‘Scarlett Spry, Super Spy.’ Scarlett rolled it around on her tongue. ‘Wow, that’s amazing. Did you just come up with that, just like that? I’ve been trying to think of a good name for ages!’
Hannah felt pleased. ‘I like making up rhymes like that. I try and write songs sometimes. I’ve been writing one since I got here.’
‘Really? Can I hear it?’
Hannah hesitated. ‘It’s not very good yet.’
‘So? You saw my drawings.’
‘Oh, all right. It starts like this . . .’ Hannah took a deep breath, then sang:
I’m coming home, I’m coming home, to a place I’ve never been,
My feet know the road, my eyes know the scene,
Although this is a place that I’ve never seen.
I’m coming home, I’m coming home, to a place I’ve never been,
My ears know the song, my heart knows the green,
Never have I felt so safe and serene.
‘That’s really good,’ Scarlett said. ‘I wish I could write stuff like that.’
‘I wish I could draw like you. You want to be an artist when you grow up?’
Scarlett’s cheeks went pink again. ‘Nah. No money in art. I want to be a famous actress. I do acting lessons too, you know.’
‘As well as music and karate and gymnastics?’ Hannah asked.
‘And horseriding and singing lessons,’ Scarlett said. ‘Well, it’s tough breaking into acting these days. I figure the more I can do, the better chance I have.’
Just then, Mrs Shaw knocked on the door. ‘Hungry, girls? This marmalade cake smells good.’
‘Marmalade cake?’ Scarlett cried. ‘My favourite!’
‘Me too,’ Hannah said, and together the two girls jumped up and raced out to the living room, where Mrs Shaw had made them hot chocolate and cut them slices of cake, still steaming gently and smelling delicious.
The Blue-Faced Hag
It was Halloween that weekend. Miss Underhill organised a street party in Fairknowe for all the children. There were prizes for the best costume and the best pumpkin lantern, dooking for apples, ghost stories and a walk to the witch’s pool.
‘What about trick or treating?’ Hannah asked, in the music room that Saturday afternoon.
‘We don’t really do that here,’ Scarlett said. ‘I mean, not the tricking anyway.’
‘That’s so American,’ Max said scornfully.
‘Here we go guising,’ Scarlett explained. ‘You go from door to door, and you’ve got to sing or tell a joke or tap-dance or something to get the treat.’
‘Let’s all go together,’ Donovan said. ‘We’ll sing “Loch Lomond”. That’s a good one for Halloween.’
‘Oh, spare me!’ Scarlett rolled her eyes.
‘Why? I mean, why is it a good one for Halloween?’ Hannah could only vaguely remember the chorus of the song, which went:
You’ll take the high road
And I’ll take the low road
And I’ll be in Scotland afore you.
But me and my true love will never meet again
On the bonny, bonny banks of Loch Lomond.
‘Because it’s about death,’ Donovan said with his usual intensity. ‘The low road is the spirit road that the dead travel home on. It was written by a guy who’d been condemned to death for fighting against the English . . .’
‘In the time of Bonnie Prince Charlie,’ Max put in.
‘. . . but his friend has been set free. So the friend gets to take the high road, you know, like the highway, but the other guy, the one that’s being hanged, will take the low road, the spirit road, and he’ll get to Scotland . . .’
‘Afore you!’ Max sang, with a broad dramatic gesture, knocking his music sheets off the stand so they cascaded to the floor.
‘People always sing it wrong,’ Donovan said with passion. ‘They do it all happy, but it’s a sad song, a lament.’
‘I guess we could really ham it up,’ Max said, on his knees to pick up the music sheets. ‘It could be fun.’
The Fäerie Knowe did a roaring trade, selling skeleton suits and witches’ hats and fright masks. Hannah put her own outfit together, with a black velvet skirt and her beret and lots of her mother’s powder and black eyeliner, but Scarlett turned up in the most expensive witch’s outfit the shop sold. Donovan dressed just as usual, with the addition of some black lipstick and nail polish, while Max wore his most tattered combat gear with a gory, red-splashed plastic axe stuck to his head.
‘Don’t be late coming home, my chick,’ Linnet said to Hannah, looking worried. ‘It’s not a night to be out wandering about in the dark.’
