by Holly Rivers
‘He’s not allowed,’ said Demelza, with a mouthful of doughnut. She scooped up the jam that was dribbling down her chin. ‘He’s got a very delicate stomach. It’s his allergies.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Ms Cardinal. ‘That is unfortunate. You poor thing.’
Percy shrugged sadly. ‘I’m used to it. I’ve got my special tablets in my bag, so I’ll have them later.’
‘That doesn’t mean that you can have double portions, Demelza!’ said the headmistress as Demelza went in for second helpings. ‘Slow down!’
Demelza scrunched up her nose. ‘But Ms Cardinal, where did all this lovely food come from? The school kitchens?’
The headmistress let out a snort of laughter. ‘Ha! You don’t think I’d actually eat the muck that awful dinner lady cooks, do you? No, this is from my own private cupboard.’ She gave the children a wink. ‘And private it shall stay, OK?’
Demelza felt her eyes widen with disbelief. Who would have thought that Ms Cardinal was such a rebel?
‘Now, once you’ve eaten, you two should get some rest,’ said Ms Cardinal. ‘You need to be firing on all cylinders tomorrow if you’re going to help your grandma.’
CHAPTER 25
The Fight
But Demelza couldn’t sleep that night.
Being in the top bunk wasn’t as comfy as she’d hoped, and as she tossed and turned she longed for her patchwork quilt and her hot-water bottle and Grandma Maeve. Even one of her grandmother’s silly bedtime stories wouldn’t have gone amiss.
As quietly as possible, she lowered herself out of bed and went to the window. She peered through the curtains, and found the moon looking down on her like a great white eye. She sighed heavily. Was Grandma Maeve looking up at it too? Was she awake?
‘Demelza, is that you?’ said Percy, as the lower bunk began to creak. He rubbed his eyes and pulled himself up. ‘What . . . what are you doing?’
‘I can’t sleep,’ said Demelza, turning from the window and switching on the little desk lamp. She sat down and pulled her hands through her tangle of hair. ‘It’s no use – I can’t wait until morning. I need to be doing something now! I need to be figuring out who the Snatcher could be. There must be some clues that I’ve missed. I just have to sit down and think more thoroughly.’ She pulled on her dressing gown and made for the door. ‘But first, I need a peanut butter and cheese sandwich.’
Percy threw back his covers and shook his head. ‘Are you serious? You already had at least three of Ms Cardinal’s doughnuts earlier. And don’t think I didn’t see you sneaking another Cornish pasty into your mouth when her back was turned.’
‘It’s necessary thinking food,’ Demelza replied curtly. ‘All great intellectuals have a preferred nibble to help the ideas flow. Now, I’m going down to the kitchens. You coming?’
Percy groaned and reached for his bunny slippers. ‘OK . . .’
The school was mortuary-still when the pair crept out of the dormitory. They tiptoed down the corridor and descended the winding snake of the main staircase, the creaking of the old steps threatening to give them away with every footstep. When they reached the bottom, Demelza pulled Percy behind a nearby bookcase. ‘Right, we’re nearly at the kitchens,’ she whispered, her eyes darting around to check that they weren’t being watched. ‘Keep close.’
Percy nodded and followed Demelza through the dim hallways. All of the classrooms were still, the rows of desks like tombstones in a cemetery.
But just as they snuck into the kitchen, the sound of approaching footsteps stopped them in their tracks.
‘Well, well, well. Look who it is!’ came a familiar voice.
The Smythe twins appeared at the door in matching lilac nightdresses, with Miranda loafing behind them in a dressing gown.
‘It seems like Dotty Demelza has become a boarder,’ said Penelope, sauntering forward and running a hand through her wavy golden hair. ‘We saw you coming in earlier but just assumed that you’d been called in for extra detention.’
‘What’s happened?’ said Persephone. ‘Your weirdo grandma finally had enough of you at home?’
Demelza stepped forward, her teeth grinding together. ‘What did you say?’
Persephone grinned spitefully. ‘I said, it looks like that crazy grandmother of yours has thrown you out. I can’t say I’m surprised. Who would want to share a house with you?’
Anger began to fizz inside Demelza like a chemical reaction. ‘My grandma’s NOT crazy!’ she said, the words almost frothing at her lips. ‘Take it back! Take it back NOW!’
