The candle flame flickered, and Stella felt a cold breath of air on the back of her neck. The bedroom door was ajar. She went over and closed it.
She sat down at the dressing table, turned the page in Wilberforce Montgomery’s journal and read on as she brushed her hair. He was investigating some caves. The Natives believe they conceal a Creature of considerable size. I am determined to encounter it. She began to plait her hair as Wilberforce Montgomery squeezed down narrow tunnels and swam across underground rivers and ventured into huge caverns.
Behind her reflection in the mirror, something moved.
Stella froze and held her breath.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then the door handle turned silently, and the door swung slowly open.
Seventeen
Stella spun around. ‘Strideforth? Is that you?’ There was no answer.
She hesitated, then picked up the candle and tiptoed towards the open door. The passageway outside was empty, winding away into darkness.
‘Who’s there? Strideforth? Hortense?’ She tried to stop her voice from shaking. The candle flame flickered.
She held her breath, listening to the rain and the wind and the tinkling tune from the musical box.
A floorboard creaked.
Stella jumped. The candle flared, making the shadows lurch.
Another creak. As if someone were creeping towards her.
Suddenly, there was a gust of icy air, and the candle sputtered and went out.
Stella stumbled back across the bedroom to the dressing table and groped around in the darkness for the matchbox. She opened the box, her fingers fumbling. She tried to strike a match.
Behind her came the sound of a soft footstep, and then another. Something brushed against her. She shrieked. The matches scattered and the candle rolled away across the floor.
‘Who’s there?’ Her voice was a croak.
The musical box slowed, and ran down, and stopped.
There was a sharp smell, somehow familiar.
Suddenly, out of the darkness, a hand gripped hers. Cold, clutching fingers. Wispy, like smoke.
Lightning flashed, and Stella had a glimpse of a white face with wide, frightened eyes. She gasped and staggered backwards.
A clap of thunder made the window rattle. Something clattered against the roof. An owl hooted. She heard a quick indrawn breath, and the clutching hand disappeared. Footsteps fled along the passage.
Stella felt her way towards the door. Her hands groped only empty air. Then her head collided with something hard. She clasped her forehead and saw stars, flashing and swirling around in dizzying circles, and dissolving into nothing.
‘Stella. My dear. Whatever has happened?’
Stella opened her eyes. Lantern light glimmered. She was lying on the floor of her bedroom. She sat up, shivering and dizzy.
‘There was something — There was someone here, in the dark —’
‘It’s only us,’ said Strideforth. ‘Did you fall?’ He picked up the scattered matches and lit the candle.
‘You fainted, my dear. You hit your head on the door,’ said Miss Araminter. She touched Stella’s forehead gently. ‘Does it hurt?’ She helped her up and half-carried her over to her bed. ‘Lie down, my dear.’ She pulled up the bedcovers. ‘There. You are shivering.’ She rubbed Stella’s hands between her own.
Hortense perched on the edge of Stella’s bed, looking anxious. Anya peered out from behind her neck and chittered.
‘There was someone here,’ Stella said.
‘You had a fright,’ said Miss Araminter, patting her. ‘You’re dazed, my dear, and no wonder.’
‘The door opened. The lightning flashed and I saw a face,’ said Stella.
Strideforth said, ‘There is nobody here except us.’ He looked under the bed and inside the wardrobe. He went along the passageway, in and out of the other bedrooms. Stella could hear him banging around. He came back and said, ‘Probably it was just the wind blowing open the door. And you got confused in the dark, which can happen very easily. And you saw your own face in the mirror. That was all.’
Stella’s forehead ached. It was a sharp, stabbing pain. ‘I don’t know —’ She remembered the startled, wide-eyed face she had seen in the flash of lightning. Had it been her own reflection?
And the ghostly, clutching hand. Had she imagined it?
‘Close your eyes, my dear,’ said Miss Araminter. ‘You will feel much better in the morning.’ She patted Stella. ‘I will bring something for your head and make you some hot milk with dandelion and poppy.’ She picked up the lantern and went away.
‘Does it hurt?’ asked Strideforth.
‘A bit.’ Stella touched her forehead and winced.
