“Oh, come on, get out of the way!” Lucy gently shoved Bathsheba aside. Bathsheba not so gently nipped Lucy’s fingers, but the gauntlets Lucy wore as part of her armour prevented any real damage.
Armour.
Why hadn’t she thought of it before?
She could go now. Right at this very moment. Run through the wildlife park to the gates she’d come through in Lord Grave’s carriage that first day. She was sure she’d be able to climb over them. And her armour would protect her from attack by Bathsheba or any of the other animals.
She flung aside her broom and ran out of the hut. And kept running. Or rather kept waddling. Her armour was heavy, a little rusty and not conducive to moving at speed. She rattled and squeaked past the lake, where one of the elephants was enjoying a drink. The elephant turned at the sound of Lucy’s armour. It had very long and very sharp tusks.
Nothing to worry about, elephants are harmless unless you get in the way of their feet, Lucy told herself and waddled on. But she quickly found she couldn’t waddle any further. Because the elephant was standing in front of her, like a grey, living mountain. How had it moved so quickly?
Lucy squinted up at the elephant.
The elephant glared down at Lucy.
Its tusks glinted in the sunlight.
“Um, don’t worry. No need to move – I’ll go around you,” Lucy said.
She moved to her left.
So did the elephant.
She moved to her right.
So did the elephant.
Lucy and the elephant repeated this dance several times. Then the elephant seemed to get bored. It snorted, bent its great grey head and then hooked one of its tusks through the gap in Lucy’s armour where the sleeve was attached to the shoulder plate.
The elephant lifted Lucy high into the air. Lucy squealed and squirmed but the elephant took no notice. Ears and trunk flapping, it thundered back the way Lucy had come. It reached the iron fence, which separated the animals from the rest of Grave Hall, and lowered her over it, dropping her the last few feet. Lucy landed with a thud that rattled her armour and her teeth. The armour protected her from breaking any bones, but the fall still hurt. She lay on the ground, trying not to cry from pain, humiliation and utter despair. Now there could be no doubting that she was being thwarted by Grave Hall’s animal residents. That elephant had deliberately foiled her escape attempt. It was impossible, but the impossible seemed to happen on a daily basis at Grave Hall.
When she’d recovered a little, Lucy limped back towards the house, comforting herself with the thought that at least no one had witnessed her embarrassing defeat. When she reached the kitchen garden, she found Mrs Crawley there, sitting in a striped deckchair, drinking out of a large tankard. Her frock was hoisted up to her knees, showing her hairy legs. She was wearing a pair of sandals, which her equally hairy toes poked out of. Whatever was in the tankard smelled almost as bad as Smell had when he’d overindulged on devilled kidneys a few days ago.
“Ah, Lucy!” she said. “Would you like a sip?”
“No, thanks. What is it, liquidised dung or something?”
Mrs Crawley tittered. “It’s the first batch of my home-brewed ale. I admit it has a certain pungency to it. Probably due to a small sprinkling of my Extra Violent Mustard Mix that I added during the brewing process. I thought I’d have a quick taste to check if it’s ready and gather my strength before starting on the dinner. I’ll need some help as little Violet hasn’t turned up for work today. Very unlike her. She must be ill. Would you mind serving his Lordship’s afternoon tea once you’ve taken your armour off? Here, let me give you a hand.”
As Mrs Crawley began unbuckling the armour, Lucy wondered desperately if the housekeeper-cum-cook knew what was really going on at Grave Hall? Surely not? She so wanted to confide in Mrs Crawley. But perhaps it would be too risky. Lucy reluctantly decided that her best bet was to bide her time.
A quarter of an hour later, Lucy was standing outside Lord Grave’s study holding a tray of tea things. She was about to knock when she heard raised voices.
“’Ow many more children is it going to take, Grave? You need to do something,” said a gruff voice.
Lucy trembled. The cup on her tray rattled against the teapot.
“I don’t have to do anything,” Lord Grave snapped.
