13 Curses (5 page)

“Where’s that then, nearby?”

“Elvesden Manor,” Tanya replied.

The man’s smile froze on his lips. “Take care, now.” He gave a polite nod, and moved away to help someone else.

Tanya watched him go wordlessly. His reaction was not unexpected. Everyone who lived in Tickey End had heard the stories surrounding Elvesden Manor. Stories of how the wife of the original owner had died in a lunatic asylum, followed by the disappearance just over fifty years ago of a local girl whom many believed to have been killed by the manor’s groundskeeper at the time.

The house was shrouded in mystery, a never-ending source of tittle-tattle. But gossip was damaging. The accusations regarding the missing girl had tarnished the former groundskeeper’s life, and now the old man was a recluse, never venturing from the second floor of the house.

However, the problem with the true version of events—which Tanya had had a hand in unraveling in the summer—was that the majority of people would not believe them. For the truth was that the missing girl had been trapped in the fairy realm for half a century, unable to leave unless somebody else took her place. Her attempt to return to the mortal world had almost resulted in Tanya exchanging places with her and becoming trapped instead. But Tanya had been lucky. Someone had saved her… by taking her place in the exchange. Her stomach formed a tight knot as she remembered that dreadful night.

She sat down on a nearby bench and waited, the autumn breeze blowing her long, dark hair around her face. Through the diminishing throng of the last passengers a lone figure was striding toward her. As the man approached, Tanya could see the lines in his weather-worn face. As always, his dark hair, graying at the temples, was fastened back into a careless ponytail. His name was Warwick, and he was the groundskeeper of Elvesden Manor. He looked older than she remembered. He stopped before her and gave a slight nod.

“Good journey?”

Tanya shrugged and smiled. “It was all right.”

Warwick gave Oberon a heavy pat on the head before easily hoisting Tanya’s bag up onto his shoulder. Together they walked toward the parking lot. As they passed the ticket office, Tanya saw unfriendly eyes aimed at her companion. She stole a tentative glance at Warwick. His eyes were fixed straight ahead, giving no indication that he had noticed. Tanya glared back at the station staff, but if they saw, they never reacted.

Warwick was well-known in Tickey End for being the current groundskeeper of the notorious Elvesden Manor. But he was also the son of Amos, the old groundskeeper suspected of foul play in the missing girl’s disappearance. Like Tanya, Warwick was one of the few people who knew of the fairies’ existence—and of his father’s innocence. Yet the knowledge was bittersweet, for it was something that would not, and could not, be accepted by the people of Tickey End.

They clambered into Warwick’s battered Land Rover and exited the parking lot, onward and out of Tickey End through the narrow, winding lanes of the Essex countryside. In the summer the trees had been lush and leafy, forming a thick canopy over the road. Now the branches stretched overhead were shedding their leaves like unwanted gloves. They lay across the road in a carpet of russet, scattering like birds or fairies as the Land Rover rumbled through them.

“Fabian’s looking forward to seeing you,” said Warwick. “I think he wants you to go trick-or-treating with him.”

During the summer, Tanya and Fabian, Warwick’s twelve-year-old son, had become good friends. Fabian also knew of Tanya’s ability to see fairies, though he did not share it.

“And your grandmother’s just hired a new housekeeper,” Warwick added.

After the usual small talk, silence settled. Warwick was not much of a talker at the best of times, Tanya knew, but today he seemed preoccupied. She wondered if he was thinking about the hostile stares he had received in Tickey End. Even though he had appeared not to notice, she knew he must have.

Warwick fiddled with the radio, flicking between stations. Strains of music were replaced by static, then he settled on a news channel and relaxed back into his seat. Tanya leaned back and stared out of the window, wishing that Warwick had chosen a music channel and not the news. A few minutes later, however, her head snapped up.

“A missing toddler who vanished last October has been found,” said the radio newsreader.

Tanya fumbled for the volume and turned it up.

“What is it?” Warwick asked, but Tanya barely heard him.

