Ribblestrop Forever!

by Andy Mulligan

  ‘It’s pre-ordained,’ said Professor Worthington. ‘That’s what the headmaster’s saying, and I completely agree. I hate all that destiny twaddle and I certainly don’t believe in the mumbo-jumbo of miracles. But what’s going on here is right – and if you try to get away, Doctor Ellie, I think we’ll have to kidnap you.’

  Israel laughed, but was shushed by Eric.

  ‘Do we have a deal?’ said Miles.

  Doctor Ellie looked from face to face, and sipped her rum. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and went to speak twice. The children simply waited.

  ‘Very well,’ she said at last. ‘We have a deal. I would be proud to come to Ribblestrop, of course I would. But I do so on the very strict condition that when you realise how boring I am, you ask me to leave.’

  ‘That’s not going to happen,’ said the headmaster, shaking her hand. ‘At Ribblestrop, we’re family!’

  It took three hours to drive across the moor, because they wanted to use the back roads – just in case there were police patrols looking for a stolen library van or a party of wheel-clamp thieves. They stopped once for coffee and drank it under the soft gaze of a yellow moon. Some children slept and others read as the van rocked comfortably along. The headmaster drove behind.

  When they turned into the gates of Ribblestrop, it was already light and there was a bubbling of birdsong. When they came down the drive and caught the first glimpse of the school building, there was a hush of expectation. Those who had dozed woke up and pressed their noses to the windows. Doctor Ellie slowed down, so they could enjoy the wonder of a dawn arrival. The sun was just up and had painted the Neptune statue pink, so he lay like a great baby in glittering water. Rays of light hit the windows, which flashed, and the walls turned solid gold. Suddenly it was as if the school was illuminated from within like a great lantern.

  The children moved up the steps to the front door and there was a huge banner pinned across them, the words scrawled in a childish hand. You made it! Welcome home!

  Under it lay two sleeping forms – a little one, wrapped in the folds of a huge blazer, that belonged to the larger one. It was Caspar, who had somehow escaped confinement and had wanted to be there for his friends’ return. The bigger boy was Henry, and he had also succumbed to sleep on the doorstep, his enormous bicep pillowing Caspar’s head.

  The school was complete, with every child safe and well. The new term had started – one day late, but in a blaze of morning glory. There was no need to stand and sing the school song, because everyone was singing it already in his or her heart. They walked through the corridors in a dream, and failed to notice the posters taped to the stairs. Do not enter! they read. Strictly Private!

  The letters screamed in reds and blacks. There was even tape across some of the corridors and staircases, but the Ribblestrop children moved wearily past them all and staggered to their dormitories. They were asleep before their heads touched their pillows.

  Chapter Twelve

  Millie had heard the word ‘Cuthbertson’ – one of the security guards has used it, several times. She had shuddered, but put it from her mind. After all, there were many Cuthbertsons in the world, and it had seemed highly unlikely that the Cuthbertson mentioned could be ex-police Inspector Percy Cuthbertson, the monster that had tried twice to murder her.

  It was, however, the very same person, and he’d recognised Millie as she swept by in the library van. What was he doing by The Priory School in a Stillwater Security patrol car? What monstrous coincidence could this be? The answer was simple. Having been sacked from the police force, he’d found work with the SSS. It was a company run by his son-in-law, and he’d bullied his way into a job out of sheer desperation. He was plain old Mr Cuthbertson now, working with men he despised for a pittance of a salary and very few perks. But as he was virtually penniless, he had few choices. His savings had all gone to pay the bribes that had kept him from prosecution. His wife had left him. He was a sad and bitter man.

  Naturally, he blamed Ribblestrop Towers for his misfortune, and his hatred of the children had grown like a tapeworm, deep in his gut. All he could think about was revenge, destruction, kidnap and murder. He drove around the lanes and planned increasingly elaborate schemes to bring the school he loathed to its knees. His files on the children and their teachers grew thicker, for he knew that he had to make his move soon.

