The Icicle Illuminarium

by N. J. Gemmell

  ‘He’s fine. He’s where he always is,’ I shrug, looking around. ‘Anywhere and nowhere. Just how he likes it.’

  ‘We’ll have to go to the police, of course,’ Mrs Squeedly nods to herself. ‘Now that it’s out. We’ve lived with the lie for too long. They’ll need to know everything. What you did, Your Ladyship. What we all did.’

  Lady Adora’s hand floats from her mouth. She turns to her beloved house, gazes. Turns to Basti. Darius. Back to the house.

  All is lost, all, it’s in her face.

  ‘The police, yes, the cliff, goodness, all those years ago, yes,’ she murmurs. ‘Thank you, Mrs Squeedly. What I did, of course. Yes.’

  She walks away, in a daze, towards the house in the distance, stumbling in her shoes. Hebe runs after her, but her mother brushes her off. ‘Go away, leave me alone, I need to be alone.’

  ‘But our Bucket?’ Bert’s cries are ignored. Lady Adora picks herself up, hauls herself on.

  ‘Mama!’ Hebe cries in despair, looking at her departing, lone back.

  ‘Stay with Mrs Squeedly for the moment.’ She bats her off. ‘And that tiger girl. She’s got enough growl for both of you. Girls need it, in this world, oh yes. And stay by Mr Squeedly, who’s always been your ally. Oh yes, I saw it. Talking to you, but never to me, like he knew. Of course. Yes. Oh just go, all of you. Do as I say. Find a vet. Away, away from here. Go to the police. I need to … prepare … yes. Stop looking at me, gooooo!’ she screeches. To Basti, Darius, us, the Squeedlys, to Bone out there somewhere, who’s crashed into Lady Adora’s world so spectacularly and always intended to, some day. Waiting … for now we know what. And she is screeching to Hebe most of all, who just stands there, staring at her mother, crying, her mouth a web of wet.

  ‘I love you,’ Lady Adora yells to her daughter. ‘Know that. No matter what. All the shouting, the carping, the tears. There has always, always been love.’

  ‘Where’s our mother?’ I cry after her, one last time. ‘You promised us.’

  Lady Adora hesitates. Stops. Turns. ‘The answers to all your questions, tiger girl, are right under your nose.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Go home. Look at yourself, look at her world, and you will see. Your love will save her, no doubt. Oh, and this …’ She hesitates then takes the necklace of black velvet from around her neck and hands it to me. On the end of it is the tiny silver key she’s always fingering. ‘This opens all the trunks, at your home. Every single one of them. Flora entrusted me … we were friends once. She was here, yes, in this place. During the war. The Illuminarium. Oh yes indeed, it illuminates, this building that has seen so much love. But everything turns. Everything upends, changes. That is the way of the world, little mousies, don’t count on anything staying the same, it’s the one rule of life. Why didn’t I listen to that? A boy named Lachie – ha! My ghost. All these years. Now off, off you go. All of you. Leave me alone!’

  Then Lady Adora turns and walks from all of us, shooing us away, laughing wildly and flapping her hands, heading to the house. We squint, shield our eyes: she gets smaller and smaller as she heads off into the distance, utterly alone. What’s she doing? She walks under the great oaks, past the rosebushes, across the ornamental lawn, stumbling in her spindly heels and nodding to the limbless statues. A tiny figure now, she walks through the broken French doors into the ballroom with its candles lit in readiness, in her beautiful dress that’s ripe for a banquet; she walks past the great cascade of ivy still tied neatly into curtains thanks to Bert; she walks into the space that held all her happiness once; she walks tall through that grand room and holds her arms high then wobbles on her heels – oh! – and falls, and reaches out a hand, knocking over one candelabra, then another, then another.

  We all gasp.

  Run forward, but we’re so far away and candle flames quickly catch – too quickly, no! – at silk bags cradling broken chandeliers, so fast, too fast. Kerosene lanterns on the floor explode in the heat and fire suddenly rises high into the ceiling like great orange clouds. The flames lick at the silver silk curtains lying in rivers across the floor and run in glee along the length of them then – poof! – the curtains billow up. As Lady Adora struggles to rise, to walk further into her house, to get out, she knocks over more candelabras, and is more overcome by smoke, by heat. No! She’s too far away, it’s happening too fast.

