Copyright

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,

HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

The HarperCollins Children's Books website address is:

www.harpercollins.co.uk

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.

“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.

“I’ll help you if you like. Mrs Crawley said I could,” she said shyly.

“Thanks, Violet,” Lucy smiled.

Violet pulled up a stool and sat next to Lucy. Before she started work, the little girl took out Caruthers, whispered something to the woolly amphibian, then put him back in her apron pocket. Lucy bit back a smile. She didn’t want to be like Becky and laugh at Violet, but she really was a most peculiar little girl. Though her sweetness and warmth meant Lucy couldn’t help but like her.

For a time, the two girls cleaned in silence, the only noises coming from the rub of brush and cloth on leather.

“So these aren’t all Lord Grave’s shoes, are they?” Lucy eventually asked, in a casual sort of voice.

“Mrs Crawley told me some guests arrived yesterday. Lord Grave isn’t very happy though. He doesn’t like visitors.”

“I bet he doesn’t. He’s not a very nice man, is he?”

Violet stopped cleaning the green scaly boot she was working on. “Mrs Crawley says that he’s grumpy and sad because of Lady and little Lord Grave dying. She says he doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“Hmm. Violet, did you see the guests arrive last night?”

“I wasn’t here, I’d gone down to the village with Mrs Crawley and then I went home. Why?”

“Oh, nothing really. Just curious.”

Violet resumed her cleaning. “This leather is very odd. I think it smells a little bit of fish!”

Lucy and Violet were exhausted by the time they staggered into the kitchen, where Mrs Crawley was alone, eating an omelette. Smell was sitting on the table next to Mrs Crawley’s plate, eyeing up the food and licking his lips hopefully.

“I’m trying a new recipe. Banana and anchovy omelette topped with flaked sprout. Would you girls like some? You must be hungry after all those boots. Or bread and milk? Smell, get away now, you know eggs don’t agree with your digestion!”

“Bread and milk, please,” Lucy said.

“Me too!” Violet added quickly.

Lucy fetched them both some milk from the pitcher in the larder and cut thick slices of crusty bread before sitting down.

“There were so many boots,” Lucy kept her eyes on her food. “I think I saw one of the guests arrive yesterday, actually. In a very unusual carriage. The horses were … different from any I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh, that’ll be Lady Sybil. She breeds the horses herself. Swift as birds, they are.” Mrs Crawley beamed at Lucy, displaying a sprout flake stuck between her front teeth. Except for the sprout flake, it was the same sort of smile Vonk had given her last night. A well done you! type of smile.

Lucy ate the rest of her lunch in silence, pondering what could possibly be going on. She was swallowing the last crumb when Becky came into the kitchen, scowling as usual.

“When you’ve finished filling your cakehole, there’s work to be done. We need to brush the stair carpet.”

“Oh no,” said Mrs Crawley, snatching her empty plate out of reach of Smell’s tongue. “Change of plan. I need all hands on deck. His Lordship’s holding a formal dinner party tonight for his guests.”

“I’ll be needing my best uniform, if I’m waiting at table,” said Becky, straightening her cap and very nearly smiling.

“Lucy, you’ll be waiting at table too.” Mrs Crawley paused. “In fact, I think Becky can stay and help me and Violet in the kitchen. Lucy, you and Vonk can manage service between you.”

Becky’s face turned an interesting shade of purple. “Her? But she’s only the boot girl! Boot girls don’t—”

“Becky Bone!” Mrs Crawley drew herself up to her full six foot three and a quarter inches and looked quite menacing. “When you’re housekeeper-cum-cook then you can say who does what and when. Until then, I decide.”

Becky opened her mouth and then closed it again. But she gave Lucy a filthy glare.

Lord Grave’s dining room was the grandest room in the house. It looked even grander lit by the dozens of candles that sat in holders on the wooden-panelled walls and sparkled from the crystal chandelier that dangled above the long dining table.

All the food for Lord Grave’s guests was lined up on a sideboard that stood against the wall. It was Lucy’s job to help Vonk serve it up. The first course was a very curious soup. Not only was it a rather odd purple colour (despite the fact Vonk had told Mrs Crawley she couldn’t serve any experimental food this evening), but it appeared to be everlasting. Vonk was serving it from a silver tureen barely big enough to hold a single serving of soup. Lucy couldn’t understand how it could hold enough for everyone.

But each time Vonk dipped his ladle in, it came out full. He ladled the liquid into soup plates, which Lucy then carried to the table, trying her best not to spill any down the necks of the diners.

Vonk had told her who each of the four guests were. There was a sorrowful-looking man called Lord Percy. Sitting next to him was Lady Sibyl, the owner of the black carriage. She was a tall woman made even taller by her hair, which was piled high on her head and topped off with two very large peacock feathers. Lucy kept feeling as though the eyes in the feathers were watching her.

The other two guests were the people Lucy had seen disembarking from the boat yesterday. The woman’s name was Prudence Beguildy and the man’s Beguildy Beguildy, which made Lucy giggle. Perhaps his parents had been too lazy to think of a proper first name. They were twins. Prudence Beguildy’s hairstyle was very similar to Lady Sibyl’s, but decorated with a small model ship in full sail. Beguildy Beguildy wore a smart naval uniform. The jacket had gold braid and buttons and what looked like upside-down gilt hairbrushes on the shoulders.

When it was time to serve the main course, Vonk whipped the lid off a silver platter. Crouching underneath was a small roast chicken not much bigger than Smell.

“But that’ll never serve everyone,” Lucy whispered to Vonk. “Isn’t Mrs Crawley going to send up some more?”

Vonk didn’t reply. He just winked at Lucy and began sharpening his carving knife. And although the roast chicken seemed exactly as a roast chicken should, crispy-skinned and delicious-smelling with the usual number of body parts, Lucy lost count of the numbers of wings and legs and breasts she served up.

Once the guests had finished their main course, Vonk and Lucy began clearing the table in preparation for dessert. By then, Lord Grave and his guests seemed to have forgotten Lucy was there, and as she went to and fro from the dining room to the kitchen and back again, she caught snippets of their conversation, which grew increasingly tense.

“I know you’ve asked us not to speak of it, but I have to make my feelings plain. Ma’am needs you …” said Lord Percy as Lucy carried out the side plates.

“… you say that, Lord Grave, but what about your recent actions?” said Lady Sibyl as Lucy came back in to clear the dinner plates piled with bones from the chicken-with-more-body-parts-than-might-be-reasonably-expected. She had to be careful as Bathsheba, who had been asleep under the table, was now standing on her hind legs, trying to hook her claws round the leftovers.

“… take her because of Ma’am,” Lord Grave was saying rather huffily as Lucy returned with dessert plates. “I simply wish to ensure—” He stopped when he saw Lucy. She badly wanted to stay and hear more, but she had to go back to the kitchen as she’d forgotten the spoons. As she was coming back into the dining room with them, she heard Prudence Beguildy say, “… Ma’am must act now that we have Eddie Robinson …”

Lucy dropped all the dessert forks and spoons she was holding and they clattered to the floor. Prudence Beguildy instantly stopped speaking. Lord Grave glared at Lucy.

“Sorry, your Lordship,” Lucy said as she bent to pick up the cutlery, glad of an excuse to hide her shock.

Eddie Robinson!

He was the boy in the Penny Dreadful, the latest child to be kidnapped.

Working as quickly as she could, Lucy distributed the silverware. The candles in the dining room were beginning to burn down now, making Lord Grave’s face and the faces of his guests look shadowy and sinister. Even Prudence Beguildy’s hairstyle looked eerie in the dim light. Lucy imagined she could see tiny faces looking out of the portholes of the boat, their faces set in a scream.

The guests’ silence continued when Vonk swept in, holding a bowl of miraculously tall and wobbly sherry trifle. He looked rather puzzled as he set the trifle on the table, as though he’d expected the guests to applaud the magnificent dessert and was perplexed by the silence.

“We’ll see to ourselves now,” said Lord Grave. “You can clear away when we’ve retired to the drawing room.”

“Of course,” said Vonk. “Come along, Lucy.”

Lucy desperately wanted to escape to her room to think about what she had just heard, so was disappointed to find that whatever uncanny forces had created the everlasting soup and the chicken-with-more-body-parts-than-might-be-reasonably-expected, hadn’t bothered to do the washing up. There were dishes and saucepans scattered everywhere. Smell was taking advantage of the confusion to lick all the plates clean.

Mrs Crawley clapped her hands, “Smell, get away. I can’t cope with a week of after effects from you. Lucy, you can begin drying the dishes Becky’s washed, please. I’ve sent Violet home; she was worn out.”

Lucy sighed and grabbed a tea towel. Becky at once began criticising her drying up method. Lucy ignored her and wandered off inside her own head, trying to understand what it was she had seen and heard at the dinner party.

Lucy was sure that she was the child Lord Grave was talking about; the child he’d said he’d taken. But what did Prudence Beguildy mean by now we have Eddie Robinson?

Did it mean … could it mean … that Lord Grave and his dinner-party guests had taken Eddie? And if they’d taken Eddie, what about the other missing children? Where were they now? Had they been handed over to the woman they all called ‘Ma’am’? Had Lord Grave taken Lucy from her parents for the same reason? Was she too going to end up in the clutches of the mysterious and no doubt villainous Ma’am too?

Lucy finished drying the lid she was holding. When she put it back on the dish it belonged to, her shaking hand made it rattle.

“Are you all right, Lucy?” Mrs Crawley said.

“Fine, thanks. Just a bit worn out.” But Lucy felt as far from fine as it was possible to be. What was she going to do?

CHAPTER SEVEN
TICKLING LORD GRAVE’S GREAT-GRANDMOTHER’S CHINS

Everyone was tired the next morning and very grumpy. Lucy had spent the night fruitlessly trying to think of an escape plan. Mrs Crawley was so exhausted from last night’s cooking, she hadn’t even bothered to take her beard out of the three plaits she wore it in for bed. Violet was sitting at the kitchen table, polishing the silver. Every now and then she would lay her head on the table, using Caruthers as a cushion.

Lucy and Becky were dispatched to clean the drawing room. Lucy followed Becky out of the kitchen and upstairs. Becky barrelled towards the drawing room, griping about Mrs Crawley as she went.

“Don’t see why I should have to clean the drawing room again. I reckon those insects she’s been scoffing have infested her brain. Probably eating it …”

Becky was so distracted, she didn’t realise that Lucy wasn’t right behind her, but was loitering in the hallway. There were voices coming from the landing above. Maybe she’d be able to overhear something useful that might explain what had happened to Eddie and what might happen to her if she didn’t manage to escape before Lord Grave handed her to Ma’am. It was risky, but she had to do something!

Lucy ran up the stairs. When she reached the first-floor landing, she heard the voices again. A spindly-legged black cabinet painted with gold and silver dragons stood beside the stairs. Lucy squeezed herself behind it and watched as Lord Grave and the sorrowful-looking man made their way along the east wing corridor.

