Alice-Miranda Takes the Lead

by Jacqueline Harvey

  ‘Oh, blast and blast,’ she yelled. ‘My toe!’ Plump tears wobbled then spilled down September’s perfectly made-up cheeks. ‘Smedley, you idiot!’ she yelled. At that moment, the telephone rang. September hopped inside on one leg to pick it up.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, wincing.

  ‘Oh, hello, Mrs Sykes, is it?’

  ‘Yes,’ September grouched.

  ‘It’s Matron Payne from Golden Gates. I am terribly glad to find you at home. I’ve been calling and calling and I wasn’t sure if you’d received any of my messages.’

  ‘What do you want then?’ September rubbed her big toe.

  ‘Well, Mrs Sykes, it’s your mother-in-law,’ Matron Payne began.

  ‘She’s my step-mother-in-law.’

  ‘Of course, your step-mother-in-law.’ Matron Payne was not enjoying September’s tone at all.

  ‘Has she died?’ September asked.

  ‘No, she’s as well as can be expected under the circumstances.’ It was fortunate September couldn’t see the matron, who was quivering in disgust.

  ‘What is it then? I’m very busy. I don’t have all day.’ September was thinking about her coffee getting cold.

  ‘Your step-mother-in-law has been asking about a blue suitcase. Apparently it’s very important to her. As you know, she hasn’t been able to speak since the stroke and her writing is awfully wobbly, but this morning she spent rather a long time creating a message which indicated that she is fretting terribly for it. The doctor says it would most likely help speed her recovery if it were found and returned to her immediately,’ Matron Payne explained.

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ September walked to the patio doors and looked directly at the suitcase which she had just tripped over.

  ‘Well, Mrs Sykes, could you please have a look for it? I know your step-mother-in-law would be very grateful.’ Matron Payne was fast losing patience.

  ‘I’ll tell my husband and he can bring it round, if he finds it, that is. I have to go.’ September hung up.

  ‘Mrs Sykes,’ Matron began, then realised that the line was dead. ‘I’m sure your step-mother-in-law, Henrietta, one of the loveliest ladies I’ve ever had the pleasure to care for, would be happy to have some visitors,’ she whispered into the beeping handset.

  September had already decided midway through the conversation that the battered blue suitcase must contain something of value. Why else would the old girl be so desperate to have it back? She dragged the case towards the outdoor setting and lifted it onto the table. A rusty padlock guarded its contents. September went to the shed and found a pair of pliers with which she mangled the lock until it snapped in two. It was only tiny and came away quite easily. As she unzipped the case and pushed open the flap a smell of mildew, mouldy socks and Stilton cheese rose up and hit her in the nostrils.

  ‘Pooh!’ September held her nose and waved her hand. ‘So where’s the treasure?’

  At first glance, it seemed that the contents were nothing more than a pile of old papers. There were some photographs and faded newspaper clippings, but no gold bars or bags of diamonds. September continued rummaging and found an antique pipe and a framed photograph of a man from long ago.

  ‘What a lot of sentimental rubbish,’ she said out loud. She was about to close the lid when something caught her eye. It was a piece of yellowed parchment written in fancy lettering. The name at the top was familiar. Fayle. She pulled it from the pile and laid it on the table. It was a family tree; the bottom left-hand corner was missing and there were some holes in the page, but it was unmistakable. It was the Fayle family tree. September wondered if it had anything to do with the school.

  ‘Here it is.’ She followed the trail with her finger. ‘Frederick Erasmus Fayle, founder of Fayle School for Boys, married Helena Louise McGlintock. They had one son and they lived at McGlintock Manor, which it says here is the school house. George McGlintock Fayle married Edwina Elena Rochester. They had one son called Erasmus McGlintock Fayle. Gawd, what a terrible name! They lived at the school house too. Then Erasmus married someone called Willow Caledonia Henry and they had, well, of course, this part’s missing, isn’t it? D-A-U-G-H – it must have been a daughter. Here it is then. Henrietta McGlintock Fayle. Our Henrietta?’ September screwed up her nose. ‘Granny Henrietta was a Fayle?’

