Poppy Pym and the Secret of Smuggler's Cove

by Laura Wood

  Taking a key from his pocket, Stanley unlocked the boat and wedged it against the cave wall. Pulling us roughly, one by one he threaded the chain through the loops of rope around our wrists and snapped the padlock shut with a sickening click. The chain was heavy, and it pulled at my arms. I let out a whimper of fright.

  Stanley pocketed the gun. He didn’t need it any more, not now that we had so helpfully chained ourselves to the seabed. With a sickening smirk he clambered into the row boat and gave us a little salute. “I’m sorry it had to end like this,” he said. “I’ll be sure to comfort your parents, Jenny, as I’m helping them pack their bags! What a shame none of you will ever be seen again. Goodbye!” And with that he rowed quickly out of the mouth of the cave, disappearing from sight.

  We were alone. The roar of the water bounced off the walls of the cave and I gulped. The water was nearly up to my knees. I was trying not to panic but I could feel fear rising inside me as fast as the water was filling the cave.

  “We’re going to diiiiiiiiie!” Jack screamed, which I had to admit did not help my attempts to remain calm.

  “Shut up, Jack!” Jenny snapped. “This is all your fault!” It seemed safe to say that their romance was well and truly over.

  “Be quiet, both of you,” Miss Susan said sharply. “No one’s going to die. We just need a plan.” She was tugging at the ropes around her hands. “And Stanley Goodwill doesn’t know that I phoned Inspector Hartley this morning – I was having a hard time persuading Agatha so I just went ahead and did it without telling her. One way or another people are going to work out what’s happened, and your bickering is not helping.”

  For some reason I found Miss Susan’s crossness reassuring. I began to take stock of the situation – after all, I reminded myself as the water rose around me, you’ve been in worse situations. I wasn’t so sure this was true, but I told myself it was all the same. There was no sense in being defeatist. If anyone could get us out of this mess it was going to be me. I moved over and lifted up the padlock. It was old but very, very sturdy. “I think I could pick this maybe…” I said shakily. “If I had something to pick it with. Do you have anything in your pockets?” I turned to face them all. “A hairpin? Anything like that?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it was coming out a bit panicky. All three of them shook their heads.

  “I have a pencil in my inside jacket pocket,” Miss Susan said. “Would that work?”

  “No,” I shook my head. “Although maybe if we could make it really sharp…”

  “Oh great,” Jenny giggled hysterically, “I was just fancying a bit of light whittling!”

  In a flash I remembered that there was something in my own pocket… the pencil sharpener that Pym had sent me. I gave a little whoop of excitement and Miss Susan and Jenny looked at me as though I was going mad.

  “There’s a pencil sharpener in my pocket!” I explained. “Miss Susan, if you come here, can you reach it?” After much twisting and bending ourselves around like elaborate pretzels I was holding the pencil from Miss Susan’s pocket and she was holding the sharpener. I’ve done a lot of strange things in my life, but taking part in a two-person pencil sharpening in a cave filling up with freezing water has to be one of the strangest. Finally, we had exposed a good section of the lead, and the tip was dangerously pointy. The water was up to my waist now, and I was shivering.

  “OK,” I muttered to myself. “You can do this.” There was a good chance I was being a little too optimistic. Picking a lock was delicate work at the best of times, but if I snapped the lead in the pencil we were done for. Gently, I began wiggling the improvised lock pick.

  “Hurry up, hurry up!” cried Jack, through chattering teeth. The water was almost up to my chest now, and the weight of the chain meant that we had no chance of swimming.

  “Be quiet!” I yelled, tensing as I felt the lead bend a little. There were a few more seconds of fraught silence, and I realized with a horrifying certainty that this plan wasn’t going to work.

  “I can’t do it,” I said, tears filling my eyes.

  “Yes you can!” Miss Susan’s voice was firm. “Poppy Pym, I have seen you do extraordinary things. You can do anything you put your mind to. I know you can do this. I believe in you.”

  Blinking back the tears that seemed to want to make an appearance even more now, I took a deep breath and returned to the padlock. The water was so high now that I could no longer see it – I had to rely on my instincts.

