Shiverton Hall, the Creeper (21 page)

He turned around and smiled at Xanthe calmly.

‘Yes, Xanthe?’ he said.

‘Where are you going?’ she asked.

‘I’m just driving into Grimstone for some art supplies,’ he replied.

‘Oh, right.’

‘Is there anything I can help you with, Xanthe?’

‘I just wanted to ask you about our self-portraits,’ Xanthe replied sweetly. ‘Do you think they are any good?’

Cornwall looked at her suspiciously, weighing up his options. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, ‘they’re all very good.’

‘Great, I just wanted a high mark, that’s all. I know we didn’t get off on the right foot,’ Xanthe continued, glancing behind her. What were Penny and Chuk doing?

‘Don’t worry,’ Cornwall said. ‘You’ll all get very good marks.’

He opened the van door.

‘Wait!’ Xanthe said.

Cornwall paused.

‘I . . . er . . . just wanted to ask you about . . . th-the Renaissance,’ Xanthe stammered.

Cornwall’s eyes narrowed. ‘Xanthe,’ he said quietly, walking towards her, ‘what are you up to?’

‘Nothing, sir!’ she replied.

‘Because if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to stall me.’

‘Why would I do that?’ Xanthe laughed nervously.

Cornwall grabbed her by the arm. ‘Who are you waiting for? Did you call one of the teachers?’ he asked. He was panicking, she could see.

‘No! I promise!’ Xanthe squealed.

Cornwall searched her face. Xanthe winced.

‘Right,’ he growled. ‘Get in the van.’

‘No!’ Xanthe tried to pull away.

‘Get in!’ he said, and shoved her into the passenger’s seat.

He got in beside her and locked the door before she could get out.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said as he put the key in the ignition. ‘This won’t take long.’

Chuk and Penny arrived as the van sped off. Chuk was driving an electric milk float, which the catering staff used to deliver food to the boarding houses. He’d swiped the keys from a hook in the kitchen.

‘Where is Xanthe?’ Penny asked.

‘You don’t think Cornwall . . . ?’ Chuk replied.

‘Go after the van,’ Penny ordered. ‘And turn your headlights off – otherwise he’ll see us.’

‘OK,’ Chuk said, uncertainly flicking a few switches on the dashboard.

‘Step on it!’ Penny shouted.

The van swung down the school drive ahead of them, skidding and weaving, sending dust flying into Penny and Chuk’s eyes.

‘What do we do if he leaves the grounds?’ Chuk asked. ‘We can’t take this thing on the roads.’

‘Oh, man up, Chuk,’ Penny replied.

The van was slowing down near the gates.

‘Shhh,’ Penny said. ‘He’s pulling over.’

Chuk stopped the milk float and jumped out. ‘Take it back to school and get someone who can help,’ he said.

‘I don’t know how to drive it,’ Penny replied.

‘It’s easy,’ Chuk said, pointing at the pedals. ‘Stop. Go.’

‘But –’

‘Hurry,’ Chuk said, looking over at the van. ‘I’ll make sure Xanthe’s OK.’

Penny didn’t have time to argue. She slid over to the driver’s seat and turned the cart around.

‘Be careful,’ she whispered.

Chuk darted behind a tree just as Cornwall got out of the van.

Cornwall had left his headlights on, illuminating the school gates and the misty road beyond.

Xanthe tried to open the van door but Cornwall kicked it shut.

‘Shhhh. Calm down,’ Cornwall said. ‘We’re just waiting for my friend.’

‘What friend?’ Xanthe said, dreading the answer.

‘You’ll see.’

Xanthe looked over to the driver’s seat; the keys were swinging from the ignition. If only she knew how to drive.

Suddenly, a figure appeared in the headlights. Tall and white, it drifted out of the mist like an angel. An angel with black claws.

Xanthe hid behind the dashboard and held her breath.

‘Strack . . .’ Chuk whispered under his breath.

Helena Strack walked forward and gave Cornwall an icy peck on the cheek.

‘Do you have it?’ she asked.

