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by Jacqueline Harvey

  Max laughed. ‘What were you expecting? A torture chamber?’

  ‘No,’ Kensy said, rolling her eyes. ‘That would obviously be in the dungeon, which would be located in the cellar, which is exactly where we are heading to next!’ She checked the room for any signs of a surveillance camera. ‘So, are you absolutely sure that dog had a camera in it?’

  ‘I think so. I could break it and know for certain, but Dame Spencer might not be very happy if I did,’ Max said. He was debating whether or not to snoop around the drawers. It was none of his business, but a part of him wanted to find out more about this strange place.

  ‘She seems to be a bit paranoid about security,’ Kensy said, jumping to the floor and diving into a drawer of paperwork. ‘Although it’s not that good. I mean, you got us in here without any trouble at all. I wonder what she’s trying to hide. Do you think there are more cameras hidden around the house?’

  ‘I’d put money on it,’ Max said. He decided to take a peek and pulled open the drawer closest to him. It was full to the brim with rolled-up architectural plans. ‘Anyway, if you were this rich, you’d probably be serious about security too,’ the boy added.

  ‘True,’ Kensy said.

  Max removed one of the plans and unfurled it on the desktop. He placed a crystal paperweight on each end to keep it flat.

  Kensy walked over to take a look and recognised the front facade. ‘That’s the house,’ she confirmed with a nod. ‘It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it? And let me guess, you saw a mansion just like this one on some boring old show and they kept all the records in a tower.’

  Max looked up and blinked. ‘Actually, I think I did,’ he said, without a hint of irony.

  As he rerolled the page and put it away, Kensy opened another drawer. In the front was a bundle of small certificates, the sort kids might get at school. She pulled one out, but before she could take a good look at it, footsteps sounded on the stairs.

  ‘Miss Kensington, Master Maxim,’ Song’s voice echoed from below. He didn’t sound angry, but he probably wasn’t bringing them ice-creams either.

  Kensy quickly closed the drawer and man aged to shove the certificate into the back pocket of her jeans just as the butler appeared.

  ‘I have been looking for the two of you,’ Song said.

  Kensy arched an eyebrow. ‘Why? Have you finally decided to tell us the truth about our parents?’

  Max shot his sister a warning look.

  ‘What?’ she said, firing an equally fierce glare back at him.

  Song clasped his hands together and smiled. As much as he would have liked to share his insights, that information was outside the bounds of his authority. It pained him to think of the children’s uncertainty, but there was little he could do about it except to keep them occupied until Mr Fitz returned.

  ‘I am afraid you have stumbled upon the least exciting room in the entire house, which is quite a feat on your part. How about I rectify the situation? Allow me to give you a proper tour of the estate after lunch,’ he offered. ‘Now, I hope that you both like lasagne. Mrs Thornthwaite has prepared her special home-made recipe with salad and teeny-tiny crispy potatoes,’ the man said, pinching the air with his forefinger and thumb. ‘She is a brilliant cook, even though she has never managed to master the art of dumplings.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Hers are so hard we could use them for ammunition if ever we were under attack. But don’t tell her I said so – that woman does not take criticism well at all.’

  Kensy bit her lip to stop from laughing. But no matter how hard she tried to maintain a stroppy face, the corners of her mouth insisted on lifting upwards.

  Max, however, felt a tug of concern. It seemed weird that, of all the dishes in the world, they would be having their father’s favourite meal. First their favourite breakfast and now this? It was certainly suspicious and reminded Max that, without their mum and dad and Fitz, he and Kensy were a long way from home.

  Song bowed, motioning for the children to go ahead. He took one last look around the room to ensure nothing had been disturbed before hurrying after them.

  ‘I thought we would begin with my favourite curiosity in the house,’ Song said, beckoning them to a dimly lit corner of a small sitting room. ‘I do not believe in saving the best till last.’

  The man tugged on a long rope and a light illuminated a glass case. Inside it was a brass elephant, complete with a howdah on its back and surrounded by figurines of men dressed as sultans.

