The Body Thief

by Stephen M. Giles

  “Arrogant—you? Never! Don’t forget, dear; Uncle Silas admires ambition and confidence. You have a vision for Sommerset and what a wonderful vision it is! Trust me, cousin, you simply must do it! With Milo scheming to win our uncle’s fortune for himself, we have to do whatever it takes to gain the upper hand…for you.”

  “Do you really think I should?”

  “On my life I do, cousin! Uncle Silas will see you are a girl of vision and progress. In short, the perfect heir for Sommerset!”

  “All right,” said Adele shyly. “I’ll try.” A smile spread across Adele’s face. Her stomach tingled. With Isabella’s help, Sommerset was going to be hers!

  Just at that moment a thunderous whooping sound echoed through the vaulted library. It seemed to be coming from the hallway outside and both girls looked toward the double doors just as a beaming woman with rosy cheeks and the hair of a circus clown burst through, hooting and hollering.

  “Hello, pets!” she bellowed, digging a half-eaten cookie from her pocket and shoving it into her gaping mouth. “Oh, what darling girls you are!”

  “Cousin, there’s a madwoman in the house!” cried Isabella, trying desperately to wake Thorn from his nap so he could attack the intruder. “Call security!”

  “An intruder?” Rosemary laughed raucously. “Heavens, no! I’m your long-lost Aunt Rosemary. Now come over here and give me a kiss!”

  The girls were speechless and bug-eyed. Adele was the first to move, walking carefully down the spiral staircase to the library’s ground floor. As she crossed the room toward her aunt, Adele was struck by the joy slashing about all over her face and the brilliant red hair on her head. The professor had never spoken much about her sister Rosemary, apart from calling her a fat spinster who had wasted her life traveling the world like a bag lady!

  “What a beauty you are!” Rosemary cried, swallowing Adele up in her embrace and planting a cookie-coated kiss on her cheek. She looked admiringly at Adele’s hair, her mouth blooming in a gigantic grin. “Magnificent! Isn’t red hair a joy?”

  “Well…I suppose,” said Adele rather meekly.

  “Oh, hair can be such a dull business,” declared Aunt Rosemary, “all those blondes and brunettes clogging up the streets. But red—now that’s a color people notice!” She giggled, tapping her niece’s freckled nose. “Wonderful! Wonderful!”

  Blushing furiously, Adele found it rather difficult to speak. The thought that someone might actually be glad to have red hair was utterly shocking. After all, her mother considered Adele’s hair a great tragedy, a curse. And it was…wasn’t it? Even asking the question was bold and new, and the girl’s stomach began to tingle.

  “And as for you,” declared Rosemary, turning her attention to Isabella (who was utterly appalled by the pear-shaped, red-cheeked, bucktoothed creature stalking toward her). “Well, you’re every bit as pretty as your father described in his letters. And what marvelous eyes! I don’t think I’ve ever seen a prettier shade of blue.”

  “Well,” said Isabella, offering her aunt a faint smile, “that is very kind of you to say, Aunt Rosemary. And your eyes are very…black.”

  “It’s a Winterbottom curse, I’m afraid!” said Rosemary with a grin as she slipped off her coat and threw it carelessly over a chair. She hugged Isabella, planting a wet kiss on her pretty cheek and stunning the poor girl into silence. “Heavens, you remind me of your father! He was a beautiful-looking child, our Nathanial.”

  Isabella managed a proud smile even as she wiped the slobber from her face. “Our baby pictures are practically identical.”

  “You’ve never seen a boy more in love with himself than your father.” Rosemary let out a roar of laughter. “And so short! I had dolls taller than he was!”

  The girl’s smile fell away, replaced by a tense glare. “Come now, Aunt,” said Isabella, trying to sound lighthearted. “I am sure you’re exaggerating. Father wasn’t all that vain, surely?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Rosemary, dropping down onto the couch and letting out a lengthy sigh. “Nathanial was the vainest child who ever lived. Just ask your Uncle Silas.” She giggled again. “His favorite toy was the mirror. The silly boy would spend hours at a time staring into his own reflection. It was love at first sight, our mother use to say.” As quickly as she sat down, Rosemary jumped up again. “I must keep moving! I want to introduce myself to your cousin Milo and then have a nap before dinner. I’m dead on my feet!”