“You blooming well do. Ma’am thinks that you—”
“I don’t need to be told what Ma’am does or doesn’t think! Concentrate on what you’re supposed to be doing, but do it better. Or I might have a quiet word with Ma’am about you. Stop getting distracted.”
“Can’t ’elp it. It’s my nature now.”
“A feeble excuse. I think—”
Crash!
Lucy had been so intent on listening to this tense exchange between Lord Grave and what must be one of the dreaded Ma’am’s henchmen that she’d let her tray tilt and the teacup had smashed to the floor.
Lord Grave flung open the door, frowning bushily.
“I-I was bringing you your tea,” said Lucy.
“Go in, put it on the table.”
“But I broke the cup.”
“Leave it, I’ll deal with it.” Lord Grave bent down and began picking up the shards of china.
Lucy stepped into the drawing room.
There was no one else there.
She busied herself setting out the teapot and the milk jug, looking around to see if there was someone hiding under the table or behind the sofa. But she couldn’t see anyone. There was a whiff though. A whiff that made her wrinkle her nose in disgust.
“Violet usually brings me my tea. Where is she?” Lord Grave demanded, placing the teacup she had dropped on to the table.
The teacup was whole again.
Lucy stared at the cup and then up at Lord Grave.
“She’s ill, we think,” she muttered.
“You think? What’s wrong with her?”
“I don’t know.”
“She hasn’t sent a message?”
“No.”
“I see. Did you hurt yourself?” he said.
“When the cup broke? No, it—”
“No. I meant with Elvira. I heard you had an encounter with her.”
Lucy put her hand to her mouth. No one else had seen what happened. So it was true. The animals were acting against her, spying on her and somehow reporting back to Lord Grave.
“Yes. I know everything that happens in this house. And I know—” He paused.
Lucy waited for him to say he knew about everything else she’d been up to. Visiting the library, and the raven. Her investigations into Lady Sibyl’s carriage.
“I know you don’t want to be here, Lucy. That’s natural. I promise all of this will make sense soon.”
“Why can’t it make sense now?”
Lord Grave didn’t reply, but strode over to the door and opened it. His stern expression told her that their not-so-cosy chat was over. Lucy turned and left the room. When Lord Grave had closed the door behind her, she leaned against the wall. Once her heart had stopped thumping quite so hard and her legs were less wobbly, she walked slowly back to the kitchen.
What did Lord Grave mean by all of this will make sense soon? Would that be when he was using her for whatever horrific purpose he and Ma’am had in mind? And that would probably be sooner rather than later now that Lord Grave knew what she’d been up to and was no doubt suspicious of her. Lucy couldn’t escape on her own; her disastrous attempt had proved that. And she had no idea how she was going to get to the Wish Book without Lord Grave’s network of spies detecting her.
Things really can’t get any worse, she thought.
But then they did.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE EYES OF CARUTHERS
It had been two days since Violet had gone missing. All the Grave Hall servants were gathered round the kitchen table. Except for Mrs Crawley, who was attempting a new recipe to distract herself. She had her back to everyone as she stirred a pot on t
he kitchen range, but Lucy could see the housekeeper-cum-cook’s shoulders shaking as she stifled a sob.
“His Lordship’s having a meeting now with Lady Sibyl and the rest of … his friends. They’re going to help organise a search. Poor little Violet.” Vonk said. He took out a large striped handkerchief and blew his nose.
“Poor little milksop,” agreed Becky, stroking Smell, who was curled up on her lap. She sounded almost sad.
As for Lucy, she said nothing. Fury boiled inside her as she reread the names of the missing children listed in the Penny. Couldn’t any of Lord Grave’s household see what was happening? It was obvious to Lucy that Lord Grave had taken Violet. It was ruthlessly clever of him. No one would suspect him of kidnapping his own scullery maid.
What would he do to her? Hand her over to the mysterious Ma’am? Violet with her kind heart and soft voice would have no chance of saving herself. Lucy couldn’t bear to think of the terrible magic that might be practised on the poor child. Lucy looked up from the Penny and gazed round the table. Should she tell the other servants her suspicions? But what if one of them, or all of them, were in on it too?
