Alice-Miranda Shows the Way

by Jacqueline Harvey

  ‘I heard that, Millicent!’ The old woman chased after the girls, huffing and blowing like a steam train. She reached the group, took one look at Tarquin and his collection and sucked in a breath so hard Alice-Miranda wondered for a moment if she might choke on it. Mrs Parker pointed at the ground. ‘Uh, uh, uh.’ She didn’t seem able to speak.

  ‘What’s the matter, Mrs Parker?’ Alice-Miranda leapt down from the saddle and pulled Stumps’s reins over his head.

  ‘It was him.’ Mrs Parker waggled her fat forefinger at Tarquin.

  Alice-Miranda sighed. ‘Mrs Parker, I’m sure that Tarquin had nothing to do with the disappearance of your gnome.’

  ‘Then how do you explain that?’ she demanded, pointing down among the lad’s treasures. ‘That is my badge! Mine! He must have taken it from my house when he took Newton.’

  Alice-Miranda looked. Millie looked too. A shiny silver badge winked at them in the morning sun. The owner was clear: the badge read Myrtle Parker Show Society President.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ Myrtle demanded, pointing at the badge.

  Tarquin looked up at her. ‘Fern got it,’ he said.

  ‘Then it must be Fern who broke into my house,’ Myrtle raged.

  ‘How long has your badge been missing, Mrs Parker?’ asked Alice-Miranda. There had to be a perfectly logical explanation.

  ‘I was wearing it yesterday,’ the woman shouted.

  Millie tried to recall Mrs Parker and her floral ensemble from the day before. She couldn’t remember seeing a badge. ‘No, you weren’t.’

  ‘Yes, I was. He’s a thief,’ Myrtle sniffed. ‘Anyway, I’m reporting him to Constable Derby. And I’m taking that with me right now.’ She reached forward and scooped the badge into her hand.

  ‘No!’ Tarquin shouted. ‘It’s mine!’

  The boy reached out and snatched it back again. He placed each badge back into the plastic bag.

  ‘You give that to me now,’ Myrtle roared.

  ‘No!’ Tarquin lay on top of the bag.

  ‘Mrs Parker, I’m sure that Constable Derby can get your badge back later if it’s that important,’ Alice-Miranda said calmly.

  The old woman stared at the small girl. Myrtle now vaguely recalled that her badge had been missing for weeks.

  ‘Why don’t you head home and see Mr Parker,’ Alice-Miranda suggested.

  Myrtle’s face crumpled and she began to cry like a baby. Fat tears ran down her cheeks and she looked completely lost.

  ‘You’ve had such a busy time. I’m sure that a cup of tea and a lie down would do you the world of good before the races this afternoon. Do you have a lovely outfit? I have a pretty blue dress that Mummy and Daddy sent for my birthday.’

  Myrtle Parker nodded.

  ‘Will we see you later?’ Alice-Miranda smiled encouragingly at the old woman.

  ‘Bye, Mrs Parker,’ Millie said in barely more than a whisper.

  Myrtle Parker waddled towards her car, hopped in and drove slowly away.

  ‘Well, that was weird,’ Millie said. ‘I sort of feel sorry for her. She seemed lost.’

  ‘I think she’s exhausted,’ Alice-Miranda said, before turning her attention back to Tarquin, who was still lying on the ground guarding his collection. ‘It’s okay, Tarq, she’s gone.’

  Tarquin pushed himself to his knees.

  ‘Do you know where Alf is?’ Alice-Miranda asked.

  ‘He’s gone to the shop,’ Tarquin replied.

  Alice-Miranda wrinkled her nose. It was Sunday. None of the village shops were open on a Sunday. ‘Which shop?’

  ‘The special shop. Near the cats,’ Tarquin said, as he pulled his badges back out of the bag and placed them methodically one after the other on the ground.

  ‘Cats? What cats?’ Alice-Miranda’s mind was in overdrive.

  ‘Miss Bah,’ he said.

  And then she knew.

  ‘Millie, we have to go.’ Alice-Miranda heaved herself up onto Stumps’s back.

  ‘Go where?’ her friend asked as she wheeled Chops around.

  ‘I’ll tell you on the way,’ Alice-Miranda called as she took off. ‘Goodbye Tarquin!’

