by Jenny Nimmo
The great-aunts marched into the kitchen in new spring outfits. Lucretia and Eustacia had exchanged their usual black suits for charcoal gray but in Aunt Venetia’s case it was purple. She also wore high-heeled purple shoes with golden tassels dangling from the laces. All three sisters had sinister smiles and threatening looks in their dark eyes.
Aunt Lucretia said, “So, here you are, Charlie!” She was the eldest, apart from Grandma Bone, and a matron at Charlie’s school.
“Yes, here I am,” said Charlie nervously.
“Same hair, I see,” said Aunt Eustacia, sitting opposite Charlie.
“Yes, same hair,” said Charlie. “Same hair for you too, I see.”
“Don’t be smart.” Eustacia patted her abundant gray hair. “Why haven’t you brushed it today?”
“Haven’t had time,” said Charlie.
He became aware that Grandma Bone was still talking to someone in the hall.
Aunt Venetia suddenly said, “Tah dah!” and opened the kitchen door very wide, as if she were expecting the Queen or a famous movie star to walk in. But it was Grandma Bone who appeared, followed by the prettiest girl Charlie had ever seen. She had golden curls, bright blue eyes, and lips like an angel.
“Hello, Charlie!” The girl held out her hand in the manner of someone expecting a kiss on the fingers, preferably from a boy on bended knees. “I’m Belle.”
Charlie was too flustered to do anything.
The girl smiled and sat beside him. “Oh, my,” she said, “a ladies’ magazine.”
Charlie realized, to his horror, that he was holding his mother’s magazine. On the cover, a woman in pink underwear held a kitten. Charlie felt very hot. He knew his face must be bright red.
“Make us some coffee, Charlie,” Aunt Lucretia said sharply. “And then we’ll be off.”
Charlie flung down the magazine and ran to the coffeemaker while Grandma Bone and the aunts sat babbling at him. Belle would be going to Charlie’s school, Bloor’s Academy, and Charlie must tell her all about it.
Charlie sighed. He wanted to visit his friend, Fidelio. Why did the aunts always have to spoil everything? For half an hour he listened to the chattering and giggling over the coffee and buns. Belle didn’t behave like a child, thought Charlie. She looked about twelve, but she seemed very comfortable with the aunts.
When the last drop had been squeezed out of the coffeepot, the three Yewbeam sisters left the house, blowing kisses to Belle.
“Take care of her, Charlie,” Aunt Venetia called.
Charlie wondered how he was supposed to do that.
“Can I wash my hands, Grizel — er — Mrs. Bone?” Belle held up her sticky fingers.
“There’s the sink.” Charlie nodded to the kitchen sink.
“Upstairs, dear,” said Grandma Bone, with a scowl in Charlie’s direction. “Bathroom’s first left. There’s some nice lavender soap and a clean towel.”
“Thank you!” Belle skipped out.
Charlie gaped. “What’s wrong with the kitchen?” he asked his grandmother.
“Belle has tender skin,” said Grandma Bone. “She can’t use kitchen soap. I want you to set the dining room table — for five. I presume Maisie will be joining us.”
“The dining room?” said Charlie in disbelief. “We only eat there on special occasions.”
“It’s for Belle,” snapped Grandma Bone.
“A child?” Charlie was amazed.
“Belle is not just any child.”
So it seems, thought Charlie. He went to set the dining room table while Grandma Bone shouted instructions up to Maisie. “We’d like a nice light soup today, Maisie. And then some cold ham and salad. Followed by your lovely Bakewell tart.”
“Would we indeed, Your Highness?” Maisie shouted from somewhere upstairs. “Well, we’ll have to wait, I’m afraid. Oops! Who on earth are you?”
She had obviously bumped into Belle.
Charlie closed the dining room door and went to the window. There was no sign of Runner Bean in the garden. Charlie had visions of a dog’s lifeless body lying in a gutter. He ran to the back door, but just as he was about to open it, a singsong voice called, “Charleee!”
Belle was standing in the hall, staring at him. Charlie could have sworn that her eyes had been blue. Now they were green.
“Where are you going, Charlie?” she asked.
