The Vulture of Sommerset

by Stephen M. Giles

  27 February, 1871

  His madness grows. MM has built a crude machine and now demands that I consent to participate in his deranged experiment. To wit, he wants me to attach myself to his invention and drink an extract of the Panacea – MM says that my soul should lift from my body, free as a bird, then return home when the machine is switched off. Naturally I refused him! MM exploded with rage and charged that I am sabotaging his progress. He shook me violently, with the grip of a man half his age, and did not stop until I struck him squarely in the face. He recovered his senses and apologised, yet he still looks at me as one might a deer fresh for the hunting. I have devised a way to remove MM from Sommerset without detection, but it will take several days to bring all the elements together. I hope and pray the gods are with me!

  28 February, 1871

  A chambermaid, Abigail O’Rourke, has vanished. She was last seen yesterday morning polishing the stair banister in the entrance hall. MM has barricaded the tunnel to the secret room and will not let me in. I fear the worst.

  1 March, 1871

  Today is the blackest I have known. My parents believe that our chambermaid Abigail is with child and has fled to hide her shame, but it is not the truth. It was MM who snatched her from the hall to use in his evil experiment! It pains me to record that by the time I forced entry to the chamber it was all too late. The poor wretched girl was strapped to a chair, her withered body slumped like a carcass. She looked to be ancient, her skin dry and loose. MM claimed the experiment had begun brilliantly but midway through the night young Abigail had begun to fever and scream. She was dead by sunrise. MM showed no remorse for the poor girl’s passing. He says she died in the service of immortality!

  Now I must set right all that is wrong.

  I have written a full account of my crimes and provided the exact location of the secret room. I shall deposit the confession in Father’s study before I leave. There is a ship sailing for India tomorrow and I intend to be on it. From there I shall voyage to Egypt then journey by horse to Trangara. My task is a simple one – to return the Lazarus Rock to the people of Trangara and accept without protest the punishment of death. It is no less than I deserve.

  I dare not remove the Rock until the last moment. MM only sleeps in the few hours before sunrise and it is then that I shall snatch the jewel, the map and MM’s treasured supply of the Panacea. I shall burn every last bit of that cursed plant! I trust that once the world has learned of MM’s monstrous crimes they will hang him from the highest post. Then we shall see if he can cheat death!

  In closing

  Wait. I hear the creak of boards outside my door. My nerves are afire but I am certain it is not my imagination. There it is again! I will go. If danger lurks I must move quickly.

  Adele turned the page, desperate to discover what happened next. It was blank. Blank!

  ‘No!’ she shouted. ‘It mustn’t end, not like this!’

  Refusing to surrender, Adele pinched the edge of the page, flicking it over, longing to see the familiar scrawl of Captain Bloom’s handwriting. There had to be more! There had to be something more!

  All she found was the empty promise of a blank page.

  Seized by an impulse so strong it made her stomach churn, Adele stared at the piles of documents and records stacked around her. Pouncing suddenly she thrust her hand into the largest bundle, pulling a tattered grey tome from the bottom. The long rectangular notebook belonged to Captain Bloom’s sister Cornelia, and in it she had preserved a vast collection of old press clippings written about the Bloom family.

  In her rush to learn the whereabouts of the Vulture of Sommerset, Adele had paid little attention to the notebook, but now she studied each page carefully, not entirely sure what she was looking for . . . until she found it.

  Adele tried to staunch the tears brimming in her eyes but it was no use. Her heart trembled. Captain Bloom had been murdered! It was all so awful . . . so vicious. Carefully she pulled the clipping from Lady Bloom’s notebook, fixing it to the last page of the captain’s journal. It was only a small thing, but at least the captain’s story would now have its ending.

  A gust of icy wind curled in under her shawl and Adele pulled the wrap tightly around her. For months now she had followed the captain’s journey, marvelling at his reckless thirst for adventure and his nail-biting hunt for the Panacea. His diary had lifted even the bleakest day. How foolish she had been! The past was not some cosy escapade trapped in the dusty pages of an old diary. No, the past was a hunter with a taste for blood . . . and the hunter had a name. Dr Mangrove was back and he had Aunt Rosemary.