  Millie gave Chops a sharp jab with her boot and followed after her friend. The two ponies were neck and neck as they raced around the edge of the showground and into the paddock beyond.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Millie shouted.

  ‘The stables at Caledonia Manor,’ Alice-Miranda called back. ‘Just follow me.’

  The ponies thundered through the forest. Many hours spent exploring meant Alice-Miranda knew every track and lane. Dodging overhanging branches and clearing fallen logs, old Stumps set a cracking pace with Chops hot on his heels. They raced on until they neared the old vegetable patch at Caledonia Manor and Alice-Miranda steadied Stumps to a trot, then slowed to a walk.

  Her heart was hammering inside her chest and she needed to catch her breath.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Millie panted.

  ‘It’s a long story and we don’t have much time. I need you to go to Miss Hephzibah’s and call Constable Derby. Tell him to get over to the stables here as fast as he can. Mr Boots has got it wrong. It’s not Chesterfield Downs – it’s here. I’ll watch and make sure that Alf doesn’t leave.’

  ‘Alf? What’s he done?’ Millie asked.

  ‘I suspect he robbed half the village last night.’

  ‘See, I told you the carnies weren’t to be trusted,’ Millie said smugly.

  ‘It’s not like that at all, Millie. Do you remember when we first met the kids and there was the fight and Rory said that Alf was coming? They all disappeared. Alf threatens them. He says that if they don’t do what he says, their parents will die, just like Gina, Fern’s mother, did.’

  ‘That’s terrible. Do you think he killed Gina?’ Millie asked.

  ‘No, she was sick, but Alf’s a powerful man. He can tell the kids what he wants and they’re not going to question him. Besides, he already got rid of one of the boys.’

  ‘Who?’ Millie frowned.

  ‘Mr Boots,’ Alice-Miranda said.

  ‘Billy Boots! What’s he got to do with the carnival?’ Millie asked.

  ‘Billy is Fern and Tarquin’s brother,’ Alice-Miranda replied, ‘and by rights the carnival now belongs to him and his brother and sister.’

  ‘What?’ Millie was shocked.

  ‘Think about it, Millie. What colour are his eyes?’ Alice-Miranda asked.

  ‘They’re that weird amber cat colour. Oh,’ she said, nodding. ‘Just like Fern and Tarquin.’

  ‘Alf married their mother and then she died and the carnival was meant to be in trust for them until Billy was old enough to take over. But he knew what Alf was up to – except that Alf blamed Billy for being a thief. He accused Billy of stealing the takings from one of their show weekends. He even had photographs which Billy said were completely set up. But the others all took Alf’s side, so Billy ran away and he’s been working out how to get back there and make things right ever since.’

  ‘That’s terrible,’ Millie said. ‘Poor Fern.’

  ‘We need to get moving. Constable Derby has to catch Alf with the goods, otherwise there’s no way to prove it was him.’ Alice-Miranda jumped down from Stumps’s back and pulled the reins over his head. ‘You go to the manor. I’ll tie Stumps up here and head down to the stables.’

  ‘Be careful,’ Millie said. ‘Don’t do anything crazy, okay?’

  Alice-Miranda smiled. ‘I promise.’

  ‘Miss Hephzibah,’ Millie called as she raced along the veranda. She’d hitched Chops to the colonnade on the lower lawn and bolted to the house.

  ‘I’m in here, dear,’ Hephzibah called.

  Millie flung open the screen door.
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  ‘Well, good morning. I was just making some tea.’ Hephzibah, in her dressing-gown and slippers, was filling the kettle at the sink. ‘You’re out early,’ she said, glancing at the clock. ‘Actually, perhaps we’ve had a bit of a late start. That ball last night really took it out of me.’ It was now almost half past ten.

  ‘Miss Hephzibah, I need to use the telephone, please,’ Millie explained. ‘It’s important.’

  ‘Of course, dear. Is everything all right?’

  ‘I need to call Constable Derby.’ Millie ran to the telephone in the hall just beyond the kitchen.

  ‘Constable Derby!’ Hephzibah repeated, following Millie. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’

  Millie rang through to the police station.

  ‘Come on, come on, pick up,’ she whispered into the receiver. ‘Oh hello, Mrs Derby, it’s Millie, is Constable Derby there? I need you to get a message to him right away . . .’

