Goodly and Grave 3-Book Story Collection

A Bad Case of Kidnap, A Deadly Case of Murder and A Case of Bad Magic first published in Great Britain by

HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2017, 2017 and 2018

Published in this ebook pack edition in 2020

HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,

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Text copyright © Justine Windsor 2017 and 2018

Cover design copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers 2017 and 2018

Illustrations copyright © Becka Moor 2017 and 2018

Justine Windsor and Becka Moor assert the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of the work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBNs: 9780008183530 (A Bad Case of Kidnap), 9780008183561 (A Deadly Case of Murder) and 9780008183592 (A Case of Bad Magic)

Ebook Edition © 2020 ISBN: 9780008402297

Version: 2020-06-05

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Goodly and Grave in a Bad Case of Kidnap

Goodly and Grave in a Deadly Case of Murder

Goodly and Grave in a Case of Bad Magic

Books by Justine Windsor

About the Publisher

For my parents, who read me stories.

And for Charlie, who said I should write my own.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One: A Game of Cards

Chapter Two: Jumping Jack

Chapter Three: Bathsheba

Chapter Four: Portrait of a Lady

Chapter Five: Hiding Behind a Rhinoceros

Chapter Six: Everlasting Soup and Chicken-With-More-Body-Parts-Than-Might-Be-Reasonably-Expected

Chapter Seven: Tickling Lord Grave’s Great-Grandmother’s Chins

Chapter Eight: The Raven

Chapter Nine: The Library Without Books

Chapter Ten: Tongue-Tied

Chapter Eleven: The Smell of a Spy

Chapter Twelve: Enough is Enough

Chapter Thirteen: The Eyes of Caruthers

Chapter Fourteen: Lucy’s Exploding Brain

Chapter Fifteen: Sniffed Out

Chapter Sixteen: Havoc Created

Chapter Seventeen: A Complete Disaster

Chapter Eighteen: Lady Red

Chapter Nineteen: New Friends and Old Friends

Chapter Twenty: Spinning a Yarn

Chapter Twenty-One: The Tear Catcher

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Truth About Bertie

Chapter Twenty-Three: Unravelling the Yarns

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Snowman’s Smile

Chapter Twenty-Five: The End for Lucy

Chapter Twenty-Six: Slamming the Door

Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Hole Lot of Trouble

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Sealed

Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Eyebrows Have It

Chapter Thirty: Goodly and Grave

Acknowledgements

CHAPTER ONE

A GAME OF CARDS

Midnight in Mrs Milligan’s Gambling Den.

Lord Grave puffed on his cigar, blowing smoke into Lucy Goodly’s face. She coughed and spluttered and gave Lord Grave her filthiest stare. He’d be less full of himself once she’d relieved him of all the gold in his pockets.

“Finest cigars in the world,” Lord Grave said, waving his about.

“You shouldn’t smoke in front of me,” Lucy said. “It stunts the growth, you know.”

A hush fell over Mrs Milligan’s Gambling Den. Dice stopped rolling, roulette wheels stopped turning and everyone held their breath. Lord Grave was the most important customer who’d ever visited Mrs Milligan’s. No one else dared complain about his smelly cigar. Lucy’s parents, who were sitting at the poker table with Lucy and the eminent Lord, stiffened.

“Fair point,” said Lord Grave and stubbed his cigar out on the coat tails of a passing waiter. The waiter bowed, thanked his Lordship and then ran for the kitchens where he sat in a pail of cold water to quench the smouldering embers.

Lord Grave turned back to the Goodlys. “So you’ve run out of money? No chance of another game?”

“I’m afraid not, your Lordship,” said Mrs Goodly. She fiddled with the frayed edge of her shawl, which was more fray than shawl. Lucy’s mother had a whole cupboard full of very fine shawls at home, but she always wore her frayed one on poker nights. Lucy herself wore a pair of her father’s cut-down breeches and a boy’s jacket. And unlike most girls, who favoured curls and ringlets, Lucy liked to keep her straight, shiny black hair short. She found it far more practical.

“Nothing left at all to bet with? Come, now. You must at least have a house?”

“No, sir. We rent a couple of rooms from a Mr Grimes. We share them with three hundred cockroaches, a family of rats and eight slugs. We’re very fortunate.” Mrs Goodly smiled at Lord Grave in a pathetic way.

Lucy shivered at the idea of sharing a room with three hundred cockroaches, a family of rats and eight slugs. What her mother said wasn’t a complete lie. They had once lived in a place like that. But, thanks to Lucy, not any more. Lucy thought of her large, light, clean bedroom in Leafy Ridge, the Goodlys’ cottage deep in the country, hundreds of miles away from London and Mrs Milligan’s Gambling Den. It was her favourite place in the world. But for the plan to work, the Goodlys had to pretend they still lived in squalor.

