“My grandmother will never go for this in a hundred years,” she muttered. “If she sees us with this basket, she’ll know we’re up to no good—we’re never helpful.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Fabian. “All she’ll find is a fox. And we can say it’s injured and we’re trying to look after it. That’s the beauty of it.”
They need not have worried. As they carried the basket upstairs, they saw no one.
“It feels strange being here again,” said Red as they passed the grandfather clock on the landing.
“Shh,” said Tanya. “Foxes can’t talk, remember?” She pushed her bedroom door open and went in, placing the basket on her bed. Red leapt out, leaving muddy prints and fox hair on the laundry. She threw the coat off once more.
Fabian sniffed and wrinkled his nose as it landed near him. Tanya caught the hint, and was subtler.
“If you want to go ahead and use the bathroom, I’ll sort out some fresh clothes for you. They might be a bit small, but I’m sure I can find something. Meantime, Fabian—you go and see if you can make any progress with the diaries.”
“What about newspapers?” Red asked as Fabian left. “Has there been anything more about me, or the children I took?”
“Nothing in the papers,” Tanya answered. “But I remember a radio bulletin about a changeling you took in Suffolk—Lauren Marsh?”
Red nodded.
“She’s been returned,” Tanya said. “Warwick and I both heard it together, but we guessed it couldn’t have been you who brought her back if you were in the fairy realm.”
Red shook her head. “No, it wasn’t me. Remember I told you before that I have contacts? Someone else must have brought her back, which can only be a good thing for me.”
“They’re still looking for you, though,” said Tanya.
“Yes,” said Red. “But now, all the children—or changelings—I took, have been replaced with the human children who were stolen, which means that the only missing child connected with me now is James—and they know I’m not responsible for his disappearance. At least if I’m caught now they’re likely to be more lenient than they would be if the children were still missing.”
Red went into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. Hunting through her bag, she pulled out her toothbrush eagerly, then helped herself to a generous dollop of toothpaste. The cool explosion of mint in her mouth after so long a time of only using water to brush her teeth was extraordinary—and wonderful. She brushed, spat and rinsed, then repeated the whole thing again out of sheer indulgence.
Afterward, she wiped her tingling mouth with the small hand towel on the rail and turned on the tap over the bathtub. Her scalp and skin itched with dirt, and she stared as the bath filled annoyingly slowly.
When she climbed out of the tub twenty minutes later, the water that slid down the drain was tepid and gray. Scrubbed and clean, she dressed in a baggy T-shirt and some too-short jeans of Tanya’s, then went into the bedroom.
Fabian was standing sheepishly in the fox-skin coat and Tanya was sitting on the bed with a plate of food raided from the kitchen. Fabian slipped the coat off and laid it meekly on the bed.
“It only works for me,” Red explained.
“Tell us everything that happened to you in the fairy realm,” said Tanya, pushing the plate of food toward her.
Red tore into a chunk of bread and swallowed without chewing properly, trying to figure out where to begin. When she eventually started, the story came out in a jumble. Tanya and Fabian listened in silence, their eyes growing wider with each incident related. Finally, as Red’s story came to an end, Tanya reached for a pile of shabby, battered journals from beneath her bed.
“Are those Elizabeth Elvesden’s diaries?” Red asked.
Fabian nodded.
“We’ll need to be careful, and as quick as we can. Because if Florence finds out we’ve got them, it’ll ruin everything.”
For the next two hours, the shuffling of papers was the only sound that could be heard.
“Bookmark any pages of interest,” Tanya said before they started. “Places, events, anything at all that could be important. We’ll read for two hours, then discuss our findings.”
“We should just search the house,” Fabian grumbled. “It’s not as though we don’t know what we’re looking for.”
“It’s all very well knowing what you’re looking for if you know where to find it,” said Tanya. “But this would be like searching for a needle in a haystack. We need to know where to look. The diaries are the best way forward. Once we’ve been through them, we can take a closer look at the bracelet’s other owners.”
