by Laura Wood
“Who else knows about this?” Miss Susan asked.
“No one,” Agatha whispered. “Only Bernard and I. And now you.”
And the three of us, I added silently, glancing at Kip and Ingrid, whose faces mirrored the shock that I was feeling.
“You know your secret is safe with me,” Miss Susan said heavily, “and we will find a solution. I promise. Nothing will happen to Jenny. You’ll see.”
“Thank you,” snuffled Agatha. “I’m glad I told you. It’s been so hard keeping it a secret… I thought I was going to go mad!”
Their voices were getting further away now as they walked towards the door, and clicked off the light.
“Try and get some sleep,” Miss Susan said soothingly, her voice just reaching my ears in the darkness. “We’ll talk about it again tomorrow. And there might be something I can do to help; I know a very good detective.” For one dazzling moment I thought she was talking about me, but my bubble was quickly burst when Miss Susan continued. “His name is Inspector Hartley and I think he may be able to help us.” With this they shut the door behind them and were gone.
Kip, Ingrid and I stood frozen for a couple more minutes in total darkness, listening carefully to make sure the coast was clear before tumbling through the opening and into the study. The secret door slid shut behind us with a gentle thud. I felt around and found a light switch on the wall, snapping the lights back on. The three of us stood blinking at one another in silence. You would never have known the door was there at all. It looked just like a normal wall.
“Woah,” Kip said finally, and Ingrid and I both nodded very dazed nods.
“I can’t believe that just happened,” I said, my voice coming out a bit squeaky.
“I know.” Ingrid sounded squeaky too. “A secret tunnel and a kidnapping. This has been a busy night.” She nodded at the door behind us. “Well we know one thing. This must have been how Henry Redshank entered the castle. He disappeared from that spot in the cliff face…”
“But if that were true he’d have had to walk right past Moira Booth because she was sitting in here, reading,” I pondered. Something about this just didn’t add up.
“And the cook said she saw him in the hallway before he ran into the library,” Ingrid said.
“Perhaps he went the other way in the tunnel?” Kip suggested. “We don’t know where that comes out yet.”
“That’s true,” Ingrid agreed, “and then he must have run into the library and escaped back down this tunnel, after Moira fainted.”
“Can you open it from this side, do you reckon?” I asked, pressing against every single stone on the wall where the door had been, looking for the tiniest crack or some kind of switch. There was nothing. We searched the rest of the room, pushing every stone, trying every way we could think of, but the door didn’t budge.
“Maybe it only opens from the inside?” Kip shrugged.
It certainly looked like Kip was right. “And there I was thinking we had solved Henry Redshank’s mysterious disappearance from the locked library!” I exclaimed. “But if you can’t get out of this room using the tunnel, it wouldn’t have been much help to him, would it? And why would he come up from the beach to the castle just to go back down to the beach again? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“There is one other thing,” I said. “Do you think the secret tunnel could be connected to Jenny’s disappearance?”
“But she went missing from her room, not the study,” said Ingrid.
“But the tunnel did go in another direction,” Kip pointed out eagerly. “We went right – what if the left one goes to Jenny’s room? Perhaps Henry Redshank got into the castle that way?”
“You’re right,” I breathed. “Maybe if we find out where the other tunnel goes we can help to get her back.”
Kip and Ingrid both nodded. “Yes,” said Ingrid. “Let’s hope so. Poor Agatha! She sounded so scared. And poor Jenny! Imagine being taken away from your parents like that.”
Ingrid’s words hung in the air and for a second it felt like a knife had twisted in my stomach, but I reminded myself firmly not to be so dramatic. Mine and Jenny’s situations were totally different and, instead of focusing on myself, my number one priority had to be helping to rescue Jenny – that’s exactly what Dougie Valentine would do.
“Perhaps we should just peek at the ransom note?” I suggested after a moment. “There might be a clue there that only we can spot.” I was already moving over to the desk as if drawn there by an invisible magnet. Pulling the drawer slowly open, I leafed through some boring-looking documents before pulling out a sheet of crumpled paper. It was covered in a message made from letters cut from newspapers and magazines.