  CONFLICT

  ‘You look awfully tired, dear,’ remarked Isabella, gazing disappointedly at Adele’s pale, freckly face. ‘There are dark circles under your eyes, your skin is a ghastly shade of white and as for your hair . . .’ She studied the freakish tangle of curly red hair and sighed loudly. ‘I’m afraid the only remedy is a hat. I am sorry, cousin.’

  Adele shrugged, barely giving Isabella a glance. ‘Don’t be.’

  With the captain’s diary still fresh in her mind (not to mention clasped between her hands), she had little room left to worry about the state of her hair.

  The girls were sitting beneath the massive evergreen oak which bordered the rose gardens, waiting for Milo. The tree had been a favourite spot for the cousins since they first arrived at Sommerset, offering stunning views of the woodlands, the summerhouse and a vast meadow of rippling wildflowers.

  ‘You must not forget that we are Winterbottoms,’ said Isabella as she reached into the silver bowl resting on her lap and removed a strip of buffalo meat. ‘Being the world’s richest children carries certain responsibilities, including keeping one’s skin refreshed and one’s hair under control.’ She flung the meat high into the air. ‘After all, the eyes of the world are upon us.’

  The ground rumbled as Thorn clawed rapidly across the grass, the beast’s broad scaly back arched towards the sky as his muscular front legs pushed off the ground. With all the skill of a gymnast, the four-metre crocodile glided through the air towards the object of his desire, his monstrous jaw whipping open at the last moment to snatch the buffalo meat in mid-air.

  Isabella smiled approvingly, reaching down and petting his ribbed snout. She threw another piece of buffalo towards the horizon and Thorn dutifully leaped into the air and hunted it down.

  ‘So, Cousin,’ she said, her eyes twinkling, ‘what exactly did you find in Captain Bloom’s journal? Oh, please tell me; it must be utterly shocking for you to call a meeting like this.’

  ‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather wait until Milo gets here.’

  ‘Where is our grumpy little cousin anyway?’ said Isabella, looking about irritably. She placed the silver bowl on the ground so that Thorn could finish his meal without her assistance. ‘He’s probably sneaking about doing whatever it is strange little boys do.’

  ‘Isabella,’ said Adele firmly, ‘you promised not to pick on Milo today. There is so much to do and no time for bickering.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Cousin, you can count on me,’ promised Isabella, easing back in the wicker chair and closing her eyes. ‘I am terribly good with children.’ She groaned dramatically. ‘I just wish he would hurry; Father and I are having a picnic by the great lake today and I cannot be late.’

  For the first time that day Adele took a proper look at her cousin. She wore a pretty dress of cream and pale blue trimmed with lace, and her silky black hair was tied with yellow ribbon. How lucky she was, Adele thought, to have her father so close by . . . especially now. Then another thought occurred to her: in all the time Uncle Nathanial had been at Sommerset, she had barely seen him.

  ‘Uncle Nathanial wasn’t at dinner last night,’ said Adele. ‘I hope he is feeling all right.’

  Isabella’s eyes sprang open and she gave a polite laugh. ‘Well, of course he is, Cousin. Father spent the whole day with me yesterday and I am afraid I exhausted him.’ She smiled at Adele but her ey
es were cool. ‘The truth is, Father gets terribly jealous when I am around you and Milo. You see, he doesn’t like sharing me.’

  ‘He must love you very much,’ observed Adele.

  ‘Oh, yes! In fact, he told me his greatest wish is to move to Sommerset so he can see me every single day.’

  ‘Isabella, that’s wonderful,’ said Adele brightly. At least something good was happening for one of the Winterbottoms.

  ‘Naturally I told him it was impossible,’ said Isabella matter-of-factly. ‘I am far too busy, and besides, he makes such a fuss over me.’ She sighed. ‘It broke his heart . . . he cried for hours.’