  ‘Are those real diamonds on the wheels?’ Max asked, stunned to think that was even possible.

  Song nodded. ‘Isn’t it extraordinary? It is an automaton, and was quite popular in the 1800s, but this is one of a kind. There are very few left in the world and none as beautiful as this.’

  ‘It’s lovely,’ Kensy admitted. Since she was a toddler, she had loved taking apart machines and putting them back together. She would have liked to do the same to this particular contraption, but something told her Song would be less than impressed. ‘Why is it tucked away in the dark?’

  ‘Dame Spencer enjoys leaving sur prises for her guests,’ Song replied gleefully. He shuffled around to the other side of the case and pulled a cord protruding from the animal’s left hind leg.

  The children’s eyes were wide with delight as tinkling music filled the air and the elephant began to sway its trunk from left to right, swishing its tail and flapping its leather ears.

  Kensy jiggled about excitedly. ‘Look at those guys – they’re supporting Atlas while he’s holding up the world, just like the fountain out the front of the house.’

  Song grinned. ‘Very observant, Miss Kensington. Now, would you care to see more of the house?’ he asked, as a clock on the mantelpiece struck two.

  Kensy reluctantly agreed to go as long as she could take a better look at the automaton later on.

  Their next stop was a ballroom, followed by a long gallery lined with priceless pieces of art. Max had recognised a couple of paintings, including a Picasso he’d recently completed a project on at school. Impressed by the lad’s knowledge, Song showed the children some of the most valuable works in Dame Spencer’s collection. Among those of note were wistful countryside scenes by the English painter John Constable, and a painting of a woman and her children by Renoir. Max couldn’t help himself and, when no one was looking, traced his finger over the artist’s scribbly signature.

  Kensy’s interest, meanwhile, was visibly waning by the second. ‘Is there anything else a bit more …’ She hesitated, trying to think how she could put it politely. Her parents would have been appalled at the way she had spoken to Song earlier; when she reflected on this, her heart hurt and she resolved to do better. ‘You know … exciting?’

  Song held up a hand. ‘Say no more, Miss Kensington. I have a feeling our next destination will be very much to your liking,’ he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

  After yet another wide staircase, Song led the children into a cellar with a curved brick ceiling, but instead of being full of wine bottles, there was a ping-pong table, pinball machines and even a bowling lane with booths and a scoreboard. A huge glass cabinet housed hundreds of board games too. Kensy gasped when she spied a vending machine, which just so happened to be stocked full of the twins’ favourite treats. There were even bags of Violet Crumbles, which they’d recently discovered in Australia.

  ‘This is amazing!’ Max’s eyes darted around the room. ‘Can we play something?’

  Kensy grabbed a paddle and located a couple of ping-pong balls. Her brother hurried to the other end of the table, and the pair engaged in a boisterous set, with Song keeping score. Max narrowly beat his sister by one point, which she hotly contested on the grounds that he had served before she was ready. In protest, Kensy stormed off to play pinball on her own, collecting a snack from the vending machine along the way.

  Song took her place and proved to be an outstanding opponent. He soon had Max running from one side of the table to the other without so much as
a flick of the wrist. Although Song made a show of patting his brow, Max noticed the butler wasn’t puffing at all and hadn’t even broken a sweat despite wearing a suit and bow tie. In the end, Max emerged victorious, though he suspected Song had thrown the last couple of points. Adults did that sometimes and it was really annoying.

  Song clapped his hands three times and a twangy guitar immediately began blaring from invisible speakers.

  Kensy grimaced. ‘What is that?’

  ‘Isn’t it excellent?’ Song said, and hummed along to the ditty.

  Kensy shook her head. ‘No, it’s horrible,’ she blurted. Then, remembering she was supposed to be making an effort to improve her manners, added, ‘It’s not really my thing.’

  ‘Miss Kensington, you just need to listen for a little while. I guarantee you will not be able to resist the charms of the steel strings,’ Song insisted.

  Kensy arched an eyebrow and grinned. ‘Just watch me.’

  Max, on the other hand, happily joined in the humming, much to his sister’s disgust.

