A moment later I woke up in my own bed, bewildered. A talking dragonfly? I’d had some bizarre dreams in my time, but this one was definitely the weirdest!
13th August, in the year of our Lord sixteen hundred and three
On this day the brothers from the Abbey of Saint George did deliver to my master, His Grace the Earl of Stolzenburg, the three reams of paper that they had promised him from their new paper mill, whereupon His Grace requested that they make and bind six books and decorate them with beautiful illustrations, like to this volume that His Grace hath kindly given me for my records. The Earl doth wish to give the six illuminated books as a gift to his most excellent lady wife upon the birth of his second child.
Unhappily one of the brothers was crushed between the mill wheels as he worked, and the monks have asked that they might be given a week’s grace to bury their brother and mourn his death. The Earl hath most graciously granted their request.
Yet since the unfortunate event took place, some of the holy brothers do seem to fear the mill and the paper that doth issue from it. ’Tis likely owing to the shock they suffered, for many of the men did witness the accident with their own eyes.
2
Darcy de Winter and Toby Bell—good-looking and expensively dressed—entered the castle vaults around quarter past nine the next evening. Since arriving at Stolzenburg they had been the primary topic of conversation among the students, particularly the girls. But until now only a few people had been able to catch a glimpse of them—they’d been holed up somewhere in the west wing. I still hadn’t met them, either, and I observed them with curiosity as they entered the main vault where the dance floor was.
Hannah’s long-distance assessment had been accurate: They were an attractive pair. One was tall and blond and covered in freckles, and looked as though he’d spent the summer surfing on the west coast of America. He grinned at the partying students as he squeezed through the crowd to the bar.
His friend, on the other hand, was of a much less sunny disposition; his mouth was set in a sullen scowl. He, too, was tall, half a head taller than his friend, with neatly parted dark hair that was exactly the same color as his eyes. Unlike the surfer, he hovered by the door as if wondering whether he should stay or go.
His doubts were not unfounded, as far as I was concerned. No one had invited him, after all. The “First Lesson” (the name of the party that had been held on the last Saturday before the start of term for as long as anybody could remember) was organized entirely by Stolzenburg students. Once upon a time, when education had been more of a luxury than it was now, the students really had attended their first lessons on the Saturday before term started. Pipe-smoking professors with whiskers and stern faces had taken it in turns to give inaugural lectures, and the assembled students had sat through these lectures on hard, uncomfortable chairs until late into the night (preoccupied mainly, I imagined, with trying not to fall asleep).
But the First Lesson had long since been declared a teacher-free zone. Not even Frederick had come, which I was a bit annoyed about. I’d taken extra care with my appearance and Charlotte had put my hair up in an elaborate bun. But Frederick was no longer a student here—he just worked on the estate during the summer holidays. Of course I understood why he hadn’t come, but I’d been hoping until the last moment that he would.
So what were the two unexpected visitors doing at the party? Nobody but me seemed to mind very much that they’d showed up: On the contrary, the uninvited guests had soon found themselves surrounded by a large gaggle of female students.
I sighed and turned my mind back to more important matters. The decorations, for example. This year it had been my class’s turn to organize the party, and before the holidays Charlotte and I had spent several weeks’ worth of art lessons making decorations out of papier-mâché and tinfoil. This was another school tradition: The outgoing students picked a theme for the next academic year, and the students in the years below had to organize the First Lesson around that theme. This year it was 2001: A Space Odyssey, and relatively speaking I felt we’d got off pretty lightly.
I still shuddered to think of the spider-themed party we’d had the year before last. There’d been hairy legs and fake cobwebs strung up everywhere, and unfortunately it had been impossible to tell them apart from the real thing (of which there are a fair few in the castle vaults). I was much happier with our papier-mâché planets. At least they didn’t have legs.
It had taken Charlotte, Hannah, and me almost all day to arrange the decorations the way we wanted them. The lower years in particular seemed impressed with our efforts (and I hoped they would remember that fact when the head girl elections came around next spring). The pièce de résistance was a huge satellite made from shoe boxes and mirror shards, with a built-in motor that made it rotate like a disco ball. In theory, anyway.
