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by Jacqueline Harvey

  Their History lesson was interesting, to say the least. Mr Reffell entered the classroom dressed in full colonial costume and assumed the character of Admiral Horatio Nelson. Kensy had never even heard of the man, but by the end of the lesson there wasn’t much she didn’t know about the Battle of Trafalgar and the defeat of ‘that upstart Frenchman Napoleon Bonaparte’. She’d held her breath when Mr Reffell had drawn a very large sword and lunged at one of the boys, the tip connecting with the flushed skin on the lad’s neck.

  Kensy had been thrilled to find out they were studying French as both she and Max were fluent speakers. Their teacher, Madame Cosette Verte, had the most welcoming smile and her long brown hair swished about her shoulders as she spoke. She wore a dress covered in pink flowers with matching lipstick and Kensy soon decided she was one of those people who simply radiated joy. Madame Verte had beamed at Kensy and Max when they initiated a conversation in French that she joined in with great enthusiasm.

  The twins’ English teacher, on the other hand, was a bit snippy. Although her name made Kensy think of someone round and squishy, she was all bones and angles. Miss Witherbee was tall and had the sort of frame fashion designers preferred to dress, like a walking coathanger. It quickly became evident that the woman had no patience for anyone in the class who didn’t ‘get it’ straight away. Then again, Kensy couldn’t stand it when teachers had to go over and over things either, so she felt the woman’s pain when a pallid boy called Winston made her explain their homework at least three times. Kensy noticed a little vein pop out on the side of Miss Witherbee’s temple each time the lad said, ‘But I still don’t get it.’

  While Kensy and Max remained together for all of their lessons, Autumn and Carlos and the rest of their new friends attended extension classes for a couple of periods. Kensy was nothing but determined that she and Max would join them soon.

  Their friends had met them in the dining hall for lunch, and enjoyed a meal of roast chicken, vegetables and gravy. It was different to school in Australia, where they’d usually taken a packed lunch from home. The head dinner lady, Mrs Trimm, had given Kensy an extra serve of sticky date pudding with butterscotch sauce and vanilla-bean ice-cream, which was delicious. Kensy had watched Mr MacGregor devour his. It was comforting to know that Mrs Trimm’s cooking met his exacting standards.

  The last lesson of the day was PE and involved a vigorous game of football on a pitch at the back of the school. Max scored two goals, well and truly cementing his legendary status. But it was Kensy who booted three balls into the back of the net, and was beginning to accumulate her own legion of fans – but only from their class.

  Their teacher, Mr Nutting, let the kids get changed and go to their lockers before the bell. Kensy was just working out what she needed to take home when Max tapped her on the shoulder.

  ‘I’ll meet you at the front gate,’ he said. He was still being high-fived and patted on the back by just about every student, which Kensy was starting to find quite irritating.

  Luckily, Autumn appeared at the locker beside her, lifting her mood.

  ‘Hey,’ Kensy said brightly, ‘what lesson did you come from?’

  Autumn glanced at her and smiled. ‘PE,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘My worst subject.’

  ‘That’s funny,’ Kensy said. ‘I didn’t see you out there.’

  ‘Oh no, I’m in a different class to you. We were doing theory today – um, resuscitation,’ Autumn replied, hurriedly shoving books in her bag. She zipped it closed and shut her locker door. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, okay. I thought you might like to …’ Kensy stopped, realising the girl was jiggling about as if desperate to rush off. She had been planning to invite Autumn over after school, but perhaps it was better if she asked Song first. ‘Never mind. See you tomorrow.’

  Autumn waved and grabbed her bag, saying something about a singing lesson before racing off down the hall.

  Kensy finished putting away her things. She double-checked she had everything she needed to complete her homework then closed her locker door. As she turned to leave, Kensy spotted Autumn at the other end of the corridor talking to Harper. They were joined by Carlos and seemed to be deep in conversation. It was a bit strange for someone who was in such a tearing hurry just a moment ago. Kensy felt a pang in her chest. Had Autumn made up an excuse not to invite her along? Oddly, Mrs Vanden Boom appeared and together the group walked through a doorway and out of sight.

