The Body Thief (3 page)

The Master of Sommerset

The master’s coming!” shouted Atticus Bingle, his voice echoing down the long vaulted hallway of the servants quarters. “Do hurry up!”

The gilded elevator descended steadily through the entrance hall like an enormous gold and silver birdcage, as a procession of servants and maids scurried across the polished stone floors below, quickly arranging themselves in a perfectly straight line.

They watched as the magnificent cage dropped silently past the upper levels and came to a smooth stop on the ground floor. The ornate doors parted, sliding open like an iron curtain. In the center of the cabin, washed in the reflected glow of the gold and silver bars surrounding him, Silas Winterbottom stared out at his staff with the intense glare of a hungry vulture.

Among even the oldest servants of Sommerset House, the appearance of their master never failed to chill. After all, the sight of a thin, ghostly white man with fierce dark eyes and long black hair sitting regally in a wheelchair with a twelve-foot crocodile at his feet was enough to strike cold fear into even the bravest of souls.

Silas’s long bony fingers rested on the chair’s joystick that had been cast from liquid bronze into the shape of a crocodile’s head; complete with sparkling rubies for eyes and a mouth full of pointed silver teeth.

“Good morning,” said Silas soothingly.

“
Good morning, Mr. Winterbottom
,” replied the servants in unison.

Silas pushed the joystick forward and the chair rolled silently out of the elevator cage and into the massive hall. Thorn, the twelve-foot crocodile, lifted his heavy, scaled body from the cage floor and sauntered alongside the moving chair, his long broad snout sweeping from side to side seeking out any sign of danger in the room.

“Tell me,” said Silas, “who was the
delightful
maid I heard humming in the hallway outside my bedchamber at exactly six minutes past seven this morning?”

From among the line of servants a solid-looking girl with honey-blond hair and a rather egg-shaped body stepped forward. Her eyes slid down toward the crocodile—Thorn’s ancient gaze fixed on her.

“And what is your name?” said Silas sweetly.

“My name is Ursula Vovko,” she replied.

“And the music you were humming,” said Silas, “what was that?”

“Folk music, Mr. Winterbottom, from Slovenia,” said Ursula. “My Grandma Tonka taught me many songs when I was a little girl.”

Silas tilted his head slightly, his gaze intense. “Fascinating.”

“I hope I didn’t disturb you this morning, Mr. Winterbottom,” said Ursula, folding and unfolding her arms rather nervously.

“Heavens,
no
,” said Silas. “I adore Slovenian music; such a gift to the world. I only regret that ill health prevented me from leaping from my bed and doing the polka.”

Ursula giggled, blushing. “I am sure you have heard better voices than mine, sir.”

“Perhaps,” said Silas brightly. “But yours is so very distinct, possessing all the natural melody of a fire alarm.”

A few sniggers rippled along the line of servants.

The chambermaid smiled awkwardly. “Well, thank you...”

“And to show my appreciation for your musical gifts, I have selected you to take Thorn for his morning walk.” Silas held out a large metal choker attached to a length of thick chain. “It’s the least I can do.”

To say that Ursula was not keen on taking the scaled reptile for a walk would be something of an understatement. Ursula’s hands shook violently.

“Er…I am not so good with crocodiles,” she said, instinctively taking a step back. “You are very kind, sir, but perhaps you might choose someone else?”

“But I choose
you
,” said Silas.

“Sir,
please
…I do not think…” Her voice trembled. “I cannot do it.”

“Nonsense,” said Silas softly. “You can and you shall.” Silas shook the leash at her playfully. “Hurry now, Thorn likes to take his walk before it gets too hot.”

With tears pooling in her eyes, Ursula took a tentative step toward Thorn and extended her trembling hand to retrieve the leash. As she did Silas tapped his fingers exactly twice on the joystick, the band of his thick gold ring rapping lightly against the brass crocodile head. To the staff assembled in front of him the gesture was meaningless, but to Thorn it was a command, like drumbeats in an ancient forest. The crocodile’s wet nostrils seethed and flared and before anyone knew what was happening, Thorn had charged toward Ursula, his large jaws cracking open, unleashing a thunderous growl.

The perfectly formed line of servants broke apart amid bloodcurdling screams as maids and kitchen hands rushed frantically to the far reaches of the entrance hall.