There were six diaries in total, two for each of them to read. The final one had been split into parts, with pages secured together with twine.
When two hours had passed, they set the diaries down.
“Who wants to go first?” said Red.
“Me,” said Fabian promptly. “I’ve got the first part, which begins when she was sixteen and ends when she was eighteen. Her maiden name was Sawyer, Elizabeth Sawyer. She lived with an old woman called Miss Cromwell, who took her into her care when Elizabeth’s parents died. Elizabeth describes her as a mean old spinster—she basically treated Elizabeth as a slave and paid her very little. She was also spiteful to her every chance she got. She never knew Elizabeth could read and write, and Elizabeth kept it a secret from her—saving her wages to buy paper and ink and hiding the diary under her mattress. She only ever wrote in it when Miss Cromwell had gone to sleep. She writes about the fairies—how she’d always seen them and how, when her mother was dying and delirious with fever, she told her she’d suspected that Elizabeth had been switched for one of the ‘little folk’ when she was born.
“She met Lord Elvesden in the marketplace one day. She was there selling eggs from Miss Cromwell’s hens and she caught his eye. Everyone in the town knew he was rich—but Elizabeth was wary. He started to hound her, bringing her gifts of jewelry and clothes. Still, Elizabeth turned him away. But soon she realized that marrying Elvesden was her best chance of escaping Miss Cromwell. So the next time he asked, she said yes. The bracelet was his wedding gift to her; he’d commissioned it from a jeweler in Tickey End—”
“What was the name of the jeweler?” Red interrupted.
“Stickler and Fitch,” said Fabian. “There’s a card here with the address. And as we’d already guessed, Elizabeth had asked for those particular charms. She’d read about the Thirteen Treasures in a book, though she didn’t tell Elvesden about the fairy connection. Apparently they’re mentioned in stories of King Arthur too, so Elvesden was happy with this explanation. The diary ends when she moved into this house, which Elvesden had just had built.”
“So we have the name of the shop where the bracelet was made,” said Red. “We might be able to trace it. Same for the house where she lived with this Cromwell woman—does she give an address?”
Fabian nodded. “In the front of the diary.”
“Good. What next?”
“That would be me,” said Tanya. “Elizabeth found it hard to adjust to having money for the first time in her life, and also began to feel trapped very early on by the expectations that were now upon her. One of her pet hates was posing for the portrait that hangs in their room—it took months to complete and she detested having to sit still for hours on end.”
“No wonder she looks miserable in it,” said Fabian.
“When she’d been married a year, she was lonely, and bored, and spent most of her time outside, near the woods, making a friend of the local wise woman, Agnes Fogg.”
The name made Red’s skin crawl. “Who later became the Hedgewitch,” she said, continuing as Tanya shut her diary. “She was given a little black kitten by Agnes Fogg, whose cat had just had a litter. Elizabeth adored it, so much so that she had one of the charms taken off her bracelet to adorn the kitten’s collar. Soon after, the witchcraft rumors began.”
A creaking sound from the door made ev
eryone turn. With no time to put the fox-skin coat on, Red dropped to the floor and rolled under the bed.
Tanya went over to the door. Opening it, she craned her neck to see out into the hall, and sighed with relief as she saw the culprit.
“It’s only Spitfire,” she said, watching as the fat ginger cat loped off. “All the same, we’d better hurry up and finish the diaries. If my grandmother finds out they’re missing…”
“If we haven’t finished reading them by tomorrow, I’ll put them back for a while anyway,” said Fabian. “Just in case she suspects. But we’ve got enough information to make a start.”
Red crawled out from under the bed.
“It makes sense to start with what’s closest, and that’s the house and the shop in Tickey End,” said Fabian.
“We can search the house later on,” Tanya said. “We should try the shops first—they’ll be closing in just over two hours. What’s the address on the card you found, Fabian?”
Fabian checked his notes.
