Eden Chronicles Box Set Books 1-3

by James Erith

  But at least he knew that their caretakers – an old man and a lady – employed at Eden Cottage, did their best for the children. The old man, whom he knew as Mr Wood, had looked old from the moment they first met – years ago – and never seemed to get any older.

  The housekeeper, Mrs Pye, was another strange looking creature; large and pale, with a mop of ginger hair that hid a terrible scar on her forehead, though she seemed quite capable. He made a mental note to schedule a visit to see them in the next few days to make sure everything was as it should be.

  Mr Solomon was fully aware of the long and established ties the de Lowe family had with the school and village. Their lineage could be traced back for centuries; at least, that was the claim. The de Lowes from Eden Cottage even had a large stained glass window in the church in memory of a distant ancestor who was rumoured to have slain a local dragon. Solomon scoured their young faces; that particular gene must have died out a long time ago.

  His gaze settled on Isabella. ‘How old is your Great Uncle, Mr Wood? He must be well into his eighties, if not nineties—’

  ‘He’s certainly getting on a bit,’ she replied, ‘but he’s fit and well and Mum and Dad have every confidence in him—’

  ‘And,’ Archie added, ‘Old Man ... er ... Uncle Wood’s a seriously good first aider. He’s always patching me up brilliantly.’

  ‘And,’ Daisy said, not wanting their housekeeper to be left out, ‘Mrs Pye’s amazing at cooking things and washing and cleaning and stuff. She’s, you know, super-capable.’

  ‘I am quite sure she is,’ Solomon replied, not rising to Daisy’s burst of enthusiasm, ‘but who is going to get Archie to the shops for school uniform? And what if there’s another emergency – like there has been in every holiday period over the last two years? Neither drive and you’re two miles up a deep, steep, narrow track that’s camouflaged by bushes and brambles. Your house is surrounded by thick forest – it’s in the middle of nowhere! Frankly, it’d be a miracle if anyone could find you.’

  Mr Solomon raised his eyebrows and peered over his half-moon glasses at each of them in turn. He wondered what condition the inside of the house was in, dotted up there on the hillside by the ruin. ‘And what if your helpers were to have an incident, like a heart attack or a seizure or a fall?’ he continued. ‘What would you do? The place would be swarming with police and social workers and, trust me, they would be considerably less forgiving.’

  The children didn’t really know what to say so they remained silent and stared at the floor. To them, Old Man Wood and Mrs Pye were nothing but the best, so what was the big deal?

  Isabella finally broke the silence. ‘Sue’s mum is taking us over to Northallerton on Tuesday. We’ll get Archie smartened up then. Mrs Lowden’s brilliant at helping out; I’ll ask her tonight.’

  Mr Solomon nodded. ‘Very well, but before you go, Isabella, I’m going to entrust you – as the eldest – to take a letter back for your parents. Come and collect it before you go from my office. You are to give it to them so that this unacceptable situation is on record and does not happen again.’

  Mr Solomon cleared his throat, which signified that the matter had been dealt with. He turned to the twins. ‘I have some simple Religious Education homework for you two over the break. It’s Genesis; the book right at the very beginning of the Bible. Have you heard of it?’

  The twins nodded.

  Mr Solomon smiled. ‘Jolly good. The bit I want you to pay particular attention to is where God creates the universe in seven days – with Adam and Eve – remember?’ The twins nodded again. ‘After creation, one of Adam and Eve’s children, Cain, kills his twin, Abel, and is sent away. So God decides they’re a pretty rum lot and sends a flood that wipes out everything on the earth apart from their descendant, Noah—’

  ‘Who built the ark and put all the animals in it two by two,’ Archie finished off.

  ‘Precisely,’ Mr Solomon said. ‘Now, Daisy, as your academic record is simply appalling, I’d like you to actually read it and then think hard about it – preferably before you dream up some kind of hare-brained scheme that gets Archie battered into pieces. Understand? You may find the chapter a valuable resource for your essay after half term entitled, Did God create the universe, or did the universe create God?’

