The Body Thief (7 page)

Adele’s spine tingled as she pushed on the back wall and it began to open. She stopped. There were voices—no more than a whisper—coming from the opposite corridor.

Stepping back, she slipped out of the broom closet.

“Hurry, Bingle, we must be quick!” It was Mrs. Hammer’s voice, she was sure of it.

“Shhhh!” hissed Bingle.

Hidden by shadows, Adele crept toward the vestibule linking both passageways. Carefully, she crossed the anteroom, hugging the wall as a faint glow from the gardens fell across her face. Uneasily, she craned her neck around the corner and peeked down the narrow corridor.

It was difficult to see at first, but gradually the darkened figures took shape and she clearly made out Mrs. Hammer pacing nervously back and forth. Then she saw the unmistakable figure of Bingle, limping on one foot. He was accompanied by a third person. A short, bulky figure draped in a long black robe.

The cloaked figure wore a wide hood that made it impossible for Adele to see who or what it was. Holding an arm each, Mrs. Hammer and Bingle guided the figure along the passage, stopping in front of a small door about halfway along the hall.

Suddenly Mrs. Hammer turned, peering down the corridor. Adele held her breath. It felt as if Mrs. Hammer was looking right into her eyes.

“Did you hear something?” whispered the old housekeeper.

Following her gaze, Bingle squinted into the darkness.

“Hear what?” said Bingle curtly. “There’s no one there. Come, we must
hurry
.”

Hastily, Bingle opened the door and together he and Mrs. Hammer led the mystery guest inside, shutting the door behind them.

A minute ticked slowly by before Adele began to move again. She slinked down the corridor on tiptoes and pressed her ear against the door. Carefully she began to turn the handle—it creaked and twisted like a rusty hinge. She stopped. Hurried footsteps pounded toward her. Releasing the handle, Adele ran back down the corridor. She stumbled, her slippers skidding under the polished floors and fell heavily against the wall. She hid in the darkness—heart pounding.

Mrs. Hammer and Bingle emerged into the corridor looking rather relieved. They exchanged glances, nodding solemnly to each other like they were sealing a secret pact, before walking briskly back toward the servants’ quarters.

Adele let out a sharp breath and stepped out of the shadows. Moments later she was opening the door. Inside she found a rather dull-looking storeroom filled with rows of neatly stacked supplies—large boxes with labels like
Third-Floor Light Fittings
and
Silverware Polish
. She crossed into a small alcove filled with pots and pans stacked on makeshift shelves and hanging from the ceiling on large metal racks. Long shadows loomed against the walls and ceiling. There was no sign of the cloaked stranger. Where had it gone? The rooms had no windows and there was only one door leading in and out. She stood there for a few moments, listening intently. Quiet as a graveyard.

“I told you there wasn’t anyone around!” snapped Bingle as he thrust open the storeroom door again and hobbled in.

Adele slid under a narrow table in the corner.

“I know what I heard,” said Mrs. Hammer anxiously. “Footsteps, that’s what!”

The old housekeeper entered the alcove sweeping her eyes over the floor like there was a mouse on the loose. “I was sure I heard footsteps.” But there was less certainty in her voice. “I really did.”

“It was just your imagination,” said Bingle impatiently. “Do let’s go, Mrs. Hammer. I need to rest this foot. The pain is unbearable.”

“This whole thing feels
wrong
, Bingle,” said the housekeeper gravely.

“We are doing what we are told, Mrs. Hammer. Right and wrong have no part to play.”

Adele waited until the footsteps had trailed away, listening for the sound of the storeroom door clicking shut before she emerged from hiding. When she was certain Mrs. Hammer and Bingle were truly gone, she ran out of the storeroom and charged down the long corridor, cold fear thumping in her heart. Someone was being hidden in Sommerset House; that much she was certain of. And even though the sight of the cloaked stranger had terrified her, she was determined to find out exactly who it was.

Secrets

Milo spent his first few days at Sommerset snooping around the island trying to learn more about his mysterious uncle—but had little luck. It was as if everybody who worked for Silas Winterbottom was too terrified of the sick old man to say one word against him. Milo was starting to fear that his mission was doomed to failure.

It was as if his uncle’s shadow loomed above the entire island like a thundercloud.

