Stella had a page of sums to complete, a list of Latin words to learn and a diagram of a spider orchid to copy into her notebook. She had learned the Latin as well as she could and was about halfway through the sums when Anya shot out from Hortense’s hair, twisting and jumping sideways and chittering. They heard piercing whistling outside, and Jem looked around the doorway.
He said, ‘Granny ain’t here, is she? She’ll clobber me if she sees me,’ and came in, dripping with rain. He put down the basket of bread and the can of milk. Anya dashed out at him, fur bristling. Jem laughed. ‘She’s right savage, ain’t she? Look what I got her.’ He took a piece of sausage from the pocket of his oilskin coat and held it out gingerly. Anya seized it and darted away. Jem grinned at her and rubbed his fingers together. ‘G’afternoon, Master Strideforth, Miss Hortense, Miss Stella.’
Strideforth said, ‘We saw a big foreign fish in the lake this morning.’
Jem grinned once more. ‘I heard you’d got all wet through. Granny was carrying on something dreadful about it. She’s right cross with you, she is.’ He laughed and rummaged in his pocket again, pulling out a piece of paper. ‘But look at this. The dentist’s come. Mr Flint. He pulled out Granny’s tooth, just like he was cracking a nut. I seen it.’ He flattened the paper on the table. It was a printed notice.
Jethro Flint
Dentist
Odditorium and Menagerie
Wax Statues of Noted Personages
Magic Lantern
Remarkable Curiosities!
Admission 1s, Children 6d.
Jem said, ‘He’s put up his tent on the green. I want to go in, but I ain’t got a tanner. And Granny says she ain’t wasting good money on nonsense. So I’ve just been watching people go in and out. Seb Gromwell went in. He says there’s all sorts in there. He says the waxworks were right creepy and gave him the shivers. He says there’s a live chicken with two heads and a real mermaid.’
‘There’s no such thing as mermaids,’ said Strideforth.
Jem shrugged. ‘Seb saw it. He says it’s black and wrinkled, just lying there in a box. He says there’s a ’Gyptian mummy too, which is a kind of dead foreign thing, wrapped up. Seb says the magic lantern’s of a fire and a train wreck. He says it was right scary and some of the girls screamed. I’d like to see that, I would.’ He sighed wistfully.
Strideforth said, ‘I would too. I’ve never seen a magic lantern.’
Jem lowered his voice. ‘Mr Flint gave old Mrs Crowfoot half a crown for a stone she found in her garden, what looks just like a toad. He says it’s a curiosity and people will pay money to gawp at it. And he bought that huge great egg Mrs Thorn’s goose laid, for a shilling. So now Tom Pintucket and them want to catch the monster. Mr Flint heard talk about it, that’s why he come. He says he’ll give them a sovereign for it, or even more, if they catch it or lead him to it. Depending.’
‘A sovereign!’ said Strideforth.
‘So he says. They went after it last night. I wanted to go too, but Granny wouldn’t let me. They din’t catch it, though. They din’t even see it. Tom says they saw something pale flittin’ along the road, and they chased it into Boggart Wood, but they were too frit to go in after it. Granny says it was likely just a hare.’ Jem shrugged again. ‘If I got a sovereign, I’d go in the dentist’s tent and see everything in there. And I’d get a toffee apple and an oyster pie, and a strawberry ice and a pair of white mice, and a whole pound of peppermints and a slingshot, I would. And I’d go and see the circus in Brockley. It comes in the summer, and I ain’t never been. There are jugglers and clowns and all. And an elephant. Tom Pintucket says his cousin knows someone what saw it last time. Cobbin’ great thing, he says. Big as a barn, with a hosepipe right there on his face.’ Jem waved his arm around in front of his nose. ‘Drank up thirteen bottles of porter, he did. And ate three dozen penny buns. Ate ’em right up, just like that. Tom’s cousin’s friend saw it. It cost a shilling to see him. If I had a sovereign, I’d go all the way to Brockley on the train next summer and see the elephant ten times over.’
He sighed again. ‘Anyway, I’m off afore Granny catches me. I’m meant to be picking slugs off the Brussels sprouts. G’afternoon, Master Strideforth, Miss Stella, Miss Hortense.’ He put the loaf of bread on the table, picked up his basket and hurried away. His boots clattered on the flagstones outside.
