Newspapers printed edition after edition, and every one sold out as soon as it hit the streets. In school playgrounds, children pooled their lunch money to pay Emily’s ransom, and even the crime rate dropped as burglars stayed home to watch the news. Boy scouts and girl guides organised search parties in local bush-land. One group found a mysterious burned-out van, but the scout leader told the children it was just a stolen car that somebody had dumped. At Miniver House, the switchboard was jammed with calls from people wanting to help.
By Monday evening, Artemisia had almost ground to a halt. The gates of Miniver House had become the scene of a candle-lit vigil, where thousands of devoted fans gathered to lay flowers, sing Minivers songs and wait forlornly for the sisters’ return. But though the carpet of cellophane-wrapped flowers began to spread across the footpath, there was still no real news. Rosamund and Emily were gone, and the iron gates of Miniver House remained resolutely shut.
Tuesday morning dawned over the river bright and clear. It was going to be a hot day, for the summer weather had arrived, and there was no cool breeze to stir the leaves of the trees in the river parklands. The water reflected the bridge and city buildings like a mirror, though from time to time the wake of a passing boat rippled over and spoiled the picture.
There was more traffic on the river than was usual for this time of day. A boat full of divers had anchored behind Miniver House and a big blue police launch had already gone up and down several times. Every time the launch went past, it rocked a cluster of yachts moored in the bend of the river. There were nine or ten of them, and from one of the portholes in the smallest one, a tiny pale face might be glimpsed peeping out.
The yacht was called Bella-Mae. Emily had swum out to it on the previous morning, after her escape from the pipe, before the search had turned to the riverbanks, and the sniffer dogs had been brought in to track her down. The effort of reaching the boat had nearly killed her. Emily had always been a good swimmer, but the yachts were moored further out than they looked from the riverbank, and by the time she found an open hatch on Bella-Mae, she had been so exhausted it was all she could do to crawl into the cabin and collapse. Here she had slept for over fourteen hours, awaking in pitch darkness with stiff limbs, a headache, and no idea where she was.
It had been a terrible awakening. Emily had sat on her bunk and cried until she felt she was going to turn herself inside out. Never in her life had she felt so alone. What was happening was so unreal she could not even begin to comprehend it. From the moment she had been left in the basket, with her name on a label tied to her wrist, Emily had lived to be adored. Minivers were for people to love. That people might treat her harshly, that the glorious, wonderful Miniver existence should ever come under attack, and worst of all, that anyone would ever separate her from Rosamund, had simply never occurred to her. It was as unthinkable as the sun falling out of the sky and crashing into the sea.
I should never have run away, she thought self-pityingly. What was the point? They’re going to catch me eventually, anyway. At least if I’d gone with them, I’d be with Rosamund.
But Rosamund wasn’t their prisoner, Emily’s sensible streak reminded her. She’d escaped, remember? Maybe they didn’t recapture her. Maybe she’s free, and you can find her.
I can’t, wept miserable Emily. I’m frightened. I’m lonely. I want to go home. But even when her heart was breaking, Emily was too practical to cry forever. As the dreadful hours of the night had at length given way to the morning she had determined to do something. Emily had climbed out of the bunk and blundered around in the semi-darkness until she found a toilet and a tap to drink from. The water had been stored in plastic tanks in the bottom of the boat and was not very nice, and it was hard work pumping the little handle on the side of the tap. But Emily was so thirsty she did not care, and when she had finished drinking, she filled the sink and washed her face and hands until she felt refreshed.
They won’t find me, she comforted herself, as she sat by the porthole, watching the police launch. They’ll be searching along the riverbanks. No one will think of looking in the boats. Emily knew this was not true, but she was also aware that she could not sail Bella-Mae by herself, or swim away without somebody seeing her. Having chosen a boat for a hiding place, she had no option but to make the best of it until nightfall.
