by Holly Rivers
‘Here you go, my lovely,’ she said, passing a mug to Demelza. ‘A nice hot choccy. Thought you could do with somethin’ to keep your strength up.’ She turned to Percy and handed him a paper bag. ‘And this, my darlin’ boy, is for you. From Mr Barnabas.’
‘Eh, what is it?’ he asked, opening the packet. He pulled out a handful of purple triangular-shaped candies decorated with tiny skulls.
‘Spectre Sweets!’ said Grandma Maeve. ‘I know you spectres can’t eat proper food, but for the past few years he’s been developing these for the young spectres to enjoy. Your system can digest them and they don’t taste half bad, apparently!’
‘Fascinating!’ said Demelza. ‘What a great invention!’
‘Why don’t you try one?’ said Grandma Maeve to Percy. ‘It’s been a while since you’ve eaten something delicious, by the sound of it. I still can’t believe your dad had been feeding you those empty pills for so long!’
Percy popped one of the sweets in his mouth. As he chewed, a huge smile spread across his face, his eyes sparkling. ‘Mmmm, that’s so yummy! Nearly as good as the real thing. A bit chocolatey . . . a bit nutty . . . with just a hint of strawberry!’
‘Well, don’t eat too many at once!’ said Grandma Maeve, hobbling across the room. ‘Now, lunch won’t be ready for a couple of hours, so carry on relaxing until then. I’ve invited a few guests, so it’s gonna be a real celebration!’
And a real celebration it was.
Percy and Demelza ran into the kitchen at two o’clock to find a table fit for a banquet. At its centre, a huge slab of roast beef sat on a platter, surrounded by a mountain of crisp roast potatoes and balls of stuffing. Little ceramic jugs were filled with gravy, bowls were heavy with horseradish and mustard, and Grandma Maeve had laid out her best silver cutlery. Lord Balthazar was waiting proudly atop the refrigerator, wearing a paper party hat.
‘Someone’s ready to celebrate,’ said Demelza, looking up at the skull.
Lord Balthazar harrumphed. ‘Well, it’s a celebration after all. Even the upper echelons of the English gentry are allowed to let their hair down once in a while, are they not?’
‘Of course,’ said Demelza, before muttering under her breathe, ‘if you had any hair.’
‘What was that?’ said the skull.
‘Nothing, Lord Balthazar! You look . . . erm . . . very distinguished!’
Before long, the guests had arrived and everyone was nestled around the long oak table, filling their plates and talking loudly. Everyone sat on mismatched chairs, with even a couple of upturned garden crates doubling up as places to perch. Grandma Maeve had invited Miranda, as well as Mr Barnabas and his wife, Zelda.
‘I think it’s time for a toast!’ Grandma Maeve said halfway through the meal. She clapped her hands together and stood at the head of the table holding a glass of ginger wine, her cheeks already ruddy from one too many.
Mr Barnabas reached into his bag. ‘In which case, I think the children deserve a glass of my home-made dandelion and burdock,’ he said. He pulled out a tall bottle filled with a fizzy, amethyst-coloured liquid and poured glasses for Demelza and Miranda. ‘I haven’t quite figured out how to make the recipe spectre-friendly yet, I’m afraid, Percy, but I promise I’ll have it done for next time.’
‘To my very wonderful granddaughter and her very brave friends,’ said Grandma Maeve, ‘without whom, I might not be here today. They’ve shown fearlessness, loyalty and a whole lot of courage. I think you’ll all agree that they’re three very special children indeed. To Demelza, Percy and Miranda!’
‘Demelza, Percy and Miranda!’ chorused everyone, and they clinked their glasses to the centre of the table, sloshing their drinks with careless abandon.
The doorbell rang.
‘Eh? Who could that be?’ said Grandma Maeve, getting up from her seat. ‘I wasn’t expectin’ no more guests.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll get it, Grandma!’ said Demelza, stuffing a huge roast potato in her mouth before pushing back her chair. ‘I think I know who it might be.’
She flitted out of the kitchen and was back within a minute, a mischievous grin painted across her face. ‘Now, don’t be angry with me, Grandma,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t think it would be much of a celebration without one of the most important people of all.’
She stepped aside to reveal a rather nervous-looking Ms Cardinal. She was wearing her usual floor-length skirt and crinoline blouse, but instead of her hair being tied up in a bun, it fell to her waist in long grey waves.
As she shuffled into the kitchen, the two sisters studied each other intently, their arms crossed over their chests, their shoulders back. A deafening silence filled the room, and both Percy and Miranda shot Demelza a worried look.
‘Margaret,’ said Grandma Maeve, without a hint of a smile.
‘Maeve,’ replied Ms Cardinal, with the same grave glare.