Stella jumped up and followed him out into the rain. ‘Jem, did you ask your grandmother about the lady who stayed here?’
Jem turned around and said awkwardly, ‘Well, I asked her, Miss Stella. And she gave me a clip around the head.’
‘Oh, I am sorry,’ said Stella.
Jem rubbed his ear and grinned.
‘Did she say anything at all?’ she asked.
Jem hesitated, then said, ‘Well, she did say it’s pure foolishness having children here, after what happened, and the house’d be far better left empty. And when I asked her what she meant by that, she gave me another clout and said I was as much use as a mole in the marmalade and to keep my nose out and my mouth shut, and come straight here and straight back, and don’t linger about, gossiping. That’s what she said.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Stella again.
Jem grinned and shrugged, and went away around the side of the house, whistling.
Stella stood in the rain for a moment, thinking. She remembered what Ada had said at the railway station. She looked up at Wormwood Mire. It made a jagged shape against the dark rain clouds. What had happened here, all those years ago?
In the kitchen, Strideforth was reading the notice. ‘Odditorium and Menagerie. I’d like to see this, wouldn’t you? We need sixpence each, though. Father gave us a half-sovereign, but we spent most of it in London. We don’t have much left.’ He rummaged in his pockets, bringing out his pocketknife, a stub of a candle, a box of matches, a pencil, a curly piece of rusty wire, a ball of twine, some nails and screws and lumps of sealing wax and several little coins. He counted them. ‘A groat, a penny, a ha’penny and two farthings. This is only enough for one ticket.’
‘I’ve got a shilling,’ said Stella. ‘I was going to buy sweets.’
‘That’s enough for two more tickets. Will we go if Miss Araminter says we may? It will be very interesting, that is certain.’
Stella remembered another annoying story from A Garden of Lilies. Quentin watched a Punch and Judy show and later died of brain fever brought on by the excitement.
Misfortune always comes to those
Who go to fairs and puppet shows.
She frowned, nodded firmly and said, ‘Yes, let’s.’
Fourteen
Miss Araminter said they might walk into the village. She reminded Stella to post the letter to the Aunts, saying, ‘They will be anxious to hear of your safe arrival, my dear,’ which Stella thought rather unlikely. They put on their coats and hats. Strideforth wound his long scarf around and around his neck. Anya perched on top of Hortense’s hat, like an elegant decoration. They left Henry behind in the kitchen with two tins of sardines, and they could hear his angry screams as they pulled on their boots in the yard.
‘Last time he came with us to the village, he was very bad,’ said Strideforth. Hortense frowned at him, and he said, ‘Oh, you know he was, Hortense. He was very, very bad. He was enraged by the feathers on that lady’s hat, so he snatched it right off her head and flew up to the top of the church tower and tore it to bits. Miss Araminter says now when we go to the village, he must stay at home.’
Stella giggled, and Hortense gave a reluctant smile.
Mr Burdock appeared with a wheelbarrow of coal.
‘Good afternoon,’ said Strideforth. Mr Burdock grunted something, trundled the wheelbarrow across the yard and poured the coal down the chute that led to the furnace.
Stella pushed her foot into her boot and felt a scratch. ‘Ouch!’ She turned the boot upside down and shook it. A little thorn fell out. It was black and curved and very sharp. She flicked it away, took off her stocking
and looked at her foot. There was a scratch and a bead of blood, no bigger than the head of a pin. She wiped it away, pulled her stocking back on, put on her boot and laced it up.
Strideforth said, ‘Are you ready? Let’s go.’
They followed the drive around to the front of the house.
‘Which is the nursery?’ Stella asked Strideforth.
He pointed. ‘That window there, at the end.’
Stella walked backwards up the drive, looking at the window of the nursery. She thought of her mother crying in the rocking chair, watching and waiting. ‘It’s so strange to think of her here. Who was she waiting for? And what was she doing, at night, down in the summerhouse by the lake? I think she was going to meet someone.’
‘It’s very strange, really,’ said Strideforth.
‘And nobody will tell me anything. My Aunts would never answer my questions. Mrs Burdock wouldn’t say, and Jem asked her, and she wouldn’t tell him either. But I think she knows something.’
‘What happened, do you think?’ asked Strideforth.
