When they reached the village, Strideforth hesitated outside the post office. ‘I’ll just go in and see if a letter has come,’ he said, and went inside. He came out a few minutes later, empty-handed, and shrugged. ‘Nothing, again. Will you wait here and rest, Stella? Hortense and I will get the bread and milk.’
Stella sat down on the seat outside the post office. People were clustered in anxious groups, or scurrying along the street with their heads down.
‘Dragging the Yarrow canal, they are. But if the poor lad went in there —’
‘Dreadful, altogether.’
‘The police sent for and all.’
‘I said it would happen again. I said. After last time —’
‘Hush!’
Stella turned to look. A woman caught her eye, whispered something to her companions, and they all looked at Stella, then turned and hurried away. She watched them go. After last time — What did that mean?
She looked across the green. Two large, shaggy horses were harnessed to the dentist’s wagon. Mr Flint was watching and directing as a young man carried boxes out from the tent and put them inside. Another youth was up a ladder, taking down the strings of flags. A third was loosening the ropes and pulling the tent pegs out of the ground. Mr Flint glanced up, met Stella’s gaze, lifted his hat to her and gave a mocking bow. Stella looked away, but she could feel his green glinting eyes watching her. The back of her neck prickled. After a moment, she stood up and walked away along the street, pretending to be interested in the shopwindows. She stopped outside the grocer’s and gazed in an attentive manner at the boxes and tins of anchovies, knife polish and soap.
She heard shuffling footsteps approaching and half-turned away from the window. Someone blundered into her, spinning her around, nearly knocking her over. It was Mrs Spindleweed.
‘I’m sorry,’ Stella gasped, but the old woman did not answer. She hurried on, past the ironmonger’s, and disappeared down the alley that led to the sweetshop. After a moment, the bell jangled. Stella followed her, venturing down the alley. The air smelled of peppermint and liquorice. Shutters were over the windows. Tentatively, Stella turned the door handle. It was locked. From above, she heard a faint cry. A kitten, perhaps. Or a small bird. She stepped back and looked at the upstairs windows. The curtains were drawn and the windows were dark, but she had the strange feeling that someone was watching her. An owl hooted. Stella shivered. Nervously, she backed away, almost tripping over her feet, and hurried along the alley to the street.
Strideforth and Hortense were waiting for her outside the post office. Strideforth carried the can of milk and Hortense held a large loaf of bread wrapped in paper.
‘There you are,’ said Strideforth. ‘Where did you go? How is your foot? Have you had enough rest? We should go home, I think, before it starts raining.’
‘Yes, I’m fine. Here. Let me help.’ She took the bread from Hortense and tucked it under her arm. Hortense gave her a tiny smile.
‘They are searching for Jem over at Yarrow,’ said Strideforth, as they headed out of the village.
‘I heard people say he might have fallen into the canal,’ said Stella. ‘I do hope he hasn’t drowned. I wish we could help find him.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Strideforth. ‘We could help, I’m sure. We could search for clues, like the police detectives.’
After a moment or two, Stella said, ‘Did you see that Mr Flint is packing up his tent?’
‘I suppose he has pulled out all the sore teeth in the village,’ said Strideforth.
The grey clouds were darkening overhead, and an icy wind blew across the fields. As they crossed the bridge, Stella looked down the hill to the dark shape of Boggart Wood in the valley below. She said, ‘Jem thought the monster was in the wood.’
Strideforth stopped and looked down at the wood. ‘Perhaps he went to look for it.’
‘He might have.’
‘Let’s go and see.’ Strideforth passed the milk can to Hortense and scrambled down the bank. ‘He said there was a track beside the stream.’ He disappeared into the undergrowth. There were scrabbling and crashing sounds. ‘Yes,’ he called. ‘Here it is. Come on.’
Stella and Hortense clambered down the bank, pushing their way through the overgrown hedgerow. They found a cart track, almost hidden in straggling brambles and blackthorns.
Strideforth said, ‘Let’s leave the milk and bread here. We can pick them up when we come back.’ He took the milk can and the loaf of bread and tucked them into the hedgerow. ‘Come on.’ He led the way, searching the ground as he went. ‘This is what the police detectives would do,’ he said, over his shoulder. ‘Look for evidence — footprints and bloodstains. The smallest thing might be a clue.’