Wiping a trickle of sweat from the back of his neck, Milo headed up a set of stone steps covered by an arbor of velvety green leaves, which led up to the orchard. At the far end of the grove, Moses was throwing a net over the branches of a large orange tree. Milo waved to him. The old man saw him but did not respond. Instead he tied a length of cord around the trunk, fixing the net firmly in place, and shuffled off in the opposite direction.

“Don’t take it personally,” came a voice from above.

Milo looked up just in time to see a gangly teenager leap from a nearby tree.

“He’s like that with everyone,” the boy remarked, sliding a pair of pruning sheers into his overalls. “I’m Knox, by the way. Jeremiah Knox.”

“Hi, I’m Milo.”

“I know who you are,” said Knox with a smirk.

Milo smiled awkwardly, shuffling his feet across the dirt.

“So,” Milo said finally, “I guess you work for Moses?”

“I work for Mr. Winterbottom,” Knox corrected him. “Moses is just a crazy old man. The truth is, it’s me who runs the gardens here at Sommerset.”

“But you’re just a boy,” said Milo doubtfully.

Knox flashed him a foul look. “I’m old enough,” he muttered.

Burying his hands deep in his overalls, the young gardener appeared set to stalk off when he turned and said, “He and the master hate each other, you know?”

“Who, Moses?” said Milo. Finally someone was willing to talk about Uncle Silas!

“That’s right,” said the teenager slyly. “His boy was in the car with Lady Bloom when it crashed.”

“Lady
who?
” said Milo, looking rather puzzled.

“Lady Bloom—she’s the one the master was all set to marry,” said Knox, relishing the fact that he clearly knew more about Silas Winterbottom than his own nephew. “It was her family that built Sommerset; they lived here for over a century. When Lady Bloom died she left the whole thing to your uncle.”

“You said there was a car crash?”

“Happened about fifty years ago,” said Knox, pulling an orange from the branch above his head. “Lady Bloom was driving out in the forest, going real fast, they say. Something happened and she lost control of the car. Ran right into a tree. Dead.”

“And Moses’s son—what happened to him?”

“He was hurt real bad.” Knox drove his thumb into the top of the orange and began to peel it. “His brain ain’t right, if you know what I mean. The old man still goes to visit him in the nursing home. I tried to ask him about the accident once, and he nearly bit my head off.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “They say Moses knows all your uncle’s secrets.”

From the opposite end of the field a rather ill-sounding bell began to ring. Milo looked down the grove just as Rosemary rode out from behind a lemon tree, pedaling furiously in their direction.

“What kind of secrets?” said Milo, wanting desperately to find out what the young gardener knew. He turned toward Knox only to discover that he had vanished without a trace.

***

“Enter.”

When Mrs. Hammer opened the thick oak door of the master’s study she was wearing an enormous apron covered in baking powder and a very disapproving scowl.

“What is it, Mrs. Hammer?” said Silas sharply, not looking up from his desk. “I am escorting my nieces to the stables this afternoon, so do be brief.”

“Sir,” said Mrs. Hammer, clearing her throat, “Milo’s grandfather just phoned asking to speak with the boy.”

“Again?”
snapped Silas.

“Yes, sir, and earlier today Adele’s father made several calls of his own.”

“Don’t these fools have anything better to do with their time?” seethed Silas.

“Sir, I must tell you that I am finding it very difficult making up these excuses every time one of them calls,” explained Mrs. Hammer briskly. “Perhaps if you just allowed the children to talk—”

“No,” hissed Silas. “The children will be told nothing of these calls, is that clear?”

“Perfectly clear,” said Mrs. Hammer, unable to hide her disapproval. “But, sir, it’s only natural that the children’s families are anxious to talk with them. Milo’s grandfather sounded so sad on the phone—he’s missing the boy terribly.” Silas stared at her darkly and Mrs. Hammer felt her resolve wilting. “What I mean is…”

“Mrs. Hammer, the children have only just arrived at Sommerset,” explained Silas, his calm manner resurfacing. “I fear that talking with their parents so soon will be unsettling. I am just thinking of the children, you understand? Now, if there are any further calls for the young Winterbottoms, put them through to me directly.”

