Copyright

First published in Great Britain by

HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2017

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

HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

The HarperCollins website address is:

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Text copyright © Justine Windsor 2017

Illustrations copyright © Becka Moor 2017

All rights reserved.

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2017

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 ISBN: 9780008183530

Ebook Edition © 2017 ISBN: 9780008183547

Version: 2017-02-07

For my parents, who read me stories.

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

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

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

Look out for the next Goodly and Grave Adventure

About the Publisher

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.

“It’s going to be a glorious day once this mist clears,” Lord Grave said, opening the coach window on his side.

Lucy folded her arms and looked straight ahead.

“Now listen, my girl,” Lord Grave said. “I know you don’t want to be here, but—”

The coach door on Lord Grave’s side rattled. Two huge black paws hooked themselves over the top of the window and to Lucy’s horror an enormous black animal lunged through it, grabbing the silver chain that fastened the neck of Lord Grave’s cloak in its teeth. The coach door flew open. Lord Grave crashed to the ground. Then the beast growled, pounced and grabbed his Lordship’s head between its massive jaws.

CHAPTER THREE
BATHSHEBA

Lucy scrambled out of the coach doorway that Lord Grave had been dragged from, skinning her knees and palms on the drive’s sharp gravel.

Lord Grave made a choking noise.

The two armoured coachmen were still standing holding the horses’ reins. They had their visors down. Couldn’t they see what was happening?

“Do something!” she yelled at them.

His Lordship’s face was still trapped between the beast’s jaws. The growls took on a squelching quality. Lord Grave stopped making the choking noises, but his legs waggled up and down in mid-air, like a fly in its death throes.

A shaft of early morning sunlight pierced the mist and glittered on something red against the animal’s neck. Not Lord Grave’s blood, but a jewelled collar. Lucy hurled herself towards the collar and grabbed it. The jewels dug into the palms of her already sore hands, but she ignored the pain and tugged as hard as she could.

“Help me!” she screamed again at the two footmen. She wrenched at the collar desperately. With a wet plop, Lord Grave’s head slid from the beast’s jaws. But then the beast turned its gaze towards Lucy. Wide yellow eyes stared into hers. The half-open mouth revealed long white fangs dripping with frothy drool. In one smooth move, the creature curved round to face Lucy and thumped its paws against her shoulders, pinning her to the ground. It opened its mouth even wider, breath hot against Lucy’s cheek, dipped its head …

“No!” Lucy said in a voice that was smaller and squeakier than normal. “Please …”

The beast began licking Lucy’s cheek, its tongue a thousand times scratchier than her father’s beard when he kissed her goodnight.

“Bathsheba!” Lord Grave bellowed. “Get off her. Now!”

Bathsheba sprang away from Lucy. Lord Grave was on his feet again, brushing gravel and dust from his cloak. His eyebrows were pointing in different directions. Bathsheba leaped once more, locking her paws round Lord Grave’s neck, who staggered backwards, but didn’t fall this time.

“Help the girl up,” Lord Grave ordered, in a strangled voice.

One of the footmen clanked over to Lucy and helped her to her feet, while Lord Grave took a piece of dried meat from somewhere underneath his cloak and threw it for Bathsheba to pounce on. She snarled, held the leathery strip of meat down with one paw and tore at it with her fangs.

That could have been my face, thought Lucy.

She began to tremble all over. She was so shaken up, she allowed Lord Grave to help her back into the coach.

“Thank you,” she said, flopping down into her seat.

Lord Grave took out a silk handkerchief and handed it to her so she could mop the last of Bathsheba’s drool from her face and clothes. “I suppose I should thank you too. That was foolhardy, but very brave. You weren’t to know Bathsheba wouldn’t harm me. It’s just her way of welcoming me home,” he said.

Lucy struggled with herself for a moment, but curiosity overcame her and she couldn’t help asking, “What is it – she – Bathsheba?”

“A panther. From Kenya. We rescued her as a cub. Her mother was shot by hunters. I have many such animals here. Look, the giraffes are over there, looking for their breakfast.”

Lucy peered through the mist. She could faintly see impossibly tall, long-necked, spindly-legged shadows moving gracefully past. There were noises too, splashing and snorting, coming from further away.

“What’s that?”

“The elephants down by the lake. They like an early morning bath,” Lord Grave said.

“Elephants and giraffes!” Lucy said. For a moment, excitement took the place of fear and anger. She’d never dreamed she might one day see such exotic animals in real life.

