The Moonlight Statue

by Holly Webb

  Contents

  1. Journey to Adventure

  2. A Strange New Life

  3. A Moonlight Race

  4. The Impossible Dream

  5. Footsteps

  6. The Guardian of Penhallow

  7. The Boy

  8. Ghost Hunting

  9. William’s Story

  10. All Alone

  About Holly Webb

  Copyright

  Polly looked around the flat, heartbreakingly bare and empty. How could all their life have been packed up into one small van? She had loved living in London so much but now it felt as if London was forgetting them too easily. They were slipping out of the city, and no one had noticed.

  It would have been different if Dad was still with them, Polly thought. She peered out of the window at her mum, who was talking to the removal man, pointing at something on her phone. Probably the map, Polly guessed. The removal people had been a bit doubtful about how to reach Penhallow Hall. The roads all around it were tiny and twisted, Mum said, with tall hedges that leaned in, so nobody ever drove fast. It was one of the things she’d kept mentioning, when she was trying to convince Polly the move to Cornwall was a good idea. How quiet and peaceful it would be – hardly any cars, just a tractor every so often and even quite a few people riding horses.

  Polly reckoned Mum was exaggerating a bit but she understood why. If they’d been living there last year, Dad would still be alive, wouldn’t he? Lorries couldn’t fit down those narrow little lanes, so he wouldn’t have been knocked off his bike.

  She shook her head briskly and the ends of her dark ponytail smacked her cheek. It made her eyes water – or that was going to be her excuse if Mum saw her, anyway.

  She couldn’t keep thinking about Dad. They were having a new start. From now on it would just be Polly and Mum and no one would know any different. No one would put on that fake sorry face to talk to her. No one would whisper when she walked down the corridor at school: “Did you know her dad died? He got run over on his bike.”

  They weren’t being horrible, or they weren’t meaning to be. But ever since January, what had happened to Dad had become the most interesting thing about Polly. The story had followed her all the way through the school year. Everyone seemed to know. School felt weird and fake, because people were so nice and careful not to upset her. Nobody was allowed to argue with her any more. Her friends seemed to be tiptoeing around her. Polly’s best friend Becca paused every time she spoke to her, as though she was checking that she wasn’t going to accidentally say something awful. It made it very hard to talk about anything, let alone the important stuff. Even the teachers were being eerily kind. It seemed ridiculous to complain that everyone was too nice but that was how it felt to Polly.

  Still, it was the summer holidays now. And the school down in Penhallow village went back later than London schools. She had seven whole weeks where she didn’t have to explain to anyone that she only had a mum. When she started the new school, she could just say she didn’t have a dad and no one would ask any questions. It would be fine. Everything was going to be fine. That was what she and Mum had been telling each other.

  Polly grabbed her jacket off the windowsill and banged the door behind her without looking back.

  “You didn’t tell me it would be like this!” Polly gawped at the front of the house. Pale honey stone stretched on and on under the deep blue sky and what seemed like a thousand windows sparkled back at her.

  “I said it was big. And I showed you pictures!”

  It was true. When Mum had found out she’d got the job of House Manager, she’d shown Polly photos and brochures and even a video on Penhallow Hall’s website. She’d told Polly about the building being over four hundred years old and how the Penhallows had lived there even before that. They had been one of the richest families in Cornwall and had rooms full of gorgeous treasures… But somehow none of this had prepared Polly for quite how huge and grand the house would be. They were actually going to live here?

  Well… In a very, very tiny bit of here, anyway.

  “If you look sideways and behind that chimney,” Mum said, squinting at the roof, “I think that might be your bedroom window. Up there, look? The round one.”

