“Lovely, dear,” said Aunt Effie, before Will could answer. “Now about tomorrow. It’s the school holiday here, so I don’t teach classes, but I do have a spot of paperwork. I’ll take you to Glastonbury in the afternoon. Full of history. King Arthur up on the tower hill, of course, and King Alfred down in the Levels, plus there’s a museum with Iron Age artifacts.” She laughed. “That’s what you get with an aunt who’s a history teacher! But in the morning I’m going to be boring as a brick, so you lot must amuse yourselves until lunchtime.”
The next morning, Aunt Effie had already disappeared down the hall to her office with a mug of tea by the time the children came downstairs, and they soon heard the tap-tap typing of a keyboard. They helped themselves to breakfast, which was oatmeal.
Meg watched over Ariel. She helped her find a spoon, scoop the oatmeal, and pour the milk jug, which was too heavy for her skinny five-year-old arms. Being five wasn’t easy, she thought. When she herself had been five, she would have been scared to even go on a trip like this. She would have missed her parents so much she probably would have cried. Meg began to feel bad about leaving Ariel yesterday when she and Will were off at the manor. After all, she always had Will, but Ariel didn’t have anyone her age to play with.
“You’re not listening,” Ariel said.
“Uh. What?”
“I said Kay Kay likes blue best,” Ariel repeated.
Meg nodded indulgently. “That’s nice,” she said. Ariel was always playing with imaginary friends. At home she would go on and on about her imaginary friend Mia, and before that, it was Gobi, or someone else.
“We both like blue, but I let her use the angel cup and it has a blue ribbon on it. There’s a house, a lamb, a dog, a bear and a flower, but the angel’s my favorite. Kay Kay’s, too. Kay Kay says . . .”
“Wait. I thought Mia was the name of your invisible friend,” Will interrupted. “What happened to her? Did you ditch her?”
Ariel was silent for a moment.
“Mia’s still my friend,” she said. “But right now I’m playing with Kay Kay.”
Aunt Effie stayed buried in her office through most of breakfast, but when Shep stopped by—entering, then knocking afterward, as usual—she emerged and came out to the entry hall. Will dropped his oatmeal spoon and got there first, hoping to corner Shep and ask him more about ghosts.
“Shep, I was wondering . . . ,” began Will.
“Not now,” said Shep, stepping past Will. “Good morning, Effie!” he boomed out.
Aunt Effie stood on the slate stones of the entry hall beaming at her visitor. Her hair was disarrayed and adorned with a stray piece of thatch.
“New lambs out in McBurney’s pasture,” Shep informed her. “Thought the kids might like to see them, since they’re too worldly for ghosts.” He gave Will a sidelong glance.
Will winced. Meg was right. He had offended Shep somehow. Meanwhile, Aunt Effie was bobbing, smiling, and exclaiming over the status of the lambs.
“Ah, Will,” said Aunt Effie, a few moments later, suddenly noticing him. “What about a morning walk?”
“Looks as if you’ve been out this morning yourself,” said Shep, with a shy grin. “How else did you manage to get thatch in your hair?” He leaned forward and plucked the stray piece from her curls.
Ariel was scooping out the last of the breakfast toppings when Will returned. Her bowl resembled a tower of raisins more than a serving of oatmeal. While Ariel balanced raisins on her spoon, Meg and Will made plans to go back to the manor. Will wanted to see the creek and explore the manor from the outside. Meg pointed out that Ariel had missed seeing the manor yesterday, inside or out, and the lambs would be fun to see on the way. Ariel didn’t say anything, but looked dreamily out the window. So it was settled.
Will was the first to be ready. He pulled on his boots and stamped about on the slate stones in the entry hall. Meg went upstairs to the bedroom to check on Ariel. She expected to find her in the alcove playing with the stuffed animals she’d brought, but instead Ariel was standing by the window, gazing at the bare branches of the walnut tree.
“Come on, are you ready?” asked Meg. “You get to see the manor today.”
“No,” said Ariel, turning away from the window.
“What do you mean, no? You get to come with us.”
“I want to stay here.”
Meg stared at her sister in disbelief. She certainly could stay, since Aunt Effie was just downstairs, but . . . “But Ariel, there’s going to be lambs!” she protested. “Don’t you want to see the lambs?”