The coach set off again with Bathsheba ambling alongside. Lucy realised why the horses wore hoods. It was to stop them being spooked by the other animals as the coachmen led them through the wildlife park. After a while, the coach reached a gatehouse and on the other side of this, Lucy glimpsed Grave Hall for the first time. Mist still hung in the air, but she could make out a huge house with dozens of tall, slender chimneys and countless windows.

“Well, here we are,” Lord Grave said. “Now. A word of warning. It’s lucky you didn’t try to run off while Bathsheba was welcoming me home. Things could have turned quite nasty. Bathsheba and some of my other animals have the potential to be very vicious. But as long as you abide by my rules, they won’t harm you. I advise you to remember that.”

Lucy nodded in what she hoped was an obedient way. But of course, she had no intention of abiding by any of Lord Grave’s bossy rules. Not a single one. She was going to escape the first chance she got.

Vicious beasts or no vicious beasts.

The kitchen at Grave Hall was a long, low room. There was an enormous wooden table in the middle of the flagstone floor. A cooking range crouched in the fireplace. Pots and pans and bundles of herbs and strings of onions dangled from the ceiling.

“This is our cook, Mrs Bernie Crawley,” Lord Grave said. He waved his hand towards the tall, broad-shouldered woman who stood with her back to them. She was stirring a small pot of what smelled like porridge simmering on the range.

The woman turned and smiled. “Welcome to Grave Hall, Lucy. We’re all so glad you’ve come. It’s always so exciting to find a—”

“New boot girl,” said Lord Grave.

“Boot girl. Yes. Now, you must be hungry.” Mrs Crawley wiped her hands on her apron.

“I’ll take my breakfast later, Mrs Crawley. Until then I’m not to be disturbed,” said Lord Grave.

“Shall I bring Lucy to you after she’s eaten? I’m sure you’ll wish to begin—”

“I’m not to be disturbed, Mrs Crawley.” And with that, Lord Grave left the kitchen, Bathsheba padding after him.

Lucy realised she was staring at Mrs Crawley in a very rude way. She blinked and tried to find something else to focus on. The grey stone floor fitted the bill nicely.

“Something the matter?” Mrs Crawley asked, smoothing the full and glossy red beard that covered the bottom half of her face.

Lucy muttered at the floor. “You’re a …”

“Of course I am!” Mrs Crawley brandished the wooden spoon she was holding. Blobs of porridge fell at Lucy’s feet. “Lord Grave’s a traditional man in many ways. The cook must always be known as ‘Mrs’, married or no, she or—”

“He?” said Lucy, finally looking up.

“Correct!”

Lucy wondered if it would also be rude to mention the fact that Mrs Crawley happened to be wearing a dress and a frilly white apron.

“Ah, you’re puzzled by the frock. I prefer them, you see. Better airflow. It gets hot around the nether regions in this kitchen. And look at yourself, with your nice breeches. Very smart. We should wear what makes us feel comfortable. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Lucy smiled for the first time in hours. She had never liked dresses herself, preferring the practicality of breeches. But she could see why Mrs Crawley might feel the opposite way. And it was refreshing to meet someone else whose clothing choices were somewhat unusual.

“Sit yourself down here. It’s almost six and time for the servants’ breakfast.”

Lucy settled herself at the long table. It had benches at each side and a chair at either end. Mrs Crawley put a heavy silver teapot on the table and Lucy helped herself to a cup with milk and three sugars. She gulped it down, almost burning her tongue, and then poured another. While she was drinking it, the first of the servants arrived – a fair-haired girl, a year or two older than Lucy, carrying a ginger cat with a blue ribbon tied round its neck. The ends of the ribbon were damp and chewed-looking.

“Who are you?” the girl asked, peering sleepily at Lucy.

“Lucy, this is Becky Bone. Becky, this is Lucy Goodly. She’s our new boot girl. You be good to her now. She’ll be sharing your room.”

Becky stuck out her bottom lip. “Why does she have to share with me?”

“Becky, don’t you be so rude. You know all the other attic rooms are full of animal feed.”

“Your cat’s very sweet-looking,” Lucy said, in an effort to be friendly. She wasn’t entirely being truthful. The cat was scrawny. Its single eye was round, bulgy and bright orange. It had one and a half ears and the tip of its tail was missing. “What’s its name?”

“He’s called Smell,” said Mrs Crawley.

