‘We’d better get a move on, then. I can see a Chops and Bonaparte derby coming up and this time I’ve got a winning feeling in my bones,’ Millie said. She donned her floral shower cap and charged out the door.
Francesca Compton-Halls hid in the cupboard under the stairs and brushed away the tears that simply refused to stop falling. In the weeks since her arrival at Bodlington School for Girls, someone had very kindly rearranged the linen and towels so that there was a spare shelf just big enough for her to neatly fit into. Sadly, that shelf had soon become her favourite place in the whole school.
There was a light tap on the door followed by the familiar voice of Mrs Fairbanks. ‘Chessie, dear, are you in there? Why don’t you come out and help me make some pikelets?’
The girl pulled a tissue from the bundle in her pocket and blew her nose as quietly as she could. She took a deep breath, then opened the door and tumbled into the housemistress’s outstretched arms. The scene had been played out numerous times since Chessie had discovered the cupboard.
‘There, there,’ the woman soothed, looking at the girl’s red-rimmed eyes.
‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me,’ Chessie blubbered, clutching the ratty toy dog that was her constant companion. ‘Everyone’s been so kind. It’s just me.’
Ettie Fairbanks rubbed the girl’s back and gave her an extra squeeze. Francesca Compton-Halls had one of the worst cases of homesickness the woman had ever encountered and she’d dealt with more than a few in her almost thirty-five years of service. The poor poppet had cried enough tears to fill a dozen buckets and it made not an ounce of difference that they were nearing the end of term. The woman was also in two minds about what effect the holidays would have on the child. Although Chessie would have some time with her mother, Ettie feared it would make her return to Bodlington all that much harder to bear.
Just this afternoon Ettie had telephoned her dear friend Peggy Howard, who was the housemistress at Winchesterfield-Downsfordvale Academy for Proper Young Ladies, for some much-needed advice. The two ladies met eons ago at a conference called Tales, Tantrums and Turmoil: How cheese toast and hot chocolate can beat the boarding-school blues and had struck up a wonderful friendship. Over the years they’d often consulted one another regarding particularly tricky students or parents. Unfortunately, the distance between Bodlington and Winchesterfield-Downsfordvale rarely allowed for them to meet in person, but they didn’t let that deter them from keeping in touch. Ettie always felt better after she’d talked with Mrs Howard. Having a friend who knew exactly what she was going through was a godsend.
To be fair, the other girls had been incredibly patient with Chessie. Except, of course, Madagascar Slewt, who delighted in making the child’s life even more difficult. Then again, that girl delighted in making just about everyone’s life a nightmare, including Ettie’s. Apparently, Mrs Howard was dealing with a similar creature. There was always one.
‘Why don’t we make those pikelets and some milkshakes too?’ Ettie suggested. She glanced at her watch and decided she’d best make a smaller batch than usual or risk the wrath of Mrs Pinkerton, the school cook. She’d been in trouble with the woman a few times lately, when that blabbermouth Madagascar had relayed their penchant for late afternoon teas.
Chessie nodded and wiped away her tears, trying to muster a smile. ‘I’ll go and wash my face,’ she whispered, and headed off down the dark panelled hallway.
She opened the door to the bedroom she shared with three other girls and breathed a sigh of relief to find it empty. Chessie’s mother had been terribly impressed that the dormitories at Bodlington were made up of compact little units for four or six students, each with their own ensuite. Chessie’s room mates were a lovely bunch, but she hadn’t really got to know any of them in the past eight weeks. Her sadness had been much too paralysing, which was odd given that, until recently, she’d never been a shy or difficult child.
Chessie was cross with herself for being so pitiful yet she had no idea what to do to pull herself out of this horrible fug. Maybe if she had boarded at a school closer to home, and her mother visited during the term, things might have turned out differently. A six-hour train journey wasn’t exactly easy to fit into an afternoon, so she hadn’t seen her mother once since her arrival at Bodlington.
Perhaps it was the circumstances of her departure that had caused her misery. Her mother’s marriage had come as a huge surprise to Chessie and then she’d been bundled off to boarding school without any discussion whatsoever. She had to wonder if her stepfather wasn’t especially keen on children. Chessie loved her mother dearly and had always felt loved in return, but the two-minute telephone calls had made her second-guess everything.