Ariel shook her head.
“I want to play upstairs with Kay Kay,” she said resolutely. Then she turned back to the window. Meg hesitated. Ariel turning down lambs was like Will turning down a piano. But it wasn’t just the lambs; Ariel’s refusal was also a strike against her. Most days Ariel was a nuisance, always begging to be with Meg and Will. Now here they were inviting her, and she stood looking at a tree.
“Come on,” she said, reaching for Ariel’s arm. “I know you want to come.” Ariel shook her off and stepped away. Downstairs Meg heard the front door bang, and more stamping from Will’s boots. She looked back at Ariel one last time.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
Ariel stood silent and Meg turned away.
As soon as Meg and Will left, Ariel slipped upstairs. She watched from Will’s bedroom window until her brother and sister had cleared the first stile to McBurney’s pasture. Meg did glance back toward the Griffinage several times, but each time Ariel ducked out of sight. Now they were too far away to see her. Meg and Will were way up the hill looking at the sheep. From Ariel’s window, the lambs were bright white dots next to their mothers’ yellowed coats. Ariel drew back from the window and ran up the attic stairs. Once again, Uncle Ben followed her as far as the landing. Already, a fluff of brown dog fur was collecting in the corner. Ariel climbed the ladder and pushed open the door. She smiled at what she saw.
“Hello,” Ariel said. “You’re back.”
Kay Kay sat perched by the windowsill again. She wore the same white pinafore smudged with mud, and the same midnight-blue dress underneath. She dangled her feet off the floor, still with one shoe off and one shoe on. She was pulling her fingers in an agitated way and sat hunched, with her shoulders pinched together, but the moment she saw Ariel she slid down from the windowsill.
“There you are!” she said. “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting.”
Without pausing for an answer, she turned to the tea set and began humming as she set the pieces out. Ariel said nothing, but watched her. It was a plaintive tune, made up of five notes. Before she knew it, Ariel also hummed along. La de de la da. La de de la da. Kay Kay’s shoulders relaxed as the girls hummed together.
Mendip Brook wound through woods and open fields for several miles near the manor before bubbling through a culvert under the A37 and heading south toward Yeovil. Meg and Will watched the lambs gamboling for a while, but it wasn’t quite so fun without Ariel’s usual exclamations. After the lambs, Will suggested a different route to the manor.
“If we go the same way each time, we’ll never find clues,” he said. “And with Shep not helping, we’re on our own. Who knows, maybe we’ll see something from a different angle. Besides, don’t you want to see the woods where Gillian went riding?”
They turned east and struck out across a field dotted with cheerful yellow blossoms on spiky gorse bushes. As soon as they entered the woods, the air cooled and the ground grew muddier beneath their feet. The gorse gave way to sparse patches of bluebells. Outside the woods, the stream was tame, its waters gently murmuring through grassy, rounded banks. Here the brook gurgled in a commanding voice as it tumbled over stones strewn in its rocky bed.
“Look! There’s the tower. You can see it from here,” called Will.
Sure enough, the grey stone tower loomed between the tree trunks on the far bank. Will was keen to examine the tower from the outside. “You never
know,” he said. “They might have electrical wires rigged up somewhere to flash all those ghost lights.”
Last night, though he hadn’t told Meg, Will had set his alarm for the middle of the night and peeked out his bedroom window at the manor tower. No lights. Everything ordinary, of course. It was what he’d expected, but still he’d felt a twinge of disappointment as he crawled back into bed.
“You really don’t believe it, do you?” Meg was several paces behind him, picking her way slowly, stepping on roots to avoid the mud.
“Oh, I believe Gillian died all right, but believing the story doesn’t mean I’m sure about the ghost part.”
“You really think Shep’s just . . . Oh!”
At that moment Meg fell. Her foot slipped off a particularly slick root, and she skidded down the muddy bank. As she fell, her boot heels dug into the stream bank, gouging a trail of mud and stones behind her. She came to a stop just before the water with her right hand buried in a thick clump of plants growing on the bank.
“Yowch! My hand.” She cradled her hand, wincing in pain. Meg’s hand was red and swelling rapidly, her skin pricked with many tiny white dots.