  ‘Don’t look!’ Basti shouts to Hebe as Silent Mountain runs to her, to shield her, to stop her racing into the flames herself. Her face is buried firm in his arms, his chest, but she struggles free and dashes towards her mother yet the great man grabs at her and holds her back strong from the heat. We cannot see inside anymore, the room is just a wall of flame from the billowing silk and exploding lanterns and Lady Adora is within it all somewhere but it’s no use trying to get to her, it’s obvious; we’re too far away, helpless.

  ‘Noooooo!’ springs forward Darius yelling in anguish, and in his cry is all his love, his life, his future; of course, she’s the only person he’s got in the world. He’s stumbling, sobbing, running to Her Ladyship in great lopey strides, desperate and determined but it’s too late for the Lady of the House, for the ballroom, its surrounding rooms, for the entire broken world of the Illuminarium. The great roar of its heat beats him back, its last roar to a new world. Darius falls on his knees before it all, hands loose by his side.

  And Hebe, dear Hebe.

  Left beside us. Sobbing in anguish, ‘Mama, Mama,’ as we enfold her in our arms.

  ‘My dear Caddys, about turn,’ Uncle Basti says in shock. ‘Make haste, we must alert the authorities. Get help. Save whatever we can of The Swallows. Get Bucket fixed. Can’t get near the house, it’s just too dangerous.’

  We spin to find a car. Long and sleek and panther-black, hurtling up the drive. One Charlie Boo at the wheel, resplendent in his bowler hat and butler’s suit. He jumps out. Looks at all of us, our flushed cheeks, skin flecked in ash; our exhausted, bewildered faces. Counts, nods and gazes at the main wing of the great house now collapsing under the spreading flame. ‘What on earth is going on?’

  ‘Long story, Mr Boo,’ Basti answers wearily, looking at Darius. ‘Old chap? Care to begin?’ he enquires of his former friend but gets nothing in return, not even a looking in the eyes. Darius is a broken man. ‘I’m sorry,’ Basti continues, softer. ‘But I did think something was odd right back at that visit to Brompton. Nothing felt quite … right.’ Darius, still, is speechless. Ahead of him, I just know it, is a future trapped in the dank and stony world of his cemetery; utterly, utterly alone. Pin goes up beside him and gently slips his little hand in the man’s. Darius does not let it go.

  ‘Mr Boo,’ Basti declares, ‘we need to get out of here, fast. Get fire engines onto this. Save as much of the house as we can. Alert the police. And get some help, immediately, for poor Bucket.’

  ‘But our son,’ Mrs Squeedly says desperately. ‘The police?’

  ‘I–I’ll leave that up to you.’ Basti smiles sadly at her, then looks tenderly at the young girl shattered and staggering in the middle of all this. ‘Dear, dear Hebe. What do we do? We’re here to help you. Your residence is not fit for staying in right now. So perhaps, right at this moment, you should come with us. Just for now. Tidy you up, sort you out, back in London. Get you removed from the, er, immediacy, of all this. Then we can find some relatives, work out what to do next. Yes? We just need to get you warm. Fed.’ He looks at us four Caddys. ‘Held, cuddled, yes?’ I nod, yes.

  Hebe’s speechless, utterly pale, in shock. Shrugging everyone off, flinching away from the lot of us.

  ‘We’re your friends,’ I say quiet. ‘And we just want to help. Whatever you want.’

  ‘We’ll be your new family!’ Scruff begs. ‘We’ll have so many adventures. Chocolate ones. And iguana-as-pets ones. And circus shows. Not a viola in sight. And we’ll teach you how to do a double backflip. Well, Bert will. And … and …’

  ‘Not now, Scruff,’ Bert soothes.

&nbs
p; Silent Mountain holds Hebe tight, her face to his chest.

  ‘Come with us,’ I say gently. ‘Just for now. If you want.’

  ‘Until everything is sorted out, perhaps,’ Basti adds, putting a fatherly arm around her shoulder.

  ‘But … but … where?’ Hebe manages to get out, looking wildly at all of us.

  ‘We’re going home,’ I say strong. ‘As soon as we can. It’s where we belong. We have to go back to Australia.’ I clutch the precious silver key now around my neck. ‘The Illuminarium has illuminated one huge thing for us: our mother is alive, and we need to find her. We have a key to her now. You can come too, if you like. But we’ll be in London first. Come and see the Reptilarium.’

  ‘It’s the most amazing building in the entire world!’ Scruff says.

