She slipped silently along to her bedroom, opened the door and whisked in. As she did so a shadow detached from a high picture frame and slid in beside her.
Seren crumpled on the floor, breathless. ‘That was so close!’
‘Did he know you were there?’
‘He found the key but he didn’t go in.’ She could only see the Crow’s eyes, glittering in the moonlight. ‘If he does he’ll find the candle. They’ll know it was me.’
‘Of course. Serves you right for being so careless…’
‘Do you think they’ll lock me up too?’
The Crow croaked in scorn. ‘Kek kek. No one’s locked up. The boy wasn’t there, was he? You’ve got him on the brain. Now I’m exhausted. I’m going to have a well-deserved rest. Don’t wake me.’ It flapped into the wardrobe, put its head under its wing and was silent.
Seren undressed and climbed into bed, but it was a long time before she could even think about sleeping. The moon was shining in on her, and her heart was still beating fast with excitement.
Where was Tomos?
Why was his room abandoned?
And what was in the diary she had pushed so carefully under her pillow?
Her hand, in the darkness, smoothed its velvet cover. It must hold so many secrets. She couldn’t wait to read it.
Then she sat up and listened. Outside her window the softest of hisses made her pad over and pull back the corner of the curtain. She gasped in delight.
It was snowing!
Flakes fell and swirled in a silent dance. Just like in the snow globe she had shaken. As if she had made the snow come. By magic!
By morning the watery sun was back, but the lawns and trees were white and smooth. At breakfast, everyone seemed excited. Denzil brought a great load of logs in and muttered, ‘Glorious out there!’ Slush slid off his boots. But Mrs Villiers just frowned and said, ‘More mess for us to clean, that’s all.’
Seren looked up, ‘Can I go out in it? Please?’
Mrs Villiers was silent. Then she said, ‘You may take a short walk.’
Seren jumped down from the table. ‘Really?’
‘But do NOT go through the iron gate.’
‘Oh…’
The housekeeper fixed her with a hard stare. ‘Are you questioning me?’
‘No. Of course not.’ Seren backed towards the door.
‘You will wear a coat, your boots, a scarf, a hat and gloves.’
But Seren was already thundering up the stairs. Bursting in, she gasped, ‘I’m going out in the snow!’
The Crow looked unimpressed. It was sitting by the small fire, hunched up. ‘Why would you want to? It’s freezing enough in here.’
She shrugged into her coat, and grabbed some gloves. ‘Guard that diary. And the snow globe.’ She stopped dead. ‘Oh wait! Do you think they want me out of the way? To search my room?’
‘For heaven’s sake,’ the Crow muttered.
‘Well, just make sure no one comes in.’
The Crow threw her a withering look.
It was so good to go outside! She ran past the kitchens and found the servants’ door and hurtled out into the white and silver world. The air was a shock of cold, the sky wide and purest blue. A thin layer of snow lay on every roof and window, and like lacework on the cobbled courtyard. She began to explore.
There were outbuildings and stables and carriage houses, a dairy and a laundry house, and they were all unused. Most of all she wanted to find the gardens, and she came to them at last through an arch in an old brick wall. The flowerbeds were bare and frosted, the trees leafless. But the snowfall had turned everything white; every grass blade and crisp leaf was outlined in a fine fur of crystals. She took her gloves off and touched them; she ran over the grass and made crunchy footprints. Gates were frozen open and everywhere birds were singing, as if they had to hurry because the hours of daylight were so few.
It was amazing! No Mrs Villiers watching her every move, no Denzil lurking in dark stairways. After the sad and silent house it made her feel alive. She ran so fast her breath came in gasps. She climbed down into the sunken garden and balanced along the low walls; she threw snowballs at trees and picked up dead leaves and conkers and nuts, hollow stems and holly berries.
It would be such a good idea to take armfuls of things in and make decorations for Christmas. There was ivy on all the walls, and mistletoe up in a high tree.
But Christmas preparations didn’t seem to be happening at Plas-y-Fran. The whole thing would be miserable.
At the edge of the gardens was the shrubbery, and beyond that a high brick wall. Seren ran alongside the wall, running her fingers over the frosty bricks, until she came to an iron gate. It was securely locked. This must be the way out to the park. Feeling like a prisoner, she gripped the bars and gazed through.
Wide lawns led down to the lake. It looked sinister against the whiteness of the grass, a murky expanse of dark water. There were no birds on it: no swans or ducks, which was strange. She wondered how deep it was. If only she could get through and run down there!
As she turned reluctantly away, she looked up at the house. Her own room was on the other side, but one of these windows must belong to the attic nursery. She tried to work out which.
Maybe that little one, high up, in a small gable of its own.
Then she gasped. Surely someone was standing behind the curtains of the room! A figure, dark in the shadows. Was it Tomos? Denzil?
She lifted her hand and waved. ‘Hey!’ she yelled. ‘Hello!’
But maybe the figure stepped back, or the curtain drifted.
Because now the window was empty.
Be careful going up the stair.
Someone’s left their shadow there.
‘Stand still. Or the pin will stick in you.’
