Peril en Pointe

by Helen Lipscombe

  When everyone has finished not eating, Dick Van Twinkle rises to his feet and chimes the side of his glass. ‘I’d like to say a few words, if my friend, Ms Celia, will let me?’

  ‘If you must, Dick.’

  ‘Thank you, Celia. Ladies and gentlemen, friends and colleagues, boys and girls, you have no idea what a thrill this is. To be here, in London, England with you guys –’ he waves at Madame – ‘and you guys –’ he waves at Korolev – ‘to see the ballet bring people together.’ He dabs an eye with his napkin. ‘The power of dance, people. It’s a wonderful thing.’

  Korolev rises to his feet and starts to clap. Slowly, people join in.

  ‘Vell said, my friend. And so, ladies and gentlemen, vould you please join me in toasting our hosts. To Svan House School of Ballet and the Scarlet Slippers.’

  ‘To Swan House School of Ballet,’ says Ms Celia. ‘Cycni venustas, cor leonis.’

  Korolev raises his glass. ‘Pijem liške, ktorá obidvoch obviní!’

  To the grace of a swan, the heart of a lion. And the fox who will outwit them both.

  24

  The Return of the Lilac Fairy

  After the Scarlet Supper, I lie awake all night. Tomorrow I have to dance the Lilac Fairy perfectly. If I don’t, Kristina will think I’m a joke, like that boy she mentioned, Vilppu. And if she thinks I’m a joke, she might not come to our rendezvous. At least I have Mum’s homing shoes. They won’t let me down.

  At six o’clock, my wrist glows. I’ve got two messages. One from Topsy saying that, because Meekes are short-staffed, our shoes won’t be delivered until this afternoon. And one from Merv with two words. Come outside.

  I rub my eyes and tell myself not to worry – he probably just wants his MUMB back.

  Willow’s head is buried under her duvet. I tug on as many clothes as possible before opening the door. The cold air snaps at my nose and fingertips.

  Merv is wearing a snowsuit. ‘Follow me.’

  ‘OK, but this better be quick.’

  I pull on my beret and traipse after him. A thin carpet of snow muffles the sound of our feet. Little white drifts are piled around the trees. ‘Merv, stop. I’m not going any further until you tell me what this is about.’

  ‘It’s about the mole,’ he says.

  ‘Merv, I’ve got enough to worry about, without worrying about you worrying about a mole.’

  ‘This is important, Kydd. I thought Ms Celia only believed there was a mole because of MUMB disrupting the security cameras. But I was wrong. Last night I discovered there actually is a mole and Ms Celia’s hoping to catch him tonight.’

  ‘But we’re supposed to be looking for my mum tonight.’

  ‘That’s why I’m here. The mole must be a serious threat to the success of the mission. You need to be careful. It could be the same person who tried to poison you. They could be dangerous. Very.’

  My teeth begin to chatter. ‘D-do you think the mole is one of us, Merv? D-do you think it could possibly be . . . Willow Perkins?’

  ‘Why would I think that?’

  ‘Well, Mum wrote a W on the programme.’

  Merv pulls a sheet of paper from his satchel. ‘There are two reasons why that is completely illogical. First, on the night your mum was kidnapped, Willow hadn’t been recruited to Swan House. And second, the W isn’t a W.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Besides, if it was Willow, why wouldn’t your mum just have circled her in the picture? I examined the programme and an indentation on the paper indicates that your mum’s pen ran out.’ He hands me a printout.

  Mum’s W has been blown up. There are scratches underneath that join up with the W to make a shape. An unmistakable shape.

  Merv’s right. The W is not a W. It’s not even a letter.

  It’s a crown.

  ‘It could be an important clue. I’ve been looking at the semiotics and there are several possible meanings of crowns—’

  ‘I know what it means.’

  ‘It could relate to our own royal fam—’

  ‘Merv, I know what it means!’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘It means I’ve wasted your time. Sorry. All Mum was trying to tell us is the name of her kidnapper and we already know that.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘Korolev. Translated into English it means Crown.’

  ‘Oh,’ says Merv. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’

  ‘Merv, I’d really like to go back now. It’s not easy dancing the Lilac Fairy with frostbite.’

  I tiptoe back inside the dorm. All I can do is hope Merv is wrong. If the mole blows the mission, I might never see Mum again.