“Woah,” Kip said again.
That pretty much summed it up.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Of course, we were in a bit of a quandary when it came to offering our help in Jenny’s disappearance. Technically we weren’t supposed to know that Jenny was missing at all, and we also weren’t technically supposed to have been creeping out of our tents in the middle of the night to go hunting for ghost smugglers … but here we were, and with Jenny in potentially grave danger there didn’t seem to be much of a choice. We decided that the next morning I would have a quiet word with Miss Susan and tell her about the secret tunnels that we thought must have played a part in the kidnapping.
At least, that was the plan. But the next morning Miss Susan was nowhere to be seen. I asked Mr Grant if he knew where she was and he shook his head. “Miss Susan had something to take care of,” he said lightly and I knew straight away that she hadn’t told him about Jenny’s kidnapping – he looked far too cheerful. “Now hurry up, Poppy!” he exclaimed. “You’ve got a surfing lesson to get ready for.”
And so, the three of us found ourselves back down in Smuggler’s Cove, squeezed into our wetsuits, having a surfing lesson with the dreamy Jack Jenkins. At least Annabelle and her friends seemed to find Jack pretty dreamy – they kept asking him to come and show them again how to jump up on their surfboards, which were laid out in a line on the sand between rows of orange markers. Thanks to my gymnastics training I was finding all the leaping about quite easy, but Kip and Ingrid were concentrating deeply. We all had turns running into the sea with our boards and riding in from shallower waters, then we sat in the sand and watched Mr Grant and Jack show off their surfing skills. Everyone cheered as they glided in and leapt about on top of foam-capped waves. I tried to enjoy myself, but my brain was very full, and my eyes kept drifting over to the big rock that hid the entrance cave and the tunnels up to the castle. I could just about make it out, but only because I knew where it was – to a casual observer it would look like any other rock. Had the tunnel really played a part in Jenny’s kidnapping? We had only followed one part of the tunnel, after all, and I was itching to find out where the other part went. I felt certain it was an important piece of the puzzle … one that may well help us to solve both our mysteries.
I was so deep in thought that I didn’t notice the others were moving back to the water to have another go on their surfboards. I was shaken out of my musings by the arrival of Jack Jenkins, who appeared at my side brushing water out of his very blue eyes. “Poppy, isn’t it? You looked like a natural out there earlier!” he said warmly. “Have you surfed before?” He smiled his easy smile, and I could feel the corners of my mouth tugging up in response. OK, I thought grudgingly, maybe I could see some of the appeal.
I shook my head in answer to his question. “No. But … but it is really fun,” I said lamely.
“Best feeling in the world!” he replied.
Mr Grant appeared then, running out of the water towards us with his surfboard tucked under his arm.
“You were really good, sir!” I exclaimed.
“Thank you, Poppy,” Mr Grant said. “Not as good as this young man though!” He slapped Jack on the shoulder.
“Thanks,” Jack replied, with a pleased smile spreading across his face, like a d
immer switch being turned up on full beam. “I want to do it professionally, you know. I’m saving up to open my own surf school on some amazing tropical island. Surf all day… Heaven!”
“Sounds good to me,” Mr Grant agreed. “Maybe we could open a surf school at Saint Smithen’s?” He smiled at me.
“Except we’re nowhere near the sea,” I pointed out.
“Ah yes,” Mr Grant replied. “There is that little problem. I don’t suppose the school pond will do?”
“Not a lot of waves in the pond,” I said glumly, because it really would be a lot of fun to learn how to surf like Mr Grant and Jack did.
Mr Grant laughed. “I’d better round up the troops,” he said to Jack. “Poppy, will you help Jack to tidy the equipment?”
I nodded as Mr Grant started back towards the group, already reaching for his trusty silver whistle.
I went with Jack to help retrieve the orange markers from the sand.
“Hey, weren’t you the kid asking about the smugglers?” he asked suddenly.
