The trolley trundled out the door, along a lino-floored passage and into a service lift. In the basement loading dock, the first of the morning’s deliveries was about to go out. A man was sitting on the tailgate of a truck, reading a newspaper. On the front page was a photograph of the Minivers and the headline STILL MISSING.
‘Load ’er up, Jason,’ he said, folding the paper.
The man with the trolley began tossing the boxes across to him. The truck driver caught them deftly and slid them one by one into the back of the truck.
‘Careful!’ He pointed to a red FRAGILE sticker on the side of the largest carton. Jason handed the last box over carefully. The driver stowed it inside and folded up the tailgate. He climbed into the cab and started the engine, and the truck rolled out into the morning traffic and drove away.
Livia ran down the front steps of the archives, her dustcoat flapping wildly. Her stockings were torn, she was covered in dust, and if anybody had seen the expression on her face, they must have thought she had just seen something terrifying.
Livia dragged her car keys out of her handbag, dropped them, and picked them up. Her battered car was parked against the opposite footpath, and as she ran across the road, she was nearly knocked down by a green and white Eastman’s delivery van heading in the opposite direction. Livia dodged across a second lane of oncoming traffic, wrenched her car door open and jumped into the driver’s seat. She jammed the key into the ignition and started the engine with a rattle and a roar.
It had just turned half-past seven. The radio news bulletins were still jammed with reports about the Minivers, but these no longer made sense to Livia, so she turned them off. She pulled out into the traffic on Queen Rosamund Boulevard and drove off without putting on her seatbelt. Eight blocks down, she had to stop at the traffic lights outside the palace. While she was waiting in the turning bay, the big iron gates slowly opened and a plain white car pulled out of the driveway.
‘Oh, no, no!’ Livia beeped her horn at the familiar profile behind the wheel, but Madame had turned into the heavy traffic on Miniver Boulevard and the peak-hour rush was carrying her away. Livia flicked on her indicator and wrenched her steering wheel hard to the left. There was a blare of horns as she forced her way out of the turning bay and drove through a red light. A car scraped her bumper as she crossed the intersection and Livia felt her face turn scarlet. She hoped the other car was not badly damaged. Luckily her own was so old that another scrape would make no difference.
The white car was moving swiftly through the traffic, changing lanes and getting further away from her. Livia drove as quickly as possible, but as the two cars left the centre of town it became harder and harder to keep up. The white car passed the university and the golf course, and crossed over a railway line. At the level crossing, Livia was stopped by the boom gate, and had to watch as her cousin drove up the hill and disappeared.
‘Oh, rats.’ Livia sat gloomily, waiting for the long goods train to go past. By the time she got over the crossing, there was no way of telling which direction Madame had taken. Livia drove up the hill and down the other side. And at that moment she saw exactly where her cousin must have gone.
Months before, when Madame had first returned to Artemisia, Livia had gone with her to a strange building. It was a kind of arch at the end of one of the city’s bridges, with a door like a house and several rooms inside. Madame and Livia had been looking for a missing key. Apparently, it had belonged to Papa King, and since he had once used the bridge to store things in, Madame had hoped it might be there. She and Livia had searched but found nothing. Now, as she drove towards the river, Livia glimpsed the arch over the tops of some trees, and knew Madame must be there.
Sure enough, the white car was parked at the foot of the archway. Livia turned off the main road and drove down the bumpy driveway. When she reached the bottom she parked her car beside Madame’s and got out. No one answered her knock. The door was unlocked, so she turned the handle and went inside.
‘Cousin Karen?’ Livia’s voice floated up the dusty stairs. The place seemed even nastier than it had the last time she had visited. Livia put her hand on the rail and started to climb. Above her she could hear raised voices, but she could not recognise them or understand what they were saying. At the top of the stairs was a landing with a low door. Livia was about to knock when her cousin’s voice spoke loudly on the other side.
