The Body Thief (8 page)

“Hose me down?” cried Isabella. “Uncle,
please
, I don’t want to be hosed down!”

But Silas did not stop to debate the matter. He turned his chair and headed back into the stables as Isabella was led outside. Silas could hear the fresh shrieks of his niece as the cold jets from the hose hit her putrid face for the first time. Later, when he was done inspecting his horses, he stopped by Flick’s office.

“About that Arabian,” he said. “I have changed my mind. Get rid of her today.”

“Today?” Flick could hardly believe his ears. “But, sir, I’ll need some time to find a place for her.”

“Then shoot the animal,” said Silas with a wave of his hand. “I don’t care how; just remove that horse
today
.” His eyes glowed darkly at the stable hand. “I have no use for any creature that will not bend to my will—including you, Gideon Flick.”

“All right, Mr. Winterbottom,” said Flick, unable to look the ghostly old man in the face. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Very good. Oh, and, Flick, say nothing of this to the children. They are too young to understand that sometimes in life you have to be cruel to be kind.”

As Silas headed out into the warm afternoon sun, his eyes, which had been dull and lifeless, now glowed like hot coals.

I Spy

At dinner that night no mention was made of Isabella’s rather smelly encounter. Seated around a mahogany table, which stretched from one end of the grand oval dining room to the other, the Winterbottoms dined on a simple meal of chicken and baked vegetables with priceless eighteenth-century silverware. Silas, seated at the head of the table, hardly touched his food. Instead, he would look out hauntingly at his guests like a scientist studying rats in a laboratory.

A side door swung open and Bingle entered the room. He bent down beside Silas, whispering into his ear.

“How very inconvenient,” grumbled Silas before dismissing the head butler and turning his attention back to his guests.

“It seems that the phone lines have been badly damaged,” he announced regretfully. “They will be out of service for several days.”

“All of them?” said Rosemary.

“Indeed,” said Silas, taking a sip of water. “Naturally, I am furious.”

“But I was going to call the maestro after dinner,” said Milo with a scowl (he was dying to talk with his grandfather and was rather hurt that the great conductor had not phoned him yet to see how he was doing). “What caused the damage?”

“Apparently there was a rather severe electrical storm last night,” explained Silas calmly. “Lightning struck a large maple tree just outside the estate and it fell onto the wires, bringing the whole thing down.”

“Really?” said Rosemary. “I didn’t hear any storm last night.”

“Neither did I,” echoed Milo.

“Well, I am pleased no one was disturbed,” said Silas with a thin smile. “Do not worry, the phones will be repaired soon enough and then you will be free to make as many calls as you wish.” Silas wiped the corner of his mouth with a white napkin. “Now tell me—how are you children enjoying each other’s company? Are you all getting along?”

“Oh, yes,” said Isabella brightly. “We are like old friends!”

Milo looked at her like she was crazy and Adele kept her eyes firmly on her plate. She was still preoccupied with thoughts of the cloaked stranger. Not to mention her quest to win over Uncle Silas—which had not exactly been a huge success so far. Still, she had Isabella on her side, and tonight was to be the first big step in their campaign!

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Silas. “I was worried there might be some
competition
among you three.”

“Worried?” snorted Rosemary, shoveling a large piece of baked potato into her mouth. “
Hoping
is more like it!”

“Well,” said Silas, “a little competition is good for the soul.”

“Oh, but, Uncle, don’t you see? There
is
no competition,” declared Isabella. “After all, I am already very rich and have no interest in your fortune, and Milo hates you with a vengeance.”

“Does he indeed?” said Silas dryly.

“Oh, yes, Uncle,” confirmed Isabella. “He blames you for that dreadful volcanic eruption that killed his parents. Don’t you, Milo?”

The room went very silent as all eyes swept to Milo. He said nothing at first, remaining perfectly still in his chair, and then he began to nod slowly.

“Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, I do.”

