After a few minutes he heard the faint sound of scuttling claws on the tabletop. He stiffened but didn’t move, letting Moose come to him when he was ready. Instead Thomas focused on breathing in time with the pulsing throb in his head; it was easing now.
Then he felt the tiny tickle of Moose’s whiskers on his skin and he opened his eyes. The mouse had emerged from his hiding place and was sitting beside Thomas’s outstretched right hand, sniffing at it as though checking that it was really him.
“Hello, boy,” Thomas whispered, and Moose scampered up onto the back of his hand. Thomas used his left hand to stroke Moose’s back and the mouse turned to him with trust in his shining black eyes. “I missed you.” Moose swiveled his ears as if to say Me too.
Thomas settled Moose on his shoulder as he leaned back in his chair. The open panel in the observatory ceiling loomed above him and the sky was beginning to turn purplish blue in preparation for night. He stood up and crossed to one of the roof ladders, climbing it until he could see out through the aperture, and watched as the lights of Dublin began to come on. It was then he knew for certain that nobody had heard his warning and that there was nothing more he could do.
Thomas gritted his teeth and felt his eyes flood with hot frustrated tears. “Turn out the lights!” he yelled into nothingness. “Turn out the lights!” But nobody could hear him, not all the way up here.
A sob choked off his words as he tried to shout his warning a third time, and something inside Thomas’s chest broke. He climbed back down the ladder and sat on the floor of his father’s observatory, looking around at the things his dad had gathered and built, wondering how much of his parents still lingered here.
His eyes opened wide as he remembered something and he pushed himself up from the floor. He hurried to his sleeping mat and dropped to his knees, shoving his hands beneath the pillow—and there it was. The one notebook he’d managed to keep out of Mackintosh’s hands. He held it close, then slipped it beneath his jumper.
Moose flitted down his sleeve and perched on the back of his hand. The mouse made a pleading gesture with his front feet and the boy looked into his sparkling eyes as he spoke. “I don’t think I have any chocolate left, Moose,” he said with a grin, “but let’s have a look and see what else we can turn up. After the day we’ve had, I reckon a midnight feast is the least we can do for ourselves.”
Moose straightened up, looking pleased, as Thomas got to his feet. Then the boy and his mouse laid out a blanket on the floor and raided their food cupboard for everything they had that was sweet and tasty and they sat and ate together beneath the stars, waiting for the bombs to start falling on their city.
Tess sidled out of the kitchen and into the crowded lobby of Roedeer Lodge, trying to keep out of the way of anyone who might decide she needed a job to do. She fully expected at any moment to run straight into Mrs. Thistleton—but so far she’d avoided so much as catching a glimpse of her.
The house was full of people—maids and guests alike—who were going back and forth between the lobby and the lawn. The gates to the lawn were thrown open now and Tess could see a collection of garden furniture set out on the grass: tables with candles on them, each surrounded by spindle-backed chairs, and furthest away a long table with a pristine white cloth laid on it right beneath the nose of one of the planes.
She shuddered at the sight and hurried away.
Mrs. Thistleton’s room was somewhere upstairs, Tess didn’t know exactly where. Starting her search for Violet there seemed to make sense—the chances were that Mrs. Thistleton was somewhere in the house shouting orders at someone, which meant Tess wasn’t likely to be caught. She passed her own bedroom door and on impulse tried the knob; it was still locked. She hurried away, wondering, Does anyone know yet that I’m gone? Her heart began to race. What did Mrs. Thistleton tell Mr. Cleat out on the lawn, then?
There was a staircase at the end of the hall beyond her room, one little used except by staff, which led to the next floor up. She’d just begun to climb it when she heard a voice that stopped her in her tracks.
“Hey! You there. Hang on!” it called, and Tess froze. She turned to see a maid hurrying after her carrying a tray, which she held out for Tess to take. “As you’re going that way, you might as well bring this for me. Mrs. Thistleton’s tea? She’s at the near end of the next corridor up, first door you’ll see as you step off the stairs.”
