CHAPTER TWENTY
The Rhyming Thaumatrope
Lorraine gave her daughter a long lingering look then said, ‘Hmmm…’ and gestured her to twirl on the spot. Rachel felt like an overworked shop mannequin: her mother had just about exhausted her wardrobe.
‘I s’ppose it will have to do. Thomas will be here soon,’ said Lorraine.
‘Oh, I almost forgot,’ said Rachel and stepped towards the closet. ‘I better take an overcoat and my thick bobble hat with me for the trip.’
‘The weather forecast said it would be quite warm today.’
‘Mr Warbler said Thomas’ car can be a bit draughty –’
Sounding out from the cul-de-sac, a trilling horn tooted three times.
‘It’s been a long time, but that horn sounds familiar. Now, if I’m not mistaken that’s Thomas’ racing car, The Black Duke,’ Lorraine grinned. ‘Yes, I think one of your warmest overcoats would be most appropriate for the journey. I’ll go and tell him you’ll be down in a minute,’ she added over her shoulder and rushed downstairs with giddy excitement.
✽✽✽
The early morning heat quickly burnt off the cloying film of misty dew, and high above the horizon, the faint outline of the waxing moon began its never-ending ascent across the cloudless blue sky.
Rachel opened the front gate, but she struggled to get it to shut again. Perspiring in her heavy black overcoat that reeked of mothballs, she trudged towards Thomas’ racing car that dominated the cul-de-sac.
The sporty open-top racing car looked in tiptop condition. The car’s bodywork looked as clean as a whistle, and apart from the dinner plate-sized front headlights, the blackest paint smothered every square inch.
By an old converted gas lamppost, Lorraine and Thomas stood close together and chatted, and behind them, an excited group gathered, their swelling ranks in awe of the sight of the rare racing car in their mists.
Bundled up in their thick coats, George and Alice struggled to get out of the car’s low-slung seats. Rachel sauntered over, sweltering under her hat and overcoat; however, she raised a smile, thinking she was half-dressed for an arctic expedition – not a pleasant day trip to the seaside.
‘Isn’t The Black Duke a beauty,’ George informed Rachel wondrously.
‘Thomas said it’s one of a kind,’ added Alice.
‘I’ve only seen racing cars like these on old newsreels,’ Rachel told them. ‘It looks in good condition – but is it’s roadworthy and taxed?’
‘It’s perfectly roadworthy, Rachel,’ Thomas interjected with Lorraine glued to his side. ‘Gladys mothballed my racing car ages ago, and she’s been busy getting the old man ready for our little trip to Bellingtons. Now, as it’s such a beautiful morning, I think we’ll take the scenic route.’
‘What’s our itinerary for today?’ Alice asked Thomas.
‘Both you and George will be meeting your new headmistress, Mrs Rose Dandelion,’ he told her cagily. ‘And when you’ve met the rest of the staff, she’s going to give you a guided tour of the school and its grounds.’
‘So, I’m free to wander around the place on my own?’ Rachel grinned.
‘You’re free to go anywhere – except for the animal enclosures,’ Thomas insisted. ‘Mr Warbler’s told me about last year’s unfortunate accident with a breeding pair of Snotty Speckled Gizzards, and the staff are still trying to clean the feathers and sticky goo off the enclosure walls.’
‘No deaths, I hope?’ Alice inquired.
‘No – just a lengthy stay in the hospital wing,’ Thomas imparted. ‘I might add that Matron Crowling likes a squeaky clean, smooth-running hospital – and woe betide the patient that upsets her daily routine.’
‘I bet her bedpans win awards for cleanliness?’ George snorted.
Thomas grinned, removed his trilby hat and put it into his deep overcoat pocket. ‘Oh, and there’s just one other thing to remember. It’s Bellingtons’ sports day – and um… well, don’t be surprised by what you see and hear,’ he told the three of them. ‘Their sports days are a little bit on the odd side,’ he added humorously and with a pinch of precaution.
With the conversation ended, they said their goodbyes to Lorraine, who walked towards the front gate with a definite spring in her step.
