The Minivers Fight Back Book 2

by Natalie Jane Prior

  ‘Relevance, Research and Renewal,’ she was saying. ‘Under my management, the Artemisia City Archives are moving forward into a New Era.’ There was a polite scatter of applause and Glenda Milton smiled at the camera. She did not notice Titus: in fact, she had forgotten all about him. Somebody else had not, however. As Titus walked off towards the palace, Tom McMahon watched him go with suspicious eyes.

  Down on basement level four, Livia’s telephone gave a sharp ring. Livia put down her pencil and stared at the handset, willing it to stop. Her workmate, Gavin, looked up from the opposite desk in annoyance.

  ‘For goodness sake, Livia. That’s the third time that phone’s rung in the last twenty minutes.’

  ‘I’m busy.’

  ‘So am I. Just answer it, will you?’

  Livia sighed and picked up the receiver. ‘Livia Wallace.’

  ‘I’m wondering how you’re going with the ninth basement,’ said a voice on the other end. It did not bother to say hello. ‘I’ve been waiting all day. I haven’t heard anything.’

  ‘I haven’t had a chance to look yet,’ said Livia. She had never expected Madame to wait until Tuesday for news about her search, and was not surprised it was her. ‘I can’t talk now. I’m doing something important.’ She hung up. The phone immediately started ringing again. Livia leaned over to pull the plug out of the wall and the frayed wire snapped with a shower of sparks. Gavin jumped.

  ‘That’ll teach her.’ Livia shoved back her wobbly chair and took a torch out of her drawer. ‘I’m going down to the lower levels,’ she announced to Gavin. ‘I’ve got to look for something. I might be a while.’

  ‘You’re always snooping around down there,’ Gavin grumbled, but Livia had heard his complaints before, and did not hang around to listen. She headed off to the main staircase, looking braver than she felt. What had Madame thought when she heard the telephone go suddenly dead? Part of Livia could still hardly credit that she had hung up on her, but even though she knew that Madame would not let the insult pass, she was glad that she had done it. On Friday night, something inside Livia had changed. When she had discovered her grandfather Kennedy’s key in the garage at Daventry Street, she had realised that for the first time in her life she was no longer powerless.

  The tin containing the key was in her pocket now. Livia was not quite sure why she had kept her discovery secret. She had, at first, been so angry about what the Minivers had done that she had not wanted to talk to anybody. Later, there had been no reason to keep silent, yet Livia had continued to hug the news to herself. Why had her grandfather hidden the tin in the garage rafters at all? It was as if he had deliberately left the key for Livia to find, at the time in her life when she most needed what it could give. A good locksmith could surely make a full key based on the half she had. And if she could find the Most Secret Room without Madame knowing, Livia could use the information it contained to do anything she wanted. She could stop Madame becoming queen. She could force her to have Millamant and Fiona released from Delinquent Central. She could even buy safe passage for Millamant, Emily and Rosamund out of Artemisia. Then, when Papa King died, the Parliament of Artemisia would pick a suitable successor – Livia was not sure who, but it would certainly not be Rosamund – and there would be nothing left to worry about. Madame would be finished, the Minivers would be gone, and she and Gibraltar …

  All this time, Livia had been making her way down through the lower basements. Each level was darker and more stifling than the one before, and her torch made less and less light the further she went. The smell was awful. Livia put her hand into her pocket and felt the tin to give herself courage. At last she reached the eighth level. It was a horrible place, and there were not even any records there to speak of, for no one had the courage to carry them down there. Sweating and fearful, Livia followed the chalk marks she had made on the walls on her previous visits, until the corridor she was walking down reached a dead end, and stopped. Painted in flaking paint on the concrete wall was a shaky number nine, and an arrow pointing towards a hole in the floor.

  She was standing at the top of a narrow metal staircase. There were no proper lights in this part of the building, but the darkness coming up from the level below was so deep and dreadful that Livia’s torch barely lit the first step. Livia began to tremble. She felt a wave of nausea rise up in her throat, but she could not tear herself away from the top of her staircase. Everything she feared most was down there, the darkness and the closeness, the horror of oblivion, and the terror of death. Livia put her foot on the first step. It disappeared as if it had been cut off at the ankle, as if she had stepped into a pool of living ink.

