The Last Secret by Sophie Cleverly

Author:Sophie Cleverly [Sophie Cleverly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2018-11-14T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

SCARLET

hesitated before the dark void of the open dumbwaiter.

Penny was glaring at me. “What are you waiting for?” she asked. “This was your lot’s genius plan, so you can blooming well get on with it.” She gave me a gentle shove, which from Penny was about the closest you would get to a hug.

I reached forward and pulled myself up into it. I had to curl tightly into a ball, and I couldn’t turn round. Hadn’t Ivy managed this more easily last year? We must have grown.

“Here we go,” I heard Penny’s voice say from behind me. I heard a whirring, creaking sound as she began winching and the dark cupboard lurched downwards.

I breathed slowly, in and out. It’s fine, I told myself. Small, dark spaces can’t hurt you.

There was a strange, sick feeling in my stomach, like I was falling slowly. I tried very, very hard not to move. I had a sudden fear that my hair might get caught or I’d fall backwards and get scraped along the wall. I clutched my legs more tightly. The noise grated against my ears.

Eventually, I felt some fresh (or at least slightly fresher) air on my back, and everything got lighter.

And then there was a jolt, and the thing stopped. Cautiously, I reached behind me, and couldn’t feel a wall. Instead I felt something like fabric.

I tried to climb out, but I was stuck. My limbs were folded at awkward angles. There was only one thing for it, and it wasn’t going to be very graceful. So I took a deep breath, and tipped myself out backwards.

I landed heavily on the carpet with a thud.

As I stared up at the ceiling, my head spinning, I realised that the dumbwaiter had been covered with a curtain on this level instead of the wooden doors it had up above. And thank goodness for that, because it was only just now occurring to me that I could have been trapped in there.

I climbed to my feet and turned to look around. I was in a small corridor within Matron’s suite of rooms with nothing much in it, save for a plant and a wooden chest. I ventured out cautiously, but there was no sign of Matron. Of course, if she had been there, she probably would’ve noticed when a girl fell out of her wall.

Matron’s living room was large with bright, airy windows and framed paintings all over the patterned wallpaper. It was full of comfortable-looking wooden furniture, draped with blankets. A wireless sat on a table in the centre surrounded by magazines, and a pair of knitting needles with some half-finished pink knitting had been set down beside it.

Through an archway I glimpsed a kitchen that looked fairly tidy, with a dresser full of pink and white china. Through another archway I could see Matron’s bedroom, containing a cosy double bed covered with quilts – far nicer than our lumpy singles.

But before I could investigate any further, I heard a soft knock on the door.

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