  A hand on her arm jolted the girl back to the present.

  Kensy whirled around to find Inez standing beside her. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to jump,’ she said. ‘Do you know if Autumn goes to singing lessons with Harper and Carlos?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ the girl replied, her eyebrows knitting together. ‘Carlos doesn’t have a musical bone in his body, and Harper plays the cello and has lessons in Chelsea on Thursday with the same teacher as me. I don’t remember Autumn ever saying anything about singing, though, sorry. Why – do you sing?’

  Kensy bit her lip. ‘Yes,’ she lied, immediately regretting it.

  The word was out of her mouth before she had time to think. Music was probably the one part of her and Max’s education that had been sadly neglected. Fitz had taught Max some chords on the guitar, but Kensy had never been that interested in learning an instrument. She could barely remember the words nor hold the tune to every new school’s song she’d had to learn.

  ‘I can ask my cello teacher to recommend someone if you’re looking,’ Inez offered.

  But singing lessons were the furthest thing from Kensy’s mind. Was Autumn just pretending to be her friend? Kensy racked her brain for something she might have said to upset the girl, but nothing sprang to mind. She thanked Inez and said goodbye, then rushed off to find her brother.

  Kensy hitched her schoolbag higher and pushed her way through the double doors. Dreary grey skies had given way to dusk. She’d always thought the worst thing about the onset of winter was the shortening days; it was going to take some getting used to, especially having come straight from an Australian spring. She looked around for Max and spotted him talking to two senior boys. They were laughing and both shook Max’s hand before heading off.

  ‘Who are they?’ Kensy asked.

  Max greeted her with a winning smile. ‘The big fellow is Alfie – remember, we saw him when we came for our interview? The other guy is Liam. They were just asking me about this morning.’

  ‘Of course they were,’ Kensy sniped. She glanced about impatiently.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Max said. ‘I thought you’d be happy I beat Magoo, and you didn’t do too badly out there at football this afternoon.’

  The girl shrugged gloomily.

  ‘I haven’t stopped thinking about them either, Kens,’ Max said.

  ‘I know. It’s not only that.’ Kensy had suddenly remembered the note in her pocket. She reached inside and grasped it. Maybe there would be another cryptic clue from their parents today when they got home. Although Max was convinced the notepad was merely a coincidence. She looked up and down the street. ‘Where’s Song? Fitz said he’d be waiting for us.’

  ‘He’s probably just been held up at home,’ the boy said. ‘Do you want to grab something from the corner shop? I’m sure we’ll meet him on the way. Fitz gave me five pounds.’

  ‘Why didn’t he give me five pounds?’ Kensy grouched. ‘In that case, yes, I’d like chocolate and lots of it.’

  The children set off down the street towards the row of shops that started on the corner of Ponsonby Place and wrapped their way around to Ponsonby Terrace. They crossed the street and left their bags on the footpath outside the whitewashed newsagency with blue awnings.

  A buzzer sounded a sharp alarm as they walked inside, alerting a plump middle-aged woman behind the counter to their presence. It needn’t have bothered. The woman was glued to a small television mounted on a wall bracket above and didn’t look over despite Kensy saying hello. The girl so
on realised that she was one of the three women they’d seen outside the shop yesterday and again that morning across from the school – the smoker with the envelopes.

  Max made a beeline for the chocolate aisle. Kensy didn’t make it that far; a newspaper on the middle shelf had caught her eye. She looked at the masthead and recognised it to be Fitz’s favourite. No matter where they were in the world, he always seemed to have a copy of that paper.

  The girl drew a sharp breath. ‘So that’s it,’ she whispered to herself, an idea forming in her head. Kensy flicked it open to see if she could find any further details on the inside page.

  ‘This is not a library,’ the woman barked, without breaking her gaze from the television set. ‘You read it, you buy it.’

  Kensy squeaked an apology and hurried around to her brother. ‘This is what she does!’ she said, shoving the newspaper at him.

  ‘Who?’ Max glanced at the front page, then went back to deciding which chocolates to buy.