Lucy laughed. “What a funny name. I’ve got a cat at home called Phoebe. But she’s a bit younger than your Smell I think?”

“He’s not called Smell!” snapped Becky. “He’s called Aloysius.”

“But Smell’s so much more fitting,” chortled Mrs Crawley.

Smell wriggled out of Becky’s arms and trotted over to Lucy. As he stood there, blinking up at her with his single orange eye, he made a very small tooting noise, like the world’s tiniest trumpet.

“Oh,” said Lucy, wrinkling her nose. Now she understood why Smell was called Smell.

“It means he likes you!” said Mrs Crawley brightly. Becky scowled even harder at Lucy.

Another girl came into the kitchen, singing quietly to herself.

“This is Violet, she’s our scullery maid. She comes in from Grave Village to help me with the cooking,” said Mrs Crawley. “Violet, this is Lucy, the new boot girl.”

Violet smiled shyly at Lucy as she sat down. She was much younger than Becky, perhaps eight or nine. Wisps of mousy brown hair escaped from her white cotton cap. She began fiddling with her spoon, still singing softly.

“Oh, shut that noise up, Violet,” Becky said, when Mrs Crawley’s back was turned. “This one’s a right milksop. She’s scared of everything, you know. Cries if you look at her wrong.”

Lucy didn’t reply, but suspected Becky probably did a lot worse to Violet than “look at her wrong”.

A very short, curly-haired man was the last servant to arrive for breakfast. He wore a white shirt and a black waistcoat and trousers.

“Ah, you’re the new boot girl. I’m Jacob Vonk, the butler.”

Violet piped up, “And the gardener. And the beekeeper and—”

“That’s right, thank you, Violet. It’s true, I wear lots of different hats, as they say.”

“He’s got a whole cupboard of them!” Violet added.

“Everyone calls me Vonk,” said Vonk. He smiled broadly and shook Lucy’s hand warmly before settling himself into the chair at the head of the table. His feet in their very shiny shoes didn’t quite reach the floor and Lucy guessed he was smaller than she was.

“Some of your porridge would do very well now, Mrs C.”

“Pleasure, Vonk.” Mrs Crawley ladled porridge into bowls. It looked pale and creamy, but there were funny black specks in it. Lucy fished one of them out with her spoon, trying to work out if it was burnt porridge.

“Mrs Crawley,” said Vonk in a stern voice.

“What is it?” said Mrs Crawley in a light, airy what-on-earth-are-you-talking-about? voice.

“The garnish. You know what we agreed. No experimental porridge.”

“It’s extra nourishment, Vonk. There’s lots of hungry people in the world and not enough food to go round. Now insects, they—”

Vonk raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, very well!” Mrs Crawley snatched the bowls of porridge away and replaced them with insect-free portions. She heaped her own porridge with the tiny black corpses. “I toasted them especially for Lucy,” she said, crunching sadly on a mouthful.

“Well I could try one, maybe,” said Lucy, feeling rather sorry for Mrs Crawley.

“Oh, marvellous.” Mrs Crawley sprinkled a couple of the black specks into Lucy’s palm.

Lucy closed her eyes and licked the insects up, swallowing them quickly. “They taste a bit … er … lemony,” she said, coughing.

“Yes, that’s exactly it. They’re ants, you know. More?”

“Um. No, I think I’ve had enough. They’re very filling.”

Once everyone had finished eating, Mrs Crawley began telling Becky and Violet their tasks for the day. Lucy only half listened as she was thinking about her parents again. They’d probably be getting ready for bed now at the Charm Inn where they always stayed when in town. Would they remember to put their money and valuables under their pillows and lock the door while they slept? The Charm Inn was full of terrible thieves who would steal the breath from your lungs, but her parents always insisted on staying there. In fact, half the terrible thieves were her parents’ best friends. They really were hopeless!

Small, warm fingers touched Lucy’s wrist.

“Don’t fret, Lucy. Everyone here’s really nice and we don’t have to work too hard,” Violet said, looking up at her. “If you’re feeling lonely, you could borrow Caruthers. He always makes me feel better.” Violet took something out of her apron pocket. It was a small green knitted frog with button eyes. Violet’s name was neatly embroidered on its underneath.

Lucy smiled. “He’s lovely. Did you do the embroidery?”

“No, that was my mum. She’s very clever with a needle. She works as a seamstress.”

“Well, thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll manage all right at the moment, so you keep hold of Caruthers for now.”

