Wormwood Mire by Judith Rossell

Author:Judith Rossell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2016-10-06T04:00:00+00:00

Misfortune always comes to those

Who go to fairs and puppet shows.

She frowned, nodded firmly and said, ‘Yes, let’s.’

Fourteen

Miss Araminter said they might walk into the village. She reminded Stella to post the letter to the Aunts, saying, ‘They will be anxious to hear of your safe arrival, my dear,’ which Stella thought rather unlikely. They put on their coats and hats. Strideforth wound his long scarf around and around his neck. Anya perched on top of Hortense’s hat, like an elegant decoration. They left Henry behind in the kitchen with two tins of sardines, and they could hear his angry screams as they pulled on their boots in the yard.

‘Last time he came with us to the village, he was very bad,’ said Strideforth. Hortense frowned at him, and he said, ‘Oh, you know he was, Hortense. He was very, very bad. He was enraged by the feathers on that lady’s hat, so he snatched it right off her head and flew up to the top of the church tower and tore it to bits. Miss Araminter says now when we go to the village, he must stay at home.’

Stella giggled, and Hortense gave a reluctant smile.

Mr Burdock appeared with a wheelbarrow of coal.

‘Good afternoon,’ said Strideforth. Mr Burdock grunted something, trundled the wheelbarrow across the yard and poured the coal down the chute that led to the furnace.

Stella pushed her foot into her boot and felt a scratch. ‘Ouch!’ She turned the boot upside down and shook it. A little thorn fell out. It was black and curved and very sharp. She flicked it away, took off her stocking and looked at her foot. There was a scratch and a bead of blood, no bigger than the head of a pin. She wiped it away, pulled her stocking back on, put on her boot and laced it up.

Strideforth said, ‘Are you ready? Let’s go.’

They followed the drive around to the front of the house.

‘Which is the nursery?’ Stella asked Strideforth.

He pointed. ‘That window there, at the end.’

Stella walked backwards up the drive, looking at the window of the nursery. She thought of her mother crying in the rocking chair, watching and waiting. ‘It’s so strange to think of her here. Who was she waiting for? And what was she doing, at night, down in the summerhouse by the lake? I think she was going to meet someone.’

‘It’s very strange, really,’ said Strideforth.

‘And nobody will tell me anything. My Aunts would never answer my questions. Mrs Burdock wouldn’t say, and Jem asked her, and she wouldn’t tell him either. But I think she knows something.’

‘What happened, do you think?’ asked Strideforth.

‘Something dreadful.’ Stella gazed up at the window. ‘But even so, I do want to know.’

‘You remembered some things,’ said Strideforth. ‘Perhaps you will remember more, if you try.’

Mrs Burdock was hanging up washing outside the gatehouse, frowning at Jem, who was crouched nearby in the little vegetable garden, weeding diligently. He looked up and grinned at them, but did not stop work.

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