The Sleepover Mystery, page 1
For my mother, thinking of our dolls’ house – HW
For George and Ted – SL
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Museum Map
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Author’s Note
About the Author
Copyright
The kittens were lazing away the afternoon around the courtyard fountain, resting before their night shift. Ever since they’d managed to save the precious Egyptian Gallery from a flood a few weeks earlier, they’d been given their own guard shifts at the museum. All four of the kittens were very proud of their new duties. They loved prowling around the galleries, sniffing for rats and mice, and maybe even burglars.
But although they didn’t work as many hours as the older cats yet, they were all getting short on sleep. It was making Boris grumpy. The ginger kitten and his fluffy white sister Bianca seemed to spend most of the time snapping at each other. Tasha, their tabby sister, was worried that the pair were going to get them all into trouble with their constant squabbling. She had to keep reminding Bianca and Boris that they were supposed to be quiet and well behaved when the museum was open…
Peter, the black kitten, was just keeping out of it. He hadn’t been living at the museum for very long, so he tried not to get in the way when Boris and Bianca fought. He knew he was a proper museum cat now, but that didn’t mean he was actually one of the family.
Boris and Bianca were being even snappier than usual this week. The Egyptian Gallery was open again, but the flood had caused a lot of damage and it had been really expensive to tidy everything up. So the Museum Director had thought of a brilliant way to bring in lots of visitors. At the end of the week, the museum was having its first school sleepover. Sixty children were going to stay overnight in the Dinosaur Gallery! The whole museum was full of staff having the jitters and arguing over the tiniest things, and now Boris and Bianca were joining in too.
“It’s your turn!” Bianca hissed.
“No, it isn’t.” Boris curled his tail round his hind paws. “Definitely not.”
“I did it last week!”
“Mmmm, well, I can’t remember when I last did it, but it’s absolutely not my turn.” Boris yawned.
“Oh!” Bianca mewed in frustration. “You’re so lazy! Just because you don’t like the China and Glass Room. Because it doesn’t have boring old suits of armour, or motor cars like in the Transport Galleries. You can’t pick and choose, you know.”
“That’s nonsense.” Boris shook his whiskers and yawned again, then collapsed down into a patch of sunlight. “I guard all the different galleries when it’s my turn. And right now it isn’t.” He opened one eye to peer at Bianca. “Are you saying Ma’s got the shift rota wrong?”
“I’ll do it,” Tasha put in. Her tabby ears were flickering back and forth as she listened to her brother and sister sniping at each other. She hated it when the other kittens argued.
“Excellent,” Boris purred. “I’ll take the Dinosaur Gallery then.”
“No!” Bianca glared at Tasha. “Don’t you dare!”
“But I thought you wanted someone to guard the China and Glass—” Tasha started to say.
“I want him to do it, because it’s his turn! Ma hasn’t got the rota wrong, he’s just not listening because he doesn’t want to do as he’s told!” Bianca was practically spitting with fury now, and Tasha could tell that Boris was deliberately provoking her. He had his eyes almost closed as if he was asleep, but she could see a bright amber flash every so often as he sneaked glances at Bianca.
“But does it really matter, so long as someone does it…” she tried to say to Bianca.
“Yes, it does. It isn’t fair!” Bianca snarled. “Oh, how can you be so stupid!”
“Hey! Don’t call her that.” Peter sat up, his whiskers bristling.
“But she’s doing exactly what Boris wants!” Bianca wailed. “Look! Look at him – he thinks it’s funny!”
Tasha and Peter looked obediently. Boris was shaking with purry laughter.
“You still shouldn’t say Tasha’s stupid.” Peter came to stand beside the tabby kitten. “She was only trying to help.”
“And I like the China and Glass Room,” Tasha said. “I don’t mind guarding it.”
Boris opened his eyes. “No one likes the China and Glass. It’s the boringest room in the whole museum. Except for the one with those ear trumpets.”