“Silly pair of milksops,” said Becky Bone, giving them both a disgusted look.

When Becky and Violet had gone off to begin work, Vonk showed Lucy to her new room, high up in the attics of Grave Hall.

“This is your bed,” he pointed to a small metal bedstead, one of two in the room. “Rest today. You can start work properly tomorrow. Lord Grave told me you’ve been up for most of the night.”

When Vonk had left, Lucy explored the little room. From the window, she could see the full extent of the wildlife park now the mist had cleared. As well as the elephants and giraffes, she spotted many other animals she’d never seen before, not even in books.

It didn’t take long for Lucy to familiarise herself with the rest of her new bedroom. Apart from the two beds, two bedside tables and a chest of drawers, there was nothing else other than a black iron fireplace. The tiles surrounding the inside of the fireplace had a different design on each side. One side showed a man sitting with a book on his knees, the other a man smoking a long, curved pipe.

Lucy took the trick playing card from her jacket and put it in the drawer of her bedside table before pulling her boots off and lying down. Although she’d been up all night, she was certain she didn’t feel sleepy. There was too much to think about. She’d just close her eyes for five minutes before planning how to escape Grave Hall.

Two minutes later, she was fast asleep.

So she didn’t notice when the tile man with the pipe climbed out of his side of the fireplace and joined the tile man with the book on the other side.

“Well, Mr Paige,” said the man with the pipe to the man with the book, “do you think his Lordship might be right about her?”

CHAPTER FOUR
PORTRAIT OF A LADY

“Come on, Goodly, time to get up,” said a voice in Lucy’s ear shortly after dawn the next morning.

“Urgh,” Lucy said and turned over. She’d slept until lunchtime the previous day and then hadn’t been able to sleep that night. And she wasn’t used to such an early start. Gambling for a living often meant going to bed in the mornings and getting up in the evenings, an arrangement Lucy was quite happy with.

“Come on!” This time a sharp pinch on Lucy’s cheek accompanied the impatient voice.

“Get off!” Lucy said, swatting the pinching fingers away. She opened her eyes. Becky Bone was staring down at her.

“If you miss breakfast, don’t blame me,” Becky said, poking her tongue out at Lucy before leaving the bedroom.

After stumbling into the kitchen for a bowl of Mrs Crawley’s porridge (and declining the offer of another portion of toasted ants), Lucy made her way to the boot room to start her new job.

She sighed as she began scraping the mud off the boots and shoes Lord Grave had left out the previous night. It was a horrible messy task and as she scraped and scraped she got angrier and angrier.

Why should she have to clean Lord Grave’s stupid boots? She might be stuck at Grave Hall until she found a way of escaping, but that didn’t mean she had to obey him or slave away for him. She owed him nothing. He’d cheated. Even more than her. And anyway, she’d cheated so she could feed her family. He had no such excuse.

In the end, she flung the boots into a corner, sat down on the floor and folded her arms. There she stayed until Becky Bone came in to check on her.

“His Lordship will be fuming,” Becky said, eyeing the pile of still dirty footwear.

“Clean them yourself if you’re bothered,” Lucy said.

“Oh, hoity-toity toffee-nose,” said Becky, pushing the tip of her own nose up with her finger.

“That makes you look like a pig. Suits you,” Lucy said. She stormed out of the boot room and into the hallway. Mrs Crawley had shown her around part of Grave Hall the previous day. Lucy remembered her saying the drawing room was where Lord Grave spent much of his time so she strode over to the drawing-room door and barged inside without bothering to knock.

Everything went instantly dark, as though the world had suddenly ended.

Lucy panicked for a few seconds until she realised a duster had fallen on her head and was hanging over her eyes. She’d opened the door to a cupboard full of brooms and buckets and other cleaning implements.

“Are you lost?” said a voice behind her. Lucy plucked the duster off her head and turned. It was Lord Grave. Bathsheba was at his heels.

“No. But I want to talk to you.” She slammed the broom cupboard shut.

“It’s not usual for a servant to make demands of her master,” Lord Grave snapped. “But follow me.”

Lucy followed Lord Grave and Bathsheba into the drawing room. He closed the door behind them. Then he sat down in one of the leather armchairs next to the fireplace. Bathsheba’s yellow eyes blinked sleepily at Lucy, but there was a dangerous glint in them. The panther yawned widely, as though she was taking the opportunity to demonstrate the sharpness of her fangs.