‘But the sun sets so early! It’s practically dark by four o’clock! Besides, I’ll be with the others.’
‘Don’t worry, Linnet, I’ll go with the kids,’ Roz said. She had only given her permission for Hannah to go after her daughter had begged her, and only because she was so glad Hannah was finally making a few friends. ‘I don’t like the idea of them being out alone on Halloween either. All sorts of crackpots come out on Halloween.’
‘It’s not the people I’m worried about,’ Linnet muttered. Only Hannah—whose ears seemed preternaturally sharp these days—heard her.
The four friends had great fun roaming up and down the streets, singing ‘Loch Lomond’ in the most mournful and heart-rending way, and collecting bags of lollies and chocolates, which they gave to Roz to carry.
Then, at dusk, Miss Underhill led an expedition up the hill and into the woods, everyone carrying plastic Halloween lanterns that Miss Underhill sold in the fairy shop for five pounds each.
She was dressed all in blue, with blue paint on her skin and a blue wig, and she carried a tall wooden staff and an enormous moon-shaped orange lantern. ‘I am the Cailleach Bheur, the blue-faced hag of winter,’ she intoned in a deep, scary voice. ‘I was worshipped here in Scotland for centuries before the missionaries came. I carry hailstones in my pockets to blight the crops, and with every strike of my staff I freeze the ground beneath me.’ Bam, bam! She struck the ground with each step.
‘One touch of my staff knocks all the leaves off the trees.’ Swish, swish! She swiped her staff through the twigs of a tree, bringing the leaves showering down. Everyone giggled. ‘The ocean’s whirlpool is my wash-pool . . .’
Hannah followed the swinging moon of her lantern, her breath puffing white before her.
‘Did you know you can find out who you’re going to marry tonight?’ Scarlett said. ‘You’ve got to sit by a mirror, with a candle burning and an apple in your hand . . .’
‘Don’t you know not to look in mirrors at night?’ Donovan said. ‘That’s how you see ghosts.’
‘That’s so not true!’
‘Yes it is. Anyone knows that.’
‘I tell you what you’re meant to do on Halloween,’ Max said. ‘You light two candles and you sit in the dark in front of the mirror, and then you say, “Bloody Mary” nine times, louder and louder and louder . . . “Bloody Mary . . . BLOODY MARY . . . BLOODY MARY . . .” and then she reaches through the mirror and scratches your eyes out!’
‘Why on earth would I want to do that?’ Hannah said.
‘I don’t know . . . for fun?’
‘Doesn’t sound like much fun.’
‘It’s better than sitting around and staring into a mirror waiting for your one true love to appear,’ Donovan said scornfully.
They came to the witch’s pool, black as ink under the yew tree, and everyone grew silent. The trees bent and swayed in a cold wind, and only the blackthorn tree that crowned the high hill was still irradiated with the last blood-red streaks of light.
Out of the corner of her eye Hannah saw shadows leaning over them and thought she could feel eyes watching them from the darkness. She remembered what Linnet had said. It’s an evil place now, that green hill. You mustn’t go there, my chick, not on your own, and not at noon or midnight, or dawn or dusk, and definitely not on any of the thin days.
Halloween was a thin day. Hannah pressed closer to her mother, who slung her arm about her shoulders protectively.
Miss Underhill sat on one of the yew tree’s thick, contorted roots, holding the moon-lantern under her chin so it shone upwards onto her face, blue and hollowed, with strange glittering eyes. She began to tell the story of Eglantyne, who was burnt to death here, and whose ghost was thought to haunt the clearing.
But it can’t, Hannah thought. Not if my father rescued her from the fire.
She had been thinking a lot about her great-grandmother’s story, and whether it could possibly be true. In the hag-stone vision she had seen her father and Eglantyne escape into the cave in the hill. What had happened to them then? If her father had the hag-stone with him, how had it ended up with a toad in the pond? She looked at the black water and shivered.
‘It’s much too cold to be out this late, listening to this nonsense,’ Roz said. She got to her feet, drawing Hannah with her and giving Miss Underhill a hostile glance. ‘Come on, let’s get home.’