  Just at that moment Florence Puddle, a junior maid with mousy blonde hair and tremendously red ears, was rocketing across the lawn, her black skirt hitched up above her knees.

  ‘Your father sent me, Miss Isabella,’ she said, gasping for breath as she came to a clumsy stop beside the oak tree, ‘with . . . with . . . with a message for you.’

  ‘A message for me?’ said Isabella merrily. ‘Let me guess – Father cannot bear to wait until our picnic to see me, so he has sent you down here to fetch me at once?’

  The breathless maid shook her head reluctantly. ‘Mr Winterbottom sends his apologies, miss. He says he won’t be able to join you for the picnic on account of his toenails; they’re in a right desperate state, he says. Right now Mr Winterbottom’s having an emergency pedicure and he reckons it’s going to take most of the day.’

  Isabella’s face was completely still, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

  ‘He also wanted to apologise for yesterday afternoon, miss,’ continued Florence. ‘Mr Winterbottom says he couldn’t see you on account of his eyes being so puffy. They were massive, he said, like two great water balloons – and the only cure was complete bed rest.’ Florence raised her eyebrows doubtfully. ‘To be honest, miss, they looked fine to me.’

  ‘Thank you, Florence,’ said Isabella with a frozen smile. ‘Now I’m sure there is something back at the house in desperate need of polishing – you may go.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  Once Florence had departed an uncomfortable silence descended under the oak tree.

  ‘I’m sorry, Isabella,’ said Adele finally.

  Her cousin gave a brittle laugh. ‘Whatever for?’

  Adele didn’t know what else to say. Comforting people was Aunt Rosemary’s speciality and she would have known just what Isabella needed to hear, or perhaps she would have marched up to Uncle Nathanial’s bedchamber and boxed his ears! Something, anyway. The daylight splashed across the field, making the tips of the tall grass glitter like gemstones. It reminded Adele of happier times when they would gather under the tree for lunch and then ride the horses through the meadow or play hide and seek in the woodlands. Now even with a soft breeze kissing her face and the smell of gardenias and lavender sweetening the air, it was impossible to feel any joy. Rosemary’s raucous laughter was the music of their lazy afternoons and it had been stolen away.

  ‘Sorry I’m late.’

  The girls looked up and saw Milo standing before them. He was rocking back and forth on his heels, hands buried inside his pockets.

  ‘Sorry?’ snapped Isabella, jumping quickly to her feet. ‘We have been sitting here for hours! Do you think we have nothing better to do than wait around for you to show up?’

  ‘Of course not,’ replied Milo meekly, stabbing at the ground with the tip of his shoe. ‘I said I was sorry.’

  ‘Well, I do not accept your apology and neither does Adele,’ declared Isabella. She reached atop her head and unlooped the yellow ribbon. ‘In case you have forgotten, Cousin, our aunt has been kidnapped! Adele called this meeting because she has some vital new information which may help to find her. I’m sorry you didn’t think it was important enough to turn up on time.’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ said Milo firmly. ‘I want to find Aunt Rosemary as much as anyone. I was up in the attic looking for the Vulture of Sommerset. I just lost track of time, that’s all.’

  Isabella let out an irritated groan. ‘If there is one thing I dislike it is a selfish orphan!’

  ‘That’s funny,’ said Milo with a sneer, ‘you don’t seem to have the same problem with selfish princesses.’

  Isabella gasped, slapping Milo with her ribbon. ‘How dare you!’

  ‘No, Isabella,’ hissed Milo, ‘how dare you!’

  ‘BE QUIET!’ shouted Adele, her voice slicing the air like an axe. ‘Both of you be quiet!’

  The bickering cousins, who were now only centimetres from each other, shut up immediately and turned to look at Adele in astonishment.

  ‘Isabella, you are being hateful and I know it’s because you’re angry at your father, but that’s not Milo’s fault and you shouldn’t take it out on him.’ Isabella’s mouth fell open but amazingly she did not speak. ‘And Milo, we know you love Aunt Rosemary and you want to help get her back, but lately you are always disappearing . . . and every time we ask you what it is you’re doing, it seems like you don’t want to tell us.’ Adele folded her arms and looked sharply at her two cousins. ‘We all have our faults but right now they don’t matter half as much as finding Aunt Rosemary. Agreed?’

