Mum asks, ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means I smell.’ Amelia bursts into tears.
I realise that a stench that appeared when they entered isn’t coming from outside. It is coming from her. The smell of perfume that normally surrounds her has gone. In its place is something terrible. I’m not the only one to notice it either. People on other tables are turning up their noses in disgust and whispering about us.
‘My poor girl,’ says Aunt Celeste, putting a comforting arm around her shoulder.
‘It’s not fair,’ sobs Amelia. ‘How could they even consider me for an advert for fabric conditioner when I smell like something that lives in a sewer.’
‘You do not. Now, why don’t you go and use the bathroom to freshen up?’ whispers Aunt Celeste in her ear. She pulls out a bottle of perfume from her handbag and hands it to Amelia. Amelia takes it and crosses the cafe to the toilet as quickly as she can manage.
‘It’s a genetic condition,’ says Aunt Celeste quietly.
‘So it’s hereditary?’ says Mum.
‘Apparently so,’ says Aunt Celeste. ‘The specialist called it a recessive gene but neither Kitson nor I have ever come across it before. It’s so unfortunate for her.’
‘And there’s nothing you can do?’ says Mum.
‘Mostly it’s possible to keep it under control with scented oils and perfumes but when she gets agitated it gets worse and they kept us waiting for so long today. Amelia didn’t want to keep going to freshen up in case she missed her call.’
Amelia comes out of the toilet and Aunt Celeste changes the subject. ‘Well, I can see you two had a good shopping trip.’
‘What did you get?’ asks Amelia. ‘I wish I could have come with you.’ She has reapplied her make-up and doused herself in perfume and speaks brightly like nothing has happened.
‘I got some boots a bit like yours,’ I show them to her.
‘You should put them on now. You must be so tired of wearing those awful wellies.’
The waitress comes over with mine and Mum’s order. Aunt Celeste orders cake. Amelia seems back to normal and no one mentions the audition again.
It’s fun spending time with Amelia. She seems so confident and sure of herself apart from the outburst in the cafe. Being with her is a million times more enjoyable than spending time with Oberon and Gerald. I like Aunt Celeste too, even when she tries to give me chicken for dinner, on the basis that chickens are really only vegetables with wings.
It gets late and Amelia shows me the room I’ll be sleeping in. It’s full of flowers. I realise now the flowers and potpourri are there to help mask the smell.
My third night in England passes without incident. I fall straight to sleep and do not wake in the night. As usual my sleep is free from dreams and I awake refreshed for the first time since I landed in this cold country.
Chapter 8
The Slaughtered Cow
I spend the following day with Amelia, chatting and watching TV. Aunt Celeste apologises because she thinks she should be showing us the sights but Mum and I are happy to relax. In the afternoon Amelia shows me an album of photos of her, including some modelling ones in which she is wearing heavy make-up and pouting at the camera.
‘This is my favourite,’ she says of one of them. ‘Uncle Will took it. He’s an excellent portrait photographer but he prefers to do arty photographs, only there’s no money in those. That’s what Dad says. What I love about photography is that it can really capture a moment. I’m definitely going to concentrate on modelling not acting from now on. One agent told me I have professional cheekbones.’
‘Better than amateur ones,’ I reply.
She laughs. It’s the first time she has come close to referring to the audition yesterday. I turn the page and see a photograph taken at a wedding.
‘This was taken when Uncle Will and Aunt Chrissie got married,’ she says.
‘How long ago was it?’ I ask. ‘You all look really young.’
‘About four years ago. I was ten I think. So Elspeth must have been four and Lily must have been the same age Elspeth is now. We were all bridesmaids.’
In the photo Amelia, Lily and Elspeth are wearing identical pink dresses, holding tiny bunches of flowers.
‘Elspeth doesn’t look very happy,’ I say. Even as a little girl, dressed in a puffy pink dress, there is a dark brooding look in her eyes.
Amelia laughs. ‘She’s not a natural bridesmaid. Lily looks pretty though, doesn’t she? I always tell her she should wear her hair back.’