‘It just did!’ Seren gasped as another pin jabbed her leg. ‘Ouch! Can’t you be a bit more careful?’
Mrs Villiers had pounced on her as she had trudged in, cold and puzzled, from the garden, and had brought her straight into the housekeeper’s room. A small fire made the room seem hot after being outside. ‘Dress off,’ Mrs Villiers had ordered. Now Seren was standing on the table, and all around her was a swathe of materials, dull blue cambric and boring grey wool. She was wearing one of the new dresses and the seamstress, Mrs Roberts, a small neat woman who seemed too terrified of Mrs Villiers even to speak, was pinning up the hem.
‘It’s too big,’ Seren objected.
‘Of course it’s big.’ Mrs Villiers was watching. ‘You’ll grow into it.’
‘I don’t like the colour. And it’s scratchy.’
Mrs Villiers stood straight and unmoved by the fire. Her thin lips were set in a line. ‘You’re an ungrateful girl.’
‘No … I’m not. I’m the one who has to wear it, and I’m sure Lady Mair wouldn’t want…’
‘Don’t you dare tell me what Lady Mair would want!’ Mrs Villiers’ anger was so sudden and so explosive that Mrs Roberts jumped in shock and Seren opened her eyes wide. ‘Lady Mair is the kindest lady and you have no idea – no idea! – of what she’s been through! The heartbreak, the sheer anguish! No other family would have even considered taking in some orphan after what happened to…’
She stopped.
The kitchen was breathless. Mrs Roberts, with a mouthful of pins, seemed frozen in fear.
Mrs Villiers turned and stormed out of the room, almost knocking over Gwyn, who was carrying in a box of stored apples.
Seren stared after her, amazed. What had brought that on? She hadn’t meant to sound ungrateful. And surely those glints in the corner of Mrs Villiers’ sharp grey eyes couldn’t have been tears, could they?
Gwyn unpacked the apples silently onto the table.
Mrs Roberts carefully took the pins out of her mouth and whispered, ‘Better take the dress off now, dearie. I’ll get the alterations done.’
Seren climbed down from the table. ‘What did I say? I didn’t mean anything…’
&n
bsp; The seamstress shook her head and busied herself with packing up her things.
Seren looked at Gwyn. He frowned. Then he stepped closer and whispered, ‘It’s not you. She thinks it was all her fault.’
Seren frowned. ‘What was?’
But Mrs Villiers was back, and if there had been any tears they were gone now. Her face was white and her voice icy. ‘Get that dress off. And then go to your room.’
‘What does Mrs Villiers think was her fault?’ Seren sat on the windowseat. ‘I don’t get it. And if Tomos is not being kept in the attic, where is he? And why is everyone here so scared?’
The Crow, inspecting a moth hole in its wing, said, ‘Don’t ask me. The whole place is dark and freezing. And look at me, I’m falling apart. If I was back in my palace now, it would be very different. I’d have a meal set before me, on gold and silver plates. I’d have musicians to play for me and dancers to dance. I’d have … er … well, other princely things. If I was human again.’
Seren frowned. ‘So how does the spell get broken?’
‘I don’t know if it ever can be.’
‘Oh, come on!’ She slid off and walked over to it. ‘They always can. In all the books I’ve read…’
‘This is not in your silly books! This is real!’ The Crow seemed nearly as cross as Mrs Villiers. Seren sighed.
Trying to sound kind she said, ‘You never explained to me how it happened.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Suit yourself.’ She turned away but the Crow said hastily, ‘But, of course, if you insist, I will. It’s not a long story. One day I was out er … hunting. Yes, hunting. Princes hunt all the time, don’t they? I was riding through a dark wood and I met a witch.’
‘A witch?’
‘She must have been a witch. She looked like a witch. With one of those crooked hats and a broomstick and everything. She was sitting by a well. She pointed a skinny finger at me. She said, ‘Give me your jewels and your horse and your crown.’ Well, of course I had no intention of doing any such thing so I said, ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Get out of my way, please.’ I was trying to be polite but it was a mistake. She stood up and spoke one magic word, and I felt … well, it’s hard to explain how weird it felt. I felt myself crumpling and crunching up. I felt my heart becoming a wheel and my bones becoming cogs and my muscles shrinking into springs. I fell off my horse. I tried to wave my arms but all I had were wired wings. I tried to speak but there was only a croak. Then she said, ‘Until you give up the one thing that means the most to you, you’ll be a black crow for ever and ever.’
Seren stared.
The Crow preened a feather flat. It looked rather smug.
‘The one thing that means most? What’s that?’
‘I have no idea.’
She pulled a face. ‘It’s a very strange story. I mean to do that just because you…’
‘Are you suggesting I’ve made it up?’
‘No…’
‘I am totally insulted!’ The Crow shuffled round on the bedrail and turned its back on her. ‘I’m not saying another word until you apologise. After all I’ve done for you!’