  Back in school, the excitement from last night’s Scarlet Supper has turned into quiet concentration. All the competitors are rehearsing in their studios. Lottie’s with Ms Celia and the rest of the corps de ballet, while I’m stuck with Madame and Willow. Even Dafydd Wynn-Jones seems nervous. I’m taking a break near reception when a delivery arrives from Meekes. I’m glad to see a friendly face.

  Pip is stacking boxes on the desk. ‘Hello, Miss Millicent. Sorry I can’t chat. Busy day. Got to get back to Meekes, pick up the last of the shoes and drive back out again with the Scarlet Slipper trophy.’

  I cross my fingers. ‘It’s OK, Pip. I just wondered if you knew how Mr Stubbs is doing?’

  The freckles on Pip’s forehead squash together. ‘Nothing’s changed, miss. He’s still in hospital. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.’

  ‘OK,’ I say, not sounding at all OK.

  ‘I hope you like your shoes, miss. They’re not as good as Heart Maker’s but I tried my best.’

  ‘Thanks, Pip, I’m sure they’ll be perfect.’ I haven’t got the heart to tell him I’ll be wearing Mum’s homing shoes tonight.

  As Pip rushes away, a Casovan shout escapes the studio opposite.

  ‘No one is going to stand betveen Ivan Korolev and the Scarlet Slipper this time! Especially not you, Kristina. Again – from the beginning!’ Korolev’s voice drops to a menacing growl. ‘Don’t let me down, my dear. I hate it when people let me down.’

  Blimey. No wonder Kristina wants to help us. On my way back to our studio, I make sure to touch Dame Anna’s statue.

  The afternoon whirls by and in no time at all it’s time to collect my Lilac Fairy tutu from wardrobe. Waiting on the rail next to it is my Odette costume for the pas de deux. Small white feathers cover the skirt and the bodice sparkles with rhinestones. The tiny pearls on the eye mask are like tears.

  I think of Mum and make a silent promise not to let her down.

  Soon darkness swallows up the lawn and the driveway fills with cars. Ms Celia directs the TV crew into the theatre.

  All I need are Mum’s homing shoes but when I open the box, it’s empty.

  There’s only one person who would have taken them. I fling down the lid. Willow ruins everything! But then I hear Mr Stubbs in my head. Keep dancing, he says. Don’t let no one stop you.

  Backstage, Topsy’s waiting to cover up my lack of hair with white lilacs. Despite everything, the moment my tutu crackles and pops over my head, something magical happens and I feel like a real ballerina again.

  I lengthen my neck, suck in my stomach, tuck in my bottom, and pirouette.

  Once. Twice. Three times . . .

  Someone claps behind me.

  Ms Celia’s nails are scrubbed and clean. She’s wearing a dab of rouge and even a smudge of lipstick. ‘That was lovely, Milly. I have to confess, I was worried that I’d asked too much of you, but now I see no reason why the mission won’t be a success. With luck, you will be reunited with your mother very soon.’

  She leads me into the wings. ‘Before you go on, a word of advice. Quite naturally, your main concern is for your mother. But if you can, try to leave your worries in the wings and stay in the moment. You can be certain that whatever’s happened in the past and whatever may happen in the future will be waiting for you when you finish. I see a lot of Eva in you, Milly
. Make her proud. Make yourself proud.’

  She squeezes my arm and I’m on my own. I take my position onstage and place my shaking left foot tendu devant.

  The theatre sighs with the sound of violins and I let the music fill me up like a cream puff. I forget my burning toes, my achy heart. I forget Ivan Korolev and Willow. I forget the past and the future. I dance for Mum and for me. Nothing else matters.

  The last note fades. There’s silence. Then someone claps and suddenly there’s enough applause to make my teeth chatter. But when I see Ms Celia’s face, the cream puff feeling melts away. Her expression is tragic. In her eyes are actual tears. I’ve never seen Ms Celia cry before, and the sight makes my own tears roll off my nose in actual drips.

  I walk offstage and a little sob catches in my throat. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘My arms were all over the place and my piqués were wonky.’

  ‘Not at all. You were wonderful,’ says Ms Celia. ‘Oh, Milly. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry for what?’

  Ms Celia clears her throat. ‘Never mind. Hurry now. Go straight to Madame’s. Don’t delay.’

  No one sees me as I run into the hall. No one sees me slip into Madame’s study. The only thing to follow me down the corridor is the sound of violins.