Chessie washed her face and quickly brushed her long, curly brown hair. She pulled it back into a taut ponytail, but couldn’t quite catch all the rogue ringlets. She wandered down to the kitchenette, where Mrs Fairbanks was busy stirring a large bowl of batter. Unfortunately, Madagascar was there too.
All term Chessie had pondered what it was that made the girl so powerful. She wasn’t remarkably funny or clever, and she seemed to spend most of her time being rude to the teachers and students yet no one ever stood up to her. Worst of all, Chessie had a feeling it was Madagascar who had stolen Rodney, her toy dog, at the very beginning of term. Chessie had been inconsolable until he was found stuffed into one of Mrs Fairbanks’s wellington boots. It was fortunate the woman had cause to wear them that day, or who knows how long he would have been missing.
‘How’s our resident misery guts this afternoon?’ the girl sneered from under her mouse-brown fringe.
‘Maddie,’ Ettie chided.
‘Mrs Fairbanks, my name is Madagascar and only I get to decide who calls me Maddie,’ the child replied snootily.
The housemistress almost imperceptibly shook her head at the girl but didn’t bite back. Madagascar was one of those children who loved to spar and Ettie was not in the mood.
‘Maybe I’ll just call you whatever I like and see if you enjoy it,’ the girl challenged. ‘Fairy.’
Chessie gulped. Madagascar was tricky at the best of times, but she seemed particularly nasty this afternoon. Chessie didn’t understand at all why Madagascar thought it was acceptable to speak to anyone in such a dreadful way. To her horror, words to that effect slipped out of her mouth before she had time to stop them.
Madagascar’s eyes narrowed and an evil grin spread across her face. ‘What did you say, crybaby?’
‘Nothing,’ Chessie whispered, and shrank back behind Mrs Fairbanks. She could feel her bottom lip begin to tremble and willed it to behave.
‘Ha! Are you going to blubber again?’ Madagascar rolled her eyes. ‘We’ve had some babies here before but, honestly, you take the biscuit.’
‘Right, that’s it! Madagascar, go and do your homework before you say something we will all regret,’ Mrs Fairbanks ordered. She glared at the girl, then felt a small stab of remorse herself. She wouldn’t put it past the little snipe to complain that she’d been sent to her room.
Regrettably, the fact remained that Madagascar’s father was the chairman of the school council and Ettie had had several run-ins with him previously about his daughter’s appalling behaviour. To make matters worse, he was one of those parents who wore blinkers when it came to his own child. The last time she’d worked up the nerve to report Madagascar’s misdeeds, the man had delivered a not-so-veiled threat about Ettie perhaps needing to look for employment elsewhere.
‘Fine! I’m leaving because I have better things to do with my time. Call me when the pikelets are ready.’ Madagascar ran her forefinger through the batter and promptly stuck it in her mouth, then swanned out the door.
Alice-Miranda stood up in her stirrups to stretch her legs, then sat back down and shivered. The blue morning sky had given way to gathering grey clouds as she and Millie set off, loaded up with a small picnic consisting of four slices of devil’s food cake, two ham-and-cheese baguettes and two
bottles of Mrs Smith’s home-made lemonade. When Millie had told the cook they were planning a long ride at lunchtime, the woman had gone into overdrive. Mrs Smith had caught wind of the Kennington’s news and hoped that Alice-Miranda wasn’t too upset by what was going on. In any case, she reasoned that some special treats could help to take the child’s mind off recent events.
‘So where exactly do you want to go?’ Alice-Miranda asked, giving Bonaparte a rub on the neck.
They’d seen Charlie Weatherly at the stables and mentioned a few different routes they might take, including popping over to Wood End to visit Mr Frost. Alice-Miranda had bumped into the man in the village the weekend before and he was keen to hear all about their trip to China. Although, as she pointed out, it seemed a rather long time ago now, given there was only a week of term left. He mentioned that his daughter, Ursula, was planning to spend Sunday with him too and Alice-Miranda was interested to see how she was getting on with her teaching studies. Alice-Miranda hoped Ursula might even be able to work at Winchesterfield-Downsfordvale once she was qualified.