She remembered the sharp, familiar smell. Where had she smelled it before? ‘Peppermint,’ she said. ‘Peppermint and liquorice.’
‘What?’
‘Peppermint and liquorice.’ She sat up. ‘From the sweetshop.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Strideforth, frowning.
‘That’s what I smelled, here in the room. Jem said that Mrs Spindleweed has an invisible thing that runs errands for her,’ said Stella. ‘A familiar.’
‘There’s no such thing as a familiar, that is certain,’ said Strideforth. He sniffed the air, frowning. ‘Jem should not believe things like that.’
‘I saw it in the village too. It was an invisible shape. It must have followed us here.’
‘How could you see an invisible shape? That does not make sense,’ said Strideforth. ‘And why would it follow us? If it even exists, which it does not. Perhaps you were dreaming. Dreams can seem very real sometimes.’
Stella hesitated. Could she have dreamed it? Recently, her dreams had been very strange and vivid. She rubbed her forehead.
‘No,’ she said uncertainly. ‘I’m sure there was something here.’
Stella slept heavily and dreamed she was hiding in a tangled shrubbery. Cold rain pelted down. There were men nearby. She could hear them and see the flickering light from their lanterns. A dog whined. She ducked down and made herself fade, disappearing into the darkness. She barely noticed the cold, or felt the scratches of the twigs and thorns. She heard an owl hoot and crouched as still as a stone, silent and invisible as it swooped past. Then she crept out of her hiding place and ran through the wild rain and the dark. She sang to herself as she ran, a whispering, melancholy tune, like raindrops falling on leaves.
Stella was jolted awake by a crashing, jangling clang. Hortense gave a little shriek and Henry screamed. Stella sat up in bed and stared into the darkness, her heart hammering.
The bedroom door banged open, and Strideforth bounded into the room, grinning. ‘It’s the doorbell. It worked very well, didn’t it? It’s very loud.’
‘It is,’ agreed Miss Araminter, behind him. She carried a candlestick and wore a woollen dressing gown with a cheerful tartan pattern. ‘Very loud indeed. Whoever could be calling so late? And in such dreadful weather?’
The doorbell clanged again.
‘How is your head, my dear?’ asked Miss Araminter.
‘It feels much better,’ said Stella. She scrambled to her feet before Miss Araminter could tell her to stay in bed. Shivering, she and Hortense wrapped themselves in the velvet curtains from their beds. Stella pushed her feet into her slippers. Miss Araminter led them along the passage, down the stairs and through the house towards the front door. The night was full of moans and creaks and rattles and drips. The candle flames reflected on the glass cases, and their shadows made huge swooping shapes. Henry flew ahead into the darkness, shrieking. The doorbell rang again, sending jangling echoes through the house. They reached the entrance hall. Someone was hammering on the front door. A dog barked.
‘Who is there?’ called Miss Araminter.
‘It’s me, Ma’am. Mrs Burdock.’
Miss Araminter passed Strideforth the candlestick, pulled back the bolts and opened the door.
Mrs Burdock stood on the threshold,
wrapped in a woollen shawl, dripping with rain. Behind her was a group of wet men. They had long sticks and lanterns and several dogs on leads. They gasped and ducked as Henry flew out over their heads and flapped off into the garden.
Miss Araminter said, ‘Mrs Burdock. Whatever is the matter? Do come in, out of the rain.’
Mrs Burdock’s face was white in the lantern light. She said, ‘I am sorry to disturb you so late like this, Ma’am.’ She pressed her hand to her forehead. ‘It’s the boy, Jem. He din’t come home.’
Stella gasped. ‘Oh no.’
‘He’s not here then, Ma’am, by any chance?’
‘No, I’m very sorry, he is not.’
‘Where’s he got to then? Fooling about, no doubt. When he turns up, I’ll wallop him, I will.’ Her voice faltered. ‘Where has he gone? Did he say anything to you children?’
They looked at one another and shook their heads.
‘Nothing at all?’
Strideforth said, ‘He did say he wanted to go and see the dentist’s tent.’
One of the men cleared his throat. ‘He weren’t there. Nobody saw him go in.’
Mrs Burdock said, ‘He knows I won’t have him wasting good money on foolishness.’