  To see the black-and-gold blazers again – so close and so unexpectedly – had almost made his heart stop. He jumped out of his van and his suspicions were instantly confirmed: it had been the whole Ribblestrop gang. Mr Ian described the mayhem and there were images that confirmed everything on the digital camera. He thought fast and in a moment he was frog-marching the teacher into a quiet corner. The two men had known each other for several years; it was a relationship born of shame and blackmail, and within half an hour they were sitting in a nearby pub.

  ‘Look,’ said Mr Ian, anxiously. ‘I’m supposed to be doing a roll call. If I get seen having a drink with you, I’ll be in serious trouble.’

  ‘You’re in serious trouble already, my lad.’

  ‘No, Cuthbertson—’

  ‘You’ve been in trouble for years. It was me that got you out of it.’

  ‘I don’t mean that. I’m not referring to the past.’

  ‘I am. I can dig up that paperwork any time I choose.’

  ‘It happened ages ago!’

  ‘Drink your drink and listen to me.’

  Mr Ian went to speak, then thought better of it. For a man so used to being in charge, he seemed curiously smaller in Cuthbertson’s presence. He was also curiously obedient. He took a sip of his orange juice and waited, his eyes on the table.

  ‘The payment is tomorrow,’ he said at last. ‘I can’t pay you today.’

  ‘Sounds like you won’t be paying at all – if you’ve had your wallet stolen.’

  ‘Look. I’ll find the money.’

  ‘Just been to the bank, had you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How certain are you he nicked your wallet?’

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘You don’t want to check back at the school?’

  Mr Ian shook his head. ‘I had it when I came out onto the playing fields. I remember feeling it.’

  ‘Five hundred pounds, Ian. What a misfortune.’

  Mr Ian nodded. ‘I have never let you down, have I, Cuthbertson? It was all ready, I swear it.’

  ‘I believe you.’

  ‘I had credit cards, too.’

  ‘And you think it was the same lad?’

  ‘Yes. Miles Seyton-Shandy.’

  ‘Such a coincidence.’

  ‘What’s he doing back here, Cuthbertson? He went up to Scotland – I thought I’d never see him again!’

  ‘Your nemesis.’

  ‘Why would he roll up, out of the blue?’

  ‘Because they always do. Because they always appear where they can do the most damage. Did he recognise you?’

  ‘Of course he did.’

  ‘You thrashed him half to death, didn’t you?’

  ‘You know what happened. He nearly cost me my career!’

  Cuthbertson laughed. ‘Pity you didn’t finish him off. Then again, maybe you’ll get another chance. I’ve got plans for the lot of them, and they’re all coming together. The South American boy, did you notice him? And the girl – she’s the one I want.’

  ‘I didn’t notice a girl. I was too busy fighting off the little foreign thugs who attacked me. What plans have you got? What are you talking about?’

  ‘They’re going to be homeless tomorrow.’

  ‘Who are? What do you mean?’

  ‘They don’t know it yet, but I struck a nice little deal with the Ribblestrop owner, Lady Vyner. She’s brought Stillwater in to evict them. I’ve been helping her with the paperwork. She’s got a good lawyer and there are men down there today, changing all the locks. She’s even cut off the water supply.’

  ‘So . . .’

 
‘They’ll be out on their ear, Ian.’

  ‘And what’s this got to do with me?’

  Cuthbertson laughed. ‘I think we can work together again.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No? You haven’t heard what I’ve got to say, yet.’

  ‘I don’t want any part in anything. I keep my nose clean. I haven’t struck a child for . . . I keep my temper in check.’

  ‘I need your help, Ian.’

  ‘No. I don’t want any involvement.’

  ‘You’re involved, my friend. Always have been – always will be. I’m working out a nice little kidnap venture, and you’re perfectly placed. You’re in this up to your neck – and you still owe me money.’

  Mr Ian’s lip was trembling. ‘I will have the money next month, Cuthbertson!’

  ‘It’s due tomorrow.’

  ‘One missed payment! In over eighteen months!’

