, Hannah,’ she said, her voice rising above the quiet chatter of Dr Lashmore and the nurses.
‘Yes, Mrs Hammer,’ said the maid.
Then the old housekeeper strode across the bedchamber and pushed a glass of water at each of the children. ‘You must keep your fluids up,’ she said, her lumpy face brimming with sympathy and firmness. ‘Fluids are very important in a crisis. No arguing about it.’
‘How is Adele?’ said Milo anxiously, taking the glass. ‘What’s happening?’
‘The doctor says it’s too early to say for sure,’ Mrs Hammer informed them.
‘She will be all right?’ asked Isabella. ‘The doctor can fix her, surely?’
Mrs Hammer’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘Oh, mercy, I’m praying he can. How could such a thing happen? I was always telling Miss Adele to clear some of those books off her desk – piled three metres high they were.’
‘They must have toppled over,’ said Milo softly, unable to look up as he lied.
Mrs Hammer nodded. ‘Such a terrible accident!’ She wiped her tears with the hem of her apron. ‘I must hurry – Dr Lashmore wants some warm towels and a fresh pot of water.’
As Mrs Hammer scurried from the room, Isabella got down from the windowsill and walked cautiously to the bed
. She peered over the shoulder of Dr Lashmore, a short man with a soft grey beard and pot belly, and caught a glimpse of Adele. It was shocking to see her cousin in such a state – eyes shut, mouth ajar, her skin a pale grey. A bandage was fixed to the wound on her head but the blood had already soaked through. It was horrible! Isabella backed away from the bed, trying very hard to be strong. Adele had saved them – both she and Milo – pushing them out of the way and taking the full force of the plummeting books. She was brave. Probably the bravest girl Isabella had ever known. And had she been a good cousin in return? The question caused a tightening in her chest – for the answer was not the one she had hoped to find.
‘She must get better,’ whispered Isabella. ‘She will, won’t she, Cousin? Cousin?’
The tears fell now as she turned to seek some reassurance from Milo. But all she found was a glass of water sitting on the windowsill, rippling gently.
‘Sorry, Crabb. Yes, I know I’m late. There was an emergency and I couldn’t get away.’ Milo pushed the telephone closer to his ear. ‘No, nothing for you to worry about. Look, I don’t have much time – tell me everything.’
Silas Winterbottom’s study overlooked a private garden filled with his favourite blood-red roses. They were bathed in a brilliant afternoon light which stretched over the flowerbeds and into the wood-panelled room, filling it with a smoky glow. The boy listened intently, his eyes locked on the dark wood panels along the far wall – not that he was really looking. Milo only saw the picture that Crabb’s words were painting in his mind.
‘Yes, I’m still here. You’re certain, Crabb, you’re certain there is no mistake?’ He paused, heart pounding. ‘I still won’t believe it until I see it with my own eyes. Tell me, Crabb . . . how bad is it? But surely there is something that can be done?’ He nodded sadly. ‘I see. Yes, of course I want to continue! I’ve made all the arrangements for tonight; the cottage is stocked and the chains have been secured in the upstairs bedroom. You can cross any time after midnight; the night guard has been well paid to float the bridge and look the other way. I will come when it is safe. Goodbye, Crabb . . . and thank you.’
Milo replaced the receiver and stood up. Immediately it felt as if a whirlwind had been unleashed inside his head. The room was spinning rapidly and the boy reached out, grabbing the desk. He closed his eyes and waited for the storm to pass.
What have I done? The thought began to rise inside him but Milo pulled it back, burying it under a very short list of reasons why it had to be done. In fact, there was only one reason and it was this – Milo would not have been able to live with himself had he not acted. He had to know for sure, and no matter how bad things were, he would find a way to fix them. He had to.
It took several minutes for Milo’s head to clear and his legs to steady. Time, however, pushed him forward – he had been away from Adele’s bedroom too long and Isabella was already suspicious enough. Milo crossed the study quickly and opened the door.
‘How dare you!’
Isabella glared at her cousin from the dim corridor.
‘Isabella . . . hi.’
‘Hi indeed!’ she bellowed, each word bursting with moral outrage. ‘In case you have forgotten, Cousin, Adele is upstairs fighting for her life. And here you are hiding away in Uncle Silas’s study!’ She looked past Milo, eyeing the room with suspicion. ‘What on earth do you do in there anyway? It is perfectly unnatural for a boy to spend so much time with the door closed!’
‘Actually,’ said Milo, quickly reaching back and closing the door behind him, ‘I was just talking to the maestro. The Wrinkly Symphony played in Madrid last night and I wanted to find out how the concert went.’
Isabella regarded him doubtfully. ‘And it couldn’t wait until our cousin regained consciousness? I thought orphans were meant to be kind, sensitive little creatures.’
‘Only in books,’ said Milo.
‘Cousin, this isn’t funny,’ snapped Isabella. ‘For months now you have been terribly secretive and I demand to know what you are up to.’
‘I told you,’ said Milo, ‘I was talking to the maestro.’ He folded his arms. ‘Besides, not everything I do is your business, Isabella.’
‘Well, of course it is,’ said Isabella with a huff. ‘I am your cousin and it is perfectly reasonable that I should know everything about you – including your secrets. So open your mouth and spit it out.’