“Nettles,” said Will. “You broke your fall in a stinging nettle patch. Good thing you didn’t fall into the creek.”
“Like Gillian,” said Meg. She looked around in a panic. Maybe this was the spot. Of course, she wasn’t riding a horse, so falling didn’t have the same impact, but still. New shoots of pain made her wince. “Yow, these nettles hurt worse than ours back home.”
“At least we know the creek’s slippery,” said Will. “That part of the story’s true.”
“Of course, it’s slippery, Mr. Ghosthunter! Why do you think I fell?” Meg turned her back on Will. Her hand felt as if she’d been stung by ten bees. She crouched on a flat rock lodged midway in the creek and submerged her hand in the cool water to ease the painful swelling. Behind her, the bank where she’d fallen gave way, sending a small landslide of mud and stones into the creek.
Something silver glinted up from the mud. Will jumped down to the spot Meg had just vacated and scrabbled in the dirt with his fingers. “Found something,” Will said. The object was deeply buried, just a corner sticking out. Will grabbed a stick and used it as a makeshift shovel.
Meg left her spot midstream and hopped back to the muddy bank. Will’s body was blocking whatever it was, and she edged closer to see. “Let me help,” she said. Meg picked up a sharp rock and chipped away at the bank next to Will, using her left hand to dig. In a few minutes, they tugged the silver object clear. Will dipped it in the stream to wash it off. It was a metal circle with some sort of handle or buckle loop on one side. Inside the silver circle was a prancing lion. A short bit of decomposed leather dangled from it.
“It’s some sort of belt,” said Will, looking at it dubiously. “I think.” He rubbed it on his shirt to remove more mud.
“I’ve never seen a belt buckle like that before,” said Meg. “But it’s pretty, and I bet it’s old. Probably Roman or something,” she ventured, trying to sound erudite. At least she knew she was right that the ancient Romans used to live around here, since Aunt Effie was always talking about it.
“Are you nuts? Not that old. The leather would have rotted.”
“Well, it has rotted.”
“I mean all of it. Romans were here thousands of years ago.”
“Look—there’s writing, too,” said Meg, eager to redeem herself and draw attention away from the not-quite-as-old-as-Roman leather.
They peered more closely at the strange circle. There were certainly marks next to the lion’s paws, but they were faded and hard to decipher. It looked like a fancy W, or maybe Roman numerals. As they stared at it, a bit of the leather crumbled and dropped into the creek. Will shrugged and slipped the silver object into his pocket.
“Finders keepers,” he said. “Let’s go to the manor now. There must be something more we can find.”
“I’m a lady from the manor,” said Kay Kay solemnly as she poured the imaginary tea.
“I’m a lady from the manor too,” echoed Ariel. “Let’s pretend we’re sisters.” She’d always wanted a sister closer to her own age. An everyday playmate, like Will was to Meg.
“Oooh, would you like to?” asked Kay Kay. “You could come live with me and we’d be sisters always.” She set the teapot down but held the angel cup in one hand. Then she slipped her free hand into Ariel’s. Ariel pulled away. There was something about the girl’s hands. So icy. Colder than her own hands felt on a January day waiting for the school bus. Kay Kay reached for her hand again, and this time Ariel let her hold it.
“Breathe on me,” Kay Kay said.
Ariel looked at her new friend, puzzled. Kay Kay nodded and thrust her other hand toward her, so Ariel leaned over Kay Kay’s frozen fingers and gave a few tentative puffs. Kay Kay rewarded her with a radiant smile. Ariel scooted closer then, and bent her head over Kay Kay’s arm, cupping the girl’s cold hands in both her own and gently blowing warm streams of air. As she blew, Ariel’s hair swayed over their clasped hands, enshrouding them like a curtain. Kay Kay sat completely still, her silver eyes closed.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered.
“All right.”
“Don’t leave me,” Kay Kay said again.
“I’m not going to,” said Ariel. “I’m not going anywhere. Well, not till vacation’s done,” she added. She sat up. The fingers wrapped around hers didn’t seem quite so cold anymore, or was it her own fingers that were growing less warm? It was hard to tell.