Tess nodded, though her stomach did a full roll inside her. “Yes,” she managed to croak. “Of course.”
“Don’t sound so nervous, love,” the older maid said, her voice warm and reassuring. “She’ll probably tell you that your hair needs a good brushing, but that’s the worst it’ll get this evening. She’ll be too busy to tell you off.” She beamed a wide smile. “Plus if you’re a girl from Mr. Cleat’s Society, she can’t touch you anyway.” The woman leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, “Maybe take your time going up so’s the tea has a chance to cool right down, if you know what I mean.” She gave Tess an exaggerated wink. “Nothing’s as bad as taking a mouthful of tea when it’s piping hot. Am I right? Downright dangerous, that is.” She chuckled mischievously and hurried off down the corridor.
Tess waited until the maid had vanished from sight before continuing. Her hands shook badly and she tried to stay calm. I’ve done nothing wrong, she told herself in a stern tone. And I’m going to get my Violet back. She glanced down at the tray. And if Thistleton comes for me again, I’ll throw this at her and run. Sooner than she liked, her sooty shoes had taken her almost all the way up the stairs. She hesitated before taking the final step and then she emerged into the low-lit hallway, her eyes on the door the maid had described.
She walked to it and balanced the tray in one hand. She pulled her lips tight and knocked on the door with the other hand, standing back and lowering her head as she waited for a response.
“Come through,” came Mrs. Thistleton’s voice, and Tess obeyed, her heart juddering like an earthquake. She risked a glance as she walked in; Mrs. Thistleton was lying on her bed with a cloth over her eyes and Tess sucked in a deep breath of relief.
“My tea, is it? Thank you. Just leave it on the side, won’t you?” Mrs. Thistleton said in a kinder tone of voice than Tess usually heard her use. Tess walked to the dressing table and set the tray down as gently as she could. “Dratted migraine. It would show itself now, on this most auspicious of evenings,” the housekeeper muttered. Perhaps that had been what her discussion with Mr. Cleat had been about then. Nothing to do with me, after all.
Tess gave a mumble of sympathy, taking the opportunity to look around the plain, simple room. Besides the dressing table, all she could see was a table beneath the window with a covered sewing machine on it, and a low chest of drawers against the far wall. There was no visible sign of Violet anywhere, and Tess knew that with Mrs. Thistleton in the room she had no chance of taking a proper look. The crush of disappointment was so profound she felt like picking up the tea tray again and flinging it on the floor.
“Now,” Mrs. Thistleton said, so suddenly that it made Tess’s spine contract. “Will you take a message to Miss de Sousa, please? Tell her she’ll be needed on the front lawn in thirty minutes, and I’ll be down to escort her at that time.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tess replied, trying to disguise her voice as much as possible by rasping out her words, as though she had a bad case of laryngitis.
“Speak up, won’t you? Are you one of Mr. Cleat’s girls from the club?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tess said in the same strange voice.
Mrs. Thistleton sighed. “I thought as much. Never mind about Miss de Sousa then. I’ll look after that job myself. Thank you. That will be all.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tess repeated a third time as she started to walk away.
Thirty minutes, she thought as she pulled Mrs. Thistleton’s door gently closed. Thirty minut
es is all I have to find Violet and the Star-spinner and get them out of here.
She swallowed her fear and ran for the servants’ stairs as quickly and quietly as she could.
* * *
Millie, Prissy, Prossy, Wilf and Eunice stood in the center of Tess’s bedroom, transfixed with horror as the doorknob turned suddenly before falling still. After a few quiet seconds had passed, they risked letting out their breath.
“Who was that?” Wilf whispered, and Millie shrugged.
“Could’ve been anyone,” she replied. “Probably not Mrs. Thistleton herself, though—she’d have her own copy of this key. Just one of the maids looking for something, I’d say.”
“I’m glad you locked that door,” said Wilf, her heart beginning to slow.
“Speaking of which,” Millie said, looking worried, “we’d better get finished up here and put our key back in the kitchen before someone misses it—and us. Mrs. Hayden will soon figure out we’re not gone to collect crockery at this rate.”
