Mrs Spindleweed glared. ‘It’s for your own good, Tick. You don’t know what the world is, but I do. It ain’t safe for the likes of us. It ain’t safe for anyone fey. There’s danger everywhere. Stay secret, stay safe. There ain’t no other way.’ She turned to Stella. ‘There’s danger for you too, girl. And more danger still, for two of you together.’
Stella thought about Mr Flint and how he had tried to snatch her away. She knew what Mrs Spindleweed said was true.
‘I wasn’t after hurting you, with them thorns,’ Mrs Spindleweed said. ‘I was keeping you away. I was keeping Tick safe.’
Stella gripped Luna’s hand. ‘But we’re sisters. We’re the same.’
‘Two sides of a coin, you are,’ Mrs Spindleweed agreed. ‘But you’re sometimes faded, and Tick’s sometimes seen. Two sides of a coin. Night and day. It happens that way, with twins.’ The old woman looked intently into Stella’s eyes. ‘I keep Tick safe. Ever since I found her, all by herself, faded away and crying in the wood. I’ve kept her safe, all this time.’ She beckoned to Luna. ‘And I will now. Come, Tick.’
Stella took a breath. ‘Please, Mrs Spindleweed,’ she said. ‘Please. Come and — I mean, I would like Luna to meet my cousins. Our cousins.’ She added, ‘And you too, of course.’
Mrs Spindleweed wrapped her shawl firmly around herself. ‘No,’ she said.
‘Please, Gram,’ said Luna.
The old woman shook her head. ‘No. For what purpose? To bring trouble raining down on us? No.’
‘But —’
Voices were approaching through the trees. Mrs Spindleweed darted a look over her shoulder. ‘Promise me you’ll keep quiet, girl. Keep our secret.’ She fixed her yellow eyes on Stella once more. ‘Stay secret, stay safe. Promise me.’
Stella nodded. Tears were pricking her eyes. ‘I promise.’
‘Tick,’ said Mrs Spindleweed. She reached out her hand.
Luna made a choking sound. She gave Stella a quick, tight hug, and then stepped away. In the blink of an eye, she vanished.
Stella felt cold, invisible fingers touching hers. They gripped for a moment, and then let go. She was left holding empty air. ‘Luna!’
Mrs Spindleweed’s strange eyes were fierce and proud. ‘Good fortune, girl,’ she said to Stella.
In a swift, sure movement, she transformed into the enormous bird again. Stella caught a glimpse of Luna, a pale, wispy shape, climbing onto her back. The owl gave Stella one last yellow-eyed glare, stretched out its wings and took flight, swooping through the trees.
Stella stood and gazed after it as it flew up into the starry sky.
The voices were coming closer. A dog barked. Lantern light flickered through the trees.
Strideforth appeared, ducking between the stones. ‘Stella!’
Hortense and Jem followed him, together with a group of men with lanterns and long sticks and several dogs. Mr Burdock was beaming, his arm around Jem’s shoulders.
‘Stella! There you are,’ said Strideforth. ‘See. Here’s the search party. They were looking for Jem.’
Stella took a shaky breath and wiped the tears from her face.
‘What happened?’ asked Strideforth. ‘You’re crying. Are you all right?’
‘It was nothing,’ she said.
‘We heard voices? I saw —’
‘It was nothing,’ said Stella again. She took another breath. ‘It was just an owl.’ Something pale caught her eye. A little feather lay on the ground. She picked it up and ran her finger along it. Then she opened the musical box and put the feather beside the doll that lay there alone.
‘It was just an owl,’ she repeated. And she closed the lid of the box with a snap.
They followed the track through the trees to the edge of the wood and climbed the slope up to the bridge. As they reached the gates of Wormwood Mire, the sky was beginning to lighten. Little birds twittered in the branches of the trees.
Mrs Burdock rushed out of the gatehouse, shrieking. She wrapped Jem in a tight hug. She gave him a thump on the head and another hug. Then she hugged Mr Burdock, some of the men from the search party, and then Jem again.
Miss Araminter patted Strideforth and Stella and Hortense. ‘There you are, my dears,’ she said, smiling. ‘Horehound and wormwood and Patagonian ginger root, for the cold.’ She looked down at Stella’s bruised wrist. ‘And henbane and comfrey for you, my dear. I will make an infusion.’
Mrs Burdock clicked her tongue. ‘Come inside. There’s hot soup.’
She bustled them all into the gatehouse and hurried the children upstairs to her tiny bedroom. Miss Araminter helped them take off their wet clothes and wrap themselves in quilts and blankets. Mrs Burdock bundled up their clothes and took them away, muttering busily to herself.
