Alice-Miranda Takes the Lead (7 page)

Alice-Miranda and Bonaparte thundered on through the woods until Bonaparte finally came to a halt outside what must once have been a gigantic vegetable patch. Bounded by a tumbledown fence still high enough to keep the pony out, Alice-Miranda had just managed to stop herself flying over his head when Bony stopped dead in his tracks. She could see the overgrown rows of gardens, a jumble of weeds sprouting from the hardened earth – rather like Mr Trout's uncontrollable clumps of ear hairs, she thought to herself.

‘It's about time you stopped, Bonaparte Napoleon Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones,' Alice-Miranda panted. ‘Thank goodness for that fence. You're a very naughty pony. And there are no cabbages here anyway, you silly old boy. I don't know where we are or how far we've come. And poor Sloane – I hope she's all right.'

Bonaparte whinnied and pawed at the ground, eager to see for himself whether there was anything worth having in the patch. But Alice-Miranda had had enough. She was a very good rider, although no child her age could match Bony's strength when he decided there were free vegetables on offer.

Alice-Miranda looked about her. She had been so preoccupied with getting Bonaparte to stop, she hadn't really taken much notice of where they were. But she did recall passing through a set of enormous derelict gateposts. As Alice-Miranda wheeled Bonaparte around, she noticed a large outbuilding in the distance. She decided to see if there was anyone who might be able to help her find her way back to school.

Digging her heels in, Alice-Miranda urged Bonaparte forward. But he stayed put. She tried again, giving him a sharp kick to the left flank, but
he refused to move. There was only one thing for it. She fossicked about in her jacket pocket and found five slightly crumbled sugar cubes. Alice-Miranda dismounted and pulled the reins over Bonaparte's head, then showed the greedy pony one cube. He whinnied loudly and reached out to snaffle the treat from her outstretched hand.

‘I have some more, Bony,' Alice-Miranda informed him. ‘But only if you follow me.'

Bonaparte might have been stubborn but he was not stupid and decided that it was better to have
some
treats than none. He followed Alice-Miranda back towards the outbuilding. She stopped every twenty paces and offered the little beast another cube, which he greedily gulped.

Along the gravel pathway, ancient urns on tall plinths poked through the undergrowth. Alice-Miranda thought they looked quite like some she had at home at Highton Hall, except for their state of decay.

As the tiny girl and her pony reached the building, she realised that there were, in fact, several separate structures bounded by a high brick wall. The entrance to the complex was through a magnificent stone archway, now flecked with mould and
decay. Alice-Miranda imagined that in the past it had seen the coming and going of many a splendid carriage. In the forecourt there was a small yard, which she decided would be a perfect pen for Bony while she had a look around.

The main structure had been a very handsome stable block, now in tumbledown disrepair. The slate roof looked like a patchwork quilt and the timber doors were missing several panels.

Alice-Miranda coaxed Bonaparte over the cobblestones and into the enclosure and handed over the last sweet reward.

‘Now you stay here,' she glared, ‘and don't you get any thoughts about going back to that patch.'

Alice-Miranda checked twice that the rusted chain was secure. Just as she was about to head inside the main building, a large tabby cat appeared and started rubbing against her leg, purring loudly. She turned around to check on Bony and noticed that three more cats, in shades of ginger, grey and black, were now taking up various positions around the yard. One on a windowsill, another atop the wall that enclosed the stable block and the other had bravely sidled up to Bonaparte, who was now engaged in a ‘sniff-off' with the black intruder.

‘What a lot of cats,' Alice-Miranda said to herself. ‘You be nice to that moggy, Bonaparte,' she warned. ‘He's probably got a good old set of claws on him.'

Alice-Miranda left the yard and entered the stable block. Immediately her nostrils were assaulted by the smell of damp hay and horses.

‘Hellooo,' she called. ‘Is there anyone here?'

The musty brick building creaked and groaned as if apologising for its current state. She soon realised that there were no animals inside any of the stalls, but the open booth at the end of the passageway was full of ancient saddles and bridles, their leather split and dry, brass fittings tarnished and bits blackened with the passing of time. Several pairs of long riding boots were lined up on a shelf alongside a selection of moth-eaten velvet hats and helmets all coated in thick dusty webs. It didn't look like anyone had been in the tack room for a very long time.

In what would have been the feed room, a row of timber hoppers stood open, their contents of oats and barley long gone. A few loose remnants of straw littered the floor and a large open vat of molasses contained an array of grasshoppers and bugs, fossilised in their amber trap.

‘Helloooooo?' Alice-Miranda's voice echoed through the rafters. She wondered if there might be a flat above the stables just like they had at home. But she couldn't see a staircase. Her voice brought no human reply, but the yowling of several cats filled the air.

Alice-Miranda decided that a stable block such as this would no doubt belong to a large house. She wanted to keep exploring but her watch said that it was now half past two. Millie, Susannah and Sloane should have been home by now. Perhaps they would come looking for her.

Emerging into the afternoon sunshine, Alice-Miranda shielded her eyes and waited for them to adjust to the light. Bonaparte acknowledged her presence with a snort. He was dozing against the gate with one eye open, watching the black cat who had now taken up residence on top of the feed bin which hung over the gate.