“The what?” Peter blinked. How could anyone play a trumpet with their ears?
“Ear trumpets,” Tasha explained. “An old lady left loads of money to the museum in her will a few years ago, but she said they could only have the money if they found a room to put her collection of ear trumpets in. It’s along the balcony, next to the Manuscript Room.”
“Oh … those things. I wondered what they were.” Peter nodded politely. “Do they sound nice?”
Boris yawned. “No idea. No one ever plays them.”
Tasha wrinkled her muzzle. “Boris! You know they aren’t that sort of trumpet. They’re for helping people who can’t hear very well,” she explained to Peter. “You put one end in your ear and people shout into the other end. But I’m not sure they ever actually worked. No one uses them now.”
“Mmmnnnn…” Boris let out another yawn. “I just guard the museum, Tasha, I don’t read all the labels.”
Even Tasha was giving her brother an irritable stare now and Bianca was looking smug.
“Anyway,” Boris went on. “The China and Glass Room is very, very boring. Pots. And vases. And teensy little wine glasses. Who wants to look at those when they could have a big, shiny suit of armour? That school sleepover that’s happening in a couple of days – the children aren’t sleeping in the super-exciting China and Glass Room, are they?”
“It is exciting!” Tasha put in. “China is made of bones.”
“Bones? No, it isn’t,” Boris said. He’d clearly decided that today was his day to be as annoying as possible.
“It is! Bones and clay and some other things. Ground up very fine.”
“Is it really?” Peter asked, feeling slightly more interested in the china now.
“Yes, but only the kind that says bone china on the label,” Tasha admitted.
“Goodness.” Peter shuddered. “I never knew that.”
“And glass is made out of sand,” Tasha went on.
The other three kittens stared at her.
“It can’t be,” Bianca said. “It would fall apart. Anyway, that’s not the point. Whatever the stuff’s made out of, it’s Boris’s turn to be on watch in there and he has to do it.”
“Nope.”
“Yes, you will!” Bianca screeched, losing her temper. “You will, you will, you will!”
“Can’t make me.” Boris yawned again, sneaking a sideways look at his sister.
The thick white fur stood up all the way along Bianca’s spine and her tail fluffed out like a feather duster. She arched her back and jumped up and down on all four paws, like one of the strange springy jack-in-the-boxes in the Dolls’ Houses and Toys Gallery. Tasha edged away, convinced for a moment that there were sparks flying off her sister’s fur.
Bianca yowled and leaped on Boris.
Boris was so surprised that for a few seconds he sat there like a lump – with Bianca clinging on to his back. Then he hissed and stood up, shaking himself wildly from side to side to fling Bianca off. The white kitten went flying and Boris spun round, glaring at her.
Unfortunately, he forgot that he was delicately balanced on the edge of a fountain. His claws scrabbled and slid – and he splashed into the basin with a shriek of fury.
Bianca peered down at him, looking shocked, and then her whiskers twitched with delight. She hadn’t actually meant to push Boris into the pool, but he deserved it!
“Good!” she sniggered. “You were looking very grubby.”
“Rrrrr!” Boris growled loudly as he surged out of the water, wearing a panicked goldfish on his head. He was usually a very easy-going cat, but just occasionally he lost his temper. There was a wild look in his eyes now and Bianca edged back round the side of the fountain. Boris snaked after her, shaking his ears and dripping everywhere. “Look!” he snarled. “I’m all wet!”
“It’s a nice day, you’ll soon dry,” Peter said soothingly. He and Tasha exchanged worried glances. This was turning into a proper catfight!
Boris crept along the rim of the fountain, ears low and tail lashing, and Bianca let out a squeak. She turned and leaped down from the fountain, streaking across the courtyard with Boris close behind. Tasha and Peter raced after them.
Tasha gasped as she saw her sister shoot into the main hall and up the marble staircase. “Bianca, no!” she mewed. “It’s not closing time yet!”