“How very unfortunate,” said Silas. “I had hoped we had gotten past all of that.”

“If you think about it, Uncle,” said Isabella matter-of-factly, “there’s really only
one
person you should consider, and that is Adele. After all, she has so many wonderful plans for Sommerset. Isn’t that right, cousin?”

“Well…I guess,” said Adele timidly, her mouth suddenly very dry. “I mean, yes…yes, I do. Lots of plans.”

“How fascinating,” said Silas. “Do share some of them with us.”

Adele cleared her throat. Her hands were trembling. This was it. Her chance to win over Uncle Silas. She remembered Isabella’s instructions and tried to look as confident as she could—which was not very confident at all.

“I think…” she began softly. “I think the grounds at Sommerset are so beautiful that everyone should be able to come and enjoy it. You know, like a park. A place where people could come and relax or explore the gardens or swim in the pools.”

Silas stared at her coolly.

“By everyone, am I to assume you mean the
public?
” he sneered, his pale face screwing up as if he had just swallowed an insect.

“Oh, yes,” said Isabella, jumping right in. “And that’s not all—Adele would open the library to poor children and all sorts of other unfortunates.” She beamed. “Isn’t it a wonderful idea?”

“It is
not
,” said Silas sharply. “Sommerset is a private estate,
not
a playground!”

“Well, I think it’s grand,” said Rosemary, patting Adele on the hand.

“Me too,” said Milo, offering his cousin an encouraging nod.

But it was no use. Adele could see the fury in her uncle’s pallid face. He hated her ideas! She looked to Isabella for help, but her cousin seemed preoccupied with her meal and would not meet her desperate gaze.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Silas,” said Adele limply. “They were just…silly ideas. They don’t mean anything, honestly.”

“I do not feel well,” said Silas, closing his eyes. “I shall retire to my room.”

He moved swiftly out of the dining room, followed quickly by a gaggle of servants, leaving behind a heavy silence broken only by the sound of Rosemary’s chewing ferociously on a chicken thigh. And then, as if nothing had happened, Isabella began talking excitedly about the poached pears they were having for dessert.

Fearing that she would burst into tears at any moment, Adele pushed her chair back, preparing to leave. Her napkin fell from her lap. Reaching down to pick it up, she glanced briefly under the table. Something bright flashed in her eyes. She blinked several times. As Isabella chatted away above the table, underneath it she was folding a fork, knife, and what looked like several dessert spoons into a napkin. Perhaps she was going to polish them, Adele told herself. Then Isabella carefully slid the bulky napkin into the pocket of her jacket. Adele could not believe her eyes!

Isabella Winterbottom would not
steal
silverware from her uncle!
Would she?

***

It was after midnight when Adele entered the narrow antechamber and stepped into the broom closet. She was still reeling from what she had witnessed at dinner. Isabella had stolen eighteenth-century silverware from the dining room! It did not make sense—after all, Isabella’s father was incredibly rich.

Pushing on the back wall of the closet, Adele stepped over the message carved into the stone floor—
Only in Darkness Will You See the Light
—disappearing inside.

A familiar excitement flooded through her every time she passed through the secret passageway and shut the bookcase behind her. She glanced around the towering shelves. Where should she begin her reading tonight?

Glancing lazily at the rows of books, Adele was halfway down the aisle when her heart stopped. She covered her mouth, her face locked in a silent scream. Silas, his body bathed in shards of milky light, was staring at her from the other end of the aisle. She stumbled, falling back.

“Good evening,” said Silas softly. “I see you have found the secret entrance.”

Unable to speak and with nowhere to run, Adele got to her feet. Up ahead she heard something move, brushing the ground, but the floor was shrouded in darkness, and she could not see what it was. Peering down, she focused on the shadows—there were flecks of light, silvery and wet, moving toward her. A low snarl broke the silence. Thorn! He was creeping toward her in the darkness, like a beast hunting its prey.

