Alice-Miranda at Camp 10 (14 page)

‘Hello Matron Bright,' Alice-Miranda greeted the woman as she led the line of Barn Owls into the Great Hall at Pelham Park.

‘Good morning, children,' the matron warbled. ‘What a treat to have so many helpers – this week especially.'

The children were quickly directed to their activities. They were continuing on from yesterday for the first hour then they were to help make signs for the fair.

Alice-Miranda skipped into the reading room. ‘Hello Mr Freeman.'

He yawned and stretched his back then sat up straight in his chair. ‘Excuse me. How's your camp going?'

The child's smile broadened. ‘We went rock climbing and learned archery and then we had a trivia contest, which was lots of fun,' she babbled. ‘What did you do last night?'

‘Same thing I do every night,' Donald replied, but he didn't elaborate.

Alice-Miranda fished around in her bag for her pen and paper. ‘Do you mind if I ask you some more questions?' She put the paper on the table in front of her. ‘You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but I think it would be lovely if your stories were mentioned at the fair.'

Donald nodded.

‘What's your happiest memory of living at Pelham Park when you were young?' Alice-Miranda asked.

Donald paused for a few moments. ‘The woods and the lake,' he said finally.

‘Can you tell me more about your friend Harry?' Alice-Miranda asked.

At the mention of the boy's name, Donald's seawater eyes glazed over. ‘We were inseparable, Harry and me. He showed me things.'

‘What sort of things?' Alice-Miranda asked.

‘Secret places.'

‘Really – what sort of secret places?' the child asked eagerly.

‘We could get in and out of this house anytime we wanted, Harry and me. And no one knew how except us.' A smile crept onto his lips.

‘Are there tunnels?' she asked, wide-eyed. She was remembering how excited she was to find out that there was a labyrinth of tunnels beneath her own family home, Highton Hall.

Donald shook his head. ‘No, of course not.'

‘What else did you and Harry get up to?'

Donald looked at Alice-Miranda as if she was made of glass. She noticed that his breathing was shallow and deep frown lines crisscrossed his forehead. The man's eyes filled with tears. ‘I didn't do it. I promise I didn't.'

‘Are you all right, Mr Freeman?' Alice-Miranda wondered if he was reliving an awful memory.

Donald began to shake. ‘I swear, Father, it wasn't me. It was Harry – he made me take the blame.'

Alice-Miranda looked around for Matron Bright.

‘Mr Freeman, can I get you a glass of water?' she whispered.

‘What?'

‘A glass of water?' Alice-Miranda pushed her chair back and stood up.

Donald pulled a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped his eyes.

And then, as if nothing had happened, he sat up straight. ‘I don't want to talk any more.' He pulled the newspaper on the table towards him.

Alice-Miranda watched as Mr Freeman lost himself in the pages. It was as if she had disappeared.

She decided to go and find Matron Bright. Mr Freeman was obviously not well.

As she crossed the Great Hall she spotted her uncle talking with the matron near the main stairs and scurried over to meet them.

‘Hello Uncle Ed, Matron Bright,' she said.

‘Hello gorgeous girl,' said Ed. He leaned down and Alice-Miranda gave him a hug.

‘Is anything the matter, dear?' Matron Bright asked.

‘Mr Freeman was telling me some stories about when he was a boy on the estate and I'm afraid he
became quite upset.' Alice-Miranda relayed the rest of what had happened.

‘Oh dear. I've been worried about him lately. He seems to be losing himself in the past more and more often. The other evening he was talking to me just fine then all of a sudden he began saying something about Harry and a gun. But then he clammed up. I wonder who this Harry was. He seems to have had a big influence on Donald's early life, and I suspect it wasn't all positive.' Matron Bright shook her head. ‘But don't worry, dear, I'll take him a cup of tea. Why don't you go and help your uncle for a little while.'

Alice-Miranda looked at Ed expectantly. ‘May I?' she asked.

‘I don't see why not,' the man replied. Ed wasn't overly concerned about the Monet. Alice-Miranda would have no idea that it didn't belong to them. Besides, he was planning on a quick trip to the attic first to see if there were any records of the paintings up there. Two pairs of eyes would be better than one.

‘I'll let Mr Plumpton know where you are. Just make sure you're back up here in time for craft at eleven,' Matron Bright said with another of her smiles.

‘Thank you,' Alice-Miranda said, and the woman bustled away.

Alice-Miranda had never been in the attics at Pelham Park. She and Uncle Ed climbed the main stairs and walked past a row of apartments. At the end of the hall was a door, which Ed unlocked to reveal a staircase. They climbed to the top where a landing led to a central hallway with rooms off either side.

‘This is where the unmarried servants used to live when I was a boy,' Ed explained.

The pair poked their heads into the first few rooms, which were filled with filing cabinets and boxes.

‘How am I ever going to find what I need?' Ed groaned. ‘I could search this place for a month.'

‘We could split up,' Alice-Miranda suggested. ‘Tell me what you're after.'