  ‘You think I should be merciful, do you? That’s not a word I understand. I saved your skin – I told lies for you and buried paperwork that would have put you in jail. That makes us partners.’

  ‘Look!’ hissed Mr Ian. ‘Even if I wanted to help, what could I possibly do? I’m a small teacher at a well-known boarding school—’

  ‘Befriend them, Ian. Offer them help, just when they need it – schools share facilities sometimes, don’t they?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘They visit each other – cricket matches and what have you.’

  ‘We would never visit a school like Ribblestrop.’

  ‘You might just have to.’

  ‘To what end, though?’ He lowered his voice. ‘To kidnap a child? Are you serious?’

  ‘What if they visited you?’

  ‘No. It’s out of the question. Anyway, this is our outward-bound season – we’re going to be out on Ribblemoor for some of the time. It’s the Pioneers’ Award.’

  ‘Get them involved.’

  ‘No!’

  Cuthbertson reached across the table and took the lapel of Mr Ian’s jacket between his fingers. The two men stared at each other.

  ‘I’ll make a little promise to you, Ian, my friend.’ Cuthbertson was smiling. ‘If you do the necessary – if we work together on this – I’ll call it quits forever. I’ll even split the ransom and I’ll make sure you get the chance to finish the job on Miles Seyton-Shandy. You can break every bone in his body.’

  ‘Look. I hear what you’re saying—’

  ‘Don’t decide anything now. We’ll meet again.’

  There was the sudden revving of engines and both men swung round in alarm. A television set had burst into life behind them and a news bulletin was in progress. The pub was filled with the sound of a helicopter, which was hovering over a long stretch of motorway. Strewn along it were parts of a small aeroplane and, as the camera inched towards the elbow of a river, the wreckage of a bus was visible too, being dragged out of the water.

  ‘Good Lord,’ said Mr Ian, standing.

  ‘That’s the M5,’ said Cuthbertson. ‘Looks like an air crash. Look at that mess . . .’

  Both men moved towards the screen, which was now filled by a grave-faced police officer. He summarised the full horror and the mugshots of three bemused adults were flashed up, one after another. Cuthbertson found that his mouth was open and he felt light-headed again.

  ‘It’s them,’ he whispered. ‘Again!’

  ‘Ribblestrop? Are they the teachers?’

  ‘Yes. No control whatsoever. How can one bunch of kids cause such chaos?’ He turned back to Mr Ian. ‘I’ll tell you another thing; that was Eddie Shackleton talking – the deputy chief.’

  ‘I’ve lost you, Cuthbertson.’

  ‘That copper talking to the camera. Eddie Shackleton. Deputy Chief Constable now. My God, the favours we’ve done each other . . .’

  Cuthbertson downed half his beer and wiped his mouth.

  ‘I need to see him, don’t I? This could be an opportunity for me. If he hates them even half as much as I do . . . If he wants them closed down, I might be just the man he’s looking for. Dammit, who’s that?’

  His phone was ringing. The ringtone was the siren of a police car and the volume was rising dramatically. He checked the number and winced.

  ‘Lady Vyner,’ he whispered. ‘I said I’d call her at lunch.’

  A furious voice buzzed from the speaker and Cuthbertson closed his eyes.

  ‘Good afternoon, ma’am,’ he said, at last. ‘I’ve been so busy—’

  The buzzing intensified.

  ‘I’ll get there as soon as I can,’ said Cuthbertson, loudly. ‘Of course, ma’am. We can’t seal the place until the notice has been served, that’s the law of the land.’

  The voice grew shrill, as furious as a half-swatted hornet.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I will come as soon as I can. I have to be disguised, though, don’t I? I need the ice-cream van. My men will do their best and I will call the squad leader. Right now, yes. I’ll do it now. Yes! Did the dogs arrive? Good.’

  He switched the phone off and sat back down.

  ‘She’s another one who needs murdering,’ he said. ‘Every day she thinks of something more insulting to say. I’d better do what she asks and get down there. I have to wear a wig. Sunglasses. That’s what it’s come to, Ian. And it can’t go on much longer.’