When she was sure they wouldn’t spot her, Lucy left her hiding place and crept after their Lordships. The corridor split into two and the men veered left. When they were out of sight, Lucy ran in the same direction, the thick carpet muffling her steps. She followed the men down yet another passage, hiding along the way behind another cabinet, a huge vase and finally a life-sized statue of a very tall woman. The statue wore an elaborate headdress in the shape of an upside-down V and a very wide gown, which made a perfect hiding place. Lucy crouched down behind the statue and waited to see what happened next.

Lord Grave and Sir Percy stood facing a door at the end of the passageway.

“Shall we go in?” Lord Percy said.

“Of course. Let me fetch the key from my great-grandmother.”

Great-grandmother? Surely Lord Grave was far too old to have a great-grandmother? And wouldn’t Lucy have met her by now if she lived at Grave Hall? So where was she?

A few seconds later, Lucy discovered the answer to all these questions. Lord Grave turned away from the door and headed straight towards the statue. Lucy squashed herself down as small as she could under the cover of Lord Grave’s great-grandmother’s stone skirts. She didn’t dare risk peering round the statue, so she couldn’t see what Lord Grave was doing. But she could hear. And what she heard was a giggle. A woman’s giggle.

There was a grating noise and Lord Grave’s great-grandmother’s stone arm began to move. Lucy heard a small chink. Then Lord Grave stepped away from the statue. There was now a key in his hand, which he used to open the door to the room opposite. He and Lord Percy went inside.

Lucy crept out from behind the statue and eyeballed it suspiciously. It looked stony and unmoving, as a statue should. But Lucy was sure it had somehow given Lord Grave the key to the door.

She decided to find a new hiding place where she could have a better view of what was happening. She chose one of the giant vases further up the passageway and then waited to see what Lord Grave did when he came out of the room.

“Are you satisfied that there remains no chance of escape from the Room of Curiosities?” Lord Grave said, as he and Lord Percy finally emerged some minutes later.

“Yes. Of course. Thank you,” Lord Percy smiled rather stiffly.

No chance of escape? Could that mean Eddie Robinson was imprisoned in what Lord Grave had called the Room of Curiosities? And were the other missing children there too?

Lucy watched closely as Lord Grave tickled his great-grandmother under her stone chin (or chins; she had several of them). As before, the statue giggled then, Lucy saw, held out her hand. Lord Grave dropped the key to the mysterious room into her upturned palm, which she slipped into a stone bag tied at her waist before freezing into her former position.

As soon as Lord Grave and Lord Percy were out of sight, Lucy crept out from behind the vase and over to the statue. She stared up into its lifeless eyes. Feeling rather foolish and scared all at the same time, Lucy tickled Lord Grave’s great-grandmother under her chins.

The statue twitched into life, smiled and began to giggle. It was all rather disturbing and Lucy couldn’t help flinching away. But she pulled herself together and stretched out her hand expectantly. As she’d hoped, Lord Grave’s great-grandmother dropped the key into her palm. Now to find out what was inside the Room of Curiosities.

She paused for a second. What would she find? Caged children? Something worse? Lucy swallowed her fear, took a deep breath and opened the door.

When she stepped over the threshold, she found herself in a large windowless room full of marble plinths with not a stolen child in sight. Half relieved and half disappointed, she began examining the plinths more closely. A glass dome sat on each of them, and beneath each glass was a curiosity. There was a china doll under one. It had eyes that seemed to follow Lucy. Another held a small human-like figure, made out of twigs.

Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but as she stared Lucy was sure she saw the stick figure move its limbs. She jerked back in surprise, steadying herself against the glass case behind her which, she realised, held a black metal raven with spiky feathers, its beak open in mid caw.

Seized with inquisitiveness, Lucy decided to take a closer look. As her fingertips touched the bird’s glass dome a tingling began in her hand and ran all along her arm to her elbow. At the same time, the lamps burning on the walls blazed more brightly for a few seconds. How strange.

Despite her growing unease, Lucy couldn’t waste the opportunity to investigate. She removed the dome before hesitantly stroking the bird’s feathers. They were cold. Then, to Lucy’s horror, the raven began to move. It whirred and shuddered and trembled before snapping its beak open and closed.

“At last!” it said, cocking its head and staring at Lucy. Its eyes were like two fresh drops of blood. “And where exactly did you come from?”

CHAPTER EIGHT
THE RAVEN

Lucy’s brain began shouting furiously at her.

It’s alive! Talking in a man’s voice! Get away from it!

“Oh, come now, you’re not afraid, are you?” said the raven. He hopped down from the plinth, and began stumping towards Lucy.

Click, click, click went his claws against the pink marble floor. Lucy stepped backwards.

“It’s not natural,” she whispered.

“Not natural?” cawed the raven. “I’m so very glad you told me. I don’t think I ever received that particular epistle.”

The raven’s sarcasm made Lucy bristle with annoyance. But now wasn’t the time to argue. Now was the time to get out of here. This was one unearthly event too many.

“Going to make a run for it?” said the raven. “Don’t. Grave, Percy and the other fools are hanging around on the landing. They’ll spot you. And if they guess you’ve been in here, well … that could be fatal. For you.”

Lucy wasn’t at all sure she should trust this peculiar bird. But if he was right, and Lord Grave and his guests were nearby, she couldn’t leave yet.

Keeping a sensible distance from the raven, Lucy asked, “So you know Lord Grave and those other people?”

“Oh, I know them all right. Criminals.” The bird watched Lucy carefully as he spoke.

I knew it, Lucy thought. I knew there was something bad going on here. “What have they done exactly?”

“Terrible things. Things that any decent, upstanding person deplores,” the raven said. His voice grew louder and more indignant with every word.

“Shh,” Lucy said, “someone might hear you!”

“It’s very difficult not to get angry,” the raven said. But he lowered his voice all the same. “What Grave’s done to me and other magicians like me. The way he’s used magic to—”

“Magicians?” Lucy said. “Magic?”

The raven must have seen the doubtful look on Lucy’s face. The look that said what is all this poppycock? He sighed and shrugged his wings squeakily. “I sense disbelief on your part. Tell me, does Grave still perform that ridiculous charade with the statue of his great-grandmother?”

Lucy nodded.

“So, you’ve seen a statue come to life. You’re talking to a clockwork raven. What else would you call such things? Everyday occurrences?”

“I suppose you have a point,” Lucy said grudgingly, thinking again of her card, the strange arrival of Lord Grave’s guests and the everlasting food served at last night’s dinner party. “But what happened to you? Why were you in that glass case? Do you have a name?”

“Alas, I cannot tell you.” The raven stretched one of his wings out dramatically.

“Why?”

“Alas, I cannot tell you that either.” He stretched his other wing out and drooped his head.

“You must know!”

“Yes.”

“But you can’t tell me?”

“No. You could try guessing.”

“Guessing what?”

The raven looked up. “Yes. And no.”

“Yes and no what?”

“Do try and use your brain.”

“What? Oh, wait. Maybe it’s like one of those guessing games. I ask you a question and you say yes or no? Is that how it works?”

“Yes.”

“So are you really a raven?”

“No.”

“Are you a human? A man? A magician?”

“Yes.”

“And Lord Grave magicianed you, or whatever you call it.”

“Yes. Enchanted. At least get the terminology right.”

“And part of the enchantment is not being able to tell anyone what’s happened to you? Or why? So you’re trapped here?”

“Yes, trapped.” The raven spoke quietly now and hung his metal head.

“I’m trapped here too,” Lucy replied sadly.

“In that case perhaps we can aid each other, Lucy.” The raven cocked his head, beady eyes intense now. “You free me from this enchantment, and then I can help you escape. It must be dreadful to have been taken from your parents.”

Lucy stared at the raven. “How do you know about that? And how do you know my name?”

“Grave and Percy were discussing you and how they stole you. You see, they and the rest of their cronies are—”

The raven began to cough. Then he began to choke as though he’d swallowed something and it had gone down the wrong way. It sounded like a knife being sharpened on a stone. Lucy slapped him on his metal back.

“Thank you,” said the raven, when he’d recovered. “That’s what happens when I try to speak about Grave’s crimes.”

“You were going to say Lord Grave and his horrible friends are stealing children, weren’t you?” Lucy said, half frightened at the thought of Lord Grave really being a child snatcher and half excited because what she’d suspected had turned out to be true.

The raven goggled at Lucy. “Most impressive. How did you find out?”

Lucy explained about the reports in the Penny Dreadful and the sinister conversation she’d overheard at last night’s dinner party.

“But what do they do with the stolen children? And who is Ma’am? They kept talking about her. Is she someone very wicked?” Lucy asked. “Oh, but you can’t tell me, can you? Could I guess, then you say yes or no like before? That way you wouldn’t choke again.”

The raven shook his head. “If you had a hundred years, a thousand years, you would never be able to guess. You are in great danger. But there may be a way out. If you free me, I can help you.”

“Free you? How?”

“There is bound to be something in this house that could do the job. But—”

“You can’t tell me what kind of thing because of the enchantment?”

The raven cocked its head again and was silent for a moment. Then he sighed and said, “Sadly, that is correct. But I am sure a clever child like you can find out.”

“Then we can both be free? And what about the other children? Could we help them? Or is it,” Lucy shivered, then whispered, “too late?”

“We might be able to get to them in time. Now, I think it’s finally safe for you to leave. Put me back where you found me. Trust no one. Keep your eyes open for a magical object that could help me.”

“Don’t you mean us?”

“Of course. Us. Then come back and we’ll talk some more.”

CHAPTER NINE
THE LIBRARY WITHOUT BOOKS

That night, Lucy lay wide awake yet again, staring at the dark ceiling, her mind and stomach churning. In the next bed, Becky smacked her lips in her sleep, slurping wetly. Smell was curled up at Becky’s feet, snoring.

The more Lucy turned everything over in her mind, the more certain she became that her only option was to trust the raven. What other choice was there? Even if she managed to escape Grave Hall by herself and then went to the police and told them what she knew about the missing children, they probably wouldn’t believe her. Lord Grave was a rich and powerful man and she was just an ordinary girl. And she had no actual solid proof of his dreadful deeds yet. It was up to her to save herself – again – and the other stolen children. But she could only do it with the raven’s help.

So she decided to do what the raven had asked – look for a magical object with the power to break the enchantment he was under. But she didn’t even know what she was looking for.

“I need to learn how magic works,” Lucy said softly to herself. If she could do that, she might be able to work out what sort of object she needed to find.

“Ah,” said a voice.

Lucy sat up, her heart thudding. She slipped out of bed and scrabbled around to light the candle next to her bed.

“Who’s there?” she whispered.

“Us. We’re over here,” the voice replied.

It seemed to be coming from the fireplace. Perhaps one of the chimney-sweep boys was wedged up the chimney. Lucy knelt down on the floor in front of the fireplace and held up her candle.