Hannah waved to her friends, who glanced up in surprise, and then she walked away through the night-haunted trees. Roz walked beside her, hands shoved into her pockets.
‘You mustn’t listen to those old stories,’ she said gruffly. ‘There’s no ghost here at Wintersloe, and no curse either.’
Hannah knew that her mother was wrong. Magic existed, both benevolent and baneful, and she was stalked by the shadow of a centuries-old tragedy. She did not say anything, though, just slipped her hand through her mother’s arm and walked home with her in silence.
That night the wind moaned around the tower, rattling the bare branches of the wych elm and banging a loose shutter somewhere. Hannah lay and listened. She was sure she could hear high eerie cries, and the beat of wings and the drum of hooves. It’s only geese flying over, she told herself. Donovan’s pink-footed geese . . .
But her scalp was crawling and her skin was raised in goosebumps. There was a tight knot of fear in her stomach. Audacia, she told herself, and groped under her pillow for her hag-stone. She got out of bed and padded across to the east window, pressing her nose against the glass and looking towards Fairknowe Hill. All she could see was racing clouds and tossing branches. Hannah lifted the hag-stone to her eye.
And screamed.
Across the sky galloped a horde of strange beasts, ridden by tall beings with flashing eyes and streaming hair and whips of lightning, all speed and cruelty and darkness. And on Hannah’s windowsill crouched the winged gargoyle with the horns, its wicked face turning to glare at her with eyes burning red as embers.
Hannah dragged the curtains shut and ran round the room. At every single window crouched a gargoyle come to life. Their eyes glowed red as they snarled with the most bloodcurdling sound. Hannah drew shut every curtain, then ran back to bed, her heart pounding with terror. She burrowed under the bedclothes, the hag-stone and the key clutched against her chest, and listened with all her might. She heard jeers and catcalls, and the scrape of claws against stone, and then the rattling of the windows in their frames as the gargoyles tried to get in. Hannah thought of the stars of rowan twigs she had nailed above each window and door, and hoped it was true they protected against evil. The rattling and snarling continued for a few long minutes, then she heard howls of frustration and the flap of leathery wings as the gargoyles flew off to join the Wild Hunt. Gradually the gibbering and shrieking faded away. But Hannah did not sleep until she heard the first calls of the birds’ dawn chorus.
Two Hornet Queens
As the days grew shrunken and silvered with cold, Hannah’s life fell into a natural rhythm. She breakfasted every morning with her mother and great-grandmother, helping Lady Wintersloe with the cryptic crossword, while Roz pored over the guide book and planned their day. Then Hannah and Roz drove out in the rattletrap to see Scotland. They explored ancient castles, saw baby seals playing off icy beaches, visited ancient battlegrounds and climbed snow-dusted hills, before coming home for Linnet’s famous afternoon tea.
Hannah spent the rest of the time hanging out with whichever of her friends were free. Max and Scarlett rarely had the time during the week, for their afternoons were taken up with homework and music lessons, or, in Scarlett’s case, karate, drama, singing and horseriding lessons. Donovan turned up most afternoons, however, the roar of his motorised bicycle destroying the peace of the silent old house. The two of them would go tramping through the woods in the chilly dusk, looking for badgers or stags. Evenings were spent reluctantly in home schooling and, less reluctantly, reading by the fire.
Every Saturday afternoon the band would get together in the music room and practise. After Hannah said she thought Scarlett had fantastic rhythm and should take up drums, Scarlett was a little less sore about not being the lead singer any more. She began to muck around with the tambourine and the little hand-drum and found she had a real flair for it.
Otherwise, Hannah spent every free moment decoding her father’s notebook, or searching the house and the old castle for some kind of double rose, tapping on walls, twisting carved roses, examining tapestries and cushions, even digging under rosebushes in the garden, all to no avail. Her father had hidden the recovered loop of the puzzle ring too well.
One afternoon she came out of the tower room, locked the door behind her and turned to head down the steep, narrow steps. Suddenly Jinx darted forward right under her feet. Hannah tripped and fell heavily. The old iron key was flung out of her hand. Jinx launched herself into the air, caught the key in her mouth and, with a lithe twist, landed halfway down the steps and was racing away.