‘It seems my little sister has turned into an old woman. Is that grey hair I see, Margaret?’
Ms Cardinal huffed. ‘Ha! You’re not looking too youthful yourself, Maeve. At least I have all of my own teeth!’
Everyone in the room gulped and Demelza shuffled from foot to foot. Maybe this wasn’t the right moment for a big family reunion after all.
But just as Demelza was about to suggest that Ms Cardinal go through to the lounge, Grandma Maeve threw her cane to one side. She hobbled across the room with her arms outstretched, and a huge smile broke across her face. ‘Oh, Maggie, you silly old bat!’ she gushed. ‘I’ve missed you so much! Come on, give your big sis a squidge. I can’t believe it’s been so long.’
‘Oh, Maeve!’ gushed Ms Cardinal, tears beginning to run down her cheeks. ‘All these years wasted, and just because of my stupid, stupid prank. I’m so, so sorry.’
‘Hush, hush, it’s all right.’ Grandma Maeve stepped back and put a finger to her sister’s lips. ‘We’re both to blame anyway. I shouldn’t have been such a stubborn old mule when you tried to make peace. But it’s all in the past. Time for us to move on.’
‘Indeed it is,’ said Ms Cardinal, with a sniff. ‘And it’s all thanks to one person, of course. If it wasn’t for your extremely wild and unruly granddaughter then we wouldn’t be here together now. Thank you, Demelza. You are a truly remarkable girl.’ She grabbed her great-niece’s cheeks and planted a big, wet kiss in the middle of her forehead.
‘YUUUCK!’ said Demelza, pulling away and wiping her face. ‘It’s great that you’re both here together again, but enough of the slushy stuff! Isn’t it time for some pudding, Grandma?’
Grandma Maeve chuckled. ‘Well, I know your Aunty Margaret probably don’t approve of sugary things, but I’m sure she won’t mind just this once.’
‘Oh no, she does approve!’ Miranda cut in. ‘She likes doughnuts and pastries and chocolate eclairs. Demelza says she has a huge secret stash of them hidden in the kitchen at Stricton and—’
‘Thank you, Miss Choudhury,’ said a red-cheeked Ms Cardinal. ‘That’s quite enough.’ She threw Miranda her trademark iron glare and, just as if they were back in the classroom, she was silenced immediately.
‘Ha! Well, I never,’ said Grandma Maeve. ‘Goody-two-shoes Margaret has her own secret stash of sweets. Strawberry mousse it is, then!’
The party atmosphere continued late into the evening. After lunch, everyone retired into the sitting room, where constellations of candles illuminated every corner. Harry Le Quin and the other spectres that’d helped at Eternal Sorrow Cemetery had been invited to join the celebrations, and as Mr Barnabas struck up a jaunty tune on his banjolele, humans and spectres alike danced.
Percy was in his element, repeating the story of how they’d escaped Crookescroft Castle, with the dangers and perils getting bigger and bigger with each retelling. Miranda sat listening to the historical spectres recounting their tales of yesteryear, and noting down any romantic happenings that could inspire a new sonnet or haiku.
And on the sofa, cocooned between Grandma
Maeve and Ms Cardinal (who’d newly been named Aunty M), Demelza cuddled up with her animals, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the deliciousness of finally being home.
‘Wow! That was a great day, Mrs Catchpole,’ said Percy, as he and Demelza helped Grandma Maeve dry the dishes later that night. Everyone had finally left, and Bladderwrack Cottage was a bomb site of party poppers, glasses and copious empty bottles of ginger wine. ‘Thank you so much.’
Grandma Maeve swung her tea towel over her shoulder and smiled. ‘Aw, it was an absolute pleasure, young man. You deserved it. Now why don’t you head on up to bed, hmm? I don’t want to sound like your father, but I think you could do with a few early nights. You too, Demelza.’
‘But Grandma,’ she whined, ‘I wanted to finish dismantling that clock mechanism I started earlier. Just half an hour longer . . .’
Grandma Maeve shook her head. ‘Not a chance. Your Spectre Detector apprenticeship starts again first thing in the mornin’, and I’ve already got a summoning booked in for you to do tomorrow night.’
‘So soon?’ drawled Demelza. ‘Don’t I at least get a few more days off? Compassionate leave or something?’
‘Days off?’ said Grandma Maeve. ‘Death don’t stop just because you fancy a few days lazin’ around in bed, my darlin’. And the mourners don’t stop mournin’.’
Demelza nodded. Grandma was right. If she was going to become the world’s first Spectre-Detecting Inventor, then she had to put in the work.
The children made their way up the rickety stairs. When she was nearly at the top, Demelza poked her head through the bannister. ‘Love you more than circuit boards!’ she shouted down to Grandma Maeve with a smile.