‘All right, Bony, there's no one here. But I see you've got plenty of friends to keep you company, so I'm off to find the house that must belong to these stables.' Alice-Miranda patted the top of another ginger cat's head as it rubbed its neck up and down her riding boot.

The estate was dotted with handsome trees, claret ash, oak and fir, many of which Alice-Miranda recognised from her outings with her own gardener at home, Mr Greening. He loved that she asked him so many questions about the names of the plants and although she was still only seven and a half, Alice-Miranda's knowledge of botanical species was something Mr Greening was secretly very proud of.

As she walked further along the driveway, the grassy edges were replaced with a cobblestoned guttering, a sure indication that somewhere up ahead there would be a house. No one would go to that much trouble for a road to nowhere, Alice-Miranda was certain. Through the jungle of branches, she spied an overgrown lawn. A huge ornate fountain sat partially hidden by the mass of weeds and waist-high grass.

‘Hellooooo,' she called again. The only reply was the meow of a cat. Alice-Miranda looked down to see that the tabby from the stables had joined her on her walk. ‘Oh, hello puss.' She reached down and patted the top of his head. ‘Fancied an outing, did you?'

All of a sudden, Alice-Miranda had a strange feeling that she was being watched. She turned around to see that her tabby friend had been joined
by at least ten more cats padding along silently behind her.

‘Goodness me, there are an awful lot of you indeed,' she addressed her feline audience. ‘Do you
all
live here?'

An uneasy recollection invaded her mind. ‘Cats, lots of cats,' she said aloud, before dismissing the thought. Alice-Miranda didn't believe in witches. They were only in fairy stories.

Like the Pied Piper with his merry followers, Alice-Miranda continued her way up the drive. She rounded a sweeping bend, where the foliage was so thick it created an arch like a giant's ribcage from one side of the road to the other. Another set of iron gates, hanging open from their limestone columns, beckoned her to enter. There was a name on the left-hand pillar, obscured by a tangle of ivy stuck fast to the tarnished brass plate. She reached up as high as she could and tried to pull back the greenery. It
was tricky but Alice-Miranda caught a handful of leaves and wrenched hard. She traced the blackened outline of the words
Caledonia Manor
.

Alice-Miranda knew the house couldn't be too far away. She began to jog, anxious to find out if there was anyone at home who could set her in the right direction. Her furry friends circled around her, some racing in front as if they knew exactly where to go. Up ahead, she could have sworn she saw a black figure scurrying into the bushes.

‘Hellooooooo,' Alice-Miranda called. ‘Can you help me, please? I seem to be lost.' But the figure disappeared and so Alice-Miranda continued on her way.

At last, the trees thinned out and there it was in front of her. ‘Goodness.' She drew in a sharp breath. ‘What an amazing house.'

Caledonia Manor was indeed an amazing house. Its ancient limestone blocks glinted in the sunshine. Four Ionic columns formed a magnificent portico with five steps leading to the most enormous double entrance doors Alice-Miranda had ever seen. Her own house, Highton Hall was renowned as one of the most beautiful homes in the country, but surely Caledonia Manor could once have been included in the same company.

On closer inspection, Alice-Miranda could see that the manor was at the mercy of silent invaders. Tendrils of Virginia creeper grew across some of the upstairs window frames and grass as tall as Alice-Miranda peered through the downstairs casements. Alice-Miranda could not even see the whole house, so dense were the bushes at the far end. But she could smell smoke and that had to be a good thing. It meant there was a fire in a hearth somewhere close by.

She marched up the front steps and pressed the discoloured brass buzzer beside the door. Then she listened for any sound from within. Nothing. Alice-Miranda clasped the lion's head knocker in the centre of the door with both hands and attempted to loosen it from the grip of time. But it was rusted in place and the door was firmly locked.

She looked around to see that her feline followers had disappeared, except for one last tabby who she spied heading around the corner of the building. Surely the cats would know best where to find the house's owner? After all, they were a well-fed looking bunch, and that couldn't just be the result of mousing in the stables.

The windows were thick with grime, giving no opportunity at all to see inside. As she beat a path around the side and came to the back of the building,
she realised that the house was a vast U-shape, with an open terrace at the rear. The land behind the manor was far less densely vegetated than at the front. There was evidence of an expansive lawn stepping down from one level to the next, with rows of stone balustrade still zigzagging across its width.

It was only now, when she could take in the whole building, that Alice-Miranda noticed the entire roof of the wing opposite was missing. Blackened rafters poked from the top and the long wall bore holes like Swiss cheese where once there had been windows.

Alice-Miranda scampered to the top of the terrace and saw her furry friends milling about together at the end of the veranda.

‘Hellooooo,' she called as the cats meowed, rubbed against each other and wound themselves in and out of her legs. ‘Is anyone home?'

Alice-Miranda moved towards what looked like the kitchen door. There was still no sign of anyone, but when she tried the door handle this time, it opened. Without a second's hesitation, Alice-Miranda marched inside. Indeed she was right. A large AGA stove dominated the room. The old-fashioned iron cooker sat beside an open fireplace, where a small bundle of kindling was well alight. There was a huge
double Butler's sink and taps that looked like they had come straight from a museum. Saucepans hung on treacherous-looking hooks above the fireplace and a kettle boiled on the stovetop. Someone was home, somewhere.