The cart track wound down the hill, following the splashing, tumbling stream. They walked between the muddy wheel ruts, pushing through clumps of weeds. As they approached the wood, Stella shivered and hugged her coat more tightly around herself. It was a dense tangle of trees, crowded together. The wintry branches made spiky shapes against the grey sky. It was easy to believe that monsters and ghosts could be hiding in the shadows. Stella remembered that Jem always whistled a tune when he went near the wood. She hummed under her breath.
They poked around in the swampy thickets at the edge of the trees, looking for clues. There had been a fence once, but it had rotted and fallen down. They found several clusters of large mushrooms, a broken cartwheel and an abandoned rusty bedstead.
Suddenly, Anya squeaked. She leaped from Hortense’s shoulder up onto an overhanging branch. Hortense tried to catch her, but she darted away like quicksilver. Chittering, she leaped onto another tree, scampered down the trunk and disappeared into a tangle of brambles.
They followed her, shoving into the undergrowth beside the track.
Strideforth pushed the brambles aside. ‘Ouch,’ he said, sucking his finger. ‘She bit me.’
Hortense caught Anya and held her tightly as she wriggled and squeaked.
‘Look,’ said Strideforth, pointing. Jem’s tallybag was snagged on a bramble, hanging from a broken bootlace. Strideforth untwisted it carefully from the prickles.
‘So he was here,’ said Stella.
Strideforth shouted, ‘Jem!’
There was no answer.
Strideforth called again, into the darkness of the wood. ‘Jem! Jem! Are you there? Jem!’
The only sounds were the trickling water and the wind stirring the dead leaves on the branches overhead.
Nineteen
They looked at one another uneasily.
‘He must have gone into the wood,’ said Stella.
‘We should go back and get help,’ said Strideforth.
‘But he might be close by. He might be hurt,’ said Stella.
Strideforth pushed the tallybag into his pocket. ‘Well, we can just go a short way. If we follow the track, we can’t get lost. Come on.’
It was dark under the trees, and very cold and still. Moss and dead leaves muffled their footsteps. The branches of the trees were tangled with ivy and clumps of mistletoe. The twigs were like the spindly fingers of old men, reaching overhead, blocking out the daylight.
Stella remembered Jem saying, If you go in, you might never come out again.
They went along slowly, keeping close together. Strideforth stopped so suddenly that Stella bumped into him. ‘Look!’ In a patch of mud in the middle of the track was the print of a nailed boot. ‘Smaller than mine,’ he said, comparing his foot. ‘It’s Jem’s.’
They all looked at the footprint, and then continued on. Strideforth searched the ground for more clues. They clambered over a fallen tree trunk. Anya sniffed the air and made a sharp, chittering cry, her fur spiky. Strideforth stopped again. Half-hidden in the tangled undergrowth beside the track were three frightened sheep, huddled together.
Stella approached them, holding her breath. The sheep were motionless. She reached out and touched the back of one of them. It was cold and hard.
St
rideforth felt it. ‘Stone,’ he whispered.
Hortense looked into the sheep’s face and stroked its head. The sheep stared back at her with sightless stone eyes.
Strideforth frowned at the sheep. After a moment, he said, ‘It’s just like that goldfish, isn’t it? It’s just the same.’
Stella nodded. She swallowed.
‘It’s the creature from the lake. It poisons things and turns them into stone,’ said Strideforth. ‘It is the monster. That is certain.’
‘But how did it get here from the lake?’ asked Stella. She remembered the picture in the journal. The wide black head and the rows of needle-like teeth. ‘And where’s Jem?’
‘Do you think he went after it? Perhaps he followed it further into the wood. But what if he —’ Strideforth did not finish.
Something moved in the undergrowth nearby. They looked at one another.
‘Jem!’ they called. ‘Jem! Jem!’ Their voices seemed to be swallowed up by the silence and the shadows.
They called again. There was no answer.
Strideforth hesitated, then said, ‘I think we should go and get help.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Stella.