  Then, in one movement, as though suddenly aware of the time, Mr Solomon straightened, raised his bushy eyebrows and looked over the top of his half-moon spectacles. ‘Now, for goodness’ sake, over this half term period, behave yourselves, children; I cannot and will not have the Social Services chasing us around with your parents nowhere in sight. Please do not get yourselves into trouble. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the children said in unison.

  ‘Excellent. Very best of luck with the football tomorrow morning – there will be a big crowd cheering you on and some members of the press will be present; the circumstance surrounding this game, and the fact that the final involves our larger rivals, seems to have caught the imagination of the entire region.’ He darted a look at Isabella. ‘So, best behaviour please.’ He hoped his message was clear. ‘Now run along.’

  Archie and Daisy scampered off down the corridor, the noise of their footsteps echoing off the old sandstone walls. Mr Solomon looked at his watch, mumbled something about the time and, as he turned, he noticed Isabella lingering.

  ‘EXCUSE ME, SIR,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, Isabella,’ the headmaster said impatiently, ‘what is it now?’

  ‘Well, it’s the weather, sir.’

  Solomon sighed. ‘Yes, what about it?’

  Isabella hesitated. For the first time in her life she didn’t know what to say; it was as if her brain had jammed. ‘I’ve made a barometer, to study the weather,’ she spat out.

  ‘Yes, congratulations on your skilful endeavour,’ he replied. ‘Mrs Douglas notified me. I’m told atmospheric pressure isn’t even on your syllabus—’

  Isabella ignored him. ‘From my readings,’ she began, ‘there’s going to be a simply massive—’

  ‘Storm?’ Mr Solomon interrupted with a sly smile. He bent down a little. ‘Well I’m pleased that your readings match up with the area forecast, but I don’t believe there will be anything to worry about. A bit of rain and some thunder perhaps. But just as a precaution, please remind your class to take their umbrellas and waterproofs as I mentioned in assembly.’

  The headmaster scratched his chin and smiled at her. ‘While you’re here, let me remind you that it would be a very bad idea to go racing on to the pitch as you have done in the previous two football matches. You must leave events on the pitch to the referee and other officials – whatever the circumstances and however difficult.’ Solomon smiled in a fake, head-masterly way and straightened.

  ‘I expect nothing less than immaculate conduct, Isabella. There will be serious repercussions if you do it again.’ He paused for effect. ‘Do I make myself perfectly clear?’

  Isabella nodded.

  ‘Good. Now, thank you for your concern but I really must fly,’ he rubbed his hands together. ‘Geogo test with year eight.’

  The headmaster marched off down the corridor, his steel capped shoes tip-tapping on the old stone floor. That girl was one of the finest pupils they’d ever had – bright as a button and eager to learn. He liked that a lot. And she was loyal, with a temper that could flare up like a storm, especially with incidents surrounding her twin brother and sister. And there were a surprising number of incidents.

  He chuckled as he thought about his analogy of her and a storm. Well, it was perfectly sweet of her to warn him but he had a leaving party and other pressing things to organise. Nothing would stop his celebrations; certainly not a little storm and a warning from a pupil with a homemade barometer.

  ISABELLA CUT inside one of the main doors and burst into the changing rooms, which she knew would be empty at this time in the morning. She went directly to her locker and sat down on the wooden bench in front of it, pulled her knees up
to her face and closed her eyes.

  Why hadn’t she been able to spit it out?

  She looked at her watch. Science started ten minutes ago; Mrs Douglas knew she was seeing Solomon and, anyway, she’d talked about her homework already, arguing that her methods were wrong. Mrs Douglas got so cross Isabella thought steam would come out of her ears. She won’t mind, Isabella thought; in fact she’ll probably be relieved I’m not there.

  Her thoughts turned to Archie. Why hadn’t she given him a once-over and tidied him up before he’d gone in to assembly? She hated that their behaviour seemed to rebound on her all the time. How come the twins were polar opposites of her? Daisy, popular and sporty, and Archie, well, Archie was a total shambolic disaster!

  Isabella shook her head. What was the point of being popular if it made you late or scruffy or dumb? Why did she feel so responsible for them just because their parents were always away? They were only two academic years beneath her, it wasn’t that much. Why should her desire for excellence be pulled apart by the twins at every step?