‘I’m getting tired of this, Millamant. I don’t think you understand what a dangerous position you are in. After all, nobody cares about you. The whole city thinks you killed the Minivers. If they found your body in the river tomorrow, there would be general rejoicing.’
A small raspy voice replied, so softly that Livia could scarcely hear. Without thinking about what she was doing, she leaned forward and put her ear to the door.
‘Is that a threat, Karen?’ the raspy voice said. ‘Why don’t you just finish me off, and have done with it?’
‘Because I want to know where the key is!’ Madame shouted. ‘You know that, you miserable dwarf! Why don’t you just give me what I want?’
‘I am not a dwarf.’ The other voice was weak, but dignified. ‘I’ve said I don’t know where the key is. Even if I did, I would never tell you. I know what it means, you see. I know why it was kept from you. You and your mother tried to kill Papa King. He couldn’t bear to have you locked up, so he sent you away. But I was there. I was working in the archives when it happened. I saw everything.’
‘Where is the key, Millamant?’ said Madame. Her voice was matter-of-fact now, in a way that Livia found more chilling than her threats. ‘I need to know, and I have no more time to waste on you. I’m sure you understand.’
‘The key is wherever Rosamund put it,’ said Millamant. ‘Believe what you like, but that is my final word on the subject.’
‘If I were you, I’d be careful about using the word “final”,’ Madame began, when suddenly something awful happened. Livia, whose nose had been twitching from all the dust, gave an enormous and unexpected sneeze.
‘Who’s that?’ said a third voice, and the door in front of Livia was thrown open. Before she had a chance even to squeak, a sandy-haired man grabbed her by the dustcoat collar and dragged her into the room.
‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’
‘I’m Livia Wallace,’ Livia stammered. ‘Madame’s cousin. I – I’ve come to talk to her.’
‘Livia?’ Madame pushed forward. ‘What is it? What are you doing here? Have you found the Most Secret Room?’
‘No. Not yet – I mean, I’m not certain.’ Livia did not like the tone in her cousin’s voice, any more than she liked being manhandled. ‘I went to the palace, but you were just leaving, so I followed you. I found this.’ She held out a tiny object, a dainty, heart-shaped diamond ring, embellished with a sweeping R.
Madame took the ring and turned it in her fingers. As she did, something happened inside Livia’s head. Perhaps it was the conversation she had overheard, or maybe it was simply the expression on her cousin’s face. Madame had never been pretty, but Livia had drawn many portraits, and knew that sometimes even the plainest people could look beautiful. It all depended on what was going on inside their head at the time. The expression on Madame’s face now was one of the ugliest Livia had ever seen. Livia was sure that, despite her size, Rosamund Miniver was neither weak nor helpless. But she suddenly knew, with immutable certainty, that until she understood exactly what Madame was doing, that she could not hand her over into her cousin’s keeping.
‘Where did you find this?’
Livia hesitated. She had, of course, found the ring on Rosamund’s finger, but she could not say that without first explaining that she had caught and tied her up at the archives. Wishing that she was better at telling lies, she said, ‘In the archives, on one of the lower levels. I found a backpack, too, but I didn’t bring it with me.’
Madame’s face lit up. ‘That’s all I want to know,’ she said. ‘Ron, this is a d
efinite sighting. Put a team together and go to the archives as quickly as possible. Does anybody else know about this?’ She turned to Livia, who shook her head. ‘Excellent. I want you to drive back to the archives and wait for Ron. Show him where you found the bag and the ring, and do whatever else he asks you to. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’ Livia backed away, and ran down the stairs. Fortunately, Madame did not appear to have noticed how upset she was. By the time Livia reached her car, she was crying.
The drive back to the archives was horrible. Several times, Livia nearly ran off the road, and all the time she was terrified Ron would get there first. When she arrived, she found nothing had changed. The archivists were about their work, the porters were wheeling trolleys full of files, and the first researchers were poring over documents in the Reading Room.
