Jane Blonde: Sensational Spylet

by Jill Marshall

  ‘Pretty sensational, Blonde-girl,’ she said to herself, admiring her glamorous reflection.

  With minutes to spare, Janey reread the sheet of information about the North American wood frog. The creature was truly amazing: after spending two or three months frozen like an ice cube, stopping its heart beating and not even breathing, it simply melted back into life as spring arrived – although they were very fragile while frozen and could quite easily snap or shatter like dropped crystal. What was Uncle Solomon trying to tell her by bringing this incredible creature to her attention?

  ‘I don’t know, Trouble. Should I try melting one of Sol’s ice lollies? Perhaps . . . perhaps there are more messages on the sticks!’ She ruffled the cat’s quiff, but his paw quickly smoothed it back into shape. ‘I’ve got to find Uncle Solomon. He needs my help – before Ariel gets to him.’

  Shaking her hand away, Trouble headed for the door. On the way, his jaunty saunter knocked over the bottle of cleaning fluid Janey had used to wipe up his mess earlier.

  ‘Trouble! You really are, aren’t you? Don’t stand in that, it might hurt your paws. Nasty things in cleaning fluids.’

  Suddenly Janey gasped. Understanding whooshed through her brain like a firework. She grabbed the SPIV.

  ‘G-Mamma!’ she said urgently.

  ‘Checking in, Blonde.’ Her godmother’s face was blotchy and red from crying, but she tried to smile brightly.

  ‘Let’s forget about earlier. Listen, what you said about my mum and the cleaning materials – you were nearly there! I had a feeling before that there was something funny about them, but now I’m convinced. I think it’s the cleaning company she works for that’s dodgy, not my mum. Think about it – St Earl’s is everywhere!’

  G-Mamma’s face loomed large and fleshy. ‘Hot diggety dog, Blondette! You could be right! Talk me through it!’

  Janey thought rapidly. ‘OK. Well, all the things that caused my accidents could have been planted. The washing-up liquid could have been slipped into the house so Mum would use it. And the soap . . . yes! The soap was dropped near my bedroom on the day Miss Lear came to visit Mum. And the bucket . . . the St Earl’s cleaners do Mrs Halliday’s house! And there’s Freddie—’

  ‘Yes!’ sputtered G-Mamma excitedly. ‘And I checked out the Hallidays too. You’ll be staggered! Your little boyfriend and his mum are not who you think they are . . .’

  ‘He’s not . . . yuck! Alfie Halliday is not my boyfriend!’

  ‘Whatever!’ said G-Mamma urgently. ‘Watch out for them – he and his mum will catch up with you very soon—’

  ‘Well, I won’t be here!’ cried Janey. ‘St Earl’s is having a ball tonight. Bit of a coincidence, don’t you think? I’m going to find out whatever I can!’

  ‘Be careful, Blonde. Check in soon . . .’

  Janey released the SPIV and G-Mamma disappeared. As she looked in the mirror one last time, Janey had a sudden recollection of something her SPI:KE had once said. She leaned forward and pulled the mirror away from the wall. It was an ordinary looking glass and while she hadn’t really suspected Uncle James, Janey knew that she had to stay on her toes.

  After carefully locking her suitcase and the bathroom door again, Janey skewered the keys into her ponytail band and swept out of the room.

  showtime

  ‘Goodness me!’ Uncle James exclaimed. ‘Is that really you, Janey?’

  ‘It really is!’ Janey giggled.

  Billy drove them out of town, the broad streets turning into narrow lanes and the dark night closing in.

  ‘Bet you’d like to focus on where we’re going, wouldn’t you, Uncle James?’ Janey said slyly. ‘A local map would be good!’

  ‘Yes, Janey, quite true! I always plan my route with the utmost care. I put in pit stops and work in some contingency time, particularly if we’re travelling with my daughters . . .’

  Not listening one bit, Janey glanced up in the corner of her Ultra-gogs. As she had hoped, a map tracing their route appeared. They were leaving the city far behind. They had apparently covered forty-four miles at an average speed of sixty-two miles per hour. When she realized she was reading about the level of exhaust emissions, Janey decided it was time to stop. Even Uncle James wouldn’t find that interesting.

  Although he was still droning on. ‘. . . and then I check the petrol consumption to ensure maximum efficiency for lowest cost. But then I . . . goodness me!’