And really, Emily decided as she looked around, Bella-Mae was a very nice place to hide. It was neatly fitted out with a bunk in the prow, a table and benches, and a galley space with a stove for making meals. Best of all, the galley locker contained tins of food, crackers (rather stale, but not too horrible), a packet of rubbery cheese in aluminium foil, and breakfast cereal in an unopened box. There was even milk in long-life containers. It was not very exciting food, but there was enough there for someone as small as Emily to live on comfortably for several days. After all she had been through, just the idea of being able to eat breakfast immediately made Emily feel more cheerful.
As long as the owners don’t come back, thought Emily, as she poured herself milk and cereal, I can hide here as long as I like. There are magazines and books. Why, there’s even a radio and a little television. It’ll be just like my own secret hideout. I wonder why Rosamund and I never thought of buying a boat of our own? It would be such fun to go sailing around the bay, all by ourselves … This was such a nice thought, that by the time she finished her second bowl of cereal, Emily was almost smiling. She stood on a tackle box to fill the sink and wash her cup and breakfast bowl, then went looking amongst the owners’ things for something clean to wear.
Her own jeans and T-shirt were filthy. Emily doubted they would ever recover from her experiences in the pipe, but she knew Miniver-sized clothes might not be easy to come by in future. She put on a woman’s shirt she found, hung Rosamund’s key around her neck on a piece of string and endeavoured to wash her things. It was extremely hard work, especially as she had never done it before, and her hands were far too small to wring things out properly. But Emily did her best, and when she finished, she draped her wet washing proudly over the kitchen bench to dry.
‘Now let’s find out what’s really going on,’ said Emily, and she climbed up onto the table and switched on the television. She had already found a bank of switches that controlled the yacht’s power supply, and was starting to feel more comfortable in her new surroundings. It was obvious, of course, that what was happening to her and Rosamund would be in every newspaper and on every radio and television station in Artemisia. Nevertheless, the face that appeared on the TV screen was not at all what Emily was expecting.
‘Madame!’ A wave of such fear and revulsion swept over Emily that it was all she could do not to turn the TV off. Madame was dressed in a grey suit, with a small white rose pinned to the collar. Like all her clothes, it did not suit her much, but it was obvious she had made an effort to look nice, for she was actually wearing make-up. She was staring at the camera with an earnest expression and talking in a strange voice that Emily guessed was her attempt at sounding posh.
‘Papa King and I would like to thank everyone for their immense kindness and sympathy,’ Madame was saying. ‘This is a terrible time for us both. But we would like to assure you all that everything that can be done is being done, and I will personally ensure that no stone is left unturned in our search to find dearest Rosamund and Emily –’
‘Dearest!’ cried Emily. ‘Dearest!’ She leapt to her feet, furious. How dare Madame talk as if she and Rosamund were her dearest friends? When she had done nothing but work behind their backs since her return, had cut them off from Papa King, had even – Emily was more than ever certain of this – been responsible for all the nightmarish happenings since the night of the birthday party? Now, here she was, trying to use Emily and Rosamund’s predicament to attract the attention back to herself. It was almost more than Emily could bear.
At that moment, thankfully, Madame disappeared from the screen. Her face was replaced by images of weeping fans, the vigil outside M
iniver House, and finally, an interviewer called Serena Simpson whom Emily knew well from her own TV appearances.
‘So, tell me, Superintendent,’ said Serena. ‘With all the rumours about the Miniver sisters being murdered, should fans be bracing themselves for the worst?’
The picture cut to a serious-looking policeman. ‘At this point in time, we have no way of knowing for certain,’ he said, in an official voice. ‘However, we hold grave fears for their safety. They are small and vulnerable persons. The entire force is on heightened alert until we find them.’
‘What about the suspect you have in custody? Is it true that the person you have arrested is the Minivers’ own housekeeper?’
‘The person is no longer in police custody. I’m afraid I can’t comment.’
‘What about the rumours of a plot? Some people are talking of a huge conspiracy –’
‘No. Let me get this straight, there is no conspiracy,’ said the superintendent, and Emily thought he sounded almost angry. ‘There is no point in fans engaging in idle speculation. As soon as there is news we will let people know. In the meantime, we encourage Minivers fans not to panic, but to keep their eyes and ears open. Any suspected sightings should be reported by telephoning the new Minivers Crisis Line or your local police station. We promise every call will be taken seriously.’