“Are you stuck?” she called softly, not wanting to wake Becky and Smell.

“Stuck? Of course not.”

Lucy nearly dropped her candle in shock. The voice wasn’t coming from up the chimney. It was coming from one of the men pictured in the tiles round the fireplace, the one smoking a long pipe. Lucy could smell the smoke puffing out of it. She held her candle higher in order to see better. In the flickering light that cast long shadows across the ceiling, she saw the pipe man stroll forward. There was a faint pop as he left his tiles. He walked swiftly across the hearth, his ceramic feet making light tapping noises on the ground, pipe smoke drifting behind him. When he reached the other side of the fireplace, he stepped into the tiles there, which showed another man sitting reading a book. The book man got to his feet. He and the pipe man turned to face Lucy.

“We’re Turner and Paige. I’m Mr Turner,” said the man with the pipe. “And this is Mr Paige.” Mr Paige didn’t speak, but nodded shyly at Lucy. “If you need to learn about something, we’re the gentlemen to help. We’re librarians.”

“Librarians?”

“Yes, we take care of Lord Grave’s library.”

Hope fluttered in Lucy’s stomach. This could be the first step towards finding the magical object she needed in order to free the raven and get his help. “Can I visit it?”

Mr Turner puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. “What do you think, Mr Paige?”

Mr Paige nodded.

“That’s decided then. Take my hand, miss. You can only visit the library if accompanied by us or Lord Grave.”

Lucy reached out and took Mr Turner’s hand between her thumb and forefinger. It was cool and smooth, like the handle of a cup. She was careful not to squeeze too hard as she didn’t want to crack anything.

At first, nothing happened.

But then it was as though a heavy weight was squashing her head down into her neck, her neck into her stomach and her stomach into her feet. Lucy closed her eyes, certain they were about to burst out of her head and roll into the hearth like two gobstoppers.

At that moment, the just-about-to-burst feeling faded. Lucy opened her eyes and realised with a jolt that her gaze was now on a level with Mr Turner’s. Cold began creeping up her arm and across her whole body. Lucy watched, half fascinated, half terrified, as her skin changed from its normal soft warmth, turning to something cold and hard, like the ceramic Turner and Paige were made of.

Everything went dark for a few seconds. Then Lucy found herself standing in another hearth, this time in a room far grander than the humble bedroom she shared with Becky. It had a high domed ceiling, painted midnight blue with gold stars sprinkled across it.

Lucy tried to step forward, but found she was unable to move. She realised that she was part of the tiles surrounding the fireplace.

“Don’t worry, miss,” said Mr Turner, who was next to her in the tiles. “We’re not finished yet. This next part won’t hurt, but you may find it a smidge uncomfortable.”

‘A smidge uncomfortable’ turned out to feel like being put through the wringer Lucy and Violet had used the day before to squeeze the water out of the wet washing. But at last, she was her normal-sized flesh-and-blood self again, and was able to move. Turner and Paige were no longer made of ceramic either; they had turned into full-size human men. The three of them stepped out of the rather crowded hearth.

“Welcome to Lord Grave’s library.” Mr Turner bowed extravagantly.

“Can I open a window for a minute? I feel a bit hot,” Lucy said, quickly. She didn’t feel hot at all, but she wanted to see exactly where she was in case she needed to make a quick exit.

Mr Turner nodded. “Of course.”

She thrust aside the blue velvet curtains and opened one of the coloured glass windows. It was night outside. But the full moon gave enough light to see the thick ivy that grew from the ground below, past the library windows and on up to the top of the house.

“I don’t understand,” said Lucy, turning back to Turner and Paige. “We’re still in Grave Hall, aren’t we? Why did we have to go through the fireplace like that?”

“The entrance is hidden to protect his Lordship’s valuable collection. He even changes the way in occasionally. Until recently, the entrance was the Grecian urn outside one of the guest bedrooms. We rather enjoyed being frolicking figures on there. Although we kept falling out with the Minotaur. He could be very bull-headed,” said Mr Turner.

“But it’s silly. If someone wanted to break in, they could just get a ladder or climb the ivy and come through that window!”

Mr Turner smiled. “There are measures in place to prevent that. Secret, of course.”

Lucy gazed around the huge room. There were comfy-looking leather chairs and sofas scattered about. But there was only one shelf in the whole place. It was high up on the wall and held four books, one silver-coloured, one gold, one copper and one black. There was a tiny door underneath the shelf, set into the skirting board. A mouse-sized door.

“How can this be a library? There’s only four books. Where are the rest?”

“There have been one or two attempted burglaries in recent years. So Lord Grave decided that Mr Paige should become the library.” Mr Turner pointed his pipe at Mr Paige. “He holds all the books in his head. Much harder for rivals to steal them that way.”

“How can anyone read the books if they’re in his head?” Lucy snapped. It seemed she’d been through all the squashing and bursting and wringing for nothing. She was sorely tempted to grab Mr Turner’s stupid pipe and shove it somewhere ‘a smidge uncomfortable’. But the two tile men seemed unperturbed by her irritation.

“Shall we demonstrate, Mr Paige?”

Mr Paige gave his usual silent nod.

Mr Turner began shifting leather chairs around until three of them faced the wall with the shelf and the miniscule door beneath it. When everyone was seated, Mr Turner said, “Look at the door, miss. Concentrate on what it is you need to learn about and then say it aloud.”

Lucy did as he said – she thought hard about wanting to learn how magic worked. Then she said it aloud.

To her astonishment the mouse-sized door began to grow, becoming:

Smell-sized;

Dog-sized;

Bathsheba-sized; and finally …

Lucy-sized.

Once it had stopped growing, the door creaked and groaned before sprouting a brass handle, a lock and a key.

“You need to go through the door and into the Reading Room. You must go through it alone, but you won’t be alone on the other side of it,” said Mr Turner.

Lucy walked towards the door. Then stopped. Anything could be on the other side, waiting to keep her company. And what if she couldn’t get out again? She looked over her shoulder at Turner and Paige.

“Trust me, miss, you’ll come to no harm,” Mr Turner said.

Should she believe Mr Turner? She wasn’t even sure what he was. A magician? Or some sort of strange being conjured into existence by Lord Grave? But she had to take the chance. Learning how magic worked would help her understand the sort of object she should look for in order to free the raven and herself.

Lucy grasped the doorknob. It felt like it should, metallic and slightly cold. She put her ear to the door, but all she could hear was her own breathing and pounding heart.

“Unlock it, miss.”

She turned the key and then the doorknob. The door squeaked open. Lucy looked over her shoulder again at Turner and Paige before stepping over the threshold into the darkness beyond.

CHAPTER TEN
TONGUE-TIED

B ang!

The door slammed shut behind Lucy, leaving her in darkness so deep and black that it seemed to press against her. She was fighting down a scream when one by one seven small candles set in curly metal wall-holders flickered into life.

Beneath each candle stood a Mr Paige.

Bewildered, Lucy looked back at the door she’d come through. It was still firmly shut.

The Mr Paiges smiled. “Don’t be afraid. Imparting knowledge can be tiring; spreading the load helps,” they said together. “What would you like to know?”

“How does magic work exactly?” Lucy asked.

“Much depends on the skill of the magician.”

“You mean whether they’re good at magic or not?”

“Not quite. Most magicians have one or two particular abilities; a few may have more, although that is very unusual. The magic a magician can perform will depend on the skills they possess.”

“I see.” Lucy pretended to study her fingernails. “And can things be magical? Objects?”

“Yes, there are some who are able to imbue inanimate objects with magic.”

“And how would a person know if an … inanimate object was imbued with magic?”

“Oh, that’s very complicated. First, it would depend on whether a person could see magic. Non-magicians can’t usually detect magic, although some may glimpse magic at the periphery of their consciousness.”

Lucy frowned. “Pardon?”

The Mr Paiges smiled. “It means ordinary people sometimes see magic happening out of the corner of their eye.”

Lucy opened her mouth to ask a million more questions. But the candles in their wall holders began to burn low and the Mr Paiges were fading too.

“This is as much as we can tell you today. We have to be careful. This is all very new to you. Too much information might make your brain explode with the strain. That would be rather messy,” Mr Paige said, his voice growing fainter and fainter.

“No, please. I need to know more, much more! I can see you and you’re magical, aren’t you? All this is magical. But I’m seeing it right in front of me, not out of the corner of my eye. Why?”

It was too late. All the candles guttered out and the Mr Paiges vanished. The dark pressed around Lucy again. She felt dizzy and sick. When she turned to go back through the door she couldn’t find it. Confused and frightened, she stumbled around, banging into things that it was too dark to see.

Something snuffled and gurgled.

Lucy backed away from the noise, wondering what horrible monster was lurking in the dark with her. She tripped over something and crashed to the floor.

The snuffling and gurgling stopped and a peeved voice said, “For pity’s sake, Goodly, some of us are trying to sleep, you know.”

The next day, which was a Sunday, when Lucy had fulfilled her animal duties and eaten lunch with the other servants, she found she had some unexpected free time. Lord Grave was out and everyone else was occupied. Mrs Crawley was having an afternoon nap. Violet and Vonk were trimming the animal-shaped topiary (Violet was wearing one of Vonk’s spare gardening hats). Becky was deep in the latest edition of the Penny.

Lucy kept wondering whether any of her fellow servants knew what was going on. But she had no way of telling and so decided it was safest to keep her suspicions to herself for now.

She decided to take the opportunity to do some detective work. Although she knew a little more about magic, thanks to her library trip, she was still no wiser as to the magical object the Raven wanted her to find. But she could at least do her best to investigate the mystery of the missing children. Perhaps she could find evidence of Lord Grave’s involvement and what he and Ma’am were doing with the children they stole. Then she could go to the police once she had escaped from her predicament and report what she knew.

She started her investigations by ‘borrowing’ back copies of the Penny Dreadful, which Becky kept under her bed. Lucy read every single article she could find about the disappearances. And it wasn’t long before she noted that several of the reports mentioned that a black carriage had been seen near the scene of many of the crimes.

Although this ruled out Lord Grave’s carriage, which was a silvery-grey colour, – what about Lady Sibyl’s black carriage? The articles didn’t mention flying horses, of course, but perhaps Lady Sibyl had been using normal horses at the time. That made sense. A child snatcher wouldn’t want to draw attention to themselves.

Luckily for Lucy, although Lord Percy and the Beguildy twins had left Grave Hall that morning, Lady Sibyl was staying an extra night. So Lucy hurried down to the carriage house, which was next to the stables. She checked to make sure none of the coachmen were around and then sneaked inside.

Lady Sybil’s black carriage was parked next to Lord Grave’s. Lucy walked slowly around it. Lady Sibyl’s coachman must have cleaned it recently because it gleamed and the wheels were mud-free.

Perhaps an attempt to remove any incriminating evidence?

Interesting.

