The Whispers of Wilderwood Hall (19 page)

At first there's nothing.

All I'm aware of is the sky beyond the two windows, a sunset glow, a mesmerizing meld of mauve and tangerine over the now black-green Scottish hills and pines.

“Please come,” I say softly, pressing my hands harder into the floor, stretching my fingers so wide they start to prickle with pins and needles.

Only it's not pins and needles, is it?

“
Turn … turn … turn…
”

As well as the whisperings, I hear a faint crackle.

“
Turn the corner, I'll be there!
”

My eyes flip open and I see Flora kneeling by the
grate,
singing as she brushes coal dust from around the busily burning evening fire.

“That's a pretty tune,” says Miss Matilda. She's sitting at a writing desk by the two small windows of my room (
her
room!).

“Thank you, miss. A dear friend taught it to me,” says Flora, and I see her smiling to herself.

“Someone from back in your home village?” Miss Matilda doesn't look up from her writing as she chats.

“No, someone local.
Very
local,” says Flora, then turns her head from her work and gives me a wink. I stifle a giggle, even though Miss Matilda wouldn't be able to hear it. It's so good to giggle; it's so good to see Flora. When she finishes here, I'll follow her out, and tell her my news. She'll be busy, of course, but I'll follow her while she works her way around the rooms, lighting fires before everyone heads for bed.

“How nice. Is it a young man?” Miss Matilda asks Flora.

“Oh, no, miss. Can't be doing with one of them,” says my friend, straightening up and wiping her hands on a cloth rag she has draped over her shoulder.

“I'm very glad to hear it! By the way –”

At
this point Miss Matilda puts her pen down and swivels elegantly around in her chair to face Flora. I can see now that she's wearing a long fitted robe that looks like a cross between a dressing gown and a coat. A perfect night-time fashion to suit a cold, draughty Scottish mansion, I suppose.

“– I heard from Catriona that you are to stay behind when we leave for the trip next week. I'm sorry to hear that. You must be very disappointed.”

Miss Matilda doesn't seem to be looking down her nose at Flora at all. Just as I thought, she seems quite kind and fair.

“A little,” says Flora, her head bent shyly.

“And you are to clean the house from top to bottom while we're away? That does sound a rather big job to undertake,” says Miss Matilda, frowning noticeably, as if she is well aware of the injustice of Flora's situation.

“The under-butler is to stay too, miss, and Mrs Strachan has already hired an older lady experienced in laundry and basic cooking,” Flora explains.

“Still, Wilderwood is a large house to maintain,” says Miss Matilda, tilting her head sympathetically.

That simple, small tilt gives me sudden hope for Flora. A governess has some social standing
in
a household like this. Once the family returns from America, perhaps Miss Matilda will be an ally for Flora. And if the rest of the staff see that Miss Matilda has a good opinion of her, then perhaps things can change…

“I was thinking of saying so to Mrs Strachan,” Flora says, sounding suddenly excited. “And I thought I might tell her that I know of a girl who could help me.”

Another surge of hope lifts my spirits. It would be so lovely for Flora to have company in the huge, empty rooms of Wilderwood.

“And who would that be?” asks Miss Matilda.

I see a smile playing at the corner of Flora's lips, but she's smart enough to control it so she doesn't seem as if she's cheeking the governess.

“You know I mentioned my dear friend?” says Flora.

A faint sense of uncertainty causes me to stiffen.

“The person who taught you that song?” Miss Matilda asks as she gets up and walks closer to Flora and the mantelshelf, where she checks her hair in the mirror above it. Now she's closer I can smell her sweet, flowery perfume.

“Yes, that same person,” says Flora, shooting me a
sideways
look of glee. “She is only thirteen, but she's very tall and strong. And she has no family. Well, none that care for her the way they should.”

A hot flush is rising through my entire body. What is Flora suggesting? That I shift permanently into her world? And I absolutely
don't
want to leave behind my version of Wilderwood, however difficult it's been so far.