‘Y-y-yes,’ Cornwall stammered. ‘But . . . but . . . I’ve changed my mind. I told you last week, I don’t want to do this. The figure in the painting . . . the Creeper . . . it’s –’

Strack laughed, her breath hitting the cold air in plumes.

‘Don’t tell me you believe that ridiculous old story.’

‘Give me more time,’ he begged. ‘I just need more time.’

‘You’ve had plenty of time,’ Strack snapped. ‘Show it to me.’

Cornwall reluctantly walked to the back of the van and opened the doors.

‘Bring it out into the light,’ she ordered.

He slid the blanket-swaddled canvas out of the boot and carried it in front of the headlights.

Strack unwrapped the blanket and stood back, admiring the painting.

It was the Gainsborough from the library.

Chuk frowned. He had been in the library that afternoon and the painting had still been there. How had Cornwall found the time?

‘And you’re sure they don’t know?’ Strack asked, squinting at the paintwork.

‘I swapped it for the copy a few weeks ago and hid the real one in a storeroom,’ Cornwall said.

‘How? It was hanging in the library, was it not?’

‘One of the librarians is blind. I told her I was borrowing a few chairs.’ Cornwall said.

‘Clever boy,’ Strack said. ‘Well, I think that concludes our business. I’ll take the van. You can walk back to Shiverton Hall.’

‘There is just one tiny problem,’ Cornwall said. Strack’s smile faded. Cornwall nodded to the van.

Xanthe slid down lower but she knew she had been caught.

‘What is this?’ Strack hissed. ‘What have you done?’

‘She had told someone, I’m sure of it . . . they would have stopped me . . . you said you needed the painting tonight!’ Cornwall whined.

Strack clutched his face with her black talons and made him look at her. ‘And what do you think she’ll tell people now?’ she hissed. ‘She’s seen me. She’s seen the painting. You really have lost it!’

Cornwall whimpered.

‘Get out,’ Strack said, opening the van door and pulling Xanthe out by her ponytail.

‘Let me go,’ Xanthe said.

‘I’m afraid I can’t,’ Strack said. ‘Because Mr Cornwall owes a very nasty man a lot of money, and if that nasty man doesn’t get his money then we’ll both be dead.’

‘I won’t tell anyone,’ Xanthe whispered.

‘I’m afraid I can’t take that chance,’ Strack sneered. She drew a long, thin blade from inside her coat. It glinted in the headlights.

‘Don’t,’ Cornwall begged.

‘Don’t tell me what to do!’ Strack screamed. ‘This is your doing.’

‘Sh-she isn’t the only one who knows,’ Cornwall stammered.

Strack turned on Cornwall. ‘What do you mean?’

‘There was a boy . . . Jake . . . He saw I’d hidden the painting in the storeroom.’

‘Well, you’ll just have to silence him, won’t you?’ Strack said.

‘He’s not here,’ Cornwall said quietly. ‘He didn’t come back to school after half-term. He’s in London.’

‘Do I have to do everything?’ Strack spat.

Strack turned to Xanthe and lifted the blade in the air.

Xanthe buried her head in her arms and waited for the sting of the knife.

But it did not come. She opened one eye and saw Strack swooning above her, a trickle of blood dripping on to her white dress. Strack dropped the knife and slumped forward, revealing Chuk behind her, holding a rock.

Cornwall sank to his knees, as the sound of sirens rippled in the distance.

Chapter Twenty-one

The bus driver leaned forward. ‘What’s going on here?’ he asked.

‘What is it?’ Arthur rushed to the front of the bus. The Shiverton gates seemed to be blocked by ambulances and police cars.

‘Oh no,’ Arthur whispered.

The bus doors opened and Arthur ran out to an astonishing sight. Xanthe was sitting in the back of an ambulance wrapped in a blanket. Cornwall had been handcuffed and was being forced into a police car, ranting and swearing. Penny and Chuk were talking to a police officer.

‘What on earth has happened?’ Arthur asked, rushing up to Xanthe. ‘Are you OK?’

Xanthe smiled weakly. ‘Never felt better,’ she said. And then promptly fainted.