‘What about Wood End?’ Millie suggested, apparently reading the girl’s mind.
‘I was just about to say the same thing,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘We can share our picnic with Mr Frost and Ursula.’
‘Only if Cherry and Pickles don’t sniff it out first,’ Millie quipped.
It was common knowledge that Mr Frost’s goats had a predilection for eating everything in sight, including car windscreen wipers and hub caps.
‘Cynthia will be glad to have some company for a little while. I think those two creatures terrorise that poor old donkey,’ Alice-Miranda said.
Millie clicked her tongue and Chops began to trot. Bony followed suit to keep up beside him.
‘Do you feel like a race?’ Millie asked.
Alice-Miranda yawned and shook her head. ‘Maybe later.’
Millie looked across at her. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if the real Alice-Miranda was abducted by aliens last night and replaced with this girl that looks like, but certainly doesn’t sound like, my friend. I’m not sure who this worry wart is beside me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Alice-Miranda sighed. ‘You’re right – about the worrying, not the part about me being an alien impostor. I promise I’ll do my best to stop fretting, but you know I have to try to help wherever I can.’
‘Now, that’s more like the girl I know and love,’ Millie said. ‘And you’d better have cheered up by the time we head home, because I’ve got to be able to beat you at something this weekend.’
She reached out and punched Alice-Miranda gently on the arm. Bonaparte swiftly turned his head and nipped at Millie’s hand.
‘Oi, you monster,’ she barked, glaring at the black beast. ‘Behave yourself.’
Chops turned and threw the bit up and down in his teeth as if to agree.
‘Bony!’ Alice-Miranda chided. She reached forward and scratched the naughty pony between his ears, which twitched back and forth as he picked up the pace. Without missing a beat, Millie and Chops trotted after them through the woods and down across the bubbling creek that led to Mr Frost’s farm.
The girls were greeted by the squeaky heehaws of Cynthia, who was stationed by the gate and doing her best to let everyone know that visitors had arrived.
‘She sounds like one of those plastic toys that you squeeze the air in and out of,’ Millie observed as Chops slowed to a walk.
As if to prove a point, Cynthia bellowed another round of breathy hacks.
Alice-Miranda grimaced. ‘She reminds me of the rubber ducks I used to fill the bath with when I was little. I was convinced I could make music with them, but if they sounded anything like Cynthia, it’s no wonder Mummy used to pull such terrible faces.’
The girls wheeled their ponies into the yard at the rear of Mr Frost’s immaculate cottage. The back door opened and a flurry of fur raced out to greet the girls, followed by their master.
‘Hello Maudie, hello Itch,’ Alice-Miranda called to the two cocker spaniels that were excitedly dashing in and out of Bony’s and Chops’s legs. She looked down at their owner and beamed. ‘Hello Mr Frost. Don’t you look dapper today.’
And indeed he did. It seemed the fellow had swapped his usual khaki overalls for more elegant attire. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt and a new pair of jeans, with his brown boots so highly polished you could almost see your reflection in them.
‘I was hoping you’d come,’ Stan said with a broad grin. ‘Ursula is due any minute now. She’ll be very pleased to see you both. She’s bringing Myrtle and Reg with her too, so I thought I’d better make an effort.’ He tugged at the shoulder of his shirt. ‘That sister-in-law of mine has high standards.’
Alice-Miranda glanced at the satchel containing their lunch. ‘Oh dear, we brought a picnic to share, but I don’t know if there’ll be enough for six of us.’
‘Not to worry,’ Stan replied cheerfully. ‘I’ve been busy cooking this morning myself. I’m sure we can just add it all together.’
‘That’s a good idea.’ Alice-Miranda slipped down from the saddle and pulled the reins over Bony’s head, hitching them out of the way so he wouldn’t trip over them. She and Millie led the ponies around to the field before turning them out with Cynthia, who looked for all the world as if she were smiling. She was nodding her head and making quite the commotion.
Millie scanned the field. ‘Where are Cherry and Pickles?’
Stan Frost squinted into the middle distance. ‘I hope they haven’t escaped again. Little blighters got into the front garden last week and made a right old mess of my petunias.’