Prossy put Tess’s experiments notebook back in the pocket of the cardigan she’d found draped over a chair, and Prissy pulled herself away from her close examination of the nailed-shut window. The girls took one last sad look around Tess’s empty room and prepared to leave.
“Look here,” came Eunice’s voice from the far side of the room. “Does this seem strange?” She was kneeling on the fireside rug.
The others hurried to her, Prossy taking care not to clunk about too much on her hockey-stick leg. “That’s a rum one,” she said, staring at the floor. “What do you think, Priss?” In a semicircle around the fireplace was a pattern of soot. The kindling was still neatly set in the grate, but it was dusted with a shower of black powder, like a cake covered with icing sugar.
“Either a bird came fluttering down that chimney and somehow managed to make its way back up again,” Prissy surmised, “or that’s how our girl made her way out of here.”
“Through the chimney?” Wilf said, almost forgetting to whisper. She knelt, sticking her head into the black grate, and looked up. All she could see was the same patch of distant sky that had called to Tess—but it was getting dark now and the chimney looked none too inviting. “Tess!” Wilf called, as loudly as she dared. “Are you up there?”
“She’ll be gone by now, you daftie,” said Prossy as kindly as she could. “She’s hardly going to hang about in there any longer than she has to, is she?”
“I’ll bet I know where she is,” said Millie suddenly as Wilf pulled herself out of the fireplace. “The chapel! There’s a tunnel out to it from the scullery. We can go without being spotted.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so before?” said Prossy, her face alight with glee. She turned for the door and saluted as she strode forward. “Let’s get going!”
They left the room, locking it behind them, and made their way downstairs. Trying to look busy, they hurried across the crowded, noisy lobby and had almost made it to the kitchen corridor when Wilf stopped in her tracks so suddenly that Prossy walked right into her, losing her balance on her immobile leg. She grabbed at Eunice as she started to fall and the two struggled to keep on their feet.
“What on earth’s going on?” Prossy muttered, steadying herself.
Wilf stood stock-still. A familiar face was looking at her from the far side of the overfull room—a familiar face so surprised to see her that his monocle fell right out of his eye. Beside him stood a confused lady in a purple gown with what looked like most of an ostrich on her head.
“Dr. Biggs,” Wilf hissed, feeling her face turn pale. “We’ve got to run!”
“Run?” Prossy replied. “With a wooden leg?”
“Just hurry!” Wilf said, and took off. The others followed as quickly as they could, given the pressing crowd and the fact that girls in service were never supposed to run, even in cases of emergency.
“I say!” Dr. Biggs called. “Wilhelmina! Stop that girl!”
Wilf lowered her head and doubled her pace as several curious pairs of eyes stared at her, but nobody had time to grab her before Millie pulled her into the kitchen and the door mercifully closed behind them.
Keeping close to the wall, Tess crept along the corridor that led down to the kitchen. The entire lower floor of Roedeer Lodge was thronged with people: fur- and jewel-clad ladies in evening gowns, arm in arm with men in dress suits; groups of young businessmen with loud voices and pomaded hair; and one or two younger ladies with bright, curious eyes. As well as all the guests, it felt like to Tess, the entire house was stuffed with staff. She’d never seen so many maids, running to and fro with trays and plates and table linen, and if the noise from the kitchen was anything to go by, there were at least four extra cooks on duty and none of them could find a single thing to agree on.
A woman stopped in front of Tess and waved an empty champagne glass in her face. Tess simply blinked in surprise and the woman fixed her with a withering look.
“Well?” she said, shoving the glass at Tess, who—not knowing what else to do—took it from her. “About time,” the woman snapped before turning up her nose and wafting off on a cloud of overpowering scent. Tess stared at the delicate glass in her hand and put it behind her back.
Then she looked at the far side of the corridor and noticed a door set into the wooden paneling of the wall. A broom cupboard? Tess frowned. She’d gone past here a hundred times, but somehow she’d never seen this door before. She glanced around; nobody was paying her any attention.
So she made for the cupboard, opened its door and pulled it closed behind her.