  Alice-Miranda crept along the fence line towards the decrepit stable block, ducked through the mouldy brick archway and tried to make herself invisible against a stone wall. She watched the entrance of the building for a couple of minutes but all was quiet. Just as she was about to make her way across the open courtyard, she heard the rattling drone of an engine approaching. Alice-Miranda peeked around the wall and saw a battered grey Land Rover turn into the driveway and head straight for the stables. She slipped between the rails and crouched down behind an old stone water trough. The four-wheel drive clattered to a halt in front of the building.

  Alice-Miranda peered around the edge of the trough. Someone got out of the car but from her hiding spot she could see only their trousered legs.

  ‘So, my little lovelies, what treasures did you find for Alfie last night?’ he said to himself.

  Alice-Miranda listened to Alf’s footsteps on the cobbles. The stable door groaned as he pulled it open and then closed it behind him.

  Alice-Miranda hoped Constable Derby would be along soon. She wondered how she was going to keep Alf there if he decided to leave. Then she had an idea. She slipped back through the fence and scurried across the courtyard to the car. She pulled herself up on the door handle and saw exactly what she was hoping for. The driver’s window was down and the key was still in the ignition. Alice-Miranda reached in and held her breath as she pulled the key from the slot. She jumped back down to the ground as softly as she could and hid the key under the water trough. Then she crept to the doorway and listened.

  Through a missing panel in the door, she could see the top of Alf’s ginger crop. He was standing in one of the stalls, inspecting the stolen merchandise and commenting on each new discovery.

  ‘That’s a spanking set of power tools. Yes, I do like a little haul of electrical goods. Mmm, what’s this then, jewellery? Lovely. You’ll bring a pretty penny down the pub. And my little gnome friend – so glad you’re back, son. We can have some lovely adventures this year, and keep your old mum guessing all over again.’

  Alf walked out of the stall and further into the building. ‘What’s this!’ he exclaimed.

  An explosive whinny punctured the air and Alice-Miranda fell backwards. She scrambled back to her feet, hoping the sound of the pony had masked her tripping on the cobbles.

  She knew that voice. It was Bonaparte for sure.

  ‘Feisty little one, aren’t you? Well, I’ll have to find a new market but you’ll bring a pretty penny.’

  Alice-Miranda heard the rustle of cloth, then the sound of a pony’s teeth snapping.

  ‘Ow! You little monster. I’ll teach you to bite old Alfie!’

  Alice-Miranda heard some shuffling, then the sound of a horse whip split the air.

  ‘No!’ She squeezed through the broken panel and ran towards Alf. ‘Don’t hurt him!’ she yelled.

  On hearing his mistress’s voice, Bonaparte reared up and smashed his front legs through the rotten stall door, which disintegrated under his weight.

  Alf turned to face the tiny intruder.

  ‘What are you doing here, you little snoop?’ he roared. ‘I’ll give you a walloping as well.’

  Alf charged forward and slashed at the child with the whip. Voomp, voomp, it cut through the stale air.

  ‘Bonaparte!’ Alice-Miranda yelled. The pony burst out of the stall and charged at Alf, sending the old man flying. Alf didn’t know what hit him as he thudded onto the cobblestone floor.

  ‘Why, you . . .’ Alf pushed himself back to his feet. Bonaparte spun around and ran towards the man, rearing up, his forelegs punching forward like a boxer’s arms. Alf took several steps backwards. He was cornered in the old feed room. The enormous timber hoppers sat open, their oats and barley mostly gone. Beside them a huge vat of molasses contained a treasure trove of fossilised bugs.

  Alf stood his ground but Bonaparte could sense victory. As the ginger-bearded man struck out for the last time, Bonaparte surged forward. With arms rotating like windmills, Alf lost his balance and fell backwards into the sticky trap.

  ‘Ahhh!’ he yelled. ‘Get me out of here.’ But he was stuck fast, the ancient molasses clawing at his backside, dragging his bare arms down into its gummy clutches.

  Outside, a police siren wailed. Alice-Miranda heard the car screech to a halt and within seconds Constable Derby, Billy Boots and Fern were inside the building.

  ‘Alice-Miranda!’ Constable Derby called.

  ‘I’m here!’ She stood up and the policeman rushed towards her with Billy and Fern close behind.