  ‘And it’s not too far from Soho, I think. Your cake shop …’ Bert smiles.

  ‘Ha,’ Hebe laughs softly, despite herself. ‘The dream. You remembered.’

  ‘Of course.’

  We’re all suddenly quiet, gazing at the fire-swallowed house.

  Then high up, from a nearby oak tree, comes an unearthly wail. Louder than the smash and crackle of flames, louder than any of us. Ghostly, other-worldly, like a sound inside a shell inside the deepest ocean. A cry of utter, absolute despair and anguish and loss. A cry of a world crashing down.

  ‘Bone Boy!’ I yell.

  Abrupt silence from the tree.

  ‘Come with us.’

  Only the roar of the flames and the wind answer back.

  ‘Commander Bone? Company T is standing by. We need you.’

  ‘No, he’s with us,’ Mrs Squeedly interjects. ‘He’s our son. No matter what. We will not leave this estate, the cottages on it, the abandoned village. We’ll live in the stables if we have to. This world is our home, our only home. And we have to sort out the, the … matters … of the house. If it can be rescued. All that.’ She looks quickly at Hebe, bites her lip.

  Our friend just shuts her eyes and bats it all away, as if to say, take it, for now, just have it; I can’t absorb all this.

  I nod to Mrs Squeedly. Shake her hand in farewell. They’re where they belong, all three of her odd little family group.

  ‘My husband and I, we love children. But … it’s so hard to explain … we didn’t want to get close to you all.’ She’s talking to us Caddy kids by way of apology. ‘Didn’t want Bone anywhere near you – but couldn’t stop him, of course.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Didn’t want him luring you away, into another world outside of this. The house. He means everything to us. None of us know anything else. I’m sorry.’

  I nod ‘I know.’ The four of us look back at Charlie Boo. He tips his hat, urging us into the car. We have to find a phone. Get to the authorities, fast. Find help for Bucket, get to Dad. It’s time to hand over responsibility here. Dad said I had to look after the family while he’s away and I haven’t done it very well so far.

  A sob catches in my throat: Dad was relying on me and I almost lost a few of us several times here. It’s time for the next adventure, oh yes, but with him by our side this time.

  We have to unravel the mystery of Mum. Get home, to the desert, and open those trunks; find out just how deeply Flora and Lady Adora were connected and what on earth our mum was doing in that school room and where she went to next. I look at Pin crying, ‘Bone, Bone, come out,’ to the oak tree, trying to understand all that’s just happened. ‘Where’s Her Ladyboat, Boney?’

  Uncle Basti hugs me, guiding me into the car. ‘You’ve done well, kid.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh yes. You’re alive. All four of you. Boo and I are so grateful for that. For your help, as always. Knowing you were with them, guiding them – however bouncy they proved to be – was of great comfort to us. We knew they’d be all right, because they were with you.’

  My disbelieving crooked smile, one side up one side down.

  ‘Come with us, just for now,’ Charlie Boo says to Hebe. ‘Until we sort out what to do.’

  She looks at Mrs Squeedly, who nods. ‘It’s for the best. It’ll mean fresh clothes, a proper bed, rest. With friends.’ The old lady looks at us strong, in approval. And besides, we all know they’ve got their own son to take care of.

  ‘But I don’t know who I am anymore,’ Hebe cries. ‘I have no family. No home.’

  ‘You can be whomever you want to be, my dear girl,’ Basti says. ‘That is my philosophy. I celebrate the courage to be different, as this mad Caddy lot well know.’ He looks at us dubiously; they both laugh. ‘It’s the courage to decide your own fate – however singular that may be. So come on, come with us. Just for now. We want you very much. And like you just the way you are.’

  ‘Why?’ A smile bursts through her face.

  ‘Because we think you’re rather magnificent – and need to experience more of you.’

  We cheer her into the car.

  ‘The Reptilarium’s 300-year-old motto is Custodi Vulnerant,’ Basti adds, ‘which means to protect – not crush. It’s never been broken yet. You’ll be safe with us.’

  ‘New family! New family!’ Pin exclaims, clapping his hands with glee. ‘Duddle?’ he adds.

  It’s Hebe’s big test. She turns and cuddles him good and tight.

  ‘You’ll do, striker girl,’ Scruff says, punching her playfully. He gets a sniffly punch back. As we shut the car doors the wailing starts up again from the oak tree.