‘Or what?’ said Persephone, breaking off with a cruel laugh
‘Or . . . or you’ll have me to deal with!’ Percy shouted. He held up his tiny fists like a boxer and Demelza looked at him with amazement.
‘Ooooh, big threats from a little weed!’ taunted Penelope. ‘Who’s your new friend, Demelza? And why would anyone choose to hang around with you?’
‘Unlike you two,’ she hissed, ‘people want to be around me for my character and not just my parents’ cash!’
The twins’ faces dropped in unison, but once again Miranda’s lips seemed to curl upwards into a tiny private smile. Demelza caught her eye and she quickly looked away.
‘You’re . . . you’re not going to let her speak to us like that, are you?’ stuttered Penelope, looking to Miranda for backup. ‘Do something!’
Miranda’s face dropped. ‘Really? But it’s the middle of the night. I don’t think we need to start fighting—’
‘WHAT?’ interrupted Persephone. ‘Do you want to be our friend or not? Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft, Miranda?’
‘Of course not,’ said Miranda, quickly backing down. ‘I meant . . . she’s just not worth the effort, that’s all.’ And like an obedient, overgrown puppy, Miranda pushed her way forward. Demelza made to flee, but before she had a chance she felt the burn of her hair being pulled, and a knee jabbing into her stomach.
‘Stop it!’ shouted Percy. ‘Leave her alone! Get off her now!’
But Miranda showed no sign of ceasing, and with the twins cheering loudly she landed a punch on Demelza’s nose, sending her flying back against the cooker with a crunch.
She slid to the cold kitchen floor, pain pulsing through her body as the air was wrenched from her lungs. For a moment everything went black.
‘Demelza?’ came a voice. ‘Demelza, are you OK?’
Demelza blinked her eyes open to find a fuzzy-looking Percy standing over her. She groaned loudly. ‘My nose . . . my nose . . .’ She sniffed and felt a warm trickle of blood fill her nostrils.
‘Look, just stay there, OK?’ said Percy. ‘I’ll get a first aid kit. Don’t move . . .’
But Demelza wasn’t going to give up. She wasn’t going to let some beefy halfwit get the better of her! With the taste of blood in her mouth she pulled herself up, then, with the last ounce of her energy, she ran full pelt into Miranda, who went stumbling backwards like a skittle. She collided with one of the shelves, sending pots and pans crashing to the floor like cymbals.
‘What on EARTH is going on here?’
The children turned to find Ms Cardinal in the threshold, wearing a long flannelette nightgown. Her face was illuminated by the glow of her oil lamp, making her cheeks even more sallow-looking than usual.
‘It . . . it was Demelza, Ms Cardinal!’ protested Penelope immediately, her voice reverting to its usual sickly sweet tone. ‘We heard frightening noises coming from down here so we came to investigate.’
‘We found Demelza and this strange boy,’ continued Persephone. ‘And when we reminded them that they shouldn’t be out of bed, Demelza just started attacking Miranda.’
‘You liar!’ shouted Demelza, warm blood dripping from her nose. ‘It was them, Ms Cardinal, they started it. Miranda punched me in the face and—’
‘ENOUGH!’ snapped the headmistress. ‘I am fully aware of who is to blame for this vulgar display of hoodlumism. It is quite obvious!’
The twins crossed
their arms with gleeful satisfaction, smirking at Demelza and Percy. ‘Yes, I think Demelza deserves expulsion for the trouble she’s caused,’ said Persephone with nauseating pretend distress. ‘Don’t you agree, Ms Cardinal?’
The headmistress turned to the twins. ‘I was actually referring to you and your sister, Persephone Smythe. I will see you both in my office immediately.’
‘ U-u-us?’ stuttered Persephone. Her face was a picture of pure disbelief and her sister looked as if she was on the brink of collapse. ‘Surely there has to be some kind of mistake—?’
‘No mistake whatsoever,’ said Ms Cardinal. ‘My office. NOW.’
The twins huffed and with faces like storms they turned on their heels, with Miranda in tow.
‘Not you, Miss Choudhury!’ ordered Ms Cardinal. ‘I shall be taking you and Miss Clock down to the sickbay at once. I cannot have students parading around the corridors with black eyes and bloody noses. Stricton Academy is a respectable school, not a backstreet boxing ring!’