Lucy tried one of the doors, expecting it to be locked. But it opened, so she climbed in. The leather seats smelled of polish and everything was as spotless inside as out. Not a clue to be seen. She was about to climb out again when she noticed a small corner of white poking out from between the rear-seat cushions. Lucy pulled it out. It was a cotton handkerchief with the initials C. S. embroidered in pink silk on one of the corners.

At first, Lucy decided that the handkerchief was probably just one of Lady Sibyl’s. Even though the initials weren’t quite right, it could be that Sibyl wasn’t Lady Sibyl’s first name. Sometimes people preferred to use their middle or last name instead of their first name, didn’t they? She could be called something like Catherine Sibyl.

Feeling rather disappointed, Lucy was about to shove the handkerchief back where she found it, when she remembered something – the name of one of the missing children she’d read about in the Penny.

Claire Small.

Lucy excitedly examined the handkerchief more closely. It was made of plain cotton. No lace. Nothing fancy apart from the embroidered initials. Not the sort of handkerchief a wealthy and fashionable aristocrat would bother with. Lucy carefully folded the handkerchief and put it in her jacket pocket before climbing back out of the carriage. She was eager to visit the raven again and share this clue with him.

But someone was waiting for her at the door to the carriage house.

Or rather two someones.

One was a giraffe. The other was a small, furry, long-nosed animal of a kind Lucy had never seen before.

There shouldn’t be too much to fear from a giraffe, Lucy told herself. Being a vegetarian animal, it wasn’t likely to eat her. And the giraffe’s companion didn’t seem exactly menacing. In fact, it was rather cute.

Lucy decided to take the offensive.

“What are you doing here?” she said in a firm voice. “Have you escaped from the wildlife park? Naughty things. You should get back there right away! Shoo! Be off with you!”

Lucy waved her arms about.

The two animals ignored her. The giraffe glanced down at the long-nosed creature and the long-nosed creature looked up at the giraffe.

The giraffe’s left ear twitched.

The long-nosed creature scampered towards Lucy. She tried to dodge out of its path, but she was too slow. An impossibly long tongue shot out of the creature’s narrow snout and wrapped itself round Lucy’s ankle, bringing her crashing to the floor of the carriage house. With Lucy incapacitated, the giraffe lolloped over to her, bent its never-ending neck, and began worrying at Lucy’s pocket. The pocket tore and the giraffe snatched the handkerchief.

“Please. Please give it back to me. You don’t understand!” Lucy tried to stand, but the tongue remained firmly entwined round her ankle.

The giraffe turned and headed out of the carriage house, carrying the handkerchief in its mouth. The long-nosed creature reclaimed its tongue from Lucy’s ankle and scuttled off too, making a squeaking noise as it went, almost as though it was giggling.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE SMELL OF A SPY

Lucy’s mind churned all through supper. She barely noticed what she was eating, much to Mrs Crawley’s disappointment.

“No thoughts on my cabbage, marmalade and pickled onion casserole?” she asked sadly.

“Um, it was very … piquant,” Lucy said.

As Lord Grave had decided to dine out with Lady Sibyl, there was less work that evening than usual. Lucy grabbed the chance to sneak away and pay another visit to the raven to report her findings. But she’d just set off down the east wing corridor towards the Room of Curiosities when a pungent whiff made her eyes water. She turned round. Smell was ambling along behind her.

“Why are you following me? Go away!” she said, clapping her hands.

Smell sat down and began washing one of his back legs. Lucy paused. She really didn’t want the cat to see what she was up to. It seemed ridiculous, but it felt almost as if he was spying on her. Perhaps she was wrong about the giraffe and its friend being harmless? Perhaps all the animals here were spies, absurd as that seemed.

Lucy dug into her apron pocket and found a piece of cake she’d reluctantly agreed to taste-test yesterday for Mrs Crawley. Lemon and beef sponge with curried icing. Lucy had only pretended to eat and enjoy it before slipping it into her pocket. She’d meant to throw it away later, but then had forgotten all about it. Until now. The cake was more doughy than spongy, so she rolled it into a ball and sent it spinning across the floor. It trundled under a cabinet. Smell spotted the not-so-delicious morsel immediately, scooted over to the cabinet and began trying to squeeze his head underneath it. When he found his head wouldn’t fit, he tried his paw instead. Lucy ran off while he wasn’t looking, hastily tickled Lord Grave’s great-grandmother’s chins and once again let herself into the Room of Curiosities.

“Have you found a magical object?” the raven said, once she had brought him to life again.

“How lovely to see you too. No, not yet. I don’t even know what I’m looking for and you can’t tell me. But I have found a few things out as well as something to prove Lord Grave and his friends are guilty.” She explained about the library, and about Turner and Paige, and about the handkerchief she’d found.

“Do you have the handkerchief?” the raven asked anxiously.

“No. I … er … lost it,” Lucy said, too embarrassed to admit that a giraffe and a creature with a talented tongue had managed to outwit her.

“And what about Ma’am? Have you identified her yet?” the raven said, beginning to sound anxious.

“No,” Lucy said, feeling rather inadequate.

The raven clicked his beak impatiently. “None of this is very helpful. And it’s most disappointing you haven’t found an object that could help us. I thought you were a moderately bright young person.”

Lucy’s cheeks grew warm. “Oh well. Maybe I’ll just put you back in your case then. If you’re so very marvellous I’m sure you can get yourself out of the mess you’re in.”

The raven hastily backtracked. “My apologies. All this is very new to you. I shouldn’t expect too much too soon. After all, you’ve only experienced magic in the last few days.”

“Actually, you’re very wrong about that,” Lucy said, enjoying the look of surprise on the raven’s face. At least she thought he looked surprised. His beak was certainly hanging open. She told the raven about the card she’d stolen from Lady Red and what it could do. When she got to the part about Mrs Milligan’s Gambling Den and Lord Grave taking her from her parents, her throat went tight and she had to stop speaking.

“Well, come on, tell me more. The woman you stole the card from. What did she look like?”

“She had long shiny red hair. She was beautiful. But her eyes …”

“What about them?”

“Just for a few seconds, it was as though they were made of fire. Like Catherine wheels.” Lucy shuddered at the memory.

“Amethyst,” the raven muttered.

“No, orangey-red, like fire. Isn’t amethyst more of a purple colour?”

“Yes, I know!” the raven snapped.

“Well, pardon me! Maybe you should find someone else to help you after all. I don’t have to put up with this, you know.”

“I’m sorry, Lucy. It’s the strain. Can you imagine what it’s been like for me, imprisoned in this contraption for years on end? It would make anyone waspish. Now let’s take stock,” the raven said, suddenly sounding a lot more cheerful. “You have access to Grave’s library. That’s good. In fact … in fact I think you may have found an object to help us after all!”

“I have? And it’ll help the other children too?” Lucy said eagerly.

“Naturally. Kill three birds with one stone, as they say,” the raven cawed at his own joke.

Lucy smiled politely, silently urging him to get on with it.

“Alas, I cannot tell you what that object is,” the raven said, sounding somewhat deflated again.

Lucy huffed in exasperation and kicked the side of the raven’s plinth. A cloud of dust rose up, making her cough. She felt most dejected. But the raven began hopping about excitedly.

“Lucy, you’re a genius!” he cried, and hopped off the plinth into the patch of dust. He began writing something in it with his beak.

Find the Wish Book.

Lucy stared at what the raven had written.

“You can read, I take it?” the raven snapped, dust drifting from his beak.

“Yes, of course I can! But there aren’t any actual books in the library. I told you that. All the books are inside Mr Paige’s head.” Lucy tapped her own skull to illustrate, in case the raven hadn’t properly understood.

“No books at all? Think! Think!”

Lucy thought. And then remembered. “There were some books on a shelf. Maybe four. They were made of metal, I think. Is the Wish Book one of them?”

“Yes!”

“So I need to steal it? But how?” Lucy asked.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” said the raven.

CHAPTER TWELVE
ENOUGH IS ENOUGH

And the very next day, when she was baking inside her armour while sweeping up Bathsheba’s dirty straw (the panther was busy tearing away at several roast chickens Lucy had given her), she did think of something. What she thought of was that she’d had enough.

Enough of the weird goings-on at Grave Hall.

Enough of Becky Bone calling her names.

Enough of the raven bossing her around.

Enough of Lord Grave and his threats.

Enough of worrying about her parents and waiting for them to find a way to rescue her.

And definitely enough of having to muck out Bathsheba’s hut while dressed in a suit of armour.

Surely she could find a way of escaping on her own without having to steal the Wish Book? And once she did, she could get help for the stolen children and the raven too. There was a risk that Lord Grave might follow up on his threat to report her for cheating at cards. But would he really risk drawing attention to himself by kicking up trouble? Someone might discover his dastardly crimes.

Lucy swept Bathsheba’s straw more furiously, trying to think it all out. Bathsheba, who was in a friendly mood today, batted at Lucy’s broom in a manner more suited to a kitten than a potentially lethal panther.

“Oh, come on, get out of the way!” Lucy gently shoved Bathsheba aside. Bathsheba not so gently nipped Lucy’s fingers, but the gauntlets Lucy wore as part of her armour prevented any real damage.

Armour.

Why hadn’t she thought of it before?

She could go now. Right at this very moment. Run through the wildlife park to the gates she’d come through in Lord Grave’s carriage that first day. She was sure she’d be able to climb over them. And her armour would protect her from attack by Bathsheba or any of the other animals.

She flung aside her broom and ran out of the hut. And kept running. Or rather kept waddling. Her armour was heavy, a little rusty and not conducive to moving at speed. She rattled and squeaked past the lake, where one of the elephants was enjoying a drink. The elephant turned at the sound of Lucy’s armour. It had very long and very sharp tusks.

Nothing to worry about, elephants are harmless unless you get in the way of their feet, Lucy told herself and waddled on. But she quickly found she couldn’t waddle any further. Because the elephant was standing in front of her, like a grey, living mountain. How had it moved so quickly?

Lucy squinted up at the elephant.

The elephant glared down at Lucy.

Its tusks glinted in the sunlight.

“Um, don’t worry. No need to move – I’ll go around you,” Lucy said.

She moved to her left.

So did the elephant.

She moved to her right.

So did the elephant.

Lucy and the elephant repeated this dance several times. Then the elephant seemed to get bored. It snorted, bent its great grey head and then hooked one of its tusks through the gap in Lucy’s armour where the sleeve was attached to the shoulder plate.

The elephant lifted Lucy high into the air. Lucy squealed and squirmed but the elephant took no notice. Ears and trunk flapping, it thundered back the way Lucy had come. It reached the iron fence, which separated the animals from the rest of Grave Hall, and lowered her over it, dropping her the last few feet. Lucy landed with a thud that rattled her armour and her teeth. The armour protected her from breaking any bones, but the fall still hurt. She lay on the ground, trying not to cry from pain, humiliation and utter despair. Now there could be no doubting that she was being thwarted by Grave Hall’s animal residents. That elephant had deliberately foiled her escape attempt. It was impossible, but the impossible seemed to happen on a daily basis at Grave Hall.