In the photo Lily has had her hair in a ribbon. Amelia’s right. She has a pretty face but it seems to me that she has lifted the bunch of flowers up to try to hide behind them. Only Amelia looks completely comfortable in front of the camera.
‘You’re going to theirs next,’ says Amelia. ‘Mum said Uncle Sewell is coming to take you to the campus tomorrow morning. It’s such a shame you couldn’t stay longer with me. School holidays can be lonely.’
‘Won’t you see any friends?’ I ask.
Amelia closes the photo album and puts it away. For a moment I wonder whether she heard my question but I can tell she did. She just doesn’t want to answer. It’s an awkward moment and we are both grateful when Aunt Celeste calls us for dinner.
When we go down, Uncle Kitson and Mum are already sitting at the table.
‘The whole business is bizarre,’ Uncle Kitson is saying.
‘What business?’ asks Amelia.
‘I got a call from Farmer Dooley this morning. One of his cows was attacked in the night.’
‘Attacked?’ I say.
Uncle Kitson nods. ‘Attacked and killed,’ he says.
‘What by?’ I ask.
‘Well, that’s the odd thing. Dooley claims to have seen Oberon running out of the shed.’
Amelia laughs. ‘That’s ridiculous. Everyone knows Farmer Dooley is as mad as a badger.’
‘Yes, last month he was in the paper claiming his chickens were being killed by the beast of Wilderdale,’ says Aunt Celeste.
‘That was just foxes,’ says Uncle Kitson.
‘So is that what attacked the cow?’ I ask.
‘A fox couldn’t have done that kind of damage,’ says Uncle Kitson.
‘I suppose something could have escaped from a zoo,’ says Mum.
‘It must have been pretty strong to do that to a cow,’ says Uncle Kitson. ‘Half the flesh was ripped off its carcass and the poor thing’s throat was torn out.’
‘That’s enough now.’ Aunt Celeste carries a pot with a pair of oven gloves and places it on the table. ‘We don’t want that sort of talk at the table.’
The conversation moves on but I can’t stop thinking about what Uncle Kitson said. Aunt Celeste has made beef stew for everyone and ratatouille for me. The beef in the stew is obviously quite tough and I am put off my food by the way they all have to chew so much. I can’t help imagining they are eating the same poor cow with its throat torn out. If I had dreams, it would probably form the basis for a nightmare.
Perhaps it is because I go to bed hungry that I awake in the middle of the night.
I am standing up.
Sleepwalking is something you never get used to and it has been a long time since I last walked in my sleep. It takes me a moment to realise I am standing in Amelia’s bedroom. Her bed is empty. Outside a security light goes off and makes me jump. I go to the window and look through a gap in the curtain. It is too dark to see much but I can make out Percy’s Ruin. Just like before there is a fire at the top of it. I can see the flames flickering. I stand for a moment transfixed, listening to the sounds of the house, watching as the smoke from the fire drifts and twists in the breeze.
I check the bathroom for Amelia but it is empty. I search for her in the living room and the kitchen. She isn’t there either. I feel sure that wherever she is, she is no longer in the house.
I go back to the window and look up at Percy’s Ruin. I think about the dead cow and the idea of
Oberon running from the farmer’s shed. I think about my cousins returning after Oberon’s swim at Louvre House. I don’t know what to make of any of it but there is no way I can go back to sleep so I get dressed. Something inside me urges me to go out and find Amelia. I remember Father Gowlett’s warning to stay inside. Terror spreads through my body as I put on my new boots but something drives me on. A key is in the lock. I take it, put on my coat and step outside.
It is cold and dark. I must be mad to have left the house but still I don’t go back. Instead I find a large stick to defend myself with and walk up the driveway, across the road, up towards Percy’s Ruin. The most direct route is through the woods, up the hill. It is difficult to see where I am going and I instantly wish I had a torch. All I have by way of light is the soft glow of the half moon.
My progress is slow. Walking in the dark is difficult enough. The icy surface and deep snow make it even more so. I stumble and trip but I use my stick for balance. It’s bitterly cold. A sharp wind cuts through my clothing and makes me shiver. I think longingly about my bed.
