Agapanthus turned the paper over. There was nothing on the back. ‘Why didn’t she write more?’
‘She must have been in a hurry,’ said Stella. ‘She was frightened, wasn’t she? I thought she was just frightened to be here at school. But perhaps there was —’ She broke off and clutched Agapanthus’s arm. They both heard it at the same time. Clumping footsteps.
‘Quick!’ whispered Stella. She pushed Agapanthus towards the door. ‘Run. I’ll say I had to —’ She waved her hand at the lavatory.
Agapanthus hesitated, then pulled a face and darted away.
Stella dashed back into the lavatory and locked the door. The footsteps came into the washroom. Candlelight gleamed.
‘Who is in there?’ Miss McCragg banged on the door.
‘Just me, Miss McCragg,’ said Stella, trying to keep her voice steady. Had Agapanthus got back to the dormitory safely? She crouched on the floor, replacing the note in the hole, trying not to let the paper rustle. ‘Stella,’ she said, as she lowered the floorboard as silently as she could. ‘Stella Montgomery.’
‘Who is in there with you?’ asked Miss McCragg.
‘Nobody, Miss McCragg. It’s just me.’ Stella pushed the linoleum back in place and felt around in the darkness to make sure she had not missed anything. She stood up and pulled the chain of the lavatory. Taking a breath, she unlocked the door and opened it, blinking in the light of the candle.
Miss McCragg looked suspicious. ‘I heard voices. Who were you talking to?’
‘I was —’ Stella hesitated. Then she put her hand on her middle. ‘I had to use the lavatory.’
‘Are you unwell?’ Miss McCragg put her large hand on Stella’s forehead. ‘Clammy,’ she said, frowning. ‘Come with me. I’ll give you a dose. Cod-liver oil and brimstone.’
Stella sighed. ‘Yes, Miss McCragg.’
Later, lying in bed in the dark, looking up at the ceiling, with her throat burning and her mouth tasting unpleasantly of oily fish and sulphur, Stella thought of something. ‘Are you awake?’ she whispered.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Agapanthus.
Stella said, ‘Yesterday, in the town, when we were walking along the High Street, we passed that man. He was pasting up posters. Ottilie was frightened. Do you remember?’
‘No.’
‘She was,’ said Stella. She rolled over and stared at Agapanthus in the darkness. ‘I’m sure she was. That man was watching her, and she was scared. We need to get a look at those posters.’
Seven
The next day, the morning lessons dragged on and on. They seemed even more tedious than usual. Stella looked at Ottilie’s empty desk and thought about her note. HELP ME. She imagined Ottilie scribbling the words, trembling with fear. What had happened to her?
She was scolded for inattention and laziness, and Agapanthus was scolded for sulking and frowning. Dinner was boiled liver and turnips, and mutton-fat pudding, eaten in silence from new, plain plates and bowls. The weather was cloudy and overcast, but it was not raining, and so after dinner, the school set out to sketch the plants in the Wakestone Municipal Gardens.
‘We need to find that poster,’ whispered Stella to Agapanthus in the cloakroom, as they pulled on their boots and coats and gloves and hats.
‘Yes. And I’ve got a good distraction for Miss Mangan,’ said Agapanthus. She shot a glance over her shoulder, and then pulled her hand out of the pocket of her coat and showed Stella a dead wasp. ‘I found this.’ She grinned.
Stella eyed the wasp dubiously. ‘How does that help?’
‘Wait and see,’ said Agapanthus, as she dropped the wasp back into her pocket. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll do a distraction. And you get a look at the poster.’
As they walked along the street into the town, Stella spied the stripy cat again, running along the top of a high garden wall. He reached the end of the wall and sat there, with his tail curled around his feet, watching them pass below. He miaowed loudly and blinked his green eyes at her. She smiled and gave him a little wave, and Miss Mangan, who was walking just behind, rapped her with her umbrella.
‘Eyes down,’ she snapped.
They walked along the High Street. There were posters on all the lamp-posts and on the hoardings at the front of some of the shops. There were many different ones, pasted one on top of another. There were posters for tea and soap, and for false teeth and corsets, and for Steadfast Moustache Wax and Invigorating Nerve Tonic. There were several posters for missing people.
Young Female.
Missing or Taken.