  Livia closed her eyes. She remembered the Most Secret Room and all the reasons she needed to find it. She thought of her little house with its sunshine-coloured walls, of her garden with its flowers and vegetables, of her embroideries and drawings. She thought of the ideas and hopes she had recorded in her diary, and she thought of Gibraltar. She pictured his face and tried to hold on to her dreams. But they were fading fast, and even for Gibraltar, Livia knew she could not do it. The ninth basement had defeated her. Her torch dropped from her fingers and fell into the hole, and she turned and fled towards the light.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ said Gavin, as Livia came running into the workroom. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘You don’t look fine,’ said Gavin doubtfully, but Livia ignored him. Something had to be done, and it could not wait. She sat down breathlessly at her desk, found her fountain pen, and began to write:

  Dear Cousin Karen –

  Livia lifted her pen. She read what she had written, screwed up the first sheet of paper, and began again:

  Dear madame,

  Following your instructions on Friday evening, I have now visited the ninth basement to look for the most Secret Room. Nothing I have seen makes me think that it will be found there.

  As you know, I have been searching the Archives very thoroughly for several months. I have now looked in all the places I am allowed access to, and have no choice but to give up the search. I am very sorry that I have not been able to find what you wanted. I have done my best, and hope you are not too disappointed with me.

  Yours sincerely,

  Livia Wallace

  Livia read her letter through one last time. It sounded very stiff and formal for something written to a relative, but nothing on earth would have induced her to tell Madame this news in person. In any case, she did not care if she never saw her cousin again. Livia put the letter into an envelope, addressed it, and put it into the mail tray for the palace. Tomorrow morning was Tuesday. By the time Madame received it, the Minivers would be almost ready to strike.

  ‘We’ve got the field radios you wanted!’ said Bridget jubilantly. She and Fiona came into Livia’s kitchen, staggering under the weight of two heavy plastic crates labelled AAF for Artemisia Armed Forces. ‘Short-wave radios, and a transmitter. Carla and Tania liberated them last night from an army supply dump!’

  ‘Yes, I heard about that on the news,’ said Gibraltar dryly. ‘They said something about an explosion, so I knew it must be you.’

  ‘Tania got the dynamite from the railway shunting yard,’ explained Fiona. ‘They didn’t use much. Nobody was hurt.’

  She took her place beside Bridget at the kitchen table. Emily and Rosamund were already sitting there with Livia and Gibraltar. There was excitement in the air, and a slight feeling of tension. Since the meeting on Saturday evening, plans for Rosamund’s radio broadcast had quickly taken shape. They had chosen a radio station, Radio Artemisia, and picked a time for Tuesday night. The girls from Delinquent Central had assembled all the equipment that was needed. Tonight was their last chance to plan their attack and make sure all the details were correct.

  ‘Let’s get on with it, shall we?’ said Gibraltar. ‘I am very aware that this is only our second meeting, but I also know that if we don’t move now, we may be
too late. The longer Phase Two is allowed to go on, the harder it will be to reverse the damage. Tomorrow night, we hit back hard. If anybody disagrees with this, now is the time to speak out.’

  He looked around. Everyone was silent. Gibraltar nodded, and went on.

  ‘Good. Right from the start then, it has seemed to me that this idea of a radio broadcast has one big flaw. As soon as any illegal transmission begins, security teams will surround the radio station from which it is being made and attempt to stop it. We know the people we are up against are completely ruthless. It will certainly be dangerous for any of us found inside the station building, and for Rosamund or Emily it would probably be fatal. For this reason, it seems obvious that Rosamund has to make her speech from another location and patch it through for broadcast. It’s simply not practical to do it from Radio Artemisia itself.’

  ‘I want to do it from Miniver House,’ explained Rosamund. ‘Emily and I have our own studio there, in one of the turrets. We used to do radio interviews from there all the time.’

  ‘You want to make your broadcast from Miniver House?’ asked Fiona. ‘Why? Won’t they just catch you there instead?’