After a while, Vonk got up from the table and went into his butler’s pantry, which lay just off the kitchen. When he came back, he was wearing his green floppy gardener’s hat.
“I think the best thing we can do is get back to work. Mrs C, is there any chance I could snaffle a couple of pails of your latest home-brew? The one with your Extra Violent Mustard Mix added to it?”
Mrs Crawley turned from the range. Her beard stuck out in tufts, as though she’d been raking it with her fingers and her eyes were red. “Resorting to drink won’t help us find Violet,” she sniffled.
“I don’t want to drink it! The roses have terrible greenfly and I thought a good drenching with that ale might be just the thing.”
“Oh, Vonk!”
“Bernie, I’m not saying the ale isn’t delicious – merely that it’s multifunctional,” Vonk said hastily.
Mrs Crawley brightened a little. “I’m sure I can spare some in that case.”
“Thank you. Why don’t you have a little nap before starting on lunch, Mrs C? You look worn out.”
“I might just do that. Lucy, would you help Vonk take a couple of pails to the potting shed?”
Lucy agreed readily, because at last a plan to successfully steal the Wish Book was forming in her mind and a visit to Vonk’s potting shed could provide her with something she needed.
She and Vonk made their way outside in silence. When they were nearly at the potting shed, Lucy decided to risk some subtle questioning to find out if she could trust Vonk or not.
“Do you think Lord Grave will be able to find Violet?”
“If anyone can find her, he can,” Vonk said.
“Because he’s so important? And he’s powerful too, isn’t he? In … lots of different ways.”
They had reached the shed by now. Vonk opened the door and ushered Lucy inside. “Yes, that’s right. Now put that bucket on the work table over there,” Vonk said, his back to Lucy as he took down various packages from the shelves that lined one wall.
Lucy did as he asked, then swiftly surveyed the shed. There were various gardening tools hanging from hooks on the wall opposite the shelves. While Vonk’s back was still turned, Lucy unhooked a small pair of shears.
“Do you think there’s a link between Violet and the other children?” Lucy asked, when she’d safely pocketed the tool.
Vonk turned back to the bucket and began carefully pouring the contents of a bottle into it. “Ma’am—” He stopped, looking horrified. The bottle slipped from his grasp and landed in the bucket with a splash. He began fishing it out. “I mean, ma … many people think that is a possibility.”
There was an awkward pause. Lucy’s heart thudded. So Vonk was part of the kidnapping plot too! He was bound to warn Ma’am and Lord Grave that he’d slipped up. And that meant Lucy was in more immediate danger than ever.
“Well, if you don’t need me for anything else, I’ve got some boots to see to,” she said, forcing herself to sound calm, even though her insides squirmed with fear as well as disappointment at Vonk’s treachery.
“That’s fine. Off you go,” Vonk replied in a strained voice.
“See you later then,” Lucy said brightly. She left the shed as nonchalantly as she could and began strolling back to the house.
But when she was sure Vonk couldn’t see her, she raced over the manicured lawns. As she ran, she noted with relief that Lord Grave, his revolting cronies and Bathsheba were down by the lake, having a pre-lunch walk. No doubt planning their next despicable move, Lucy thought. Which could well involve something nasty happening to Lucy herself. There was now no time to lose in putting her plan to steal the Wish Book into action. Then she could free the raven and he would help her escape. After that, she would find a way to rescue Violet and the other missing children.
Lucy whipped through the vegetable garden and into the kitchen, which was thankfully empty. Mrs Crawley must be having her nap. Lucy caught her breath for a moment. As she did so, she had a sudden thought. She rummaged through the kitchen store cupboard and grabbed a tin before creeping upstairs, heading for her room.