  Just at that moment the car started to slow, pulling up in front of an enormous mansion. Snow was falling. Against a background of white snowflakes on a black velvet sky, the building looked like something from a fairy tale. Immense granite steps led up to gigantic oak doors. You could drive a double-decker bus through there, thought Janey; St Earl’s Sanitation and Security Enterprises is doing very well for itself. Linking arms with her uncle, she skipped up the steps and into the Lears’ mansion.

  ‘How can a cleaning company afford this?’ said Janey.

  ‘Miss Lear must have private means, my dear,’ he whispered back, equally impressed by their surroundings. ‘I must say, I’m very much looking forward to meeting her.’

  The mansion was breathtaking. Crystal dripped from every inch of the lofty ceilings like shimmering stalactites; silver-and-claret balloons jostled along the walls and ceiling, suspended in a delicate hammock over the central dance floor, and all around Janey beautifully dressed people were air-kissing each other and posing for photographs.

  A lady with a clear voice that carried far across the decorated expanse of hall was addressing crowds of people, with her back to Janey and her uncle.

  ‘So, just remember the cameras are running at all times. Just improvise madly, darlings, and act your little socks off like you’ve all been paid to do. Our directors will give you instructions as we go along. And remember, I’m here for you if you need help.’

  The voice sounded familiar to Janey, but she was too busy taking in her glamorous surroundings to take much notice. She recognized a few of the faces in the crowd – actors and presenters from television. That was probably why the voice sounded familiar – it must be someone off a TV show or something.

  ‘We’ve been personally invited by Miss Lear,’ bellowed Uncle James to nobody in particular. A butler in splendid livery took the invitation from Uncle James. He went over to the lady issuing directions and whispered discreetly in her ear.

  ‘That must be Miss Lear,’ said Uncle James smugly. The lady had thrown up her hands theatrically.

  ‘Oh, how wonderful that they’re here! Janey, can that really be you? You look sensational!’

  Janey’s smile froze in shock as she saw the woman’s face.

  ‘Mwah, mwah,’ said Miss Rale, smacking the air next to Janey’s cheeks with her rouged lips. ‘Oh, don’t look so surprised, Janey. Teachers go to parties as well, you know!’

  It took a few moments for Janey to recover as Miss Rale looked at them with her usual kind, wide smile.

  ‘Uncle James, this is my . . . erm . . . teacher. Miss, this is my uncle.’ As Janey introduced them, all she could think was that she had taken the day off school and was now here at a party with not a thing wrong with her, in front of her own class teacher.

  The two adults shook hands formally and Uncle James blushed as Miss Rale looked him carefully up and down.

  ‘Oh, I can see the family resemblance. So you must be Janey’s uncle on . . .’

  ‘Her mother’s side,’ explained Uncle James, sounding more nasal than ever. ‘James. James Bell.’

  The teacher nodded. ‘He does look like your mum, doesn’t he, Janey?’

  Janey was confused. ‘I thought you’d never met my mum! But, er . . .’ she continued, composing herself, ‘I suppose, yes, they do look alike. And you look lovely.’ Her teacher was as radiant as a damask rosebud in a tight straight dress of burgundy velvet. Miss Rale inclined her head modestly.

  ‘But, miss, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Oh, Janey! I thought better of
you. I know children all think that teachers don’t have first names, or families, or any kind of life outside of school. But we do! All sorts of different lives. I’m here for the celebrations, as you are. My sister should be here at any moment – she’s just been a little held up. Then we can all get going. Will any other members of your family be attending, Janey?’ Cocking her head to one side, Miss Rale looked with her usual concern into Janey’s face.

  And for the first time, this made Janey feel very uncomfortable. ‘No, I don’t think so,’ she said.

  Miss Rale tucked her hand into the crook of Uncle James’s arm. ‘Oh well. Come along, James. Let me introduce you to a few people. And please, do call me Susan.’

  ‘Miss Lear! Jimbo!’ called a voice from the dance floor.

  ‘Thank you, Susan. Oh, look – there’s Sinjun!’ exclaimed Uncle James delightedly, pointing towards his friend, who was wearing a horribly floral bow tie and cummerbund that clashed madly with his violent skin. ‘Sinjun!’ He turned to Miss Rale and continued, ‘It’s written St John, you know, Susan, but pronounced Sinjun. Strange breed, we British, aren’t we?’