I was just wondering whether it would be a really bad idea to go and stand on a chair in the middle of the dance floor and try to fix the stationary satellite while everyone around me danced to an *NSYNC song (the playlist was also from 2001), when I spotted Hannah standing by the wall gazing at Sinan, a boy in our class, as he sipped on a lemonade. She was absentmindedly tugging at the bow on her dress, which already looked pretty rumpled. Uh-oh.
“Everything okay?” I asked once I’d worked my way over to her.
Hannah nodded. She was still gazing at Sinan, who was leaning against the wall a few feet away from us.
“You’re … um … you’re being a little obvious,” I ventured cautiously. “Shall we go over there?”
“Over where?”
I nodded in Sinan’s direction.
Hannah blushed. “What d’you mean? What makes you say…?” She looked down at the crumpled bow.
“Come on. I’ll introduce you.”
“What? No! I don’t know. No, let’s not.” Hannah’s face had gone as red as a cooked crab. A Madonna song was playing now, and the surfer dude was dancing—to the great annoyance of all the Year 7s—with … Charlotte! The two of them seemed to be getting on swimmingly. The surfer’s friend, however, was still leaning against the door with his arms folded, surveying the room with a bad-tempered expression. Why was he even still here, since he so clearly thought the party was rubbish?
No, Charlotte had the right idea—we were here to have fun. Determinedly linking arms with Hannah, I pulled her onto the dance floor. “Come on then. Let’s dance,” I said, and we lost ourselves in the music, spinning each other round and round as we celebrated the beginning of the new school year.
We were in Year 11! My fifth year, and Hannah’s first, at the best school in the country—maybe even the world! “You’re going to be so glad you came here,” I told her. “Stolzenburg is amazing.”
“I know!” Hannah called happily, as Megan Stevens danced past us with Karl Alexander von Stittlich-Rüppin (he came from an old aristocratic Swedish family, hence the ridiculous name) yelling, “Damn right, baby!”
Charlotte danced to a few more songs with the surfer, and after a while the two of them came over to join us.
“This is Toby,” said Charlotte. She was slightly out of breath, and her eyes were shining.
“Hi. I’m Emma, and this is Hannah.”
“Nice to meet you. Do you girls want a drink?”
We nodded.
“I’ll be right back.” He disappeared into the crowd.
“He seems nice,” I said as soon as he’d gone, studying Charlotte attentively.
She grinned. “He is. Super super nice, actually.” Her cheeks were a bit flushed, too. “Isn’t his accent the cutest thing ever?”
I couldn’t help laughing. “It’s exactly the same as yours, Charlotte. Probably something to do with the fact that you’re both English.” Stolzenburg had always taken lots of British students; it was a very international school. Foreign accents were nothing unusual here.
“But still,” sighed Charlotte.
“Did he tell you what’s wrong with his frien
d?” I gestured toward the party pooper in the corner. “He seems to be hating every minute of this.”
“I didn’t ask,” said Charlotte. “But I remembered something—the de Winters used to be students here. Till about four years ago. Darcy and his twin sister, they must have been about sixteen then—I was twelve. I only saw them a couple of times. And then after—you know—what happened to Gina, Darcy left and went to Eton.”
“Was that her?” I asked.
Charlotte nodded, and Hannah asked, “Who?”
“Gina de Winter,” I murmured. Yes, now that Charlotte mentioned it …
Just then, Toby returned holding four Cokes.
“Thanks.” Charlotte beamed at him as if he’d just saved the world, and sipped at her Coke.
I took a sip of mine, too. “So,” I began, looking the surfer dude square in his blue eyes. “Who are you guys, and what are you doing in our castle?”
He smiled. “Darcy and I are at Oxford together,” he explained. “But we don’t have any lectures till next month so we decided to take a road trip around Europe. We’ve just come through France and we thought we’d stop off here. Darcy reckons he owns the place.” He grinned and made a sweeping gesture that I took to indicate not only the vault where we were standing but all the floors above our heads.