“As you wish,” said Mrs. Hammer dutifully.

Feeling rather defeated, she excused herself and retreated to the relative warmth of the kitchen. When she was gone Silas picked up the telephone on his desk.

“Bingle, come to my office at once,” he instructed. “I have a job for you.”

***

Rosemary Winterbottom was as stubborn as she was hefty, and so, once she got it in her head that Milo wasn’t spending nearly enough time with Adele and Isabella, the poor boy really had no say in the matter. Milo had hoped to spend the afternoon tracking down Knox to ask him more about Uncle Silas, but instead he was forced by his aunt to visit the Sommerset stables for some quality time with his cousins.

Milo’s mood wasn’t improved when he found Adele, Isabella,
and
Uncle Silas watching a majestic black gelding being put through its paces.

Silas stared intently at the boy as he reluctantly took his place beside his cousins.

“I’m glad you came, Milo,” said Silas warmly. “I have seen so little of you since you arrived.”

Milo did not reply. Something about Silas’s penetrating stare seemed to take the wind right out of him.

“Oh, I adore horses!” declared Isabella, who was wearing a pale pink riding outfit and clasping an enormous riding crop. “Father says I am a natural rider. Do you ride much, Adele?”

“Not really,” said Adele softly. “I mean, I’ve never actually ridden a horse.”

“Never?”
said Isabella. “But surely you are joking, cousin?” Adele began to glow redder than a freshly polished apple. In a painfully unconvincing display of regret, Isabella covered her mouth in horror. “Oh, I am such an idiot! Here I am talking about horse riding when, of course, you could
never
afford such an activity! Do forgive me, cousin.”

“It’s okay,” said Adele shyly.

“There’s something I need to tell you, Isabella,” said Milo somberly, giving Adele a mischievous grin that she did not really understand. “It’s something I’ve been hiding for years, but I just can’t live with the shame any longer.”

“Well, whatever it is, cousin, you can tell me,” said Isabella, rather delighted by Milo’s sudden urge to confess a scandalous secret.

Milo cleared his throat and declared loudly, “My name is Milo Winterbottom, and I’ve never ridden a horse either! Take pity on a poor horseless boy, Miss Isabella!”

Adele and Rosemary began to laugh. Isabella did not. She turned on her heels and stalked toward the stables, followed closely by Hannah Spoon (who was now acting as Isabella’s personal maid and was forced to accompany the silly girl wherever she went). As the giggling died down the others headed off in the same direction.

“Well done, Milo,” said Silas, moving in front of Milo to block his way. “You managed to prick your cousin’s considerable ego with ease. I am impressed.”

“I didn’t do it for you, Uncle Silas,” said Milo shortly.

“No, you did it for Adele. It was a very kind gesture.”

“Well…thank you,” said Milo awkwardly. Feeling his uncle’s intense gaze, he stepped around Silas’s chair and caught up with the others as they headed into the stables.

Once inside all three young Winterbottoms were astounded by the incredible number of Arabian horses in Silas’s massive complex—each muscular animal dazzled them, their coats shining like silken armor in shades of chestnut, gray, black, and roan. Isabella quickly spotted a stunning black Arabian in a stall at the end of the barn.

“That is the horse I want to ride,” she told the stable manager, pointing with her riding crop. “Saddle it up for me at once.”

“That’s Iris,” said Flick, the stocky young stable manager. “She’s not ready for riding yet, Miss.”

“Why not?” Isabella demanded to know.

“Iris hasn’t been broken in yet,” explained Flick. “She’s a stubborn one, Miss.”

“Not broken?” said Silas, coming up behind them.

“Not quite yet, sir,” said Flick nervously, “but we are very close.”

Silas looked into the open stall where the proud animal was walking in a small circle.

“It won’t do,” he said. “I have been patient, but I will not stable a horse that cannot be broken.”

“But, sir, she’s so close,” said Flick anxiously. “If we sell her now, she’ll end up as a workhorse, and that’s no life for an Arabian.”

“Get rid of it,” said Silas with an icy gaze.

“That’s not fair,” said Milo angrily. “In just a few weeks she’ll be good for riding. It would be cruel to sell her into a life of hard labor all for the sake of a few lousy weeks.”