“Oh, I was just going into the garden for a … a …”
“Can I come with you?”
“No. That is, I’ve changed my mind.”
“Good. Come and talk to me.”
Was it possible? Belle’s eyes were now a grayish brown. Charlie followed her into the living room where she sat on the sofa, patting a cushion beside her. Charlie perched at the other end.
“Now, tell me all about Bloor’s.” Belle smiled invitingly.
Charlie cleared his throat. Where should he begin? “Well, there are three sort of departments. Music, art, and drama. I’m in music, so I have to wear a blue cape.”
“I shall be in art.”
“Then you’ll wear green.” Charlie glanced at the girl. “Haven’t my aunts told you all this? I mean, are you staying with them, or what?”
“I want to hear it from you,” said Belle, ignoring Charlie’s question.
Charlie continued. “Bloor’s is a big gray building on the other side of the city. It’s very, very old. There are three coatrooms, three assembly halls, and three cafeterias. You go up some steps between two towers, across a courtyard, up more steps, and into the main hall. You have to be silent in the hall or you’ll get detention. The music students go through a door under crossed trumpets; your door is under the sign of a pencil and paintbrush.”
“What’s the sign for the drama students?”
“Two masks, one sad and one happy.” Why did Charlie get the impression that Belle knew all this? Her eyes were blue again. It was unnerving.
“There’s another thing,” he said. “Are you — er — like me, one of the children of the Red King? I mean, was he your ancestor, too?”
Belle turned her bright blue gaze on him. “Oh, yes. And I’m endowed. But I prefer not to say how. I’m told that you can hear voices from photographs and even paintings.”
“Yes.” Charlie could do more than hear voices, but he wasn’t going to give anything away to this strange girl. “Endowed children have to do their homework in the King’s room,” he said. “There are twelve of us. Someone from art will show you where it is: Emma Tolly. She’s a friend of mine, and she’s endowed, too.”
“Emma? Ah, I’ve heard all about her.” Belle inched her way up the sofa toward Charlie. “Now, tell me about you, Charlie. I believe that your father’s dead.”
“He’s not!” said Charlie fiercely. “His car went off a cliff, but they never found his body. He’s just — lost.”
“Really? How did you find that out?”
Without thinking, Charlie said, “My friend Gabriel’s got an amazing gift. He can feel the truth in old clothes. I gave him my father’s tie and Gabriel said that he wasn’t dead.”
“Well, well.” The girl gave Charlie a sweet, understanding smile, but the effect was spoiled by the cold look in her eyes — now a dark gray. And, was it a trick of the light, or did he glimpse a set of wrinkles just above her curved pink lips?
Charlie slipped off the sofa. “I’d better help my other gran with lunch,” he said.
He found Maisie in the kitchen, throwing herbs into a saucepan. “All this fuss for a child,” she muttered. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Nor me,” said Charlie. “She’s a bit strange, isn’t she?”
“She’s downright peculiar. Belle indeed!”
“Belle means beautiful,” said Charlie, remembering his French. “And she is very pretty.”
“Huh!” said Maisie.
When the soup was ready, Charlie helped Maisie carry it into the chilly dining room. Grandma Bone was already sitting at the head of the table w
ith Belle on her right.
“Where’s Paton?” asked Grandma Bone.
“He won’t be coming,” said Charlie.
“And why not?”
“He doesn’t eat with us, does he?” Charlie reminded her.
“Today I want him here,” said Grandma Bone.
“Well, you won’t get him,” said Maisie. “He’s gone away.”
“Oh?” Grandma Bone stiffened. “And how do you know that?” She glared, first at Maisie and then Charlie.
Maisie looked at Charlie.
Charlie said, “He left a note.”
“And what did it say?” demanded Grandma Bone.
“I can’t remember all of it,” Charlie mumbled.
“Let me see it!” She held out a bony hand.
“I tore it up,” said Charlie.
Grandma Bone’s eyebrows plummeted in a dark scowl. “You shouldn’t have done that. I want to know what’s going on. I must know what my brother said.”
“He said he’d gone to see my great-grandpa, your father, although you never go to see him.”