  ‘What’s your real name, Lord Bone?’ I yell out, winding the window down.

  ‘Lachlan,’ he says.

  ‘No, your surname.’

  ‘Lachlan Ellicott, of course.’

  I shake my head. ‘If only you’d told us that, mate.’

  ‘You might see me again, K.’

  ‘Yes, we may well need you one day in our lives. Your skills might come in handy. Company T isn’t done with you yet!’

  But only silence answers back.

  I smile. Know we’ll see him again. We wave to the tree. To Mr and Mrs Squeedly. They’ll be servants, once again of course, but to their Lord Bone. Who gave them a promise that one day he’d make the Illuminarium as glorious as it had been a long while ago – with them firmly at the centre of it. The Illuminarium has only illuminated what a rotten, dying world it inhabits; that its time has passed. There’s a new order on the way – and our different energy will be a part of it, I just know. The Illuminarium has also shown us the importance of working people out for yourself; listening to your heart about them rather than relying on other people’s opinions – which can be horribly wrong. Hebe, dear Hebe, is a case in point.

  As Charlie Boo finally drives south towards London, after a long, long day, he turns and shakes his head at the jumbly, tumbly, exhausted lot of us. The full Boo eyebrow. The full Boo glare.

  ‘Up to your old tricks again, eh, you Caddy lot?’ He glances at our Hebe, fast asleep in her sky-blue satin on Scruff’s shoulder. She’s filthy and utterly worn out.

  ‘Pin, you’ll do anything for a new friend, won’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes, Mr Boo!’

  Bert points to a stain of grubbiness and soot across the length of her dress and declares that she’s ours now; that we knew all along the Caddy world would eventually get to her.

  ‘You lot are not getting near any of my grandchildren,’ Charlie Boo murmurs back in mock horror.

  ‘Oh yes, we are!’ four Caddys yell out in delight.

  It’s the twelfth night after Christmas and not a Caddy is complaining here – whingeing, shoving, hitting or tongue-poking – nope, there’s not even a peep (miraculously) from young Master Phineas.

  He’s just staring, rapt, at two silver curtains in the Lumen Room, the most magical room in the entire Kensington Reptilarium. A great gathering of new mates is sitting on gilded chairs all around him – Basti and Dinda; Charlie Boo and twelve of his grandchildren (Linus positioning himself a little too close to me, but most astonishingly I do not seem to be moving my chair); Hen, Lina and Hannah,
Max and Dave and Ethan, Georgie, Saskia and Harry from Campden Hill Square; Horatio the lawyer and his lady friend, Henrietta Witchum Maggs, with a rather spectacular emerald ring on her finger (‘a gift from Charles the Second to my great great great – oh – whatever grandmother’) and the guest of honour?

  One Hebe Horatina Ellicott – the newest, most tentative member of the family. For now. Who needs a lot of cheering up.

  But look! Look!

  It’s starting.

  The curtains are flung wide and out steps Albertina the Younger, most resplendent in the bare hoops of a Victorian skirt over sequined circus tights with a child’s fitted military jacket on top and two black feather boas wrapped rather splendidly around her neck.

  ‘Ssssssssh,’ she commands, her eyes dancing merrily.

  She clicks her fingers high. Out steps her assistant – one Master Ralph, known as Scruff – in a Spartan’s helmet, thigh-high pirate boots and a calico convict’s shirt.

  ‘Let there be light!’ he pronounces solemnly.

  Then Berti leans in close. ‘If music be the food of love, play on,’ she whispers trillingly, to all of us, and Scruff softly beats the drum on a golden rope around his neck. Louder, louder, and one by one every glow worm in the room wakes up and the light spreads like a golden liquid across the walls and roof and we all gasp at the wondrous beauty of it.

  And so the show commences. With backflips and triple cartwheels and synchronised green tree snakes and one Perdita the cobra, who insists on being a scarf around Berti’s neck at one point. Followed by a skit involving Uncle Rasti the lovable red rat and Minda the Mighty Mouse, black-haired of course, and their grand and complicated love, which ends most appropriately at the altar of a church. (Basti actually blushes, miraculous.) The grand Caddy spectacle finishes up with a song from us four scruffy, squealy kids from the bush; Pin on my shoulders with his hands curled in giggly rapture at his cheeks, staring at everyone before him – all the wonderfully lovely new friends in his life.