‘Any records of the art collection, bills of sale, correspondence with galleries, that sort of thing,' Ed directed.

‘Okay,' Alice-Miranda said. ‘You start on that side and I'll start on this side.'

He grinned. ‘Very well, young lady. You're a terribly good organiser, you know. Maybe you could come and get my studio sorted.'

Alice-Miranda smiled and disappeared into the first room, where she opened a dusty metal filing cabinet. Whoever had kept the family records was very neat. The files were labelled and in alphabetical order. The first drawer was dedicated to the gardens, with records of equipment purchases, the cost of garden works and even which months things were to be planted.

After going through another two drawers, there was no sign of anything to do with the artworks. Alice-Miranda moved to the next cabinet. She pulled out the first drawer. ‘Staff' was the title on the first file.

She flicked through the alphabetical list until she reached F, then searched for Freeman.

Alice-Miranda's heart skipped a beat as she pulled out the file and sat it on a little table in the corner of the room. She scanned the first note's curly swirly writing, searching for clues as to why the family had left the estate.

‘Oh,' she gasped. ‘That's awful.'

Ed Clifton poked his head into the room. ‘What's awful, darling?'

‘I think you should read this,' she said.

But before he could, her uncle spotted something else. Stacked in the corner of the room was a pile of archive boxes. Marked on the front of the one at the top was the word ‘Artworks'.

‘Hang on a tick, Alice-Miranda.' He grabbed a stool and climbed up, then brought the box down to the table below.

‘Is that what you were looking for?' she asked.

‘We'll soon see.' Ed lifted the lid and pulled out the first paper. It was an invoice from a gallery.

‘Bingo!' He grinned. ‘Come on. We'd better get downstairs or it will be time for you to go back to Matron Bright.'

Ed replaced the lid and was out the door before
Alice-Miranda could say another word. She folded the paper she held into her pocket then scurried after him.

They reached the bottom of the main stairs just as Fenella Freeman entered the house. She was surprised to see Ed Clifton and a little girl, who looked vaguely familiar, coming towards her.

‘Good morning, DS Freeman,' Ed said forcing a smile to his lips. Clearly she was a frequent visitor.

‘Hello again,' she said.

‘Hello Detective Freeman,' Alice-Miranda greeted the woman cheerily. ‘You probably don't remember but I'm Alice-Miranda Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones and I was on the bus the other afternoon. This is my Uncle Ed but it looks as if you've already met.'

Fenella studied the child. So that's where she'd seen her. She would have preferred not to remember the unstolen bus incident. ‘Mmm, of course.'

‘Your father's in the reading room. I think he might be a little bit tired,' the child explained.

Fenella had forgotten to bring the cord for the radio when she dropped it off the night before. Things at the station were deathly quiet so she'd taken the opportunity to slip out for a while. Besides, the
two young constables she worked with, Wilson and Barker, were driving her insane with their constant quips and bickering.

She couldn't believe she'd felt so sorry for Ed Clifton when she met him yesterday. He might have been abandoned by his father but she'd done a little digging on him when she got home and his life didn't look too bad. Apparently he was one of New York's most celebrated artists. It seemed to Fenella that she was surrounded by them – just to remind her of what might have been, if only she hadn't been so afraid.

‘Well, we'll see you later,' said Ed, nodding at the woman. His arms were beginning to strain under the weight of the box.

‘We're going to look at Granny's art collection,' Alice-Miranda said. ‘It's in the cellars.'

‘Really?' Fenella couldn't help but wonder what priceless treasures were down there.

‘Come on, Alice-Miranda. If we don't get moving it will be time for you to go back to camp,' her uncle urged. ‘And we don't want to take up DS Freeman's time. I'm sure she has lots of important things to do. Catching criminals and all that.'

I wish, Fenella thought to herself. Dunleavy was hardly a hotbed of unlawful activity.

‘Actually, I'd love to see your collection,' the policewoman said. ‘If you've got time for a quick tour?'

Ed felt his heart jump.

‘Oh, it's such a jumble down there. Just a bunch of dusty old paintings.' Ed grinned. ‘You'll get terribly dirty.'

She glanced at her watch. ‘I don't mind.' She had nothing urgent that afternoon. Just more paperwork and putting up with those morons at the station.

‘Come on, Uncle Ed, you can show us both,' Alice-Miranda said.

Ed Clifton took a deep breath. Fenella Freeman was a detective in tiny old Dunleavy. It was unlikely that she had her finger on the pulse of stolen art treasures from around the world. Besides, at some point Ed would have to let the authorities know. Just not yet.

‘Okay, follow me.' Ed walked to the far corner of the entrance foyer and down a long passageway. Alice-Miranda and Fenella followed.

They reached the end of the hall and Ed trotted down the back staircase and through the old kitchen to the butler's pantry, where he unlocked the door.

Fenella Freeman looked around in awe. Obviously this part of the house wasn't used any more.
She was imagining what it must have been like in years gone by when the place was crowded with servants. She assumed her grandfather would have spent a lot of time downstairs performing his duties as a butler.

