2006 - Wildcat Moon (11 page)

“Why do you say shut up away from the world?”

“Because, Ma’am, the Greswodes don’t come out much. Funny lot of buggers they are. No visitors ever. I only get called out to drive about three times a year. Couple of trips to St Werburgh’s and the rest of the time they stay cooped up in the house.”

“I see,” said Clementine.

“Still you’re a foreigner, aren’t you? Mayhap you won’t find them strange at all.”

Clementine put her hand to her mouth to cover her smile. Soon he grew tired of talking and she stared out of the window as the car bumped along the narrow country lanes.

The closer they got to Killivray House the more excited she became. This was going to be one of the best acting roles of her life and when this unexpected episode was over she would be free and life would never be as bad again. She got out of the car, thanked the driver and gave him a half-crown.

“First tip I ever had doing this run. Tight as a camel’s arse that lot are, as well as peculiar,” he said, nodding towards the house.

Clementine Fernaud took a deep breath and walked up to the front door, tugged the bell pull and waited expectantly.

Archie Grimble gawped at the open-mouthed girl standing before him. This must be the little girl from Killivray House, the one the Skallies folk said wasn’t quite right in the head.

The girl stared back at Archie, her nostrils quivering with fear, eyebrows arched. She looked Archie up and down curiously, walked around him slowly, put out a trembling hand to touch him and then seemed to think better of it. Then she said, “Are you Thomas Greswode?”

Archie stared at her in astonishment. He shook his head and tried to find his voice.

“No,” he squeaked.

“Are you quite sure?”

People were right about her, she was nuts all right.

“I’m sure I’m not.”

“You’re absolutely positive? You look a little like him.”

“Do I? Well, I’m not him because Thomas Greswode is dead.”

The girl cocked her head on one side and narrowed her eyes. “I’m afraid you are mistaken. He, Thomas Greswode, is not dead because I saw him just this morning.”

Archie felt the hairs on the nape of his neck bristle and a tremor of fear rattled up his backbone. He took a small step backwards away from this peculiar girl; he’d met enough bloody lunatics for one day.

He knew that you were supposed to humour mad people until you had the chance to run away. You mustn’t startle them or they were apt to do dangerous things.

“W…where did you see him?” he asked.

“He was standing inside the summerhouse,” she said defiantly. “He was looking out of the window and he smiled at me.”

“Oh.” Archie looked uncomfortably down at his feet.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” There was a tremor and the hint of a challenge in her voice.

“I, the thing is, there’s a kind of gravestone thing in the w…wobbly chapel with his name on and it does say that he’s dead.”

“When was he supposed to have died?”

“August the, er, 21
st
1900.”

“But that was ages ago.”

“He drowned off Skilly Point. He was only twelve.”

The girl stuck out her chin and said haughtily, “He couldn’t possibly have drowned anyway because he’s a very good swimmer.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve seen swimming certificates from his school—he can swim a mile,” she said, stepping closer to Archie.

Archie gulped.

“There are loads of his things in a secret trunk Up in the attic.”

The girl smelled of roses, of cinnamon and freshly washed cotton.

“Did he used to live here then?”

“Of course he did, he was a Greswode. Greswodes have always lived here.”

“It says on the gravestone thing that he was born in a place called Santa Caterina in Italy.”

Romilly looked closely at the boy.

Archie looked away and glanced across at Killivray House.

“It’s a nice house,” he said, trying to change the subject.

“No it’s not. It’s horrid and haunted and I hate it.”

“H…how do you mean it’s haunted?”

She moved closer to Archie and dropped her voice to almost a whisper.

“At night the creatures come alive.”

Archie swallowed hard and crossed his fingers behind his back for luck.

“What sort of creatures?” he asked anxiously.

“The girl eyed him steadily. Tigers mostly and sometimes bears.”

She was crackers. Loop the loop.

He couldn’t think of anything to say and looked down at his feet.

“Why did you come here?”

“S…someone w…was chasing me and I escaped into the woods.”

“Was it a madman after you with a hatchet?”