“Well?” Lord Grave said.

“I’m not going to work for you. I won’t clean your dirty boots or anything else. You can’t make me.”

Lord Grave opened a silver box, which sat on the side table next to his chair. He took out a cigar and a round piece of metal with a hole in the middle. He put the end of the cigar through the hole and pressed the side of the instrument. A blade sliced the end of the cigar off.

“I could make things very difficult for you. You’ve cheated at cards many times. I wonder what your victims would say if they found out?”

Lucy clasped her hands together behind her back to stop them shaking. Did this mean he knew about her card? “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about,” she said aloud.

“You’re not fooling me, Lucy. You’ll stay here and do as you’re told. Do you want to see your parents end up in prison, let alone yourself?”

“We haven’t done anything wrong. Why do you want me to stay here?”

Lord Grave got out of his chair and put his cigar in the black leather cigar case he carried in his pocket. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Now get back to work.”

Lord Grave and Bathsheba strode out of the drawing room, passing Becky, who bustled in armed with brooms and cloths and bottles of polish.

“Hope he told you what’s what, Goodly. We need to get on with cleaning this room.” She thrust a cloth at Lucy. “You dust the mantelpiece while I sweep the hearth.”

Lucy swallowed down her hatred of Lord Grave, snatched the cloth from Becky and began dusting. Outside, the sky darkened and rain rattled against the windows, as though the weather had decided to match Lucy’s bad mood.

A large painting hung above the mantelpiece. It showed a young woman. Her elaborately curled dark hair had an unusual white streak in the front. Her long dress was pale blue. The baby she held on her lap was chewing on a silver teething ring, which had a charm dangling from it. Lucy peered closely at the portrait and saw that the charm was a swan.

“Who are they?” Lucy asked.

Becky scowled and continued sweeping. “Lady Grave and little Lord Grave.”

“His Lordship’s wife and son?”

“Of course. Nitwit.”

Lucy gritted her teeth. “But where are they now?”

“Too many questions, Goodly.”

“Are they—?”

“Dead?” said another voice. Vonk stood in the doorway. “Yes. Lady Grave died from a fever not long after the portrait was painted. The young Lord Grave departed five years ago when he was only seven. A great tragedy for his Lordship. He’s never really recovered from it.” Vonk strode across the red carpet, stopping in front of the portrait.

Becky, who had instantly leaped back to her dustpan and brush when Vonk appeared, smirked. “I told her to stop asking questions.”

“Sorry, Vonk,” said Lucy. Perhaps the two tragedies partly explained why Lord Grave was so horrible, although that still didn’t excuse him.

Vonk raised his eyebrows. “Not a crime to be curious. Sign of intelligence.”

Becky dropped her brush with a clatter on to the marble hearth and muttered under her breath.

“It’s a beautiful painting, don’t you think?” Vonk said.

“Yes,” Lucy agreed. Then she noticed that something unusual was happening to the portrait. Orange-red flames were flickering in Lady Grave’s eyes. This startled Lucy for a moment, until she realised Becky had lit the lamps that hung on the opposite wall. The reflection of the flames reminded Lucy of the night she’d stolen the card. She shivered and crossed her arms over her chest as she remembered. It had happened over two years ago, just before her tenth birthday …

She was standing sleepily at the back of a rundown gambling den, waiting for her parents to lose yet another card game. The doors of the gambling den creaked open and a blast of cold air whipped in from outside. Lucy stared as the woman who had entered the den made her way to the poker tables. She wore a fine, warm-looking scarlet coat with black velvet frogging down the front and a red hat with a red veil. Her hair was red too and fell loosely around her shoulders. The woman smiled at Lucy as she passed.

Lucy’s sleepiness vanished. It’s her again. She’d seen the woman, whom she’d nicknamed Lady Red, several times over the past few weeks in various gambling dens.

“Good evening, everyone,” said Lady Red. She sailed past the table Lucy’s parents were sitting at and settled herself at a table further down the room where a game had just finished. The other poker players gaped at the well-dressed new arrival. Most of them were as rundown as the gambling den.

A new round of poker began. As the cards were dealt, Lucy quietly made her way across the room until she stood just behind Lady Red’s chair.

Lady Red lost the first game. But then something strange happened. The same something strange Lucy saw last time she watched this mysterious woman play poker. The cards in Lady Red’s hand went blank. A few seconds later, they became new cards. Cards that won the poker game instantly. Last time Lucy had witnessed this amazing trick, she had noticed something else. The edge of a playing card poking out from Lady Red’s sleeve.