  “Poppy!” Miss Susan cried as the water reached my neck.

  And then, at the last possible moment, I felt the lock spring open in my hands.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  There was no time to lose! The water was still rising as we wriggled out of the chains. The water was up over my mouth now and with a huge sense of relief I felt the weight of the chain fall from my hands. My wrists were still bound, but I kicked my way to the surface, gasping for air. I saw Miss Susan and Jenny bobbing next to me, but there was no sign of Jack.

  “He can’t get free of the chain!” Jenny gasped, and she did a neat surface dive, disappearing under the water.

  “What should we do?” I turned to Miss Susan, but before we could follow Jenny down under the water, she emerged, dragging Jack Jenkins with her.

  “I was a lifeguard for three summers.” She grinned at me. I smiled back.

  Jack started coughing and spluttering, his face pale.

  “We need to get out of the water!” Miss Susan exclaimed. She was right, the cave was filling up so quickly that soon the water would reach the ceiling and there would be no escape.

  We all kicked our way through the water as fast as we could, over to the wall at the back of the cave, pulling ourselves on to the top step, and lying, panting on the ground. Our hands were still bound together, but we had to get out of there before the water reached the roof of the cave. Stumbling back into the tunnel we scrambled up the passage as fast as our shaking legs would carry us. The tunnel felt endless, dark and twisting. I bashed into the wall, grazing my elbow, and I felt Miss Susan’s hand steadying me. None of us said a word. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, we reached the wall behind Jenny’s bedroom. Pushing at the stones there, the door flew open and the four of us fell into the room beyond.

  “Help! Help!” a voice was shouting, and I realized that it was me. There was a thundering sound as footsteps ran up the stairs and down the corridor. The door to the room burst open and standing in front of us was Inspector Hartley.

  “What the… ?” He gasped at the sight of the four of us, soaking wet, covered in mud and sand and falling through the wall. I had to admit it was probably a bit of a surprise.

  “Jenny!” someone screamed, and I realized there were other people in the room, as Agatha and Bernard rushed towards their daughter.

  Suddenly there were people everywhere. I wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, but someone removed the ropes that were tied around my hands and smothered me in a warm dry blanket. Kip and Ingrid dashed in, pulling me into a big group hug.

  “Where have you been?!” Kip yelled.

  “We were so worried!” Ingrid added more quietly, squeezing me around the shoulders. Tears were spilling down my cheeks now and I felt such a sense of relief at being reunited with my friends. They didn’t hate me.

  “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” I jabbered as they pulled me into an enormous, warm hug.

  The door banged open and Mr Grant strode into the room. He took in the situation at a glance, and then, without a word, he rushed over to Miss Susan and started … kissing her.

  Right on the lips!

  For a moment I gawped at them, and caught Kip and Ingrid doing the same, their mouths hanging wide open. Mr Grant was in love with Miss Susan! How had I not spotted that? I wondered. Maybe I wasn’t as good a detective as I thought! Mr Grant finally let Miss Susan go, but he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. Her cheeks were very pink, and a big shy smile had crept across her face which she tried to hide w
ith her hand. “Really, Michael,” she said in her cool voice but I wasn’t fooled; she couldn’t hide how pleased she was.

  Mrs Crockton arrived then with a tray full of steaming mugs of tea, and I swigged at mine gratefully, warming my hands on the toasty china.

  “OK,” Inspector Hartley said finally. “I think it’s time to fill us in on what’s been going on.” His grey eyes turned in my direction. “Why do I get the feeling you’ll be able to tell us all about it, Miss Pym?”

  I tried to look modest, but I couldn’t help grinning at this. After all, Inspector Hartley knew that I had solved my fair share of mysteries.

  “Jack Jenkins kidnapped Jenny,” I said and there were shocked gasps from the Booths who were still huddled around a weeping Jenny. Everyone turned to face Jack who was shivering in the corner under a blanket. He looked very green around the edges and he hung his head. “Well, sort of,” I added, but catching Jenny’s eye I thought maybe that bit of the story could wait until later. “But the real mastermind is Stanley Goodwill. He’s obsessed with the castle. He wanted to drive the Booths away so that he would inherit the castle himself. I don’t know if he was ever planning to let Jenny go or not, but after me and Miss Susan got involved, too many people knew his secret so he decided to get rid of us.” I shuddered here, and Mrs Crockton came and pulled me into a big, safe hug.