‘But, Ms Cardinal, I’m fine,’ protested Demelza. ‘I don’t need to see the nurse, honestly.’
Ms Cardinal sauntered over to her great-niece, and as she pretended to inspect the graze on her cheek, she whispered, ‘Not another word, Demelza. You won’t be much help to your grandma if you’re suffering from severe concussion, will you?’
CHAPTER 26
A Night in the Sickbay
‘Goodness gracious, stay still, girl!’ scolded Nurse Miller as she attempted to drop iodine from a pipette on to Demelza’s scratched cheek.
In the adjacent bed, Miranda was staring miserably at the ceiling with a bandage around her wrist and a frown across her face.
‘There’s no need to be such a sourpuss, Miss Choudhury,’ said Nurse Miller. ‘You’ve got no one to blame but yourself.’ She drew the blinds, and through the slats the moonlight fell in long strips across the bedsheets. ‘Now, I don’t want to hear a peep from you two for the rest of the night. No talking, no bickering and definitely no more fighting. You understand?’
The two girls eyeballed each other before groaning, ‘Yes, Nurse Miller!’ in unison.
‘Good,’ replied the nurse curtly, and she flicked off the light and shut the door.
Demelza closed her eyes and sighed. The room reeked of antiseptic cream and bleach, and more than ever she longed to be tucked up in her cosy attic bedroom in Bladderwrack Cottage. She pined for her encyclopaedias, her inventions and the musky, papery smell of her notebooks. She imagined Grandma Maeve warming her feet by the fire, sipping on ginger wine and teaching Shiver how to bark rude words.
But these comforting thoughts were soon interrupted by the rustling of Miranda’s bedsheets and her deep voice cutting through the darkness. ‘You’re going to pay for this, Demelza Clock! Nobody fights me and gets away with it. Especially not a weedy little weirdo like you.’
Demelza ignored her and turned over with a huff. Why oh why had she let herself get into a fight? Why had she let her temper get the better of her? Grandma Maeve needed her help but now she was trapped with this goon until morning.
‘Are you listening to me, Demelza?’ growled Miranda again. ‘I said that nobody fights me and gets away with it!’
Demelza puffed out her cheeks in frustration. ‘Look, Miranda, why don’t you just drop the tough girl act until tomorrow, eh? I know you don’t really enjoy it. I’ve seen the way you laugh when I stand up to the twins.’
‘I-I don’t know what you mean,’ stammered Miranda. ‘It’s not an act! Nobody messes with Miranda Choudhury.’
‘Fine!’ said Demelza, turning back over. ‘But you don’t fool me.’ She pulled the stiff hospital sheets over her shoulders and closed her eyes. If Miranda didn’t want to accept an olive branch then that was her choice. At least she could say that she’d tried.
‘Demelza, wait,’ said Miranda after a while. ‘What you said . . . about standing up to the twins . . .’
Demelza’s ears perked up. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, maybe . . . maybe . . .’ Miranda sighed heavily. ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter.’
‘No, go on,’ encouraged Demelza.
There was silence for a moment, as if Miranda was working herself up to say something important. ‘I’ve always found it hard to make friends,’ she said eventually. ‘When I was little, we moved around so much because of my mum’s job that I never really got the chance to get to know anyone.’ Miranda’s voice had softened and it began to quaver. ‘When I came to Stricton as a boarder last year and I met the twins, I thought I’d actually made some real friends. They seemed to like having me around.’
‘But they’re not real friends,’ said Demelza, jolting up. She switched on the bedside lamp. Tucked under her white sheets, Miranda suddenly looked like a frail little girl, her wavy black hair framing huge dark eyes.
‘The twins just use you! I bet they don’t even know what your favourite colour is, or what you choose for breakfast, or your middle name.’
‘Nobody knows my middle name,’ said Miranda, looking away. ‘It’s too embarrassing to say.’
‘Well, OK,’ said Demelza. ‘But I bet they never ask you how you are? Or if you’re having a good day?’
Miranda shook her head and the corners of her mouth started to tremble. ‘Everyone always assumes that because of my height and the shot-put competitions, that all I like doing is showing off my muscles. I’ve been so desperate for friends that I guess I just started going along with it. I thought that being the twins’ bodyguard would be better than being on my own.’ Her chin dropped. ‘I’ve been such a coward.’