His grandmother’s tiny black eyes almost disappeared into their wrinkled sockets. “That’s none of your business. Paton visited our father last week. He only goes once a month.”
Charlie only just stopped himself from mentioning his own visit to his great-grandfather. Because of the family feud it had to remain a secret. But Uncle Paton had never told him what caused the feud or why he mustn’t talk about it. He’d have to tell another lie. “It was an emergency.”
This seemed to satisfy Grandma Bone, but Belle continued to stare at Charlie. Her eyes were now dark green, and a chilling thought occurred to him. Uncle Paton had gone to stop someone dangerous from arriving. But perhaps that person was already here?
The rest of lunch was eaten in stony silence. Even Maisie seemed at a loss for words. But just as Charlie was clearing the plates, there was a series of loud barks from the garden, and Runner Bean’s head appeared at the bottom of the window.
Grandma Bone, who had her back to the garden, swung around just as the dog bobbed out of sight.
“What was that?” she said.
“Obviously a dog, Grizelda,” said Maisie. “A stray has probably jumped into the garden.”
“I’ll go and shoo it out,” Charlie offered.
As he left the room he noticed that Belle looked worried.
Charlie ran to open the back door and Runner Bean came leaping in.
“Shhh!” said Charlie urgently. “Not a sound!” He put a finger to his lips.
Runner Bean appeared to understand this and obediently followed Charlie up to his room.
“You’ve got to be quiet or it’s curtains for you.” Charlie drew a finger across his throat.
Runner Bean grunted and curled up on the bed.
“Did you catch it?” asked Belle when Charlie returned to the dining room.
“No, I just shooed it away,” said Charlie.
Belle stood up. “I want to go home now,” she said to Grandma Bone.
“Very well, dear.” With surprising speed, Grandma Bone walked into the hall and put on her coat and hat.
Charlie was amazed. His grandmother always had a nap after lunch, even if it was just a short one. The golden-haired girl seemed to have some sort of power over her.
“Where is home, exactly?” he asked Belle.
“Don’t you know where your great-aunts live?” she said.
Charlie had to confess that he didn’t. He’d never been invited to their home and never been told where it was.
“I expect you’ll find out soon enough,” said Belle mysteriously.
“There’s no need for him to know,” said Grandma Bone, helping her into an elegant green jacket.
“’Bye, ’bye, then, Charlie!” said Belle. “I’ll see you at Bloor’s on Monday. I’m going to be on the green bus. Watch out for me.”
“I’ll be on the blue bus. But I guess I’ll see you some time.”
The strange girl smiled and tossed her golden curls. Her eyes were blue again.
When Belle and Grandma Bone had gone, Charlie went to help Maisie with the dishes.
“Where do the aunts live?” he asked Maisie.
“Some big house at the end of one of those creepy alleys,” said Maisie. “Darkly Wynd, I think the road’s called. Funny name. Maybe it’s winding and twisty.”
“I’ve never been there.”
“Nor me,” said Maisie. “And I certainly wouldn’t want to.” She handed him a bowl of leftovers. “Here, take this to Runner. I don’t know how long we’re going to be able to keep this up. Grandma Bone’s bound to smell a rat, you know.”
“As long as it’s not a dog,” said Charlie, trying to make light of the problem.
Maisie just shook her head.
On Sunday, Charlie managed to sneak Runner Bean in and out of the house before Grandma Bone woke up. They had a good race around the park, and then Charlie fried bacon and eggs for their breakfast. Apart from a brief run in the garden after dark, Runner Bean spent the rest of the day on Charlie’s bed.
On Monday morning, Charlie’s mother promised to take the dog for a walk when she got back from work, and Maisie agreed to keep him fed. But as Charlie got ready for school he began to worry.
“You must keep quiet,” he told Runner Bean. “No barking, understand? I’ll see you on Friday.”
With mournful eyes the big dog watched Charlie close the door between them.
As Charlie and his friend Fidelio walked up the steps to Bloor’s Academy, Fidelio said, “There’s a very pretty girl trying to get your attention.”
“Oh.” Charlie turned to see Belle looking up at him from the bottom of the steps.
“Hello, Belle. This is Fidelio,” he said.