‘Thank you, Superintendent. And you can find that toll-free number now, on the bottom of your screen. Back to the palace, and –’
Emily switched off the set before Madame could reappear. It was too late though: her fragile peace had been wrecked. She sat down on the table and looked once more out of the tinted porthole. It was hard to see much, but there seemed to be more boats moving about on the river. People were shouting and a man was calling through a megaphone. Then the police launch roared past again, so fast that Bella-Mae rocked wildly at her moorings. Emily had to clutch the table or be tipped off.
It was no use pretending. Every moment she spent on the boat she was in danger of discovery, and unless she chanced to be found by a sympathetic fan whom she could persuade to help her, she would be caught and never seen or heard of again. Yet even this dismal thought brought hope. For there were sympathetic fans – a lot of them. Emily had just seen them on the television, and though they were mostly strangers, there were some fans she knew very well. Out of all these, the one she was fondest of was Lindsey Smith, the Life President of the Minivers Fan Club. If Emily could contact Lindsey, she would be sure to help her, no matter what.
This decision helped Emily feel much better. There was however, a problem. Lindsey had been sick and was staying with an aunt outside the city. In case she had trouble finding her, Emily made a mental shortlist of temporary hiding places. Some were so clever she felt certain she would never be found; nevertheless, the rest of the day passed much less pleasantly. The closed-up boat grew hotter and stuffier. Emily mopped her face with a damp cloth and drank glass after glass of warm, stale water, but the heat was nothing compared to the boredom. The people who owned Bella-Mae were obviously more interested in boating than reading. Their magazines had titles like Helmsman and Seafarer and their books were all full of crossword puzzles that had already been done. Emily did her best with the magazines, but they made dreary reading and she could not help fretting about Rosamund and Millamant.
At last the sun went down over the water in a rush of orange and scarlet. Emily turned on the lights and made herself a dinner of tinned ham and pineapple. It took her absolutely ages to get the tins open, and the ham turned out to be salty and not very nice. To make matters worse, when Emily went to get another drink, nothing but a trickle came out of the tap. Over the course of the day, she had pumped the water tank dry.
Now there was nothing else for it: she had to leave. Emily packed her clothes and a few provisions into a plastic bag and climbed onto the bunk so she could look through the open hatch onto the deck. Just as she remembered, a rubber dinghy was lying upside down on Bella-Mae’s roof. Emily squirmed out onto the deck and started picking at the ropes that secured it. They were hard work for her tiny fingers, and as she crouched in the darkness trying to free them, her ears were drawn by an unexpected noise.
It was the sound of a boat being stealthily rowed towards her. Emily hardly noticed it at first, for the river was a very noisy place, with motorboats and ferries and the sound of traffic from the nearby freeway. But at night even soft voices carry over water, and as the approaching boat came very close, she became aware of two men quietly talking between oar strokes.
‘It’s very unusual for the Fredericks to be at the boat during the week,’ said a voice Emily did not know. ‘They only ever take Bella-Mae out on the weekends.’
‘When did you first notice someone was there?’ said a second, familiar voice. Instantly, Emily huddled down against the dinghy’s rubber hull. It was Titus.
‘I think there’s been someone on board all day,’ said the first man. ‘The TV’s been on, and there’s been water coming out of the outlet on the port side. The funny thing is, the boat’s been completely shut up. No one in sight at all. And then, when I realised the Fredericks’ car wasn’t at the jetty …’
‘That was very observant of you, Mr Warner,’ said Titus. ‘Of course, we must follow up every lead. Now if we can just tie up here, next to the stern. Quietly, we don’t want to disturb anyone down in the cabin …’
There was a soft clunk as the small hull hit the big one. Bella-Mae rocked gently at her moorings. The men were talking in whispers now, and Emily could not hear what they were saying. She felt the yacht shudder slightly as the men climbed onto Bella-Mae’s duckboard, and then onto her deck. The door to the cabin creaked open. There was a moment’s silence and Emily heard them moving about inside.