‘Something dreadful.’ Stella gazed up at the window. ‘But even so, I do want to know.’
‘You remembered some things,’ said Strideforth. ‘Perhaps you will remember more, if you try.’
Mrs Burdock was hanging up washing outside the gatehouse, frowning at Jem, who was crouched nearby in the little vegetable garden, weeding diligently. He looked up and grinned at them, but did not stop work.
Mrs Burdock said, ‘Off to the village, are you?’ She stomped off into the gatehouse and came back with a large key. She unlocked the huge, curly iron gate and pulled it open. ‘Stay on the road. And mind you’re back before dark.’
The gate creaked and clanged as Mrs Burdock shut it behind them and turned the key in the lock. They walked along a muddy lane, winding between high banks and overgrown hedgerows. An icy wind blew across the fields and Stella pushed her hands into the pockets of her coat.
‘That is Boggart Wood,’ said Strideforth, as they crossed a bridge. He pointed down the hill towards a dense tangle of trees, a dark shape in the valley below. They went on, past scattered farms and clumps of wintry trees and swampy thickets and sheep. A flock of jackdaws croaked and tumbled in the blustery wind. A grey horse stood looking over a hedge. Hortense stopped and patted its nose and whispered something into its ear.
‘There’s the church,’ said Strideforth. ‘You can see the tower above the trees.’
As they reached the edge of the village, they could hear clanking, wheezing music playing. They walked down the street. A small, shabby circus tent stood on the muddy grass beside the inn. Strings of wet flags flapped in the breeze. Stella posted her letter in the pillar box outside the post office. She stopped and looked down the alleyway towards the sweetshop. Something pale flickered in the window.
‘Come on,’ said Strideforth.
Stella hesitated for a second, then followed Strideforth and Hortense across the green to join the crowd that had gathered outside the tent.
A gangling youth with a gormless expression and a number of missing teeth was turning the handle of the barrel organ. Women carrying baskets and bundles were standing around, gossiping, and a group of young men was lounging against the wall of the inn. Shopkeepers stood on their steps, arms folded. Children were running and laughing and shouting.
Above the entrance to the tent was a peeling sign, painted red and gold. On one side was a picture of a fat mermaid with a long, gleaming tail. She was holding a mirror and simpering at her reflection. On the other side was a two-headed rooster. Both of its heads were crowing. Between the pictures was written, in fancy gold letters:
Jethro Flint
Dentist
Odditorium and Menagerie
Suddenly, the flap of painted canvas at the entrance to the tent was flung back, and a man emerged. ‘Step up, step up,’ he said with a bow. He was small and wiry, not much taller than Stella herself, and he wore a tall hat and a velvet tailcoat, decorated with tarnished sequins and gilt thread. His eyes were wide-set and as green as gooseberries. A jagged row of extracted teeth was sewn around his hatband. His gaze darted around the crowd, alert and watchful. ‘Jethro Flint, dentist. A toothache? A niggle? A little gripe? Fix you right up. Quick as a winking. Gone before you know it. No time to yell. You’ll be chomping up bones and gristle this very night, just like a lord.’
A laughing group pushed a reluctant young man forward. His face was pale and his cheek was swollen.
‘Step up. This way, cully, this way.’ Mr Flint placed a wooden chair on the grass in front of the tent and shoved the pale young man into it. He tilted the man’s head back. ‘Now, open your potato trap, and let’s get a look at these here dinner manglers.’ He pulled the man’s mouth open and prodded around inside with his fingers. ‘This one? Yes? This one here?’
The man made a muffled reply.
‘Half a crown, cully.’
The man handed him a coin. Mr Flint took it, bit it and put it in his pocket. He produced a tool that looked rather like a long pair of pliers. He called to the youth at the barrel organ, ‘Give it some pepper, lad.’ The youth’s vacant expression did not change, but he turned the handle faster and the music jolted along more quickly.
The crowd murmured and moved closer. People jostled one another and stood on tiptoe to see.
Again, Mr Flint pushed the man’s head back and pulled his jaw open. ‘Hold hard, cully,’ he said, and reached into his mouth with the pliers.
The clanking music sped up a bit more.
Stella shut her eyes.
The crowd breathed in.
There was a horrible little crack.