When she’d recovered a little, Lucy limped back towards the house, comforting herself with the thought that at least no one had witnessed her embarrassing defeat. When she reached the kitchen garden, she found Mrs Crawley there, sitting in a striped deckchair, drinking out of a large tankard. Her frock was hoisted up to her knees, showing her hairy legs. She was wearing a pair of sandals, which her equally hairy toes poked out of. Whatever was in the tankard smelled almost as bad as Smell had when he’d overindulged on devilled kidneys a few days ago.

“Ah, Lucy!” she said. “Would you like a sip?”

“No, thanks. What is it, liquidised dung or something?”

Mrs Crawley tittered. “It’s the first batch of my home-brewed ale. I admit it has a certain pungency to it. Probably due to a small sprinkling of my Extra Violent Mustard Mix that I added during the brewing process. I thought I’d have a quick taste to check if it’s ready and gather my strength before starting on the dinner. I’ll need some help as little Violet hasn’t turned up for work today. Very unlike her. She must be ill. Would you mind serving his Lordship’s afternoon tea once you’ve taken your armour off? Here, let me give you a hand.”

As Mrs Crawley began unbuckling the armour, Lucy wondered desperately if the housekeeper-cum-cook knew what was really going on at Grave Hall? Surely not? She so wanted to confide in Mrs Crawley. But perhaps it would be too risky. Lucy reluctantly decided that her best bet was to bide her time.

A quarter of an hour later, Lucy was standing outside Lord Grave’s study holding a tray of tea things. She was about to knock when she heard raised voices.

“’Ow many more children is it going to take, Grave? You need to do something,” said a gruff voice.

Lucy trembled. The cup on her tray rattled against the teapot.

“I don’t have to do anything,” Lord Grave snapped.

“You blooming well do. Ma’am thinks that you—”

“I don’t need to be told what Ma’am does or doesn’t think! Concentrate on what you’re supposed to be doing, but do it better. Or I might have a quiet word with Ma’am about you. Stop getting distracted.”

“Can’t ’elp it. It’s my nature now.”

“A feeble excuse. I think—”

Crash!

Lucy had been so intent on listening to this tense exchange between Lord Grave and what must be one of the dreaded Ma’am’s henchmen that she’d let her tray tilt and the teacup had smashed to the floor.

Lord Grave flung open the door, frowning bushily.

“I-I was bringing you your tea,” said Lucy.

“Go in, put it on the table.”

“But I broke the cup.”

“Leave it, I’ll deal with it.” Lord Grave bent down and began picking up the shards of china.

Lucy stepped into the drawing room.

There was no one else there.

She busied herself setting out the teapot and the milk jug, looking around to see if there was someone hiding under the table or behind the sofa. But she couldn’t see anyone. There was a whiff though. A whiff that made her wrinkle her nose in disgust.

“Violet usually brings me my tea. Where is she?” Lord Grave demanded, placing the teacup she had dropped on to the table.

The teacup was whole again.

Lucy stared at the cup and then up at Lord Grave.

“She’s ill, we think,” she muttered.

“You think? What’s wrong with her?”

“I don’t know.”

“She hasn’t sent a message?”

“No.”

“I see. Did you hurt yourself?” he said.

“When the cup broke? No, it—”

“No. I meant with Elvira. I heard you had an encounter with her.”

Lucy put her hand to her mouth. No one else had seen what happened. So it was true. The animals were acting against her, spying on her and somehow reporting back to Lord Grave.

“Yes. I know everything that happens in this house. And I know—” He paused.

Lucy waited for him to say he knew about everything else she’d been up to. Visiting the library, and the raven. Her investigations into Lady Sibyl’s carriage.

“I know you don’t want to be here, Lucy. That’s natural. I promise all of this will make sense soon.”

“Why can’t it make sense now?”

Lord Grave didn’t reply, but strode over to the door and opened it. His stern expression told her that their not-so-cosy chat was over. Lucy turned and left the room. When Lord Grave had closed the door behind her, she leaned against the wall. Once her heart had stopped thumping quite so hard and her legs were less wobbly, she walked slowly back to the kitchen.

What did Lord Grave mean by all of this will make sense soon? Would that be when he was using her for whatever horrific purpose he and Ma’am had in mind? And that would probably be sooner rather than later now that Lord Grave knew what she’d been up to and was no doubt suspicious of her. Lucy couldn’t escape on her own; her disastrous attempt had proved that. And she had no idea how she was going to get to the Wish Book without Lord Grave’s network of spies detecting her.

Things really can’t get any worse, she thought.

But then they did.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE EYES OF CARUTHERS

It had been two days since Violet had gone missing. All the Grave Hall servants were gathered round the kitchen table. Except for Mrs Crawley, who was attempting a new recipe to distract herself. She had her back to everyone as she stirred a pot on the kitchen range, but Lucy could see the housekeeper-cum-cook’s shoulders shaking as she stifled a sob.

“His Lordship’s having a meeting now with Lady Sibyl and the rest of … his friends. They’re going to help organise a search. Poor little Violet.” Vonk said. He took out a large striped handkerchief and blew his nose.

“Poor little milksop,” agreed Becky, stroking Smell, who was curled up on her lap. She sounded almost sad.

As for Lucy, she said nothing. Fury boiled inside her as she reread the names of the missing children listed in the Penny. Couldn’t any of Lord Grave’s household see what was happening? It was obvious to Lucy that Lord Grave had taken Violet. It was ruthlessly clever of him. No one would suspect him of kidnapping his own scullery maid.

What would he do to her? Hand her over to the mysterious Ma’am? Violet with her kind heart and soft voice would have no chance of saving herself. Lucy couldn’t bear to think of the terrible magic that might be practised on the poor child. Lucy looked up from the Penny and gazed round the table. Should she tell the other servants her suspicions? But what if one of them, or all of them, were in on it too?

After a while, Vonk got up from the table and went into his butler’s pantry, which lay just off the kitchen. When he came back, he was wearing his green floppy gardener’s hat.

“I think the best thing we can do is get back to work. Mrs C, is there any chance I could snaffle a couple of pails of your latest home-brew? The one with your Extra Violent Mustard Mix added to it?”

Mrs Crawley turned from the range. Her beard stuck out in tufts, as though she’d been raking it with her fingers and her eyes were red. “Resorting to drink won’t help us find Violet,” she sniffled.

“I don’t want to drink it! The roses have terrible greenfly and I thought a good drenching with that ale might be just the thing.”

“Oh, Vonk!”

“Bernie, I’m not saying the ale isn’t delicious – merely that it’s multifunctional,” Vonk said hastily.

Mrs Crawley brightened a little. “I’m sure I can spare some in that case.”

“Thank you. Why don’t you have a little nap before starting on lunch, Mrs C? You look worn out.”

“I might just do that. Lucy, would you help Vonk take a couple of pails to the potting shed?”

Lucy agreed readily, because at last a plan to successfully steal the Wish Book was forming in her mind and a visit to Vonk’s potting shed could provide her with something she needed.

She and Vonk made their way outside in silence. When they were nearly at the potting shed, Lucy decided to risk some subtle questioning to find out if she could trust Vonk or not.

“Do you think Lord Grave will be able to find Violet?”

“If anyone can find her, he can,” Vonk said.

“Because he’s so important? And he’s powerful too, isn’t he? In … lots of different ways.”

They had reached the shed by now. Vonk opened the door and ushered Lucy inside. “Yes, that’s right. Now put that bucket on the work table over there,” Vonk said, his back to Lucy as he took down various packages from the shelves that lined one wall.

Lucy did as he asked, then swiftly surveyed the shed. There were various gardening tools hanging from hooks on the wall opposite the shelves. While Vonk’s back was still turned, Lucy unhooked a small pair of shears.

“Do you think there’s a link between Violet and the other children?” Lucy asked, when she’d safely pocketed the tool.

Vonk turned back to the bucket and began carefully pouring the contents of a bottle into it. “Ma’am—” He stopped, looking horrified. The bottle slipped from his grasp and landed in the bucket with a splash. He began fishing it out. “I mean, ma … many people think that is a possibility.”

There was an awkward pause. Lucy’s heart thudded. So Vonk was part of the kidnapping plot too! He was bound to warn Ma’am and Lord Grave that he’d slipped up. And that meant Lucy was in more immediate danger than ever.

“Well, if you don’t need me for anything else, I’ve got some boots to see to,” she said, forcing herself to sound calm, even though her insides squirmed with fear as well as disappointment at Vonk’s treachery.

“That’s fine. Off you go,” Vonk replied in a strained voice.

“See you later then,” Lucy said brightly. She left the shed as nonchalantly as she could and began strolling back to the house.

But when she was sure Vonk couldn’t see her, she raced over the manicured lawns. As she ran, she noted with relief that Lord Grave, his revolting cronies and Bathsheba were down by the lake, having a pre-lunch walk. No doubt planning their next despicable move, Lucy thought. Which could well involve something nasty happening to Lucy herself. There was now no time to lose in putting her plan to steal the Wish Book into action. Then she could free the raven and he would help her escape. After that, she would find a way to rescue Violet and the other missing children.

Lucy whipped through the vegetable garden and into the kitchen, which was thankfully empty. Mrs Crawley must be having her nap. Lucy caught her breath for a moment. As she did so, she had a sudden thought. She rummaged through the kitchen store cupboard and grabbed a tin before creeping upstairs, heading for her room.

She paused in the hallway to check for danger. But the house was quiet. Becky was nowhere to be seen, neither was Smell. Lucy sprinted off again and up the stairs. But in her haste, she tripped on the last stair before the first-floor landing, staggered and then fell sideways. She crashed into the cabinet she’d once hidden behind. It rocked on its spindly legs and its doors flew open. A number of wooden boxes tumbled out. Lucy picked herself up and was about to run off again when she noticed each box had a label pasted on it. She grabbed one of them. The label said Harold Jameson. Inside was a toy ship, with its masts broken. Lucy knelt down and opened another labelled Deborah Jones. A red hair ribbon lay inside, torn in half. Heart thumping, Lucy noticed that one of the boxes looked newer than the rest.

Violet Worthington!

Lucy fumbled the box open. Something green and woolly lay inside.

Caruthers.

Violet’s beloved knitted frog.

Poor Caruthers looked rather mangled. Two strands of black thread hung from where his button eyes had been and a hole in his stomach was leaking sawdust.

There was something else in the box too. A note. The handwriting was cramped, untidy and very hard to read. Lucy could just about make out the words Ma’am particularly wants to but the rest was illegible.

This was it.

Conclusive, absolute proof that Lord Grave was responsible for the missing children together with Ma’am, who seemed to have something ‘particular’ in mind for poor little Violet.

Lucy was sure of only one thing.