The other players, who had noticed nothing amiss, muttered angrily as they discovered they had lost the game.

“Another round?” one particularly grubby individual asked.

Lady Red declined, as Lucy expected she would. She only ever stayed for one or two hands of poker.

“How does she do it?” Lucy muttered to herself as Lady Red gathered up the notes and coins she’d won, and pushed back her chair, which banged straight into Lucy.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweet child, I didn’t see you there! Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine,” Lucy said, hoping the woman wouldn’t guess she’d been spying.

“Well, that’s a relief. In that case, I wonder if you’d mind helping me to my coach?” Lady Red said as she finished stuffing her winnings into a fancy silk bag. “I’m wearing most unsuitable shoes for this icy weather.” She lifted her long skirts to show a pair of dainty scarlet velvet shoes with a high pointed heel. “I’ll reward you, of course.”

Lucy agreed instantly. They made their way outside, where Lucy took the woman’s arm and helped her to the black carriage that was waiting. It was drawn by a fine dark horse, its breath steaming in the cold air. The driver was so bundled up against the cold that all that Lucy could see of him was the tip of his nose.

Lady Red stopped at the bottom of the carriage steps. “I have an idea. Why don’t you hop in with me? We could go to my house. Have cocoa and toast in front of the fire. I’ll still give you a coin too, of course.”

Lucy’s empty stomach rumbled at the thought of cocoa and toast. She and her parents hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days. But Lady Red had something Lucy wanted even more than food. The thought of what she was about to do made her tremble. It wasn’t in her nature to thieve, but Lucy was truly desperate.

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Lucy said. But she didn’t move.

“Wonderful. Hurry up now, it’s cold. You get in first.”

“I’ve never ridden in a carriage before. Do I just go up these steps?” Lucy asked, trying to sound bewildered.

“Why don’t I help you in?” Lady Red spoke very slowly, as though Lucy was three years old. “Take my hand.”

Lucy took the woman’s gloved hand in her own rough cold one. And just as she had hoped, Lucy saw a playing card poking out from the bottom of Lady Red’s sleeve. Lucy snatched it and pulled herself free. For a split second, Lucy’s eyes met Lady Red’s, which blazed suddenly like tiny twin suns.

Lucy turned and ran.

And ran.

And ran some more.

Lady Red tried to run after her. But she hadn’t been lying about her shoes being useless in the snow. She slipped and fell.

“Treeves, after her!” Lady Red yelled. This was followed by the creak of wheels and the crunch of ice as the carriage began to move. But Lucy knew the alleyways and backstreets to dart down, all of them so narrow the vehicle would never squeeze through, so it didn’t take her long to shake off her pursuer.

Lucy told no one about the card, not even her parents. It took her a lot of practice to work out how to use it. And even when she did, it was a long time before she plucked up the courage to gamble with it. But when she eventually did, her nightmare life of poverty, hunger and cold soon ended. Her parents quickly began to let her take charge of things, never questioning her about her newfound skill. Although Lucy earned enough to make the Goodlys’ lives comfortable and carefree, she wasn’t greedy or reckless. She made sure she lost a few games to avoid suspicion. And she never played opponents who were as poor as she once was.

Lucy was also careful never to visit dens where she’d seen Lady Red. She always feared the woman would find her somehow. But she never did, except in Lucy’s dreams, when she would open the door of Lucy’s bedroom, eyes burning in that unnatural way.

“Give it back. Give it back!” she’d shout.

For a while, Lucy couldn’t sleep for fear of Lady Red making an appearance. But as she was a sensible girl who always tried to find a solution to her problems, she soon trained herself to get out of bed in her dreams and slam the door in Lady Red’s face. Eventually the nightmares went away.

“Something wrong?” said Vonk.

Lucy blinked herself back into the present. “No. You’re right, it is a lovely painting. Lady Grave’s got a very kind face.”

“Yes. Lady Tabitha was one of the best. She loved animals, couldn’t bear to see them mistreated. She persuaded his Lordship to bring Bathsheba home. She rescued the elephants from a circus. And so on. Now, back to your work, girls.” Vonk turned and strode out of the room, the ring of his shoes on the tiled hallway gradually fading into the distance.

“You’ve gone a funny colour,” said Becky.

“Have I?”

