“Finding him is one thing. Getting him back may be quite another.”
The last ten minutes of the journey were passed in silence. Finally the Land Rover lumbered through a set of open iron gates, on either side of which, mounted on a pillar, a stone gargoyle glared down. Then, looming before them was the magnificent, ivy-wreathed building known as Elvesden Manor.
Warwick parked the Land Rover at the side of the house, next to his little den. Then he, Tanya, and Oberon got out and made their way to the front of the house, their feet crunching through the gravel. As he pulled his keys out, Tanya stared up at the many windows, ivy trailing over them. The house was huge, with nearly twenty bedrooms, and was far too big for its few inhabitants. Even so, her grandmother stoutly refused to move somewhere smaller and had expressed her hope that the house would one day belong to Tanya. Given the manor’s past, Tanya still wasn’t sure how she felt about this prospect.
The sturdy old front door creaked as Warwick pushed it open, and then they stepped into the dark hallway. Tanya sniffed a few times and wrinkled her nose. She was used to the house smelling musty but today there was another, unfamiliar smell, something sickly and synthetic, like furniture polish or air freshener. They moved farther into the house, passing the staircase leading up to the first and second floors. On a small landing halfway up to the first floor stood a grandfather clock, silent except for a light scuffling from inside. As they approached it, Tanya could make out the voices of the fairies that lived there.
“Not her again!”
“The tricketty one? Already?”
Warwick gave her a sideways glance, but neither of them mentioned what they’d heard. “I’ll take your bag up to your room,” he said, moving onto the stairs.
“Thanks,” said Tanya, heading for the kitchen with Oberon at her heels. “I’ll unpack later.”
Voices could be heard from the kitchen. Tanya bounced through the door eagerly. As she entered, her grandmother, a woman in her mid-sixties named Florence, turned toward her, her thin face breaking into a smile.
“There you are!” she exclaimed. “We were wondering where you’d got to.” She stepped forward, kissing Tanya’s cheek.
“This is Nell, our new housekeeper.”
Tanya turned and looked behind her. Two other people were sitting at the kitchen table. One was Warwick’s son Fabian, a tall, spindly boy with unruly fair hair and thick glasses. He was grinning at her, his blue eyes dancing with mischief. On the table in front of him was a fat pumpkin. He was still in his school uniform, his tie loose around his neck. He leaned down to make a fuss of Oberon, who had positioned himself under the table, contentedly crunching on a bone Florence had produced for him from a brown paper bag.
The other person at the table was one of the oddest-looking women Tanya had ever seen. She was middle-aged, probably in her early fifties. Her hair was like coarse brown straw, resting on plump shoulders in a messy heap. The next thing Tanya noticed was her shape: the top half of the woman seemed strangely out of proportion to the rest of her. From her double chin to her fleshy bottom, she was large and plump, with a rounded tummy; but her legs were thin and did not look strong enough to support the weight of the rest of her. Her clothes—a baggy, cheap-looking blouse and tight leggings meant for much younger women—only accentuated the strangeness of her shape. But it was the smaller details that really held Tanya’s interest—details such as the chipped nail polish on the woman’s stubby nails, and the equally stubby toes that reached over the ends of shabby pink flip-flops.
“Hello,” said Tanya politely.
Nell beamed as Florence set a steaming cup of tea in front of Tanya. She took a sip, and then her eyes settled on Fabian, who was sketching a pumpkin design on a scrap of paper, the tip of his tongue protruding from the corner of his mouth in concentration. Tanya went and sat next to him, peering at the drawing.
“Do you want to help me carve it?” he asked.
Before Tanya could respond, Nell spoke.
“It’s a bit early, isn’t it?” Her voice was high-pitched and slightly too loud. “It’ll be rotten by Halloween if you carve it now.”
“I’m not carving it yet,” said Fabian. “I’m just working out the design.”
“Hmm,” said Nell, wrinkling her nose. She squinted at Fabian’s drawing as if she couldn’t quite work out what it was of.