“My, that sounds like a very sensible plan,” says Miss Matilda, taking some pins from her hair and letting her thick, long braid fall loose down her back. “I certainly think you should speak to Mrs Strachan in the morning and she can perhaps find money in her household budget. A girl that young should not cost too much to hire, surely.”

“Yes, miss. Thank you for your advice, miss,” says Flora, beaming and bobbing as she picks up her scuttle to leave. Her face is a picture of happiness. When she looks away from Miss Matilda and catches sight of
m
y expression, she'll see that it's not a mirror image.

“Uh … just one thing before you go, Flora,” says Miss Matilda, now frowning as she looks down at the mantelshelf. “I put my cameo brooch down here few minutes ago. Have you seen it?”

“
No, miss,” Flora says, suddenly pinking. Even with the fire crackling and burning, a chill cuts through the air.

“Are you sure?”

“No, I mean, yes, I'm sure, miss,” says Flora, now clearly ruffled and upset. Miss Matilda turns around to face her full on, the warmth gone from her.

“Flora, I have always given you the benefit of the doubt, when others did not. And I will give you the benefit of the doubt once again,” she says with ice in her voice. “If my brooch happens to be here in the morning, after you have cleaned my room, I will say no more. But if it is not, I shall have to report the matter to Mrs Strachan.”

“It's not fair, I have not seen it!” says Flora, getting agitated and tearful.

“That is my final word. Goodnight, Flora,” says Miss Matilda, moving towards the door.

I slip to the side as the governess pulls it open, and then follow Flora out into the corridor. The door is closed firmly shut after us.

“Come, come,” Flora says hurriedly, looking this way and that down the corridor, before pulling me into the privacy of her and Minnie's room, which seems even more drab and awful than ever.

“
Do you see what it is like for me here, Ellis?” Flora whispers, forcing the tears from her face with the heels of her hands. “But as you say, I should look forward to them all being gone. And won't we have such a fine time together?” She gives me a watery, hopeful smile, which I struggle to return.

Because for the first time in
this
Wilderwood, the waves come rolling in, thick and fast.

“Flora, I can't just leave my family for ever!” I tell her.

“But you said your mother only had eyes for her new husband. You said they were to send you away anyway!” Flora protests.

“Yes, I did say that but – but—”

But even if it
is
true about Inverkellen – and I know it is, since I've seen the proof – I am braver than I used to be. Like I boasted to Flora in the housemaid's closet, I can say no. I
will
say no. I'll agree to seeing the doctor and I'll do my best at Glenmill High, and Mum and RJ will have to be happy with that.

“And you have no friends where you are, do you?” Flora carries on with her objections, desperate for me to see sense.
Her
sense.

But at her words, I picture myself at the pool in
the
rocks. Cam bobbing in the water, aiming his smile at me, Bella and Joe paddling and panting around him. And I imagine what it would be like to join in with his fun; to answer his three word challenge, instead of clamming up and letting Weezy do the talking.

And Weezy; what would it be like to have more moments like the one we had on the sofa just now? An older sister painting her younger sister's nails. Talking about teenager stuff together…

“I– I just can't come and live with you, Flora, I'm so sorry,” I tell her.

Maybe I'm expecting my friend's face to fall, tears of disappointment to drip-drop down her sallow cheeks. What I
don't
expect is the pure rage that's visible in her clenched jaw and the sharp slap to my face. The stinging pain of it makes my eyes shut tight.

When I open them again, only a stunned moment later, it's a different set of brown eyes that happens to be staring into mine. In a very different Wilderwood, I'm so thankful to see.

“Is it OK if I come in?” Weezy asks, standing at the doorway of the “guest” bedroom she rejected.

“Uh-huh,” I mumble, at the same time flopping
down
on to the floor into a sitting position. I'm shaking so much that I can't stand for a second more.

“Do you feel bad again?” Weezy asks. “Should I get your mum?”

“No … and no,” I say. “I'll be fine. I'm just the tiniest bit dizzy.”

“Well, lie flat then, if you don't mind the dust.”