“Urgh, have you got some revolting disease? Maybe it’s that nose-rotting one. I read all about it. Your nose goes mouldy and then drops off. Be an improvement in your case.”

CHAPTER FIVE
HIDING BEHIND A RHINOCEROS

Wearing a full suit of armour in the middle of summer really was no fun, but it was better than being eaten alive by a panther or squashed to death by an elephant. Lucy tried to comfort herself with this thought as she opened the gate set into the spiked iron fence that separated Grave Hall from his Lordship’s wildlife park. She was pushing a wheelbarrow of straw.

Lucy’s second day at Grave Hall was turning out to be even worse than her first. Lord Grave had ordered that one of her new duties was to feed Bathsheba and clean out the wooden hut the giant cat slept in at night.

Lucy closed the gate behind her. Bathsheba, who’d been snoozing in the afternoon sun, leaped to her paws when she spotted the bucket of raw meat that was hooked over one handle of the wheelbarrow.

“Keep back!” Lucy said. She slung the bucket’s contents on to the ground. Bathsheba pounced on it, growling her appreciation. For such an elegant animal, the panther had deplorable table manners. She chomped her meat so loudly she scared off some of Lord Grave’s parrots who were roosting in a nearby tree.

Lucy reluctantly set about cleaning the hut, which was almost as big as Leafy Ridge. She picked up gnawed bones from Bathsheba’s previous meals and changed the dirty straw for the fresh. The armour made her movements stiff and awkward. The white feather plume on the top of Lucy’s helmet bobbed up and down annoyingly and she grew hotter and hotter inside her metal second skin.

When she’d finally finished her work, and Bathsheba had torn and swallowed the last of the meat, Lucy returned to the Grave Hall side of the fence. She took off her helmet, put it on top of the smelly contents of her wheelbarrow and began toiling back to the house.

If she hadn’t been slowly cooking inside her armour, it might have been pleasant wandering along in the warm sun with the elephants trumpeting to each other in the distance. Homesickness washed over Lucy. On days like this at home, she and her parents would sit outside after supper and watch Phoebe chasing dragonflies.

Why did Lord Grave want to keep her here against her will? Was it just because it meant he had a boot girl he didn’t need to pay? Or could there be some other more sinister reason? It was all very worrying. The urge to run away was so strong it made her stomach hurt. She’d spent most of last night trying to think of a getaway plan. But Lucy’s usual resourcefulness seemed to have taken a holiday. Every solution she came up with had a fatal flaw, such as wild animals mauling her or the police dragging her off to prison for cheating at cards.

I’m trapped here.

The thought made her feel panicky and very alone. If only her parents were more reliable. Shouldn’t they be coming up with a plan to rescue her? But then again, even if they came up with one, it probably wouldn’t work.

A rumbling noise interrupted Lucy’s musings. She looked up. The sky was an innocent blue, with not a single cloud in sight.

The rumbling rumbled more loudly.

It seemed to be coming from the front of the house. Lucy abandoned her wheelbarrow and clattered round to the main entrance to see what was going on. When she got there, everything looked as it usually did – the stone pillars at either side of the huge front door with its gleaming lion’s head knocker looked solid and upright. The gravel drive was neat and weed-free.The bushes that lined it were expertly trimmed into the shape of Lord Grave’s favourite animals, all thanks to Vonk.

The rumbling rumbled some more.

Then a slash appeared a few feet above the drive. It was as though someone had painted a bright ragged line in mid-air.

Lucy flung herself behind a rhinoceros-shaped topiary. Of course, she soon discovered that flinging oneself while wearing armour is a not very sensible course of action. She ended up lying in a tangled metal heap behind the rhino. Once she’d struggled into a crouching position, Lucy could see that the slash hanging above the drive had widened. Now it was more of a hole than a slash. Lucy could feel the rumbling coming from it. Her armour rattled.

Then, as the rumbling reached a crescendo, four horses pulling a black carriage galloped out of the hole. Their manes and tails were soft and fluffy, more like thistledown than horsehair. And there was something odd growing out of their shoulders. Lucy gawped as she realised they were wings – elegant, transparent wings, which reflected tiny beads of colour where the sunlight touched them.

Lucy cowered further behind the rhinoceros, her metal-gloved hand over her mouth.