  ‘Of course, I know. I wrote all the invitations, and I remember most distinctly writing his name,’ cooed Miss Rale, giving Janey a ‘run-away-and-play’ flick of the fingers. ‘Let’s go and chat with him, shall we?’

  Mystified, Janey watched as Miss Rale led her uncle across the packed floor. She struggled to make sense of what was happening. If it was Miss Rale’s writing on the back of the invitation, no wonder Janey had recognized it. She’d seen it on her homework, for sure, but somewhere else too . . . And why on earth had Sinjun called her teacher ‘Miss Lear’? She suddenly felt very small and alone, and much too young to be abandoned at a ball. On a spying mission.

  ‘Come on, Blonde, sort yourself out,’ she told herself sternly.

  On an impulse she backed into a quiet corner and took hold of the SPIV, keeping a careful eye on the people nearby.

  ‘G-Mamma,’ she hissed urgently into the medallion. ‘Check in, G-Mamma. Look, I can’t look down in case anyone sees what I’m doing. But there’s something very strange going on here at this ball. My teacher, Miss Rale, she’s here. But Uncle James’s friend seems to think that she’s Miss Lear. I don’t like it. There’s something I’m not quite getting yet. But I will. I’ll leave the SPIV activated so you can watch with me – shout a warning if you see anything dangerous. Over.’

  Janey glanced around, wishing that G-Mamma would come bumbling towards her in some outrageous rainbow jelly-mould of a ball gown. She patted her ponytail selfconsciously and made her way to the sagging buffet tables at the back of the enormous round ballroom.

  She had never seen anything like it. Whole roasted animals were dotted along the tables. Salads of every description jockeyed for position next to breads and pies, olives and fruit. Candlesticks as tall as Janey were set out at regular intervals along tables as long as the deck of a ship.

  As she watched, the centrepiece was being manoeuvred into place by a couple of men in white catering coats and hats. One was much shorter than the other and they were obviously bickering. When the smaller one nearly dropped his end, his colleague hissed, ‘Pest!’ before shoving him out of the way and sliding the other whole creation on to the table by himself. Janey could see why he wouldn’t want it to be broken. It was magnificent – a gleaming swan the size of a small car, hollowed out to contain sparkler-topped pineapples, and all carved completely from ice. It was lifelike in every detail, apart from the eyes, which had a curious blue tinge to them.

  The white-coated catering men hurried away before the party began in earnest. Janey noticed Edna, her uncle James’s housekeeper, jiggling merrily in the background, ordering waiters around and lifting yet more food out of enormous wooden crates. She waved, nodding her approval at Janey’s appearance, but just as Janey was about to wave back, something made her jump.

  ‘Janey. Trust . . . nobody until . . . I . . . tell you.’

  Janey froze and drew in a sharp breath. Although faint and distant, it sounded exactly like the voice she had heard in the ice-pool room at Sol’s Lols HQ. She willed her heart to stop pounding so hard, made sure that nobody was watching her, then grabbed the SPIV and peered into it. ‘Hello?’ she whispered urgently. The tiny screen was blank.

  ‘No . . . not there. Be . . . careful, Janey.’ The voice was insistent and, although it was quiet, Janey sensed that it was coming from nearby.

  Picking up a handful of olives and dropping one on purpose, Janey bent down and checked under the tablecloths that ran the length of the buffet tables. She could see nothing but table legs and the odd bit of dropped food.

  ‘Uncle Sol?’ she whispered. ‘Is that you?’

  As if from a long way away, the thin voice waxed and waned. ‘Yes. I’m . . . here. Take care.’

  Janey was stunned, but she had to keep her cool. She wandered over to a side table and studied the seating plan carefully.

  ‘What shall I do, Uncle Sol?’

  There was no reply. Drawing further back into the shadows, Janey looked around the ballroom. She couldn’t see Uncle James or Miss Rale or Sinjun. She noticed Billy approaching a small huddle of guests who looked a little lost. After a few words from him, they nodded, reached for their champagne glasses and started throwing their heads back with laughter. Acting, Janey thought. Just as Miss Rale had been telling everyone to do when Janey arrived. Perhaps the cleaning company was filming an advert, and somehow she and her uncle and been invited along. But Janey still hadn’t seen a single camera.

  Just then there was a yap behind her. Janey turned and saw a short, pointed tail wag as Edna leaned forward, holding some food in her chubby, wrinkled fingers. The dog jumped up to reach it, and Janey almost fainted. She would recognize that snarling mutt anywhere – it was Ariel’s dachshund. Feeling sick to her stomach, Janey tried to collect her thoughts as she reached for her SPIV. Nothing at the St Earl’s ball was as it seemed.