Taking a large step back, Adele hit the end of the bookcase and could go no farther.

Thorn let out a deep snarl and she heard his claws clicking on the floor.

He was getting closer.

“Uncle Silas!” she yelled, shutting her eyes. Tremors ripped through her body and almost instinctively she jumped up, wedging her feet into the bookshelves. She began to climb.

Silas tapped his fingers and Thorn fell silent. “Come down,” said her uncle slowly. “Thorn feared you were an intruder. My guests do not usually make their entrance through secret passageways.”

Adele legs turned to jelly and she fell back to the floor, tears flooding her eyes. “I’m sorry” was all she could think to say.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” declared Silas, moving his chair toward her. “I am not angry with you, child.”

Adele looked up and saw that Silas was holding out his hand. “Come,” he whispered. “Do not be afraid.”

She took his hand and his fingers closed around hers. They felt like icicles.

“That’s better,” said Silas warmly. “You see, there is no need to be frightened.”

“At dinner tonight,” said Adele, her voice shaking, “you were so angry with me.”

“Nonsense, child. I was tired, that is all. I may not agree with some of your
ideas
, but I admire your sense of vision.” He licked his thin lips. “I know how much this library means to you.”

Adele nodded eagerly.

“And one day very soon it could be yours.” He watched the young girl’s face and saw the idea take hold, filling her imagination and making her heart race. “You would like that, wouldn’t you, Adele?”

“Very much, Uncle Silas.”

“And you understand how important it is that the next owner of Sommerset possesses the necessary
qualities
to watch over it as I have?”

“Yes, of course,” said Adele, trying hard to control the mounting excitement.

“Good,” said Silas crisply. “Then you will have no problem collecting a little intelligence for me.”

“Intelligence?”

“It is simple really; you will watch your cousins closely—I want to know what they think, what they say, and what they do—especially Milo.”

Adele’s mouth fell open. “You want me to spy on them?”

“That’s exactly what I want you to do.”

“No, I couldn’t,” said Adele, shaking her head. “I can’t spy on my own cousins!”

“Should you agree to my request I would be most grateful. In fact, it would show me how serious you were about owning Sommerset one day.”

“But, Uncle…” Tears welled in Adele’s eyes again. “I can’t do it,” she whispered.

Silas nodded slowly. “I understand,” he said gently. “The choice is yours, naturally. I’m just sorry that a girl with your great potential is going to end up in a place like Ratchet’s House.”

Adele gasped. “What did you say?”

“Ratchet’s House,” repeated Silas, savoring each word. “That is where you will be sent if you fail to secure my estate, isn’t it? They say no one is ever the same once they’ve been in
that
place.” He shook his head, clicking his tongue. “But I am sure you will adapt to a life without freedom…without your father…without your books.”

Although she could not find the strength to speak, the bewildered look on her face said it all. How did Silas know about Ratchet’s House?
How?

“I know everything,” said Silas softly, as if he had read her mind. “Did you think I would invite you to my home without first doing a little research? Come now, you are a clever girl.”

Adele gasped. “You’ve known about Ratchet’s House from the beginning, haven’t you?”

“Indeed.” Silas smiled thinly. “I have found over the course of my life that the greatest treasure of all is information. You might say I am a
collector
. And because I know why you came here and what you want from me, I understand you very well. That is why I must urge you to give my offer careful thought. Your future could be glorious, Adele, but nothing in this world comes without a price…and you know mine.” He leaned forward, the moonlight illuminating his ashen face. “The question is—are you willing to pay for it?”

Feeling a great weight pushing down on her shoulders, Adele needed every ounce of strength she had left to lift her head and look at Silas. She had to win her uncle’s trust if she had any hope of winning his estate. It was foolish of her to think she even had a choice.

“All right,” she whispered. “I’ll be your spy.”

“Excellent,” said Silas, a brilliant smile sliding across his lips.