“Lauren Marsh vanished from a sweet shop in Suffolk. Today she was found unharmed near where she originally vanished. Detectives are searching for fourteen-year-old runaway Rowan Fox in connection with this abduction and two others. Today it was confirmed that Fox’s own young brother disappeared last
February while the two of them were in care. Fox has not been seen since July, and there are mounting concerns for her safety.”

A telephone helpline number was given for anyone with information on the abduction, and then the newsreader moved on to another story.

Tanya sat back in her seat, biting her lip. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Warwick glance at her before turning back to the road. Then the Land Rover slowed and he pulled off to the side of the road, cutting the engine.

“That was her, wasn’t it?” he said quietly. “Rowan Fox. The girl who saved you. The girl who took your place.” He paused. “The girl who calls herself Red.”

Tanya looked at him and nodded. His icy blue eyes were fixed on the road, and his mouth was set in a thin line.

“How can she have returned the child if she’s still in the fairy realm?” he asked. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“It can’t have been Red who returned the real Lauren Marsh,” said Tanya. “Now that she’s in the fairy realm she’ll only be searching for her brother—I’m sure of it. But I remember her saying there were other people involved. She had contacts—others doing the same thing. Someone else must have brought Lauren back.”

“So she hasn’t… contacted you?”

“No,” said Tanya. “She doesn’t have any way of contacting me unless it’s through the manor.”

Warwick exhaled slowly, shaking his head.

“What are you thinking?” Tanya asked.

Warwick started the engine, his face unreadable. “I think she’s still there, in the fairy realm. And I think she’s got herself into a lot of trouble, that girl. On both sides.”

“On both sides? You mean… here, and… the fairy realm?”

“Aye. That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Do you think she’ll find her brother?”

Warwick looked as if he was considering his answer carefully.

“Finding him is one thing. Getting him back may be quite another.”

The last ten minutes of the journey were passed in silence. Finally the Land Rover lumbered through a set of open iron gates, on either side of which, mounted on a pillar, a stone gargoyle glared down. Then, looming before them was the magnificent, ivy-wreathed building known as Elvesden Manor.

Warwick parked the Land Rover at the side of the house, next to his little den. Then he, Tanya, and Oberon got out and made their way to the front of the house, their feet crunching through the gravel. As he pulled his keys out, Tanya stared up at the many windows, ivy trailing over them. The house was huge, with nearly twenty bedrooms, and was far too big for its few inhabitants. Even so, her grandmother stoutly refused to move somewhere smaller and had expressed her hope that the house would one day belong to
Tanya. Given the manor’s past, Tanya still wasn’t sure how she felt about this prospect.

The sturdy old front door creaked as Warwick pushed it open, and then they stepped into the dark hallway. Tanya sniffed a few times and wrinkled her nose. She was used to the house smelling musty but today there was another, unfamiliar smell, something sickly and synthetic, like furniture polish or air freshener. They moved farther into the house, passing the staircase leading up to the first and second floors. On a small landing halfway up to the first floor stood a grandfather clock, silent except for a light scuffling from inside. As they approached it, Tanya could make out the voices of the fairies that lived there.

“Not
her
again!”

“The tricketty one?
Already?
”

Warwick gave her a sideways glance, but neither of them mentioned what they’d heard. “I’ll take your bag up to your room,” he said, moving onto the stairs.

“Thanks,” said Tanya, heading for the kitchen with Oberon at her heels. “I’ll unpack later.”

Voices could be heard from the kitchen. Tanya bounced through the door eagerly. As she entered, her grandmother, a woman in her mid-sixties named Florence, turned toward her, her thin face breaking into a smile.

“There you are!” she exclaimed. “We were wondering where you’d got to.” She stepped forward, kissing Tanya’s cheek.

“This is Nell, our new housekeeper.”