  ‘Dame Spencer,’ Kensy said. ‘When we were at Alexandria and I saw the helicopter fly off, that lighthouse was on the underside of it.’ She pointed at the masthead, which bore the words ‘The Beacon’ and the lighthouse symbol. ‘Fitz is always reading this paper.’

  ‘No wonder she’s so rich then, if she’s a newspaper baroness,’ Max said. He still didn’t understand why his sister was so excited about it.

  ‘Do you think there could be anything in here about Mum and Dad?’ Kensy asked. ‘If Dame Spencer owns a newspaper, she’d have investigative journalists and foreign correspondents stationed all around the world, at her fingertips. Maybe she can find them!’

  ‘You two right over there?’ The woman’s eyes flickered from the television as her program was interrupted by an advertisement. ‘You’d better not be fillin’ your pockets, like all the other little snots round ’ere.’

  ‘We’re not!’ Kensy snapped. She hated being accused of bad behaviour for the sole reason that she was a child. Adults did it more than any of them would care to admit.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t put it past you. In my experience, kids are just about good for nothin’,’ the woman said.

  ‘Geez. Thanks, Mum,’ a male voice shouted from the floor above them. Max glanced at the mouldy ceiling and wondered if there was a flat up there. ‘I’m goin’ out.’

  ‘You’d better get yourself down to Esme’s or you’ll be in strife,’ the woman screeched back. ‘You know she’s got special jobs for you. And if you plan on ever gettin’ out of ’ere, you’d better go and do ’em, you lazy, good-fornothin’ sack of spuds.’

  Kensy’s jaw flapped open. She was about to say something when Max touched her arm and shook his head. Rolling her eyes, Kensy took two bars of chocolate from the shelf. Max had amassed a small pile of sweets for himself too. They walked back around to pay for them, dumping the goods onto the counter.

  Kensy set the paper off to the side. ‘I couldn’t find an address for the Beacon, but we can look it up when we get home. I think we should try to see Dame Spencer after school tomorrow.’

  The woman’s face settled into a sneer as she rang up the items. ‘Vauxhall Bridge Road,’ she muttered.

  ‘Sorry, were you talking to us?’ Kensy asked.

  ‘Bleedin’ ’eck, who else would I be talkin’ to?’ the woman grouched. She stuck out her chin, which had an unfortunately positioned mole right in the middle that seemed to be sprouting its own head of hair. ‘The Beacon building is just around on the main road – blind Freddy could see it,’ the woman said. ‘That poor biddy – you wouldn’t want to be her for all the money in the world and she does have more than her fair share of it.’

  Kensy was surprised to hear the woman had sympathy for anyone. ‘Why is that?’ she asked. This was the last place she thought she’d be getting some answers about Cordelia Spencer.

  ‘So many tragedies in ’er life,’ the shopkeeper replied, shaking her head. ‘First, she loses ’er parents – run over by a bus – then ’er ’usband drops dead. And about twelve years ago – I remember ’cause it was the exact same day my ’usband ’ad come ’ome after a long stint away – ’er son and daughter-in-law and nephew are all killed in a plane crash. You wonder what she ever did to deserve all that … Mind you, she is a convict.’

  Max frowned. ‘A convict?’

  ‘From Australia,’ the woman whispered, as though that in itself constituted a criminal offence.

  ‘That’s terrible,’ Max said. ‘Not that she’s from Australia, but all those dreadful things with her family. Does she have anyone left?’

  ‘One son – bit of a peacock, I ’ear.’ The woman drummed her sausage fingers on the countertop. ‘Are you buyin’ that paper or not? As much as I am the oracle of all wisdom and useful information, I’d prefer to get on wiv my life and not waste my time talkin’ to the likes of you two.’

  Max placed the copy of the Beacon in front of her, then counted out the extra change. As he picked up the bag of sweets and Kensy went to take the paper, the woman reached across and grabbed hold of the girl’s wrist.

  ‘Are you trying to rob me?’ she glowered. ‘You’re five p short.’

  Kensy gasped. She pulled back but the woman’s grip was much stronger than she’d expected. ‘No, of course not,’ the girl snapped. ‘Now, let go of me!’