Ursula stood frozen—her eyes pierced in terror, her legs locked to the floor as Thorn’s gaping jaw rushed at her, his large jagged teeth glistening under the diffused light coming through the glass dome above. With a fierce crack, the beast’s jaw snapped shut barely an inch from her outstretched hand—hot breath tickled the fine hairs along her arm. She would have screamed in sheer horror, but her voice, like her body, was frozen in terror.

Calmly Silas tapped his fingers three times on the brass joystick. Instantly Thorn started to back up, his large webbed claws clicking on the stone floor as he retreated. Ursula remained utterly still.

Silas observed the young woman with a fascinated glare. “Remarkable,” he said, more to himself than anybody else. “She is
utterly
frozen.”

It was true. The fear had caused complete paralysis. The vast entrance hall was rendered silent, as if holding a collective breath. Very gradually Ursula began to tilt—just slightly at first. Moments later, as if in slow motion, her toes lifted from the floor and she began to fall back, crashing at impressive speed on the stone floor like a block of cement.

The spell was broken and the servants rushed toward her—a group of under-butlers and a few gardeners made several failed attempts to lift Ursula from the floor before Mrs. Hammer had the good sense to call for a stretcher. After some debate about how best to move her, the frozen maid was rolled onto the stretcher and carried into the library, where she remained, her condition unchanged, until the paramedics arrived and took her away.

***

“She’ll have to go, Bingle,” said Silas, passing through the large conservatory doors leading into the garden. “It’s unfortunate, but there you are. The girl is clearly terrified of animals.”

“Very well, Mr. Winterbottom,” said Bingle dutifully. The soft-spoken butler had worked at Sommerset for more than thirty years and his entire life had been devoted to the service of Silas Winterbottom. His only goal was to make his master happy. “I will see to it.”

“By the way,” said Silas, “have you made the necessary arrangements for my other
special
guest?”

Bingle nodded, lowering his voice. “Everything has been arranged, sir. All of the supplies were delivered down below as you requested.”

“Excellent. Remember, Bingle—it is vital that my friend’s presence on the estate remains undetected.” Silas smiled thinly. “He is rather eccentric and values his privacy a great deal.”

“Of course, sir,” Bingle assured him. “Apart from Mrs. Hammer, who will assist me when your guest arrives, no one will know he is here. You have my word, sir.”

Outside the morning sun sprayed soft yellow light across the flower beds, each one blooming with a different color rose. The twelve acres of beautifully tended gardens directly behind the conservatory were Silas’s private escape—a series of interlocking garden rooms connected via a gallery of imposing iron gates.

Silas maneuvered his chair along the flagstone path between two rows of white and orange roses. Beyond the flower beds was a sunken pond and Thorn lowered himself into the cool water. The pond was filled with salt water and from its position at the far end of the garden provided the ideal swimming hole for the crocodile.

A low groan echoed across the terrace as an ornate iron gate swung open. A solitary figure in dull gray overalls and a large straw hat closed the gate behind him and walked slowly along the garden path.

“The tea roses are not looking well, Moses,” said Silas tersely. “What is wrong with them, and what are you doing to fix the problem?”

“Mildew on the leaves,” said Moses gruffly. “I’m treating them—should be fine in a week or so.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Silas with considerable relief. “I want to discuss the new seedlings for the west pavilions this afternoon. We will meet in the greenhouse at four, Moses. Do not be late.”

Moses grunted, turned his back, and shuffled toward a bed of white roses on the far side of the garden. Silas tilted his frail head back and felt the morning sun slide across his narrow face. It felt like a warm pair of hands.

“Silas, you look well!” said a commanding voice from behind him.

Silas swung his chair around swiftly. “Whitlam, what a wonderful sense of humor you have,” he said calmly. “I look like a man on the brink of death, and you know it. Now, what news do you bring for me?”

“Quite a bit, in fact,” said the wrinkled little man with the stub nose and the impressive mass of curly white hair. Whitlam had been Silas’s attorney for more than forty years, and he was well accustomed to the rather curious demands of his oldest client. Yet even he had been astounded when Silas had suddenly instructed him to locate Adele, Milo, and Isabella Winterbottom for the purpose of inviting them to Sommerset, despite having ignored the children’s existence entirely up until that point. He was also deeply moved to see a dying man reaching out to his family after a lifetime of neglect.

“Well,” snapped Silas impatiently, “what is it?”

“I have heard from your nieces,” Whitlam informed him. “You’ll be pleased to learn that they have both accepted your offer. In fact, they seemed positively delighted by the invitation.”

