BELLADONNA HAD BEEN sitting outside the office for what felt like hours. As soon as they’d arrived at the gray concrete building, Mrs. Lazenby had signed in at the door, thanked Constable Dodd for his help, and led the way back through a maze of narrow corridors and cubicles to a small office with a window that looked over the car park. She hadn’t taken Belladonna into the office, though. She’d just smiled and directed her to a seat on a row of plastic chairs that had probably once been colorful but were now rather grimy and depressing.
Mrs. Lazenby had gone into her office, removed her coat, sat at her desk, and picked up the phone.
Since then, there had been a great deal of to-ing and fro-ing, all of which Belladonna had been able to see through the large glass window in one wall. One woman had come with a fat folder, which Belladonna assumed was her file. Mrs. Lazenby had looked at this, then made several phone calls, none of which appeared to have been answered. Then another woman had arrived, smiled briefly at Belladonna, then gone in and talked with Mrs. Lazenby for what seemed like ages. While that was going on, a very young man had come and asked her if she’d like a cup of tea or some juice. She declined.
The woman left, then returned with a stack of folders. She and Mrs. Lazenby talked for a while, then started making phone calls. These calls seemed to be answered, but judging by the expression on both women’s faces, they weren’t getting the results they were hoping for.
Belladonna squirmed on the chair. The seat was really hard. Why couldn’t they provide cushions? She glanced up at a clock on the wall. If her grandmother had gone out, she’d be back by now and have heard her message. But if that was the case, Belladonna knew the old lady would already be here, storming the halls and hauling her granddaughter back home again.
“What happened?”
She jumped. For some reason, she hadn’t expected to see a ghost here. Though, of course, there was no reason why she shouldn’t. She turned slowly and looked at the boy. He was younger than her and wore a dark green sweater that had holes at the elbows. He was wearing the gray shorts children used to wear back when her grandmother was young, and his knees were a mottled red and blue from the cold. Gray socks wrinkled around his ankles, and his brown shoes were scuffed and worn. His face was round and a little mournful.
“My Mum and Dad are gone,” said Belladonna. “They can’t find my Grandma.”
Neither of these was exactly true, but Belladonna couldn’t think of what to say. How could this have happened? How could she be here?
“Hmm,” said the boy thoughtfully, “that’s what happened to me. Sort of.”
Belladonna didn’t find this at all comforting.
“What d’you mean?” she asked quietly, after glancing around to make sure that no one could see her talking to the air.
The boy sniffled and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his sweater. The youngish man came scurrying along the hall with another fat folder and took it into the office. He smiled at Belladonna when he left.
“My Nan died,” began the boy.
“I’m sorry,” said Belladonna.
“That’s alright,” said the boy, smiling slightly. “She’d been very poorly. I was poorly too. I had a sister and they were trying to find her.”
“Did they?” asked Belladonna, knowing the answer but wanting to be friendly.
“No.” The boy shook his head. “I had to go to the hospital. They said I had p-new … p-new…”
“Pneumonia?”
“Yes. There’s a p in it somewhere, though.”
“You don’t pronounce the p.”
“Oh. Well, anyway, I died of it.”
Belladonna smiled in what she hoped was a sympathetic manner and glanced up into the office. Mrs. Lazenby was on the phone again.
“But why did you come back here?” she asked finally. “Couldn’t you have picked somewhere nicer? Did anyone explain that you could only haunt one place?”
“Course they did,” shrugged the boy. “I just thought she might come. My sister.”
“But she didn’t.”
“Not yet.”
Belladonna stared at him, her sense of gloom growing.
“I’m not getting you down, am I?” asked the boy, attempting a smile. “It’s okay here, really. They have a color television in the break room. I’d never seen a television at all before I died and now I watch color television all the time.”
“That sounds nice.”
“Belladonna, would you come in here for a moment?”
Mrs. Lazenby was standing in the open doorway.
“Off you go, then,” said the boy. “I hope they find your Grandma.”
Belladonna nodded to him in what she hoped was a discreet manner and joined Mrs. Lazenby.