  September wondered what else she might learn about her step-mother-in-law. All this time and the old duck had never said anything. September was sure her name was Henrietta McGlintock, but she’d never mentioned being a Fayle. And the only thing she’d ever paid for was the children’s new school fees, which September now decided she likely got for free anyway, seeing as though she probably owned the school. September tutted and rolled her eyes. As she did so, she spotted another piece of paper in the case. She snatched it up and unfolded it. It looked much older than the first document and was also damaged at the bottom. She couldn’t tell how much of it was missing. Again, she read aloud.

  ‘“Fayle School Charter. This document outlines the rules by which Fayle School for Boys is herewith established. Number one: the school motto will henceforth be Nomine defectus non autem natura – Fail by name, not by nature.” That’s a bit stupid, isn’t it? “Number two: boys will be trained in academic, artistic and athletic pursuits” – isn’t that what all schools do?’ September shook her head. ‘“Number three: only teachers of the highest calibre will be employed at the school. Number four: Fayle will remain on the site purchased by the school’s founder, Frederick Erasmus Fayle, on one thousand acres of land in the village of Winchesterfield.” Boring – blah, blah, blah.’ September ran her finger down the remainder of the list. ‘What’s this? … “Number twenty-nine: failure at Fayle is not acceptable. Should more than twenty-five per cent of boys fail ANY examination, the headmaster incumbent –” I wonder what that means “– must invoke clause thirty of the Fayle School Charter …” Well, what’s that rule?’ September scanned further down. ‘Ah, here it is.’ She tapped her red talon on the page. ‘“The school must be closed within twenty-eight days and all land, buildings and other assets be returned to the oldest living relative of Frederick Erasmus Fayle.”’

  September’s eyes almost popped out of her head. She re-read the paragraph. Then she re-read the family tree. One child, that’s all the Fayles ever had. One child in every generation. If this were true, then Smedley’s step-mother would be the next in line to the Fayle family fortune. And she was old and sick, and probably wouldn’t live for much longer.

  ‘Oh, this is the answer to all our problems!’ September folded the charter and family tree, stuffed the rest of the papers back into the suitcase and zipped it up. ‘I don’t think we ever did find that bag,’ she said to herself, as she dragged it into the house. ‘I think that bag must have gone missing somewhere.’ She stopped in the hallway and pulled down the attic ladder. Her mind was racing. A wicked plan was brewing and she knew just the girl to help her with it.

  The girls arrived back at school in time for tea. Mrs Smith had decided to expand her catering repertoire this term, with themed dinners once a week from countries around the world. Tonight she had whipped up butter chicken with rice, naan bread and a mild beef vindaloo curry. Dessert was a delicious sweet dumpling dish.

  ‘What’s this muck?’ Sloane pushed her food around the bowl. ‘It’s disgusting.’

  ‘Don’t you like it?’ Alice-Miranda asked. ‘I think it’s scrumptious. Last year, when Mummy and Daddy took me to visit their friend, Prince Shivaji, I fell in love with Indian desserts. But I can tell you this gulab jamun is the best I’ve ever tasted. Mrs Smith is so clever.’

  ‘She’s certainly improved, that’s for sure,’ Jacinta nodded. ‘You don’t remember, but her food used to be awful.’

  ‘All that time with Mrs Oliver must have improved her technique. Now there’s a great cook.’ Millie rubbed her tummy and shovelled another spoonful of the sticky treat into her mouth.

  ‘Your brother’s lovely,
Sloane.’ Alice-Miranda set her spoon down inside the empty bowl.

  ‘My brother’s a pig,’ Sloane replied.

  ‘I wish I had a brother,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘But at least I’m getting a cousin.’

  ‘So, when’s the wedding?’ Sloane asked.

  ‘I’m not sure. It will depend on Uncle Lawrence’s film schedules and Aunt Charlotte’s work, too.’

  ‘Will there be lots of famous people there?’ Sloane didn’t want to sound desperate but she simply had to get an invitation.

  ‘I don’t know really. I mean, Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Lawrence have lots of friends, but I’m not sure if they’re famous,’ Alice-Miranda said thoughtfully.

  ‘Of course they’d be famous. Don’t famous people only hang out with other famous people? I mean, look at your mother, Jacinta. She’s always with beautiful people doing important things in interesting places,’ Sloane informed the group.

