AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I didn’t meet anyone on the stairs, so she must still be here somewhere. Make sure the front door is locked and search the house,” ordered an energetic female voice. “As for you, Walter, go upstairs at once and put something on to cover your hairy legs. Not a nice sight first thing in the morning.”
I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. I’d hidden in here about a million times when I was little, but I’d never been so scared of being found. Cautiously, so as not to make any noise that might give me away, I squeezed farther in among the junk. A spider ran over my arm, such a big one that I almost screeched with fright.
“Lester, Mr. Jenkins, and Tott, you search the ground floor and the cellars. Mary and I will search the first floor. Clarrie, guard the back door, and, Helen, you watch the front door.”
“Suppose she tries getting out through the kitchen?”
“She’d have to get past Mrs. Craine and her iron pans first. Look in the cupboards under the stairs and behind all the curtains.”
I was finished.
Oh, dammit. This was all just so—so surreal!
Here I was sitting in my pajamas in a cupboard, surrounded by fat spiders, dusty furniture, and—oh, my God, was that by any chance a stuffed crocodile?—and waiting to be arrested for theft. And all because Sir Isaac Newton had gotten his stupid sums wrong.
I felt so angry and helpless that I started crying. Maybe these people would feel sorry for me when they found me. The crocodile’s glass eyes sparkled mockingly in the dim light. There were footsteps to be heard all over the house now. Dust from the steps was falling into my eyes.
But then I felt that tugging sensation in my stomach again. I’d never been so glad of it. The crocodile blurred before my eyes, everything spun wildly, and all was quiet again. And pitch-dark.
I heaved a huge sigh. Don’t panic, I thought. Presumably I’d traveled home again. And I was probably now stuck among the junk under these steps in our own time. When the place also had fat spiders in it.
Something soft touched my face. In a panic, I flailed my arms and hauled my legs out from under a chest of drawers. There was a rumbling sound, boards creaked, an old lamp fell over. That’s to say, I thought it was a lamp, but I couldn’t see a thing. I could wriggle out, however. Relieved, I made my way to the cupboard door and crawled out of hiding. It was still dark outside the cupboard as well, but I could just about see the outline of the banisters, the tall windows, the sparkling chandeliers.
And a figure coming toward me. The beam of a flashlight dazzled me.
I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound would come out.
“Were you looking for anything in particular in that cubbyhole, Miss Gwyneth?” asked the figure. It was Mr. Bernard. “I’ll be happy to help you find it.”
“I, er … I…” I still felt breathless. It was the fright I’d had affecting my lungs. “What are you doing down here, Mr. Bernard?”
“I heard a noise,” said Mr. Bernard, with great dignity. “You seem to be a little—well, dusty.”
“Yes.” Dusty, scratched, and tearstained. I stealthily wiped my cheeks.
Mr. Bernard’s owl eyes were examining me in the beam of the flashlight. I looked defiantly back at him. It wasn’t forbidden to get into a cupboard in the middle of the night, was it? And why I should was no business of Mr. Bernard’s.
Did he actually sleep in his glasses?
“It’s another two hours before the alarm clocks go off,” he said at last. “I suggest you spend the time in your bed. I’m going to get a little more rest myself. Good night.”
“Good night, Mr. Bernard,” I said.
Despite a thorough search of the house, it proved impossible to lay hands on the girl thief seen early this morning in the town house of Lord Horatio Montrose (Inner Circle) in Bourdon Place. She probably escaped by climbing out of a window into the garden. The housekeeper, Mrs. Mason, drew up a list of items found to be missing: silver cutlery and valuable jewelry, the property of Lady Montrose, including a necklace given to Lord Montrose’s mother by the Duke of Wellington. Lady Montrose is at present in the country.
o;Maybe.”
“You do? Are you planning to climb a clock tower sometime soon—sit on the clock and dangle your legs?”
“Of course not. But maybe it was a symbol.”
“Maybe,” said Mum. “Or maybe not. Go to sleep now, darling. You’ve had a long day.” She looked at the little clock on her bedside table. “Let’s hope it’s safely behind Charlotte by now. Oh, I do hope she’s finally done it.”
“But maybe Charlotte just has too much imagination as well,” I said. I stood up and gave Mum a kiss.
I’d try again tomorrow.
Maybe.