Tanya turned and looked behind her. Two other people were sitting at the kitchen table. One was Warwick’s son Fabian, a tall, spindly boy with unruly fair hair and thick glasses. He was grinning at her, his blue eyes dancing with mischief. On the table in front of him was a fat pumpkin. He was still in his school uniform, his tie loose around his neck. He leaned down to make a fuss of Oberon, who had positioned himself under the table, contentedly crunching on a bone Florence had produced for him from a brown paper bag.

The other person at the table was one of the oddest-looking women Tanya had ever seen. She was middle-aged, probably in her early fifties. Her hair was like coarse brown straw, resting on plump shoulders in a messy heap. The next thing Tanya noticed was her shape: the top half of the woman seemed strangely out of proportion to the rest of her. From her double chin to her fleshy bottom, she was large and plump, with a rounded tummy; but her legs were thin and did not look strong enough to support the weight of the rest of her. Her clothes—a baggy, cheap-looking blouse and tight leggings meant for much younger women—only accentuated the strangeness of her shape. But it was the smaller details that really held Tanya’s interest—details such as the chipped nail polish on the woman’s stubby nails, and the equally stubby toes that reached over the ends of shabby pink flip-flops.

“Hello,” said Tanya politely.

Nell beamed as Florence set a steaming cup of tea in front of Tanya. She took a sip, and then her eyes settled on Fabian, who was sketching a pumpkin design on a scrap of paper, the tip of his tongue protruding from the corner of his mouth in concentration. Tanya went and sat next to him, peering at the drawing.

“Do you want to help me carve it?” he asked.

Before Tanya could respond, Nell spoke.

“It’s a bit early, isn’t it?” Her voice was high-pitched and slightly too loud. “It’ll be rotten by Halloween if you carve it now.”

“I’m not carving it yet,” said Fabian. “I’m just working out the design.”

“Hmm,” said Nell, wrinkling her nose. She squinted at Fabian’s drawing as if she couldn’t quite work out what it was of.

Just then the phone rang in the hallway. Florence rose from the table and left the kitchen. She returned a moment later.

“It wasn’t the phone after all,” she said. “It was that bird of yours, Nell. He’s learned to mimic it rather well.”

“You’ve got a bird?” Tanya asked. “What kind of bird?”

“He’s an African gray parrot,” said Nell.

“Why don’t we bring him in?” Florence suggested. “He’s been cooped up in the sitting room all day.”

“What’s his name?” Tanya asked.

“General Carver,” said Nell, her chest swelling with pride. “Yes, all right, but that dog better not get too near him.” She trotted off into the hallway, in the direction of the sitting room. They heard the door being opened, then came the squeak of wheels. Nell appeared a moment later, pulling a silver cage that was even taller than she was, and twice as wide.

“There we are, dearest,” she crooned, positioning the cage in front of the fire. “That’s better, isn’t it?” She beckoned for Tanya to come nearer.

“Isn’t he handsome?” said Nell.

Tanya edged closer and looked into the cage dubiously. “Handsome” was not a word she would have used. Vicious seemed more appropriate. The General was sitting as still as a statue on a wooden perch. He was gray all over, except for a curved black beak and a few red feathers in his tail. He stared back with cold yellow eyes, narrowed to a pinpoint.

“Talk to him,” said Nell, nudging Tanya’s arm enthusiastically. “He likes you, I can tell.”

“I don’t think he looks like he likes
anyone
,” said Fabian. “Not even you. In fact, he looks as if he’d like to peck someone’s eyes out.”

Tanya privately agreed. “Why’s he called General Carver?” she asked.

“Well,” said Nell, her cheeks reddening. “I named him after an old flame, see? General Reginald Carver. It was love at first sight. I was a bit of a looker in my day, you know.”

At this Fabian gave a loud cough, but Nell continued, oblivious.

“It all ended suddenly,” she said.

“Did he die?” asked Tanya.

“No,” said Nell. “He went back to his wife.”

Florence gave a disapproving tut.

“So you never married then?” Fabian asked.

“Oh, yes, eventually,” said Nell. “He was a good old boy, my Sidney. Dependable, he was. Passed away last year.”