Poppy's Garden (6 page)

The others nodded. Elspeth sounded as though she had the hiccups when she was laughing; it was unmistakable.

“I heard her, so I went to see what they were doing. They were in the bit with all the health books – the section on healing and all the stuff that you like, Poppy. And guess what’s next to all the books about remedies?”

“Gardening?” Poppy asked vaguely, trying to remember. Most of her books had come from the shop that sold the essential oils, not the bookshop.

“Nope. Occult.” Maya looked at them all impatiently. “That means witchy stuff. And they were looking at books from both, Poppy. They’re right next to each other. That’s why they’re doing it! They think you’re into spells too. She said she was going to get you back in your own way, didn’t she?”

“But I don’t do any of that stuff!” Poppy said indignantly.

“Yes,
we
know that. But Ali just thinks it’s all the same, I bet. She thinks you’re really into spells and potions. Eye of newt, fingernails of bat. All of that stuff. And don’t tell me bats don’t have fingernails, Iz,
because I know!”

Izzy closed her mouth with a snap and gave Maya an apologetic grin.

Emily suddenly laughed – an excited, conspiratorial sort of laugh.

Maya nodded. “I know! It’s perfect!”

“What is?” Poppy demanded, frowning.

“They must think you know loads about witchcraft, Poppy,” Emily said eagerly. “Everyone at school knows you’re always coming up with weird stuff, like putting cobwebs on cuts.”

“That works,” Poppy said stubbornly.

“Maybe. But it sounds really witchy, doesn’t it?” Emily stared at her, and Poppy sighed.

“I suppose it does a bit,” she admitted.

“And,” Maya put in, “I bet they’ve scared themselves reading all those – umm, what’s it called again? Oh,
occult
. Occult books. Lucy looked really spooked in the bookshop. They were reading out a spell about bringing dead things back to life, and she kept trying to tell Ali to stop it, as though she thought it was going to happen in the middle of the Gardening section.”

“I still don’t see what you were laughing about,” Poppy murmured with a little shiver. She felt the
tiniest bit sorry for Lucy.

“Well, don’t you think we could pretend?” Maya asked. “If they already think you’re a witch, why don’t you just be one?”

Emily nodded eagerly. “They’ll definitely believe in spells you put on them. We could scare them silly. I bet we could.”

“I could find you some spells,” Izzy suggested. “I bet there’s loads of stuff we could find on the Net.”

Poppy looked round at the three of them, all so excited, and wondered why she didn’t feel excited too. It was a good plan, she could see that. But somehow she didn’t like it. And even though she didn’t believe in Ali’s spells, the thought of trying some of her own made her feel shivery.

“Are you OK?” Izzy asked, sounding rather worried.

“Oh!” Poppy gave a little jump and nearly spilled her orange juice all over the floor. “Sorry, I was just thinking…”

“You haven’t said a word for ages,” Izzy explained. “And you look miserable.”

“Sorry…” Poppy repeated, sighing. Izzy probably wished she hadn’t come round. Poppy wasn’t exactly great company.

“You’re still really worried about Ali and that shadow spell, aren’t you?” Izzy said thoughtfully. “Or is it the clay doll? I thought it was the shadow one that got to you most. I think it would have got to me as well.”

Poppy shook her head. “I don’t think it would! Why is it only me that’s really fussing about it? They put that stuff on your coat too.”

Izzy sniffed. This afternoon, when they’d gone to get their things at home time, she and Poppy had both found weird marks all over their coats. Emily had looked at them and said it was definitely snail slime.

“Or maybe slug…” she’d added, eyeing it with her head on one side and a frowning look, as though she ought to be able to tell the difference. “Oh, come on, don’t look at me like that! Toby and James have snails
everywhere
. There was a snail crawling along the side of our bath this morning.”

Emily always made Poppy feel really grateful that she had older brothers instead of younger ones.

The tacky, silvery slime was in weird swirly patterns that looked like they ought to mean something. It was sickening.

“How do you think they got the snails to do that?”
she asked Izzy now, taking a gulp of juice to cover up how much she hated talking about it.