“Thirteen Wishbone Walk.”
“We can find it,” said Tanya. “The likelihood is that the shop won’t still be there—but the building might. It’s worth a look.”
“I’m coming too,” said Red.
“But what if you’re recognized?” asked Fabian. “Maybe you should stay here.”
Red shook her head stubbornly.
“I’m going. No one will recognize me—it’s been too long. I doubt they’re even looking for me in this area anymore. Plus, they’ve always known me to be alone, or with a young child. If I’m with you two, no one will look twice.”
It turned out that she was right.
In her glamour disguise they sneaked Red out, and as they walked the lanes to the bus stop, she skirted their ankles, dipping in and out of the tall grass at the side of the road. By the time the bus came, the girl had replaced the fox, and three children boarded.
It was a quiet day in Tickey End. The cobblestone streets were almost deserted, inhabited only by a few last shoppers and withered leaves that chased each other across the ground. They hurried through the town square and into the narrow side streets.
Wishbone Walk seemed a little livelier, with music and voices coming from some of the inns. They passed the Spiral Staircase pub, from which a delicious smell of home-cooked food wafted, and moved farther along.
Suddenly Red stopped dead.
“There it is.”
“The shop?” Fabian asked.
“No,” said Tanya, following Red’s eyes to a derelict building with boarded-up windows. “The children’s home, where her brother was taken from.” She tugged at Red’s sleeve. “Come on. Don’t stand here staring—it could draw attention to us.”
They set off again.
“Hardly any of the shops have numbers,” Red muttered. She was keeping her head down despite the empty streets, wearing an old cap of Fabian’s to help hide her face.
“There,” said Tanya. “Pandora’s Box is number twenty-five, and Clifford’s Accountants over there is twenty-one. Number thirteen will be on this side, farther down.”
They ran the rest of the way, counting down the numbers as they went. But as they halted outside number thirteen, all three of them stared in dismay at the painted-out windows and CLOSED sign hanging in the door. A FOR RENT sign above the door confirmed the shop was empty.
“I don’t believe it,” said Fabian, rattling the door. He cupped his hands around his face and peered through.
Tanya and Red squeezed into the doorway beside him. The shop was bare inside, save for a pile of unopened mail clustering around the inside of the door. Fabian moved out of the doorway and stepped back into the street.
“It’s not even a jeweler’s anymore,” he said, pointing at the name of the shop. “The Baker’s Dozen. I remember it now. Horrible pies, no wonder they closed down.”
“So that’s it,” said Tanya, joining Fabian. “A dead end.”
“Not necessarily,” said Red. She brushed past them and walked a little way on. To the side of the shop was a wooden gate. It opened as she lifted the latch. “Through here, quickly.”
“What are you doing?” said Fabian as Tanya slid through the gate after Red. “We can’t do this, it’s trespassing!”
“Like she’s worried about that when she’s wanted for kidnapping!” Tanya said scornfully.
Fabian couldn’t argue with that. He closed the gate behind them, with a quick glance either way to check that they weren’t being watched.
“It’s all clear,” he said. “I don’t think anyone saw us.”
At the back of the bakery was a little kitchen, visible through a glass panel in the door.
“There’s a key in the lock on the other side!” Fabian said. He rooted in his pocket and pulled out a piece of folded paper. “I bet I can have that key out of there in five minutes.” He patted himself down. “I usually carry a piece of wire to push the key through with…”
“Or we could just do it the fast way,” said Red, stooping to the ground. Her fingers curled around half a broken brick that had come loose from the wall, and then she stood up, brought her arm back, and threw it at the window.
The glass shattered, and Fabian looked on in unabashed admiration. Scouting the yard, Red collected a handful of newspaper from by the dustbins and wrapped it around her hand to push out any jagged edges of glass left in the frame. When the pane was free of shards, she slipped her arm through and unlocked the door.