  Mr Ian stared at him.

  ‘We’ll get them all, lad. We’ll have them yet! Those kids don’t know what they’re in for.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  The grand eviction took place the very next morning.

  In the relief of getting home safely, the children hadn’t noticed a thing. Once they were up and about, however, they discovered dramatic changes.

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Ruskin. ‘There’s no electricity.’

  Israel said, ‘There’s no water, either. And half our stuff’s missing.’

  Everyone gathered outside the dining hall. There was an enormous Keep Out sign screwed right across the doors and a coil of barbed wire under that.

  The headmaster arrived, looking agitated. ‘Stay calm, everybody,’ he said. ‘I think there’s been a slight misunderstanding. Lady Vyner’s gone on the offensive, by the looks of things, and taken advantage of our absence yesterday.’

  ‘I think you’re right, sir,’ said Captain Routon. ‘There are guards everywhere. Doesn’t look pleasant.’

  ‘I’ve been trying to find her, but she won’t see me.’

  ‘They’re boarding up the windows,’ said Oli.

  ‘We can soon un-board them,’ said Eric. ‘If they think we’re leaving, they’re going to get the shock of their lives!’

  ‘We can get this open,’ said Sanjay, nodding at the dining-hall doors. ‘Just a couple of grinders. There are bolt-cutters in the stable.’

  ‘I daresay there are,’ said the headmaster. ‘I don’t really want a pitched battle here in the corridors, though. Someone’s going to get hurt and . . . the last thing we want is more policemen chasing after us. Clarissa, are you all right?’

  ‘No, Giles, I’m not.’

  Professor Worthington had appeared round the corner and was trying to control her fury.

  ‘There are hooligans in my laboratory.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘These . . . I don’t know who they are. This security firm – they’re everywhere.’

  ‘SSS?’ said Sam.

  As he spoke, two men in black overalls walked past carrying what looked like a tank-trap, festooned in chains. They wore peaked caps and the initials flashed yellow.

  ‘They’re working for my gran,’ said Caspar, in a small voice. ‘I heard her on the phone.’

  ‘What did you hear?’ said Sanchez.

  ‘She wants you out. You know that, but—’

  ‘She’s wanted us out ever since we arrived,’ said Millie.

  ‘She said this time we’re finished,’ said Caspar. ‘Because of the nursing home. Read that notice – I saw her writing it
.’

  A large paper banner had been pasted onto a wooden barricade, some distance down the corridor. Everyone moved towards it. There were similar barriers going up behind them, hemming them in. The paper was still wet with glue and the heading had been scrawled by a savage hand. Get out now! it said. And stay out forever!

  Vijay was a good reader and he started at the top.

  ‘By order of Lacson and Lacson, solicitors to Lady G Vyner – undisputed owner of Ribblestrop Towers, henceforth to be known as “the premises”. Lady G Vyner, henceforth to be known as “Chief Prosecutor” wants it to be known to all adults and children in the so-called school known as Ribblestrop Towers but henceforth to be known as “the illegal and unwanted occupying colony of filthy squatters” that . . .’ Vijay gave up. ‘Sorry, I’m lost,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand any of it.’

  Doonan took over, and read more slowly.

  ‘The prosecutor wants the squatters – that’s us – to know that they have absolutely no rights any more. They would not have come back last night, if I’d had my way. Their worldly goods – which is mainly junk anyway and belongs on a bonfire – have been confiscated. They are now in a big pile and will be released only when the squatters gather up the last few crumbs of their tatty, stinking garbage and vacate the premises, which they need to do now if they know what’s good for them or I’ll be setting dogs on them. This, by the way, includes my so-called grandson.’

  The children glanced round to see that Caspar was turning pink.

  ‘He was always a bitter disappointment and running away the other day was the final straw. Well, he’s made his bed so he can lie in it and dream about all the things he won’t be inheriting when his loving grandmother succumbs to her broken heart. The Vyner name will live on in some other way and he can take to the road and die in the gutter.’

  ‘Good day to you all,’ said a voice.