  ‘If everything goes according to plan, they won’t know I’m there,’ said Rosamund. ‘I will be at Miniver House, speaking on the telephone, but the broadcast will be transmitted from Radio Artemisia. Hopefully, Operation Miniver will assume I’m there.’

  ‘It sounds awfully risky to me,’ said Livia doubtfully. ‘Are you sure you can operate the equipment?’

  ‘It would be easier if we had our sound engineer,’ admitted Rosamund. ‘But I know the set-up, and I’m sure I can make it work. The dangerous part will be breaking into the building.’

  ‘Why not put your speech onto a tape instead?’ suggested Emily. ‘That way you wouldn’t even have to go there.’

  ‘I thought of that,’ said Rosamund. ‘You’re right, it would be safer that way. But if I’m going to do this, I have to be willing to risk something. I want our fans to know it’s really me. I want the phone lines open, so that they can ring up and ask me whatever they want. I want the chance to explain myself. To do that, it has to be a live broadcast. This is our one chance, Emmie. We may never get another. We have to get it right.’

  ‘Rosamund and I have made some preliminary plans,’ said Gibraltar. ‘Everybody will be assigned a specific task. Fiona, Bridget: you and your friends will need to arrive at Radio Artemisia around ten o’clock tomorrow night. That’s when the night shift starts, so you should be able to break in quite easily. Barricade yourselves into the studio and get ready to follow our instructions. I’m sorry, but it’s quite likely that some of you may be caught. Will that be a problem?’

  Bridget shrugged. ‘The worst they can do is send us back to Delinquent Central,’ she said. ‘We’re used to that. Besides, we can always organise another escape.’

  ‘Just don’t fight back if you can help it,’ warned Rosamund. ‘I don’t want anyone getting hurt because of me. Livia: we’re going to need you to drive the getaway car to and from Miniver House. You’ll need to wait in the street and be ready to leave as quickly as possible. That leaves one last job. This plan is only going to work if the timing is absolutely precise. For that reason, we need somebody to direct the attack. Our operations coordinator will need to make sure everyone is in position, and give orders over the field radio for the various units to move. I suggest the best person to do this will be Emily.’

  ‘Me?’ Emily exclaimed. ‘But I don’t want to! I want to go with you to Miniver House.’

  ‘Well, you can’t,’ said Rosamund flatly. ‘We need somebody to do this job, and you’re the obvious person.’

  ‘Why?’ demanded Emily. ‘Because I’m the youngest? Or because you’re still angry with me? You made me promise to do what you said, Rose, and now you’re trying to get back at me for what happened at the Bridge House. It’s not fair. I won’t do it, do you hear me? I won’t.’ She jumped down from the table and dashed out of the room.

  ‘Wait! Emily, wait!’ Rosamund scrambled down off her chair and ran after her. The sound of violent weeping could be heard coming from the front bedroom. Rosamund hesitated, then pushed open the door. Emily had flung herself down on the rug beside the bed. Her head was buried in her arms, and she was sobbing with fury and distress.

  ‘You don’t trust me. I promised, and you still don’t trust me.’

  ‘I do trust you,’ insisted Rosamund. She knelt beside her sister, trying to find the right words to explain. ‘Emmie, I understand why you feel like this, but it’s not what you think. I’m not trying to rip you off. I’m doing this because I want to keep you safe.’

  ‘And you expect me to let you go alone?’

  ‘I won’t be alone. I’ll have Gibraltar to help me.’

  ‘You’d rather be with him than me.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘Yes, it is. Do you think I’m stupid?’ Emily looked up, her eyes streaming. ‘You can’t leave me behind. We belong with each other. I can’t be the only Miniver. If we get caught, we must be caught together.’

  ‘That’s rubbish, Emily,’ Rosamund spoke sharply. ‘This plan might be our only hope, but I’d rather scrap the whole thing than risk both our necks. Besides, what about Papa King? What about Millamant? If Madame caught us, she’d have them both murdered before breakfast. Don’t you have a responsibility to them?’

  ‘Milly would want us to stay together.’