Last seen in the vicinity of Crookback Court.
Stella tried to look at the posters without moving her head too much and attracting Miss Mangan’s attention.
Reward offered to any Person for information concerning the whereabouts of Sir Digby Stickleback.
At last, on a lamp-post outside an elegant hat shop with a window full of velvet ribbons and peacock feathers and glittering beads, she spied a poster with a galloping horse at the top. She twitched Agapanthus’s coat sleeve and jerked her head towards the lamp-post. Agapanthus glanced quickly over her shoulder at Miss Mangan, and then abruptly stopped walking and gave a piercing squeal.
Stella jumped.
Miss Mangan gasped.
Agapanthus squealed again, even more loudly, and began to hop up and down, flapping her arms.
‘Stop that at once!’ said Miss Mangan.
Agapanthus shrieked.
‘Stop it!’ shouted Miss Mangan. ‘Whatever are you doing? Stop it at once!’
Two elderly ladies came out from the hat shop and nearly collided with Agapanthus. Their maid dropped the hat boxes she was carrying, and the hats tumbled out onto the pavement. The ladies made shrill twitters of surprise. An old gentleman nearly tripped over them and grunted in an annoyed manner. Flustered, Miss Mangan tried to step around the gentleman, apologise to the ladies and grab hold of Agapanthus all at the same time. Unnoticed, Stella sidled towards the lamp-post.
Underneath the picture of the horse was printed in big letters: STEAM FAIR. Stella glanced over her shoulder. A small interested crowd was gathering. Agapanthus was squealing and wriggling. Several people were scuttling around like crabs, trying to save the fallen hats from being trampled underfoot. Miss Feldspar and the other mistresses were attempting to keep the rest of the schoolgirls in line.
There was no time to read the poster. As quickly as she could, Stella tore it off the lamp-post. It was damp from the rain, but she managed to get it off in one piece. She folded it up until it was small enough to shove into her coat pocket. Then she hurried back to Agapanthus, who gave a final gasping yell and dropped a tiny object on the pavement.
‘I’m sorry!’ she said, panting. ‘I’m so sorry, Miss Mangan. It was a wasp.’
‘A wasp!’ Miss Mangan repeated, her voice rising to a squeak. She poked the dead wasp with the point of her rolled-up umbrella.
‘In my petticoat,’ said Agapanthus. ‘It was biting my —’
‘Silence!’ Miss Mangan smacked Agapanthus on the head with her umbrella.
‘I’m sorry, Miss Mangan.’
‘Such an unmannerly spectacle! Such a commotion! And in the middle of the High Street.’
‘Yes, Miss Mangan. I’m very sorry, Miss Mangan,’ said Agapanthus, looking contrite.
‘A gentlewoman never indulges in emotional outbursts,’ said Miss Mangan. ‘Under any circumstances.’
‘Yes, Miss Mangan,’ agreed Agapanthus.
Miss Mangan gripped her arm, gave her a brisk, hard shake, said, ‘Come!’ and dragged her along the street to rejoin the rest of the school. Stella trotted behind them.
As they filed through the turnstiles into the Wakestone Municipal Gardens, Agapanthus gave Stella a questioning look.
She nodded. ‘I got it,’ she whispered.
Agapanthus grinned.
‘Begin work,’ called Miss Feldspar, clapping her hands. ‘In silence, if you please.’
Stella and Agapanthus
walked decorously side by side across the wide lawn and followed a winding brick path into the herbaceous border, an area of ornamental iron railings and scraggly wintry shrubs.
Stella glanced behind to make sure that none of the mistresses were looking their way. ‘Come on,’ she whispered. They crouched down and pushed their way through the shrubs, ducking under prickly branches and dripping, wet leaves. They came out beside a row of glasshouses, tiptoed past wheelbarrows and flowerpots, and found themselves in a concealed corner of the garden, beside a large rubbish heap. There was nobody in sight.
Stella pulled the poster from her pocket. ‘That was a very good distraction.’
‘I know,’ said Agapanthus. ‘I thought Miss Mangan was going to absolutely have a spasm.’ In an outraged, squeaky voice, she said, ‘Stop it! Stop it at once!’
Stella giggled. She unfolded the poster, and they read it together.