Seren sighed. ‘You haven’t done anything for me.’ She was getting tired of everyone being cross with her. Instead of apologising she went downstairs and ate lunch so silently that Denzil watched her all the time with his shrewd eyes. Then, when she came back, she ignored the Crow, which was gazing at itself in the mirror. She got the diary out from its hiding place under her pillow and opened it. She lay on her stomach on the bed and began to read.
Tomos’s diary was a real mess. His writing was a ragged scrawl; pictures and diagrams were everywhere, all over the pages. Nothing was in order. He seemed to be very interested in birds and animals; also there were a lot of drawings of battles and soldiers, and a whole section of notes about steam trains. Seren flicked through it with increasing disappointment. She had hoped for secrets, for strange messages asking for help, but this was just boy’s stuff.
Then a sentence on a page caught her eye.
Tonight the bell rang again.
Seren sat up. The page was dated over a year ago.
‘This could be interesting!’
‘What?’ the Crow muttered, preening a feather.
‘Listen!’ She began to read aloud.
It rang at midnight and woke me up. I had the candle all ready by my bed and was out in the corridor in a flash.
The moon was shining through the windows down the corridor.
I’ve worked out where the bell is ringing. It’s deep under the house. So I ran down the stairs. The further down I went the more I felt the bell’s shimmery echo. In places the walls looked like they were glittering with it, if a sound can glitter.
No one heard me. Mamma and Pa were in bed and all the servants must have been too, although there was a lamp lit in the stable room where Denzil sleeps. An owl hooted – that brown one nesting in the clock tower.
The Crow cawed a harsh laugh. ‘Owls! They’re such snobs.’
‘Shh!’ She flicked the page. ‘He says he goes right down to the cellars. Then this.
…usually the cellars are dark and dusty but tonight it was all different. There were some golden stairs that led downwards. I’ve never seen them before. They went into the wall, but not into blackness; there was a sort of light, all silvery and shimmery, and it made patterns on my face.
I really wanted to go down.
But I knew if I did it would be dangerous, because They were down there.
The Family.
I heard a sound. It was music, very soft, very quiet. It was coming up from far, far below.
I knew they wanted me to come. That there was a whole world down there, all shining and wonderful and full of magic. I put my hands over my ears and I turned and ran because otherwise they would have power over me. But it’s too late. I can’t get the sound out of my head. Such a sweet sound. I got into bed in all my clothes and my breathing was huge.
It’s the most scared I’ve ever been.
I fell asleep after a while. But the weirdest thing was, next day, when I went down to the cellar and looked I knew what I would find.
No golden stairs. It was just all dark and dusty like it always is.
Seren looked up. ‘That is so strange! Who are The Family?’
The Crow shuffled on its perch. It looked at her sideways with its jewel-bright eye.
‘Don’t you know? The Fair Family. The White People. You don’t mess with Them.’
‘But I’ve heard that bell too! It rang the first night I was here.’ Had she heard it since? She didn’t think so. ‘So maybe he’s locked in the attic to keep him from wandering back down there. Or…’
A loud knock rapped on the door. Seren was so startled she dropped the diary. The Crow had barely time to freeze itself in an awkward pose before the door was flung open and Mrs Villiers marched in. ‘Who were you talking to?’
Seren scrambled up, hands behind her back. ‘No one. Ma’am.’
‘I heard you, you were talking to someone.’
‘I was just … reading aloud.’
Mrs Villiers glared at her, then round at the bare room. She opened the wardrobe and ran her eye over the contents, then closed it with ominous quietness. ‘Your room needs to be kept tidier than this, Seren. We have no servants, remember. I expect you to dust it yourself and…’ She stopped. ‘Goodness me. What on earth is that black moth-eaten monstrosity?’
She had seen the Crow! She went right up to it.
Seren fidgeted in dismay. ‘That’s … the toy. From the newspaper parcel.’
‘Good heavens!’ Mrs Villiers circled the Crow, her arms folded, her nose wrinkled in distaste. The Crow, standing as still as it could, stared past her with one glittering eye, but even so, Seren saw it wobble.
‘That’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.’ Mrs Villiers stretched out her hand. ‘It should go straight in the bin.’
‘No!’Seren jumped forwa
rd. ‘No! You can’t! It’s mine!’
She had to do something before the Crow lost its temper and snapped out something. Before it pecked the woman’s hand.
Mrs Villiers looked furious. ‘You are the most impudent, forward little girl! I am not having such rubbish in the house. Get out of my way.’
Seren stood firm. ‘I won’t. It’s mine and I want to keep it. You have no right to take my things!’
‘You deserve a good slap.’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’
‘Indeed I would.’
Face to face, they glared at each other.
‘I’ll write to Lady Mair,’ Seren hissed.
For a moment the silence was terrible; then Mrs Villiers took a breath and stepped back. When she spoke, her voice dripped ice. ‘No, you won’t. Because I will write to Lady Mair myself and advise that you should be taken back to the orphanage. This is quite clearly no place for you.’
Seren was so shocked and angry the words burst out of her. ‘Why? Are you afraid I’ll find out what you’ve done?’
‘Done?’
‘That you’re keeping him prisoner?’
The Clockwork Crow Page 6