✽✽✽
The Black Duke spluttered and roared into life. With all its cylinders fired up and clattering away, Rachel settled back into her sleek seat right next to Thomas, who kept busy flicking switches, turning dials and mumbling away to himself, saying, ‘Pressure looks, OK… Hmmm… Must keep an eye on that oil level… Well, that’s most peculiar – oh, well, it will just have to do…’
‘Best of three then,’ George told Alice as they played rock-paper-scissors, but Alice lost the game, so it was up to her to make a good first impression with their new headmistress – much to George’s relief.
Thomas reached down. ‘Hello – what do we have here,’ he muttered.
Rachel peered over the black leather steering wheel.
Thomas pulled the string away from a small red lever and read the brown tag attached. ‘Well, you’ve outdone yourself again Gladys. You’ve managed to repair it – now, what would I do without you,’ he laughed.
Rachel gave Thomas a curious look. ‘What’s does it do?’ she asked.
Thomas gave her a sly grin. ‘Buckle up, Rachel,’ he beamed. ‘You’re in for quite a treat later on – but first, we have to circumnavigate the High Street and its never-ending roadworks and potholes…’
Rumbling over the High Street’s cobblestones and speedbumps, The Black Duke turned just about everyone’s head.
Thomas kept checking the temperature gauge and kept tapping it for good measure. ‘My car needs the open road. It needs wide-open spaces – not this snail’s pace… ah, at last, we’ve finally reached the eastern approach road,’ he said joyously. ‘It won’t be long before you can stretch your legs again, old man,’ he added placatingly, patting the dashboard affectionately with his black-gloved hand.
Like a coiled spring, The Black Duke took off down the road and met a sharp camber; it easily hugged the next three cambers with equal grace and speed. Thomas whooped as he put his foot down and overtook a train of tourists, zooming past their caravans at a frightening rate. The drive through the autumnal countryside ended as quickly as it had begun.
Rachel turned up her collar, as the stiff sea breeze had smacked her right in the chops. Thomas flipped a switch, and the car’s scaly fishy-smelling canopy rolled over their heads and snapped firmly into place.
With a sharp turn to the right, they left the main road and weaved their way around the speed bumps and down towards the fisherman’s cottages so fast, she wondered which one of them would barf first.
The Black Duke left the crumbling road, spun in the sand and came to a complete stop beside a windswept sign:
SATAN’S SCAR
Please be respectful and keep this beach as clean as a whistle
‘Bellingtons is four miles across the sand flats,’ Thomas told them. ‘The tide’s coming in, which is good news for The Black Duke.’
It didn’t sound like good news to her, Rachel thought. Thomas’ racing car looked less seaworthy than Gladys’ tram.
‘OK, check your seatbelts are secure,’ Thomas added, looking deadly serious, ‘as it’s going to get a little bit bumpier from now on.’
✽✽✽
Resting on the highest cliff top for miles around, a single wooden bench soaked up the unrelenting heat from the sun. Bleached and blistered, its bowed slats protested as a couple of old men sat down. In front of them, kitted out in tan shorts, black t-shirt and sandals, a young ginger-headed boy, opened up a cardboard box and assembled a large red kite.
‘Now, Clive – remember to keep well back from the cliff’s edge,’ the greasy longhaired man said to the pale freckled-faced boy. ‘Your mother won’t be best pleased if anything happens to you again, and she’s already put me on probation for losing you at last week’s car boot sale.’
‘And when did you ever take any notice of your grandparents?’ the curly-headed man asked his friend with a mischievous glint in his eye.
‘Maybe I enjoyed having a clip around the ear and the ruler across my knuckles,’ the bald-headed man retorted with a canyon-wide grin.
Clive suddenly leapt to his feet. He grabbed the ball of string in one hand and launched his kite into the wind. His kite snaked across the sky, but it floundered and dived into a deep sand dune with a low thud.
Thoroughly distracted, Clive squinted as he stared beyond the sandy seashore at the white-tipped waves; his frown deepened as he thought about his question and asked, ‘Granddad, I thought you said nobody’s seen a whale around these shores for well over a hundred years?’
‘That’s right, Clive – why do you ask?’
‘Um – because I think I see one swimming near the shore over there.’
The bench slats creaked once more. The podgy men panted over towards the cliff’s edge. They gaped in wonder at the shadowy shape and the fifty-foot funnel of water spewing out of its blowhole.