I sniffed. “Well, I very much doubt that he personally owns this whole castle.” Unbelievable! Toby must have misunderstood. The school was a charitable foundation, and … I definitely shouldn’t have drunk so much Coke. I was on my third glass of the evening. “Back in a minute,” I said.
When I returned from the toilet a few minutes later, Darcy had at least stopped glowering silently in the corner. Unfortunately he was now talking to Princess von Stein, of all people.
“… kids’ disco with all these stupid decorations … looks like a primary school, doesn’t it? And that shoe-box satellite! It’s hilarious!” Helena was exclaiming as I walked past. She pointed at the papier-mâché planets above our heads.
I came to an abrupt halt.
Darcy nodded. “Ridiculous. But what do you expect—Stolzenburg is basically the whole world to these kids, and this party is the highlight of their year.”
“Not mine,” said Helena.
“I know.” He heaved a sigh. Why? I wondered. Because he’d turned up here uninvited? Because the decorations were not to his taste? Seriously?
“Hello,” I said loudly, before I could change my mind.
Darcy de Winter turned and fixed me with the same look that had already caused so many of the younger girls to beat a hasty retreat. It was a cold, haughty look, and there was an inscrutable expression in his dark eyes.
Nevertheless, I smiled my most endearing smile and pretended not to have heard what he’d said about our lack of sophistication. “I’m Emma. I heard you used to be a student here. Welcome back! Are you not enjoying the party?” I asked with studied friendliness.
“No, not particularly,” he replied. He was about to turn away again, but quick as a flash I inserted myself between him and Helena, who was forced to take a step backward. “It’s, um … it’s a shame you’ve found it boring,” I went on. What was I even doing here? I should have just left him to it—if he wanted to stand here sulking all night, that was up to him. It was no skin off my nose. I decided to go straight back to my friends.
But my feet felt rooted to the spot.
He frowned, suddenly seeming to properly see me for the first time. “Er—excuse me, do we know each other?”
“No. I’m Emma.”
“Yes, you said.”
“Yes.”
“Mhm.”
We stared at each other. His nose really was very aristocratic. As if it was accustomed to being wrinkled in disdain at every opportunity. And indeed, it was starting to wrinkle a bit now. In amusement, or in contempt? Or a mixture of the two? And why on earth was I still standing here talking to this thoroughly unpleasant person? Oh God! The giant bun on the top of my head must have been interfering with the proper working of my brain. I took a deep breath. The moment dragged on.
“What do you want, Emma?” Helena asked eventually.
“Can we help you?” added Darcy.
“Er—no. It’s just that I … we happen to like our ‘kids’ disco,’” I informed him without looking at Helena. My thoughts were gradually becoming clearer. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but the First Lesson is supposed to be for everyone—including the younger students. It’s about doing something together, something that everyone at Stolzenburg can get involved in. We happen to think that’s important.”
Darcy’s lips twitched. “So I see. I didn’t mean to offend you—I’m just not really in the party mood.”
“No worries.” I made a sound that vaguely resembled a laugh. “It takes more than that to offend me.”
“Really?” He raised one eyebrow. “You look a little annoyed, if I’m honest.”
“No, no. I just noticed you’ve been standing here for about twelve songs looking as if you were being subjected to a particularly cruel form of torture. And since I’m the school council representative, I thought I’d come and ask why?”
“Well, Emma the school council representative: If you really want to know, Toby persuaded me to come. But forgive me if I’m not fantastically excited about hanging out with a load of thirteen-year-olds in a cellar decorated with balloons and tinfoil, dancing to the songs that were in the charts twenty years ago. Community spirit or no community spirit,” he replied, as I finally started to regain control of my feet.
“That’s a shame,” I said. “You know, sometimes you can have a much better night if you just forget about the big wide world and all its hipster clubs for a while. Even if that involves cardboard satellites.” I turned to go.