Demelza shifted under her covers. She knew what it felt like to be misunderstood. Poor Miranda. ‘So if you don’t really enjoy showing off your muscles, what is it that you like?’ she asked.
Miranda looked to the floor. ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t be interested—’
‘Try me,’ urged Demelza.
‘OK,’ said Miranda. ‘I know you probably wouldn’t expect it, but I like writing poems. Haikus, rhymes, but mainly love sonnets.’
Even though she didn’t mean to, Demelza let out a shocked snigger.
‘See? Even you think it’s weird!’ said Miranda, crossing her arms. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘I don’t think it’s weird, I promise,’ insisted Demelza. ‘It was just a surprise, that’s all. You shouldn’t be ashamed of what you like. And slushy, kissy, romance stuff is fine . . . if you like that kind of thing.’
Miranda smiled. ‘I wish I could just be more honest about it, like you are with your inventions. Sometimes I get up really early before anyone’s awake and sneak into the library to write. I daren’t do it when other people are around.’ She drew her knees to her chest. ‘I’ve never told anyone about all of this before.’
‘Well, your secret’s safe with me if you want to keep it that way,’ said Demelza. ‘Hey, you reckon you can make up a poem now?’
Miranda’s eyes widened as if she were being given the loveliest of gifts, and she steepled her fingers in thought. ‘Hmmmm, let’s see . . . OK! . . . I know a young girl called Demelza . . . who never does what people tellz ’er . . . she’s always in detention . . . for making inventions . . . hold your nose in case you smellz ’er!’
‘You’ll pay for that!’ said Demelza, putting up her fists playfully. ‘Although to be honest it’s all pretty accurate.’ She plumped up her pillows and lay back. ‘So what does your mum do? Why do you have to travel around so much?’
‘Oh, it’s sooo boring,’ said Miranda. ‘She’s an architectural historian – she investigates old buildings and things. She met my dad while digging up this ancient temple in India. I’m always being dragged around creepy old houses and crumbling monasteries. She wants to study Crookescroft Castle next. Apparently it’s a significant example of Tudor architecture.’
‘Isn’t it falling to bits?’ asked Demelza.
Miranda nodded. ‘But there’s all sorts of dungeons and ou
bliettes and secret chambers preserved deep below ground. Mum took me there once. Can you imagine all the prisoners they probably had locked up there back in the olden days?’
Demelza didn’t answer.
The beginnings of an idea had suddenly caught alight in her brain.
Dungeons?
Prisoners?
Secret chambers?
What if the engravings on the key that Boris and Gregor had dropped in the summoning chamber weren’t two crescent moons after all? What if they were two letter Cs? Two letter Cs standing for Crookescroft Castle! Could Grandma Maeve be being held there?
Demelza leant forward. ‘So what else do you know about Crookescroft Castle? Are the public allowed to look around?’
Miranda pulled her sheets up over her shoulders. ‘Oh no, it’s too dangerous for that. The roof could cave in at any second apparently. The council locked it up years ago.’
‘So no one goes in and out?’
Miranda shook her head. ‘No. Apart from the occasional group of people with clipboards and hard hats, like my mum and her colleagues. Why are you so interested anyway?’
Demelza paused and took a sip of water from the tumbler on her bedside table. She still didn’t know if she could completely trust Miranda, but if her theory about Crookescroft Castle was true then she needed to go and look around as soon as possible. And if Miranda had already been there she’d be a good person to have on board.
Demelza shot a glance to the door then leant in and whispered, ‘Miranda, how do you fancy going on a little trip to the castle with me and Percy tomorrow? A little adventure!’
‘Erm . . . OK,’ Miranda replied. ‘But what’s this all about?’
‘It’s a very long story,’ said Demelza, tucking herself back into bed. ‘And I don’t want Nurse Miller to hear us. So I’ll explain everything in the morning when we get out of here, I promise.’
Miranda nodded.
‘But I’m trusting you, Miranda, so please, please don’t snitch. You can’t tell anyone about this. I’m counting on you as my friend.’
On hearing Demelza’s last word, a huge grin broke across Miranda’s face. ‘You can trust me, Demelza, I promise!’ An idea flashed in her eyes. ‘And I tell you what, to prove it, I’ll tell you my secret middle name . . . well, names to be precise – I have four of them!’