✽✽✽
With pure excitement, George screamed at the top of his lungs with Alice gripping his icy white knuckles out of sheer terror. Rachel’s lungs hadn’t time to scream as the pressure of The Black Duke’s acceleration had pinned her down. Thomas’ car had gurgled then shuddered as he’d flipped the red switch, and she felt as if a herd of elephants had just sat on her chest.
‘THERE SHE BLOWS,’ Thomas bellowed above the screaming engine and the rush of seawater pounding the metal framework.
As the car sliced through the pounding waves, Rachel wondered how Thomas could see out of his black leather goggles with its dazzling rainbow light, which glistened off the waterlogged windscreen.
The dashboard gauges were all in the red – except for one of them that had a trail of black smoke pouring out of the rim of its cracked glass.
Rachel felt her teeth would fall out long before the car would shake itself apart. Thomas clenched the steering wheel even harder, let out a loud whoop and roared, ‘THE BLACK DUKE’S NEVER BEEN SO FAST!’
‘Shouldn’t we be heading back to shore?’ pressed Alice.
‘Oh, I think we can spare a few minutes for fun – don’t you?’ Thomas chuckled, and before Alice could protest, he spun the steering wheel so hard to starboard they caught the crest of a massive wallowing wave.
Rachel felt her stomach rise and then drop like a stone. The Black Juke punched its way through another huge wave, and even George let out a gasp as they dropped downwards into the deep trough and the cavernous hole in the hull of a shipwreck that had just rolled over to port.
‘HOLD ONTO YOUR HATS,’ Thomas shouted. ‘I’M A LITTLE BIT OUT OF PRACTICE – BUT I THINK I CAN MAKE IT.’
Rachel’s fingers pinched the car seat so hard they hurt.
The Black Juke shot through the hole of the stricken wooden ship.
From out of the blackness, all sorts of sunken junk brushed by them: seaweed petticoats rippled and danced; barnacle boots spun through the turbulent waters and scores of starfish bumped and tumbled off the windscreen – leaving a thick trail of luminous slime as they slid off.
Still holding onto the steering wheel with his right hand, Thomas adjusted his goggles with his left. ‘NOW, HOLD ON TIGHT AND TAKE A DEEP BREATH,’ he boomed. ‘HERE COMES ANOTHER WAVE.’
Rachel’s head throbbed and momentary her vision blurred.
Thomas dodged the tumbling wooden barrels and steered the car around floating spinning chests and listless rotting mannequins. With earth’s gravity losing its fight against The Black Juke’s impossible feat, the car raced around the hull of the spinning shipwreck and with a final burst of power, it shot out the side they had entered barely a minute ago.
The blazing sun blinded them as they resurfaced, so Thomas barely registered the dark something that lumbered over a rising wave, but he floored the accelerator and moved the car out of harm’s way, but George bellowed, ‘WATCH OUT – THERE’S SOMETHING ELSE OVER TO PORT!’
Rachel’s eyes widened in shock as another something rose up out of the ocean depths. The shipwrecks spun around in the whirlpool, gaining ground and momentum as they closed in on The Black Duke.
Thomas flipped the red switch, flung the steering wheel to starboard, and they slipstreamed over the crest of an enormous plundering wave.
To their relief, the car’s traction kicked in with a jarring jolt, and they rose and fell with the tumultuous surf towards the shoreline.
Rachel’s heart and head pounded no more.
The ocean dwindled down to a heaving swell. The Black Duke made landfall and sped along the sand, weaving between the heaps of seaweed and bloodstained driftwood that now littered the beach.
✽✽✽
The colour in Alice’s face returned, and she said, ‘Let’s not do that again.’
Thomas let out a roar of laughter. ‘But it’s great to be back in the driving seat again,’ he cried jubilantly, but he reigned in his joy as he spotted the outline of an imposing fortress on the horizon. ‘That’s Bellingtons up ahead of us – we’ll be there in no time.’
In the distance, Bellingtons’ boarding school reached high into the sky. Built well back from the craggy cliff face, the fortress’s four towers and matching heraldic flags seem to puncture the low-slung clouds.
Thomas put his racing car through its paces but slowed down as it rumbled along a rutted road that ended at Bellingtons’ flying bridge.