As the museum cats weren’t really meant to be in the galleries during the day, they relied on a complicated system of tunnels and pipes and passages to get around. But with Boris looking at her like that, Bianca decided she didn’t care. She dashed through the Regency Room and into the Costume Gallery, with Boris hissing like a kettle just behind her.
Bianca adored the Costume Gallery – it was her second favourite room, after the Jewels – and she knew it far better than Boris did. She was
But Boris was still too close. Bianca had no chance to disappear into any of her usual hidey-holes. She risked a look over her shoulder – perhaps Boris wasn’t quite so furious now?
Bianca shivered. She was quite sure she could see every single one of his teeth. Desperate now, she did what all panicked cats do – she went high. She clawed her way up one of the costume exhibits, a beautiful stiff silk Venetian ballgown with pearl embroidery.
A stiff silk Venetian ballgown with pearl embroidery and long, dark tears all down the skirt.
The fragile fabric ripped to shreds as soon as it met Bianca’s claws.
“Look what you did!” Boris said, his eyes wide. The damage to a museum exhibit was enough to jolt him out of his fury and he stopped short, skidding the last half metre and almost crashing into the ballgown.
“Ohhh…” Bianca hung there with her claws sunk into the gathers at the waistline, her eyes closed. “Ohhh… Is it ripped?”
“Um … yes,” Peter murmured. He and Tasha had appeared beside Boris, panting. They had gone as fast as they could, but they’d been trying to keep out of sight.
“What were you thinking?” Tasha hissed at them both. “People saw you!”
Peter nudged her hard with his shoulder, nodding towards the ballgown, where Bianca dangled like an odd little furry purse.
“Get down from there,” Tasha said urgently. “Visitors are going to come in here any minute. Maybe even one of the staff!”
“I can’t! I can’t!” Bianca wailed. “My claws are stuck and I don’t want to open my eyes. This dress is so beautiful and it’s all covered in pearls – it’s my favourite and I tooooore it!”
“We can’t climb up there and get you,” Peter called to her. “We’ll make it worse.”
Bianca whined sadly and tried to unhook one set of claws. The gathered waist gave a little as a few stitches broke, and she slid down the silk in a flurry of white fur. She landed at the feet of the other three kittens and closed her eyes again firmly.
“How bad is it?” she asked.
Tasha exchanged glances with Boris and Peter. “I expect they can mend it,” she murmured. “They’re very good at mending things, the museum people. Hopefully they’ll think it was the rats. Or – or age…” She wasn’t sure if that was true, but Bianca was so upset, Tasha wanted to cheer her up.
Bianca opened one eye a slit and glanced up at the ballgown. Then she shuddered and turned away. “Look what I did…” she whispered. Her whiskers crackled straight again and she opened her eyes wide, glaring at Boris. “This is all your fault!”
Boris gaped at her. “What? It wasn’t me that sunk my claws into a priceless exhibit!”
“And I wouldn’t have either, if you hadn’t been chasing me!”
“You pushed me into a fountain! Oh, I’m not listening to this,” Boris muttered. He stomped away through the Costume Gallery, his ears flat and furious.
“I wonder if they’ve noticed yet,” Bianca whispered. She was sitting in their nest of old tapestries in the cats’ cellar home. For once, Tasha was grooming her sister, instead of the other way round. It was the only thing she could think of to make Bianca feel better. But Bianca was fretful and wriggly.
“Oh, stop it, you’re smoothing my fur the wrong way,” she snapped, twisting away. “Leave me alone.”
Tasha backed off with a sigh and curled up next to Peter, watching her sister and brother anxiously. Bianca and Boris had been arguing ever since they’d all sneaked out of the Costume Gallery. Now it was hours later, nearly time for the evening shifts to start, and still no one had agreed on whose turn it was to guard China and Glass.