Kay Kay screwed up her eyes and began to cry. Her body rocked rhythmically. Then she spoke again, her words sounding more like a chant, one she might have said hundreds of times before: “Don’t leave me. Come find me. Stop the bells. Don’t leave me. . . .”
“What’s the matter?” Ariel said, withdrawing her hand. The little girl clutched her stomach, while still holding the china cup. She gave a low moan.
“Where are you?”
“I’m right here!” said Ariel, looking at Kay Kay in alarm. Kay Kay was the oddest girl she’d ever met. Was she sick? Maybe the best thing was to get Aunt Effie. Still Ariel didn’t move, but stayed watching, fascinated.
The girl trembled. Then she flung out her arms with a jerk, as if to stop herself from falling. As she did, the teacup dropped. The angel one. It crashed to the floor, scattering broken bits of china. One shard landed near Ariel’s foot. The angel was still ringing its bell, but a crack sliced through the angel child’s cheek. Ariel stared at it. Why had she given Kay Kay her favorite cup? Why did Kay Kay have to break the angel?
A scream jolted her. From the landing, Uncle Ben began to bark, deep throaty barks. Ariel snapped her head up.
Kay Kay was gone. In the spot where she’d been, shards from the broken angel cup quivered.
Meg and Will circled the manor from the outside, looking for signs of secret wires that could be used for flashing lights, but they found nothing except an old boot lace and a startled toad, who hopped away. By the time they reached the front entrance, the ten o’clock crowd was gathering for a manor tour.
“Want to go again?” asked Meg. “Maybe the tour guide will say something different, or we could ask him.”
“Too much old furniture,” said Will. “All those sofas and chairs. I want to go straight to the tower, but they make you look at all the other stuff first.”
“Okay, what about that place?” A sign had caught Meg’s eye. Across from where they were standing in the manor courtyard was a row of downtown shops all joined together. She pointed to a narrow, crooked building with dark timbers crisscrossing white painted walls. The sign read: THE HAUNTED TOWER: TOYS, BOOKS, AND CURIOSITIES. The shop was so skinny it looked like a tower itself.
As they drew closer, Meg could see the sign was painted on a hanging wooden panel. Its hinges creaked as the sign swayed back and forth over their heads.
“It’s just a tourist shop,” Will objected. “
See all those plastic ghosts in the window? They’re just trying to make a dollar—er, a pound—off people’s interest in the manor ghost.”
“Well, we’re interested in the manor ghost,” said Meg. “Come on.”
The door clanked open. The store was full of bric-a-brac, but empty of customers, except for a girl and her grandfather, who were in the process of buying one of the plastic ghosts. The ghost had googly eyes and made a howling noise whenever the little girl pressed a button on its tummy. They navigated the narrow aisles, careful not to bump into stacks of ceramic ghosts, glass ghosts, or salt-and-pepper-shaker ghost sets.
“Can I help you?”
A short woman, no taller than Meg, stood behind them. Meg didn’t hear her come up.
“Uh, no thanks . . . ,” Will automatically began, but Meg was already asking a question.
“Do you have any books about the manor?”
The short woman pointed to a table in the back. “Architecture, Victorian furniture, tapestries, fashion of the day, legends and lore . . .”
“Legends and lore,” said Meg promptly.
“The ghost, eh?”
The woman turned and led them to the back book table. Meg followed silently. She didn’t mind talking about ghosts with Will and Shep, but it was embarrassing with other adults. What would the woman think of her? The shop woman reached the table, rubbed dust off a pile of books with her fingers, and handed Meg a slim volume. Apparently, most people didn’t come to this store for its literature.
“Here you are, dear,” she said. “And if it’s ghosts you like, have a look at our ghost window figurines. The ghost waves when sunlight strikes it, and we’ve got new ones in with LED lights that flash in nine colors. They’re our most popular. Plus, they work all year. Don’t have to wait for April.”
“Oh, thanks,” said Meg. April, again. The ghost sure seemed to be tied to April. If there was ever a good time to see a ghost, this was it. The woman walked back to the shop counter, and Meg settled down on the floor to examine the book. Will squatted next to her as she flipped the pages. The book was a general one about Somerset ghost stories, but it had a chapter on Mendip Manor.
The Griffins of Castle Cary Page 4