When Isabella saw the stubborn frown etched across her cousin’s face she knew it was a lost battle. Nobody did silence better than Milo Winterbottom. Determined to get to the bottom of the boy’s secret, Isabella decided on a change of tactics. If browbeating didn’t work, she would try a little sugar.
Milo was heading upstairs to check on Adele when he was suddenly yanked back. Before he was fully aware of it, he found himself in the uncomfortable embrace of Isabella, who proceeded to show her deep affection for Milo by shaking the boy like a maraca.
‘Oh, Cousin,’ she purred, ‘do not be afraid. No matter what ghastly thing you are trying to hide I want you to know that I shall never desert you. Everybody says that I am a deeply sympathetic girl. So when you feel ready to confess I am here to listen – without judgement. Remember, a problem shared is a problem halved.’ She pulled back, still clenching the boy’s shoulders, and looked into the cool of his big green eyes. ‘Cousin, you aren’t up to anything monstrous, are you – like killing servants and burying them in the garden?’
Milo smiled at her darkly. ‘Not today.’
Isabella gasped, dropping her hands and lurching away from Milo as if he might be toxic. She smiled stiffly. ‘But of course you are just teasing.’ She giggled unconvincingly. ‘What a curious little orphan you are.’
Milo tried his very best not to laugh. He liked the idea that Isabella thought he was a serial killer. In fact, he might have confessed to burying a few butlers in the rose garden if Hannah Spoon hadn’t come charging around the corner, skidding to a stop in front of them.
‘What is it, Hannah?’ said Isabella, rather relieved to see the maid.
‘It’s Miss Adele,’ she announced, huffing and puffing like a chihuahua after a long walk. ‘She’s awake!’
When the children reached their cousin she was surrounded by a collection of anxious-looking adults – nurses, chambermaids, Mrs Hammer, not to mention the big-bellied doctor, who was listening intently to her heart.
‘Well, miss,’ he said, pulling the stethoscope from his ears, ‘you’ve had a nasty hit to the head but there doesn’t appear to be any permanent damage. I would advise complete bed rest for the next few days.’
Milo and Isabella managed to squeeze through the crowd and find a place by Adele’s side. Milo was shocked by his cousin’s appearance. There were cuts and bruising on her right cheek and temple, and a bandage covered the large wound on her forehead which he knew had needed seven stitches.
‘Oh, Cousin, what a relief!’ Isabella sat down on the bed and examined her cousin’s head. ‘Your face is a train wreck, dear.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ said Milo, casting a frown towards Isabella.
‘Well, of course it is,’ snapped Isabella. ‘The poor girl’s just been pummelled in the head.’
Adele managed a weak smile and tried unsuccessfully to cover the wound on her head with a clump of her frizzy red hair (which refused to cooperate and sprang right back above her head). ‘Thanks, Milo, but I’ve already seen myself in the mirror. It does look pretty awful.’
‘Are you in a lot of pain?’ said Milo.
‘Hardly any,’ she replied (even though it hurt a great deal).
‘A concussion is no small thing,’ said Mrs Hammer, adding an extra blanket to Adele’s bed, ‘no small thing at all. Mercy, will you look at that! You’ve barely touched the milk and cinnamon toast I brought up. You must eat, miss!’
Only when Adele promised to eat all of the toast and drink the entire glass of milk did Mrs Hammer leave the bedchamber, threatening as she went to return with a slice of apple pi
e and a cup of tea.
The children engaged in a great deal of small talk while the room emptied of well-meaning adults, until finally only Dr Lashmore remained. The doctor was packing his things away when Thorn wandered into the room in a foul mood. The crocodile was still brooding over his injured tail, and when he saw Adele lying in bed all battered and bruised he let out a menacing growl which thoroughly spooked the poor doctor.
‘What is that?’ he yelped, cowering behind an armchair.
‘That is Thorn,’ said Isabella brightly. (She felt like a proud mother whenever someone paid attention to her beloved reptile.) ‘He is a crocodile.’
But of course Dr Lashmore already knew that – which is why he was trembling like a duck in a snowstorm. You see, the doctor was deeply afraid of any animal big enough to eat him and his look of terror did not improve when Thorn proceeded to leap up onto the bed and nudge Adele’s hand with his prehistoric snout. Even more stupefying, the girl actually began to stroke the mammoth reptile on its scaly head and reassure the savage predator that she was going to be all right! The doctor began to sweat like a leaking tap. Why wasn’t anyone running for their lives?
‘I guess Thorn was worried about you too,’ said Milo, happy to see Adele smiling as she tickled Thorn’s head.
‘One of those awful books hit him right on the tail,’ said Isabella, reaching down and scratching the crocodile under his hard jaw. Thorn released a soft growl, tilting his long head up towards his mistress so that she might extend the journey of her fingers down his neck. ‘I can tell from the look in his eyes that he is in pain. Doctor, you simply must take a look at Thorn’s tail while you are here – the poor dear is in agony.’
None of the children had ever seen a doctor run screaming from the room before (usually they were such calm creatures) so it was something of a surprise when Dr Lashmore snatched up his medical bag, leaped over the armchair and bolted for the door without even saying goodbye.
The Vulture of Sommerset Page 12