In the darkness Tess tried to catch her breath and calm her mind. She sat down beside an empty mop bucket on wheels. This is pointless, she thought, overcome with sorrow. I can’t find Violet in this crowd! I can barely move, let alone search for her. Plus, she thought miserably, I was really sure she’d be in Mrs. Thistleton’s room. I don’t know where else to look. She angled her wristwatch into a crack of light coming through the door. More than fifteen minutes had passed since she’d spoken to Mrs. Thistleton.
“Soon they’ll know I’m not where I’m supposed to be,” Tess whispered to herself. “Soon they’ll come looking. And then…” Her imagination wandered as she tried to think about what would happen once they found her. Mr. Cleat will make me use the Star-spinner for something my father would never have wanted, she thought, squeezing her eyes tight. And then Thomas, and everyone who lives in his city, will be in danger.
Tess clenched her fists so hard her knuckles ached. “Stop putting it off,” she muttered through gritted teeth. There’s no point hiding in here. I need to go and find Violet and that means facing Mrs. Thistleton. There’s no time for anything else. And once I have her back, I need to stop all this before it’s too late. She relaxed her hands, took a deep breath and got to her feet.
Someone shouted something in the corridor outside just as Tess was about to open the door and she heard the sound of hurried footsteps. She hesitated a moment and then slid out, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. A gong sounded as she made her way up the corridor toward the lobby and a man in uniform made an announcement in a voice loud enough to carry above the clamor. The crowd stopped and turned to him, looking expectant.
“Ladies! Gentlemen! Your host, Mr. Norton F. Cleat, begs your attendance on the front lawn. The front lawn, ladies and gentlemen. The demonstration will begin at ten p.m. sharp!”
At these words, Tess’s feet stuck to the tiles. She stood like an island as people surged all around her, chattering excitedly as they went. The defiant spirit that had filled her a moment before suddenly drained out through her heels.
“It’s all tosh, of course,” one man said as he passed Tess, grinning widely at his friend as they strode toward the front door. “I can’t wait to see old Norty fall on his face!” She was buffeted by elbows and handbags as people passed her by and
then she noticed a figure in black coming down the stairs.
Mrs. Thistleton was striding toward her, eyes hard and glittering and her mouth pursed tight. “What. On. Earth,” she muttered as she drew near. She grabbed Tess around the arm and dragged her into the nearest corner. “How dare you make me search this house for you. And how dare you present yourself in this fashion!”
Tess’s heart roared within her as she stared Mrs. Thistleton down. “I want my spider back,” she said.
Mrs. Thistleton snorted. “Your spider?” she spat. “If you want to have the slightest chance of ever seeing it again, you’ll come with me. Right this minute. And you’ll hope that Mr. Cleat doesn’t take one look at you and destroy it out of spite.”
Before Tess had a chance to answer, Mrs. Thistleton pulled her across the floor, out of the door of Roedeer Lodge, and forced her to walk through the gates and onto the lawn. People turned to watch but Tess ignored them all, gritting her teeth as she focused on where she was being brought—and on the gigantic machines that got closer with every step.
The bombers seemed impossibly big. Looming out of the night was a propeller blade, its tip almost reaching the ground; the other blade rose high into the sky and Tess followed it with her eyes. The pointed nose of the aircraft looked huge in the gloom and its massive body was lost to the shadows.
As Tess and Mrs. Thistleton drew near, there was a gasp from the crowd as a string of huge lights set into the lawn suddenly lit up with a series of pops, throwing bright white beams onto the bombers. The lights made them seem even bigger than Tess had thought, their wings long as horizons and their tapering bodies like gigantic beasts. The windows of their cockpits remained dark and Tess wondered if the pilots were already in there, watching her.
In the next breath, loud music—celebratory, like the sort that would herald the arrival of a circus—began to play. Tess jumped, as did most of the people around her, and the people seated at the tables twisted and turned in their chairs as they strove to be the first to see what was happening. Some of them chattered excitedly and a few began to applaud.
The Starspun Web Page 20