“But … I do have one thing,” said Mrs Goodly, her voice quivering. Her fingers trembled as she unpinned the brooch fastened lopsidedly to her ragged shawl. It was gold and round, with a red stone in the middle. She placed it on the green cloth of the poker table. Lord Grave picked it up and bit it.

“Real gold? Genuine ruby?”

“Yes, sir. From my dear departed mother, our little Lucy’s grandmother.”

Lucy put on her best wan smile and patted her mother’s hand.

“But …” said Mrs Goodly, “Mr Goodly and I, we don’t think we have the nerve for another game of poker, sir. Would you consider playing against Lucy instead?”

Lord Grave frowned, his bushy black eyebrows meeting in the middle. He studied Lucy for a few moments. Lucy sat quite still, letting Lord Grave take a good look at her. She knew what he was thinking. That a twelve-year-old girl couldn’t possibly beat anyone at poker. But he was wrong. Because Lucy never, ever lost a poker game. Unless she lost on purpose.

“This child?” said Lord Grave eventually. “Not much of a challenge for me!”

“Oh, please, sir,” said Mrs Goodly, tears shining in her eyes (beneath the poker table, Lucy was pinching her mother’s leg hard in order to make her eyes water). “Otherwise we’ll have to sleep in the gutter tonight!”

Lord Grave picked up the ruby brooch and turned it over in his fingers. He nodded. “Very well.”

“Oh, thank you, sir!” chorused all three Goodlys.

“One moment.” Lord Grave handed the ruby brooch back to Mrs Goodly. “I don’t want to play for the brooch. I want to play for the girl.”

Lucy’s stomach dropped down to her toes. This wasn’t how things usually proceeded.

“You want to play for my daughter?” said Mr Goodly, running his hand through his untidy dark hair.

“I need a new boot girl for Grave Hall. Little Lucy looks just the ticket. If you win, I’ll give you that brooch’s value four times over.”

“We need time to decide,” said Mrs Goodly, suddenly sounding much less tearful.

“Don’t take too long or I may change my mind,” said Lord Grave. He got to his feet and strode over to the tiny bar tucked into a corner of the gambling den.

The three Goodlys looked at each other.

“We can’t,” said Mr Goodly.

“Of course not,” Mrs Goodly agreed.

“You know I won’t lose,” whispered Lucy. “Just think. We’ll make enough to live on for years!”

“But you do lose sometimes,” said Mr Goodly. “We mustn’t risk it!”

Lucy wanted to tell him that she only lost a game now and then so people wouldn’t be too suspicious, including her parents. But she couldn’t. So she shook her head and said, “Look at him. He’s all fuddled with brandy. He’s having another glass now.” Lord Grave was leaning against the bar, drinking Mrs Milligan’s most expensive brandy out of a glass practically the size of Lucy’s head.

Mr Goodly took both of Lucy’s hands in his. “Dear girl, are you sure?”

“Yes, Father. I won’t lose!”

Excitement bubbled up in Lucy. Once she’d beaten Lord Grave, she could spend the rest of the summer paddling and fishing in the river near Leafy Ridge and forget about gambling altogether. And although her parents were hopeless in many ways, she loved them very much and enjoyed spending time with them at home. Her father would bake pies (Lucy picked the scorched pastry off before eating the filling). Her mother would get out her toolbox and crash and bang around inside Leafy Ridge, making improvements (Lucy would then quietly pay someone to improve the improvements). It would be the perfect summer!

Lord Grave staggered back to the table. All of Mrs Milligan’s customers trailed after him, whispering behind their hands. Some of them had seen Lucy play poker before and were looking forward to watching her win against this stuck-up man.

“Well?” asked Lord Grave.

“We agree,” said Lucy.

“Excellent.” Lord Grave clicked his fingers. “A fresh deck of cards, if you please. In fact, let’s play with two decks – makes for a more interesting game. Five-card draw suit you, young lady?”

Lucy nodded.

Mrs Milligan herself pushed her way to the front of the crowd. She had two new packs of cards, which she showed to Lucy and Lord Grave so they could check the seals were intact. Then she shuffled the cards and began to deal.

Lucy’s heart thumped with each card that Mrs Milligan flicked down on to the green cloth. No need to be scared, she told herself. She touched the right sleeve of her jacket. Tucked up inside was a blank card. The card that had changed her life and that sometimes, when she lay awake in the middle of the night, she feared was the work of the devil. The beautiful woman she’d stolen it from hadn’t looked like the devil, though. Apart from the fiery eyes burning behind the veil of her hat.

CHAPTER TWO

JUMPING JACK

When Lucy and Lord Grave both had five cards each, Mrs Milligan placed the rest face down on the table. Then she herded the crowd back.

“Give ’em space,” she said. “No funny business.”

Lucy picked up her five cards, angling them towards her chest so no one could see what they were.