The police were taking photographs of the Gainsborough as Arthur walked over.

‘Penny! Chuk!’ Arthur called out urgently. ‘Come and look at this.’

Penny and Chuk joined him by the painting.

‘What is it?’ Penny asked.

‘Something’s missing,’ Arthur said.

‘What?’ Chuk asked, peering at the scene on the canvas.

‘Oh no,’ Penny whispered. ‘The Creeper.’

Arthur marched over to Cornwall, who was sitting slumped in the back of the police car. ‘How long has the real painting been hidden?’ Arthur demanded.

Cornwall shrugged. ‘A few weeks.’

‘So you’ve let us think that our school was safe because the Creeper was still in the painting – only, it wasn’t the real thing. You’d just painted it into your copy of the painting.’

‘It’s just a story,’ Cornwall murmured.

‘Yeah?’ Arthur said. ‘Then how do you explain the fact that the figure is missing from that picture over there?’

Cornwall glanced over at the painting. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered.

Arthur, George and Penny sat in the Garnons library, discussing the madness of the past few hours while waiting for Toynbee to come and speak to them. Xanthe, meanwhile, had reluctantly gone to the sanatorium, at her housemistress’s insistence.

‘I cannot believe I missed it all,’ George said, devastated.

‘Count yourself lucky. Poor Xanthe nearly got stabbed to death,’ Penny answered.

‘So all along he just came here to steal the painting?’ George said.

‘Well, to be honest, he was hardly Teacher of the Year,’ Arthur said. ‘It’s not that much of a shocker that he had an ulterior motive.’

‘But, hang on, I thought Cornwall couldn’t paint?’ Penny said. ‘How did he make a copy of the painting?’

Toynbee appeared, and sat wearily in an armchair by the fire.

‘Good question, Penny,’ Toynbee said. ‘He’s just confessed everything to the police. It turns out that Cornwall can not only paint, but is one of the world’s most expert forgers. He was imprisoned for it until 1999, and then Strack found him and persuaded him to change his name, telling him she’d make him a star. He’d be rich and famous, as long as he made a few forgeries for her on the side. It seems to have been a rather lucrative business, until they sold one to the wrong man.’

‘Who was it?’

‘A rather frightening gentleman named Conrad Holst. He’s cut off men’s hands for less.’

‘He was the man in the maze!’ Arthur realised.

Toynbee nodded. ‘He found out where Cornwall was, and turned up here a couple of times to put the frighteners on him,’ he said.

‘No wonder Cornwall was so edgy,’ Chuk said.

‘I suppose the Gainsborough was irresistible.’ Toynbee sighed. ‘Worth a fortune, and far easier to steal from a school than a gallery filled with security guards. Cornwall coming to teach here gave him the time to paint the forgery. He and Strack planned to sell it to pay back Holst.’

‘Strack!’ Penny said with disgust. ‘She’s the worst of the lot. She was willing to kill Xanthe!’

‘People will do almost anything when their lives are at risk,’ Toynbee said quietly.

‘How is Strack?’ Chuk asked. ‘I hit her pretty hard.’

‘She’ll be fine,’ Toynbee replied. ‘Or as fine as you can be in prison.’

‘Best place for her,’ George said.

Toynbee grimaced. ‘Now I have to do the distasteful part,’ he said. ‘The powers that be have asked that you keep the details of this to yourselves for the time being. If anyone asks, the sirens were due to an accident on the road near the school gates.’

‘What?’ Chuk cried. ‘That’s ridiculous! If it hadn’t been for us they would have got away with it! This deserves to be on the front page of
The Whisper
.’

‘I have only told you what I myself have been asked,’ Toynbee said. ‘The school hopes to keep the matter out of the press at least until the end of term. Professor Long-Pitt does not want the students disrupted.’

Chuk shook his head angrily.

‘Of course,’ Toynbee continued, ‘if someone
did
know the story, they would be a few days ahead of everyone else.’

He winked at Chuk.

‘Sir,’ Chuk said, ‘are you suggesting it might be an idea for Penny and me to go to the
Whisper
offices?’