‘What was it like growing up here?' Fenella asked Ed. ‘I can't imagine having such a vast house for just one family.'

‘To tell you the truth, I didn't know any different back then. I probably thought everyone lived in grand mansions and had an army of servants and their own nanny. But of course, when I went off to school and started going home with friends for holidays I realised that this life was far from normal. I adored my mother but my father, well, I think I mentioned last night that he wasn't the easiest of people to be around.'

Ed unlocked the door at the bottom of the stairs. He'd left the lights on when he was down there earlier in the morning.

Fenella scanned the mountains of bric-a-brac. ‘Have you thought about having a yard sale?'

‘Yes, my sister-in-law suggested we should sell some of it off at the fair on Saturday. The locals might be interested in some souvenirs from the house,'
Ed said. ‘But I think it might take until next year's anniversary to get it sorted out.'

‘You can keep
him
,' Fenella said with a shudder. She was glaring at the polar bear.

‘That's Sidney,' Ed said. ‘He used to live in Father's study. When I was very little I was petrified of him but as I grew older he and I became friends. I often prayed he might come to life and eat Father while he was at his desk, but it never worked.'

‘Uncle Ed, that's a terrible thing to say!' Alice-Miranda chastised.

Fenella Freeman laughed. ‘It would have made for an interesting murder investigation!'

Ed turned to his niece and raised his eyebrows. ‘You didn't know my father, Alice-Miranda.'

Ed walked to the vault door and put the archive box down on the floor. He twirled the lock and pulled the metal face forward. Alice-Miranda and Fenella walked through.

‘Wow!' Alice-Miranda exclaimed. ‘This is amazing.'

Fenella Freeman's eyes were on stalks. She'd never seen such a vast collection in one small space.

‘Why did Grandpa put it all down here?' Alice-Miranda asked.

‘He never liked art. Thought it was a waste of money. And I suppose when Mother died it was a painful reminder. Like I said before, Alice-Miranda, your grandfather was a hard man.'

‘Isn't that a Picasso?' The child pointed at a cubist painting of a bull.

‘Sure is,' Ed replied.

Fenella rolled her eyes. That painting alone was probably worth millions. She was impressed that the child knew what it was, but then again, it was just as likely there were Picassos hanging on her bedroom wall.

‘What can I do to help, Uncle Ed?' Alice-Miranda asked. She noticed a clipboard with paper and a pen, and a long list of names and artists.

Ed was anxious to get Detective Freeman back upstairs as quickly as possible. He glanced at his watch. ‘Actually, sweetheart, what time did your teacher want you?'

‘Eleven,' the child said.

‘It's quarter to and it will take us a good ten minutes to make our way upstairs. We should probably go.'

‘Maybe Matron Bright will let me come back again,' Alice-Miranda suggested. She spotted a shiny
gold wrapper on the floor and bent down to pick it up. It smelt like chocolate. She stuffed it in her pocket.

Ed was watching Detective Freeman closely as she wandered through the racks, pulling some of the artwork forward to get a better look.

Fenella couldn't believe what she was seeing. Her father had often taken her and her brother to galleries when they were young. She remembered how he used to declare, ‘One day I'm going to own that piece.' They'd laugh at him. Especially when they realised it was a Rembrandt or a Constable or something worth more than their house and possibly every other house in their street too.

Fenella remembered asking her father why he didn't just buy prints of the things he liked but he said that was cheating. He would only ever have the real thing and if he couldn't have that then he would prefer to have nothing at all.

And here were the real deals. Dozens of them, by the looks of things.

‘Well, come on then,' said Ed. He turned to leave.

Just as Fenella was about to follow him, something caught her eye. A landscape. It looked familiar.
After a moment she realised it was a Turner. He was one of her father's favourites.

Ed saw it too. He was sure his mother had owned a Turner … or had she? He couldn't be certain and he'd only been through a small number of the works so far. His stomach knotted.

‘Come on. You don't want to be late, Alice-Miranda.' Ed stepped aside and allowed Fenella to exit first. But his niece remained in the far corner of the room, staring at a different canvas.

‘Uncle Ed, can you come here for a minute?' she called.

He walked around the first two rows of racks and found the child in front of a colourful painting.

‘What is it?' he asked.

She pointed at the painting and pulled on her uncle's sleeve. The man leaned down.

She cupped her hands and whispered in his ear. ‘That painting's very famous.'

Ed gulped and nodded his head. A vein in his forehead began to throb.

‘Do you know why?' she asked.

The man nodded again.

‘What's it doing here?' she asked.

Ed shrugged. ‘Come along, darling. We really must get you upstairs,' he said loudly.

Alice-Miranda gave her uncle a knowing look and they made a dash for the doorway.

Ed picked up the archive box and was relieved to find Fenella Freeman waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He hoped she hadn't been anywhere close just now, even though Alice-Miranda had kept her voice down.

Ed locked each door behind them and the three made their way to the reading room.