‘That was ace,’ grinned Conrad as they padded uphill in deep twilight. ‘Frantic dog, old guy swearing his head off. I learned four new words.’
Rosie shook her head. ‘That was nothing to what we’ll do later, but it’s really important to keep quiet. If enough people report disembodied voices, scientists’ll investigate and then every kid will know the secret. It won’t be fun any more.’
‘Brrr.’ Charlotte wrapped her arms round herself. ‘It’s gone flipping cold since the sun went down. I want my clothes.’
Peter nodded. ‘Me too.’
Rosie smiled. ‘Race to the top then, OK? Winner hides everyone’s stuff. Go!’ She went off like a mountain goat and the others followed, too breathless to protest.
Sunday morning, ten o’clock. Rosie opened the rear door of the old ambulance which was her home, descended by way of two metal steps and stood barefoot in the dewy grass, stretching and yawning. It was going to be a beautiful day. Hazy sunshine glowed through a mist which would soon burn off. The lightest of breezes stirred the fluffy heads on the willow herb, freeing seeds which drifted lazily beneath their parachutes, up and away. Down among the stems, spider webs glittered as the sun turned dewdrops to diamonds. Rosie breathed in deeply, her senses filtering the elusive scents of late summer.
‘Good afternoon, lazybones.’ Her father had carried water from the stream to boil for tea and was watching her through the steam.
She grinned. ‘It’s only ten o’clock.’
‘Only?’ He lifted the billy from the Gaz and poured. ‘I’ve been up three hours. There’s porridge if you want it.’
‘Where’s Mum?’
‘Gone up the village for baccy.’ He smiled. ‘I expect she’ll get you a choc bar or something, you’re so spoilt.’
‘I am not.’ Rosie knelt at the bucket, scooped up icy water and splashed it on her face, scrubbing vigorously with her palms and using fingers to wash inside and behind her ears. ‘Spoilt kids have hot water and central heating. I have to make do with this old bucket.’
Her father looked at her, stirring tea with a battered spoon. ‘Is that what you want, Rosie? Hot water and central heating?’
She shrugged, reaching for the towel. ‘Sometimes, in winter.’ She rubbed herself warm and shook her tousled hair. ‘No, not really. Not if it means living in one place all the time, in a house.’ She draped the towel over a bush, got up and helped herself to porridge.
She’d just started eating when she heard a vehicle approaching. It slowed, pulled off the road and came nosing along the bit of overgrown track their home was parked on. When he saw that it was a police car, Rosie’s father got to his feet. Not everybody liked travellers, and sometimes a visit from the police meant trouble.
The car pulled up and two officers got out. One of them nodded to the watchful traveller.
‘Morning.’
‘Morning.’ Rosie’s father remained wary. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Why, sir, should it be?’
The traveller shook his head. ‘Not that I know of.’
‘Well that’s all right then, isn’t it?’ One officer, a woman, moved off and started walking round the ambulance as though she might be interested in buying it. The other gazed at its owner. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Springer and that’s D.C. Widmead. Can I ask you where you were last night sir, between midnight and four a.m.?’
‘I was here, sleeping. Where else would I be?’
‘Where else?’ The policeman pulled a face. ‘Somebody was over by Inchlake Manor between those hours, sir. I suppose it wasn’t you, by any chance?’
‘I told you – I was here.’
Rosie looked up at the officer. ‘He was, and so was I and so was Mum.’
‘Where’s your mum now, miss?’
‘Gone to the village.’
‘I see.’ He looked at her father. ‘D’you mind telling me your name, sir?’
‘Not at all. I’m Daddy Bear, and my wife is Mummy Bear.’
The officer sighed. ‘Your real name sir, please.’
‘That is my real name. I chose it myself. It’s not against the law, you know.’
‘I know the law, sir. I’ll call DVLC with your vehicle registration. They’ll have your – er – previous name.’ He looked at Rosie. ‘Baby Bear, is it?’
Rosie shook her head. ‘Rosie.’
‘Thank God for that.’ He glanced towards his colleague, busy kicking one of the ambulance’s tyres. ‘Mind if we take a look inside the vehicle, sir?’