“Were you talking to someone, dear?”
“No,” said Belladonna. “Just … you know … telling myself a story.”
Mrs. Lazenby nodded but looked unconvinced and a little worried. Great, thought Belladonna, now she thinks I’m a loony.
“Have a seat.”
Belladonna sat in the only other chair in the tiny office.
“This is Miss Kitson,” said Mrs. Lazenby. “She’s a colleague of mine.”
“Have you found my grandmother?” asked Belladonna.
“No, dear. Though according to our records, you also have an aunt, living in London. Why didn’t you tell us about her?”
Belladonna looked from one to the other and shrugged. It was late, she was tired, and she just couldn’t think of stories or excuses anymore. All she wanted to do was go home and get into her own bed and have this all be over.
“Well, as it happens, we haven’t been able to reach her either,” said Mrs. Lazenby in a tone that implied that if Belladonna had mentioned it earlier, they would certainly have been able to do so.
“So…,” began Belladonna with a sinking heart, “what does that mean? Are you going to send me to an orphanage?”
“No, dear,” said Miss Kitson, smiling. “We try not to do that these days. The family unit is important, so we try to place our … clients with families.”
“Families?”
“Temporarily,” said Mrs. Lazenby quickly. “Foster homes, they’re called.”
“But, I don’t want to.… My Grandma will be back; she must’ve just gone somewhere. Have you looked?”
“Of course we’ve looked,” said Mrs. Lazenby. “And if she’s still missing by this time tomorrow, we’ll let the police know that she’s a missing person, but until then, we have to deal with you. That is, we need to find you some nice people to stay with.”
Belladonna just stared at them. She knew that if she tried to speak, she’d burst into tears.
“Most of our foster parents are up to their ears, unfortunately,” said Miss Kitson cheerfully. “But by sheer chance, the Proctors are completely available.”
Belladonna didn’t say anything. The two women looked at each other.
“The Proctors are really wonderful people,” said Mrs. Lazenby, patting the fat file in front of her. “You’re a very lucky girl.”
“They’ve been on our books for years,” added Miss Kitson. “And they live quite close by, so there’ll be no problems with school.”
“So,” said Mrs. Lazenby, standing up, “let’s get you over there and into a warm bed. I’m sure things will look much better in the morning.”
Miss Kitson jumped to her feet as well, as if their display of energy would make Belladonna feel better, which of course it couldn’t.
She picked up her backpack and stood up slowly. Mrs. Lazenby steered her out of the office, pulling a face at Miss Kitson on the way that she thought Belladonna couldn’t see but which communicated her feeling that this particular “client” was being just a bit too sulky and ungrateful for her liking.
“Best of luck!” called Miss Kitson brightly as they disappeared into the maze of cubicles and corridors. “Not that you’ll need it!”
Belladonna followed Mrs. Lazenby back toward the en
trance. It was dark outside now and even the air inside felt cold. She glanced to her left as they neared the front door and found herself looking into the break room. There were old couches, chairs, and tables scattered about and a television suspended from one wall. It was playing cartoons and there was the ghost of the sad boy lying on the couch, not looking sad at all. He waved as Belladonna passed.
And then they were outside in the dark, and the chill February wind whipped around their faces.
“Ooh!” said Mrs. Lazenby, shivering. “It’s starting to feel like it might snow. This way: My car’s just over here. You don’t look very warm. Are you warm?”
“I’m fine,” muttered Belladonna as Mrs. Lazenby unlocked an old hatchback and cleared papers, sweets wrappers, and empty coffee cups from the front seat.
Belladonna slid into the passenger seat and closed the door. Mrs. Lazenby adjusted the rearview mirror and smiled encouragingly.
“Here we go!”
Belladonna felt a little guilty. Mrs. Lazenby was trying really hard to be cheerful and it seemed a bit rude not to at least respond with a smile, but somehow she couldn’t muster even that. How could this have happened? This morning, everything had seemed fine. And there was the trip to the monastery. Had that been today? It felt like weeks ago.
The car lurched forward.