  Fern raced forward and hugged Alice-Miranda. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get caught up in all of this.’

  ‘Are you all right?’ Alice-Miranda asked. She noticed that the bandage was gone from Fern’s arm.

  ‘I’m fine. It’s better. I wanted to tell you what was going on the other day when I saw you at the caravans but I couldn’t.’ Fern’s eyes filled with tears. ‘It was too dangerous.’

  Alice-Miranda smiled at her friend. ‘It’s all right. Billy explained everything. It sounds like you’ve been living with a monster.’

  ‘Who’s Billy?’ Fern asked.

  ‘Your brother,’ Alice-Miranda replied.

  ‘His name’s not Billy. It’s Liam,’ said Fern, confused. Alice-Miranda was too.

  ‘I’ll explain later. Where’s Alf?’ Billy asked, his amber eyes shining in the half-light.

  Alice-Miranda pointed at the feed room. ‘He’s in there.’

  Billy and the constable skittered to the door and poked their heads inside.

  ‘What’s all this?’ Constable Derby exclaimed.

  Alf was wedged in the old drum, wriggling and squirming and slowly sinking further into the tacky goo. Bonaparte was standing over him, jabbing his nose into the old man’s belly and pushing him further down.

  ‘Got yourself into a bit of a sticky situation there, Alf,’ Billy chortled.

  ‘You’ll keep,’ Alf griped. ‘Just get me out of here.’

  ‘Must have something to do with your sticky fingers,’ Constable Derby couldn’t help but chime in.

  He and Billy laughed.

  Billy turned and grinned at Alice-Miranda. ‘You’re a hero, miss.’

  The child shook her head. ‘Not me. It was all Bonaparte’s doing. He’s the one you should thank.’

  ‘But how?’ Constable Derby looked at the broken timber on the floor.

  ‘Bonaparte caught him.’ Alice-Miranda grabbed an ancient lead rope from a hook on the wall and clipped it on Bony’s halter. Then she wrapped her arms around the pony’s neck and gave him a tight squeeze. ‘He broke down the door and didn’t stop until Mr Alf was well and truly stuck. The stolen goods are in there.’ Alice-Miranda pointed at the end stall.

  ‘But what was Bonaparte doing here in the first place?’ Constable Derby asked. ‘Did they stea
l him too?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I’m glad that he was.’ Alice-Miranda glanced at her watch. ‘Oh no! I’ve got to get him to the racetrack. The Queen’s Cup starts soon.’

  The sound of hooves on cobbles signified the arrival of Millie and Chops. The girl abandoned the pony and raced inside.

  ‘I heard the siren,’ she puffed. ‘Huh? What’s Bony doing here?’

  Alice-Miranda shrugged. ‘I don’t know but I have to get him to the racetrack or Rockstar doesn’t stand a chance.’

  ‘You’d better get going then,’ s Fern.

  ‘Don’t worry about old Alf here. We’ll take care of him. Just go,’ Constable Derby commanded.

  ‘Come on,’ Millie said. ‘Bony’s not saddled up, so you’d better double on Chops with me and hold Bony’s lead. We should be able to make it.’

  Alice-Miranda ran Bonaparte down the centre of the stables. She turned and looked at Constable Derby. ‘Oh, if you’re looking for the key to Alf’s car, it’s under the trough,’ she said.

  Millie leapt onto Chops’s back and hauled Alice-Miranda up behind her.

  ‘It’s going to be a bumpy ride,’ Millie told her friend. ‘Hang on. Come on, Chops, let’s go!’

  Evelyn Pepper had put off loading Rockstar onto the truck until as late as she possibly could. She’d been trying to calm the cranky beast for hours but no amount of brushing and stroking and blowing in his nostrils seemed to work. He was in a right foul mood. She’d been woken around half past four that morning with her champion whinnying at the top of his lungs. When she hobbled to the stables, she discovered the reason for his bellowing. Bonaparte was gone.

  At least Wally Whitstable could manage the giant for her – he wasn’t afraid of Rockstar, which in itself was half the battle. Although the horse had always been gentle with Evelyn, she was apprehensive about him lashing out, particularly given her mending hip.

  Dick Wigglesworth on the other hand had been nothing but a nuisance all morning.

  ‘I think you should call Her Majesty and let her know that he’s not running,’ the old man suggested.