  Stunned and slightly bruised by the tongue-lashing they had just received, Milo and Isabella slowly nodded their heads.

  ‘Good,’ said Adele. She walked back to her seat and picked up the captain’s journal. ‘You both need to read this. I’ve marked the important pages. It’s bad news, I’m afraid. Very bad. When you are finished we must decide what to do next. Aunt Rosemary’s life depends upon it.’ She handed the book to Milo first. ‘And so do ours.’

  WHAT’S PAST IS PRESENT

  As Levi edged his way down the long corridor three storeys above the entrance hall his eyes were fixed on the kidnapper’s trail. All day he had tracked his suspect’s movements covertly, never once being detected. And Levi was now certain that his suspicions were correct. While he did not yet have proof to finger the guilty, he was close.

  Once upon a time the head butler of Sommerset House had been a cat burglar – and a rather good one at that. In fact, he was Iceland’s most successful jewel thief two years running. But his criminal career was cut short when he was caught trying to steal a large ruby necklace from a wealthy opera singer – while she was wearing it.

  Levi’s crimes were the talk of Iceland, and when he was sent away to prison for five years it broke his sister Svanhildur’s heart. Filled with shame and sorrow, Levi vowed to give up his life of crime and follow his sister into domestic service – and that is exactly what he did, working his way up from bellboy in a revolting little hotel in Berlin to the head butler of Sommerset House.

  Despite his new life, Levi still possessed the mind of a cat burglar. He was able to move in the shadows, to observe without being seen, and to read people like an open book.

  ‘We are both scholars, miss,’ he liked to tell Adele. ‘You study books and I people.’

  The butler pulled his pocket watch from his vest. Time to move. With eyes peeled he turned into the last doorway on the left, unlocked the door using a master key and disappeared inside.

  Once more the corridor was empty and silent. Ten minutes passed before Levi’s suspect finally emerged from the back stairs. Looking carefully around, the suspect moved rapidly down the corridor and vanished through the last door on the left.

  Once inside the suspect locked the door and pulled on a pair of white gloves. With the sort of skill that only comes from practice, the suspect pushed a chair against the wall and climbed quickly onto the windowsill, reaching up and slipping a gloved hand into the pelmet above the thick yellow drapes. When the hand emerged it clasped a sheet of black paper and a long white fountain pen.

  Moments later, sitting at the desk, the slick white letters began to bleed from the pen. Hunched over the paper, the scribe did not appear to hear the wardrobe door open or Levi stepping out. Keen to take the suspect by surprise, the tiny butler waited for just
the right moment . . . and then slammed the wardrobe door with an almighty bang. But to his great surprise the scribe did not jump up or shout or even turn around. Instead the hand remained on the page moving keenly from word to word.

  ‘Well done, Levi.’ The voice was calm, even a little amused. ‘I figured you’d be the one to find me out.’

  ‘It was not so hard,’ said the butler, walking cautiously towards the villain. ‘You are not as clever as you think.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  With care the kidnapper replaced the lid on the fountain pen then picked up the page and blew gently on the wet ink, watching as it set like a frost upon the darkness. The figure held out the note. ‘It’s for you.’

  Levi’s eyes betrayed his uncertainty. Nothing was going as he’d expected. The villain was meant to fall apart upon discovery and confess all. Instead, the gaze was cold . . . even hateful. There was no fear.

  Reluctantly Levi took the note and read it. Terror rushed through his tiny body. He dropped the page and began to run, but by that time it was all too late.

  There was a pain in his neck, sharp and hot, and he was falling.

  ‘You’re kidding, right?’

  Milo marched into the colossal library, his face like a thundercloud, followed quickly by Adele, Isabella and Thorn. The girls and the reptile had been chasing after Milo ever since he’d stormed in from the garden.