Milling about in the muddy fortified ditch, a herd of shaggy Highland cows bolted as The Black Duke rolled across the bridge’s wooden slats.
The Motte & Bailey Crown Court’s courtyard paled in comparison to Bellingtons. Rachel couldn’t tell where the courtyard ended, as trees and bushes covered most of the ground. Scores of trickling brooks meandered through the idyllic setting. They left the sea breeze by a weathered stone archway and parked The Black Juke in a boggy area reserved for staff.
‘Well, at least we’ve arrived in one piece,’ said Alice half-heartedly, removing her overcoat and woolly hat. ‘Just smell that invigorating sea air,’ she added dreamily and stifled the beginnings of a gaping yawn.
George appeared disappointed. ‘I’d do that again and again, Thomas,’ he grinned expectantly. ‘That was the ride of my life.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind, George,’ he told him and checked his watch. ‘Um – believe it or not, we’re actually running late, and it wouldn’t do for our newest pupils to be late for their first appointment – and like Mr Pillings, Mrs Dandelion is a stickler for punctuality.’
‘I think I’m going to have a little nose around,’ said Rachel, dumping her overcoat and woolly hat into the passenger seat.
‘I forgot to tell you about Mary Plodding,’ Thomas said, wringing his hands agitatedly. ‘She had a tough time coping with Jack’s death, so her parents asked Mr Warbler if Bellingtons would take her into their care.’
‘What do we say to her?’ Rachel asked.
At first, Thomas just stared over her shoulder. ‘If she wants to speak, I’m sure she will make the first move,’ he said with a heavy sigh.
‘We better get going,’ said Alice. ‘First impressions and all that.’
‘See you later, Uncle Thomas,’ Rachel said with a wave and followed the impeccably-dressed young schoolgirl over the lip of a stone bridge.
✽✽✽
Rachel leant against the trunk of an old oak tree; she threw pebble after pebble into the still pond and thought if the black stone walls could talk, what tales they would tell about Bellington’s historic and regal past.
Behind Bellingtons’ black stone walls, you’ll find an oasis of splendour and tranquillity, Rachel recalled, feeling quite pleased with herself, as she had remembered at least most of the school’s prospectus that her parents had given her the other day at the breakfast table.
For the best part of half an hour, she had watched pupils and their families crossing the courtyard. They had all disappeared through a wide stone tunnel, and as the last remaining stragglers rushed through it, she heard the cacophony of excited children drifting over its high wall.
Brushing the dewy bits of grass off her dress, she stepped towards the long spindly bridge that spanned the largest pond, but she saw a rope ladder swinging in the blustery breeze. She hadn’t climbed anything in months, so she decided to see where the rope ladder would take her. As she ascended the knurled oak tree, the frayed rope looked ready to snap, so she leapt onto the nearest branch and peered beyond the high wall.
The crowd swelled in front of the wooden stage.
Rachel’s excellent eyesight couldn’t see much of anything through the colourful bunting and plethora of white tents, but then, the dulcet tones from a young girl’s voice distracted her.
With soft steps, she grabbed hold of the rope ladder and descended towards the girl’s melodic singing voice as she began to sing a hymn.
On reaching the lowest branch, she recognised the girl as the one she had followed over the stone bridge. Her angelic voice soon ended, and she began humming quietly away to herself.
Her spotless black and white petticoat dress matched her white socks and black shoes and sandwiched between her back and the knobbly tree trunk, her shiny jet-black hair plunged down to her slender waist.
Drawn to the girl’s alabaster hands, Rachel watched her attached a short length of the vine to the ends of a rectangular black card. In her lap, rested a badly scuffed black leather-bound book, its ragtag edges adorned with dull gold leaf. With her humming ended, she began to sing a lyrical rhyme, ‘Doctor Foster went to Gloucester in a shower of rain. She stepped in a puddle, right up to her middle and was never seen –’
SMACK!
Another clump of sticky reddish mud soared through the breezy air, splattering the front of the girl’s pristine petticoat. In the bushes, cackling laughter rang out. The girl wiped the mud away and quickly thumbed through her book; eventually, she poised over a particular busy page and said in a bitter tone, ‘Let’s see how you lot like urushiol.’