“Kittens! Did you have anything to do with the furore upstairs in the Costume Gallery?” Tasha’s mother, Smoke, stalked into the cellar and eyed the kittens suspiciously. “I’ve just seen one of the conservationists up there in tears. The poor woman couldn’t even speak! The other staff had to take her away and feed her chocolate biscuits and tea in the café. And they’ve removed a dress from the display! They seem to think it was a rat, but those rips looked remarkably like kitten clawmarks to me…” She peered more closely at Boris. “What on earth have you done to your fur? It’s all spiky and strange.”
Tasha and Peter exchanged guilty looks, and Boris and Bianca immediately started trying to blame each other.
“It was her!”
“It was him!”
Smoke sat down heavily next to them and narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?” she sighed.
“He was chasing me,” Bianca said hurriedly. “And I was so scared that I didn’t think and I ran up the dress.”
“Bianca!” Smoke swished her fluffy dark grey tail. “I’m surprised at you.”
Bianca hung her head. “I never meant to,” she muttered. “It was all his fault…”
“Did you chase her?” Smoke asked Boris.
“Yes,” Boris admitted. “But only because she jumped on my back and sank her claws in. I fell in the fountain!”
“He’s so lazy!” Bianca burst out. “He won’t take his proper turn at guarding.”
“And it’s up to you to make sure Boris works hard enough?” Smoke asked, eyeing Bianca with her head on one side.
“Well, no, but…”
“I had thought my kittens were becoming real museum cats, but obviously not.” Smoke fixed Peter with a glare. “And they’re clearly having a very bad influence on you.”
“Oh … er…” Peter stammered, not quite sure what to say. At least she hadn’t put it the other way round. But he did think Smoke was being a little unfair on him and Tasha.
“You can all stay down here and sleep tonight – there’ll be no shifts for any of you.”
The kittens gazed at each other in dismay as Smoke stalked away. “Did … did she mean never?” Peter said, his eyes round with horror.
Tasha gave a tiny mew. “I was supposed to be guarding the toys tonight,” she whispered. “I love the toys…”
“Thanks,” Boris said bitterly to Bianca, and she hissed.
“Please don’t start quarrelling all over again!” Tasha pleaded, trying to nudge noses with Bianca. But her sister stood up and marched away from the soft heap of tapestries, curling up on her own on a torn and holey curtain in the corner of the cellar.
Boris turned his back on them and appeared to go to sleep, but Tasha wasn’t sure if he was pretending. She certainly couldn’t sleep. She could feel Bianca’s aloneness, cold and miserable in the corner.
Quietly, she crept out of the huddle of black and ginger fur that was Peter and Boris, and padded across the dusty stone floor to her sister.
“What do you want?” Bianca muttered as Tasha snuggled on to the old curtain beside her.
“Just to make sure you’re all right. I didn’t want you to feel guilty.”
“I don’t feel guilty,” Bianca growled. “It was all Boris’s fault for chasing me and he knows it. I’d only be feeling guilty if I’d done something wrong. And I didn’t. Now leave me alone!”
Several floors above, in the Dolls’ Houses and Toys Gallery, there was a scritchy tapping of little feet.
“I tell you, there’s food here,” one excited rat hissed to the others. “Cakes. Puddings. Pies. A whole fish, although I have to admit it’s quite a small one.”
“I’m not sure about this, Luther,” said Morris, peering up at the dolls’ house – a particularly smart one, with a blue-painted roof and a balcony. “Wouldn’t someone have noticed already if there were so many tasty treats? It doesn’t smell like food. Everything smells old, like it’s been here for years.”
“Real cakes?” asked Pip, the smallest rat, ignoring Morris entirely. “With cream and sugar and little icing roses?”
All three rats turned to stare at him and Pip’s whiskers drooped. “I just like eating things that are pretty,” he said wistfully. “Leftovers and scraps always look a bit grey. Now they’ve got those kittens guarding too, we hardly ever get to swipe the good stuff from the café.”
“I don’t think they can be cream cakes,” Dusty told him kindly. “Cream would go off, and Morris is right – everything in here is old.”