  For the next hour or so, the three of them enjoyed a monumental bowling competition. Max only allowed his mind to wander to his parents once, reminiscing about an evening they’d spent at a bowling alley in Snowmass, Colorado, a couple of years ago. His dad and Fitz were so competitive that the people in the lane next to them seemed genuinely concerned the men were going to end up in a fist fight. But that was just his dad and Fitz. They loved nothing more than a good old contest – a bit like him and Kensy, really.

  ‘I wondered where you lot were hiding,’ a familiar voice rang out.

  Song clapped his hands twice and the music ceased.

  ‘Fitz!’ Kensy dropped her bowling ball, narrowly missing her foot, and launched herself at the man’s middle. Tears welled in her eyes and, although she didn’t want to cry in front of everyone, she was overcome by an avalanche of emotion.

  ‘It’s okay, sweetheart,’ Fitz said, offering the girl his handkerchief. She wiped her eyes and loudly blew her nose.

  Max put away Kensy’s bowling ball and made his way over, though he hung back slightly further than he normally would have. He didn’t quite know how he felt about Fitz right at that moment. ‘Where have you been?’ he asked, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice.

  ‘I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye,’ Fitz said. He ran his hand over the top of his bald head and took a seat on the edge of an armchair. He looked tired all of a sudden. ‘I had a bit of trouble contacting your parents, so I drove down to the embassy … to organise a few things.’

  ‘What things?’ Kensy said, and an uncomfortable silence fell over the room.

  ‘Is it true?’ Max asked, staring into Fitz’s grey eyes. ‘About Mum and Dad? Are they really missing?’

  The man glanced at Song, then took a deep breath. ‘Honestly, kids, I don’t know. There was a rebel uprising in the area a couple of days ago and the authorities aren’t sure what’s happened to some of the aid workers.’ He paused, seeming to search for the right words. ‘I’ll find them, kids, I promise you that. It’s quite likely they’ve sought shelter in one of the local villages and are waiting for the right time to get out. They might need some help making that happen.’

  Max felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach and Kensy’s head was spinning. So their parents might have been kidnapped in Africa and she and Max were as good as kidnapped too in this strange house with secret cameras and murderers. Kensy blinked back a second wave of tears.

  ‘What do you mean they might need some help?’ Max asked. ‘You’re not thinking of going to Africa, are you?’

  Fitz nodded.

  ‘Seriously?! Shouldn’t you leave the search-and-rescue mission to the experts? It’s not like you’re a trained commando,’ Max reasoned.

  ‘What if something happens to you?’ Kensy sniffed. ‘What if you don’t come back and they don’t either? What will happen to me and Max?’

  Fitz was about to reply when an explosion of barking and growling sounded in the hallway outside. Moments later, there was a flash of fur followed by Wellie and Mac in hot pursuit.

  The woman Kensy had met earlier in the garden burst into the room, huffing and panting. ‘You leave Chester alone, you horrible hounds!’ she yelled.

  But Wellie and Mac were focused on their prey and chased the squirrel across the room. Chester scurried up onto one of the pinball machines, trembling before taking off again, using the furniture to escape his tormentors.

  ‘Wellington, Mackintosh,’ Song said sternly. His voice was barely above a whisper and yet the two terriers immediately stopped their chasing and settled on the floor by the man’s feet. The butler arched an eyebrow at them, prompting the dogs to hang their heads, as if they knew full well they’d just been caught up to no good.

  Chester, meanwhile, was now perched on the net of the ping-pong table, twitching tensely and surveying the room. The woman patted her left shoulder and the squirrel took a few running jumps before leaping onto her arm and scampering into the large pocket on the front of her overalls.

  Glad of the interruption, Fitz smiled at the woman, who was positively birdlike beside his solid six-foot-four frame. ‘I see you’re still rescuing the wildlife, Mim.’

  She turned and looked at him for a disconcerting length of time. ‘Always, darling,’ she replied, then wrapped her arms around him tightly.