Rachel leant forward to get a better vantage point of the book’s page. On the right, blobs of red wax held dry-pressed leaves prisoner, and in stark contrast, irregular lines of swish black writing adorned the left.
And as if by magic, a bit of white chalk mysteriously appeared in the girl’s left hand, and she began scribbling furiously away on the card.
Peeling an almond-shaped leaflet from the page, she stuck it to the other side of the card with her saliva. With the two pieces of vine clasped firmly in her hands, she spun the card, uttering another rhyme and said, ‘Sticks and stones might break my bones, but heartless words can harm you!’
The girl dropped the card into her book with a deep sigh, but as she snapped the rusty clasp shut, a callous patronising voice bellowed, ‘OH, SOPHRONIA – COME OUT – COME OUT – WHEREVER YOU ARE!’
Startled by the sudden loud voice, Rachel lost her footing, and with a shrill shriek, she fell off the branch and knocked the mud-splattered girl sideways – knocking her book into the dense bushes.
Rachel shook the cobwebs out of her head and shot to her feet.
The girl she had just knocked over followed suit and glared at the scowling schoolgirl who had strutted into the small clearing.
The tall ginger-headed schoolgirl quickly squealed over her shoulder, ‘Hey, Hester, Abigail – come over here and take a gander at this.’
Two pudgy schoolgirls came waddling into the clearing.
‘Look, girls, Sophronia’s made a friend,’ said the ginger-headed girl venomously. ‘I wonder how she’s managed to do that.’
The other girls snorted, but the least dumpy one said cuttingly, ‘I bet Sophronia’s promised to buy her lunch to fatten her up.’
‘Her black dress is hanging off her bones,’ added the dumpiest girl with equal spite. ‘Can’t Mummy or Daddy afford to feed you anymore?’
Rachel felt the cruelty ooze out of every pore as their callous words left their chubby lips; however, the ginger-headed girl’s words were full of malice and malevolence. Bullies were the same in every school, but this girl appeared to be in a league of her own.
Sophronia gave Rachel a sullen glance and stepped brazenly towards the ginger-headed girl. ‘I suggest you keep that hooked nose of yours out of other peoples’ business, Eleanor,’ she said snidely. ‘You’re worse than your mother, Vivian – and that’s saying something.’
‘It’s Miss Vivian Harlequin to the likes of you,’ Eleanor snapped, her speckled freckles reddening with unfettered rage. ‘Mother knows all about your family, Sophronia, so you better keep your big trap buttoned.’
‘Hey, Eleanor – look what I found in the bushes,’ said the dumpiest girl. ‘It’s pretty careless leaving a family heirloom around for just anyone to find,’ she added mockingly, clutching Sophronia’s book to her chest.
‘Give me back my book right now,’ snapped Sophronia.
‘Hester, might I take a look at Sophronia’s most treasured book?’ asked Eleanor. ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t mind,’ she added tauntingly.
Rachel had heard quite enough. ‘I suggest you give Sophronia back her private property, Eleanor,’ she said calmly, but her patience was running out with the bully who thought baiting someone was fair play.
‘Oh, I think you’ll find the law around Bellingtons is finders keepers,’ Eleanor told Rachel and snatched the book from Hester. ‘Now, I wonder what Gribble secrets lay behind this locked clasp – or should I just take a wild guess and throw this mouldy old book into the pond?’
‘Let’s take it to the armoury – and bust the lock,’ offered Hester with giddy gleefulness. ‘What do you think we should do with it, Abigail?’
‘I’ve come up a bit short this month, so let’s sell the heirloom back to Sophronia,’ added Abigail. ‘Oh my, I think she’s actually going to cry.’
Sophronia snuffled again and wiped her nose with her white sleeve.
Rachel glowered at Eleanor and decided enough was enough.
‘I think I’ll take that book off your hands, Eleanor,’ Rachel spat and wrenched Sophronia’s book away from her grasp with lightning speed.
The schoolgirls’ smug expressions vanished in an instant.
Rachel passed the book to Sophronia and gave Eleanor a triumphant smirk. Incense by her embarrassment in front of her friends, Eleanor rushed furiously over towards Sophronia, but Rachel barred her way with a fierce scowl. Sophronia jammed the book into her overstuffed black satchel and mouthed a gracious warm ‘thank you’ back at Rachel.
