I pause. Telling Lottie and Spencer will make it even more real. ‘She’s a spy.’
‘Your mum’s a bleedin’ spy?’
Spencer’s jaw drops. ‘No way. That’s so cool. My mother’s an interior designer. Do you know how dull it is watching paint dry?’
‘It’s more than that, Spencer. Ms Celia told me Mum is O. She’s Ms Celia’s boss. She’s everyone’s boss!’
‘You have got be jokin’,’ says Lottie.
‘I wish I was. Ms Celia said that’s why she was kidnapped. Our mission is to rescue her.’
A spider scuttles past Spencer’s foot. ‘Kidnapped? This hasn’t got anything to do with Ivan, has it?’
‘Yes. Sorry, Spencer. He and Mum were at Swan House together. Ivan’s got some kind of vendetta against her.’
‘Flamin’ Nora,’ says Lottie again.
‘Well, that’s awkward,’ says Spencer. ‘My mentor kidnapping your mother and all.’
‘Do you think he’d know something that might help us find her?’
‘It’s unlikely, but maybe I can get something out of the little weasel.’ Spencer lifts his wrist. ‘Ivan. Need to talk.’
Ivan Korolev appears and sits cross-legged next to Spencer. ‘How can I help you, Benedict? Ahh, I know this place. I used to come here to – how to say in English? – “bunk off” Ethics in Espionage.’ He smiles his half smile.
‘Ivan, listen, did you know a girl called Eva Kydd when you were at school?’
‘Eva Kydd? I’m sorry, I cannot help you. That is classified information.’
‘Wait a minute, Spence,’ I say. ‘Kydd is Mum’s married name, she was Eva Lilova at school.’
‘Eva Lilova? Yes, of course, I remember her,’ says Ivan. ‘I partnered her many times. She vas a beautiful dancer.’
My throat goes scratchy. ‘Do you remember arguing with Eva, after she caught you using poison at the Scarlet Slippers?’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Please repeat the qvestion.’
‘At the competition, you argued—’
Ivan flickers. ‘I am unable to process your reqvest.’
‘Try rephrasing the question,’ says Spencer. ‘Ivan, did you ever argue with Eva Lilova?’
‘No. Vhy vould I?’
‘He’s tellin’ the truth,’ says Lottie. ‘Mentors can’t lie. If he and Eva did fall out, it must have been after his hologram was made.’
‘I did not argue vith Eva,’ Ivan says, ‘but Blanche did.’
‘Blanche?’ says Spencer. ‘Do you mean Madame?’
‘Yes, Blanche de La Cloche.’
‘She was in school with Eva?’
‘Vith Eva. Vith me. She vas as jealous of Eva as vinter is of summer.’
‘Why?’
‘It is obvious. Eva vas gifted. She’d vun a Scarlet Slipper.’ Ivan sighs. ‘It is every dancer’s greatest vish to vin a Scarlet Slipper.’
‘That explains why she’s so horrible to you, Milly,’ says Lottie. ‘Madame’s gettin’ her own back on your mum.’
‘Maybe,’ says Spencer. ‘But unfortunately, that means that Madame isn’t going to help you, Kydd. Thanks, Ivan. You can scoot.’ Ivan vanishes. ‘Shame he changed sides. I quite like him.’
I pull the programme from my backpack. ‘There’s something else. It’s Mum’s programme from the Scarlet Slippers. Look what’s inside.’
‘Ha!’ Lottie pokes the photograph. ‘That’s never you! You got hair!’
‘Not the picture, Lottie. Look at the handwriting.’
‘Let me see.’ Spencer holds the programme up to the window. ‘There’s a pen mark. A letter? It might be an M?’
‘You’re looking at it upside down, Spencer.’
‘Oh, right. Is it a W?’
‘Yes, as in W for Willow?’
‘No way. You fink Perkins has somefink to do wiv your mum’s kidnappin’?’
‘Maybe?’ It does sound a bit mad when Lottie says it like that.
Spencer tucks the programme inside his hoody. ‘I’ll ask Mr Special to take a look. If he’s so clever, he might be able to figure out what it means.’
When we get back, Topsy’s waiting outside the dorm. ‘Hellooo, Milly. I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I’ve got something for you from Tom Garrick. He left it at reception before he went to hospital. All hibbledy-hobbledy on crutches he was.’