  ‘I don’t really know what my mother does or who she’s friends with.’ Jacinta’s lip quivered. ‘And it’s not really any of your business either.’

  ‘You’re kidding, aren’t you? Your mother is in every edition of Women’s Daily and Gloss and Goss I’ve ever seen. She’s practically their poster girl for famous people doing fun things with other famous people.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ Jacinta glowered. ‘What my mother does is entirely up to her.’

  ‘If my mother was as famous as that, I’d talk to her every day and I’d tell everyone where she’d been and who she was with.’

  ‘Good, I’ll tell her to adopt you. Perhaps we can trade mothers.’

  ‘Now you really are kidding, aren’t you?’ Millie laughed. Jacinta smiled too. That was a terrible thought.

  ‘What’s wrong with my mother?’ Sloane fizzed with anger. ‘She’s beautiful and she was a famous model too. What does your mother do, Millie?’

  ‘Millie’s mother is a vet,’ Alice-Miranda contributed. ‘And she’s awfully good. You know, Chops had a mystery virus and he could have died, but Millie’s mother solved the puzzle and cured him. And she started an animal shelter for unwanted pets.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Sloane sarcastically, rolling her eyes. ‘And what’s your dad? A lion tamer?’

  ‘He’s a farmer,’ Millie replied.

  ‘Double wow,’ Sloane drawled.

  ‘Well, at least my father doesn’t flog vacuum cleaners on the home shopping channel for a living.’ Millie couldn’t help herself. It was out of her mouth before she had time to think.

  ‘Why, you little brat!’ Sloane screamed and stood up. She picked up her bowl of gulab jamun, marched around to where Millie was sitting, and tipped the entire contents over her head.

  Millie bellowed. She grabbed Sloane by her long blonde ponytail and yanked as hard as she could.

  ‘Ow, you brat!’

  The chinking of cutlery died down as the other girls turned to see what was going on.

  ‘Millicent Jane McLoughlin-McTavish-McNoughton-McGill and Sloane Sykes, come here, NOW!’ Miss Grimm bellowed across the room. Her general demeanour may have changed for the better but she could still silence an entire dining room in a second.

  Millie lifted the upended bowl from her head and set it back on the table. She turned to face her attacker, then marched towards the head table, where Miss Grimm stood with her arms folded in front of her. Sloane followed at a distance.

  Miss Grimm lowered her voice and glared at the culprits. ‘What was that?’

  ‘She started it,’ Sloane began to sob. ‘She said awful things about my mother and father.’

  ‘I did not,’ Millie retorted. ‘She’s a bully, Miss Grimm.’

  ‘Bully is a very strong word, Millicent, and not one we throw around willy-nilly.’ Miss Grimm was inclined to believe her red-headed charge, but she had to keep an open mind. From where she and Miss Reedy were sitting, it did look as though Millicent had pulled Sloane’s hair. But there was the indisputable evidence of the upended dessert. Millie was dripping dumplings onto the floor right in front of them.

  Ophelia realised that the room was still silent. She looked up and addressed the girls. ‘Please go on with your dinner. Talk among yourselves. This is now a private matter and I will settle it with Millicent and Sloane. I will see both of you,’ she said, staring them down, ‘in my office, tomorrow morning at 7 am. Do not be late and remember, I will find out what happened so it will be much easier if you tell me the truth. Off you go. You can sit at your table until the end of teatime.’

  Millicent glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was only a quarter past six. They didn’t go back to the house until 7 pm. Her hair was beginning to set like concrete on the side of her face. She opened her mouth to speak.

  ‘I would also suggest that you remain silent,’ Miss Grimm commanded.

  Ophelia thought it was probably punishment enough that the girls had to stew on things for the night. She wasn’t planning anything especially severe – perhaps some additional gardening duties with Charlie or mucking out the stables. She had a niggling feeling about Sloane Sykes though and, after what had happened with Alethea Goldsworthy, she didn’t plan on being fooled again.

  Back at the house, Millie sped straight for the showers to wash her hair. Sloane Sykes went straight for the telephone. She called her mother and immediately began to cry.