  Maybe she shouldn’t watch the game tomorrow morning; why should she damn well bother? She’d leave them to their football match and have a lie-in. She’d slept so badly recently, with a strange repetitive dream – a nightmare so clear and real that it felt as if she’d been transported away to a different place.

  She hardly dared tell Sue that it sounded almost identical to hers. Could best friends share dreams? Poor Sue had been really affected – shocked even. Should she say something? No. Sue would only think she was making it up to make her feel better.

  Isabella closed her eyes, trying to forget the nonsense of it all, but no matter how hard she tried the strange images just wouldn’t go away.

  SUE LOOKED up as Isabella opened the door. She noted how, when her straight brown hair hung like a curtain over her forehead, it made her look slightly older, like a fifteen-year-old. She was frequently told how similar they were and the joke went round that they were more twins than Archie and Daisy, who looked nothing like one another.

  They were alike in so many ways: top of the academic pile, both enjoyed intellectual challenges rather than sporting endeavour and their features were remarkably similar: Isabella with straight mousy hair, Sue wavy mousy hair. Both had narrow faces, straight noses and brown eyes, although Sue’s lips were fuller and her eyebrows finer.

  But Sue’s appearance turned heads – she exuded sex appeal – and she looked after herself, her clothes and hair had a sense of style, whereas Isabella had a nerdy more academic air and her clothes often sat on her like cloth sacks. Isabella regarded boys’ general infatuation with Sue as a complete waste of time.

  Oh heck, what’s up now? Sue thought. Isabella’s scowl had pulled her brow over her nose as though it were held by an invisible clip. ‘Is everything alright?’ she said.

  Isabella slumped into a chair. ‘You won’t believe what I did,’ she began. ‘I told Solomon there was going to be a massive storm.’

  Sue gasped. ‘You did what?’

  ‘I told him about the barometer.’

  ‘Are you insane?’ Sue said, turning a little red. ‘I hope you didn’t tell him it stemmed from my dream?’

  ‘No way!’ Isabella held her head in her hands. ‘It was so embarrassing – he said he’d seen news of the storm on the forecast. I mean, what was I thinking?’

  ‘I can’t believe you did that,’ Sue said, draping an arm around her and trying hard not to smile. ‘But at least you tried.’ Sue ran her hand over the scientific instrument her friend had made. ‘Maybe your barometer’s faulty – perhaps the calibration’s wrong.’

  ‘No, it’s not possible,’ Isabella said, frowning. ‘Every time I reset it, exactly the same thing happens.’

  After she’d told Isabella about her premonition of the storm, Isabella gathered up the necessary parts and, with the help of the Internet, made a homemade weather centre in only a few hours.

  Isabella had simply got on with trying to find a way of dealing with it in a logical way, like only Isabella could. That was what a best friend was for, Sue thought. But she hadn’t told Isabella the whole story. And she knew she must, and soon.

  ‘Please don’t spend too long fiddling with it,’ Sue said. ‘You’ve got to watch the football tomorrow. It might be Daisy’s final game. In any case, I’m required to keep you under control after last week.’ Her eyes flashed at Isabella. ‘You’ll be expelled if you’re stupid enough to do it again.’

  Isabella felt a burning sensation filling her cheeks. ‘I know, I know. Solomon reminded me. But I just don’t seem able to help myself—’

  ‘Well you must. You can’t verbally abuse the referee and then get yourself manhandled off the pitch, screaming like a loon. And you’ve done it twice—’

  ‘But Daisy gets kicked and flattened more than anyone—’

  ‘I know,’ Sue said, ‘Daisy gets smashed in but doesn’t make a squeak. It’s a mystery she makes it through week after week and continues to smile as if nothing happened. It’s half the attraction – what makes her unique. And the fact that she’s a footballing genius.

  ‘You need to do the same and control that temper of yours.’

  SIX

  STORM WARNING

  ‘The thing is,’ Isabella said, ‘I don’t know if I’m overly tired or not thinking straight, but I’ve done some calculations and I’m beginning to think that you might be right!’

  ‘You really think so?’ Sue said.