Emily stood up quickly. She had only moments before the two men came back out on deck. Stooping as low as she could, Emily ran like a cat along the port side towards the stern. She heard voices in the cabin – ‘She’s here!’ and then, ‘She’s been here,’ corrected Titus – and wished, since she had been silly enough to turn the light on, that she could at least have slowed them down by turning it off before she had gone out on deck.
Emily scrambled over the stern and dropped down onto the yacht’s duckboard. She had assumed she would have to swim for it, as fast and quietly as she was able. But now, for the first time since her escape had begun, she had the most enormous bit of luck. Titus’s dinghy was tied up to Bella-Mae’s stern. And the knot that secured it was so loose that even Emily would be able to undo it.
Emily scrambled into the dinghy. She loosed it from its mooring and immediately, it started drifting downstream. Emily reached for the oars, which were shipped, and hopelessly long and heavy for her. She managed to lift the blade of one over the side, and tugged and shoved it against the water with all her puny strength. The dinghy turned aimlessly around and continued to drift.
‘Hey, there!’
Emily looked up. An unknown man, presumably Mr Warner, had come out of Bella-Mae’s cabin and was waving at her from the stern. Emily gave a cry of fear. She grabbed the second oar, but it was impossible to manoeuvre with just one hand, and it slipped and fell into the river with a loud splash. Titus jumped up onto the side of the boat and called her name.
‘Emily?’
‘Go away!’ shouted Emily. ‘Go away!’
‘We have Rosamund, Emily. We have her now. You know what that means. You can’t get away. Help your sister: she needs you. Come back to the yacht and stop this.’
For half a second, Emily faltered. The thought of Rosamund in Titus’s power was so terrifying she literally did not know what to do. Titus was crouching on the side of the boat, and a pleading tone entered his voice. Emily could see his pale face with its blue eyes and fair lank hair, and the expression she had always thought of as so kind and friendly. Then she saw the strip of white sticking plaster on his forehead, and remembered how he had tricked her in the carpark. With all her strength, Emily picked up th
e other oar and stood up in the middle of the dinghy.
‘Liar!’ she shouted. ‘You haven’t got Rosamund. And you won’t get me, either!’ She lifted the oar as menacingly as she could, which was only a few inches, and overbalanced with a thump in the bottom of the boat. The dinghy see-sawed back and forth, and she heard Titus shout again from Bella-Mae.
‘This is your last chance, Emily. You can’t go anywhere. Do you think I can’t see you aren’t even strong enough to pick up that oar?’
‘Come any closer, and I’ll thump you with it!’ As she spoke, Emily’s eyes fell on something she had not seen earlier: a tiny outboard motor, bolted to the dinghy’s stern. Titus had obviously avoided using it, because he had wanted to approach Bella-Mae as quietly as possible.
Emily grabbed the outboard and swung it into the water. She had no idea how it worked, but there was a starter cord on it, a little like a lawnmower. She yanked the cord as hard as she could, falling over a second time amidships. The motor coughed unpromisingly, and behind her, there was a loud splash in the water. Titus had dived off Bella-Mae and was swimming towards her.
‘Help!’ Emily screamed. ‘Help me!’
Other boats were cruising up and down the river, but not one of them seemed to realise she was there. Again Emily yanked the starter cord, and again the motor did not start. Her fingers fumbled with the controls, flicking chokes, switches, anything, if it would only make the wretched motor start. The splashing in the water grew louder. Titus was only half a dozen strokes away. Emily closed her eyes. With all her might, she yanked back on the starter cord one last time.
The motor gave a sputtering roar and burst into life. Emily shrieked with joy. She grabbed the tiller and twisted the throttle. The dinghy spun out of control in crazy circles across the water. Emily twisted the throttle almost to maximum. The dinghy spun faster and faster; she heard Titus shout in terror, and saw him hastily ducking under as she skated narrowly by in a shower of stinking diesel fumes and river water.
The Minivers Page 7