  ‘G-Mamma!’ she urged. ‘Can you hear me? I think we’ve got serious trouble. Solomon is here, but so is Ariel!’ She watched the nasty-looking dachshund in its smart grey and maroon coat lunge for Edna’s ankles. ‘Repeat, Ariel is here!’

  real-ization

  So who was Ariel?

  As Edna fended off the dog Janey scrutinized her hands carefully. Those were definitely not the hands of the woman who’d been sitting in Uncle Solomon’s chair. Those had been smaller, neater, sleeker and somehow much more threatening. They may well have belonged to someone like Miss Rale – the woman Sinjun had called Miss Lear. Miss Rale, Miss Lear. Rale, Lear. Could they be the same person?

  Janey’s breathing quickened. She had never actually seen Miss Lear. She remembered the time when her teacher had come to visit her when she was sick. Her mum had thought she saw Miss Lear in their street, right after Miss Rale had left in a hurry . . .

  Backing away from the tables, Janey moved back to the seating plan. She stared at it, pretending to find her place. There was her name, right next to Susan Lear. Uncle James had been placed about as far away as possible.

  ‘Lear,’ said Janey aloud. ‘Rale.’

  Suddenly a cloud lifted in Janey’s brain and she gasped. Lear and Rale – they were anagrams of each other. ‘Of course!’ Janey could have kicked herself for not cracking such a simple code earlier. ‘It’s an anagram!’ Simply jiggling the letters of Lear gave her Rale! And something was dawning on Janey. There was another name that was an anagram of those same four letters.

  Earl.

  Janey’s chest tightened and she clutched the table plan to steady herself. What did this mean? She scanned down to the bottom of the plan.

  ‘St Earl’s Sanitation and Security Enterprises,’ she mumbled, reading the logo. ‘St Earl’s Sanitation and Security Enterprises. St Earl’s Sanitation and . . . hah! It can’t be! It’s like a dingbat!’ Uncle Sol had trained her from afar, and here she was on the brink of solving the most important dingbat of h
er life. ‘St Earl’s – what if you said it like “Sinjun”? Not “St Earl’s” but “Sinearls” or “Sinerl”! Yes! Then there’s the Sanitation and Security. S and S. Snerl SS. Plus ‘E’ for Enterprises. It gives you . . . Sinerlesse!’ Janey’s brain was throbbing and sweat was gathering on her palms.

  St Earl’s Sanitation and Security Enterprises was the Sinerlesse Group! They must have started up the cleaning business as a cover for their secret spy work, just like Uncle Solomon had founded Sol’s Lols as a front for Solomon’s Polificational Investigations! Janey’s brain raced. And if Miss Lear headed up St Earl’s, and Miss Lear was Miss Rale, did this mean she headed up Sinerlesse too? Was the woman Janey had thought was the nicest teacher in the world actually Ariel? Janey felt nauseous as realization hit her as if she’d run into a brick wall.

  And what about Freddie? Was he really Miss Rale’s brother? Could he be involved? Janey had to focus. She thought of the way Freddie always seemed to appear from nowhere. Of how strangely he and Miss Rale had behaved when they had met in her kitchen that day Janey was poisoned by SPIT. She thought of him in his too-short grey and maroon uniform. Grey and maroon. Suddenly those two colours were all Janey could see: the uniforms of the S-Security guards at Sol’s Lols in Scotland. Edna’s apron. The dress Miss Rale was wearing tonight. The balloons. Her mind raced back to the beginning – hadn’t that weird postman been wearing those same colours? Janey had been a fool.

  Some SPI you are, Blonde!

  She had skipped and sauntered into every single one of the Sinerlesse traps, without a second thought. They’d entered her home as her teacher, as her friend. Freddie had most likely stolen her letter from Solomon that day when she dropped her school bag. They’d closed in on her mother by offering her a job at St Earl’s, which probably wasn’t even a real school. They’d planted Edna and Billy in Uncle James’s house. And their very leader, Ariel, had infiltrated Janey’s school. She had a mental image of the day she’d been poisoned. ‘Miss Rale washed the cups!’ Janey said out loud. They’d been interrupted by her mum returning, but Miss Rale had clearly planned to find out exactly what Janey knew about Solomon’s secret.