Izzy shrugged. “Waved a lettuce leaf in front of them, I suppose. But you know Ali. She could even make a snail do what she wanted. It would have taken ages though. They must have sneaked into the cloakroom at lunchtime and done it then. If only we’d known, we could have set Miss Grace on them.” She sighed.

Poppy set down her glass and gaped at her. “You really aren’t bothered at all!” she said, almost shouting. “Why aren’t you?”

Izzy stared back at her. “Poppy, it’s only Ali doing her normal horrible stuff. It’s just – a bit dressed up, that’s all.” She shuffled closer and put an arm round her friend’s shoulders. “Sorry, Poppy, I didn’t see how much it was getting to you. OK. We really have to get her to stop.” Izzy glared at her determinedly. “I know you hate the spells idea but I think it’s the only thing that’s going to work.”

“I know I’m a wuss,” Poppy admitted. “But it’s scary. When you said you’d look up spells… please don’t, Izzy. I don’t want to use real spells – ones that people who actually want to be witches use.”

Izzy shrugged. “No problem. We’ll make up our
own. Oh, come on, Poppy, it’ll be easy. We’ve only got to make them good enough to convince Ali, after all.”

SIX

“A day off school? Everyone’s going to want to go!” Emily pointed out as they read the letters Mr Finlay was passing round at the end of school the next day.

“There’s only thirty places. But I want to,” Maya agreed. “It sounds really good. I’ve never been to Amberlake.”

“Ohhh, it’s nice! It’s a massive stately home,” Emily said enthusiastically. “The house is quite cool. I mean, you can look at the kitchens, and dress up in old-fashioned clothes, that sort of thing. But the gardens are brilliant. They go down to the lake, and there’s a stream, and huge trees. And even though it’s all really beautiful, none of it says don’t walk on the grass or anything like that. They do great Easter-egg hunts.”

“Do you think we’ll get to see everything?” Maya asked, sounding hopeful. “The announcement about
the winning school’s at two o’clock – and we’re going in the morning, it says. Take a packed lunch… Oh, that’s loads of time.” She beamed at Poppy. “Let’s support our brilliant entry by Poppy Martin, it says. You’re Mrs Angel’s favourite person now, definitely. If you win, you’ll probably get a free pass off SATs or something.”

Poppy went pink. “It’s exciting,” she admitted. “I wish I knew how many schools had entered. This is only the announcement for schools close to us. I suppose it means someone from round here must have won…” She made a face at the letter. “This is going to start Ali off again, isn’t it?”

Izzy eyed her. “Probably. So we need to get on with our spells too.”

Poppy nodded reluctantly. “I know. It just isn’t me – that’s all. I don’t think I’ll be able to make them believe it. I can’t see me chanting anything…”

“I bet you could make a better doll than Ali did,” Emily suggested.

“Ugh. No.” Poppy shook her head. “I’m definitely not doing that.”

Emily rolled her eyes, and sighed. “You’re not making this easy, you know.”

“I know… Oh!” Poppy suddenly brightened up.
“What about a ghost? I almost believe in ghosts. Sometimes when it’s dark, anyway.”

“A ghost…” Maya said thoughtfully. “A ghost that’s out to get Ali? I like it!”

Izzy frowned. “But there isn’t a ghost at school. There’d be loads of stories about it if there was. Ali isn’t going to believe us if we just invent a new ghost, is she?”

“She might,” Emily said stubbornly. “We could say that one of the mirrors in the girls’ toilets is haunted. We could write messages on it in lipstick.”

“A haunted toilet?” Poppy sniggered a little, and then started to laugh properly. It felt as though she’d had something tied tight round her middle, and it was loosening at last.

Emily glared for a second and then started laughing as well. “OK. Maybe not then.”

“But I still like the ghost idea,” Poppy said thoughtfully. “There must be some way to use it – maybe we could pretend Ali’s house has a ghost. No, I know! Amberlake! A big old house like that could have loads of ghosts! We can haunt Ali at the announcement ceremony!”

“Do you think she’ll go though?” Izzy asked. “What if she’s sulking?”