  I shut the door quietly behind me. But when I switch on the light, I make a sound I’ve never made before – a sort of gasp-groan-roar.

  Madame’s cabinet – her precious cabinet – hangs open. The Popovs’ heirlooms are smashed all over the floor; an ugly carpet of glass and splinters, satin and pictures.

  I have to let someone know, but I gave my Swan-phone to Madame! WHAT SHOULD I DO?

  I stumble back to the door. Turn the knob. Rattle the knob. Push and twist and shake the knob.

  It’s locked.

  I have a terrible thought. Madame will think I did this.

  I have a worse one.

  Kristina won’t be able to get in. She won’t be able to tell me where Mum is . . .

  The Captain always says you should never let your emotions get the better of you. He says it’s important to keep your head at all times. He says it’s better to have a cool head than no head. Huh! I beat the door. Kick the door. Curse the door.

  Garghhh. If only I had one of Madge’s bobby pins. Think, Milly. Think!

  What would a real spy do? I remember Rule Eleven of The Guide to Espionage – never discount the obvious. Maybe there’s an old-fashioned key somewhere?

  I empty the desk drawer and start searching through the contents.

  I find a pair of white kid gloves, an ivory comb, pale-blue note paper. But not one old-fashioned key.

  The grandfather clock strikes the half hour. Thirty minutes until Kristina comes.

  I shake the drawer in frustration.

  Something rattles inside.

  Rule Twelve of The Guide to Espionage – when you have discounted the obvious, look again.

  Using the letter opener, I prize the bottom of the drawer away. Sure enough, it’s a false bottom. But the only thing inside the hidden compartment is a useless black file.

  I throw down the file and out slides a picture of a woman in a beautiful black tutu, topped off with a tiara, sequins and glossy black feathers.

  Mum.

  Shaking, I pick it up. Underneath the picture and the word ‘Odile’ is a stamp. TOP SECRET. The signature at the bottom reads, ‘Celia Sitwell, DCB’.

  As I read on, the words begin to blur.

  What I’m reading is a horrible lie.

  It can’t be true. IT ISN’T TRUE . . .

  Ms Celia says the mole isn’t Merv.

  Ms Celia says it’s Mum.

  I don’t know what Ms Celia’s plan is, but somehow, I’ve got to escape and find Mum before she does.

  But first, I’ve got to calm down. Rule Number Nineteen of The Guide to Espionage – panic is the enemy of reason. Deep breaths, Milly, deep breaths.

  Huff puff. Huff puff. Huff puff . . .

  And then it comes to me. The tunnels. Didn’t Spencer say there was a tunnel to Madame’s study? All I have to do is find the entrance.

  Behind me the grandfather clock chimes again. Quarter to midnight.

  Don’t discount the obvious.

  I push myself up and run my fingers along the case of the clock. I press lightly. There’s a click, and the door swings back.

  Straight into a startled face.

  25

  Is it a Merv? Is it a Plane?

  ‘O www!’ says Spencer. ‘Careful, Kydd. This nose is a family heirloom.’ ‘Spencer! What are you doing here? You should be in the theatre. How did you know I was—’

  ‘No time to chat. I’ll explain later. You’ve got to get out of here. Your mum’s life might depend on it.’

  He shines an old-fashioned torch further inside the grandfather clock. The light rests on a narrow spiral staircase.

  I begin to wobble. ‘Where does it go?’

  ‘Down to the basement. But it doesn’t stop there. Follow me.’

  He steps onto a rung of the staircase and grasps both sides. ‘Noise travels,’ he whispers. ‘So, no talking until we get to the bottom.’

  Hands sliding, feet slipping, I feel my way down. Our footsteps echo on the iron treads. Shadows loom and shrink on the walls.

  Eventually, Spencer jumps down and helps me to the ground. The top of his head brushes the roof. He stoops as he swings his light in an arc. There are no windows or doors. Just a warren of tunnels disappearing into the gloom.

  ‘Cool, isn’t it?’ he says. ‘Not many people know about these. I’m guessing that’s how Korolev got in yesterday.’

  There’s a grunt in the darkness. ‘For the record, I think this is a REALLY BAD IDEA and henceforth, WE ARE ALL DOOMED.’

  ‘Doomed . . . doomed . . . doomed . . .’ echoes the tunnel.

  ‘Merv?’