  With that she grabbed her coat and swept from the library, twirling around when she got to the door and waving at her nieces using both plump arms.

  “Lovely to meet you, pets!”

  “Miserable hag!” snapped Isabella, when her aunt was safely out of earshot. She sat down on the rug, leaning back against the sleeping crocodile. “She’s just jealous because my father is rich and handsome and she is a fat and ugly with big buckteeth and awful clothes. Did you see those big wooden buttons on her coat? I’m certain she made them herself. Probably carved them with her teeth!”

  “I thought she was very nice,” said Adele rather shyly.

  “Don’t be fooled, cousin!” Isabella crossed her legs and flicked her silky hair back over her shoulders. “Aunt Rosemary might act all jolly and fat and nice, but she came here for one reason only—the money.”

  “You think so?” said Adele, looking rather alarmed. The last thing she needed was more competition.

  “Of course! Think about it—she’s been gone for thirty years without a word, and suddenly, just when her rich brother is dying, she pops up again.” Isabella nodded with certainty. “Trust me—she wants Sommerset all for herself.”

  Adele moved closer to her cousin and whispered, “What should we do?”

  “I’ll think of something,” said Isabella firmly. “We’ve just got to keep our eyes open and make sure Uncle Silas does not get taken in by her cheap tricks.”

  “I’m glad you are here, Isabella,” said Adele, looking rather relieved. “You know so much more about people than I do. I don’t think I’d have any chance of getting Sommerset without your help.”

  “Don’t be silly,” said Isabella, smiling sweetly. “That’s what cousins are for.”

  Way down in the very depths of her heart, in the small part of Isabella that wasn’t a selfish criminal, she felt a stab of guilt for the way she was deceiving her cousin. But what choice did she have? Isabella and her father would be bankrupt within six months if she didn’t win over Silas. In fact, she really had no other choice than to string Adele along and then destroy her at just the right moment.

  “Now, are we done yet?” Isabella moaned. “We’ve been in here for hours.”

  “It’s only been twenty minutes,” said Adele. “Besides, I’d gladly spend all my days roaming these shelves.”

  Isabella rolled her eyes. “How strange you are, cousin.” She lay back, resting her head against Thorn’s circular tail.

  “And even if I was offered a million dollars I wouldn’t part with a single book from these shelves,” declared Adele. “Not one.”

  “Who would want them anyway?” said Isabella with a very unladylike snort.

  Adele laughed. “Lots of people, silly. My dad knows collectors who spend their whole lives roaming the world looking for books just like this.”

  “They do?” Isabella sprang up, her blue eyes glistening. “So you’re telling me these books are valuable?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Adele, rather pleased that her cousin was finally taking an interest in the library. She pointed down to the glass cabinets along the far wall. “Some of those in there are priceless.”

  “How funny,” said Isabella with a little giggle. She lay back down and closed her eyes, yawning loudly. “Still, what do I care about a bunch of silly old books?”

  ***

  “Milo hates you,” said Rosemary, picking a piece of roasted duck from her gigantic
molars. “I was watching him all through dinner and every time you spoke he’d give you such a look—eyes like daggers!” She laughed heartily. “And he’s a smart boy, a good boy—I can tell. He won’t be easily fooled, even by an expert like you, Silas.”

  Rosemary rested her very ample backside against her brother’s mahogany desk and picked up a crystal bowl full of walnuts.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Silas, rubbing his temples. It had been a long day and his frail body yearned for sleep. “You always did have an overactive imagination, sister.”

  “Horse poop!” said Rosemary, crunching loudly on a walnut. “You know exactly what I mean. This game you’re playing—choosing an heir from among three children you know nothing about; it’s doomed to failure.”

  Putting the bowl aside, Rosemary passed through the open French doors and stepped out into the oval courtyard, bathed in the pearly glow of a half-moon. Silas joined her, his cold bones welcoming the warm evening breeze.