Just then the phone rang in the hallway. Florence rose from the table and left the kitchen. She returned a moment later.
“It wasn’t the phone after all,” she said. “It was that bird of yours, Nell. He’s learned to mimic it rather well.”
“You’ve got a bird?” Tanya asked. “What kind of bird?”
“He’s an African gray parrot,” said Nell.
“Why don’t we bring him in?” Florence suggested. “He’s been cooped up in the sitting room all day.”
“What’s his name?” Tanya asked.
“General Carver,” said Nell, her chest swelling with pride. “Yes, all right, but that dog better not get too near him.” She trotted off into the hallway, in the direction of the sitting room. They heard the door being opened, then came the squeak of wheels. Nell appeared a moment later, pulling a silver cage that was even taller than she was, and twice as wide.
“There we are, dearest,” she crooned, positioning the cage in front of the fire. “That’s better, isn’t it?” She beckoned for Tanya to come nearer.
“Isn’t he handsome?” said Nell.
Tanya edged closer and looked into the cage dubiously. “Handsome” was not a word she would have used. Vicious seemed more appropriate. The General was sitting as still as a statue on a wooden perch. He was gray all over, except for a curved black beak and a few red feathers in his tail. He stared back with cold yellow eyes, narrowed to a pinpoint.
“Talk to him,” said Nell, nudging Tanya’s arm enthusiastically. “He likes you, I can tell.”
“I don’t think he looks like he likes anyone,” said Fabian. “Not even you. In fact, he looks as if he’d like to peck someone’s eyes out.”
Tanya privately agreed. “Why’s he called General Carver?” she asked.
“Well,” said Nell, her cheeks reddening. “I named him after an old flame, see? General Reginald Carver. It was love at first sight. I was a bit of a looker in my day, you know.”
At this Fabian gave a loud cough, but Nell continued, oblivious.
“It all ended suddenly,” she said.
“Did he die?” asked Tanya.
“No,” said Nell. “He went back to his wife.”
Florence gave a disapproving tut.
“So you never married then?” Fabian asked.
“Oh, yes, eventually,” said Nell. “He was a good old boy, my Sidney. Dependable, he was. Passed away last year.”
Tanya was saved from thinking of something to say by the General giving an ear-shattering screech. At this, Oberon, who had just plucked up the courage to raise his nose to the cage for a better look at the strange creature inside, fled and hid under the table.
Nell chuckled. The General chuckled too.
“How rude,” he said, in a perfect imitation of Nell’s voice. “How rude. Young whippersnapper.”
“My clever boy,” trilled Nell.
The General blew a raspberry and puffed his feathers out so he appeared twice his normal size.
“Look,” said Nell. “He’s got his suit of armor on.”
“Pop goes the weasel! HOW RUDE!” the parrot screeched, puffing himself out even more. “Skullduggery, that’s what it is!”
A small movement caught Tanya’s eye. On the counter, the lid to the tea caddy had lifted, and the shriveled little face of the old brownie that lived there peered out. He blinked grumpily and brandished his walking stick at the General, before slamming the lid back down and burrowing under the teabags again. Tanya caught her grandmother’s eye. Like her, Florence had the second sight, but no one else in the kitchen had seen—or was able to. The only other fair
y that lived in the kitchen was a shy little hearthfay whom Tanya had seen dart behind the coal bin a few minutes before.
“I bet I could teach him some new words,” said Fabian.
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Nell answered. “If he starts to swear I’ll know exactly who to blame and I’ll wash your mouth out for you with a bar of soap.”
“As if I’d do that!” said Fabian, pretending to be shocked.
“I’m sure Fabian will respect your wishes,” said Florence, giving Fabian a hard look. “Won’t you, Fabian?”
Fabian’s only response was a vague “Hmm.”
“Bleedin’ pest! Bleedin’ nuisance!” said the General.
From the look on Nell’s face it was clear she agreed.