Silas nodded knowingly. “That is no great surprise—their parents would gladly walk through fire for a slice of my fortune.” He caressed the ring on his finger. “What about the boy?”

“I have spoken with Milo,” said Whitlam as he took a seat under the shade of a white pergola.

“Well, what did he say?” said Silas, his dark eyes glistening. “Has he agreed to come?”

“He has.”

“Excellent!”

“However,” said Whitlam, taking a pair of silver spectacles out of his pocket and cleaning them on his tie, “your nephew has a few conditions.”

Silas’s right eyebrow arched.
“Conditions?”

“To begin with, he refuses to accept the ten thousand dollars,” explained Whitlam. “He considers it a bribe.”

“How remarkable. What else?”

“He will only come to Sommerset for a period of two weeks.”

“Two weeks!” hissed Silas. “No, that isn’t enough time!” Noticing the queer expression on Whitlam’s face, Silas softened his anger. “What I
mean
is—how am I to assess the boy’s suitability as my heir in just two weeks?”

“Well, I’m afraid you will have to. The boy’s made it perfectly clear that his conditions are not up for negotiation,” said Whitlam. “It seems Milo does not wish to be away from his grandfather for any longer than that.”

“How touching,” said Silas flatly.

From the back of the garden Thorn crept out of the pond and slithered slowly between the flower beds, sinking down onto the warm ground at his master’s feet.

Whitlam smiled admiringly. “He’s a stubborn boy, that’s for sure.”

“His father was the same,” said Silas coldly. “Stubborn and sentimental.”

“Will I tell Milo you accept his conditions?”

“Tell the boy whatever he needs to hear,” instructed Silas, the urgency crackling in his voice. “I want Adele, Isabella, and Milo under my roof by the end of the week. I will not surrender to death until I know the future of Sommerset is secure. Whatever it takes, Whitlam—bring the boy to me, and bring him quickly.”

The First Arrival

A few days later a grand black limousine with darkened windows, sparkling hubcaps, and a silver crocodile hood ornament collected Ms. Adele Winterbottom from the airport.

Sitting in the backseat, Adele wrestled with a constant stream of fears—about how Silas would treat her, about her cousins and whether they would hate her red hair, about her mother’s threat to have her sent away to Ratchet’s House.

As the limousine headed deep inside the rain forest, she peered out at the great cathedral of soaring trees, hanging vines, and slick foliage.

“Is this where my uncle lives?” she asked.

The chauffeur laughed warmly. “Not quite, Miss Winterbottom, but we are close. Hold on now, Miss.”

Without warning the car veered off from the main road and swung to the left. Ahead of them was a thick wall of green vines twisted and tangled like a wall of knotted ropes. The road curved away from the dense barricade of vines, yet the limousine did not; in fact, the black limousine thundered forward and Adele shut her eyes just seconds before impact.

Then she heard the slapping sound of the long knotted vines sliding over the limousine’s roof. Adele opened her eyes—they had passed through the wall of vines and were now on the other side, heading along a sealed road sheltered by a canopy of elm trees.

Ahead, the narrow road tracked between a dazzling display of wet prairies and mangroves surrounded by a thick blanket of willows, vines, and shrubs. As the narrow road came to an end the limousine turned down a small incline and came to a stop in front of a set of ornate iron gates supported by two massive stone posts.

Silently the gates opened and the limousine crossed into a narrow muddy bank on the crest of an enormous swamp covered with lilies and saw grass. In the middle was a large island shielded by a series of mangrove and red maple trees.

“Uncle Silas lives over
there?
” said Adele. She looked searchingly up and down the bank of the swamp. “How do we get across? I can’t see a bridge.”

“Look,” said the chauffeur, pointing to the muddy water directly in front of them.

Adele watched as the surface of the water began to ripple and swirl. Then, without warning, the swamp’s surface parted and an enormous white platform began to emerge from below. Adele blinked several times. Whatever was coming to the surface looked like the top of a large rectangular spaceship and stretched from the bank of the swamp to the edge of the island.

A bridge was coming up!

The bridge, underpinned by a series of hydraulic lifts, emerged impressively from under the swamp. Adele had barely got over
that
surprise as she caught a fleeting glimpse of several dark alligators being lifted up out of the water on the bridge. She gasped, pointing at the water with a trembling finger.

“Alligators!” she cried, her voice cracking.