Water began trickling through the hole, spattering the gravel. The trickle became a gush, and the gush became a wave carrying a small sailing boat. The wave broke, landing the boat on the gravel. Seawater foamed over the drive and trickled towards Lucy before drying up as quickly as it had appeared. A gangplank shot out from the side of the boat and a man and a woman disembarked. Both had silvery hair and were dressed in navy blue. The silver-haired people strode over to the carriage and began speaking to whoever or whatever was inside.

Lucy began unfastening her armour as quietly as she could. Her fingers trembled and by the time she’d undone all the buckles, the strange people gathering on the drive had made their way inside the hall. Lucy sprinted out from behind the rhinoceros, round to the back of the house and into the kitchen. Becky Bone was there, sitting in Vonk’s chair at the head of the kitchen table and poring over the latest edition of the Penny Dreadful. Becky loved the Penny Dreadful, which was full of what Vonk described as a steaming pile of utter nonsense. Smell was curled up on Becky’s lap.

“Where’s Mrs Crawley?” asked Lucy, gasping for breath.

Becky didn’t look up from the Penny. “Gone down to the village on her penny-farthing. She’s getting her beard trimmed. That little sap Violet has gone with her.”

“I just saw the strangest thing. These people just arrived and—”

“What people?”

“They’ve gone inside now, but … well, come and see.”

“This better not be some stupid trick, Goodly. There’s another child gone missing, you know. Eddie Robinson, he’s called.” Becky held up the paper. It had the headline:

ANOTHER MISSING CHILD!

Below the headline was a drawing of a boy with untidy hair and a mole on his left cheek.

“The Penny thinks they’re all being eaten by flesh-eating zombies,” Becky said.

“Never mind that! Come on!”

Becky sighed loudly, but she put the Penny Dreadful down and gently moved Smell off her lap. He yawned and stretched before following the two girls out of the kitchen.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?” Becky said when the three of them reached the front of the house.

“Those horses! That boat!”

Becky folded her arms. “What are you talking about, boot girl? There’s nothing there. I wish some zombie would eat you, you pea brain.” She tutted and stomped off back to the kitchen and the Penny. Smell didn’t immediately follow her. He gazed up at Lucy, considering her with his unblinking orange eye, before trotting slowly off.

Lucy stared at the carriage and the boat. One of the winged horses neighed. Why was she seeing things Becky couldn’t? Perhaps her brain was fibbing to her due to lack of sleep and too much worry.

Lucy suddenly glimpsed movement in the corner of her eye. She turned and shrieked. A monster stood next to her. It had a pointed head with round bulging metal eyes. Lucy watched, horrified, as the monster grabbed its own head and began to pull it off … Under that head was another head.

Lucy made a strangled noise of relief.

“Oh dear. Did my helmet scare you? I cobbled it together myself, you know. It’s for checking the bees,” Vonk said. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to …” She gestured towards the horses and the carriage and the boat.

Vonk frowned. “Yes?”

Vonk couldn’t see them either!

“I … er … wanted some fresh air.”

Vonk smiled at her as if she’d just done something really very good. “I see. Well, it’s nearly suppertime. Mrs Crawley’s left us some cold cuts. Although I fear they may be accompanied by an experimental salad. Let’s go in.”

CHAPTER SIX
EVERLASTING SOUP AND CHICKEN-WITH-MORE-BODY-PARTS-THAN-MIGHT-BE-REASONABLY-EXPECTED

That night, Lucy tossed and turned in her squeaky iron bedstead.

When she finally fell asleep, it was nearly time to get up again and she overslept. Because she was so late, she skipped breakfast and went straight to the boot room, albeit reluctantly. She counted twenty-six pairs of shoes and boots for polishing. They couldn’t all be Lord Grave’s, because they were all different sizes and some were women’s shoes. Perhaps they belonged to the silver-haired woman she’d seen the night before. But if the woman was real, the rest of what she’d seen must be real too …

Lucy picked up a boot and began scraping the mud and dirt off it, all the time thinking about the bewildering events of the last two days.

Playing cards that came to life and changed places with each other.

A grumpy Lord,who threatened to have the Goodly family put in prison.

Flying carriages pulled by winged horses.

Boats sailing in mid-air.

Grave Hall was clearly a far from normal place. Although Lucy was partly intrigued by what she’d seen, she was also alarmed and wanted to escape back to her parents as soon as possible. “Get thinking, Goodly. Make a plan,” she muttered.

Six pairs of shoes in, when the only thing Lucy was in danger of developing was a shoe-polish-induced headache, Violet the scullery maid opened the boot-room door.

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