  Someone takes my arm. ‘What Merv’s tryin’ to say is, it ain’t good news.’

  ‘Lottie!’ My skin prickles. ‘Have they found Mum already?’

  ‘No. But Ms Celia lied to you.’

  ‘Lied . . . lied . . . lied . . .’ echoes the tunnel.

  ‘I know, she thinks Mum’s the mole.’

  ‘That ain’t all,’ says Lottie. ‘Merv – tell her what you told us.’

  Merv ducks. ‘Was that a bat? Are there bats down here? I don’t know why you dragged me along. I’ve got a cough and a headache and now I can’t breathe properly. Two minutes ago, I forgot the value of pi. I never forget things. NOOOO. It’s histoplasmosis! I’ve got to get out of here.’ He sneezes. ‘See.’

  Spencer grabs Merv by the collar. ‘Bad news, Merv. It’s more likely to be that other deadly illness . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The COMMON COLD? Now, tell Milly about the stuff on Ms Celia’s hard drive!’

  Merv sniffs. ‘I hacked into Ms Celia’s computer and found several files named Odile. They were all about Eva. You know your mum was on tour just before she disappeared?’

  ‘Yes – she was away for three weeks.’

  ‘She’d been undercover. Her mission was to identify the mole at Swan House. She was supposed to meet Ms Celia after the Scarlet Slippers, but when she didn’t show up, Ms Celia assumed she’d been the mole all along.’

  ‘Everything about Korolev and the kidnap was a lie,’ says Spencer.

  ‘Yeah,’ says Lottie. ‘Kristina was never goin’ to tell you where your mum was cos she doesn’t have a bleedin’ clue. They was all lyin’ to you, Ms Celia, Madame, even the Captain.’

  So that’s why Ms Celia just said she was sorry . . . ‘I don’t understand. If they thought Mum was a mole, why did they recruit me?’

  ‘Your mum never missed seein’ you dance, did she?’ says Lottie. ‘They used you as bait.’

  Spencer nods. ‘Ms Celia thought if you danced in the Scarlet Slippers, your mum would sneak in to watch. Why do think you were given all the main roles? Problem is, Ms Celia’s little plan didn’t wo
rk. She’s not here.’

  ‘So, where is she?’

  Merv’s monobrow shrugs. ‘We don’t know. I suppose there’s still a chance she might turn up. If she is the mole.’

  ‘Of course she’s not the bleedin’ mole,’ says Lottie.

  Merv backs into the tunnel. ‘Why are you all looking so dangerous? I’m only stating the facts.’

  ‘There’s somefink else,’ says Lottie. ‘Ms Celia’s got a Plan B. She’s pinning all her hopes on Willow Perkins.’

  ‘What?’ I say. ‘Why Willow?’

  ‘Sorry, Milly. Perkins told Madame that it was her your Mum really wanted to see. So now they’re goin’ to use her as bait. She’ll be dancin’ your mum’s favourite – Swan Lake – tomorrow night.’

  I slump down on the cold, damp stone and do my very best to fight back the tears. ‘I’m going home.’

  ‘We all think you should go to Mr Fly Fishing’s place,’ says Spencer. ‘Keep your head down, in case they come after you.’

  Lottie crouches down next to me. ‘Don’t you go givin’ up, Milly. Between us, we’ll prove ’em wrong. Look, you can take this wiv you.’

  Lottie pulls a strap over her head. When I see Mum’s red velvet evening bag, something sparks inside me. ‘I’ve put Tom’s doobries inside, in case you need them.’

  I jump up and look through the bag. ‘Mum left clues, didn’t she? She left the programme. There might be something else I’ve missed. And Lottie – you need to find her bracelet. That might be able to tell us something too.’

  ‘If it’s in Madame’s study, we’ll find it.’

  Spencer nods at Lottie. ‘OK, Shorty, we’d better get back before they guess something’s up. Merv – don’t forget which tunnel to take.’

  Lottie gives me a hug, then she and Spencer dash back to the spiral staircase. Spencer pauses on the bottom rung. ‘Kydd, I don’t suppose it matters now, but you were brilliant tonight. Pity you can’t dance tomorrow. We’d have won the Scarlet Slipper for sure.’

  ‘For sure . . . for sure . . . for sure . . .’ echoes the tunnel as his footsteps clang up the steps.

  Merv sniffs next to me.

  ‘So which way now, Merv?’