STEAM FAIR
Swing Boats, Whirly-Gigs
HELTER-SKELTER
Steam-Operated Merry-Go-Round
TRY YOUR LUCK
STEAM FAIR
Sideshows, Hoop-La, Shooting Gallery
AMUSEMENTS and Novelties
Every evening until MIDNIGHT
FIREWORKS
Wakestone Fairground
STEAM FAIR
They read the poster again, and Agapanthus pulled a face. ‘Well. It’s a fair. That’s nothing for Ottilie to be frightened about, is it?’
‘No,’ whispered Stella. She bit her lip. ‘I don’t know. I’m sure she saw something that scared her.’
‘Miss Mangan will never let us go to a fair,’ said Agapanthus. ‘Of course not.’
Stella nodded. She remembered Ottilie’s message. HELP ME. She imagined Ottilie trembling as she wrote the words. She swallowed. ‘This is our only clue. We have to try, don’t you think?’
Agapanthus frowned doubtfully at the poster. ‘Wakestone Fairground. Where is that?’
‘I don’t know. We’ll have to ask someone,’ said Stella. ‘If we’re quick, perhaps we could even go and look, and get back before anyone notices that we’re gone.’
Agapanthus said, ‘If we are caught, we’ll be in so much trouble.’
Stella nodded again. ‘More trouble than if they found out about the cat and the sausages. Much more trouble.’
‘So we won’t get caught,’ said Agapanthus decisively. ‘Yes. You’re right. We should try. And we should go now.’
Stella read the poster once more, then folded it up and pushed it back into her pocket. ‘Come on, then,’ she said. She was quite surprised to find that her voice was not shaking at all, because her insides felt extremely nervous.
They peered out from the corner of the glasshouses. There was nobody in sight. They followed a narrow path around a tangled clump of laurel bushes. The path led to the Rose Garden and, unexpectedly, they almost stumbled into Miss Mangan. She was scolding a group of Third Form girls, jabbing at their drawings with her finger. Stella and Agapanthus froze, then silently backed away as quickly as they could.
‘Not that way,’ said Agapanthus with a frown.
They chose another path. This one circled the duck pond. As they reached the Japanese Garden, Stella glimpsed Miss Feldspar poking disapprovingly at a plant with the point of her rolled-up umbrella. They lurked behind a clump of bamboo for several minutes, watching her through the tall stems. When her back was turned, they dashed over the arched Chinese Bridge and around behind a little pagoda and dived into a thick bank of rhododendrons. Not far away, Mlle Roche, the French mistress, was inspecting a Fourth Form girl’s sketchbook in a critical manner. Stella glanced at Agapanthus, nodded and whispered, ‘Go!’ They sprinted through the fernery to reach the statue of a large gentleman riding a horse. They crouched behind the statue and peered cautiously out from around the horse’s legs.
Across the lawn, they could see the turnstiles and the gate. They would have to be very fast, because they would be sure to be seen if any of the mistresses turned their heads. Stella took a breath. She looked at Agapanthus, who nodded.
‘Now,’ whispered Stella, and they darted out from behind the statue and sprinted across the grass. They barged straight through the turnstiles and out into Museum Square.
Behind them, someone shouted.
Stella hesitated.
‘Come on,’ said Agapanthus, grabbing Stella’s hand and pulling her across the square and behind the Memorial Fountain.
Stella looked back over her shoulder and took a breath. Her heart was thumping. ‘We should take the ribbons off our hats.’ She pulled off the nasty, recognisable purple ribbon and pushed it into her coat pocket. Agapanthus did the same. Without the hat ribbons, they did not look like Wakestone Hall girls. They might have been anyone.
‘Now, which way?’ asked Stella, looking out from behind the fountain.
They asked a woman selling apples on a corner, and she pointed with a crooked finger. ‘The fairground, is it? On top of Wakestone Hill. Around the museum, along Lantern Street, turn right at the end, and up the hill, my lovelies. You’ll hear it before you see it, so you will.’
They ran along the street the woman had indicated, behind the museum, a cobbled laneway of little shops selling old books and coins and fossils.
Whilst in a Public Thoroughfare, every girl shall Proceed at a Restrained Velocity.
Stella felt the hard cobblestones under her feet and the cold wind whipping past her face. She grinned. Agapanthus let out a snort of laughter.