I take a cautious peek inside the brown envelope. Tom is good friends with Willow. This might be some kind of practical joke.
I wait until Topsy’s gone before sliding out a note. It’s folded around a pretty gold compact and a packet of bobby pins.
Dear Milly, Nurse said if you hadn’t helped me to the infirmary, things could have been much worse. I haven’t got anything to give you except these – I ‘borrowed’ them from Madge and you might find them useful. Sorry I had you all wrong. Good luck at the Scarlet Slippers. Tom.
I show the note to Lottie. ‘The compact is just like Bab’s.’
‘But why would Tom give you a thing of face powder?’ says Spencer.
Lottie grins. ‘It ain’t any old compact – I fink it’s a doobrie! Can’t check it out here though. Could be fog powder. Or a show an’ tell glass. Or a boomer-bang!’
Spencer snatches the compact. ‘What’s a boomer-bang?’
‘A mirror that boomerbangs missiles back to where they came from.’
Blimey.
Our Swanphones hum. Lottie curses in Cockney. ‘We’re late for Madame. Tom’s doobrie’s goin’ to have to wait.’
Spencer hands the compact back reluctantly. ‘Just promise you won’t open it without me.’
16
The Doobries
In Madame’s class, something very odd is happening.
Dipti Patel smiles at me for the first time ever. Fleur Fontaine makes room for me on the barre. When I finish my bottle of water, Danny Debello offers me his.
What’s wrong with everyone?
‘Lottie,’ I say at break. ‘Have I got cabbage in my teeth?’
‘No.’
‘Anything stuck to my back?’
‘Nah.’
‘Holes in my tights . . . ?’
After break, I get to practise the corps de ballet dance with everyone else. Ms Celia gathers us around her. ‘Now that you are all warmed up, we will begin rehearsing Romeo and Juliet for the competition.’
Spencer puts his hand up. ‘Does that mean the boys get to use swords?’
Lottie stamps her foot. ‘Why do the boys always get all the fun?’
‘It’s OK, Shorty,’ says Spencer. ‘You girls’ll get little hankies to wave.’
Ms Celia frowns at Spencer. ‘The boys may carry swords, but they will certainly not use them. Fencing lessons, for both boys and girls, are scheduled for next term.’
Lottie sticks out her tongue at Spencer.
‘Now, can anyone tell me the story of Romeo and Juliet?’
‘It’s a love story, miss!’ shouts Fleur.
‘Yes. And what else?’
Lottie’s hand shoots up. ‘Romeo’s a Montague and Juliet’s a Capulet and the two families hate each other’s guts. So there’s a load of fightin’!’
‘Thank you, Lottie. And then what happens?’ Ms Celia sighs. ‘Yes, Benedict?’
‘Everyone dies . . . What? Did I leave something out?’
Dipti and Fleur giggle but Ms Celia is gazing out of the window. ‘Romeo and Juliet is a tale of love and hate, poison and death. The wonderful score, the powerful story, the beautiful choreography all come together to create –’ she waves her hand like a magic wand – ‘theatrical dark magic.’
There is total silence. Even Spencer’s hooked.
‘Now, I’d like you to get into character. Take a space on the floor. Imagine a grand ballroom . . . What is it Lottie?’
‘I’m no good at imaginin’ stuff, miss.’
‘Well, think of our own refectory. It won’t be long before it will be brought back to its former glory for the Scarlet Supper. Th
ink how grand that will be.’
Lottie closes her eyes. ‘Fanks, miss. I can see it now.’
‘Try and imagine you are a Capulet. A member of the nobility. Feel the movement of your fine clothes. The weight of your headdress. Well done, everyone. Now listen to the music. It’s called “The Dance of the Knights”.’
The floor begins to vibrate. The beat goes through the soles of my feet, up through my calves and into the pit of my stomach. ‘Weave around each other,’ says Ms Celia. ‘Slow and dignified . . . Lottie, is that dignified? When the music stops, acknowledge the lord or lady next to you with a nod or a curtsy, then strike a regal pose and hold it like a statue!’
I freeze with my nose regally in the air. My hands regally on my hips.
‘Remind you of anyone, Willow?’ says Dipti.
Willow’s eyes flash at Dipti. Her nose goes pink.
By the time class has finished, Lottie is hopping up and down, whispering about fog powder and boomerbangs. I try to leave but I can’t get past the queue of people being nice to me.