“Search every inch of this place,” said Red, closing the door quietly behind them. “We need to be quick. I’ll search the kitchen, and you two look in the front of the shop. Fabian, you comb the floor, and Tanya, you check all the drawers and surfaces.”
They set to work, and it was fast work as the drawers in the counter were empty and the floor was swept clean. After only a few minutes Fabian gave a small cry and pounced on something.
“Here!”
“Show me!” Red demanded.
“Oh,” said Fabian, adjusting his glasses. “It’s nothing, just a silver button.”
They continued to search, but even after going over everything twice they had found nothing.
“Don’t get too close to the front door,” Red warned Fabian. He was sorting the mail on the floor and had stacked it neatly to the side of him, checking the floor where it had lain and prodding each envelope for a telltale bulge.
“There’s nothing here,” Red said, disheartened.
“Don’t these shops usually have basements?” said Tanya.
“Some of them do,” said Fabian. “But there’s no sign of a trapdoor or any other kind of door that might lead into one.” He stared at the floor, pushing a leaflet around with his toe.
“Let’s go,” said Red, heading for the back door. “We should get back—it’s getting dark now anyway.”
“Hang on,” said Fabian. He bent down and picked the leaflet up. “This is advertising a sale in a local jeweler’s.”
“So?” Red said impatiently. “It’s not much good if it’s not the shop where the bracelet was made, which was here, remember?”
“But look at the name,” said Fabian, holding the leaflet up.
“Stickler and Sons,” Tanya read.
Fabian pulled his notes out of his pocket. “The original shop was called Stickler and Fitch,” he said. “But what if they decided to part ways, and this Stickler person set up on his own—a family business?”
“It’s possible,” Red said. She took the leaflet from him. “But even if it was the same company, it’s not the same place. It’s moved.”
“Only to a few streets away,” said Fabian. “Look, it’s in Turn Again Lane—that’s only around the corner!”
“It’s worth a shot,” said Red. “But why would they change locations just to move a street or so away?”
“Lots of reasons,” said Fabian. “More space, or less—if they were having problems with the rent.” He looked at his watch. “We’d better hurry—it’s nearly
closing time.”
They left the shop, slipping through the gate and into the street once more.
“This way,” said Fabian, beckoning them back in the direction of Pandora’s Box. They passed it and went into the next street, then Fabian took a right into an alley.
“This is a shortcut,” he said, calling over his shoulder as he jogged ahead. Soon the alley gave way to another little tumbledown road of shops and cottages. “This is Turn Again Lane. Stickler and Sons is at number thirty-one.”
“Thirty-one,” Tanya repeated. “That’s thirteen, with the digits swapped around. Anyone else think that’s just a coincidence?”
The shop, when they found it, was tiny. Seemingly, Fabian had been right about the move to smaller premises. The place was run-down, its windows adorned with bird droppings, and its doorway littered with leaves that no one cared about enough to sweep.
“What a dump,” said Fabian.
“Some family business,” Tanya agreed, nodding to the shop’s name, for either through vandalism or neglect, several of the raised letters on the sign had dropped away, leaving it to read: TICKLE & SO.
“Let’s go in,” said Red, but as she reached to open the door a balding man ducked through it, fumbling with a bunch of keys.
“Sorry, I’m closing,” he said with a slight frown as he saw them waiting there.
“But it’s not five o’clock yet,” said Fabian, pointing at the opening hours in the window, and then at his watch.
“It is in my book,” the man grumbled. “I’ve not sold a thing all afternoon. Come back another time.”
“Oh, please,” said Tanya. “Can’t you spare just a few minutes? It’s my grandmother’s birthday tomorrow. I need a gift for her.”
“We know what we’re looking for,” Red added.
The man hesitated.
“Please?” Tanya said again.
“Oh, all right,” he muttered. “But just a couple of minutes, mind.”
He turned on the lights again and held the door open as they poured into the shop.
“What exactly are you looking for?” he asked as they scanned the glass cabinets and counters.
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