Stella caught Strideforth’s glance. She hesitated. ‘He said — He was talking about the monster.’
The men exchanged glances, and one of them looked nervously over his shoulder, out at the rainy dark.
Mrs Burdock frowned. ‘All this talk about the monster is just nonsense, Miss Stella,’ she said. ‘Silly nonsense.’
‘But —’
‘No. Jem ain’t foolish. He knows better than that.’
Miss Araminter said, ‘Come in out of the rain, won’t you? Can we offer you hot drinks? Or sandwiches?’
One of the men said, ‘No. Thank you, Ma’am. We’ll search the garden here, with your permission, Ma’am. Then we’ll be heading out to Dodder Wake and back past Yarrow, along by the canal.’
Mrs Burdock said, ‘There’s search parties going out all over. Mr Burdock’s gone out with them, towards Spurge Farm and around through Horsetail Wood. I must get back home, in case —’ She put a shaking hand to her mouth.
Miss Araminter said, ‘No doubt he has taken shelter somewhere, in this dreadful weather. I’m sure you will find him safe.’
Mrs Burdock’s voice quivered. ‘I truly hope so, Ma’am,’ she said.
‘I will fetch my umbrella and walk up to the gatehouse with you,’ said Miss Araminter briskly. ‘You go back to bed, my dears. I will return directly.’
‘Thank you, Ma’am,’ said Mrs Burdock. A tear trickled down her face.
Miss Araminter put her arm around Mrs Burdock. ‘I’m sure they will find him safe,’ she said again, and patted her shoulder.
Stella lay awake in bed for a long time, listening to the pouring rain and the moaning wind. Thunder rumbled.
Her bed was lumpy and uncomfortable. She turned over with a sigh. Poor Jem. Out in the rain and the dark, lost or hurt.
Or something worse.
She remembered a depressing story from A Garden of Lilies. Instead of hurrying straight home from school, Roderick and Sapphira loitered with some other children, playing marbles, and were snatched up and carried away by a gigantic bird.
Boys and girls who stop and play,
Won’t live to see another day.
Stella sighed. A Garden of Lilies was a truly miserable book.
She hoped Jem was safe. Perhaps the searching men had already found him. Perhaps right now he was at home, sleeping in his own bed in the gatehouse.
She thought about the monster. She didn’t want to, but it was there in her mind, a dark shadow lurking in the wood. She imagined Jem being crunched up, bones and all, like the missing sheep. The thought was like a cold stone lodged in her insides.
‘Where is he?’ she whispered to Letty. But Letty did not answer.
Stella shivered. She heaved the covers over her head, curled up and closed her eyes. Just as she was falling asleep, she remembered the white, frightened face that she had glimpsed in the flash of lightning, and the wispy, clutching fingers that had gripped her hand in the darkness.
Eighteen
When Stella woke, her head felt thick and heavy, as if she had been crying. It was daylight. Hortense’s bed was empty. She sat up and touched her forehead. It did not hurt very much, unless she poked it quite hard. She untied the bandage, picked off the bits of leaf and inspected her foot. The bruise had faded. It felt much better. She got out of bed, pulled back the curtains and looked out of the window. The rain had stopped, but it was a cold, grey morning. Water dripped from the gutters, and the garden was sodden and battered from the storm.
She thought about Jem as she washed and dressed, pulling on warm stockings and two thick woollen petticoats. She hoped the men had found him during the night. Perhaps right now Jem was safely back home, being scolded by Mrs Burdock. Twisting around, Stella quickly buttoned up the back of her dress, and went down to the kitchen.
Miss Araminter, Strideforth and Hortense were eating breakfast. Henry was sitting on Hortense’s lap, like a large, frowning cushion. She had her arms around him and was stroking the soft feathers on his front.
Strideforth offered Stella an apple and a piece of bread and jam. ‘Jem’s still missing,’ he said. ‘They searched all night, and they’re still searching, but they haven’t found him yet. Mrs Burdock says the police are coming over from Brockley.’
‘Oh no,’ said Stella. She sat down at the table. ‘Poor Jem.’
Strideforth nodded. ‘The police detectives will search for clues. It is very scientific. They will find him, that is certain.’