‘What on earth for?’
The officer shrugged. ‘You know, sir – routine.’ He frowned. ‘I could probably get a warrant.’
The traveller shook his head. ‘That won’t be necessary. Help yourselves. We’ve nothing to hide, only don’t mess the place up. It’s our home.’
‘Why’re they bothering us?’ hissed Rosie, when the officers had disappeared inside. Her father shook his head. ‘Not sure, sweetheart. Probably investigating a burglary at that place he mentioned – Inchlake Manor.’
‘But why us, Dad? Why do people assume we’re criminals, just because we travel?’
The big man shrugged. ‘Who knows? It’s an old prejudice. Gipsies. Tinkers. New Age travellers. We’re that little bit different, you see.’ He chuckled. ‘People have a problem with that.’
The officers emerged after a minute or two, empty-handed. The man came over. ‘Right, sir, that’s all for now. You’re not planning to move on in the next day or two, are you?’
The traveller shook his head. ‘Not so soon, and when we do we’re not that hard to find.’ He gazed at the officer. ‘We’ve no reason to hide, you see.’
Rosie watched the car reverse down the track and zoom off up the road. Her porridge had gone cold. She scraped it back into the pan and set it on the Gaz, scowling. She hated warmed-up porridge.
One of the best things about Sizzlers was that it was open on Sundays. A juicy burger with all the trimmings makes a fine Sunday lunch, especially if you’ve only had warmed-up porridge for breakfast. The Invisibles had arranged to meet at Sizzlers at two, but Rosie got there early so she could eat before the others arrived. They’d only get Cokes, having eaten lunch at home, and she didn’t want them drooling over her Big Boy two-decker cheeseburger with fries, or her three flavours ice cream in a tall glass with hot fudge sauce and chocolate buttons.
She’d finished eating and the waitress had cleared when the twins showed up. They joined her and ordered drinks, and by the time the Cokes came Charlotte and Peter were there too. Peter slid into a red plastic seat and grinned. ‘You know what we should do, don’t you?’
Carrie looked at him. ‘What should we do, Pete?’
‘We should order five of everything on the menu, scoff the lot, then go in the toilets and make ourselves invisible so we could sneak out the door without paying.’
‘We’d need a ring, dummy. And what about our clothes?’
‘We chuck ’em out the window, pick ’em up round the back. Easy-peasy.’
Carrie laughed. ‘You’re a criminal deep down, aren’t you, Pete?’
Peter shook his head. ‘No, not really. I was joking.’
Rosie nodded. ‘I hope so, Peter. You see, there’s a rule about that.’
‘What d’you mean? Whose rule?’
‘My rule. It says we never use our invisibility to do bad things, like stealing.’
Conrad looked at her. ‘You mentioned getting in places free. That’s the same as stealing.’
Rosie sighed. ‘I didn’t mean we’d actually do it, Conrad. I was giving examples of what’s possible, that’s all.’
‘Oh, right.’ He smiled. ‘And are there any other rules, Rosie, while we’re at it?’
She shook her head. ‘No, just the one.’
‘What if one of us breaks the rule?’
Rosie shrugged. ‘Anyone who breaks the rule is out of the gang.’
‘But he can still make himself invisible.’
‘Yes, b
ut you’d be surprised how little fun it is by yourself. Anyway,’ she smiled, ‘none of us is going to break the rule, so it doesn’t matter.’ Her smile faded as she continued, ‘There are crooks about, though. Visible ones. We had a visit from the police this morning,’ Briefly, she told them what had happened at breakfast-time.
When she’d finished, Charlotte nodded. ‘My dad heard about it in the paper shop. They used a glass-cutter and got away with two priceless paintings.’
Conrad arched his brow. ‘Priceless?’
‘Well – they’re worth millions. Dad says it’s happening all over. A gang of art thieves, breaking into big houses, taking pictures and statues and stuff. The cops reckon it goes to crooked collectors abroad.’
‘Wow! And I thought nothing ever happened in Inchlake.’