Belle gave Fidelio a dazzling smile. “I see you’re in music. Violin?” She nodded at the case Fidelio was carrying.
“Yes,” murmured Fidelio. He seemed rather lost for words, which was unusual for him.
“See you later.” Belle skipped into the hall. “I remember,” she whispered. “No talking.” And off she waltzed toward the pencil and paintbrush sign. Her green cape floated around her in a particularly stylish way as she bobbed into the green coatroom.
“Wow!” said Fidelio as soon as they had passed under the two trumpets. “Who is she, Charlie?”
“I’m not sure,” Charlie muttered. “She’s staying with my great-aunts. What color would you say her eyes were?”
“Blue,” said Fidelio. “Bright blue.”
“Well, the next time you see her, they’ll probably be green or brown,” said Charlie.
“Really?” Fidelio looked interested. “I can’t wait to see that.”
They went into assembly where Fidelio joined the school orchestra and Charlie took his place beside Billy Raven, the youngest child at Bloor’s. He was an albino, with snow-white hair and spectacles that made his round red eyes look permanently surprised.
After assembly, Charlie had a trumpet lesson with old Mr. Paltry. He hadn’t practiced over the vacation and found himself out of breath and out of tune. Mr. Paltry rapped his knuckles, shouting, “No, no, no! A flat, not sharp!” His squeaky voice almost deafened Charlie, and when the bell rang, Charlie was so eager to escape that he almost fell over Olivia Vertigo as he raced for the garden door.
Today her hair was striped black and gold, her face was covered in white powder, and her eyes were ringed with black. She looked more like an exotic raccoon than anything else, though Charlie refrained from saying so.
Unfortunately, Fidelio didn’t. “Hi, Olivia! Are you playing a raccoon this semester?” he asked as he strolled up.
“Who knows?” said Olivia. “Manfred’s writing the end-of-semester play — with Zelda’s help, of course.” She nodded at a group of seniors on the other side of the playing field. Manfred, the head boy, was talking earnestly to Zelda Dobinski, a tall, skinny girl with a large nose.
Charlie noticed that Man
fred’s sidekick, Asa Pike, was staring at Belle walking arm in arm with Dorcas Loom. Asa broke away from the group of seniors and walked across to the two girls. He had a crooked smile on his pale, weasely face and, as he approached the girls, he ran his fingers through his red hair, almost as if he were trying to tidy himself up.
Charlie grabbed Fidelio’s arm. “Look!” he said. “Asa’s speaking to a junior. I bet that’s never happened before.”
“Except when he’s been telling them off,” said Fidelio. “That girl with Dorcas is really pretty,” muttered Olivia.
“Her name’s Belle,” Charlie told her. “She’s living with my great-aunts.”
Olivia whistled. “I can’t imagine any child living with them. By the way, have you seen Emma?”
The boys shook their heads, and Olivia sauntered off to look for her friend. She eventually found Emma sitting on a log by the old castle walls. She was holding what appeared to be a small, neatly written letter.
“What’s up, Em?” said Olivia, perching beside her.
“I found this by Mr. Boldova’s desk.” Emma held up the letter. “It must have fallen out of his pocket. I didn’t mean to read it. I meant to give it back but then saw something and … well, look.”
Olivia took the letter and read,
My dear Samuel,
We have it on good authority that the shifter is heading your way. What form it will take God only knows. But it will recognize you, so get out of that place, Samuel, as soon as you can. I have resigned myself to losing Ollie, although your mother still grieves. She can’t stop herself from buying the jam he so loved. We have a room full of the stuff now, and it breaks my heart to see it. I know you feel your brother’s loss as deeply as we do, but you must give up the search. We could not bear to lose you, too. Come home soon.
Dad
“What do you think?” said Emma.
“Interesting,” said Olivia. “But I think you should put the letter back on Mr. B’s desk. It’s none of our business who he is or what he’s up to.”
“But it is.” Emma pushed her long blonde hair out of her face. She was very agitated. Olivia knew her friend liked Mr. Boldova. He was young for a teacher, but he was good at art, and he seemed to be on the children’s side whenever there was trouble.