  Polly could just about see it, tucked far away in the roof, near the top of a little turret. Somewhere deep down inside her, a spark of excitement flared. It felt strange – she had been so sad, for so long. Maybe Mum was right – they did both need something new. Polly had gone along with Mum’s plan but she hadn’t ever imagined it working. She’d been sure that the cold, dark ball of sadness in her chest was there forever. How could it not be, when Dad was gone? But somehow this ancient house was telling her, This is going to be an adventure…

  “It’s great to see you again, Anna. And really nice to meet you, Polly.” Stephen handed Polly’s mum a huge mug of tea and pulled out a biscuit tin. “You’ll be in here a lot, I expect,” he said. “Everyone meets up in the staff room when they’ve got a break, so there’s always tea on the go, and there’ll be biscuits if you look hard enough.”

  Polly took a custard cream, smiling. She liked Stephen – he looked scruffy in his “Penhallow Staff” fleece, with his boots caked in mud and his wild curly hair, but his bright blue eyes were friendly.

  There were about twenty volunteers who ran tours round the house – part of Mum’s job was to manage them all. But Stephen and Polly and her mum would be the only people living at Penhallow all the time. Stephen had told them how he had a cottage in the grounds, converted from part of the stables. As Head Gardener he had lots of people working for him, too. But everyone went home at six o’clock.

  “Want some tea, Polly? Or squash?”Stephen peered hopefully into a cupboard. “Ummm, sorry… We might need to get some in. Not sure there’s been anyone under thirty living at Penhallow for about a hundred years!”

  “Really?” Polly swung round from the window. She couldn’t stop staring. The gardens were beautiful, lush and green in the sunlight but, even more excitingly, she could just catch a glimpse of the glittering sea through the trees. “No children? Didn’t the family who lived here have any then?”

  “Well, the Penhallows sold the house in the 1920s. Since then it’s had quite a few owners and none of them had children. Of course it belongs to the charity now. The Penhallow History Trust – they employ me and your mum. Perhaps you as well, when you’re a bit older. There are always lots of holiday jobs, working in the café or the gift shop, that sort of thing.” He grinned at her.

  Polly nodded. She hadn’t thought of that. It was really nice, the way Stephen seemed to see that she and her mum came as a pair. She’d been a bit worried that the other staff at the house wouldn’t want her hanging about.

  Stephen took a big gulp of tea. “The odd thing is, the house hasn’t changed much, even though so many different people have lived here. The Penhallow family lost their son, fighting in the First World War, and they left the house. They sold most of the contents to the new owners, all the furniture and paintings and things. Since then everyone’s kept it the same – because it all looks so right, I suppose. No one wanted to move things from the places they’d stood in for hundreds of years. There’s even trunks and boxes of old papers and photos up in the attic still.”

  “It is odd that they left so much behind,” Polly’s mum agreed, leaning forwards eagerly. “Wonderful, though. There are some fascinating things here, it would have been heartbreaking if they’d all been taken away and sold. I can’t wait to get a look at those attics. I’m sure we’ll be able to find so much material up there – family photos and documents… We can set up displays! I was thinking that it would be a great way to bring the past alive for the visitors – showing how one
family was caught up in world events throughout history.”

  Polly smiled to herself and went back to gazing out of the window at the thin, sparkling blue line of the sea. It was nice to hear her mum sounding so enthusiastic. We’re not forgetting about you, she promised her dad silently. It’s just … it’s like the ice is melting a bit.

  “Do you like it?” Polly’s mum asked. “I know it’s a bit of a funny shape for a bedroom but it’s because it’s up in the turret.”

  “I don’t like it, I love it,” Polly told her firmly. “Look, I can see the sea from the windows on this side, and all the way down the front drive on the other. And the weird shape is fun. What’s so good about a bedroom that’s square?”

  Her mum laughed. “I suppose so. Oh, Polly, you are all right with this move, aren’t you? We’re not doing the wrong thing?”

  Polly whirled round and hugged her tightly. “Of course I am. Even before I came here, I was. And now that I’ve seen it – this house is amazing, Mum. I love it that we’ve got our own little flat in a turret, too – it’s like a fairytale castle!”