Charlotte shook her head. ‘It’s not just Inchlake, Con. It’s the whole area.’
‘Yeah, but like … the gang’s headquarters might be here, mightn’t it? Hey, listen.’ His eyes shone with excitement. ‘We could investigate, right? The Inchlake Invisible Detective Agency. What d’you reckon?’
Carrie gazed at her twin. ‘What do I reckon? I reckon you’re barmy, Con. A total nut.’ She appealed to the others. ‘Am I right?’
Rosie pulled a face. ‘I dunno, Carrie. Maybe, but I’ll tell you what – we could go invisible and take a look round Inchlake Manor. Search for clues. It’s something to do on a boring Sunday, isn’t it?’
Peter frowned. ‘There’s a problem.’
Rosie looked at him. ‘What?’
‘Clothes. Where to take ’em off and where to hide ’em. It’s Sunday afternoon and the sun’s shining. That means flocks of people up at Inchlake Ring.’
‘No prob.’ This from Conrad.
His sister glanced at him. ‘What d’you mean, no prob?’
‘We’re talking about the Manor, right? Well, there’s an old building in the grounds. The ice house, they call it. Nobody ever goes there. We could use that.’
Rosie shook her head. ‘We need a ring, remember.’
‘It is a ring. The ice house, I mean. It’s round. Would that work, Rosie?’
Rosie shrugged. ‘One way to find out. Come on.’
They’d expected police activity, but everything seemed quiet as the five children passed between the great granite gateposts of Inch-lake Manor. Weeds poked through the gravel of a driveway narrowed by long-neglected rhododendrons crowding in on either side. At this time of year the house lay hidden beyond a dense screen of foliage. Provided no vehicle followed them through the gateway there was little chance of their being seen.
Rosie looked at Conrad. ‘Where’s this whatsit then – ice house?’
‘See that?’ The boy nodded towards a gap in the rhododendrons. ‘Through there. There’s a pathway curves right round the back of the house.’
‘How d’you know, Con? Ancestral home, is it?’
He shook his head. ‘A bunch of us used to mess around here, exploring.’
‘Ah.’
It was dark under the trees. The path was narrow, slimy and overgrown. It made Carrie think of frogs and toads, though she didn’t see any. Her twin went first, leading them in a great curve till a weird structure appeared in the tangle to their right. It was shaped like an igloo but was much bigger, built with great blocks of stone. Conrad held up a hand and they stopped.
Rosie gazed at the ice house. ‘Where’s the door?’
‘Halfway round. Careful when you go in – floor’s below ground level.’ He led the way round the igloo’s mossy curve to a doorless entrance where he sat down, dangling his legs into darkness.
Charlotte peered over his shoulder. ‘Ugh!’ She shuddered. ‘It’s pitch-black and it stinks. I’m not going in there.’
Conrad chuckled. ‘It only smells like mushrooms, and it’s not really dark once your eyes get used to it. Here goes.’ He planted his palms on the rim and lowered himself, feeling for the floor with his trainers. When he dropped and turned, his chin was level with the ground.
One by one the others followed. Conrad helped them down. They stood in the light from the doorway and peered nervously into the blackness. Peter thought of monsters. Charlotte fancied she could see something moving. Conrad let out a sudden whoop whose echo was augmented by the screams and gasps of his companions.
‘Daft beggar!’ snarled his twin, when she’d recovered enough to speak. ‘Scared me half to death.’
‘And me the other half.’ Peter’s voice sounded hoarse.
Conrad was laughing so much he had to lean on the wall to keep from collapsing.
Very funny, Rosie thought but didn’t say. But not half as funny as what I’ll do to you when you least expect it. Aloud she said, ‘Did we come here to play silly games, or do we go invisible and get on with our investigation?’
‘Investigation,’ voted Carrie. ‘If this place works like a stone circle.’
Rosie nodded. ‘It’ll work. I’ll go first if you like.’
‘Go on then, but I vote we keep a hand on each other’s shoulders all the way round so we don’t get separated. Will it be OK like that?’
‘Don’t see why not. Everybody set? Then let’s go.’