The crowd gasped, and then broke into applause.
Stella opened her eyes. Mr Flint held up a tooth, gripped in the jaws of the pliers. The pale young man looked even paler than before. He had blood on his chin. He fumbled for his handkerchief and pressed it to his mouth.
Mr Flint dropped the tooth into his waistcoat pocket, tucked the pliers away, pulled the young man upright and patted him on the back. ‘Well done, cully.’ The crowd clapped again. Mr Flint bowed and said, ‘Step up, step up. Flint’s wondrous odditorium and menagerie. Tantalise your senses. Amaze your intellect.’
A few people pushed forward. Coins clinked. Mr Flint passed them little paper tickets, pulled back the canvas at the entrance to the tent and waved them inside.
Strideforth dug in his pocket for the coins. ‘Will we go in?’ he asked.
Stella hesitated, Hortense took a step backwards, and Anya hissed. They watched several more people go into the tent, venturing cautiously into the darkness.
Strideforth took a breath. ‘Come on,’ he said.
As she followed Strideforth through the crowd, Stella thought she heard whispering and turned around. A cluster of women were talking in low voices. One of them met Stella’s gaze and quickly looked away.
Mr Flint bowed, his gleaming green eyes fixed on Stella. ‘Good afternoon to you, young ladies, young gentleman,’ he said. ‘Sixpence apiece.’
On Hortense’s hat, Anya chittered angrily at him, her fur spiky.
‘Look there. A little white whitterick,’ Mr Flint said. ‘I’ll give you half a crown for it, cully. A nice curiosity, that. Stuffed and mounted, like.’ He fished in his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins and several teeth.
Hortense hissed at him, scowling. She snatched Anya off her hat and held her tight against her front.
Mr Flint laughed and dropped the coins and teeth back into his pocket. ‘No? Well, you won’t get a better offer, cully.’
Strideforth counted one and six into his hand. Mr Flint pocketed the coins so quickly it was like a vanishing trick, and gave them a ticket each. ‘Step inside, step inside. Wonders and marvels. Astound your reason. Curdle your entrails.’
He pulled back the canvas and bowed.
Fifteen
It was dark inside the tent, and it smelled of mould and mothballs and wet sawdust. M
irrors and silvery paint glinted. They followed a canvas passage around, before stopping with a gasp.
Three huge pale figures with enormous wobbling heads loomed up in front of them.
After a second, Strideforth said, ‘It’s just a mirror.’
The curved surface of the mirror made Stella’s reflection as long and bony as Aunt Temperance, and then as short and round as Aunt Condolence. They bobbed up and down and giggled to see themselves stretch and shrink.
They went on and came to a group of wax figures. There was Florence Nightingale (in a dark dress and a white lace cap, holding a lantern), Doctor Livingstone (with a thick, bristling moustache that looked as if it were made from a clothes brush, and an unconvincing palm tree) and the Duke of Wellington (looking dashing and noble in a red coat with a bright blue sash). Stella eyed them nervously. They had vivid, flushed cheeks and leaned stiffly at awkward angles. Doctor Livingstone was missing an arm, and the Duke of Wellington looked particularly unstable, propped up from behind with a broomstick. Their glass eyes glistened in the wavering lantern light and seemed to follow her as she edged past.
Beyond the waxworks was a crowded display of curiosities. Several people were peering into a wooden case with a glass lid. A sign read, The Feejee Mermaid. Inside the case was a twisted shape, no larger than a baby. It had a head and arms, but where its legs should have been was a scaly tail. It was impossible to see any of its features; it was as black and shrivelled as a prune.
‘It is sewn together,’ said Strideforth, his face almost touching the glass. ‘It’s half a monkey, I think, and half a fish. There are stitches. Look.’
Stella looked and nodded, and then looked away again quickly.
Nearby was a mossy rock shaped like a crouching toad. The sign read, Toadstone. A large bluish egg was labelled: Monstrous Egg. Curiosity of Nature. Next, a small creature, perhaps a cat, was covered in tightly wound grimy bandages. Little tufts of ginger fur poked out. It had a sweetish, sickly smell. The sign read, Ancient Egyptian Mummy. Authentic and Genuine. Anya darted out to attack it. Hortense grabbed her and held her firmly as she wriggled and squeaked.
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