“Oops!” said Mrs. Lazenby. “Reverse would probably be a good idea.”
The monastery … There was something … Belladonna racked her brains. No, it wasn’t at the monastery, it was on the bus, on the trip there. It was something Louise Pargiter had said: “Enjoy your last day of freedom.”
Could that be it? Could all this be Sophie Warren’s revenge? Belladonna felt the anger beginning to boil in her veins. She took a deep breath … no, it was silly. Sophie didn’t know she was living at her parents’ house, and even if she did, how would she know that her grandmother didn’t live there too? And anyway, who’d listen to a schoolgirl?
Unless Sophie had told her mother. Maybe Mrs. Warren …
“Here we are!”
Belladonna looked up.
“What is that?” she blurted as the shadow of a huge building loomed before the tiny car.
“It’s Shady Gardens,” said Mrs. Lazenby. “Isn’t it spectacular? I’d thought they were going to demolish it, but apparently it’s being saved. They say it’s an architectural treasure, though when I was growing up, we always called it the Bullring.”
It was much more like a bullring than any shady gardens Belladonna had ever seen. It wasn’t that it was tall—no more than four stories high so far as she could make out in the dark. But it was circular, spreading out on either side like a huge gladiatorial arena. Mrs. Lazenby drove through a wide arch on one side and into the center of the building. There were a few yellow lights scattered about near the entrances to stairwells, but all they really did was add to the general feeling of gloom.
Mrs. Lazenby parked the car, and Belladonna got out. There were a few scrubby bushes straining for life in the concrete, and near the middle was bit of beaten earth with a swing set on it. There was only one swing, though, swaying slightly in the breeze, the sound of its chains echoing around the courtyard. Belladonna pulled her jacket close, picked up her backpack, and followed Mrs. Lazenby to one of the stairwells.
“They’re up here,” she said. “The lifts don’t work, apparently. There’s some big architectural firm from London coming to do the actual refurbishment. Mr. Proctor is just keeping an eye on the place. Don’t suppose any of us will be able to afford to live here when they’re done. Who would’ve thought, eh? I was sure it was going to be knocked down. Ah, here we are!”
She stopped in front of a bright green door. The doorknob was brightly polished and Belladonna could see a row of ornamental china dogs ranged across the windowsill. There were dark red curtains that had been drawn closed, but a few streaks of light broke across the walkway, and the sound of a television could be heard.
“Now, don’t worry,” whispered Mrs. Lazenby. “Like I said, the Proctors have been on our books for years and have lots of experience. They’re really nice people; you’ll really like them.”
“Yes,” said Belladonna, as some sort of response seemed to be expected.
“They’ve been on our books for years,” repeated Mrs. Lazenby.
Belladonna glanced at her sharply. There was something odd about the way she said it, but Mrs. Lazenby just smiled and rang the doorbell.
The door was opened immediately, as if Mrs. Proctor had been standing just on the other side, waiting. But if Belladonna was doubtful at first, all of her concerns were soon swept away in the warmth of the greeting as she and Mrs. Lazenby were hurried into the sitting room, urged to sit down in front of the old gas fire, and given cups of tea and cream cakes.
Mr. Proctor was sitting in a sturdy wingback chair near the fire. He was thin and gangly and didn’t seem entirely comfortable as he folded up his newspaper and tried to appear welcoming, but his wife more than made up for his awkwardness. Unlike her husband in almost every way, Mrs. Proctor was small and round, with glowing rosy cheeks and dark hair just starting to turn to gray, which was pulled back into an untidy bun that seemed to be held in place by two pencils.
“Well, now, you must be Belladonna!” she said, beaming. “I know this must be terribly hard for you, but don’t worry, I’m sure you won’t be here long. Better here than in some horrible cold office, eh?”
Belladonna tried to smile. She wanted to be polite but she wasn’t sure how convincing she was being.
“Right,” said Mr. Proctor. “D’you have any bags?”
“Oh, er, no,” said Mrs. Lazenby, a little sheepishly. “It was all rather sudden, I’m afraid. We’ll pick some things up for her in the morning. Why don’t you give me your key, dear?”