Discovery

Dark clouds hung low over Sommerset, and it rained for the next three days. As a result, the children were largely confined to the house, unable to play in the gardens or ride the horses. Milo felt like he was going mad as he walked through the rooms of Sommerset House, longing to be outside so he could continue his investigation into Uncle Silas. Adele spent nearly all of the time bunkered down in the library occupied by her own troubles. And as for Isabella, she busied herself by barking orders at Hannah Spoon and doing just about anything to gain her uncle’s approval.

This proved to be difficult as Silas had taken to his bed with a fever and severe chest pains. The slow passing days at Sommerset came to an end one morning when the sun finally broke through the clouds. Isabella and Milo had a quick breakfast before heading outside. Only Adele remained at the breakfast table playing idly with a piece of toast.

Ever since her secret meeting with Silas in the library she had been lost in a fog of confusion. She truly hated herself for agreeing to become her uncle’s spy—yet what choice did she have? It was either betraying her cousins or risk being sent to Ratchet’s House for the next ten years.

Mrs. Hammer noticed Adele’s sullen mood. Putting down a silver tray stacked with breakfast bowls, she pulled up a chair at the breakfast table.

“Is everything all right, Miss Adele?”

Adele looked closely at the housekeeper. She had kind eyes, yet Adele could not get the eerie image of the cloaked figure from her mind. Who was it? And why were Mrs. Hammer and Bingle hiding the stranger away?

“Everything is fine, Mrs. Hammer,” said Adele. “Honestly.”

Mrs. Hammer smiled, but she did not seem entirely convinced. “Well, if you’re sure.”

Later, as Adele was leaving the breakfast room, she heard one of the serving maids whisperingly anxiously to Mrs. Hammer. What was so urgent? Adele wondered. She dropped down on one knee, pretending to tie up her shoelaces and heard the maid say something about a set of ivory dessert spoons.

“Oh, mercy!” responded Mrs. Hammer, clutching her chest. “Are you sure they’re gone—have you looked
everywhere?
”

“We have, Mrs. Hammer,” said the maid anxiously. “And that’s not all. Last night after dinner the silverware count was out by five pieces, and this morning one of the butlers reported a set of porcelain figures missing from the music room.”

Grabbing the serving maid by the arm, Mrs. Hammer led her away from the door. “Do not repeat a word of this,” she whispered. “If there is a thief working among us, then I intend to find the guilty party before Mr. Winterbottom ever hears a word of it. Is that clear?”

She nodded. “I won’t say a word, Mrs. Hammer.”

While the two servants hastily cleared the breakfast table, Adele slipped away unnoticed and headed straight for Isabella’s bedroom.

***

Staring into the darkness, her eyes roamed the area under her cousin’s bed. Nothing there apart from a few hair ribbons—certainly no sign of silverware or porcelain figures. Adele stood up and looked around the bedroom. She searched high and low and found no trace of the missing items.

Her nerves were tingling madly, and her heart thumped. Spying did not come naturally to Adele, and her hands trembled as she opened a blanket box.

That Isabella was a thief still did not make any sense—yet Adele could not deny that she had witnessed her cousin stealing the silverware. But if that were true, then where was the evidence? On the verge of giving up, Adele went once more to the vast walk-in closet and searched the pockets of Isabella’s clothes.

Nothing.

Reaching to close the closet door she spotted one of Isabella’s beautiful winter coats on the floor beneath several pairs of boots. Aware that Isabella would probably holler at one of the maids if she found her coat lying on the ground, she bent down and picked it up. A heavy weight inside the coat made a clinking sound as it tumbled out.

Scattered across the closet floor were an array of items—the missing set of ivory spoons, silverware, the porcelain figures from the music room, a gold carriage clock, silver napkin rings, and on and on.

Adele stood there looking rather stupefied—her cousin was a thief, and worse still, she was
good
at it!