The chauffeur’s hearty laugh filled the limousine. “Right you are, Miss,” he declared. “The master has dozens of them living in the swamp. He’s very fond of reptiles, the master is.”

Very quickly the alligators scurried over the edge with a flick of their razorback tails and plunged back into the putrid swamp water. The limousine moved across the bridge and wound its way through rich fields of wildflowers and cultivated lawns that stretched out endlessly on either side of the gravel drive. The beauty of it lifted Adele’s mind from the murky depths of the swamp and soothed her; she lowered the window and took in the delicious perfume blowing up off the flower beds. Everywhere she looked there were more gardens—sweeping vistas of brilliant green flaring in the sunlight; open fields teeming with wildflowers, orchids, and rowan trees; majestic waterfalls shooting ribbons of water high into the air; marble statues of rather pompous-looking men and long hedged paths bordered by hawthorn trees covered in dazzling red berries.

They passed through a wide arched gateway and then Adele saw it.
Sommerset House.
It looked more like a castle than a house! Fronted by a long expanse of imposing ribbed vaults, the mansion featured dozens and dozens of full-length windows that swept up into a series of arches like an ancient cathedral. Soaring towers built with massive sandstone blocks loomed along the east and west wings of the house, each many stories high and topped by pointed spires.

As the limousine approached the portico with its thick columns of black marble, a large cloud passed overhead, blocking out the sun. Dark shadows fell across the mansion’s façade, swallowing the sharp edges of the stonework. Still gawking at her uncle’s grand home, Adele was suddenly struck by the form of the house. For a moment, just a second or two, it began to look monstrous—like a great squatting beast, the spired towers rising up like massive arms, talons poised to strike, the round windows of the central tower, two pulsing gray eyes. A chill rushed at her. She gasped.

Mercifully the clouds shifted and Sommerset House was glorious once more, bathed in a honeycomb sheen.

The limousine came to a gentle stop under the portico, and Adele reminded herself that houses, even ancient ones like Sommerset, did not have claws, and they certainly did not have eyes!

Even so, as a rather brutish-looking butler opened the car door and ushered her through the massive front door with its grand marble arch, her legs would not stop trembling. Once inside, however, there was little time to ponder all that she had seen. A rather lumpish-looking creature was hurrying toward her, barking orders at the maids who trailed after her like a flock of penguins. They all wore long black dresses topped with crisp white aprons and they appeared to nod in unison whenever the wrinkled old lady spoke. Dutifully, they collected Adele’s luggage (which consisted of an old suitcase, a parcel of books, and a backpack) and fled up the enormous staircase.

“Welcome to Sommerset House, Miss Adele,” said the old woman, revealing a warm smile. “My name is Mrs. Hammer, and I am the head housekeeper. Please follow me.”

The young girl followed the bowlegged housekeeper through the massive entrance hall, topped by a soaring glass dome that seemed to reach up into the sky. Her dark eyes sparkled as she passed the gold and silver elevator.

“Uncle Silas has his own
elevator?
”

“Two actually,” said Mrs. Hammer. “But the other is just a service elevator and not nearly as grand as this one. Come, we must hurry, your uncle is expecting you.”

Mrs. Hammer led Adele down a long corridor flanked by a series of stained-glass panels displaying an array of exotic flowers and plants. They entered a vast reception room full of old-fashioned couches and stiff wingback chairs. Large paintings decorated the walls and all seemed to feature very wrinkly men and women looking entirely miserable. Crossing the room briskly, Mrs. Hammer passed through a number of heavy oak doors that led directly into the Sommerset library.

The young girl spun around with a sense of awe. The library swept up an amazing three stories; the high walls lined in a grid of oak shelves packed to the rafters with books of every conceivable shape and size.

Adele was so caught up in the wonderland of books stacked all around her that it took a few moments for her to hear the sound of someone approaching behind her. Taking a deep breath, she turned, preparing to meet Uncle Silas for the first time.

Her eyes bulged. Then she screamed at the top of her lungs and leaped onto a mahogany reading table.

Thorn dragged his scaly belly along the dark wood floor of the library, his webbed claws clicking furiously across the room. Seeing the strange girl perched up on the reading table made him nervous, and he lunged toward her, his jaw springing open like he was a murderous carnival clown.

Adele let out another piercing scream.

The beast reared his neck up, snapping at the tabletop just inches from her leg. Adele slid across to the far end of the table, her eyes roaming the floor for signs of the scaly monster. Beneath her the creature dropped back to the floor, turned away, and slithered toward the doorway.