  “I see. And how, if I might ask,” Inspector Hartley continued, “did you come to be involved?”

  “Oh,” I said. “Er, well it’s a long story, but we were investigating the mystery of a disappearing smuggler and then I sort of found the room where Miss Susan and Jenny were being kept.”

  “Disappearing smuggler?” Inspector Hartley raised an eyebrow and made a note in his notebook. “Is this another case I should be involved in?”

  “Oh no,” I said happily, grinning at Kip and Ingrid who looked back questioningly. “Don’t worry, we solved it.” I squeezed their hands here. “Plus,” I added helpfully, “the smuggler disappeared in 1747, so there’s not much you can do about it now.”

  “Fine,” said the inspector mildly, seemingly unsurprised by this. “And now, if you are all feeling a little better, perhaps I could ask – do you know where Stanley Goodwill is now?”

  I leapt to my feet. How could I be so stupid?! That cold water must have frozen my brain. In all the relief of escaping a terrible watery death I had allowed the criminal to escape! “He rowed away in a boat!” I said. “He must be on his way back here right now!”

  Miss Susan put a hand on my arm. “I think maybe we should all go and welcome him ashore…” Our eyes met, and without another word we were both running for the door, down the stairs and heading out of the castle with all the others chasing after us. Down we ran, through the gardens, down the path and through Crumley where the villagers came out to stare at us as if we’d all lost our collective marbles. Rounding the corner of the path I cried, “There he is!”

  And there he was. Stanley Goodwill was struggling to pull his boat on to shore. Hearing my cry he turned around, and his eyes widened as he saw the gang of angry people descending on him.

  “Noooooo!” he cried, and he began trying to push the boat back out to sea, scrabbling around in the sand.

  Miss Susan and I descended.

  “Aggggggggh!” I yelled, diving in and catching him around the legs.

  “Get off me, you little twerp!” he yelled as he struggled to stay upright, shaking me off and swinging around, ready to aim a hard kick in my direction.

  “I rrrreally wouldn’t do that!” shouted Miss Susan, and to my astonishment, she punched Stanley Goodwill right in the face, with a very neat right hook. He fell down like a ton of bricks, hitting the water with a mighty splash.

  A cheer went up on the shore and Miss Susan stood back, looking a bit surprised at herself. Inspector Hartley waded in behind us, pulling a groggy Stanley out of the water and snapping a pair of handcuffs on him.

  Miss Susan turned to face me, and I beamed at her. “That was SO BRILLIANT!” I exclaimed, holding out my hand for a high five.

  Shyly, Miss Susan slapped my hand with hers. “Poppy,” she said, the breeze whipping her blonde hair around her mud-splattered face, “I think we really need to talk.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  It was a few hours later before Miss Susan and I got to have our talk. First of all there was the arrest of Stanley Goodwill and the arrival of the local police force. Then me, Miss Susan, Jack and Jenny all had to answer a lot of questions and tell the story of what had happened over and over again. After that I went and had a shower before putting my snuggliest pyjamas on and grabbing an important envelope from the bottom of my rucksack. Then I went inside and knocked on Miss Susan’s door.

  Miss Susan had changed into her pyjamas as well, and she was combing her damp hair. It was reassuring to see her back to her old, neat self. Even her pyjamas were crisp and white and looked like she had just ironed them. Miss Susan sat on the edge of the bed and patted the duvet next to her. I perched there awkwardly, feeling nervous and tongue-tied.

  “Poppy,” Miss Susan said, taking a deep breath, “there is something I need to tell you.” I sat up straighter and nodded in a way that I hoped was encouraging. Miss Susan fidgeted for a second before getting to her feet. She began pacing in front of me. “What I said to you before…” she said finally, “it was true. I am not your mother.”

  My heart thudded in my chest. After all we had been through, she still wasn’t willing to tell me the truth.