  “And why do you think it will fail?” said Silas casually.

  “Well, for a start, Milo thinks you’re the devil himself,” said Rosemary. “And Isabella and Adele are only after your fortune—and why wouldn’t they be? You’ve been dangling it in front of them like a prize at a carnival. Instead of looking for the best in the children, you’re encouraging the greed in them.”

  “Sister, I have no interest in who is the most worthy,” Silas told her calmly. “My estate will go to the one I deem most suitable. Whether they are honest or kind is of no consequence.”

  Rosemary laughed heartily. “Silas, you’re as nutty as a fruitcake!”

  “How dare you!” hissed Silas (he was particularly sensitive to any suggestion that he was insane). “I assure you, dear sister, I am perfectly sane.”

  Plucking a sunflower, Rosemary sniffed it deeply. “We Winterbottoms come from a long line of complete lunatics, Silas, and you know it.”

  Ignoring the accusation (mostly because it was true), Silas headed toward a large set of grand iron gates. “Come,” he snapped, “I want to show you one of my favorite gardens.”

  “Now? Silas, it’s very late.”

  “The flowers only open at night,” he said, the wheelchair moving swiftly down the path. “Come along, sister, the night is fading fast…and so am I.”

  Rosemary chuckled sadly. She slid the sunflower into a buttonhole on her dress and followed her brother into the fragrant darkness.

  ***

  Pale moonlight filtered through the frosted arched windows bathing the wide corridor in a blue fog. At the far end of a long hall, a figure appeared from the darkness and moved quickly along the corridor. Glancing back as she went, Adele’s anxious face glowed a steely blue. She crossed through two sets of doors before entering a much narrower passageway that curved around the perimeter of the eastern tower.

  She had been coming this way since her second night at Sommerset House. It was Mrs. Hammer who had told her about the secret chamber at the back of the library that allowed access to the magnificent cathedral of books without having to pass through any of the main rooms.

  Adele’s late-night visits to the library were the jewel in her day. She would spend hours alone, going from shelf to shelf, touching the spines of ancient texts, stopping when a particular book grabbed her attention and diving into its pages. A deep peace would fill her and all the worries and anxieties about her mission at Sommerset would fall away.

  Coming to the end of the passage, Adele entered a small anteroom linked to an ordinary-looking broom closet. She stepped inside, closing the door behind her and glanced down at her feet.

  Only in Darkness Will You See the Light.

  The words were engraved into a worn slab of white marble at the threshold to the library’s hidden door. Mrs. Hammer had explained that the inscription was the work of Theodore Epstein Bloom, the eccentric millionaire who had built Sommerset all those years ago. “He was a spy apparently,” Mrs. Hammer told her. “Quite insane, they say. Legend has it that Theodore stumbled across a number of writings that he believed were a threat to mankind. That’s why he built this place—to hide the secrets. It was he who carved this message, but he died soon after and no one ever understood what it meant.”

  Adele’s spine tingled as she pushed on the back wall and it began to open. She stopped. There were voices—no more than a whisper—coming from the opposite corridor.

  Stepping back, she slipped out of the broom closet.

  “Hurry, Bingle, we must be quick!” It was Mrs. Hammer’s voice, she was sure of it.

  “Shhhh!” hissed Bingle.

  Hidden by shadows, Adele crept toward the vestibule linking both passageways. Carefully, she crossed the anteroom, hugging the wall as a faint glow from the gardens fell across her face. Uneasily, she craned her neck around the corner and peeked down the narrow corridor.

  It was difficult to see at first, but gradually the darkened figures took shape and she clearly made out Mrs. Hammer pacing nervously back and forth. Then she saw the unmistakable figure of Bingle, limping on one foot. He was accompanied by a third person. A short, bulky figure draped in a long black robe.

  The cloaked figure wore a wide hood that made it impossible for Adele to see who or what it was. Holding an arm each, Mrs. Hammer and Bingle guided the figure along the passage, stopping in front of a small door about halfway along the hall.

  Suddenly Mrs. Hammer turned, peering down the corridor. Adele held her breath. It felt as if Mrs. Hammer was looking right into her eyes.