Later that evening, after Tanya had packed away her things and let Oberon out for a run in the back garden, everyone except Warwick had eaten dinner and was now gathered in the kitchen in front of a roaring fire. The General had, thankfully, had a dark cloth draped over his cage and been wheeled away for the night. Oberon was stretched out with his paws on the hearth, snoring softly. Florence was knitting for a charity rummage sale—her needles clicking and clacking away—and occasionally answering Nell’s questions about the house.
Tanya stared into the flames of the fire, half listening to them and half thinking about Red and the news bulletin she’d heard on the radio. She wanted to talk to Fabian about it and had hinted several times for them to leave the room. Fabian, however, was sprawled out on the rug next to Oberon, finishing homework that he insisted he wanted out of the way so it didn’t ruin his half-term. Every so often he complained about Oberon’s breath and wriggled away in disgust.
“Where does that staircase lead to?” Nell asked, her eyelids heavy with the heat of the room.
Tanya looked at the old staircase next to the fireplace. It curved up and around, disappearing behind another wall partition.
“It used to lead up to the first and second floors,” said Florence. “It was used by the servants years ago. It’s blocked off now, though.”
Tanya and Fabian shared a secret glance. It was true that the kitchen’s entrance to the staircase was blocked off, but what Florence had declined to say was that access could still be gained to the old staircase from a hidden door on the second floor. Unbeknownst to Florence and Warwick, Tanya and Fabian had found the door and explored the servants’ staircase during the summer.
Just then, Warwick came into the kitchen through the back door, followed by a gust of cold air and a few stray leaves. He had been out all afternoon, and now looked cold, tired, and hungry.
He hung his coat on the back of the door and moved to the oven, where he knew his dinner would be waiting for him, but Florence rose from her chair.
“Let me,” she said. “I’ll make a nice cup of tea and get your dinner while you check on Amos.”
Warwick’s tired face brightened. He licked his lips and disappeared to check on his old father upstairs. Minutes later he returned and took a seat at the table.
“It’s stew,” said Florence, cutting two slices from a crusty loaf.
“With dumplings?” Warwick asked happily.
“With dumplings,” Florence replied, opening the oven. “Oh!”
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s not here,” said Florence, in obvious confusion. “I left it in the oven to keep it warm, and it’s gone!”
Nell sat up, suddenly looking nervous. She heaved herself out of the chair and lumbered toward Florence.
“Well… you see, er…” she began. “I thought… well, I mean, I assumed that… oh, dear…”
“Yes?” Florence inquired, her eyes beginning to narrow.
“I thought it was for the old man,” said Nell. “Amos—I thought it was meant for him… that he hadn’t wanted it… and well, I was doing the washing up anyway, so—”
“Where is it?” snapped Florence.
All eyes were on the housekeeper as she very slowly turned toward Oberon.
Over the crackling of the fire, a loud gurgling could be heard from the dog’s stomach.
“Oh!” said Florence.
“It was drying out!” Nell squeaked.
“You gave my dinner to the dog?” Warwick said thunderously.
“I didn’t bleedin’ well know it was yours, did I?”
“But I told you, Nell!” said Florence. “I thought I’d made it quite clear what the eating arrangements are—Amos has his meal very early on in the afternoon. Warwick takes care of that!”
Nell looked as though she was about to cry.
Warwick stared disbelievingly at the two pieces of bread before him.
“It’s my favorite too,” he said, glaring at the housekeeper.
“Well, it’s done now,” said Florence. “And, Nell, please don’t do that again—it’s a terrible waste. Plus, that stew was full of onion and will probably upset Oberon’s tummy.”
“And he’s fat enough already,” Fabian pointed out, yelping as Tanya elbowed him in the ribs.
Nell gave a miserable little nod. “I’ll just go to bed now then, shall I?” she said in a small voice.
“Good night,” said Florence abruptly.
Nell’s footsteps faded as she sloped off down the hallway. Warwick stalked over to the toaster and pushed the two pieces of bread into it before opening a tin of beans.