Something howls. It sounds like a dingo I heard once on a school trip but there are no dingoes in England. Whatever is making the noise, it is close by. I feel scared and vulnerable. My stick, which had felt like a proper weapon when I picked it up, now feels flimsy and inadequate. The howling stops but this only makes me more scared. I don’t feel safe on the ground so I drop the stick and find a tree to climb. I’ve always been a good tree-climber but the ice which coats its branches makes it difficult and a couple of times I slip and bang my elbows and graze my chin on the way up.
The trees cast strange shadows on the snowy ground. A papery cloud covers the moon and the shadows vanish. There is something down there. I strain to see what it is. Two red eyes stare out from under the thicket. It is too dark to see what they belong to but I know it’s looking at me. I can hear it breathing. I think about the stories about the beast of Wilderdale. Why have I come out at night? What is wrong with me? My body goes rigid and I pray that the creature can’t climb trees.
Eventually the animal continues down the hill. My heart is beating fast but I would die of cold if I stayed in the tree all night and I feel like the danger has passed so I climb back down.
Perhaps it’s because the animal headed down the hill, but I decide to finish what I have started and pick up the stick. I carry on up the hill to Percy’s Ruin moving as quickly as I can. The woods are filled with strange sounds, but I don’t hear the howling again. The half moon reappears from behind a cloud, making it easier to see.
I reach the top of the hill where the tower stands. The fire has almost burnt out. Something on the ground glints in the moonlight. I bend down and pick it up. It’s a silver crucifix. I hold it up and examine it. It’s badly scratched but there is something pleasing about the way it catches the moonlight when I wipe off the dirt. I put it in my pocket and head back down the hill, holding my stick out, ready to hit anything that attacks me.
I am relieved to reach the cottage and let myself in. I replace the keys and tiptoe back to my room. As I pass Amelia’s bedroom I notice that the door is shut.
Chapter 9
Mona Lisa’s Smile
The sound of the howling stays with me. In a story bloodcurdling howls and tales of viciously attacked animals would mean werewolves, but this is real life and I don’t believe in anything supernatural. Ask me, if it can’t be understood by science it’s just because no one clever enough has come along to explain it yet. Besides, werewolves only change when there is a full moon and last night’s moon still had a dark shadow across half of it. I laugh at myself for even thinking it.
There was a time when I would have told Mum about what happened last night but since we landed in this cold country it is like we have frozen apart from one another.
Amelia is the last to appear at the breakfast bar and, from the aroma that follows her into the room, I can tell she has applied her usual collection of perfumes.
‘Did you sleep well, darling?’ asks Aunt Celeste.
‘Like a log,’ she replies.
‘I think left to her own devices my girl would sleep her whole life away,’ says Aunt Celeste, kissing her on the forehead.
‘I might go back to bed now. I’m feeling rather tired,’ Amelia jokes.
‘I woke up in the middle of the night,’ I say, watching Amelia for a reaction. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’
She just says, ‘It’s so annoying when that happens,’ and pours herself a bowl of cereal.
Uncle Sewell arrives to take us to his house. Aunt Celeste and Amelia air-kiss us goodbye. Lily and Elspeth are sitting on the back seat. Lily is on the far side, hiding behind her curtain of black hair. Elspeth is sitting nearest. She looks at me coldly when Uncle Sewell opens the back door for me.
‘Come on now, Elspeth, move up, make room for your cousin,’ says Uncle Sewell.
She unclips her seat belt and moves into the middle seat.
I take my place next to her. Mum sits in the front. Uncle Sewell starts the car. I turn to wave at Amelia but the front door is already shut. Neither Lily nor Elspeth speak, but Elspeth catches my glance every time I look at her, as though daring me to say something.
‘I’ve got to go to Louvre House before I take you to the campus,’ says Uncle Sewell. ‘There are some documents I need to find. Besides, we all left in a bit of a hurry the other day. Dee wants me to check that all the food is cleared away and that everything is locked up. If it’s going to stay empty for a while, we don’t want to attract unwanted creatures, do we?’
‘What kind of unwanted creatures?’ I ask.