It worked, as Rosie had hoped it would.
They left their things on a dank ledge and scrambled out of the ice house. It felt good to breathe fresh air, though it was a bit cold. They moved slowly between the trees, careful where they put their feet. Presently the foliage thinned and there loomed the Manor, looking semi-derelict with its faded paintwork and dusty windows.
Rosie pulled a face. ‘Bit of a dump, isn’t it? Inchlake Manor. I expected something really posh.’
‘Yeah, well.’ Conrad nodded. ‘It used to be posh when the family had it, but there’s only the old lady left now. Miss Massingberd. She can’t keep up with it.’
‘Hmm.’ Rosie shook her head. ‘Can’t imagine priceless paintings here, can you?’ She frowned. ‘Wonder how the thieves knew?’
They worked their way round to the front of the house, keeping to the fringe of the trees. A flight of mossy-looking steps led up to great double doors, which were closed. Somebody had parked a yellow Polo at the foot of the steps.
‘Who’s is that, d’you reckon?’ whispered Charlotte. ‘Doesn’t look like a police car.’
Conrad shrugged. ‘Search me.’
His twin giggled. ‘That wouldn’t take much doing right now, Con.’
‘Shut up.’
‘Let’s take a closer look.’ Rosie set off across the lawn. The others hung back and she turned, grinning. ‘It’s OK. You’re invisible, remember?’ They’d forgotten, which was easy when they could see each other. They followed, wearing sheepish expressions.
There was a sticker on the inside of the car’s windscreen, NURSE ON CALL.
Rosie nodded. ‘That explains it. District nurse. Miss Massingberd must be pretty decrepit.’
‘She is,’ confirmed Conrad. He looked at Rosie. ‘What we gonna do?’
‘Find a way in, have a snoop round.’
‘You mean inside the house?’
‘Sure, why not? Nobody’s going to see us.’
‘So we just march through the door?’
‘Well, perhaps not this door. No point taking unnecessary risks. There’ll be a side door somewhere. Stay close, and no talking.’
They crept along the front of the Manor, peering into windows. Great dim rooms lay beyond the streaky panes, their furniture shrouded in sheets. Turning a corner they found a conservatory built onto the south wall of the house and, in the angle of the wall and its cast-iron frame, a door which squealed open when Rosie tried it. Hardly daring to breathe, the Inchlake Invisibles tiptoed inside and stood on a floor of terracotta tiles, gazing around.
It seemed Miss Massingberd used the conservatory as a sun lounge. A small table stood beside a wicker armchair. There were books and tea things on the table, crumpled cushions in the chair and a footstool nearby. It looked as though the old la
dy might have been sitting here until a few minutes ago. Behind the furniture an open door gave on to a dim corridor. Many of the conservatory’s windows had cracks in them, and Rosie noticed that one had no glass at all but was boarded up with a sheet of plywood. The wood looked new, and Rosie wondered whether this was where the thieves had got in. She was walking towards it when Carrie hissed a warning. A door in the corridor had opened and a frail old lady was shuffling towards the conservatory, one hand hooked through the arm of a strapping nurse.
‘Freeze!’ hissed Rosie. ‘Not a word.’
It felt weird, standing like statues as the two women came slowly across the tiles. Impossible to believe they wouldn’t be seen the instant Miss Massingberd glanced up. Or the nurse. Carrie began rehearsing an excuse. The door was open. We were exploring. We thought it was an empty house …
The nurse steered Miss Massingberd to her chair, practically brushing against Charlotte, and steadied the old lady as she sank into it. ‘There.’ Charlotte had to take a rapid step backwards as the nurse straightened up. ‘Are you sure there isn’t somebody who would come and sit with you? It must be a nasty shock, knowing thieves have been in your house.’
Miss Massingberd shook her head. ‘Not so much a shock as a disappointment, dear.’
‘Disappointment?’
‘Oh, yes. You see, I had planned to sell those paintings to pay for repairs to this place. It’s falling to pieces, year by year. A hundred jobs need doing and there’s no money.’
Invisible! Page 3