“She’s a strange one and no mistake,” he said. “Whatever were you thinking of, hiring her?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Florence answered, irritably. “I just met her at the market one day, and we got talking. She said she’d had trouble finding another job after being laid off and I felt sorry for her. She needed work and a roof over her head, and we needed a housekeeper. It seemed ideal.”
“She’ll be more trouble than she’s worth,” said Warwick darkly. “You mark my words.”
The place Rowan and James were taken to was gray and cold, a Victorian building that smelled of disinfectant and beds that had been wet. It had once been a school. Now, it was a children’s home.
Rowan was numb by the time they arrived. James clung to her, his head heavy on her shoulder. Rowan’s good arm ached from carrying him. Over the past twenty-four hours he had cried for his mother and screamed when anyone tried to take him from Rowan. And so he had remained with her the entire time—during the questions and examinations at the hospital following the crash and the introduction to their social worker, a young woman named Ellie.
Ellie put her hand gently on Rowan’s free shoulder.
“Want me to take him?”
Rowan shook her head. Her red hair hung in greasy tendrils and her swollen eyes were sticky with tears.
“He’ll wake up.”
Ellie led the way toward the back of the building, and finally they stopped outside a door on the right. Its paintwork was chipped, and from underneath it, light could be seen in the dim hallway. Ellie put down the suitcase containing Rowan and James’s belongings and knocked. The door opened almost immediately and a gray-haired man beckoned them inside and offered them seats in front of his desk. Rowan sat, glad to rest herself from James’s weight. She readjusted him in her arms, the movement wafting the smell of a full nappy to her nostrils. The gray-haired man sitting opposite regarded her kindly, and though she thought she saw his nose twitch too, he did not mention it. Ellie sat down beside Rowan.
“I know this is a terrible time for you both,” the man began. “And it’s late, so I’ll keep this brief.”
Rowan glanced up at the clock on the wall behind the man. It was nearly ten o’clock in the evening.
“My name is John Temple, and it’s my job to see that everything runs smoothly, and that everyone here is happy.”
His words entered Rowan’s brain but had no real meaning. He meant well, she knew, but his talk of happiness was pointless because she would never be happy there. She didn’t think she’d ever be happy again.
“You’ll be introduced to the rest of the staff
over the next few days. In the meantime, Ellie will continue to see you, and we will of course be looking into finding somewhere more permanent for you and James.”
“You mean a foster home,” said Rowan.
John Temple nodded.
“Yes. Foster care looks likely, though we’re still checking every possible avenue for any extended family members.”
“Have you managed to contact my aunt Rose?”
“Ah. No, we haven’t yet made contact with Miss Weaver, your aunt, but rest assured, we’ll keep trying.”
“It’s like a zoo, her house,” said Rowan. “It smells funny. Six cats, three dogs, and even two geese. She’ll end up being evicted, my dad says… said.” The word stuck in her throat like sawdust, and she rushed on quickly, tears stinging her eyelids. “And that’s without the ducks and the g-goat in the garden….”
She was crying now.
“All right, love,” said Ellie.
“We want to go to bed now,” Rowan whispered, pulling James closer. “Please.”
“Yes, of course,” said John, rising from his chair and ushering them to the door. “Let’s take you upstairs.”
Upstairs was little better than downstairs. It was clean but shabby, the carpets worn and the walls in need of a lick of paint. As John led them through the darkened hallways, Ellie pulled Rowan and James’s suitcase behind them. It rumbled softly over the carpet until John paused outside a door that had been left ajar.
“A bed has been made up for you,” said John in a low voice. “There’s a crib for James for tonight, but tomorrow he’ll be moved to the nursery with the other babies and toddlers. The bathroom is two doors down on the left. You’ll be woken up at seven thirty for breakfast at eight.” He gave a sympathetic smile. “Try to get some rest. This is a good place. One of the best.”
With that, John said good night and left, leaving Rowan, Ellie, and James outside the bedroom door. Rowan pushed the door open. A chink of light from the hallway spilled in, highlighting a single bed and a crib. A slim wardrobe stood to the side, and a desk with a chair and a few drawers was beside it. Everything was empty and bare.
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