Hannah scrambled to her feet, ignoring the pain in her bruised knees, and raced after the bogey-cat. Jinx was quick and nimble, but Hannah was driven by fury and desperation. She flung herself on the grey cat, wrestled her to the ground and wrenched the key away. Jinx scratched her viciously, but Hannah fended her off roughly, exultant to have the key back in her hand. She shoved it deep into her pocket again and limped down the hall to the drawing room, where Lady Wintersloe and Roz were reading companionably together, while Linnet built up the fire.
‘Jinx just tripped me up on purpose!’ Hannah said furiously. ‘On the stairs! I could’ve broken my neck.’
‘Are you all right?’ Roz asked anxiously. ‘Let me see.’
‘On the stairs coming down from the old tower room?’ Lady Wintersloe asked. ‘Why, that’s where she tripped me up!’
‘She’s a wicked creature,’ Linnet said with intense feeling.
‘She likes to lurk around on those steps,’ Lady Wintersloe said. ‘I don’t know why. Maybe because your father spent so much time up in that room.’
Hannah rolled up her jeans to show her mother her red, bruised knees. ‘I hit my shoulder too.’
‘I’ll get you some cabbage leaves from the garden,’ Linnet said. ‘Nothing better for bruises!’
‘I think an icepack might do more good,’ Roz said. ‘They do look sore!’
She followed Linnet out, and Hannah sat down stiffly, putting her feet up on the footstool. ‘So was that where you broke your leg?’ she asked her great-grandmother with interest. ‘On those twisty stairs coming down from the tower room?’
Lady Wintersloe nodded. ‘Oh, it was silly of me, I know, going up those steps at my age. I thought I would have one more go at opening up that door. I was sure, you know . . . well, that your father had found the way to break the curse. He told me he was close. But then he disappeared . . . He’d always kept that door locked and I didn’t know where he’d hidden the key. I watched some show where the detective picked a lock with her hairpin, and so I thought I’d give it a try. But Jinx tripped me up before I even got to the door.’ She sighed.
Hannah slid her hand into her pocket and brought out the key. ‘I found it in my bedroom.’
‘But I looked everywhere! Where was it?’
Hannah told her, and Lady Wintersloe threw up her hands. ‘I never thought to look through thos
e old books. So you’ve been in your father’s secret room?’ She leant forward anxiously. ‘Any clues? I mean . . .’
‘On how to break the curse?’ Hannah gave a little nod. ‘I think so, though it’s hard to understand. It’s all in code.’
‘Be careful, my dear,’ Lady Wintersloe said. ‘Really, maybe it would be best to leave it alone. Your father . . .’ She dabbed her eyes. ‘Maybe it’s best not to meddle with such things.’
‘But don’t you want the curse to be broken?’ Hannah demanded.
Lady Wintersloe shrugged elegantly. ‘Of course! But not if it means risking yourself, Hannah. I don’t want to lose you too.’
Hannah scowled. She had no intention of giving up. ‘Won’t you help me, Belle? To at least decipher his code? Then we could maybe find out what happened to him?’
Her great-grandmother hesitated. ‘But what can I do?’ She indicated her broken leg with a graceful wave of her long, thin hand.
‘Well, he wrote cryptic clues . . . what do you think this one could mean?’ Hannah wrote on a piece of paper: two hornet queens flying around the one great chair.
‘Well, let’s see. Could be an anagram with “flying around” in it. Great chair. Mmmmm. I know! “Hornet” is an anagram of “throne”! Am I right? But why the two queens?’
‘Was there ever a time when there were two queens fighting over the throne?’ Hannah asked.
Lady Wintersloe nodded. ‘I guess that would be Elizabeth the First and Mary, Queen of Scots.’
Of course, Hannah thought.
Lady Wintersloe went on musingly, ‘Mary declared herself queen of England as well as of Scotland when Elizabeth first inherited the throne. That was because in the eyes of the Catholics Mary had a better claim than Elizabeth, who had been declared illegitimate by her father. You could say that was why Elizabeth cut off her cousin’s head all those years later—to make sure of the crown on her own head.’