  Max quickly rummaged around in his pocket for the last coin. He found ten pence and swiftly dropped it into the woman’s hand. Satisfied, she released Kensy.

  ‘Don’t worry about the change,’ the boy said, as he and his sister scurried from the shop.

  Kensy’s heart was thumping so hard it felt as though it would burst through her chest. ‘Do you think she has a giant oven out the back to cook all the children who are five p short?’ she said shakily.

  Max grinned. ‘She does look like she’s eaten a few in her time.’

  Kensy giggled and unwrapped her chocolate bar, regaining her composure. Max popped a handful of Maltesers into his mouth.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I’ll race you home.’

  They collected their bags from the footpath and ran along the street towards number thirteen. As Max dashed across the road, Kensy accidentally dropped the newspaper. With a grunt of frustration, the girl stopped to gather up the pages. She stepped onto the road just as a black cab pulled away from the kerb and hurtled towards her.

  Max turned at the sound of squealing of tyres. ‘Look out!’ he cried.

  Kensy froze for a split second, then came to her senses and bolted out of the way in the nick of time. She leapt onto the footpath as the vehicle sped past, clipping the tail of her coat. The driver didn’t bother to stop, veering into John Islip Street and disappearing from sight.

  A lady pushing a pram rushed to Kensy, who was sprawled on the ground in shock. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked, crouching down. ‘Oh dear, you’re bleeding.’

  Kensy gingerly pushed herself up off the ground and dusted her uniform. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and pressed it against her grazed knees, grimacing at the touch. ‘I thought the taxi drivers in London were supposed to be the politest in the world.’

  ‘Not that one, apparently.’ The woman produced a wet wipe from the bag under the baby’s pusher and handed it to Kensy.

  Max stood there staring at the end of the road, wishing he’d thought to look at the number plate. ‘That driver should have his licence taken away,’ the boy said.

  ‘Would you like me to call someone?’ the woman offered.

  ‘It’s okay, this is us,’ Kensy said, pointing to the glossy black door before them.

  The woman frowned. ‘Really? I thought that house was empty most of the time. I’m Claudia, by the way. I just live down the street.’

  The front door swung open and Song stepped out onto the tiny bridge that linked the house to the footpath. He was straightening his tie and smoothing his hair. ‘Miss Kensington!’ he gasped, and sprinted onto the footpath. ‘What happened?’

  ‘She was almost
mown down by some maniac cab driver,’ Max replied. As if things weren’t hard enough at the moment. He knew his sister was tough, but it must have given her quite a shock.

  Looking slightly rattled, Song gave Kensy the once-over. ‘I should have come to meet you. I am so sorry, Miss Kensington, I had an un expected visitor,’ he said with grave sincerity, looking as if he were about to cry. ‘Are you hurt?’

  The girl shook her head and was quickly bundled off inside with the promise of antiseptic and gauze.

  ‘Thanks again,’ Max said to Claudia. He looked at the pram, which was covered by a cloth hiding the baby from view. ‘What’s its name?’ he asked.

  The woman blinked and looked at him blankly.

  ‘May I see?’ he said, pointing at the pram. ‘I love babies.’

  ‘Oh,’ Claudia said, laughing. ‘Perhaps next time. She’s sleeping and I really don’t like to disturb her. She’s not easy.’ She cast a nervous glance at the pram.

  ‘Next time then,’ Max said with a smile. He picked up his schoolbag and walked towards the door of number thirteen Ponsonby Terrace. Today had been a lot of things, but uneventful was certainly not one of them.

  Max closed the front door behind him, careful not to let in the stray leaves the icy wind had rustled up. He was about to head upstairs when a funny feeling came over him. He turned and looked around the sitting room, setting his bag down on the floor. Something was different. Max was trying to think what it was when he spotted an object poking out from under one of the cream sofas. He walked closer and saw that it was a triangular piece of porcelain. Max picked it up and turned it over. The other side was patterned in white and royal blue, and he remembered seeing a large vase with that same floral detail inside the entrance hall. Max ducked down to see if there was anything else hiding under there but came up empty-handed.