Weezy's voice gets closer to me, and I see she's now crouching down beside me.

“Actually, put your head here,” she orders me.

She's kneeling down, patting her thighs. Warily, I do as I'm told and lie back, using her lap as a pillow. I can't say it's relaxing though. After what just happened with Flora, I can't imagine ever relaxing again. And then Weezy starts drawing loops with her fingertips through my hair and across my forehead.

“Is this pressure OK?” she asks.

“Yes,” I mutter shyly. “It feels … pretty nice.”

“Oh, good!” she laughs lightly. “I don't know what I'm doing really, but it's supposed to be an Indian Head Massage. The nurse at my old school used to give me one whenever I got these stress headaches. Which was almost always. Ha!”

“
Did you have a hard time there?” I ask her.

“Hard? Being surrounded by A-star students, when I'm struggling to even read what the homework assignment is supposed to be? Yep, I've had a hard time there,” Weezy says firmly. “Plus me and my flowery DMs never fitted in with the other girls, really.”

“Why did RJ make you go there, if you were so unhappy?” I ask, niggles of doubts about my “friendly” stepfather creeping in again.

“Oh, it wasn't
his
idea. It was my mum's. She was determined I went to ‘the best school possible', even if it wasn't the best school possible for
me
. Over and over again, Dad tried to tell her it wasn't working, but Mum wouldn't have it. She told him that he was away so much touring that he had no right to an opinion on the matter.” Weezy's words drift over me as her fingers magically make the waves melt away.

“Does your mother actually hate RJ?” I ask her, letting my eyes slowly shut.

“Only enough to try to turn me against him,” Weezy replies wearily . “Which worked, a lot of the time.
And
to keep his letters and even his
wedding
secret from me.”

Hate seems so harsh. I feel a pang for my mum,
who's
tried very hard not to say a bad word to me about my disappearing dad and my disappointing granny all these years, even though they both definitely deserve it. But there is one thing, rather than person, that I hate.

“I hate secrets,” I mumble.

“Wow,
that
sounded bitter,” Weezy laughs wryly. “Who's keeping secrets from you?”

“My mum,” I answer.

“Oh…”

She knows. She
knows
!

I flip my eyes open and roll off Weezy's lap, curling myself up on the musty, cold floor, facing away from her.

“So when's she planning on sending me to Inverkellen?” I demand, my heart pounding.

“What?” says Weezy, sounding aghast. “It's not
you
going there, Ellis – it's me! Well, it's a possibility Sadie and Dad want me to think about, if I don't want to go back to my old school to do my A levels. The thing is, I don't want to do A levels at
all
, but if I have to, I'd rather just go right here in the village, to Glenmill High…”

I stare blindly along the faded floorboards at the dirt-edged skirting board, my head throbbing
with
confusion. Weezy might be staying here, and starting at the same school as me? So Mum wasn't keeping secrets after all… ?

“Anyway, if we're talking secrets, here's one of mine,” I hear Weezy say, and feel her hand land lightly on my shoulder. “I can be a jealous idiot. I was madly jealous of your mum, till I arrived here and got to know her and realized how amazing and lovely she is. And I was madly jealous of you especially.”

“Me?” I whisper, not moving from the comfort of my curled-up pose. “Why me?”

“Because look how similar we are, with our height and everything! You remind me of
me
, only younger. And you're getting to spend time with my dad. I mean, it nearly
killed
me when I saw him run and pick you up earlier.”

“So what changed?” I say softly.

“Dad told me stuff about you this afternoon, about the hassles at your old school and your – your…”

“Anxiety issues,” I fill in for her, so she doesn't have to feel like she's saying something clunky and insensitive.

“Yeah,
that.
Anyway, after our talk, it just got me thinking that me and you don't just have being
tall
in common. We've both gone through similar emotional stuff, for our own reasons,” says Weezy. “So I realized you were OK. And, hey, probably… well, probably just as amazing and lovely as your mum.”

A pleased smile sneaks on to my lips. But then I realize there's a hole in our conversation. A hole where a secret is hidden.