  ‘Milly would want you to be safe,’ said Rosamund remorselessly. ‘You know she always told us to look after each other, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. Besides, there’s something else you haven’t thought of. Papa King wants me to be the next Queen of Artemisia. That makes you next in line if I get caught, but if something happens to both of us, Madame has won. She’ll become queen, and there’ll be no one left to stop her. You know that, Emmie. There isn’t any choice.’

  Emily had run out of arguments. She still did not agree, but she knew that the fight was lost. ‘All right, Rose,’ she said. ‘If that’s what you want me to do, I’ll do it. Just promise me you’ll come back. We’ve already been separated once. I couldn’t bear it if it happened again.’

  11

  The Hidden Past

  Madame stood at her office window in the Artemisia Palace, looking out across Queen Rosamund Boulevard. A workman was standing on a ladder on the other side of the street, slowly stripping a giant image of Emily and Rosamund Miniver off a billboard. A piece of paper flapped in the middle of Rosamund’s mouth, as though she had a missing tooth. Delaney’s of George Street, read the slogan, Where the Minivers Shop.

  ‘Not any more,’ said Madame. She pulled down the blind and returned with satisfaction to her desk. Its shabby surface was covered with the papers she was working on, among them a freshly faked copy of the Artemisia Top Ten showing the new unimproved version of ‘Miniver Morning’ at Number One, and the latest report from Operation Miniver, telling her that there had been no overnight graffiti attacks by the Minivers Underground. Perhaps, thought Madame, this meant they had given up. She certainly hoped so.

  Madame put the report into the filing tray and picked up an envelope marked PERSONAL. The handwriting looked familiar, and she ripped it open and scanned the letter inside. It took several seconds for her to grasp its meaning. Madame uttered a sharp cry of fury. How dare Livia think she could give up her search, without a word of explanation? Well, it wouldn’t do. Livia was going to find the Most Secret Room, if Madame had to take her by the scruff of the neck and throw her down the basement stairs. Madame shoved back her chair. As she did, her second-hand desk, which was propped up by a telephone book, gave a wobbly lurch and deposited all her papers on the floor.

  ‘Adelaide!’ yelled Madame. ‘Adelaide!’

  A secretary in a smart grey suit opened the door. ‘Yes, Madame?’

  ‘Adelaide,’ said Madame, ‘I’ve decided this office is too small for me. Clear this mess up, and see that
my papers are packed and taken down to the Walnut Office immediately.’

  Adelaide stared at her. ‘The Walnut Office?’

  ‘You heard me,’ Madame snapped. ‘The Walnut Office. I don’t imagine Papa King is going to use it again. You can clear all his things out while I’m meeting with Len later this morning.’

  ‘Very well, Madame.’ If Madame had been more observant, she might have noticed an angry tinge come into Adelaide’s cheeks. She had been Papa King’s secretary for over twenty years, and had strong, if secret opinions about his daughter. ‘By the way, there is a young man here from the City Archives. I told him he couldn’t see you without an appointment, but he wouldn’t go away. He gave me this envelope. Would you like Security to have him removed?’

  Madame was about to say yes, when some instinct made her pause. It was in the City Archives that Rosamund Miniver had once tried to hide. It was also the place where Livia worked, and where she had been searching for the Most Secret Room. At the thought of Livia, Madame’s anger was tempered by a vague disquiet. There had to be a reason why Livia had become so defiant … Still struggling with this spider web of half-made connections, Madame changed her yes to a no, and held her hand out for Adelaide’s envelope.

  ‘The fellow who gave it to me is called Tom McMahon,’ said Adelaide. ‘He says he works for the City Archivist.’

  Madame had never heard of Tom McMahon. She shook the envelope’s contents onto her desk. There were two grainy photographs of Titus, obviously taken by security cameras at the Archives, and a photocopy of an Archives stack slip with his name at the top. The files he had asked for were Department of Works employment records, from the time of old Queen Rosamund. What on earth could Titus want with those? Mystified, Madame flipped the photocopy over and found a note on the back from Tom McMahon, addressed to herself. Madame read it. Her complexion was naturally pale, but in that moment, it turned so white that even her freckles seemed to vanish.