“Ah, no, just some kids who don’t like me. I think I’d best be going now.”

“Where do you live?”

“In Bag End.”

She wrinkled her nose and then smiled.

She had a nice smile.

“That’s a funny name. Where is your house?”

“Over there in the Skallies.” He pointed towards the woods.

She opened her mouth in surprise and said breathlessly, “Is it true that all the people who live there are mad?”

“No. Well, some of them are. Have you never been there?”

She shook her head.

“I could take you there one day if you wanted,” he said, and then wished that he hadn’t.

“I’m not allowed.”

“Why?”

“Papa thinks the world isn’t a good place for a child to roam in.”

“It sounds funny you saying’Papa’like that.”

“Why?”

“Kind of old-fashioned and posh.”

“What do you call your papa?”

“Father, mostly,” Archie said, “and something else besides.”

“What?”

Archie lowered his voice, “The big, fat, stinking, hairy porker.”

Romilly slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. She’d never heard anything so rude or so funny.

“Say it again.”

“The big, fat stinking, hairy porker.”

“Quick, come into the summerhouse. If Nanny Bea hears me out here then shell kill me. I’m not supposed to be out in the garden alone.”

Blimey, this girl was more of a prisoner than he was.

He followed her obediently but reluctantly into the summerhouse.

“Tell me, did you see a man coming out of here?”

“Where?” Archie looked round fearfully.

“From the summerhouse? I mean he’s gone now, but he came in here and I hid behind that smelly sofa over there. It’s very peculiar because no one ever comes to Killivray, ever.”

“I didn’t see anyone at all.”

Archie looked around the summerhouse in wonder. It was a dump of a place all right but a very interesting dump.

“This is a great place,” he said. “Imagine if you could make it into a den, you could play here for hours.”

Romilly stared at Archie. “That’s what I was just thinking before you came but I wouldn’t be allowed.”

“Why? Wouldn’t your mammy and daddy be glad for you to be out from under their feet?”

“I’m not allowed out on my own. I shouldn’t be here now.”

“What do you do all day?”

“I read. Have boring lessons with my governess. Play with my toys.”

“Do you have many toys?”

“Hundreds,” she said quite simply.

It was Archie’s turn to stare now. She must be very rich.

“I’ll have to go in a minute,” Romilly said, “but would you promise to come back here again one day?”

Her voice was eager, her eyes very bright in the dusty gloom of the summerhouse.

“I don’t know,” he said uncertainly.

“Maybe I could find out more about Thomas Greswode, prove to you that he’s alive,” she said hopefully.

“Okay then. Would I just knock on the front door?”

“No! Nanny Bea would shout and send you packing. I have an idea though. Why don’t you leave me a letter inside the stove over there and if I can escape again I’ll write back.”

Archie grinned. “I have some invisible ink at home, I could use that.”

Romilly’s eyes lit up. “Oh would you? That would be fun!”

“All you need to do is warm the paper up, but be careful, you don’t want to burn your hair off!”

“I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“Is it safe for me to come into the grounds, there aren’t any dogs or anything?”

“No. Just a ghost dog who lives in the stables. But don’t get seen by anyone in the house whatever you do. Now I have to go or else.”

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Romilly Greswode.”

“I’m Archie Grimble.”

“Goodbye, Archie Grimble.”

And with that she was out of the door and he was left alone in the spooky summerhouse where the smells of mould and decay mingled with the sweet scent of cinnamon and roses.

He hoped that the man Romilly had seen didn’t decide to come back now and catch him in here. He wondered if she really had seen a man or whether she’d just imagined it After all she’d said she’d seen Thomas Greswode and that was impossible. Perhaps she saw things all the time, ghosts and dead creatures; things that weren’t really there.

Weak sunlight streamed in through the window and dust motes swirled in the air and for a moment he felt as though he was not alone; his skin tingled and the hairs on his arms prickled with fear. Then he saw the writing on the window. On the dusty pane someone had written two words,
Murder Scene
.

Archie shivered.

Had Romilly Greswode written it herself?

He looked out anxiously through the summerhouse window towards Killivray House.