  ‘Yes!’ Isabella whispered. ‘Going on what you’ve told me, I think it’s going to be absolutely massive. Look, here’s some data showing severe weather depression models exactly like—’

  ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘I pulled it off the web,’ Isabella replied. ‘Hacked into the Met Office data bank and downloaded all their flood sequences and weather system models from around the world.’ She ran her finger down the page. ‘Look, here’s the flooding data from Pakistan a couple of years ago, and this one’s from Queensland, Australia; and here, this one’s from that super-storm in Eastern USA; and this one’s from Eastern Europe. Can you see the similarities in humidity and cloud density; it’s unbelievable – inches of rain – a proper deluge; potential for devastation on a huge scale.’

  Sue sat down and whistled. ‘You’re predicting rainwater at a couple of inches every twenty minutes covering a surface area of say ten square miles – based on what I saw in my sleep! We’ll be white water rafting in less than two hours—’

  ‘I know! Scary, huh. You told me that the rain was so hard and heavy you felt you could hardly breathe – that it was weighing you down, right? So I’ve tried to figure out how much rain that would be and then multiplied it by the area involved, the potential volume the land can absorb and the capacity of the river to drain it away. Then I’ve added in the tidal flow of the river at York, and the increased effects of a full moon—’

  Sue was astonished. ‘Look, Isabella,’ she began hesitantly. ‘Let’s get this straight. I had a really bad nightmare about you and the twins and a flood here at school. It was very real, sure, but it was only a dream.’ She looked straight into her eyes. ‘All of this,’ she waved a hand at the barometer, ‘it’s great – really amazing, but it’s pretty mad too.’

  Isabella stared back. ‘I’m doing this because I believe you, Sue.’

  ‘You do?’

  Isabella drummed her fingers on the desk. ‘Yes, of course.’ She paused as if wondering what to say. ‘If you must know, I’ve had a similar nightmare.’

  Sue nearly fell off her chair. ‘Really? Why didn’t you say something? How similar?’

  ‘Well, most of it was to do with water, but the rest is sort of different,’ she said. ‘And it’s been peeing me off. Anyway, who says you’re wrong? The evidence stacks up in your favour, even if the weather forecasters are saying it’ll just be a localised storm. I mean – what if we’re right and they’re wrong – they’ve got it wrong before. Don’t you think we shou
ld say something?’

  ‘Forecasters screwed up years ago, before they knew what they were doing – before they had satellites and computer models,’ Sue said. ‘And anyway, the problem is, you can’t go round with a megaphone and announce that there’s a storm coming that’s going to rip through the village because of the readings on a homemade, slightly random, barometer and a couple of freaky dreams. No one will believe us; look how Solomon reacted. We’ll be laughed out of school and just imagine what morons like Kemp would say? The humiliation would be—’

  ‘OK, OK, I understand,’ Isabella said, rubbing her brow. ‘I’ll keep my mouth zipped, for now at least, I promise. You sure you’re alright?’

  ‘Yeah, a bit shaken. I can’t seem to get rid of those images in my head – however hard I try. And Bells, there is one more really important thing I need to talk to you about—’

  But before she had a chance to expand, the door was kicked open and smacked into the wall. Sue jumped and then groaned when she saw who it was.

  ‘Aha!’ said the voice she least wanted to hear. ‘I’ve found the nerds.’

  It was Kemp and his friends, Mason and Wilcox.

  ‘OH, MARVELLOUS!’ Sue said sarcastically under her breath.

  Isabella straightened. ‘What can I do for you, Kemp?’ she said curtly. ‘Come to break my arm like you did my sister’s?’

  Kemp went to a desk in the middle of the room, turned a chair around and sat down heavily. ‘And what would you do if I did? Run outside and scream and scream and scream and tell me off, like you usually do?’ Kemp and the boys chuckled. ‘I’ve got a message from chief nerd, Mrs Douglas. She wants to see you,’ he said. ‘Seriously, it’s a real request and I’m just being friendly.’

  Isabella smiled but her eyes were narrow and icy. ‘Kemp, thank you. You’ve delivered your message; now you can leave ... we’re busy.’

  Kemp opened a book. ‘I’m fine staying here for a while,’ he replied putting his feet up on the desk. ‘I believe I’m allowed to—’