  ‘Darling, what’s the matter?’ September fussed. ‘Why are you so upset?’

  ‘I got into trouble with Miss Grimm. It wasn’t my fault. Millie said mean things about you and Daddy,’ Sloane sobbed.

  ‘Oh sweetie, what did she say?’

  Sloane began to wail even louder.

  ‘Don’t you worry your pretty head about that nasty little brat. I’m so glad you called, though. I have something important to tell you.’ Sloane’s mother smiled to herself. ‘Your father’s not here, and that’s a good thing, because this is a special secret just between you and me. Septimus doesn’t need to know either, okay?’

  ‘What is it, Mummy?’ Sloane perked up.

  ‘Did you know that if twenty-five per cent of the boys at Fayle fail any test, the school has to close immediately?’

  ‘Yes. Alice-Miranda told me that. She says everyone knows it. But the boys at Fayle don’t fail and so nobody’s ever worried about that silly rule,’ Sloane replied. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Well, sweetie, do you know what would happen to all that lovely land and those gorgeous buildings if the boys failed and the school had to close?’

  ‘Yes. It gets sold off or something.’ Sloane twisted a long blonde strand of hair around her index finger.

  ‘Well, yes and no. The school has to close immediately but the land and the buildings go to the next living relative of the school’s founder – some fellow called Frederick Erasmus Fayle.’ September was enjoying this.

  ‘Big deal, Mummy. I don’t see what any of this has to do with us. We’re Sykeses not Fayles.’

  ‘I see what you mean. But did you know what Granny Henrietta’s surname was before she married Grandpa Percy?’ September asked.

  ‘No, Mummy. Why would I know that?’

  ‘I don’t suppose you would.’ The mother was toying with her daughter like a kitten with a string. ‘But I do.’

  ‘Mother, get to the point. I have to go and paint my toenails,’ Sloane snapped.

  ‘Sloane, I have recently learned that your darling step-granny was once known as Henrietta McGlintock Fayle. And guess what? She’s an only child.’ September waited for Sloane to realise what she had just said.

  Sloane was not impressed. ‘Yeah, so what, Mummy? Granny Henrietta gets the school if the boys fail – which they won’t, because they don’t.’

  ‘But what if they did?’ September lowered her voice. ‘What if they failed and Granny passed away? Work it out, sweetheart.’

  Sloane pondered for a moment. ‘That would mean Fayle, and all those beautiful buildings, and all that lovely land would go to … oh … Daddy!’ She cupped her hand
to the telephone. ‘Oh my gosh, Mother, you’re a genius!’

  ‘Thank you, darling.’ Possibly for the first time in her life, September felt like a true genius too.

  ‘But Mummy, the boys at Fayle don’t fail – not ever.’ Sloane reminded her mother.

  ‘Well darling, you see, that’s where you come in …’

  Alice-Miranda sat up in bed. ‘Good morning, Millie.’ She looked over at her friend. ‘How are you feeling?’ Alice-Miranda had set her alarm for 6 am. She was planning to use the extra time to practise her lines for the play.

  ‘Terrible,’ Millie sighed. ‘I didn’t sleep much at all. Miss Grimm’s probably going to kick me out of the play.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Alice-Miranda reassured her. ‘She’s changed so much, remember, and I’m sure if you apologise to Sloane, Miss Grimm will accept that. Sloane was being a bit tricky.’

  ‘Yes, but I have to keep my temper under better control.’

  The two girls hopped out of bed. Millie didn’t want to be a second late for her appointment with Miss Grimm.

  ‘Good luck.’ Alice-Miranda gave Millie a quick hug. ‘Just tell Miss Grimm the truth – that’s all you can do.’

  It was a quarter to seven when Millie departed for Miss Grimm’s study. The corridors of Winchesterfield Manor were particularly foreboding in the early morning light. Millie glanced at the portraits of the former headmistresses with their stern looks. She felt like they were all frowning at her.

  Mrs Derby hadn’t yet arrived for the day but Miss Grimm had obviously opened the office door for the girls. There was no sign of Sloane and, come to think of it, Millie hadn’t seen her back at the house. Surely she wasn’t stupid enough to miss the meeting?