Livia ran straight down the stairs to the basements. On the fifth level she found Gibraltar. He was searching the storeroom where Rosamund had been hiding, frantically burrowing into the pile of boxes and throwing the empty ones over his shoulder. When he saw Livia he started.
‘I’m sorry, do you need something –’
Livia shook her head. ‘It’s Rosamund,’ she said. ‘They’re coming for her. We have to get her away.’
12
Minivers Fan Club HQ
The Minivers Fan Club was the largest Minivers club in Artemisia. It was not the only one, of course. There was the Friends of Rosamund Club, the Minivers Music Circle, and the Emily Forever Society. But the MFC was, and had always been, the most important. From its tiny beginnings in Lindsey Smith’s living room it had grown to fill a purpose-built headquarters with two levels of offices and a warehouse at the back.
The MFC warehouse had a cement floor and a metal roof, and was jammed with cartons containing all sorts of Miniver merchandise. Fans could write in for Rosamund tea towels, Emily baseball caps, CDs and posters, books and fridge magnets. Finally, there were the toys. Whole bays of steel shelving were filled with Miniver dolls, jigsaws and board games of every description. Among the boxes in this section was one that had arrived from Eastman’s department store just before the warehouse closed. It sat in the darkness like all of the others, but with one important difference. There was no packing tape on the outside. The box had been sealed from within.
Suddenly a huge kitchen knife came stabbing through the box’s side. It jiggled about, sawing noisily through tape and cardboard, and there was the sound of heavy breathing as the small person wielding it worked hard to force their way free. A foot kicked through, the cardboard flew apart, and Emily Miniver’s head poked out and looked around.
Emily sighed with relief. The warehouse was closed up and deserted. Travelling there in the box had been a tremendous risk. She had been afraid she would be dropped or suffocated, or found by the driver. There had also been a very real danger that her box might be opened when it arrived at the club. But now her gamble appeared to have paid off. After a hot, bumpy and very frightening journey, she had been wheeled inside the warehouse and simply left there.
Emily climbed out of the box. For about a minute she stamped and stretched to get rid of the cramps. Then she reached into the box, pulled out her backpack and switched on her torch. After the Bella-Mae, Emily was too nervous to turn on the main lights in case somebody saw her from outside, but she knew the general layout of the building, and had very particular things she wanted to investigate. Something strange and treacherous was obviously happening at the very highest levels of the club. But Emily had another, equally important reason for coming here. She might have failed to find Lindsey Smith, but she knew that among the thousands of members of the Minivers Fan Club there were plenty of people who would help her. If Emily could get into the main office, she would be able to find their addresses and phone numbers in the records.
Emily made a quick detour to the warehouse toilet and had a drink of water out of the tap. Then she went back into the warehouse and looked everything over. The door into the main office was locked, but there were also several windows at the top of the wall that divided the warehouse from the office. Emily was sure that, if she could reach them, she would be able to climb through into the upstairs offices. The problem was getting up there. Luckily, she had already thought of a solution.
At the end of the first aisle was an electric forklift that the warehouse volunteers used for ferrying heavy boxes. Emily put a carton on the platform behind the controls and climbed onto it. A battery of lights lit up across the control panel when she pressed the start button and she tentatively pushed the biggest handle upwards.
The forklift jerked forward. Emily was thrown off balance. Immediately she let go of the controls and the forklift came to such an abrupt halt that she was nearly pitched onto the floor. For several minutes Emily drove the forklift haltingly around the warehouse. Controlling it was not as easy as it looked. It spun around at the lightest touch of the steering wheel and the fact that it was dark inside the building did not help. But after a little practice, her steering improved. Emily drove over to a pile of empty wooden pallets, and, after several tries, managed to pick one up. Then she drove the forklift to the office wall and carefully parked it beneath the window.
The next bit was the worst part. For a few minutes, Emily experimented with the forklift’s arms, moving the empty pallet up and down until she felt confident she knew what she was doing. Finally, when she was ready, Emily pushed the LIFT control forward and jammed her torch against it to hold it in place. With an electric whine, the forklift’s arms began to rise. Emily leaped down and ran as fast as she could to the front of the machine.