They washed some of the grime off their hands and faces. Henry poked around on Mrs Burdock’s dressing table, kicking several things onto the floor. Anya hissed at the two-headed chicken while Hortense clucked at it and patted it consolingly. Stella pulled Mrs Burdock’s horn-backed hairbrush through her hair. She noticed Hortense watching her.
‘Would you like me to brush your hair?’ Stella asked.
Hortense hesitated, and then nodded. Her hair was like a birds’ nest. Stella managed to remove most of the knots and tangles. She brushed it and plaited it, despite Anya’s squeaks and angry nips. Strideforth cut a short length from the ball of twine in his pocket and Stella bound it around the end of the plait. She stood back and rubbed her bitten fingers.
‘Very neat,’ said Miss Araminter approvingly.
Strideforth said, ‘That’s how Mother did your hair. You look just like you used to, Hortense.’
Hortense looked in the mirror and gave herself a tiny smile.
Back downstairs, the men of the search party were crowded into the parlour, talking and laughing and drinking bowls of vegetable soup. Mrs Burdock pushed the children into chairs beside the crackling fire and gave them soup and thick pieces of bread and butter. The soup was hot and delicious. When they finished, Mrs Burdock filled their bowls for a second time.
Hortense fed little pieces of bread and butter to Henry and Anya, and to both of the heads of the two-headed chicken.
‘Oh! Before I forget. This came for you, last post yesterday.’ Mrs Burdock took a letter from the mantelpiece and passed it to Strideforth.
The envelope had a row of coloured stamps on it. ‘Father,’ gasped Strideforth. He put down his spoon and, with trembling fingers, opened the envelope and unfolded the letter. He read it through, and then turned to Hortense with a grin. ‘He’s coming home. He’s already on his way.’ Strideforth laughed. ‘He missed us, Hortense.’
Hortense gave a sudden wide smile. ‘Good,’ she said.
Jem was finishing his third bowl of soup. His eyes were closing. He yawned.
‘Bed for you,’ said Mrs Burdock.
Miss Araminter stood up and said, ‘Yes, indeed. Thank you for the soup, Mrs Burdock. Come, my dears.’
Outside, the sun was rising. The sky was a pale grey, shiny and silvery like the inside of a seashell. Stella blinked and watched the hazy light turn the clouds yellow and orange and pink.
As she walked down the drive to Wormwood Mire, an image came into her head, almost like a dream. For a moment, she was flying through the sky, on the back of an owl. She could feel the soft feathers beneath her and the beat of silent wings. The icy air rushed past. She was part of the wind, and the morning light shone right through her.
Stella gazed up into the sunshine, feeling the cold breeze on her face.
She thought about Luna, her sister.
And she smiled.
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank my sister Ruth and my brother-in-law Cesar for their support and for their excellent suggestions and ideas, Suzanne Willis for reading the manuscript and for her help and encouragement, Lu Sexton and Liz Self and everyone who has had to listen to all my writing problems, Ben Wood for the very useful Victorian dictionary, C
hris Kunz, all the lovely people at ABC Books, especially Chren Byng, Kate Burnitt, Cristina Cappelluto and Hazel Lam, and my agent, Jill Corcoran.
About the Author
JUDITH ROSSELL is a writer and illustrator of children’s books. When she is not working, she entertains her acquaintances at afternoon tea, practises her French conversation and decorates articles, such as table runners and antimacassars, with intricate arrangements of lace, embroidery and the wings of beetles. She lives in Melbourne, Australia.
www.judithrossell.com
Also by Judith Rossell
Withering-by-Sea
Copyright
The ABC ‘Wave’ device is a trademark of the Australian Broadcasting Corporation and is used under licence by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia.
First published in Australia in 2016
by HarperCollinsChildren’sBooks
a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Australia Pty Limited
ABN 36 009 913 517
harpercollins.com.au
Copyright © Judith Rossell 2016
The right of Judith Rossell to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:
Rossell, Judith, author, illustrator.
Wormwood mire : a Stella Montgomery intrigue / Judith Rossell.
ISBN 978 0 7333 3301 9 (hardback)
ISBN 978 1 4607 0191 1 (ebook)
Rossell, Judith. Stella Montgomery ; 2.
For children.
Fantasy fiction.
Adventure stories.
Orphans—Juvenile fiction.
A823.4
Cover design by Hazel Lam, HarperCollins Design Studio
Cover and internal illustrations by Judith Rossell
Wormwood Mire Page 17