It was an ancient house with walls the colour of pencil lead, and enormous windows made up of hundreds of tiny diamond panes. Above the giant front door there was a faded coat of arms and the date 1640.

A light burned behind one of the downstairs windows and a stooped figure moved slowly behind it.

It was a very beautiful house but there was an air of grim melancholy about it that seemed to seep into Archie’s bones as he stood looking at it.

He felt curiously drawn to the house, aching to get closer and peep in through those intriguing windows.

He thought of Thomas Greswode who’d lived there all those years ago and ended up drowning off
Skilly Point
when he was only twelve years old.

It was odd that Thomas Greswode’s name seemed to keep popping up everywhere he went.

Maybe the funny little girl really
had
seen the ghost of Thomas Greswode, maybe he roamed the grounds because his soul couldn’t rest; he’d heard that the dead did that sometimes. Perhaps Thomas Greswode hadn’t drowned at all. Maybe he’d been murdered!

At last, he really might have a real mystery to solve.

In the drawing room Romilly sat beside Nanny Bea on the sofa opposite Madame Fernaud who sat sedately in a wing-backed chair. Romilly ate a scone daintily and sipped her tea politely but she did not once take her eyes off the face of the new governess.

Romilly thought that she was a very dull-looking woman, a charcoal sketch of a woman, all shadows and harsh lines.

She had horrid thick grey hair the colour of wire wool and a funny way of wrinkling up her nose when she drank her tea. She was constantly patting her mouth with a napkin and adjusting her spectacles. She smiled at Romilly uneasily and the girl stared back with steadfast politeness but without returning her smile.

Romilly didn’t like the look of Madame Fernaud one little bit and it irked her that Nanny Bea seemed so friendly towards her. Romilly definitely was not going to be friendly with her; she already knew that she was going to hate her as much as she had hated Miss Naylor. Even more. There was something rather peculiar about the new governess. She was quite plain and dowdy yet behind the exterior there lurked something very powerful, something dangerous. Romilly could feel it.

After a while Romilly closed her eyes and listened halfheartedly as the two women discussed Romilly’s school timetable. There was tedious talk of Mental Arithmetic and mathematical problems; of history and geography; drawing and needlework; French and Latin lessons.

Romilly stifled a yawn and Nanny Bea, noticing, said, “Romilly, you poor child, you look absolutely exhausted. Why don’t you take a rest in the nursery while Madame Fernaud and I become acquainted with one another?”

Romilly stood up, flicked a weak smile at Madame Fernaud and then left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Instead of going upstairs she doubled back through the dining room and hid herself under a table behind the far door of the drawing room from where she could eavesdrop on the conversation. If Nanny Bea left the room she would have time to race up the servants’ stairs and get into the nursery before she was discovered.

Nanny Bea poured more tea for Madame and herself and settled back on the sofa. She was quite enjoying her conversation with the new governess. She spoke English quite beautifully though with a very faint French accent. She seemed such a very sensible type of woman and well educated for a French person. She smelled quite pleasant too; there was no whiff of that awful garlic and oil that the French were wont to drown their food in. She looked as though she had her wits about her and would be able to keep a very sharp eye on Romilly. She didn’t look the sort of woman who would brook any nonsense at all, thank goodness.

“I’m so very glad that you’re here, Madame Fernaud, it’s so good to have some adult company again. And since Miss Naylor left us it really has been far too much for me looking after a young child at my age.”

Clementine Fernaud smiled and put down her tea cup. “I shall endeavour to keep Romilly fully occupied. I think maybe her education has been a little, er, spasmodic of late?”

Nanny Bea beamed, how intuitive this woman seemed to be, a trustworthy type of woman, one you would be able to confide in.

“The last governess left, rather suddenly, she was a very nervous woman, very fretful and dreadfully poor company.”

“Does the child have no mother?” Madame Fernaud asked hesitantly.

Nanny Bea coughed then said, “Oh, yes, she does have a mother, but it’s rather a delicate issue, you understand. Her mother is greatly troubled by nerves, always was since she was a young girl.”