  “No, Poppy,” Miss Susan said, seeing the hurt in my eyes. “You don’t understand. Oh, I’ve made such a mess of this!” She sat back down on the bed next to me and took my hand. “You see, I’m not your mother … I’m your aunt.”

  “What?!” I gasped. Miss Susan nodded. “But … but … I know it’s you!” I said, “I found your picture!” and I reached into the envelope, pulling out the photograph of Miss Susan holding the baby.

  Miss Susan’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Poppy,” she said finally. “You’re right, that is you in the picture there, but I’m not the one holding you.” She pointed to the woman in the picture. “That’s my twin sister, Evangeline.”

  It felt like the room had started spinning. “Evangeline. Evangeline is E!” I muttered. “That’s my mother?”

  “Yes.” Miss Susan squeezed my hand.

  “And you’re … my aunt?” The word sounded funny. Miss Susan must have thought so as well because she laughed shakily.

  “I know,” she said, “it’s strange for me too.”

  “But, but, how did this happen?” I asked, my brain trying to catch up with all this new information like a puppy chasing a tennis ball.

  Miss Susan squared her shoulders and began to explain. “Evangeline and I,” she said, “we didn’t always get on terribly well. We might have been twins but we were really very different people. Around the time that you were born we weren’t on speaking terms. It’s something I bitterly regret.” Miss Susan paused here, and rubbed her face. “I didn’t know anything about you until after your sixth birthday,” she said finally. “I came looking for you, but by then you had a family and a home – a wonderful home, far better than I could give you. I knew it would be selfish to take you away from them so I kept quiet.”

  I squeezed Miss Susan’s hand now, and she squeezed mine back.

  “I kept an eye on you,” Miss Susan carried on. “I used to come and see the circus perform whenever I could, and I watched you, this amazing, fearless girl. I’d held posts in various schools, and when I started working at Saint Smithen’s, I saw an opportunity to help you – and to get to know you a little better. I convinced Miss Baxter to offer you a scholarship to come to the school.”

  “You did that?” I gasped. “Does Miss Baxter know who I am?” I added, letting this sink in.

  “No,” Miss Susan said. “No one knows. I didn’t tell anyone.”

  “Not even Mr Grant?” I asked, peeking up at her.
/>   Miss Susan’s cheeks turned pink again. “Not even Mr Grant,” she said.

  “I can’t believe it!” I exclaimed. “All this time you were my aunt?! I thought you didn’t like me!”

  Miss Susan grimaced. “Oh, Poppy, I know.” She sighed. “I just didn’t know how to act. I wasn’t sure if I should tell you or not, and I’m not very … good … at, well, family and feelings and things.” She shrugged helplessly. “In the end I thought it best to keep my distance. You seemed so happy and I didn’t want to mess things up for you.”

  I sat for a moment, then nodded. “I think I understand,” I whispered. Then I remembered something. “Oh, but what about the necklace? Can you tell me more about this?” I asked, reaching into the envelope behind me and pulling out the now familiar piece of jewellery, with its engraved heart-shaped charm and tiny delicate pearls.

  Miss Susan really began to cry now, gentle tears running down her cheeks. She reached inside the neck of her pyjama top and pulled out her own identical necklace.

  “That’s Evangeline’s necklace,” she whispered. “We had one each. Our father gave them to us when we were about your age. You see the design in the engravings?” Miss Susan pointed to the middle of the heart, and that was when I noticed them – two tiny lowercase Es nestled back-to-back in the middle of the pattern carved there. With shaking hands Miss Susan clasped the necklace around my neck and I felt the cool charm resting against my skin. In all the months I had had the necklace I had never felt comfortable trying it on. Now I realized I might never take it off.

  Miss Susan held my hand again, and this time I knew I had to say something, to ask a hard question even though, deep down I already knew the answer.

  “Where … where is she now?” I asked. “Evangeline, I mean, my mother?”

  “Oh, Poppy,” said Miss Susan tearfully. “I’m so sorry. She died six years ago.”

  EPILOGUE

  “Woah,” said Kip.

  “Yep.” I nodded.