‘There they are!’ Alice-Miranda exclaimed, pointing at the oak tree in the far corner. The two goats were perched high up on a branch.
Stan shook his head. ‘Don’t ask me how they get themselves into any of the predicaments they do. I’ve decided that they’re not goats but magicians.’
Millie and Alice-Miranda giggled. It was a truly ridiculous scene.
The girls followed Stan inside the house and Alice-Miranda unpacked her satchel, depositing their offerings on the table alongside the feast Mr Frost had prepared. There was an orange cake and a platter of sandwiches, some freshly baked scones and a pot of whipped cream.
Millie surveyed the generous spread. ‘Wow! You have been busy.’
‘My baking has definitely improved,’ he said, patting his tummy to prove it. ‘I don’t know why I’ve started to enjoy it at my age, but it might have something to do with that lovely Venetia Baldini and her television show.’
‘Everyone adores Sweet Things,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘And Ms Baldini is the loveliest lady. You should have seen the treats she created for Aunty Gee’s silver jubilee. They were scrumptious! Her daughter, Caprice, goes to our school.’
‘But there’s nothing sweet about her, believe me,’ Millie added with a cheeky grin.
Car tyres crunched on the gravel outside. Alice-Miranda skipped to the back door and pulled it open just as Myrtle Parker had been about to knock. The woman stumbled forward as the door gave way ahead of her.
‘Good heavens,’ Myrtle squawked as she righted herself and her pillbox hat, which had slipped over her eyes. ‘What are you doing here?’
Alice-Miranda smiled. ‘Hello Mrs Parker. Millie and I thought we’d pop by to visit Mr Frost and Ursula and now you and Mr Parker are here too. What a wonderful surprise. Mummy says that times like these are pure serendipity.’
‘Hello Mrs Parker,’ Millie called from a safe distance. She was on the other side of the cottage kitchen, helping Mr Frost pull teacups and saucers out of the cupboard. ‘It’s lovely to see you too,’ she mumbled.
Stan stuffed his fist into his mouth to stop himself from laughing.
Myrtle looked across at her brother-in-law and Millie, wondering what they were carrying on about.
As Reginald Parker followed his wife inside, Alice-Miranda launched herself around the man’s middle before hugging Ursula too.<
br />
Mrs Parker bustled over to the kitchen table and sat down, placing her beige handbag on the seat beside her. ‘That’s a terrible business with your father,’ the woman said with a cluck of her tongue.
‘Myrtle,’ Reg warned, shooting her a fierce stare.
‘Well, it is,’ the woman insisted. ‘By the sounds of the television reports, people are very sick and may even –’ her voice petered to a whisper – ‘die.’
Millie cast a reproachful glare in the old woman’s direction.
Stan Frost looked up from where he was making the tea. ‘What’s all this about, then?’
Alice-Miranda sighed and sat down beside Reg. With a deep breath, she explained as much as she knew.
When the girl had finished, Ursula patted her hand. ‘You mustn’t worry yourself, sweetheart.’
‘Yes, I’m sure your parents will get to the bottom of it very soon,’ Stan said, smiling sympathetically from the other side of the room. He brought over the teapot and began to fill their cups, then fetched a jar of strawberry jam from the pantry and set it down on the table. ‘We’ll be needing this for the scones.’
Myrtle Parker’s lip curled at the label on the jar. ‘We most certainly will not. It’s Kennington’s own brand.’
‘It’s not even opened yet,’ Stan objected.
Myrtle’s nostrils quivered like jelly in a stiff breeze. ‘Precisely. You know none of us can be too careful.’
Alice-Miranda bit her lip and glanced at Millie. The woman had a point.
Reg Parker stirred his tea and reached over to take a scone. ‘These look absolutely delicious, but you couldn’t possibly have them without the jam and cream.’ He picked up the jar and scooped a teaspoon of the crimson condiment onto the side of his plate.
Alice-Miranda leaned across and touched the old man’s arm. ‘That is an awfully kind gesture but you really don’t have to,’ she said. ‘I completely understand if you’d rather not.’
‘My dear girl, I am less likely to get sick from eating this than the leftovers in the refrigerator at home,’ Reg said firmly.
Alice-Miranda Holds the Key 15 Page 2