Belladonna’s heart leapt at the thought that a stranger would be rooting through her home, but she handed over the key without a word. It was as if a piece of her thought that Mrs. Lazenby might discover her parents, though she knew that was impossible.
“Well, let me show you up to your room anyway,” said Mr. Proctor, smiling. His eyes were a piercing pale gray that seemed all the paler in his tanned face. He smiled easily and winked at Belladonna as he led the way upstairs.
“Here you are,” he announced, pushing a door open. “The bathroom’s right there, and me and Flo are across the hall there.”
Belladonna stepped into the room. It was bright and airy and clean as a new pin. It seemed to have been decorated with a mind to suiting anyone who might come, and Belladonna found herself wondering how many other children, frightened, worried, or relieved, had found a welcome here.
She turned and smiled at Mr. Proctor. “Thank you.”
“No problem at all. You settle in now, Belladonna.… That’s a very long name, isn’t it? Is there something they call you for short?”
“No, I’m just Belladonna.”
“Hmph. Well, you settle in. Flo’ll come up and see to you in a bit. There are some girls’ night things in that second drawer.”
Belladonna kept smiling until the door clicked shut, then she dropped her backpack next to the bed and sat down. Somehow the niceness of Mrs. Lazenby and the Proctors made it worse. It would have been so much easier if they’d been horrible. Then she could have run away and … and …
And what? She couldn’t stay at home all the time. And what had happened to Grandma Johnson? Aunt Deirdre’s disappearance had been one thing; she hadn’t really known her, and everyone had always said she was odd, so it didn’t seem so strange. But Grandma Johnson wasn’t strange. She was reliable and responsible. She wouldn’t just vanish. Not without saying something. Phoning. Or leaving a note. And the teapot was still warm!
“Is everything alright, dear?” Mrs. Proctor peeked around the edge of the door. She wasn’t smiling now, she just seemed concerned. “Mrs. Lazenby’s gone, but she’ll be back tomorrow to check that everything’s alright. Did Stan tell you a
bout the girls’ night things?”
“Um … yes, thank you.”
“I think you’ve probably been through a lot today, haven’t you?”
Belladonna nodded.
“Well, you just get to bed. I’ll bring you some hot chocolate. I spoke to Mrs. Lazenby and we both think it would be best if you stayed off school tomorrow and got your bearings a bit.”
“Thank you.”
“Right. Well, hop into bed and I’ll be back with the cocoa.”
The door clicked shut. She waited for a few moments, then checked the drawer with the “night things.” She picked out some pajamas, changed into them, and scrambled into bed just as Mrs. Proctor returned with the hot chocolate.
“There you go, love,” she said.
Belladonna took the mug and sipped some of the chocolate. It was velvety and soft and slid easily down her throat. For the first time since the doorbell had rung at home, she actually felt safe. She smiled at Mrs. Proctor.
“Thank you.”
“Alright. Well, you settle down. It’ll be morning before you know it.”
7
Shadows
BELLADONNA WOKE slowly the next morning. For a moment she thought she was back in her own bed at home, listening to the clatter of dishes in the kitchen as her mother created some new breakfast surprise. But the clatter wasn’t her mother, it was Mrs. Proctor, and the room wasn’t her own, just a generic kids’ room always ready for whatever waifs and strays came its way.
She got out of bed, feeling a little guilty and ungrateful. She had to remember that she was a guest and that it was really nice of the Proctors to take her in. She made her way to the bathroom and was surprised to see herself looking so tired. There were unfamiliar circles under her eyes and she seemed pale. Well, she thought, probably only to be expected. She cleaned her teeth and went downstairs.
Mrs. Proctor was waiting in the small kitchen, a packet of bacon in one hand.
“Good morning, sleepyhead!” she said cheerfully. “You’ve had a good sleep; it’s past ten o’clock. What would you like: bacon and eggs or cereal?”
“Um … cereal, thanks,” said Belladonna, sitting down at the table.
The Midnight Gate Page 6