She paused in the hallway to check for danger. But the house was quiet. Becky was nowhere to be seen, neither was Smell. Lucy sprinted off again and up the stairs. But in her haste, she tripped on the last stair before the first-floor landing, staggered and then fell sideways. She crashed into the cabinet she’d once hidden behind. It rocked on its spindly legs and its doors flew open. A number of wooden boxes tumbled out. Lucy picked herself up and was about to run off again when she noticed each box had a label pasted on it. She grabbed one of them. The label said Harold Jameson. Inside was a toy ship, with its masts broken. Lucy knelt down and opened another labelled Deborah Jones. A red hair ribbon lay inside, torn in half. Heart thumping, Lucy noticed that one of the boxes looked newer than the rest.
Violet Worthington!
Lucy fumbled the box open. Something green and woolly lay inside.
Caruthers.
Violet’s beloved knitted frog.
Poor Caruthers looked rather mangled. Two strands of black thread hung from where his button eyes had been and a hole in his stomach was leaking sawdust.
There was something else in the box too. A note. The handwriting was cramped, untidy and very hard to read. Lucy could just about make out the words Ma’am particularly wants to but the rest was illegible.
This was it.
Conclusive, absolute proof that Lord Grave was responsible for the missing children together with Ma’am, who seemed to have something ‘particular’ in mind for poor little Violet.
Lucy was sure of only one thing.
She needed to act now and act fast. Otherwise Violet and the other children were as good as dead. And soon Lucy would be too.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LUCY’S EXPLODING BRAIN
Cramming Caruthers into her pocket, Lucy continued dashing up the stairs, more determined than ever to steal the Wish Book, free the raven and bring Lord Grave, Ma’am and all the rest of them to justice. When she reached her room, she snatched up a cloth bag belonging to Becky and stuffed the tin she’d taken from the kitchen inside it along with a long woollen scarf she found in Becky’s chest of drawers. Panting, she knelt by the fireplace. Turner and Paige were motionless on the tiles as normal.
“Psst!” Lucy hissed.
Neither of them moved.
“Oi!” Lucy said more loudly. She poked Mr Turner in the side, then did the same to Mr Paige. The tiles were cold and hard against her fingertips. Why weren’t they waking up?
Lucy sat back on her heels, thinking hard. What was it she’d said when she’d first seen them come to life? It seemed like weeks had passed since then, but it was only a few days ago. Wasn’t it something about wanting to learn how magic worked?
Learn.
Libraries were places of learnin
g. Perhaps then, that was the word that woke Turner and Paige?
So she whispered, “I want to learn about … magicians.” It seemed somewhat feeble, but right now her aim was to get inside the library and there was no time to come up with something more convincing.
After a few moments, the two men began to move in their tiles. Once again, at his invitation, she took Mr Turner’s hand and they passed through the bedroom fireplace into the library.
There above the mouse-sized door were the books, one of which could solve all her problems. If only she could grab it now! But she had to wait for the right moment. So, she reluctantly went through the palaver of watching the mouse-sized door grow to Lucy-sized before joining the seven Mr Paiges in the reading room. This time it was the Mr Paige who stood furthest to the left who spoke first.
“You want to learn about magicians?”
“Yes.”
“What exactly do you want to know?”
“I … um … how does someone become a magician?”
“Magicians are born not made.”
“And … how do magicians do magic, exactly? Do they cast spells?”
“There are various ways of creating magic. Spells, potions, even the power of the imagination.”
“Lord Grave’s a magician, isn’t he?” Lucy said.
“That’s correct,” said Mr Paige.
“And … are there good magicians and evil ones?”
“Yes, that is the case,” Mr Paige said slowly. He sounded wary, as though he was rather uncomfortable with the way the conversation was heading. “And on that note, I think we should stop for today.”
“But I have lots more to ask!”
“As we said last time you visited, we are only allowed to tell you a small amount at each visit. Otherwise—”
“Oh, yes, my brain might explode. Ridiculous idea. As if,” Lucy said and rolled her eyes.
“Not at all! It’s a genuine risk!”
“But I’ve hardly asked you anything. I think we should go on.”
“No. We really mustn’t.”
Goodly and Grave in a Bad Case of Kidnap Page 7