The pallet was already almost out of reach. Emily jumped up and grabbed hold of the edge. The motor strained as it caught her weight and the pallet shifted on the fork. For a moment, Emily swung dangerously back and forth. Her legs kicked furiously until she managed to get one up onto the pallet. All this time, the pallet was sweeping upwards. Emily closed her eyes and clung on with all her strength. Her left leg was dangling in empty space; she was half on, half off the pallet, but she dared not shift her position. If she fell now, she would be killed. With a shuddering jerk the arms reached their full extension and stopped. Emily opened her eyes. The pallet had come to rest just short of the open window.
Emily pulled the rest of her body onto the pallet. It swayed horribly, and there was an agonising jab as a splinter went into her arm, but she could not stop until she had worked her way across the shaky wooden platform to the window. Emily reached up with one hand and grabbed the sill. She pulled herself into a kneeling position, shoved the sliding window fully open, and gingerly rose to her feet.
The room beyond was shadowy and deserted. Emily swung first one leg and then the other over the sill. Her feet dangled for a moment and she dropped triumphantly onto a leather sofa under the window.
‘Ooof!’ Emily hit the sofa like a trampoline and bounced onto the floor. She had done it! She had actually done it! As soon as she had recovered her breath, Emily felt her way to the light switch and stood on a chair to turn it on. At once, she knew where she was. The committee boardroom was furnished with a conference table and several bookcases full of books with titles like The Minivers Fashion Book, and The Minivers: Their True Story. But tonight there was something Emily had never seen in the room on her previous visits. A huge collection of Miniver dolls, the big, life-sized sort, had been taken out of their boxes and lay jumbled in a heap on the floor.
The dolls’ glass eyes glinted up at Emily from beneath their eyelids, and while she stood in astonishment, wondering who on earth had done such a creepy thing and why, she heard voices in the downstairs foyer. Emily snapped off the light again. Several people were heading up the stairs from the lower office; there was no time to get away. Emily hurried over to the pile of dolls and burrowed in between several plastic bodies. She had just settled into place when the door opened, the light switched on, and the smell of freshly cooked pizzas floated into the room.
&nb
sp; ‘Put the food on the table, Holly.’
Emily quailed a little under the heap of dolls. She had instantly recognised Titus’s voice, and indeed, there he was, not ten paces from her, dressed in his usual black jeans and Minivers T-shirt with the sticking plaster still on his forehead. He was accompanied by three people Emily did not recognise: a man in a suit, and two women, one dark-skinned and pretty in a tight red shirt, the other with a face like a sheep. The pretty woman put several pizza boxes on the table and started to open some tins of beer and soft drink. At that moment two more people entered the room. Emily saw Ron, her old Chief of Security, and her heart sank even further.
‘Go and eat your pizza, Fiona,’ said Titus.
Fiona, who was a girl about Emily’s own age, scuttled into the room and opened a pizza box. She had limp brown hair and a plain face, and for some reason looked familiar. Fiona put a piece of pizza on a paper plate and curled up on the sofa not far from where Emily was hiding. The grown-ups sat down around the table and everyone started to eat.
For the next ten minutes there was hardly any conversation. The pizzas were ham and cheese, and supreme with pineapple, which were Emily’s favourites, and the warm delicious smell was almost as much as her empty tummy could bear. At last the pizza boxes were pushed aside. Fiona produced a book and started reading.
Titus, who was obviously in charge, called everyone to attention and opened a folder. ‘On with our meeting, folks,’ he said. ‘I don’t need to tell you we have a lot to get through tonight. Ron, in particular, has some exciting news for us, and Len here has come from the palace with some news about getting money out of the Minivers’ bank accounts. First things first, though. Holly, you’re in charge of coordinating the reports. Would you give us a run-down on how the search is progressing?’
The Minivers Page 10