‘Don’t take any notice of Willow,’ says Dipti.
‘Sorry about your chin,’ says Danny. ‘You can trust me from now on, I promise.’
‘I’m sorry too,’ says Fleur. ‘I felt so bad out in the woods. We should never have chased you like that.’
Danny nods. ‘Yeah, when Tom fell, Willow was going on about the Dance of Death so we just left him there. He was lucky you came along.’
Lottie grabs my arm. ‘LET’S GO!’
‘One moment, everyone,’ calls Ms Celia. ‘The Captain wishes to see you before lunch. Please go straight to the gym.’
Spencer groans. ‘I didn’t have breakfast. I’m so hungry I could eat a hot-water bottle cat-thing.’
Ms Celia takes me aside. ‘Milly – a brief word before you go. You did well today. I’m glad you weren’t too upset by our conversation yesterday.’
Lottie follows us into the corridor. ‘What about me, miss?’
‘You were perfectly competent, Lottie, but I suspect that your mind was elsewhere.’
Lottie’s eyes flick to my bag. ‘Uhhh – I was just thinkin’ about them Capulets and Montagues and why they started fightin’ in the first place.’
‘Have either of you seen the play?’ asks Ms Celia.
‘Seen the film, miss,’ says Lottie. ‘Didn’t understand a flamin’ word.’
‘I don’t think Shakespeare gave a reason for the feud. It may well have been over nothing. People can fall out over such trivial things.’ She glances at Willow. ‘But even the smallest spark can destroy a forest if it’s left to burn . . .’
All through Spy Craft, the doobries burn holes in my bag.
‘Hen’s teeth, Kydd! You’re away with the bliddy fairies again,’ shouts the Captain. ‘What did I say dry cleaning was?’
‘Uhhh, is it the thing old people do with their delicates? Bab takes hers to Clapham High Street.’
‘Give us strength. Dry cleaning has nothing to do with your granny’s delicates, Kydd. It’s a counter-surveillance technique employed to check if an agent is being tailed.’
I can speak five languages and I still have no idea what he’s talking about.
‘You of all people need to pay attention,’ he says. ‘You know what, and who, is at stake.’
I hang my bob in shame. Mum. He means Mum is at stake.
Danny Debello puts up his hand. ‘Are you talking about the mission, Captain? Can you tell us why we’re after Ivan Korolev now?’
‘I can tell you this. Korolev has something we want. Someone, in fact. A VIP. The head of Swan House.’
‘You mean there’s someone above Ms Celia?’ asks Danny. ‘Who’s that?’
‘I can only give you a code name. O’s identity is top secret for obvious reasons.’
I notice Lottie and Spencer are pretending to find their copies of The Guide to Espionage totally fascinating too.
After supper, everyone is still talking about the identity of the mysterious O. Lottie, Spencer and I bolt down our food then dash back through the courtyard and crouch behind the dorms.
‘Open the compact first,’ says Spencer.
Lottie peeps around the corner. ‘Better be quick, Madame’s on the prowl.’
‘Are you sure this is safe to open, Lottie?’
‘Only one way to find out, ain’t there?’
I hold the compact at arm’s length and inch it open. A bright white light floods the shadows.
‘Let me see.’ Spencer inspects the compact carefully, then snaps it shut. ‘What a let down. It’s just a torch.’
Lottie tears open the packet of bobby pins. ‘Universal lock picks. Handy, but they ain’t much use in school.’
‘Is that all? A torch and some lock picks?’ I try not to feel too disappointed. ‘I suppose it was nice of Tom to give me anything.’
‘Uh-oh,’ says Lottie. ‘We got company.’
A ghostly figure appears out of the gloom. ‘Who is zere? Is zat you, Millicent Kydd?’ I blink as Madame shines her Swanphone from my face to Lottie’s. ‘Charlotte Li,’ she tuts. ‘And who is zis?’ Spencer’s hair lights up like an angel’s. ‘Benedict Spencer? What are you all doing out here in ze dark?’
‘I ain’t feelin’ too good,’ says Lottie. ‘Came over all funny after Cook’s spotted dick – better get to the loos before I chuck again. Bonne nuit, Madame!’
‘You are up to something, Charlotte Li.’
‘Not moi, miss.’
‘Well, in zat case you will not mind if I see you all to your dormitories.’