She needed to act now and act fast. Otherwise Violet and the other children were as good as dead. And soon Lucy would be too.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LUCY’S EXPLODING BRAIN

Cramming Caruthers into her pocket, Lucy continued dashing up the stairs, more determined than ever to steal the Wish Book, free the raven and bring Lord Grave, Ma’am and all the rest of them to justice. When she reached her room, she snatched up a cloth bag belonging to Becky and stuffed the tin she’d taken from the kitchen inside it along with a long woollen scarf she found in Becky’s chest of drawers. Panting, she knelt by the fireplace. Turner and Paige were motionless on the tiles as normal.

“Psst!” Lucy hissed.

Neither of them moved.

“Oi!” Lucy said more loudly. She poked Mr Turner in the side, then did the same to Mr Paige. The tiles were cold and hard against her fingertips. Why weren’t they waking up?

Lucy sat back on her heels, thinking hard. What was it she’d said when she’d first seen them come to life? It seemed like weeks had passed since then, but it was only a few days ago. Wasn’t it something about wanting to learn how magic worked?

Learn.

Libraries were places of learning. Perhaps then, that was the word that woke Turner and Paige?

So she whispered, “I want to learn about … magicians.” It seemed somewhat feeble, but right now her aim was to get inside the library and there was no time to come up with something more convincing.

After a few moments, the two men began to move in their tiles. Once again, at his invitation, she took Mr Turner’s hand and they passed through the bedroom fireplace into the library.

There above the mouse-sized door were the books, one of which could solve all her problems. If only she could grab it now! But she had to wait for the right moment. So, she reluctantly went through the palaver of watching the mouse-sized door grow to Lucy-sized before joining the seven Mr Paiges in the reading room. This time it was the Mr Paige who stood furthest to the left who spoke first.

“You want to learn about magicians?”

“Yes.”

“What exactly do you want to know?”

“I … um … how does someone become a magician?”

“Magicians are born not made.”

“And … how do magicians do magic, exactly? Do they cast spells?”

“There are various ways of creating magic. Spells, potions, even the power of the imagination.”

“Lord Grave’s a magician, isn’t he?” Lucy said.

“That’s correct,” said Mr Paige.

“And … are there good magicians and evil ones?”

“Yes, that is the case,” Mr Paige said slowly. He sounded wary, as though he was rather uncomfortable with the way the conversation was heading. “And on that note, I think we should stop for today.”

“But I have lots more to ask!”

“As we said last time you visited, we are only allowed to tell you a small amount at each visit. Otherwise—”

“Oh, yes, my brain might explode. Ridiculous idea. As if,” Lucy said and rolled her eyes.

“Not at all! It’s a genuine risk!”

“But I’ve hardly asked you anything. I think we should go on.”

“No. We really mustn’t.”

Lucy stamped her foot. “But you have to! I–– Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!”

“What’s wrong?” the Mr Paiges cried.

Lucy collapsed to the floor. She curled herself into a little ball, clutching her head. “I think it might be too late. All this talk about magicians. It’s too much to take in. I think my brain is going to explode. I have a terrible headache.”

The seven Mr Paiges crowded round her. They shouted for Mr Turner, who raced in, almost dashing his own brains out as the door was still Lucy-sized not Mr Turner-sized.

“Oh, Mr Paige, what’s happened?”

“She says we’ve overfilled her brain!”

“What exactly have you been telling her? Have you overdone it?”

“Overdone it! Of course not! We hardly told her anything! We’re always very careful about how much information we impart!”

“Well, you’ve done something to the poor child!”

The seven Mr Paiges surrounded the one Mr Turner and they all started shouting at each other. And while they bickered, snapped and argued, Lucy uncurled herself, crawled through the legs of the Mr Paiges surrounding her and sped out of the Reading Room, back into the library. Silently, she closed the door behind her and turned the key in the lock before taking it out of the keyhole and dropping it in her jacket pocket.

She leaned against the door, shaking.

“Lucy, let us out!” shouted Mr Turner. “Please, miss!”

“Will not!” Lucy shouted back.

She had to hurry. Paige and Turner were clearly magical in some way and could probably deal with a locked door. If only it was mouse-sized again. Even in their fireplace form, Turner and Paige were almost a foot high and too big to get through it. At the very least, it might slow them down.

As she was thinking this, the door wobbled.

Became Bathsheba-sized.

Dog-sized.

Smell-sized.

Mouse-sized!

Lucy watched, amazed and delighted. Locking the door must have automatically triggered its size-changing magic.

Now all she had to do was find the Wish Book and take it to the raven.

Lucy pushed one of the leather sofas against the mouse-sized door, underneath the shelf that held the metal books. This also helped to muffle Turner and Paige’s shouts. The sofa had a high back and by perching on it and stretching up as high as she possibly could, Lucy’s fingertips reached the edges of the books. Now she was up closer, she could see there were five of them. Four metal books, one gold, one silver, one copper, one iron, and one book that wasn’t metal, but made of glassy, see-through material.

Lucy eased out the book with the iron cover. Everything inside it was black, including the pages. She shook it to see if it would do anything, tell her anything. But it remained dark and silent so she dropped it on the sofa. She pulled the gold book out next, but the pages inside were in a language she didn’t understand. Lucy slung it on the sofa in disgust. How was she supposed to know which book to take when she couldn’t even read their contents? She tried the silver book next. It was tucked further back on the shelf than the others and she couldn’t quite reach it. She stood on her tiptoes, wobbling dangerously. Still not near enough. She gave a little leap and just managed to snatch the silver spine before losing her balance and toppling backwards. She tumbled off the sofa and on to the floor, the book falling with her. One of its pointy metal corners struck her on the head.

She lay dazed for a few seconds. When the library stopped tilting giddily around her, she sat up and grabbed the book. It was very heavy and had a sharp metallic smell. She opened it carefully and peered at the thin silver pages. Engraved on the very first page were the words:

For Wishes, Spell.

She’d found it!

But those were the only words in the whole book. The other pages had holes punched in them, just big enough for Lucy to be able to stick her finger through. The first page had one hole, the second two and so on. How could this strange object possibly free the raven? It seemed impossible to imagine.

Lucy stuck her finger through the first hole on the first page. The edges of the hole were as lethal as one of Mrs Crawley’s chopping knives and she had to be careful not to slice off her fingertip.

“I wish I was at home at Leafy Ridge,” she said firmly.

Nothing.

She was still in the library. No need to panic, she told herself. The raven would know how to use it. She’d better stop dithering and get it to him.

But as she was shoving the Wish Book inside the bag she’d brought with her, there was a rattling noise in the library fireplace. Lucy watched, horror-struck, as a figure appeared in the tiles. It had prominent eyebrows and a miniature black panther at its side.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SNIFFED OUT

Lucy dived behind the library curtains and drew them closed, leaving a small gap to peer through. Seconds later, Lord Grave and Bathsheba slid from the tiles, changing from the miniature ceramic version of themselves to full-sized flesh, blood, fur and teeth. Another figure appeared in the tiles. A figure wearing a beard, a flowery dressing gown and fluffy pink slippers.

“Where on earth have those two got to?” Lord Grave said, frowning in his bushy-eyebrow way. “They’re as bad as Smell. None of them have kept a proper eye on the girl, despite my instructions. Now look at the mess we’re in.”

“If only she hadn’t found Caruthers,” said Mrs Crawley, who was now her full six-foot-three-and-a-quarter-inches self.

Lucy almost cried out in anger and sorrow. It was horrible to discover that the housekeeper-cum-cook was in on Lord Grave’s wicked activities. She must have only been pretending to be upset about Violet. Although she’d put on a most impressive act. Even now, her eyes were still rather red.

“If we don’t find her, we’re all at risk, Mrs C. Ma’am most of all. Imagine if Lucy goes to the authorities. Or the Penny Dreadful, come to think of it. If people begin nosing around …”

“I don’t think she’ll have got far,” Mrs Crawley said.

Bathsheba suddenly leaped on to the sofa Lucy had shoved against the wall and started growling and clawing at the leather.

“That sofa’s not usually there,” Lord Grave said in a soft voice.

“And those books are normally on that shelf,” Mrs Crawley replied.

Lord Grave and Mrs Crawley hurried forward and rolled the sofa away from the wall. While they were distracted, Lucy attempted to open the library window. But the handle was stiff and bound to make a harsh grating noise that would be overheard. She’d have to wait for the right opportunity.

“Turner, Paige, are you in there?” Lord Grave was shouting.

“Your Lordship, is that you?” Mr Turner replied weakly. “We’re trapped! The girl, she tricked us!”

Lord Grave gave the mouse-sized door the briefest of glances. It grew Lord Grave-sized in an instant. The handle jiggled and rattled and then the door lurched open. Mr Turner and Mr Paige fell into the library, red-faced, choking, clasping their throats, as though they’d been struggling to breathe.

“The girl, your Lordship,” said Mr Turner raspily. “She did this.”

“The books,” said Mrs Crawley. “One’s missing.”

Mr Turner looked at the books on the sofa and then at the shelf. “It’s the Wish Book.”

“Why would she take that? How would she even know about it? Did you tell her, Turner?” Lord Grave demanded.

“Most certainly not. We did exactly as you asked. Gave her a little information each time.”

“She’s a clever girl. She’ll work out how to use it anyway,” Lord Grave said.

“But how could she have left the library?” Mr Turner asked.

At that very moment, Bathsheba began growling again. Then Lucy heard a snuffling noise.

Lucy quivered in her hiding place behind the curtains. Any second now, Bathsheba was going to sniff her out. Moving as quietly as she could, she took the scarf and the tin from her bag. She wound the scarf over her mouth and nose and loosened the lid of the tin before flinging the curtain aside.

“Lucy!” Lord Grave bellowed and stepped towards her.

“Dear girl,” Mrs Crawley chimed in.

“Keep away from me, all of you!” Lucy lobbed the tin she was holding at Lord Grave. The loosened lid flew off and a bright orange cloud of Extra Violent Mustard Mix immediately engulfed Lucy’s enemies. Lucy turned away to avoid any stray puffs of the mustard, but even so, her eyes began to water. With tears streaming down her face, she yanked the library window open and climbed outside. Behind her, she could hear Lord Grave and the others coughing, spluttering and sneezing. Good. They deserved to suffer.

Lucy crouched on the stone windowsill for a few seconds. She pulled the scarf down round her neck and breathed in the fresh, clean air while planning her next move. The ivy growing past the window was her only hope. Would it hold her? Maybe not with the added weight of the Wish Book. So she threw the bag containing the book on to the grass below, hoping that it wouldn’t get damaged. Then she began climbing down the ivy.

But the ivy had other ideas.