Bending down, she gathered all of the objects and bundled them back into the jacket. As she did her hand hit something hard in the left pocket. Looking inside, she found several small leather-bound volumes from the library.

Adele gasped. Instantly she recognized the books. They belonged to the collection of rare volumes stored in the row of glass cabinets on the ground floor. Quickly she recalled how interested her cousin had become when she heard how valuable the library’s collection was.

Searching the other pockets, she found books stuffed in every one—each book was a rare first edition and worth a sizable fortune.

A growing anger gripped Adele. Stealing silverware and statues was bad enough, but how dare she steal
books?
Despite her fury and with considerable difficulty, Adele returned the books to the pockets of her cousin’s jacket and packed them away into the far corner of the closet.

Closing the door to her cousin’s bedroom, Adele set off for the library, where she began to plan exactly how she would expose the thief of Sommerset.

***

“Ow!” shrieked Isabella, slapping Hannah Spoon’s hand away from her long black hair. “You’re pulling it!”

“Sorry, Miss,” said Hannah, who had the rather thankless task of doing Isabella’s hair as the young lady relaxed in a secluded garden of pink and orange roses.

“Well, be careful,” snapped Isabella. She sighed, running her fingers through the long silky strands of her hair. “It is not easy having beautiful hair, you know. You are so lucky, dear—your hair is as stiff as a toilet brush, I am sure you don’t even need to comb it most of the time. What a relief that must be!”

“Yes, Miss, a
great
relief,” Hannah said through clenched teeth.

Milo was crossing the rose garden looking for Moses when he caught sight of his snooty cousin. He was about to escape through a break in the hedge when Isabella began waving at him.

“Hello, Milo,” she said sweetly. “I hardly recognized you from so far away; you are so very tiny! Dear cousin, I hope you are not upset with me about what I told Uncle Silas at dinner. I thought it was common knowledge that you hated him.”

Clenching his fists into tight balls, Milo fought against a strong impulse to pick up a bucket of fertilizer and dump it onto his cousin’s head. Instead he opted to do something which he felt sure would upset her even more.

“Hello, Hannah,” he said, smiling warmly at the young maid. “Have you done something different to your hair? You look very pretty today.”

Hannah giggled shyly. “Thank you, Master Milo.”

Then Milo passed the two girls, ignoring his cousin completely. A stony scowl set into Isabella’s face, and she emitted a low grumbling sound.

“Hurry up, girl!” she snapped at Hannah. “And stop smiling. You look like a monkey!”

Feeling rather pleased with himself, Milo headed for the orchard, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of Moses or Knox.

“Good morning, Milo.”

Milo looked up. He flinched seeing the hollow face staring back at him.

“Hello, Uncle Silas.”

He noted how frail Silas looked—his cheekbones raised sharply, his skin ashen and lifeless.

“I have been looking for you,” said Silas. “There’s something I’d like you to see.”

“Actually, I’m kind of busy at the moment.”

“Whatever it is,” said Silas calmly, “I’m sure it can wait. Do follow me.”

Reluctantly Milo did as he was told. Crossing the courtyard, they entered a large greenhouse linked by an enclosed path. Silas moved silently through the long steamy room, leading Milo out into a narrow courtyard with a solid metal door at the far end. He produced a large key from his pocket. The key slid into the barrel and turned, and the door opened with a rusty clank.

Inside was a simple garden surrounded by large stone pillars and high walls. Neat rows of flowers with the most enormous blooms Milo had ever seen ran along the sides, curving around a brass sundial in the center.

“You know a great deal about flowers, Milo,” said Silas playfully. “Tell me, what do you think these are?”

Never one to shrink from a challenge, Milo took a closer look. They were incredible—a mass of arched purple petals surrounding a luminous orange and yellow bulb, which seemed to float in the middle like a water lantern. Each flower looked radiant and on fire. He smelled the perfume.

“Recognize the scent?” said Silas, smiling.