Miss Araminter said, ‘How are you feeling this morning, my dear?’
‘Much better, thank you.’
Miss Araminter examined Stella’s forehead and foot, said, ‘Splendid,’ and wrote something in her notebook. ‘All the same, no lessons for you today. Rest quietly and read.’
So after breakfast, while Strideforth had a Latin lesson and Hortense studied the properties of spleenworts, Stella curled up in the armchair beside the range to read Wilberforce Montgomery’s journal. It was difficult to concentrate, partly because she kept thinking about Jem, and partly because Henry was stamping up and down on the table in a distracting manner, flapping his wings and shouting things in Latin. Stella turned the pages of the journal slowly and looked at the pictures. Wilberforce Montgomery was still exploring the caves in Madagascar, venturing deeper, encountering bats and glow-worms and strange pale spiders. She turned another page and gasped.
It was a drawing of the creature from the lake. She recognised its wide, flat head and wicked-looking teeth. But it was not a fish. It had four short legs with webbed feet and a long, tapering tail.
The paper looked as if it had been soaked in muddy water. The ink had run and the writing was particularly difficult to read. Stella followed the words with her finger: … live in fear of … Venomous Bite … the Natives believe has the power to … I witnessed the Transformation and I was Astounded … Petrified … After much exertion, I have obtained an Egg … hatch underground … darkness …
The next page was torn out, and on the following was a recipe for a pudding made from cocoa-nut milk, turtles’ eggs and Oxford marmalade. Stella turned back to the drawing of the creature. ‘Venomous Bite,’ she whispered.
Strideforth and Hortense looked up from their books.
‘Oh, I am sorry to interrupt, Miss Araminter,’ said Stella. ‘But look. This is what we saw in the lake.’ She showed them the drawing.
Strideforth said, ‘That is not a fish at all. Fish do not have legs.’
‘Wilberforce Montgomery brought an egg back from Madagascar. It must have hatched.’
‘Is it a crocodile?’ asked Strideforth.
Miss Araminter examined the drawing and said, ‘I should think it is one of the larger salamanders. From Madagascar, you say? I am not acquainted with any African spec
ies. How marvellous if it has been living here in the lake all this time.’
‘A salamander. Is that a lizard?’ asked Stella.
‘An amphibian, my dear. Similar to a frog.’
Stella swallowed. ‘Are they dangerous?’ she asked. ‘A-are they venomous?’
‘Goodness, no. Quite harmless.’
Stella remembered the dark shape sliding through the water-lilies and the rows of needle-like teeth glinting in the mist. ‘It says, Venomous Bite. It couldn’t — I mean, it couldn’t turn something into stone? A fish?’
‘Whatever are you thinking, my dear? No, no. Of course, some species do grow rather large. The Hellbender. The Olm. The Mudpuppy. The Giant Salamander resides in China and can reach six feet in length. I imagine it could deliver a nasty nip, if provoked.’ Miss Araminter smiled and turned back to the Latin lesson.
Stella met Strideforth’s gaze. The creature in the lake was much larger and much more dangerous than that.
They had cheese sandwiches and apples for dinner. Afterwards, Miss Araminter inspected Stella’s foot again, and agreed that she might walk to the village to collect the bread and milk. ‘But do not tire yourself, my dear. When you reach the village, you must promise to stop and rest.’
They pulled on their coats and hats and went out. Henry’s angry screams echoed from inside the house. Strideforth swung the empty milk can. Their feet crunched on the wet gravel as they went up the drive. Somewhere in the garden, a peacock gave a harsh cry.
Mrs Burdock came out to unlock the gate for them. Her face was pale, and her eyes were red, as if she had been crying.
‘Is there any news?’ asked Stella.
Mrs Burdock shook her head. ‘Keep to the road,’ she said. ‘Do you hear me? And mind you’re back home before dark.’
‘Poor Jem,’ said Stella, as they walked along the winding lane. ‘What can have happened to him?’
Grey clouds filled the sky, like ink spreading across wet paper. They passed a group of sheep huddled together in a corner of a muddy field. Hortense bleated at them and they answered her with nervous cries.
Wormwood Mire Page 11