Four tens and the two of hearts.

The tens were good, but the two might be a disaster. A king would be so much better. She’d definitely win with a king.

Keeping her gaze fixed steadily on Lord Grave’s face, Lucy emptied her mind of everything. The people crowding as close as Mrs Milligan would allow. The smoke stinging her eyes. The smell of brandy and cigars. Even her parents. She pushed them all from her thoughts until the only thing she saw in her imagination was the two of hearts.

Then she imagined the markings on the two of hearts melting, like wax on a candle, sliding off the face of the card and down, down into her sleeve, then reforming on the card hidden there.

When Lucy had finished imagining with all her might, she looked again at the cards she held.

Four tens and one blank card.

She concentrated even harder.

This time she pictured herself holding the king of hearts.

Colours and patterns began swirling across the surface of the blank card. They gathered into the shape of the heads and shoulders of two bearded men, one on the top half of the card, the other upside down at the bottom. Each man wore a golden crown.

Lucy’s head began to pound, the start of the headache she always suffered when she performed the trick. Her arms ached, the cards feeling like weights. But the trick had worked. The two of hearts was safely tucked up her sleeve. Now she was holding four tens and the king of hearts.

A winning hand.

‘‘Either of you want to switch?’’ asked Mrs Milligan, indicating the pile of cards in the middle of the table.

“Not me,” Lord Grave replied.

“Nor me,” said Lucy.

“You’re both ready to call then?” said Mrs Milligan.

Lucy and Lord Grave nodded. Lucy laid out her four tens and her king. At the same time, Lord Grave laid his cards out. Incredibly, he had four tens too, but his fifth card was the jack of hearts.

Kings trump jacks.

Lucy had won!

She was about to leap from her seat and hug her parents. But before she could move, a strange sensation began to seep through her. It was as though ice was crawling up her arms and legs, freezing her in place. The only things she could move were her eyes. Everything around her had frozen too. Mrs Milligan and the rest of the gambling crowd were motionless, their mouths open in mid-shout. Her father’s hands were over his face. Her mother’s mouth was set in a thin line.

Opposite her, Lord Grave sat staring intently at the cards spread out on the table. Then the strangest thing happened. The heads on the top and bottom of Lord Grave’s jack of hearts card moved from side to side, as though checking whether anyone was watching. Then a hand appeared at either side of each of the heads, grabbed the edges of the card and the two jacks pulled themselves up and out of the card, on to the table. Lucy blinked in disbelief as the two figures ran over to Lucy’s king of hearts, the tiny spurs on their boots jingling. They helped the two kings step out of Lucy’s card. The jacks bowed to the kings and took their place. Then the two kings marched smartly over to the empty card the jacks had left and climbed into it.

As soon as the kings had settled into their new card, Lucy’s body unfroze and the crowd around the table started shouting.

“Look at that! His Lordship’s won by a whisker, his king beats the girl’s jack,” Mrs Milligan boomed.

“Oh, Lucy!” said Mrs Goodly, and burst into tears.

“He stole it! He stole my card!” yelled Lucy, leaping furiously to her feet. She flung the jack of hearts at Lord Grave and snatched up the king of hearts. “This was my card.”

“Lucy,” said Mr Goodly quietly. “It won’t do any good. He won.”

“But you must have seen what he did!”

Lord Grave stared at Lucy, his bushy eyebrows raised.

“What do you mean?” Mr Goodly said.

“The girl’s a sore loser,” someone in the crowd muttered. “What did she expect? Her winning streak was never going to last forever.”

Lord Grave stood up. “Mrs Milligan, may we have some privacy, please? Move these dratted people away!” he bellowed.

“Of course, sir. Come now, everyone, get back to your own business.”

The crowd shuffled and muttered back to the other card tables and the roulette wheel.

“Please – sit,” said Lord Grave to Lucy.

“I’m fine standing, thanks.”

Lord Grave shrugged and sat down. He lit another cigar. “Suit yourself,” he said. “But we had a bet, fair and square. I demand my winnings.”

Lucy wanted to yell that it was not fair and square at all. But it was clear that no one else had seen what happened. Should she say something? But who would believe her?

“You’re going to hold us to it?” said Mr Goodly.

“You shouldn’t have agreed to the bet if you weren’t willing to take the risk.”

“I won’t go!” Lucy said.

Mr and Mrs Goodly stood either side of Lucy, each with an arm round her. “Of course not, dear girl,” said Mr Goodly. “I’m sure his Lordship will see reason.”

But Lord Grave didn’t want to see reason. He didn’t want to so much as touch it with the tip of his cigar. “I’m not going to allow you to wriggle out of it.”

“You can’t make us give Lucy up,” said Mr Goodly.

“Perhaps we should call the parish constable to sort out the matter.”

“We’ve done nothing wrong!” cried Mrs Goodly.