‘Oh, you know, tigers, panthers, that kind of thing,’ says Uncle Sewell.
Uncle Sewell and Mum laugh.
‘I mean rats or mice,’ he says. ‘Although, the name Louvre House suggests the site may have been a home to bigger pests once.’
‘I always thought it had something to do with the art gallery in France,’ says Mum. ‘Isn’t that why Dad put up that picture of the Mona Lisa?’
‘Louvre is certainly French,’ says Uncle Sewell. ‘It comes from the words loup meaning wolf and vivre meaning live. So, literally it means where the wolves live.’ The way he says it, it isn’t difficult to imagine him delivering a lecture at the university.
‘Wolves?’ says Mum.
‘There was probably some kind of wolf den before it was cleared out and built on,’ explains Uncle Sewell. That was back when there were still wolves in this country.
Elspeth leans over and whispers in my ear, ‘I know where the wolves run, I know where they hide. You’ll know when they strike, but only I where they reside.’
She says it quickly and with a menacing tone and I don’t know how to respond but my mind is racing. Wolves. I think about the howling from last night. I remember the red eyes and suddenly feel certain that they saw me as clearly as I saw them.
Uncle Sewell and Mum are talking about something to do with the tax on Grandma’s house.
‘Do you want to hear another poem?’ asks Elspeth.
I really don’t but Elspeth isn’t giving me a choice. She looks me in the eyes and recites another. ‘My own fear chokes my throat, like I’m swallowing something wrong, but your fear tastes different, it’s sweet upon my tongue.’
‘That’s delightful,’ I say. ‘How about you, Lily – do you write poetry too?’
‘No,’ she replies.
‘How about you, Mariel?’ mimics Elspeth. ‘Do you write poetry too?’
‘Sometimes,’ I reply.
‘I bet it’s rubbish,’ she says.
‘Elspeth! Mariel’s our cousin,’ scolds Lily.
‘What are you lot talking about back there?’ asks Uncle Sewell, glancing in the rear-view mirror.
‘Nothing much,’ replies Elspeth.
‘Plotting and scheming, no doubt,’ he says, smiling.
‘We never plot or scheme,’ says Elspeth. She leans over and whispers to me. ‘Grandma hated y
ou and your mother.’
‘What’s that, darling?’ asks Uncle Sewell.
‘Nothing, Daddy,’ she answers out loud.
The snow hasn’t been cleared beyond the stone arch by the entrance to the grounds. Uncle Sewell stops the car so we can walk up the driveway to the house. As soon as we’re out of the car Elspeth asks him for the keys then runs on ahead.
‘Be careful you don’t slip,’ warns Uncle Sewell. He turns to Mum. ‘They have so much energy at that age, it’s exhausting watching them.’
Lily and I walk behind Uncle Sewell and Mum.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says quietly. She avoids eye contact.
‘Why are you sorry?’
‘Elspeth doesn’t mean to be like that. She’s young.’
‘She doesn’t seem that young.’
‘That’s because she spends all her time with her cousins and we’re all older than her.’
‘Doesn’t she have any friends?’ I ask.
‘No.’
I turn to Lily but she is hiding behind her hair. Ahead, Elspeth has reached the house and let herself in.
‘Why did she call me a half-cousin when we first met?’ I ask.
‘She’s just being childish. But you shouldn’t want to be one of us. You should do what Gerald told you to do and keep away from us.’
‘How do you know what he told me?’
‘We spoke on the phone.’
‘You’re all very close,’ I say.
‘We only have each other. We don’t have friends.’
‘Why not?’
Lily falls silent.
‘What’s wrong with you all?’ I ask.
‘We have . . .’ She pauses for such a long time, I wonder whether she is going to finish her sentence at all. ‘We have problems.’
‘What problems?’ I am beginning to suspect that all my cousins are mad.
She doesn’t answer. We are getting near the house. Elspeth appears at an upstairs window. She opens it and shouts, ‘Lily, come up here.’
‘Be careful, Elspeth,’ yells Uncle Sewell.
‘I’m being careful, Daddy,’ she replies. ‘Come on, Lily, let’s play our game.’
The Considine Curse Page 5