Back in the dorm, Willow is lying on her bed, ranting on about the way I’ve pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes and how I’ll suffer once they’ve learnt what I’m really like. In the bed next to her, Bumble nods along like a little nodding dog. I feel for Tom’s letter in my pocket and for the first time, Willow and Bumble don’t bother me one bit. In fact, Willow wears herself out in no time, and pretty soon they’re both fast asleep. It’s only when I get into bed I notice that Boris is missing.
That night, I dream of Willow falling from the Dance of Death.
17
Kristina the Knife
‘Ay-ya!’ Lottie deadheads the last of the pansies in the courtyard and a wake of dead petals swirls behind her. ‘Take that! And that, sweetcheeks!’
I hang back while she looks around for something else to karate chop. Lottie’s dangerous when she’s bored.
‘Did you find that cat-thing of yours?’ shouts Spencer over the howling wind.
I shake my head. Two months have gone by since Tom Garrick left and I’m still hot-water bottle-less. Actually, it’s the real Boris I’m worried about. It’ll be November tomorrow and he hates fireworks. Boris pretends to be tough but he’s really an old scaredy-cat. Where’s he going to hide? I don’t suppose the Bombardier’s got a wardrobe full of fake fur.
I sigh. ‘She won’t admit it, but I’m sure Willow catnapped him.’
‘I wish you’d let me have a word,’ says Lottie.
‘Thanks, Lottie but one of your “words” would only make things worse. I just wish I could sleep without him. I lie awake all night thinking I should be helping Mum right now, but every single second of the day is taken up with lessons.’
‘If you think about it, the whole point of lessons is to help your mother,’ says Spencer.
Lottie kicks through a pile of coppery leaves. ‘But lessons ain’t action, are they, Spence.’
Spencer puts his fingers to his lips. ‘Quiet, Shorty. POS.’
‘Uh?’
‘Perkins Over Shoulder . . .’
‘Hi, Milly,’ says Willow. ‘You were great in class this morning. I totally get why Ms Celia cast you to play the White Swan now.’
I do a Willow and roll my eyes. Surprisingly, everyone in school is still being nice to me. Not surprisingly, it’s driving Willow around the twist, especially since she’s started to pretend to like me too. Bottling up all that loathing can’
t be good for a person.
‘It’s your birthday tomorrow, isn’t it?’ she adds brightly. ‘I don’t suppose you’ll get many presents with all your family gone and everything, but you know – birthdays aren’t really about presents, are they? They’re about friends.’ Willow squeezes my arm.
I’d managed to push my birthday to the back of my mind until now. Trust Willow to bring it up. As she skips away, I remind myself to ask Merv about the ‘W’ Mum wrote in her programme. She was definitely trying to tell me something bad about Willow, but what?
‘Like she knows anyfink about friends.’ Lottie kicks another pile of leaves in the archway. This time the wind blows them back in her face.
‘I’d save your energy if I were you,’ says a muffled voice.
Lottie raises her fists. Her eyes slide from side to side.
Ms Celia’s head appears from behind Winifred’s bonnet. ‘Did you hear me, Lottie? I wish you’d put as much effort into our dance rehearsals.’ She slams the bonnet and slips a spanner into the pocket of her overalls.
‘Oh, it’s you, Ms Celia. I’m doin’ my best, honest.’
‘And Milly, it wouldn’t hurt for you to put in some extra practice too. Hurry now, lunchtime is over.’
My shoulders slump. I’m working as hard as I can, but it’s difficult to concentrate on anything with a kidnapped mother on your mind. I watch Ms Celia disappear inside one of the garages then turn to Spencer. ‘You haven’t seen Merv recently, have you?’
‘No, I gave him your programme and haven’t seen him since. He’s stopped coming to Spy Craft and he must have found somewhere else to sleep.’
Lottie bats a leaf out of her hair. ‘Merv might be in Petrenko’s class this afternoon. Considerin’ he’s so clever, his Russian’s rotten. You’re so lucky you don’t have to do Russian, Milly. Who’ve you got instead?’
‘For some reason, I’ve got to meet Madge in wardrobe.’
‘That’ll be for a fittin’,’ says Lottie.
‘Madge makes costumes too?’
‘You could say that.’
I spot Dafydd Wynn-Jones perched on a table heaped with little boxes of buttons and beads. ‘Hi, Milly. Getting your costumes made?’
Dafydd’s eyes remind me of Boris. I nod, and wish my cheeks would behave.
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