  “Did you hear something?” whispered the old housekeeper.

  Following her gaze, Bingle squinted into the darkness.

  “Hear what?” said Bingle curtly. “There’s no one there. Come, we must hurry.”

  Hastily, Bingle opened the door and together he and Mrs. Hammer led the mystery guest inside, shutting the door behind them.

  A minute ticked slowly by before Adele began to move again. She slinked down the corridor on tiptoes and pressed her ear against the door. Carefully she began to turn the handle—it creaked and twisted like a rusty hinge. She stopped. Hurried footsteps pounded toward her. Releasing the handle, Adele ran back down the corridor. She stumbled, her slippers skidding under the polished floors and fell heavily against the wall. She hid in the darkness—heart pounding.

  Mrs. Hammer and Bingle emerged into the corridor looking rather relieved. They exchanged glances, nodding solemnly to each other like they were sealing a secret pact, before walking briskly back toward the servants’ quarters.

  Adele let out a sharp breath and stepped out of the shadows. Moments later she was opening the door. Inside she found a rather dull-looking storeroom filled with rows of neatly stacked supplies—large boxes with labels like Third-Floor Light Fittings and Silverware Polish. She crossed into a small alcove filled with pots and pans stacked on makeshift shelves and hanging from the ceiling on large metal racks. Long shadows loomed against the walls and ceiling. There was no sign of the cloaked stranger. Where had it gone? The rooms had no windows and there was only one door leading in and out. She stood there for a few moments, listening intently. Quiet as a graveyard.

  “I told you there wasn’t anyone around!” snapped Bingle as he thrust open the storeroom door again and hobbled in.

  Adele slid under a narrow table in the corner.

  “I know what I heard,” said Mrs. Hammer anxiously. “Footsteps, that’s what!”

  The old housekeeper entered the alcove sweeping her eyes over the floor like there was a mouse on the loose. “I was sure I heard footsteps.” But there was less certainty in her voice. “I really did.”

  “It was just your imagination,” said Bingle impatiently. “Do let’s go, Mrs. Hammer. I need to rest this foot. The pain is unbearable.”

  “This whole thing feels wrong, Bingle,” said the housekeeper gravely.
<
br />   “We are doing what we are told, Mrs. Hammer. Right and wrong have no part to play.”

  Adele waited until the footsteps had trailed away, listening for the sound of the storeroom door clicking shut before she emerged from hiding. When she was certain Mrs. Hammer and Bingle were truly gone, she ran out of the storeroom and charged down the long corridor, cold fear thumping in her heart. Someone was being hidden in Sommerset House; that much she was certain of. And even though the sight of the cloaked stranger had terrified her, she was determined to find out exactly who it was.

  11

  Secrets

  Milo spent his first few days at Sommerset snooping around the island trying to learn more about his mysterious uncle—but had little luck. It was as if everybody who worked for Silas Winterbottom was too terrified of the sick old man to say one word against him. Milo was starting to fear that his mission was doomed to failure.

  It was as if his uncle’s shadow loomed above the entire island like a thundercloud.

  Wiping a trickle of sweat from the back of his neck, Milo headed up a set of stone steps covered by an arbor of velvety green leaves, which led up to the orchard. At the far end of the grove, Moses was throwing a net over the branches of a large orange tree. Milo waved to him. The old man saw him but did not respond. Instead he tied a length of cord around the trunk, fixing the net firmly in place, and shuffled off in the opposite direction.

  “Don’t take it personally,” came a voice from above.

  Milo looked up just in time to see a gangly teenager leap from a nearby tree.

  “He’s like that with everyone,” the boy remarked, sliding a pair of pruning sheers into his overalls. “I’m Knox, by the way. Jeremiah Knox.”

  “Hi, I’m Milo.”

  “I know who you are,” said Knox with a smirk.

  Milo smiled awkwardly, shuffling his feet across the dirt.

  “So,” Milo said finally, “I guess you work for Moses?”

  “I work for Mr. Winterbottom,” Knox corrected him. “Moses is just a crazy old man. The truth is, it’s me who runs the gardens here at Sommerset.”