“Yep,” I answered. It seemed like a long time since I had asked Jack about the Redshank brothers, and an awful lot had happened in that time.
“Why so interested?” Jack asked. “Are you some sort of history buff?”
“No, not really,” I said. “I just read about it in the guidebook and it seemed like a good story.”
“Oh right,” Jack said, scratching his cheek. There was another pause. “Are you enjoying your stay up at the castle?” he asked.
“It’s a pretty amazing place.” I grinned. “Imagine living somewhere like that!”
“Yeah,” Jack nodded, shielding his eyes with his hand and looking up the hill to the castle. “It would really be something.”
“Hey, do you know Jenny Booth?” I asked suddenly, deciding that perhaps I should be asking a few questions of my own while I had the opportunity.
Jack froze, his hand still next to his face. “Jenny Booth?” His voice sounded a bit strange and distant.
“Er, yes,” I said. “She lives up at the castle. I thought you two were sort of the same age so…”
“Yeah, of course I know Jenny,” Jack said in a voice that was a bit too big and too loud, like a piece of clothing that didn’t quite fit right. “I do some gardening and odd jobs up at the castle so I’ve seen her around. Why do you want to know?”
“Oh, er, s-sorry,” I stuttered. “We were just talking about living in the castle and she does, so I was just … interested.”
Why was he behaving so strangely? I wondered.
“Seems like you’re interested in a lot of things,” Jack said lightly.
“Ohhhh Jaaaaack!” Annabelle trilled from behind us. “We need your help.” I could practically feel the gust of wind created by her batting eyelashes from here, but for once I was glad for Annabelle’s interference.
“Curious,” I muttered under my breath as Jack walked away. It seemed to me like Crumley was just bursting with mysteries and people keeping secrets.
I didn’t have time to dwell on this, however, because just then a cry tore through the air.
I swivelled my head to the side, alert and ready for action. Someone had obviously met with a horrific accident and I was ready to spring to their aid. Instead I saw Kip with both fists raised in the air. “Yahooooooooooooo!” he yelled. “It’s Mrs Crockton!” He pointed, and there she was, coming down the path and carrying an enormous hamper.
“Lunchtime!” yelled Mr Grant, running over the sand to help Mrs Crockton with her basket.
“I know what the sea air does to you,” Mrs Crockton said with a smile, “so I’ve got pasties, and jam splits for pudding.” There was an anxious pause. “I didn’t have time to make them myself, I’m afraid,” she said, sighing. “They’re from the bakery.” Hopefully she didn’t notice the enormous collective sigh of relief.
“What a feast!” I said, munching on my warm pasty, my hair a wet and salty tangle and my toes burrowing into the sand. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so hungry!”
“I know!” exclaimed Kip. “I thought I was going to have to chew off my own arm. Do you think we’re only allowed one pasty each, or do you reckon Mrs Crockton got extra?”
“Maybe you should go and ask,” I said with a giggle. “You’re very quiet, Ing,” I said, after Kip had left on a pasty quest of great importance.
“Sorry,” Ingrid said, her eyes losing their dreamy look and coming in to focus on my face. “It’s just… I can’t stop thinking about poor Jenny Booth. Do you think the tunnels are connected to her kidnapping?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “What do you think we should do?”
“I think we need to speak to Miss Susan,” she said. “Everyone seems to have something to hide.”
“Speaking of which…” I filled her in on my strange conversation with Jack. “It might be nothing,” I said in conclusion. “But he seemed shifty to me. I think it’s time to bring in Miss Susan.”
“Well, now’s our chance,” Ingrid said slowly. “Because here she comes.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I took a deep breath and made my way over to Miss Susan who was talking quietly with Mr Grant. It went against all my detective instincts to share our findings with Miss Susan at this early stage, and then there was still the little, unresolved matter of her being my mother and all, but a girl was missing and I knew that finding her was the most important thing.
“Why are you hovering, Poppy?” Miss Susan said, slightly irritably.