  “It is pretty special,” her mum agreed. “There’s something about it, isn’t there? I know we’ve hardly seen any of the main rooms yet but I feel right, being here. There’s a curious sort of friendliness about Penhallow, which is strange when you think how enormous it is. I feel … welcomed.”

  “Me, too.” Polly nodded. “And it’s almost ours, Mum! Did you hear what Stephen said? He has a cottage in the old stables, and it doesn’t join on to the main house. It’s only us that live here. After six o’clock, this is our house.”

  “So you fancy stretching out on the sofas in the Chinese Drawing Room?” her mum said, laughing. “Well, I’m not letting you eat your dinner off the gold plates in that huge dining room, Polly. Don’t even think about it.”

  Polly shrugged. “I just want to explore it all, without anyone else around.”

  Her mum smiled. “I know what you mean,” she said. “Come on – come and help me make some dinner. Let’s see what our new kitchen’s like to cook in. It’ll be miles better than the old flat.”

  “That’s not saying much, Mum,” Polly pointed out.

  “I know – the fact we’ll both actually fit in it is a good start.”

  It was one of the nicest evenings that Polly could remember, even though she was tired from the journey and all the unpacking. She and her mum were so looking forward to exploring the house and the gardens over the summer holidays. And the beach! How could she have forgotten that? She still hadn’t been down there. She sat at the little round table in the corner of the living room, resting her chin on one hand while she twirled her fork in her spaghetti.

  “And there I was thinking I’d never be able to get you to go to bed tonight,” her mum said, laughing. “Have you even got the energy for celebratory chocolate cake?”

  “Of course I have!” said Polly but she spoiled it with a huge yawn.

  “All right. But you’re going to bed straight after.” Mum picked up their plates and Polly watched her sleepily as she went into the kitchen and came back with a slice of delicious-looking cake.

  But even though she was sleepy, she still noticed Mum glancing over at the door to the flat and to the heavy, new-looking bolt at the top of it. There was an anxious look in her eyes.

  A cold chill ran down the back of Polly’s neck and the delicious sleepy feeling faded a little. Did her mum think it was going to happen here, too? Her cheeks reddening, she dug her fork into the cake quickly and tried to smile and say how delicious it was. But her voice came out flat and odd and her mum sighed.

  “Sorry, Polly. I didn’t mean to upset you…”

  “I won’t do it again,” she whispered.

  “It’s not your fault, love. I know you don’t do it on purpose. It’s only because you were so upset. But in this great enormous house – I can’t help worrying. If you did sleepwalk, you could end up anywhere.”

  “I won’t sleepwalk. I promise I won’t.” Polly clenched her nails tightly into her palms.

  “Oh, Polly,” said Mum, pulling her into a hug. “I’m sure things will be better. We’ll love it here at Penhallow. I know we will.”

  Polly wandered through the library, thinking over her last few days at Penhallow Hall. She ran her fingertips lightly over a shelf of leather-bound books with golden letters on their spines. Now that she’d been there for a while, she’d been introduced to most of the volunteers who ran the tours. The ladies reminded Polly of her granny Ella, always asking how she was and wasn’t she cold without a cardigan on? But no one ever stopped her to ask if she was all right without her parents or if she wanted to hear the story of this suit of armour, or to tell her not to go past the barriers into the private bits of the house. It was obvious that she was different to all the children who visited Penhallow.

  It sort of felt like she belonged to the house. It wasn’t just the way the volunteers all smiled at her – there was something about the whole place that made her feel she was meant to be there. Polly couldn’t pin it down. She spent a lot of time wandering about the rooms, trying to work out the secret. Something about the smell of the furniture polish or the flowers? But it couldn’t be that. Penhallow made her feel as though she was special – that wasn’t just lavender-scented polish.

  Polly loved the emerald perfection of the formal gardens, too. There was a neatly mown lawn stretching out in front of the terrace, with marble steps leading down to it. Polly felt like someone out of a history book as she strolled past the two huge stone dogs guarding the steps. They were gorgeously carved, even though time had softened their edges, and Polly could see the strength of the muscles under their stone skin, as though they wanted to leap down and bound across the grass.