‘Love you more than teapots,’ came the reply. ‘More than all the teapots in the world!’
Up in the attic, Percy fell sound asleep in minutes, snoozing gently in his makeshift bed with his bunny slippers by his side.
Even though she was tired too, Demelza pulled her patchwork quilt over her shoulders and sat down at her desk. She looked up to the shelves and couldn’t help but grin. Her soldering iron now shared a space with her ghoulbox, and her microscope sat next to her crucible.
And stacked atop her notebook marked Demelza Clock: Inventor was a new notebook embossed with a skull bearing the words, Demelza Clock: Spectre Detector.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I’d like to thank the following people for helping me lure Demelza out of her attic room and on to the page . . .
To everyone at Chicken House – you were always my dream publishers, and I’m so honoured that you took a chance on me and my manuscript. I had no idea how much of a team effort publishing a book would actually be, and I’m humbled by the huge amount of time and work you’ve all put into making this story the best it can be. A huge salute also to my cover illustrator, Alex T. Smith for rendering Demelza so beautifully – ginger plaits, deerstalker, freckles and all!
Massive gratitude to my agent Kate Shaw for guiding this debut author through her first years in the industry with passion, patience and a cracking sense of humour. I’m so glad to have you by my side.
I’d also like to say thanks to Chloe Seager for championing Demelza from the get-go. Your wonderful feedback early on really gave me the confidence to put my writing out into the world.
To everyone at the Golden Egg Academy, especially my wonderful mentor and friend Charlotte Maslen. Your wholehearted belief in my writing means so much, and I wouldn’t be in print without your guidance, ideas and chats. Also, to my fellow Foundation Course writers for allowing me into your magnificent fictional universes.
I’m so lucky to have such a supportive family. Mum, thanks for giving me a childhood full of stories, art and roast dinners, and an adulthood full of love and support. Dad and Mary – I couldn’t ask for better cheerleaders. Your enthusiasm for this book has been unyielding and I’m forever grateful for your warmth and encouragement (the supply of Picon and French cheeses never goes amiss either!). And of course, my dear siblings: Jack, Poppy, Lottie and Jude.
Manda and Mr Glen – thank you for always having an open door, a spare bed and Tupperware full of cakes. You are very, very special people.
To all my family, friends and colleagues in Cardiff, West Wales, London, Brighton and beyond – I tip my (thinking) hat to each and every one of you. Thanks for making my world a very lovely place to be.
Most of this book was written in various libraries across London, so a big shout-out to all of the brilliant librarians and staff members (especially the inimitable Magnolia at Stroud Green and Harringay Library) who make these places such magical and much-needed environments.
I’ve been lucky enough to teach and hang out with so many wonderful children over the years, but a special mention must be given to: Úna Kieran-O’Brien, Edward Bowyer, Autumn Ackroyd, Iris Burton, Felicity and Violet Nicholls, Alice Marzocchi, Juno Wilson, Hazel Eston, Isla Fransman-Powell, Isabel Comer, Samuel Sharpe, Finn and Greta Lawrence, Hazel and Gwilym Kaye, and Rocco Ercolanoni. There’s no doubt that fragments of your inventive (and sometimes mischievous) personalities found their way into Demelza, Percy and Miranda, and made their characters all the richer.
Finally, grazie mille to my darling Fred for always being by my side. I love you, and I owe you a very big pizza.
TRY ANOTHER GREAT BOOK FROM CHICKEN HOUSE
MIDNIGHT HOUR by BENJAMIN READ & LAURA TRINDER
Emily’s parents have vanished into the secret world of the Midnight Hour – a Victorian London frozen in time – home to magic and monsters. Emily must find them in the city of the Night Folk, armed only with a packed lunch, a stowaway hedgehog and her infamously big mouth. With bloodthirsty creatures on her tail, Emily has to discover the truth to rescue her parents. What family secret connects her to the Midnight Hour? And can she save both worlds before she runs out of sandwiches?
Anarchic humour, rich imagination and poetic writing, interspersed with elegant line drawings, add up to pure delight – with a stowaway hedgehog as a bonus.
GUARDIAN
Paperback, ISBN 978-1-911490-90-6, £6.99 • ebook, ISBN 978-1-911490-91-3, £6.99
Published by Scholastic Australia Pty Ltd
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ABN 11 000 614 577
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First edition published by Chicken House, 2020.
This electronic edition published by Scholastic Australia Pty Ltd, 2020
E-PUB/MOBI eISBN: 978-1-76097-381-0
Text © Holly Rivers 2020
Cover illustration © Alex T. Smith 2020
Cover and interior design by Helen Crawford-White
Cover and interior illustrations by Alex T. Smith
Holly Rivers asserts her moral rights as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher, unless specifically permitted under the Australian Copyright Act 1968 as amended.