“Oh, Emma,” sighed Helena. “Ignore her, Darcy. She’s been gluing mirror shards to shoe boxes for weeks: She’s probably still high from the fumes. Shall we go and get a drink?”
I turned away and headed off across the dance floor.
“Thanks, I was actually just leaving, anyway,” I heard Darcy say before a new song came on and the DJ turned the volume up full blast.
* * *
It took me a long time to get to sleep that night. The First Lesson had finished, as always, at midnight on the dot, and on the way back to our room Hannah and I had been treated to a detailed account of Toby Bell’s freckles, his sense of humor, the dimples in his cheeks, and, of course, his accent, which was apparently the cutest thing in the world ever. Charlotte was walking on air—but I was still fuming about Darcy de Winter.
“The party wasn’t stupid,” I muttered at last, when Hannah and I were both tucked up in bed. “That’s just how we do things at Stolzenburg.”
Hannah sighed. “I thought it was awesome and you did a brilliant job of organizing everything. Why are you letting that guy get to you so much? I hardly even noticed him. And the two of them will probably be off on their travels again soon, anyway.”
“Don’t let Charlotte hear you say that.”
“Well, it’s true. What’s he doing here, anyway? Has he just come back to reminisce?”
“Hmm.”
As far as I knew, Darcy had left the school not long before I’d started, because of the girl who’d gone missing—Gina de Winter, his twin sister. I’d heard about what had happened, of course. Gina had disappeared a few months before my dad had taken the job as headmaster. In fact, it was rumored that her disappearance was the real reason the previous headmaster, Mr. Bäuerle, had finally decided to retire. Gina had been a quiet student, people said, unassuming but friendly. She’d joined the drama club to help her get over her shyness.
And then, one night, she’d suddenly vanished without a trace. Nobody knew where she’d gone. She hadn’t taken any of her belongings with her and she hadn’t triggered the castle’s alarm system. The police had mounted a search for her but had found nothing, and eventually closed their investigation. Gina had never been seen again.
Naturally, rumors abounded at Stolzenburg as to why she had disappeared, from abduction to a romantic elopement with a mysterious stranger. Some people even said Gina had gone to America to pursue a singing career and was earning a living by appearing in TV commercials.
Either way, her disappearance had attracted a lot of attention, and her brother had returned to England shortly afterward. And he probably wasn’t going to stay long at Stolzenburg this time, either. Hannah was right: I shouldn’t let him get to me. With any luck he would leave as quickly as he’d arrived. Although I hoped his friend might stick around a little while longer, for Charlotte’s sake. I’d hardly ever seen her look so happy.
The last time Charlotte had been this excited was in the run-up to her visit with the Queen last autumn. Her family had been invited to tea at Buckingham Palace along with a select handful of other guests, and Charlotte had spent weeks planning what she was going to wear. Unfortunately, however, the visit had ended in disaster, and Charlotte and her younger sister, June, had been splashed across the front page of the British tabloid the Sun. Charlotte was still so embarrassed by the “incident” that we’d never spoken of it since. She even feared she might never be able to show her face again in her native England. I was sure people would forget about the story in time (and anyway, it wasn’t Charlotte’s fault that she and June had eaten some bacon of questionable quality that morning and that they’d both started to feel queasy right in the middle of their audience with the Queen). Toby hadn’t mentioned the incident at all yet. Perhaps he hadn’t heard about it—after all, not everybody in England read the Sun, thank goodness.
The Sun, I thought … what a strange name for a newspaper. Had they called it that because it came out in the morning? Or did it have something to do with the day of the week?
At some point during these ruminations I must have fallen asleep, because I suddenly became aware that the illuminated numbers on my alarm clock read 03:47 and that I was freezing cold.
And no wonder, because the bedroom window was wide open. I switched on my bedside lamp and glanced over at Hannah. But she was fast asleep with the duvet pulled up over her head, a muffled snoring noise issuing from beneath it. Why had she opened the window? Did she want us to freeze to death? Or had the window not been properly closed in the first place, and blown open in the wind?
The Forgotten Book Page 3