“Yes, it would,” said Rosemary, falling in beside her nephew. “
Very
cruel indeed!”

The faintest hint of a smile curled around Silas’s dry lips. “Perhaps you are right, Milo,” he said. “My poor health is affecting my sense of fairness, it would seem.” He turned toward the stable manager. “Flick, put the horse in one of the outer fields—I want you to work on her every day until she has been properly broken in. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” said Flick, unable to hide his relief. “Thank you, Mr. Winterbottom!”

“You do have a heart after all,” said Rosemary, patting Silas on the shoulder. “What a shock!”

While Flick prepared three medium-sized horses for the children to ride, Milo drifted off to the side of the barn and watched his uncle. The frail man sat perfectly still in his chair, his head held high. Who is Silas Winterbottom
really?
he wondered.

When the horses were ready, the children headed outside. Near the entrance to the stables, Isabella stopped dead in her tracks in front of a large pile of horse manure. She called for Hannah Spoon.

“Do clear away this revolting mess, dear,” she instructed with a wave of her crop. “I find stepping over horse manure very upsetting.”

Hannah stared down at the manure with a look of considerable confusion. She had never been asked to remove horse poop before and was not completely sure how to go about it. She usually cleared away an unwanted mess with a vacuum cleaner, but that hardly seemed appropriate.

“How should I do it, Miss?” she asked anxiously.

“Use a shovel, girl!” snapped Isabella. Then, linking arms with Adele, she said, “Oh, cousin, you will love horse riding, I am sure of it! Now, I think it might be better if you took the largest horse—after all, you are so much
bigger
than I am.”

Adele suddenly felt like an enormous marshmallow. “I’m sure you know best,” she said, trying not to sound at all wounded.

Returning with a shovel, Hannah carefully scooped several large pieces of manure from the stable floor and began to look around for a suitable place to throw it.

Isabella stared impatiently at the maid. “Hurry up, dear!” she snapped, bringing her riding crop down onto a wooden post for added effect. As the crop struck the post, a loud crack echoed around the stables that caused a chestnut mare in the adjacent stall to buck, kicking suddenly at the stall door, which flew open. Screaming, Hannah jumped back, which caused the disk-shaped pile of horse poop to fling off the shovel and spin through the air, landing smack-bang in the middle of Isabella’s pretty face.

Silas was the first to notice that his niece had disappeared behind an impressive mountain of soft brown manure. Gasping in horror, Hannah Spoon’s eyes rolled back in her head and she dropped to the floor like a stone.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” Isabella shrieked, scooping away the horse poop covering her eyes. “What
is
this?”

“Horse manure, child,” said Silas, his voice melodious.

Isabella released another bloodcurdling scream, which flowed seamlessly into a loud crying fit. She spun around on the spot, causing several blobs of manure to fling off her face. “I’m covered in horse poop!” she cried. “I’m covered in
horse poop!
”

“Indeed,” said Silas. He felt his spirits lift on the wings of his niece’s distress, and it made him smile. “Well, you
did
say you loved horses, Isabella.”

Milo and Rosemary were already laughing their heads off, and Adele, unable to hold it in a second longer, let out the biggest, loudest laugh she had ever produced in her life. It came up from the pit of her stomach and made her whole body shake.

“It’s not funny!” shrieked Isabella. She pointed to the unconscious maid on the floor. “She did this to me, the clumsy idiot! I want her flogged!”

“Nonsense,” said Rosemary, wiping the tears from her eyes. “It’s your fault for banging that silly whip and scaring the horse.”

If looks could kill, Rosemary would have dropped dead on the spot from the deadly stare Isabella was giving her. To make matters worse, Milo (whom Isabella regarded as a moneygrubbing little orphan) was grinning from ear to ear, enjoying every second of her humiliation. Unable to laugh anymore because her stomach ached too much, Adele started to feel a pang of guilt over her cousin’s humiliation.

“Come on,” she said gently, taking her cousin by the arm. “Let’s go back to the house and get you washed up.”

Isabella nodded faintly and allowed her cousin to pull her along.

“Wait,” instructed Silas. “Rosemary, you are to hose this child down thoroughly before she returns to the house.” He looked down at Hannah Spoon’s unconscious body. “And have someone come and remove
that
.”