Still panting in terror, Adele looked over and saw a sickly looking man with long dark hair sitting in a wheelchair by the door. He was smiling, but Adele could not be certain what sort of smile it was.

“I see you have met Thorn,” said Silas, gliding into the library. “You may get down, child.”

Adele didn’t move. Getting down seemed like a positively stupid idea.

“Is…is it tame?” she asked.

“Certainly not,” said Silas, offended by the idea. “He is a savage beast.”

“He could eat us all!” she shouted.

“Indeed,” said Silas brightly. “Fortunately, Thorn only attacks on command.”

“You promise?”

“I do.” Silas’s face softened slightly. “Come down, Adele, I should like to take a look at you.”

With considerable hesitation, Adele climbed down from the reading table and walked slowly across the room toward her uncle. The crocodile showed her no further interest, lying down in front of the fireplace and resting his mammoth jaw on an embroidered cushion.

The closer Adele got to her uncle the more he seemed to resemble a ghost—with his gray skin, flowing black hair, and powdery white eyebrows. Her steps got smaller. He was the strangest looking person she had ever laid eyes on.

“Come closer, child,” said Silas softly.

Adele stepped tentatively toward her uncle.

“Closer,” whispered Silas eagerly.

Her spine tingled. She took another halting step. For some time Silas’s crackling eyes looked her over, from the top of her bright red hair down to her worn sneakers.

“What an interesting looking girl you are,” said Silas finally, “and so very
orange
.”

Adele bristled at the remark. You see, her hair had always been a sore point. The professor delighted in reminding Adele that the Winterbottom clan was famous for their luxurious
dark
hair. “It is tragic,” her mother would declare, looking at Adele’s red locks with disdain. “If you weren’t my daughter I would swear you were part orangutan!”

“My hair is not pretty,” Adele told her uncle matter-of-factly, “but it will not last forever. When I am older I’m going to dye it black.”

“I see,” said Silas, a sly grin playing on his thin lips. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think your hair is quite remarkable. Now tell me, how is my dear sister?”

“The professor—I mean,
Mother
is very well.”

“Excellent.” Silas grinned. “And tell me, did she send you here to get my money?”

Adele gasped, her face draining to a pasty white. “Uncle Silas, what a terrible thing to say!”

“Nonsense,” said Silas sharply. “Your mother is as devious as a caged rat, and I am well aware of your family’s desperate financial circumstances.”

Adele did not know what to say or where to look. Silas’s words cut through her like blades. It was as if he had opened her up and could see everything she was trying to hide.

“I have upset you,” said Silas, watching her with a certain fascination.

“No, you haven’t,” said Adele, biting on her bottom lip.

“I am not angry at you, child,” said Silas warmly. “The truth is I admire your mother’s greed. So please do not think I judge you harshly. Your mission is a noble one, and I wish you luck.”

Silas moved his chair over to the fireplace and pushed a silver button. “You must forgive me, Adele, for I am not well enough to entertain you this afternoon,” he said, waving Mrs. Hammer into the library and instructing her to show his niece upstairs to her room. “I shall see you at dinner—six sharp. I prefer to eat alone, but while you are here we can take our meals together.”

With that Mrs. Hammer placed her arm on Adele’s shoulder and led her out of the library. They walked up a set of back stairs to the third floor and turned into a wide corridor bathed in soft afternoon sunlight. Mrs. Hammer opened the first door on the right and ushered Adele inside a spacious, beautifully furnished room with bright comfortable chairs, a large canopy bed that looked like it could sleep five people comfortably, and a warm fire burning in the hearth.

“It’s a fine room,” declared Mrs. Hammer. “The master wanted you children to have the best of everything.”

Adele nodded, still too upset to speak.

“Well, you get some rest now, Miss Winterbottom, and I’ll have one of the maids bring you up a snack in an hour or so.”

Mrs. Hammer took another satisfied look around the bedroom chamber before excusing herself. Finally alone, Adele collapsed on the canopy bed. Uncle Silas was a cruel man! Winning his trust and affection seemed an impossible task—he already knew why she was there and what the professor wanted her to do. Feeling the weight of her mission, Adele surrendered to the tears she had been holding back all day. With no one around to hear her in the vast empty wing of Sommerset House, Adele buried her face in a pillow and cried long into the afternoon.