Poppy sighed. “Of course she’ll go. There might be some way for her to get me into trouble, or show me up or something. She’s not going to miss that, is she?”

Emily glanced over her shoulder as they went out to the cloakroom. “They’re definitely all staring at the letter,” she reported. “Ali looks pretty determined. I think you’re right, Poppy.”

Poppy nodded. “OK then. I don’t mind pretending to summon a ghost.” She shrugged her jacket on and wrapped it round her tightly. “We can make one up. But nothing too gory!”

Poppy’s mum wasn’t working that day, so she got to go straight home instead of going to after-school club. She stretched out on her bed with Mum’s laptop propped up in front of her – she’d told Mum she needed to look up some stuff about an author for homework, which was actually true. But Poppy had got all the answers she needed in about five minutes, which meant that now she was looking at the Amberlake website and trying to work out what sort of ghost there should be.

She clicked on Explore the House, and watched a slideshow about the different rooms, but it wasn’t very exciting – or it would have been, if she’d just
wanted to go and visit, but it was no good for ghost stories. She sighed gustily. It would be nice just to go and see it all, without worrying about ghosts. There was a whole room made out of seashells, and a Chinese Bedroom with amazing red walls. And the paintings – whole rooms covered in paintings. From the slideshow it did look like quite a lot of them were those weird paintings of piles of dead birds, but she liked looking at the portraits when they went to old houses. Mum loved visiting them when they went on holiday, and Poppy usually went with her. They always made things up about the people in the portraits. It was fun.

Portraits… Poppy’s eyes widened and she clicked back to the section on the history of the house. If she could find a portrait, and a name, couldn’t they make up a ghost story about someone who’d really lived at Amberlake? That would make it sound a lot more real.

The family who’d built the house in the 1700s were called Bayley, Poppy discovered, skimming the page. None of them looked very exciting in their portraits though – they all seemed to have very long thin noses… Or maybe that was just how it was fashionable to look back then?

The house had been sold to a Lord Morrell after that. Poppy sighed. None of this was very thrilling, either. Lord Morrell had died in bed aged eighty-two. Typical.

Ooh, but this was better. His daughter, Sophia, had died very young – and there was a portrait of her! Poppy clicked on it eagerly. It was a lovely picture anyway, but for a person who needed to invent a ghost story, it was perfect. Sophia Morrell stared mournfully out of the portrait, with a little white dog clutched in her arms. She had a green dress on, silk or satin or something shiny – the fabric seemed to glow out from the painting. Her eyes were huge and dark – it was the eyes that made her look so sad, Poppy decided, as well as the little droop at the corner of her mouth. She wondered if Sophia’s father had been happy with the portrait. Would anybody really want to see their child looking so sad every time they walked past a painting? Maybe her parents had refused to pay the painter.

Poppy nibbled her bottom lip thoughtfully. She liked making up stories. She wasn’t as good at literacy as Maya, because somehow her stories didn’t always work when she wrote them down, but she loved the ideas for stories. Sophia’s parents had wanted her
portrait painted because she was so beautiful, and surely she was going to be married soon – Poppy looked back at the dates on the website. The portrait had been painted in 1793, when Sophia was fifteen. Back then people did get married very young – the girls anyway. She sniggered to herself. Jake and Alex were fifteen. She couldn’t imagine either of them getting married.

But Sophia Morrell might have been just at the right age to fall in love with somebody (there were a whole lot of fifteen-year-old girls who were mad enough to fancy Jake and Alex, after all). And she was bound to fall in love with the wrong person, Poppy thought to herself, grabbing her pad and starting to draw Sophia – the big eyes, pale face, shining honey-coloured hair. If you were fifteen and you spent days and days wearing your best dress and staring at a handsome young painter (Poppy had no idea if Francis Rowley was handsome or young, but for the purposes of her story he was eighteen and gorgeous) surely you’d fall in love with him. Poppy drew him – with some paintbrushes and floppy hair. And then your father – Lord Morrell was a bit boring in his official portrait, so Poppy decided to make his moustache bigger in her version – said you couldn’t
ever marry a penniless portrait painter, and besides, he’d already arranged for you to marry the boring oldest son of the Lord next door.