They reached the end of the street, turned right and began to climb the hill. Winding alleys snaked between the crowded houses. Tiny shops sold vegetables and fish, or boots and rope.
Stella paused to take a breath, looking back to see Museum Square down below and the town stretching out beyond, a jumble of slate roofs and grey chimneys and church towers.
They went on, weaving in and out of the people, past a public house and a group of ragged children who were playing with a spinning top. Snatches of tinny, jangling music drifted on the breeze.
‘There it is,’ said Agapanthus, pointing.
It was right at the top of the hill. The merry-go-round was turning, glinting in the pale sunshine.
As they got closer, they could hear the steam engines thumping and thundering. Several organs were playing different tunes. Cymbals and drums clashed together. A whistle shrieked. People shouted and hooted with laughter. Dogs barked.
They passed underneath an archway and into the fairground.
Eight
They pushed their way into the crowd. Sawdust had been sprinkled around to make the ground less slippery, but still their feet sank into the mud. The air smelled of smoke and burnt sugar.
‘Ups and Downs,’ bellowed a man. ‘Steam-powered! Penny a ride!’
‘Apple rough!’ shouted a woman. ‘Hot and hot. Ha’penny a cup.’
‘Oranges! Sweet oranges!’
‘Cobnuts!’
‘Hard-bake!’
The merry-go-round was whirling in a blur of colour and jangling music. Horses and rabbits and dragons and griffons leaped and lurched, sparkling with little bits of looking glass and coloured jewels. The riders screamed.
‘Ride the gallopers!’ shouted a man. He saw them watching and gave them a wink. ‘Penny a ride, young ladies.’
‘I wish I had a penny,’ said Agapanthus.
Beyond the merry-go-round was the Helter-Skelter. It was as tall as a lighthouse, painted in red and blue and gold. The polished wooden slide curled around it like a snake. There was a crowd of boys standing around the entrance, looking up. A young man appeared right at the top of the tower. Stella caught her breath as he snatched up a hessian sack and flung himself down the slide. He shrieked as he hurtled down. At the bottom, he hit the ground with a thump and tumbled over and over. His friends helped him up, laughing and patting him on the back.
‘Where do we start?’ asked Stella.
‘We should look everywhere, and as quick as we ca
n,’ said Agapanthus firmly. ‘Come on.’
They made their way through the fairground, past the rides and sideshows. The swing boats swooped by overhead. There were advertisements for a Bearded Lady (ASTONISHING SPECTACLE), a Giant (ALWAYS ON SHOW, ALIVE) and a group of Mechanical Dancers (DIVERTING and INGENIOUS). Cheers and shouts came from inside the tents. There were stalls selling toffee apples, paper pinwheels and tin trumpets, and gilded gingerbread in the shapes of horses and hearts and crowns. A group of children dashed by, blowing whistles and screeching.
‘Try your luck!’ shouted a man. He held a handful of coloured wooden balls. In the stall behind him was a row of grinning clown dolls with staring, round eyes and mops of woolly hair. ‘Try your luck, young ladies. Knock down a dolly and win a prize. Penny a throw.’
They hurried on, passing a Hoop-La and a cocoanut shy and a fishing game, with prizes of goldfish in glass jars.
There was no sign of Ottilie anywhere.
At a shooting gallery, men were firing rifles at a row of metal ducks that jerked along a track. Crack! Crack! Crack! There was a smell of burnt gunpowder.
Stella heard a muffled yell and stopped. In a narrow alley between the fishing game and the shooting gallery, two heavily built men were standing over a ragged, barefoot boy. The men wore leather waistcoats and bowler hats, and coloured handkerchiefs around their necks. One of them was chewing on a chop, gravy dripping down his chin.
The boy was clutching a wooden tray of tiny glittering flowers. His arms were wrapped around it protectively.
One of the men pushed the boy, making him stumble backwards. ‘Go on. Git.’ He shoved him harder and the boy fell, landing in the mud with a thump. The contents of his tray scattered.
‘Git on with you,’ said the second man. He gave the fallen boy a kick.
The first man said, ‘And if we see you here again, it’ll be worse for you.’ He stamped on the fallen flowers with the heel of his boot, grinding them into the mud. The other man spat before they turned and walked away.
Wakestone Hall Page 5