  The twins had absolutely no idea what to make of the scene. They’d never heard Fitz talk about anyone called Mim before and here the two of them were carrying on like old friends.

  ‘I don’t believe you’ve met,’ Fitz said, turning to the children. ‘Mim, this is Kensy and Max.’

  Kensy looked at her brother and then back at Fitz. ‘We sort of did meet, in the garden.’

  Mim nodded. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself properly out there.’

  Max noticed that her eyes were the most unusual shade of grey just like …

  ‘Mim is … um … she’s …’ Fitz cleared his throat and loosened his collar. He seemed to be blushing, which was very odd indeed, as he was the most unflappable human the twins knew.

  ‘I’m Fitzgerald’s mother,’ Mim said simply. She looked at Fitz, as if to say, ‘See? That wasn’t so hard.’

  ‘Fitzgerald?’ Kensy repeated. ‘As in our Fitz?’ She turned to him, the question alight in her eyes.

  ‘Well, he’s actually my Fitz, but I’m happy to share.’ The woman chortled at her own joke.

  For once in her life, Kensy was rendered speechless. Max was also at a loss for words. The two children stood rooted to the spot, processing the fact that the man they thought they knew inside and out had had an entire life before them. It was silly, of course, as well as completely unexpected. If there’d been an electric eel in the bathtub this morning, they couldn’t have been more shocked than they were by everything else that had happened today.

  The Range Rover hurtled along the motorway towards London. The early morning fog had mostly cleared and it was shaping up to be a beautiful day despite Kensy’s stormy mood. Fitz was behind the wheel and Song sat beside him in the passenger seat. The butler had swapped his formal attire for more casual clothes, which the children had been glad to see. They hadn’t fancied being accompanied around London by a penguin. Wellington and Mackintosh lay between Kensy and Max in the back, sound asleep.

  Kensy stared gloomily out the window. She was still hating the fact that Fitz was gallivanting off to Africa and making them attend school in London while he was gone. Apparently, he had some connections there and he thought it the best option, although Kensy didn’t really understand it at all. It wasn’t fair, and how could she possibly be expected to learn anything when she would spend the whole time worrying about her parents? Her stomach was churning and so was her mind. As the fields flew by, she couldn’t help thinking how much their mother would love the lush green country side. Anna Grey had found Australia rather curious with the ghost gums and bush. Despite their beauty, she
made no secret that she longed for the rolling green hills of her homeland in France.

  Song turned on the radio and was soon humming along to the twang of a slide guitar. Kensy groaned and covered her ears while Max, oblivious to the tunes, continued studying the map of London that was spread across his lap. With pointed finger, the boy had followed their journey from North Yorkshire, down the A169 on to the A64 then the M1, which approached the city from the north. He’d been memorising the names of the towns and villages he could see from the motorway and had just turned the page to focus his attention on the enlarged map of London. They had reached the outer boroughs and were making good time on their run into the city.

  Last night the twins had eaten dinner with Fitz and Mim. They still couldn’t quite believe that she was his mother, having never heard a word about the woman their entire lives. It transpired that both mother and son were guilty of a family rift and had been equally stubborn about it. But when plans had first gone awry in Zermatt, Fitz had thought the most obvious thing to do was to return home – that way, the children would be in good care if he needed to go looking for Anna and Ed. Sometimes you just had to swallow your pride and, after all, blood was thicker than water.

  Max and Kensy had great fun taking turns interrogating Mim for every single embarrassing childhood story of their stoic manny. They had also learned that Mim managed the gardens at Alexandria and had done so since Fitz was a boy. The only trouble was, Mim couldn’t go down to London with them just now due to some critical work in the garden. She was grafting one hundred experimental new plants – a cross between a blackberry and a raspberry, which they would name a blars-berry if successful. Song had volunteered to accompany them instead as Dame Spencer was not due back at Alexandria for a couple of weeks and he was happy to assist.

  With a captive audience, Kensy had shared what she’d overheard in the garden and announced that they had two criminals, most likely murderers, in their midst – one of whom was going down to London after he’d dealt with some bodies.