Anyone with any sense of drama – and it was obvious from her portrait that Sophia was very dramatic – would go out and walk up and down the lake in the dark feeling totally miserable, and then accidentally fall in and drown. The portrait painter would turn up just too late to rescue her – but in time for Sophia to tell him that she would love him for always, and she was going to haunt Amberlake to make her mean father’s descendants as miserable as she was.

Poppy happily scribbled away, drawing Sophia dying in her painter’s arms, and then her ghost, still in the green dress, walking over the surface of the lake.

“We can call her the Green Lady,” Poppy muttered happily to herself. She put the laptop down on the floor next to her bed and then rolled over and stared up at the ceiling. Now she just had to work out a way to use her ghost to scare Ali.

It had been such a strange few days, eerie and horrible, and she was still dreaming about the shadow, and waking up in the middle of the night.
Poppy yawned. Her bed was so comfortable, and the room was warm.

A thin green figure danced across the water, darting in and out of the sunny patches and the reeds around the lake, her green dress merging into the tall stems. She fluttered and blinked in and out as the light caught her, and Poppy strained her eyes to see.

The figure came gradually closer, stretching her hands to Poppy. It was hard to see her face – she was like a flickery reflection on the water instead of a proper solid person, but Poppy was sure that she was smiling. Poppy was quite certain that she was a ghost – her Green Lady, but she wasn’t frightened. Sophia wanted to help…

Poppy blinked and yawned, and stared at the ceiling in puzzlement, still seeing faint greenish patterns behind her eyes. She’d been dreaming…

Then she remembered what she’d been dreaming about, and sat up with a start. She’d imagined herself an awfully real-looking ghost. But even though she’d hated the thought of pretending to be a witch, she was actually looking forward to this now. She’d made Sophia’s story up, so it was silly to feel that Sophia approved of what they were going to do, but Poppy couldn’t help it. That flittery greenish figure had
been laughing. She wanted Poppy to get back at Ali, just as she’d wanted to get back at her bullying father in Poppy’s story.

And Poppy’s dream had told her exactly how to do it too – the first part of it anyway. She just needed to get herself and Iz and Maya and Emily somewhere Ali could hear them, and tell them all about her dream.

“Well, it tasted horrible,” Poppy said, glaring at Emily, who was smirking at her and trying to make her giggle. “But you have to put up with that kind of thing. They’re very powerful herbs, and they make it absolutely certain you’ll have true dreams. Is she listening?” she added to Izzy in the breath of a whisper.

“Oh, definitely,” Izzy whispered back, looking cautiously sideways round the seat of the coach. “They all are. So what did you see?” she asked more loudly.

“A figure…” Poppy hissed dramatically. “Dressed in green, floating across a stretch of water – but it was strange; the water was an odd colour, almost golden.” She paused, and then stretched her foot under the seat in front to kick Emily,
who’d missed her cue.

“Oh!” Emily nodded. “Golden? That sounds like Amberlake, Poppy. It’s the stones around the edge of the lake – they’re a sort of yellowy colour, and it makes the water look amber. The house is named after it. Wow, isn’t it weird that you dreamed about Amberlake, when we’re going there!”

Poppy shook her head. “Not really. I told you, that spell always gives you true dreams. Special ones. Almost more like a foretelling than a dream.”

“Maybe you saw the Amberlake ghost!” Maya said excitedly, remembering her lines a bit better than Emily. They’d worked it all out, but it was harder to say the story naturally when they knew Ali and the other two were listening.

“Is there one?” Izzy asked.

“Oh yes!” Maya nodded. “I looked it up; we’ve got a National Trust guidebook. The ghost’s really famous – she’s called the Green Lady. She’s a girl who fell in love with someone she wasn’t allowed to marry, and then she died in a horrible accident by the lake. And now she haunts Amberlake, seeking revenge.”

Poppy shuddered. She’d come up with this story but it sounded ever so real. “Revenge on who?” she
asked, her voice rather squeaky. At least it would make it sound real to Ali too.