  It wasn’t only the house and gardens that were beautiful. The wild beauty of the cliffs and the rocky beach held her spellbound. But there was no one to share them with – except for her mum.

  Polly frowned and then sighed. She couldn’t be angry. This was Mum’s big chance. An amazing job, at the very time when she needed a new start. But did Mum have to be quite so enthusiastic? She’d dived so deep into Penhallow’s history that she hardly knew what year they were in, let alone what day it was. Mum had promised she’d go down to the beach with Polly soon but there was so much work for her to catch up on. Mum wouldn’t let Polly swim by herself, so she still hadn’t been in the water properly. All she’d been able to do was paddle.

  Polly shook her head and stepped out through the little library door, the one that was hidden behind the fake books. She ducked past the volunteer explaining who all the people in the portraits were – Polly had heard the speech a few times now. They were all Penhallows, mostly from the eighteenth century, when the family had made a lot of money from mining copper. She wasn’t keen to hear it all again.

  She didn’t have anything to do, that was the problem. There were bits of the gardens Polly hadn’t explored yet but she’d had enough of gardens, even beautiful ones… She’d go and get something to read, she decided, and sit by the window in the old gallery.

  She’d discovered the gallery while she was exploring the private rooms in the house a few days before. It was dusty and most of the furniture was covered in sheets but the windows looked out on to the garden – great tall windows made from hundreds of little glittering panes of glass. They had wide cushioned window seats below them, and even though the silk embroidery was threadbare and full of rips, they were deliciously comfortable.

  “Look! She’s allowed through there,” someone said as Polly ducked under the red rope. “How come? I bet all the interesting stuff’s back there, too.”

  Polly glanced back, trying not to smirk. Actually all the really nice things were in the main display rooms but she wasn’t going to tell them that.

  The fair-haired girl who’d spoken was standing there with her hands on her hips, looking annoyed. The rest of her family, two more fair girls who had to be her sisters and
her parents, peered down the passageway after Polly.

  “She’s so lucky,” sighed one of the smaller girls.

  “Couldn’t we go down there?” the littlest one begged.

  Polly vanished round the corner, grinning to herself, and raced up the back stairs to the flat to grab an armful of books. She eyed the pile a little worriedly as she came back down a few minutes later.

  Mum hadn’t had time to take her into Penhallow village yet, let alone to the nearest town, where the library was. If she raced through these, she’d be stuck with nothing to read. But at least Mum had bought biscuits – sponge fingers, Polly’s favourite. Polly had four neatly lined up on the topmost book. She was set till dinner time, she reckoned.

  But an hour later, she’d eaten all her sponge fingers. And she’d finished one of the books – a dog book that Mum had given her for her birthday. She’d read it before but it was her favourite – a fat book full of photographs of different breeds. It was supposed to help you find the perfect dog for you. Polly loved it but if she had a dog, she wouldn’t care which breed it was. Just any dog would be amazing. It wasn’t going to happen, though. They couldn’t have a dog in their tiny London flat and they wouldn’t be allowed to keep one here. Not in a stately home. Although that wasn’t really fair, when you looked at all the dogs in the portraits.

  Polly closed the book with a snap and gazed out of the window. The glass was old and thick, with a faint green tinge to it. A couple of the diamond-shaped panes had odd swirls in them, which made everything look mysterious.

  She pressed her cheek against the coolness of the glass, peering down at the gardens. She could see that fair-haired family, walking across the lawn and she twisted round to look at them better. The oldest girl leaped up on to the stone balustrade that ran down the edge of the terrace and turned a cartwheel along it. Polly sucked in her breath admiringly. She couldn’t do cartwheels. Then the girl jumped down and grabbed her littlest sister in a bear hug, swinging her round and round. Polly was sure she could hear the little girl giggling, even from up here. All of a sudden she ached to be down there with them, playing silly games.