“Yes,” exclaimed Milo, leaning in and taking another deep breath. “It smells like gardenias…
and
lavender. But how?”

“
How
indeed.” Silas gave a satisfied grin. “Do you like the combination?”

For a brief moment Milo considered lying. “Yes,” he admitted.

“So, what do you think of the Phoenix rose?”

Milo recalled Moses telling him about the mysterious Phoenix rose the day he arrived at Sommerset.

“It’s not like any rose I’ve ever seen,” he said.

“Of course not. It was created right here by a leading scientist—an expert in genetic modification. It is one of a kind. Remarkable, don’t you think?”

“Remarkable,” said Milo, unable to hide his excitement. “Mr. Boobank would go crazy for this. Could I take a cutting?”

Silas laughed. “The Phoenix rose is a private pleasure,” he said. “It is not for public consumption. You see, the roses in this garden will decorate my coffin.”

“A flower this special should be shared,” said Milo as he wandered down to the far end of the garden. “Seems selfish to keep it all to yourself.”

“Well,” said Silas, following after his nephew, “as the next heir of Sommerset you may do with them what you wish.”

The words did not reach Milo right away, but when they did his face grew pale.

“Who, me?”

Silas nodded. “Indeed. I have given it a great deal of thought and I am going to leave my estate to you, Milo.”

“Wait.” Milo shook his head. “But I don’t want it.”

“Ah, but you will in time,” said Silas softly. “You see, I know that you would come to care for this place as deeply as I do. Your cousins do not have your soul, child. You know how important it is to protect what you love and keep it from harm. I truly believe that you and the maestro would be very happy here at Sommerset.”

An uncomfortable feeling settled on Milo. His uncle’s words eased their way inside him and began to make real sense. It was as if Silas were casting a spell over the boy, and he did not like the feeling one little bit.

“If you love Sommerset so much, Uncle Silas,” he told him, “then give it to someone who wants it—because I do not.”

“Why not?” snapped Silas, his calm manner slipping away. “I am offering you the
world!
”

“Well, I don’t want your world!”

“Then you are a fool!”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Milo found himself crouching down in front of his uncle, looking deep into his dark eyes. “When my father asked you for help,
begged
you for help—what did you do? You sent us to live on top of a volcano!”

“Milo, you must understand,” said Silas defensively. “I was simply trying to be a good brother. Your father needed money and so I offered him a job. If I had known there was even a remote possibility that the volcano would erupt, well, I would never have suggested the idea.”

“Liar!” shouted Milo. “You were warned about the volcano! You couldn’t get anyone else to clear that land, so you lied to my father, and he believed you because my mother was sick and he was desperate.” Milo felt the tears stinging his eyes. “It would have been so easy for you to lend my parents the little amount they needed. Instead, you sent them to their graves.”

“Perhaps you are right, Milo,” Silas said softly. “What happened on that peninsula, the devastation it wrought, has haunted me. Every day I think of your parents and wish that I had simply given your father the money he needed. The truth is, I have enjoyed great fortune in my life, but I have not shared it.”

The admission took Milo by complete surprise. Was Silas actually admitting his guilt?

“Death is coming for me,” he told the boy, his head hanging low, “and I am trying to make up for some of the wrong I have done—especially to your parents. Please believe that I never intended any harm to come to them…or to you. I know all about your life, Milo—how much you and your grandfather struggle just to get by.”

“We do just fine,” said Milo, but the strength seemed to have left his voice.

“Believe it or not, Milo, your father and I were very close at one time, and I know how deeply he cared for his family. What would he want for you—a life of grim despair in Winslow Square or a life of luxury right here at Sommerset?”

Milo did not answer.

“You think that if you accept Sommerset, then you are betraying your father, but that is not true. Your father would want this for you.” Silas took a shallow breath. “Well, take some time, and think it over.”

He left Milo in the secret garden, surrounded by the rarest flower on earth—the orange and red blooms sparkling in the morning sun like a fire storm.