Lucy was halfway down the ivy when it began to poke into her ears and nose and mouth and generally make a nuisance of itself. But she didn’t panic. She’d suspected the ivy might be one of the measures Mr Turner had said were in place to protect the library and so she had come prepared. Blinking away tears (the ivy’s exploration of her nostrils was making her eyes water again), Lucy hung on to the ivy with one hand and fumbled around in her pocket with the other, taking out the shears she’d stolen from Vonk. She began hacking away at the creeping plant, which hissed and wriggled like an angry snake and began to shrivel. It loosened its hold just long enough for her to climb further down and then leap the last few feet to the ground.

Sounds of coughing and sneezing and raised voices were still coming from above. Lucy looked up. A few drops of rain fell on her upturned face. No, not rain. A fine mist of water was drifting down from the library window. Lord Grave must have magicked up some sort of shower in the library to damp down the Extra Violent Mustard Mix. She had to get going before he, Bathsheba and Mrs Crawley recovered enough to pursue her. Lucy raced across the grass, the bag holding the Wish Book banging painfully against her hip. She sped round to the back of the house and into the kitchen where Becky and Smell were having a sly nap.

“What’s going on?” Becky said, jerking awake. But Lucy didn’t reply. She whizzed past and out again, up the stairs and off towards the Room of Curiosities.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
HAVOC CREATED

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it!” Lucy shouted, when she’d hurriedly taken the glass cover off the raven.

“The Wish Book? You managed it?” the raven said, stretching out his metal wings in triumph. “Brilliant girl!”

“But he knows. Lord Grave knows I’ve stolen it. He’ll work out where I am, any second!” Lucy’s words came out in a frantic tumble.

“Open the book,” the raven said, hopping to the ground.

Lucy sat on the cold marble floor and did as the raven said.

“But how does it work? Oh no! You can’t tell me, can you?”

The raven stared at Lucy. “Drat it! That’s right!”

“You can write it though, like last time?”

“Of course I can!” The raven darted over to a dusty corner of the room as before. Lucy followed him, carrying the Wish Book. Again using his beak as a pen, the raven wrote:

26 pages. Page 1=A

Lucy gazed at the raven and shook her head, not understanding.

“Think. Think about the pages. What else has twenty-six parts?” The raven said urgently.

Lucy put her hands to her head, willing her brain to think fast. “The alphabet. I see! The first page is A, the second B and so on like that!”

“Yes! What do the words on the first page say?”

“To Wish, Spell. So I have to … spell out the wish?”

“Yes! Yes!” The raven took flight and flew around the room, cawing wildly.

“What should I wish for exactly?” Lucy shouted up at him.

The raven landed and scuffed over the dust with his claws before writing in it again. This time he wrote:

CREATE HAVOC.

“That’s what I have to wish for? Create Havoc? What will that do? Cause a distraction so we can escape?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“But what about wishing I was back with my mother and father? What about Violet and the others?”

“We can attend to all that afterwards. Think, Lucy, think. If you wish yourself back home with your parents, then that’s where you’ll be, not here. How then will I get free? How will we help the other children?”

“Can’t you make your wish afterwards?”

“No. I’d still be raven-formed. The Wish Book only works with a human’s touch. Please, Lucy. We need to hurry. If we don’t … we may not be in time to save your little friend.”

Lucy sat down again and opened the Wish Book. She ran her fingertips over the three holes that represented the letter C. After that, she turned to the eighteenth page, R, then continued back and forth over the pages, the cold metal growing warm under her fingers.

At last, she reached the final C of CREATE HAVOC and was about to run her fingers over the corresponding three holes when something needle-sharp plunged into her shoulder. It was Smell. He was clinging to her, digging his claws in.

“Arrgh! Where did you come from? Get off me!” she cried. “Get off!”

“The last letter! The last letter!” shrieked the raven, flapping its wings. It launched itself at Smell and grabbed the cat’s tail in its beak, dragging him off. Lucy shrieked in pain as Smell’s claws raked the back of her neck. The two animals fell to the floor in a snarling tangle of metal and fur.

Eyes watering in pain, Lucy used her sleeve to wipe away the blood trickling down her neck. Then she brushed her fingers over the three holes that stood for C. In the same instant that her fingers touched the final hole, Smell and the raven stopped fighting.

“Cccccckkkkkk!” said the raven, before keeling over backwards. It lay motionless, legs pointing towards the ceiling.

Lucy dropped the Wish Book in shock.

“You killed him, you stupid, stupid animal!” she shouted at Smell.

Smell was backing away from the dead raven, growling, belly low against the ground, his one and a half ears flattened against his skull. Black smoke began billowing from the raven’s chest, as though its heart was on fire. Before Lucy could fathom this, the smoke filled the Room of Curiosities, blinding her and making her throat burn and itch. She staggered about, coughing. The smoke grew even thicker and swirled around her. So did horrible thoughts.

I’m going to die here.

I’ll never get home to Leafy Ridge. Never see Mother or Father again. Violet will meet a horrible end. And no one will ever discover what happened to all the other stolen children. Lord Grave and Ma’am and the others will have got away with it.

She shook her head to clear it. Thinking of her father had reminded her of something. Because he so often nearly set the kitchen alight when he was scorching pies, Lucy had taken the trouble to learn some basic fire safety. So she knew that she should keep as close to the ground as possible where the air was fresher. She dropped to the marble floor and began to crawl along. But the smoke quickly blackened and thickened even more. She heard Smell wail pitifully. The smoke gathered itself into a thin whirling tube, like a hurricane. Light flickered and crashed at the centre of the hurricane, growing brighter and brighter. The light swallowed the smoke and then flashed hard and fast and loud, dazzling Lucy and making her ears ring.

When the light faded and she could see again, the last of the smoke was drifting in dark wisps towards the ceiling.

In place of the whirling hurricane stood a tall thin man.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A COMPLETE DISASTER

Smell leaped at the man’s face, teeth bared, claws unsheathed. But the man was ready for him, grabbing the scruff of his neck before flinging him away. Smell crashed into some of the other curiosities in the room and lay motionless where he fell, amongst shards of glass.

As for Lucy, before she could do anything, the man reached down and whipped the scarf from round her neck, using it to tie her hands together behind her back. Then he forced her face down on the ground and used the trailing ends of the scarf to tie her ankles together before taking a handkerchief from his pocket and tying it round her mouth. Lucy hoped that the handkerchief was at least clean.

With Lucy safely trussed up, the man bent over the charred remains of the raven. What was left of the bird’s metal casing was melting away, leaving a skeleton behind. Small black buds sprouted from the bones, blossoming into glossy black feathers. When it was fully restored, the raven struggled back to its feet, real feet now with real claws. It opened its beak and cawed before fluttering on to the man’s shoulder.

“Nevermore, we are ourselves again. Free,” said the man. His voice was that of the clockwork raven. He straightened the very old-fashioned three-cornered hat he wore and retied the blue ribbon fastened at the end of his long pigtail, which was black, threaded with grey.

The bird on his shoulder replied in a creaky, cackling voice, “Indeed, but we mustn’t stay here. What are you planning to do with the girl?”

“Take her with us,” the man replied.

“No!” Lucy shouted. “You can’t! You said you’d get me back home! And what about Violet and the stolen children? We need to tell someone what’s happening!” But of course her mouth was stuffed with handkerchief, so this just came out as, “Mmmph!”

“I think little Lucy is upset,” said the man. Then he bent down, his dark brown eyes meeting hers.

“I lied, I’m afraid,” he said.

“One of his many bad habits,” Nevermore remarked from her perch on the man’s shoulder.

The man straightened up and strode over to the Wish Book, which Lucy had left lying on the floor, but he didn’t pick it up.

“Do it quickly! They’ll be here soon!” shrieked Nevermore.

“Patience. I need the girl’s help,” the man said. Then he whispered something to Nevermore, who hopped off his shoulder, fluttered over to Lucy and landed on her head. Lucy screamed as the bird clawed at her scalp and began pulling out strands of hair with her beak. Tears of pain and rage trickled down Lucy’s face.

“Excellent!” said the man.

“Enough?” said Nevermore.

“For now.”

The man crouched next to Lucy again and dipped each of his fingers in the tears trickling down her cheeks. When each fingertip was wet, the man held them in front of his face. White sparks danced and sizzled over his hands.

“Now we can begin,” said the man, picking up the Wish Book. He opened it and began turning the pages back and forth with the fingers he’d dipped in Lucy’s tears. He worked so quickly, the pages blurred.

A second later, Lord Grave, Bathsheba, Vonk and Mrs Crawley all came crashing into the Room of Curiosities, tumbling over each other in their haste. When they’d scrambled to their feet (and paws), they stood gawping at Lucy, Nevermore (who was still perched on the back of Lucy’s head) and the strange man.

“Havoc Reek. So you’re free,” Lord Grave said. Bathsheba stood next to him, growling.

“Credit where it’s due, Grave. You’ve done well to keep us this long. That was a clever enchantment, although a little cruel, don’t you think?” Havoc Reek said, continuing to spell with the Wish Book.

“You took my son!” Lord Grave bellowed, although it was a hoarse sort of bellow due to the after-effects of the Extra Violent Mustard Mix.

Havoc Reek made a scoffing noise.

Lucy remembered the painting of Lady Grave and Little Lord Grave. Vonk had said that little Lord Grave was dead. Had this man killed him?

“Let the girl go,” Lord Grave said.

“I could. But I won’t. Come any nearer and Nevermore will peck a hole in her jugular. She’ll die in seconds.”

Nevermore hopped on to Lucy’s shoulder blade and Lucy felt the cold sharp jab of the bird’s beak against her neck. Smell, who had recovered by now and was crouched next to Lord Grave and Bathsheba, yowled and wriggled his bottom, as though preparing to pounce.

“You don’t have any power to escape. The Wish Book won’t work for you now,” Lord Grave said.

“You’d be surprised.” Havoc’s fingers grew still. He looked up from the Wish Book. At the same time a slash appeared in mid-air, a ragged bright slash like the one Lucy had seen above the driveway when Lord Grave’s dinner guests had arrived.

“Don’t do it!” Lord Grave stepped forward menacingly. “We’ll find you anyway.”

“No nearer!” Havoc screamed and grabbed Lucy.

The slash opened wider. Became a hole. There was nothing but darkness inside it.

“Let her go. I won’t stop you escaping if you do,” Lord Grave said.

“I know why you want her. She comes with me. So does the Wish Book.”

Lord Grave lunged at Havoc, but it was too late. Havoc pushed Lucy head-first through the hole, as though he was threading a giant needle. As Lucy felt herself fall, she heard a familiar gruff accented voice say, “Wet my whiskers, Grave, this is a complete disaster.”

She briefly recognised it as the voice from the argument she’d overheard outside the drawing room, and wondered again who it belonged to.

Then the darkness took her.

Lucy shivered and opened her eyes. Her arms and legs were stiff and cold. It was as though she’d fallen asleep on one of the chilly marble slabs that kept Bathsheba’s meat cold in Mrs Crawley’s pantry. She was lying on her side in a round room with grey, curved stone walls and a high narrow window made of glass crisscrossed with strips of black metal. Snow was piled up against the outside of the window. Havoc suddenly loomed over her with Nevermore on his shoulder. He untied the handkerchief from her mouth.