Lucy sat down. Her legs were trembling too much to hold her up. It was true. Her parents had done nothing wrong. But they were just ordinary people struggling to make their way in the world, while Lord Grave was rich and powerful. His sort always got what they wanted. And if he did call the parish constable, there might be an investigation into how a girl her age was managing to win so many poker games. And what if somehow they found out about the card? All three of them could end up in prison for fraud. They might even lose Leafy Ridge. Or perhaps everyone would think Lucy was a witch. They used to burn witches once. What if they still did?

Lucy sighed despairingly. She had no choice.

“Stop arguing. I’ll go with him,” she said in a quiet voice.

A hush fell over Mrs Milligan’s Gambling Den. Lucy’s parents stared at her, their eyes wide and frightened.

“He’s right. He won the bet, fair and square,” she said firmly, even though her insides were quaking.

“Wise decision! Mrs Milligan, my things, if you please!” boomed Lord Grave.

“Course, my Lord.” Mrs Milligan shambled off, returning with a purple cloak and a silver walking stick.

Stupid show-off, thought Lucy. “Why didn’t he have a black cloak like a normal gentleman?

“Come along, girl, don’t shilly-shally. Mr and Mrs Goodly, I suppose you must be allowed to come and say goodbye.”

The three Goodlys followed Lord Grave out of Mrs Milligan’s Gambling Den and on to the street. Mr Goodly had a bad limp and used a walking stick. Unlike Lord Grave’s, his was made of plain wood and wasn’t just for show. He moved clumsily, stumbling down the worn steps. Lucy put out a hand to help him, but found her own feet were none too steady.

At the bottom of the steps, Mrs Goodly sobbed as she hugged Lucy. Mr Goodly put his arms round both of them.

“You mustn’t worry, my loves,” he said. “I’ll sort this out. We’ll be back together soon, I promise.”

Lucy wanted to believe him, but her father wasn’t known for sorting things out. Nor her mother, for that matter. The only reason they hadn’t all ended up in the workhouse – or dead from starvation – was because it was Lucy who had sorted things out. With the help of her card, she’d transformed the Goodlys’ fortunes. She’d sort this mess out too, somehow.

“Goodbye then,” Lucy said. She smiled bravely at her parents before climbing into the silver-grey carriage. Lord Grave climbed in after her, and slammed the door shut. Lucy huddled herself up in the corner of the black leather seat, as far away from him as she could get.

Lord Grave banged the roof with the top of his walking stick. The wheels creaked and the carriage bounced a little as it began to move over the cobbles. Lucy twisted in her seat so that she could wave a last goodbye to her parents through the narrow slit in the rear of the carriage. Although they were hopeless, she would miss them terribly. But Mr and Mrs Goodly didn’t return Lucy’s waves; they were already climbing up the steps back to Mrs Milligan’s.

They’re going to try and win enough money to get me back, Lucy decided. But how would they manage that? Without her around to take care of them, would they just land themselves into trouble trying to find a way to bring her home? The thought brought tears to her eyes.

Once her parents were out of sight and she had quietly dried her eyes, Lucy turned back round and stared out of the side window. After a while, she sneaked a glance at Lord Grave. He was doing some staring out of the window too, his head turned away from Lucy. Taking advantage of his distraction, Lucy subtly tried the door handle.

“It’s locked,” Lord Grave said, without even looking at her.

It was no use. She was trapped. Except perhaps for the time a few years ago when she’d had to use six slugs as a pillow because all the bedding was at the pawnshop, Lucy had never felt so miserable.

They soon left the grimy streets of London behind. Houses and buildings grew fewer and further apart until the horses were thundering along through the pitch-dark of the countryside with only the carriage lanterns to light their way.

As the coach rattled onwards, Lucy tried to work out what had really happened back in Mrs Milligan’s Gambling Den. She patted her jacket pocket, checking that the card was safely there. Did Lord Grave have a card like hers too? If so, where did he get it from and did he know she had one too? Did he realise that she had seen what he’d done to win the poker game?

Lucy leaned back and closed her eyes, worn out with misery and thinking. She must have fallen asleep for a little while, because when she next opened her eyes the sky was turning from black to a deep blue.

At last, the carriage slowed down before clattering to a halt. Huge iron gates, set into a hedge of fir trees dozens of feet high, loomed ahead through the thin, early morning mist. The horses snorted and shook their heads.

The two footmen riding on the back of the carriage jumped down. Or rather clanked down. They were wearing suits of armour. Another of Lord Grave’s stupid show-off ways, Lucy thought, as she watched them lumber over to the horses and put black cloth bags over the animals’ heads. She wanted to ask Lord Grave what they were doing, but she was determined to stick to her resolve and not speak to him. Ever. So she sat quietly while the armoured footmen finished hooding the horses, opened the gates and clanked through, leading the horses by their reins.