“Oh!” I exclaimed, thrown by her stern tone. “Er, sorry, miss,” I said, “but I – I just need to, er…”
“Yes?” Miss Susan asked, her eyebrows raised.
“I need to talk to you about something,” I managed to squeak out. My voice sounded like a grumpy toddler’s.
Miss Susan’s face seemed to soften a bit. “Come on then,” she said with a sigh, “let’s go and have a cup of tea up at the castle. But first” – her eyes ran over my bedraggled form – “you had better go and clean up a bit. I will meet you in the entrance hall in ten minutes.”
I scampered up to the campsite, washed and changed into a pair of purple shorts and an orange T-shirt with a speed that would have impressed a cheetah at the top of his game. Nine and a half minutes later I was waiting for Miss Susan in the echoey entrance hall. Fuddling materialized silently through one of the doors and looked at me over the top of his glasses as if I was a sticky child waiting to mess up all of the furniture.
“Can I help you?” he said, in a voice that made it sound like he didn’t want to help me very much with anything – except leaving.
“I’m waiting for Miss Susan,” I said primly. “I’m meeting her here.”
“Hmph,” said Fuddling, evidently unimpressed by this response.
“So … I hear you’ve worked here for a long time?” I said, trying to make small talk.
“I suppose some people might call forty years a long time.” He sniffed.
“Wow,” I said blankly, casting around for something to say. “Forty years is a long time, isn’t it? Not that it’s that long, I mean. Not that you’re old.” I laughed awkwardly and my voice was getting a bit squeaky. “Because you’re not, obviously…” I trailed off. “You’re practically young – very, erm, spry…”
“Hmph,” Fuddling said again. Apparently he agreed that my small talk attempts weren’t going well. I was relieved when Stanley Goodwill wandered through, his nose in a book and his thinning hair sticking out in all directions. Fuddling melted away.
“Ah, hello!” Stanley said when he spotted me (or I should say, after he walked into me). “How’d you get on with that book?”
“Oh, it was brilliant! Thank you, Mr Goodwill,” I said with a winning smile. “So interesting! And so exciting to read a real account of the smuggler’s disappearance.”
“Not at all, not at all! Delighted!” He shook my hand. “It’s always a pleasure to share some of the history of this place.”
> “It really is an amazing building,” I agreed.
“Oh, it’s so much more than that.” Stanley’s eyes shone. “It’s a legacy you know, one that it’s our sacred duty to protect. We must take care of it, preserve it and not let the contraptions of modern life corrupt it. The place shouldn’t be treated like some sort of hotel.” He said the word like it was something truly distasteful, and suddenly his face looked as though he had bitten down on a sour lemon. Just then a group of noisy students tore through the hallway, one of them bumping against Stanley on his way past. Stanley glared.
“Don’t you like the campsite?” I asked carefully.
The sour-lemon look disappeared, and was replaced by Stanley’s watery smile. “Oh no, dear,” he said. “I think it’s a fine idea and I’m sure it will be a big success. Dear Agatha and Bernard have worked so hard on it. Now, where have I put my glasses?” He started patting his pockets.
“They’re round your neck,” I said helpfully, pointing to them on their little cord.
Stanley looked surprised. “Oh, lovely,” he said. “Best be getting back to work.” He tapped the cover of his book which looked quite dull and like it contained absolutely no pictures at all. Just then Miss Susan arrived and Stanley scuttled off.
“Hello, Poppy. I thought we would go up to my room for a bit of privacy.” Miss Susan’s voice was almost friendly. She led the way up two flights of stairs and down a corridor on the left. Her room was nice and airy with a view of the sea from a big window. The walls were papered in pale green paper dotted with little flowers and the floorboards were bare. It was a large room but it didn’t have much furniture in it, only a bed, a wardrobe and a small table with two white wicker chairs pulled up by the window. Miss Susan gestured for me to have a seat in one of these just as there was a knock on the door. It was Mrs Crockton carrying a tray of gently steaming tea.