Hortense nodded.
They started back the way they had come. The wood seemed darker, as if the trees were leaning towards them. A startled bird took flight with a clatter of wings, and Stella jumped, her heart thumping. Something rustled. She turned around, but there was nothing to see.
In A Garden of Lilies, Tilly and Ursula strayed into a herbaceous border during a Sunday-school pic-nic. All that was ever found of them was a hair ribbon.
Wandering children should beware,
Of dangers lurking everywhere.
Stella swallowed and walked a little faster, humming to herself under her breath.
She heard another sound and spun around.
Something moved, sliding through the ferns.
Strideforth grasped Hortense by the hand. ‘Run!’
They fled, leaping and scrambling over fallen branches and tree roots. Stella’s feet skidded in the moss and mud. Brambles scratched at her stockings. Twigs snagged in her hair.
Gasping, they sprinted headlong out of the wood.
Stella looked behind, panting. Nothing followed them.
‘Come on,’ said Strideforth.
They clambered up the hill towards the lane. As they reached the bridge and stopped to collect the bread and milk, Stella looked back. Down in the valley, the wood was a dark, crouching shape.
When they reached the gates of Wormwood Mire, Mrs Burdock was waiting for them. She unlocked the gate and pulled it open.
‘Mrs Burdock, look,’ Strideforth said. He showed her Jem’s tallybag. ‘We found this. It’s Jem’s. We found it in Boggart Wood. And his footprint too.’ He took a breath. ‘We went in and found the sheep. And they were —’
Mrs Burdock saw the tallybag and staggered backwards, her face white. ‘In Boggart Wood? I told him to keep away. I told him and told him.’ Her voice was shaking.
Mr Burdock came around the side of the gatehouse. He grunted. ‘Gone in the wood, is he?’ He nodded and went inside. He came out a moment later, wearing his coat and carrying a lantern and a long stick. ‘Where?’ he asked.
Strideforth explained that they had followed the cart track down the hill. ‘We found the tallybag at the edge of the wood and went in a little way. We saw a footstep, and then found the sheep —’
‘I’ll let them know in the village,’ grunted Mr Burdock. His face was set and grim. He laid a hand on Mrs Burdock’s arm. ‘Don’t fret. We’ll find him.’
‘I’ll help search,’ said Strideforth eagerly. ‘I can show you where we found the clues and where the —’
‘No,’ said Mr Burdock grimly. ‘No children. Stay inside.’ He turned and strode away along the lane towards the village.
Strideforth watched him go. ‘I’m sure I could help,’ he said, downcast.
Mrs Burdock was shaking. Stella put her arm around her, Strideforth supported her other side and, with some difficulty, they steered her to the gatehouse, through the narrow front door into a small, dark parlour, and sat her down in a chair beside the fire.
Stella looked at Mrs Burdock’s white face. ‘We need Miss Araminter,’ she said.
Strideforth nodded. ‘We’ll go and get her straight away,’ he said. ‘Will you wait here? Will you be all right?’
‘Yes,’ said Stella. ‘Be quick.’
Strideforth and Hortense hurried away. Stella heard their footsteps on the gravel drive outside.
She said tentatively, ‘I’m sure Jem will be home soon.’
Mrs Burdock did not seem to hear. Stella twisted her fingers together. What if the creature had bitten Jem and turned him into a statue, like the stone sheep? Cold and hard, with sightless stone eyes?
Tea, she thought. Whenever the Aunts were upset by something, which was rather often, they rang for tea. She pushed open a door on the other side of the parlour, went along a passageway and came to a small kitchen. Stella had never made the tea herself, but she had watched Ada do it hundreds of times. She filled the kettle from the pump and put it on the range. She poked around in the cupboards and the larder, and found the tea in a tin with a picture of the queen on it, a teapot, a sugar bowl and a jug of milk. She put three heaped spoonfuls of tea into the pot, hesitated, and then added two more spoonfuls. When the kettle boiled, she filled the teapot. She found a cup and saucer on the dresser. She poured tea into the cup and looked at it doubtfully. It was rather darker than the tea Ada usually made. She added some milk and a big spoonful of sugar. She stirred the tea carefully and carried it back to the parlour.