“This isn’t Leafy Ridge! This is somewhere else entirely! You tricked me!” Lucy blurted out.

“No. I saved you. Saved you from Grave. He’d have followed us in a trice if I’d taken you home. I’m on your side, remember?”

“You ripped half my hair out! How is that being on my side?”

“It was a very stressful situation. I may have acted a little forcefully. Spoken immoderately. I’m going to untie you now. I trust you not to do anything stupid. You need to trust me in return. Do we have agreement?”

Lucy wasn’t at all sure she could trust this man and his vicious companion. He had freed her from Lord Grave’s clutches, but he’d also threatened to kill her. Still, she had little choice but to play along for the time being. “I suppose so.”

“You’re going to be friends? How touching,” cawed Nevermore as Havoc began untying Lucy.

“I’ll be back shortly,” Havoc said when Lucy was finally free. He turned on his heel and left, with the Wish Book tucked under his arm and Nevermore on his shoulder. Lucy heard him locking the door behind him.

After what seemed like hours, Havoc and Nevermore finally returned. Havoc was bundled up in a cloak trimmed with fur. Lucy stared at it jealously. She’d been pacing around the room for ages trying to keep warm.

“Where are we and what exactly is happening? And what about Violet and the other children? What are we going to do about them?” Lucy said.

“Have some patience, Lucy. It will all become clear. Let’s get out of here, it’s freezing.” He pulled his cloak tighter round himself.

“I had noticed,” Lucy said, blowing on her blue and frozen fingers.

“So insolent!” said Nevermore. “Shall I peck one of her eyes to quieten her down? Hazel ones are my very favourite. I particularly enjoy sucking out the middle part. So very tasty! Yum yum!” She flapped around Lucy’s head, forcing her to follow Havoc out of the room and to the bottom of a stone staircase.

“Do try to be nice, Nevermore,” Havoc said, grabbing Lucy’s arm and pulling her up the narrow stone steps. They twisted and turned until Lucy grew so dizzy she was almost glad Havoc had such a strong hold of her. At last, the stairs ended. Ahead lay a passageway lined with arched windows.

Lucy wrenched her arm from Havoc’s grasp and darted over to one of the windows, hoping to work out where she was. She glimpsed a flat frozen landscape that stretched for miles, white and empty. Snow drifted from the night sky.

“Come on,” Havoc said, dragging her away.

They reached a huge wooden door studded with black metal. Havoc turned the ring-shaped handle and opened the door. He strode over the threshold with Lucy firmly in tow.

At least this room was warm and bright. A friendly yellow glow came from several tall candelabras and a fire crackling in an enormous stone fireplace. A woman stood with her back to Havoc and Lucy, warming her hands over the flames. Her hair was red and she wore a warm-looking scarlet dress with black fur collar and cuffs.

The woman turned.

At once, Lucy twisted out of Havoc’s grip and scrambled her way back to the door. She fumbled for the handle. But Havoc was on her in a second, forcing her into the room again. She had no choice but to face the woman who had given her nightmares all these years.

Lady Red.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LADY RED

“Hello, sweet child. What a wonderful surprise. I could hardly believe it when Havoc told me you were here,” said Lady Red.

“This is Amethyst Shade. Are you pleased to be reunited?” Havoc was behind Lucy, but she could hear the smugness in his voice. She tried to stamp her heel down on his toes, but missed.

Amethyst Shade smiled. The light from the fire behind her cast a halo round her hair.

Afraid to meet Amethyst’s eyes, the eyes that she’d seen so often in her nightmares, Lucy stared at the walls instead. Then wished she hadn’t. The wallpaper depicted wild-eyed, long-fanged beasts eating smaller, more unfortunate creatures. Lucy shifted her gaze to the ceiling, where several small, blue glass bottles dangled from silver chains.

“Havoc, perhaps you might leave us now so Lucy and I can have a talk,” Amethyst said.

“Of course.” Havoc smiled a thin-lipped smile and bowed slightly. “We can get together later, my dear.”

“Call me that again and I’ll be forced to do something unspeakable to you.” For a second, Amethyst’s eyes glowed in the unnatural way they had in Lucy’s nightmares. If only mentally slamming a door could save Lucy now. But there was no escaping this terrifying woman any longer.

“You mustn’t mind Havoc,” Amethyst said when the two of them were finally alone. Her voice was surprisingly warm and gentle and her eyes had returned to a more normal blue colour. “He can be somewhat … acerbic, but he means well. Although I must admit that bird is a complete ruffian. But listen to me, chattering on while you’re nearly dead with exhaustion. Please. Sit down and rest.”

Lucy’s trembling legs were grateful for the offer and so she collapsed into one of the chairs next to the fire. Her head was spinning as she tried to make sense of everything.

“Don’t be afraid, Lucy. You’ll be safe here. I mean you no harm,” Amethyst said.

“I haven’t got the card,” Lucy blurted out. “It’s at Grave Hall. I’m sorry I stole it!”

“I don’t care about the card,” said Amethyst, smiling in a reassuring way. “It was never about the card. It was about you being safe. I knew he wanted to take you, even then.”

“Who? Lord Grave?” Lucy said, feeling increasingly bemused.

“Oh, my poor child, you’re shivering. I’m so sorry, you must be perished.” Amethyst went over to a wardrobe in the corner of the room, took out a fur-lined cloak, and brought it to Lucy, who wrapped herself in it, grateful for its warmth. Then she took a chair and set it opposite Lucy.

“As I said, Grave had his eye on you, so I kept my eye on him. But then you stole the card from me. I tried to find you again, but I couldn’t. Sometimes I felt I was getting close. I’m not sure if it was magic or instinct but I could sense you nearby. But then, almost like having a door slammed in my face, I’d lose you again. It was as though you had vanished.”

“I didn’t go anywhere.”

“How strange. Now tell me, what do you know about Grave’s activities? Has Havoc told you anything?”

“He couldn’t tell me much because of his enchantment, the one Lord Grave put on him.”

“What a clever … enchantment.”

“But I do know some things. I overheard Lord Grave talking to a horrible, thuggish-sounding man who I think works for a woman they call Ma’am. Lord Grave and the others have been kidnapping children on her orders. But I don’t know exactly why.”

Amethyst’s eyes grew brighter for a second and Lucy was afraid she’d made her angry. But then Amethyst simply sighed sadly. “Yes, the mysterious Ma’am. Her identity has always been kept secret, but I’m doing my best to find out who she is. Oh, it’s all so very evil, but so very clever. Taking children who won’t be missed by anyone. Orphans. Neglected children whose parents don’t care about them.”

Lucy was about to say, but I’m not an orphan. My parents don’t neglect me. But then she remembered how terrible life had been before she met Amethyst and stole the card. How her parents kept gambling, even when they didn’t have enough to eat. So it wasn’t surprising that she might have appeared somewhat uncared for.

“What do they do to the children they steal?” Lucy asked fearfully.

Amethyst left her seat and walked over to the window. She stared out at the snow for a few seconds. “Children are full of love, energy and curiosity. This makes them powerful in ways that are lost when they become adults. Grave, Ma’am and their cronies want to take that power for themselves. They use terrible magic to drain it out of children, not caring if they die in the process.” Amethyst turned back to Lucy. Tears were streaming down the woman’s cheeks.

Lucy’s own eyes blurred. “They have my friend Violet,” she said in a small voice. “She’s only little.”

Amethyst came over to Lucy’s chair and crouched beside her, taking Lucy’s cold hands in hers. They felt warm and soft. “Don’t despair. There’s always hope. And at least you’re safe now, here with me.”

“Where is here, exactly?”

“It’s best you don’t know where you are, sweet child. What you don’t know can’t be … forced out of you.”

“We’re a long way from Grave Hall, though, aren’t we? So why did it only take a few minutes to get from there to here?”

“That’s because you came by magic. Using normal methods of transport would take weeks.”

“Can Lord Grave use magic to get here too?” Lucy said, suddenly afraid that she wasn’t really safe after all.

“No one can come within several miles of this tower without my say-so.”

“If you’re a magician too, why can’t you do something to stop Lord Grave and Ma’am and the rest of them?”

Amethyst’s face grew solemn. “We tried in the past. Havoc and I. But when Grave found out what we were up to there was a battle. We fought hard, but Grave and his minions are very powerful.”

“And Ma’am too?”

“Yes. Ma’am was involved too, of course. We lost, and we found ourselves stripped of our magic and helpless. They caught Havoc and enchanted him, as you know. But I was luckier. I managed to retain just enough of my magic to escape and hide here.”

“If you’ve been stripped of your magic, does that mean you’re trapped here?” Lucy asked, anxious that she might be trapped too, if that was the case.

“It’s complicated to explain. But I can still use magic temporarily to leave here and for long enough to thwart the kidnappers.”

“What about the police? If you told them what was happening they could help, couldn’t they?”

“I’m like you, Lucy. I’m from a poor family. No one would take my word against Grave’s.”

Lucy nodded slowly. She’d been in the same boat, so she understood. “So how have you been thwarting the kidnappers?”

Amethyst smiled and her eyes glowed again, not with anger this time, Lucy thought, but with triumph. “I’ll show you.”

Amethyst took Lucy’s hand and led her out of the room and back down the twisty stone staircase to the floor below, then along a passageway with a door at the end of it.

“Now, I hope this will be a pleasant surprise for you.” Amethyst put her hand on the doorknob, then stopped. “One thing, Lucy. Don’t mention Ma’am to anyone just yet. I want to find out exactly who she is first. And I don’t want any of my guests made more afraid than they already are or to have information that could put them in danger later on.”

“Guests?”

“You’ll see,” Amethyst smiled warmly as she opened the door to a large round room. Like the room Lucy had just been in, it had a huge fireplace and tall candelabras. Thick, jewel-coloured rugs covered the floors. One was rolled up and a game of hopscotch was chalked out on the stone flags. A boy and a girl sat at a table with a game of chess laid out in front of them. They both looked up as Amethyst and Lucy entered.

“Hello, Mother! Have you rescued someone new? I didn’t know you were going out!” said the boy. His wavy black hair was shoulder-length and he had thick black eyebrows.

“I’ll explain later, Bertie. This is Lucy Goodly. The poor child has been incarcerated at Grave Hall until now. Can I leave her with you to settle in?”

Bertie sprang to his feet. “Of course!”

Amethyst gave Lucy a quick hug. “I’ll see you very soon, sweet child,” she said and left the room.

Lucy stood there, feeling rather awkward, until the boy laughed (he had a nice laugh, she thought) and said, “Don’t look so worried, we don’t bite! I’m Bertie. And this is Kathleen.” He pointed at the girl he’d been playing chess with.

The door flew open and another girl came running in. She was smaller and younger than Kathleen and Bertie. When she saw Lucy she stopped. Stared.

And then burst into tears.

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