Eleanor seethed. ‘You’ve got five seconds to give that book back to me,’ she told Sophronia scathingly. ‘1… 2… 3 –’
‘– If I were you, Eleanor, I’d button that fat lip,’ interrupted Rachel scornfully. ‘You might cut yourself on that sharp tongue of yours –’
Rachel recoiled but stayed upright.
Eleanor’s bony knuckles pulled quite a punch, but she had taken far worse punches at Plums. Her right cheek smarted, but she gave nothing away as she rubbed it and gave Eleanor a brittle grin of contempt as if her cowardly punch hadn’t hurt at all.
‘N-now you’ve gone and done it,’ Sophronia told Eleanor, who tried and failed to hide her discomfort as she rubbed her right hand. ‘As Prefect, I have to report any assaults on members of staff or pupils.’
Through her pain, Eleanor let out a derisive laugh. ‘She’s no pupil –look, she’s not even wearing a uniform,’ she snapped. ‘No wonder you two are friends – she’s probably an orphan just like you, Sophronia –’
Eleanor suddenly cried out and fell to her knees. Clutching at her legs, she keeled over in burning agony. Hester and Abigail came to her aid with sheer panic etched upon their flaccid faces.
‘ARGHHHHH!’ Eleanor cried out again.
‘What’s wrong, Eleanor?’ squeaked Abigail desperately.
‘It’s my legs – it’s my legs – they’re burning!’ she screamed tearfully.
‘WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?’ demanded a stern voice from behind the oak tree. ‘WHY AREN’T YOU GIRLS AT THE –’
Rachel’s eyes widened as she stared at the schoolgirl who had come into the clearing: Mary Plodding returned her surprised face.
Hester’s panicked voice brought them down to earth. ‘Miss Plodding – Eleanor’s in pain – it’s something to do with her legs,’ she squealed.
Mary gave Rachel a nod of recognition and rushed to Eleanor’s side, whose pale legs began to turn a nasty reddish colour: foul pockets of weeping blisters spread down from her knobbly knees to her pale ankles.
Rachel’s nose wrinkled in disgust as custard-coloured liquid oozed out of Eleanor’s blisters that smelt like rotten eggs and boiled cabbage.
‘Hester, Abigail – help me get her up,’ Mary said with authority.
The girls each took an arm. Mary grabbed Eleanor’s waist and did her best to calm her down as she began to blubber uncontrollably.
‘I’m taking Eleanor to Matron,’ Mary told Abigail uncomfortably. ‘Run ahead and tell her I’m coming with a patient. Hester, go and tell Mrs Dandelion where I’m going – she should be on stage by now.’
Abigail and Hester ran as fast as their flabby legs could manage.
‘Um, Miss Plodding, I think Eleanor’s been in the old Greenhouses,’ hinted Sophronia. ‘She must have brushed up against some Poison Ivy.’
‘Thank you, Sophronia – I’ll tell Matron,’ Mary replied, catching her breath. ‘It’s nice seeing you again, Rachel – but I must dash…’
With a grimace, Mary dragged Eleanor over the spindly bridge.
With a heavy heart, Rachel watched them disappear.
‘So, you’re Professor Shire’s niece?’ Sophronia asked Rachel.
‘Rachel Cook to be exact. Thomas is my mum’s brother,’ she replied.
‘Sophronia Gribble at your service,’ she announced with a smile and shook Rachel’s hand. ‘I hear the grapevine is ripe with rumours about its pupils and staff moving to Bellingtons – do you know if they’re true?’
Rachel threw caution to the wind. ‘Yes, it’s all true,’ she replied. ‘I’m afraid Bellingtons is going to get very crowded by the end of the week.’
Over the imposing high wall, booming speakers crackled. ‘TESTING – TESTING – 1… 2… 3… 4…’ bellowed the gravel-voiced woman.
‘That was Mrs Rose Dandelion, your headmistress,’ said Sophronia glumly. ‘Sounds like our sports day is about to begin. C’mon, Rachel, we had better head over there, as I don’t want to spend another cold night in detention. Oh, I heard your uncle will be making a guest appearance.’