Mrs Burdock took the cup and pointed a shaking finger to the mantelpiece. ‘My tonic,’ she said.
Stella searched along the cluttered mantelpiece. There was a candlestick, a tin of tobacco, a clock, a china parrot, two china dogs, a jar of boot polish, a photograph of a sailor and a bundle of letters and vegetable seed packets. Behind the papers was a black bottle with a cork in it. ‘This?’ she asked.
Mrs Burdock nodded, took the bottle, pulled the cork out with her teeth and splashed a good measure into the tea. She took a mouthful, and the colour began to return to her face.
Stella pushed the bundle of papers into place on the mantelpiece. Something lay at the back of the shelf. It was a little, battered wooden doll. It had jointed arms and legs, a painted face and a faded yellow dress. Its hair was worn away.
Stella picked it up. It fitted into her hand as if it belonged there.
Letty’s doll.
She gasped. ‘Mrs Burdock, what —’
Mrs Burdock drew in a ragged breath. She said, ‘Take it.’
‘But —’
‘I kept it to remind me.’ Her voice faltered. ‘But I won’t ever forget, will I? You take it.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘We should never have stayed, after it happened. We should have moved far away. I told Jem to keep away from the wood, I did. I told him and told him. I thought I could keep him safe. But I’m so afraid we’ll never see him again.’
Stella sat down, clutching the little doll. ‘I’m sure they will find him.’
Mrs Burdock shook her head. She took another gulp of tea. After a moment, she said, ‘It’s happening again. Just the same. Gone. Just like that poor young lady and the two little girls.’
Stella whispered, ‘My mother. What happened to her?’
‘Sad, she was. Waiting for someone, I thought, but if she was, he never came. And if he had, we weren’t to let him in, anyway. The gate locked, always. No visitors. Those were the orders.’ She looked at Stella and sighed.
‘What happened to her?’ asked Stella again.
‘We searched the house and the garden. They dragged the lake and all. We din’t find her. Not a trace. Then the strangest thing. One of the little ones turned up. Wandering all alone, crying, right in the middle of Boggart Wood.’ She looked at Stella. ‘You, that was. Nobody knew how you got there. Unc
anny. That’s what folks said. No sign of the young lady, or the other little one. Dead and gone, they were.’ She nodded at the little doll in Stella’s hand. ‘They found that in the wood. That’s all they ever found. And everyone talking about this monster. It’s just the same, all over again.’ A tear rolled down her face. ‘And now my poor boy’s gone the same way. Dead and gone in Boggart Wood.’
‘I’m sure they will find him,’ said Stella again. She reached out and touched Mrs Burdock’s hand. She had so many questions to ask. ‘What was my mother like? Why was she here?’
Mrs Burdock shook her head once more. ‘I promised I’d keep it secret.’
‘But what —?’ Stella was interrupted by a knock at the door, and Miss Araminter strode in, followed by Strideforth and Hortense.
The governess was carrying an armful of plants. She said, ‘Pennyroyal, poppy and wormwood. And a few leaves from the Mongolian carpet berry.’
Mrs Burdock looked up. Her face was wet with tears.
Miss Araminter swooped down and patted her shoulder. ‘There, there, Mrs Burdock. I will make you a tisane. It will help you sleep.’ She turned and said, ‘Hurry home now, my dears, and have your tea. I will sit here with Mrs Burdock and wait for news.’
Twenty
In the late afternoon, the towers and chimneys of Wormwood Mire made a looming, jagged shape against the grey sky. As they walked down the drive towards the house, Stella told Strideforth and Hortense what Mrs Burdock had said about her mother and her sister. How they had disappeared all those years ago, and how Stella had been found, all alone, in Boggart Wood. She showed them Letty’s little doll.
‘What do you think happened to them?’ asked Strideforth. ‘And why were you in the wood? How did you get there?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Stella. ‘Mrs Burdock said something about a secret, but I don’t know what she meant.’ She imagined herself as a small child, wandering amongst the dark trees, crying. She could not remember it at all.
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