Spark, page 8
Jack saw that there was an empty pedestal in the middle of the room.
Terry stood frozen beside it, wearing an expression of horror. Jack immediately realized he was wearing a similar expression. He forced himself to smile brightly. “What a wonderful collection of birds you have, m’lady,” he said, echoing the butler’s title for Lady Goremore.
“It is, isn’t it.” She raised an eyebrow and gave a haughty smile.
“Better than a museum.” Jack nodded. “Where did you get them from? Antique shops?”
“Ha!” Lady Goremore threw her head back at this preposterous suggestion. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“Then…” Jack frowned as if he couldn’t work out where else the birds could possibly have come from and waited with bated breath, hoping she would fill the silence.
“There is no thrill of the chase, gratification of the hunt, or conquest of nature in an antique shop.” She surveyed her collection proudly. “If it flies, it dies. That’s the Goremore motto.”
“You never bagged all these birds yourself?” Jack marvelled, trying to sound impressed.
“I can’t take the credit for all of them,” Lady Goremore admitted with pursed lips. “But more than half of the birds in this room are my kills.”
“Whoa! You must be a crack shot!” Jack said, feigning admiration.
“What’s the new case for?” Terry asked, trying to copy Jack’s light tone. “It can’t be for a bird, it’s really big.”
A shadow fell across Lady Goremore’s face. “Get out!” she snapped, and Jack jumped. “Kitchen’s round the back. Don’t use my front door again.”
“Yes, m’lady.” Jack bowed, grabbing Terry’s arm and pulling him towards the door. “Thank you, m’lady.”
Stunned by her sudden change in temper, Terry stumbled as the two boys hurried away down the sweeping staircase into the grand hall. Jack caught him and stopped him from falling.
“She’s scary,” Terry whispered.
“The way she reacted to your question,” Jack hissed. “Definitely suspicious!”
There were more cases of stuffed birds in the grand hall. Beautifully constructed dioramas with painted backdrops and sculpted floors, containing a series of stuffed songbirds, arranged to look like they were nesting or perching. Some nests even contained eggs. These cases were different to the ones upstairs: they looked old. The birds inside were tired and a bit tatty. A wall-mounted display of ancient hunting rifles framed the bird cases. Each gun was over a metre in length with a wooden handle and extended barrels.
“I can’t believe they show off the weapons they used to kill the birds!” Terry said, disgusted. He looked at Jack. “You smiled at her,” he said accusingly.
“Yeah, well you looked like you were going to puke on the carpet and call the police,” Jack muttered. “I had to do something.”
“That room…”
“Gruesome.” Jack nodded. “And I’d put money on it not being legit. Nearly every one of those birds is on the red list. They’re endangered species. They’re supposed to be protected. These” – he pointed at the songbirds – “look like they’re from Victorian times. But those ones upstairs. They looked … new.” He shuddered, thinking of the hen harrier. “Twitch must never come here.”
Pulling out his notebook, Jack scribbled down the birds of prey he’d seen in the room. Then he wrote: Large new case and empty pedestal. A horrible thought had sprouted in his mind as soon as he’d seen it. “Terry, you don’t think that empty case is for the bearded vulture, do you?”
A rumbling clap of thunder made both boys jump and grab each other in alarm.
“It’s only thunder,” Terry said, trying to reassure himself as he let go of Jack.
“Terry, I think this case is bigger than Peaky and Madden targeting cats with a slingshot. Something else is going on. I’m not leaving Mord Hall until we’ve got jobs.”
“Are you the boys come about finding work?” came the sharp voice of a matronly woman who appeared at the far end of the hall.
Terry jumped, opening his mouth to cry out at the sudden sight of her silhouette, but managed to stop himself.
Jack gave the woman his most charming smile. “Yes, ma’am. Lady Goremore told us to go to the kitchen, but Mr Jones had to take Galileo to the stables, and we are not sure of the way.”
“Come with me. I’m Mrs Mulworthy, the housekeeper.” She looked down her nose at them. “I do the hiring and firing around here, so mind your Ps and Qs.”
A flash of lightning lit up the corridor. Jack struggled to keep smiling as his heart quivered. They followed the robust woman down the hallway, her heels clicking on the tiles. Jack paused to peer into a library of wall-to-wall identical looking leather-bound books.
“This way,” Mrs Mulworthy barked, curtailing his snooping.
The kitchen was cavernous. A young man in his twenties was sitting in a chair with his feet on the table, reading a newspaper.
“Kenneth!” Mrs Mulworthy snapped. “What have I told you about putting your feet on the table?”
“Sorry, Mum.” Kenneth grinned at Jack and Terry. “Who have we here?”
“Another couple of boys to help with the party. Can you find them something to do?”
“I certainly can.” Jumping to his feet, the man came around the table to greet them with an enthusiastic handshake. “I’m Ken.”
“I’m Jack, this is Terry,” Jack said. “Our school friend, Clem, works in the stables and said there was work going.”
“We thought we might earn a bit of cash in our half-term holiday,” Terry added.
“Well, Clem is right. We’ve a big party on Friday night, and from Wednesday, when the deliveries start arriving, the whole house will be busy with preparations. I need help on Friday afternoon with the set-up, and then all evening, before and during the party, clearing away empty glasses and washing up in the kitchen. Think you can handle that?” Jack and Terry nodded. “Great!” Ken clapped his hands together. “Well then, I’d like to see you outside the kitchen door at eleven a.m. on Friday morning. First two hours will be a trial, to see if you can follow orders and be useful. Get through them and I’ll pay you six pounds an hour for your trouble.”
“That’s brilliant,” Jack replied. “Thank you.”
They heard another crash of thunder.
“I think we should go,” Terry said, glancing out the window nervously. “It’s dark out there.”
“This is the kitchen door.” Ken opened it and gestured for the boys to go out. They trooped through it and turned. “This is where I expect to find you on Friday morning.” He looked at each of their faces to be certain they were all in agreement and nodded. “Now you’d better get home before the heavens open.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Terry said, as Ken shut the door.
“Not yet.” Jack looked across the yard at the outhouses. “Let’s take a quick look around, see what we can find out.”
“But if Peaky and Madden hurt those cats with a slingshot, then we’re not investigating people with guns any more,” Terry pleaded.
“What about that empty pedestal in the room of dead birds?”
“That’s got nothing to do with the cats.”
“But there is a connection between Lady Goremore and Peaky and Madden.” Jack only had a hunch to go on, but he was certain it was right. “Nick Skinner is the connection. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m almost certain he is involved somehow. We need to find out more about him.” Jack didn’t wait for a reply but ran across to the nearest barn, which turned out to be stables. Three beautiful horses were in pens full of fresh straw.
“This must be where Clem works,” Terry said.
“There’s Galileo.” Jack pointed.
The shed next door was full of bridles, saddles and other riding paraphernalia. The one beside that was stacked with bales of straw.
“Where do you think a gamekeeper works?” Jack wondered, as they crossed the yard. A warning splatter of rain hit their heads.
“I think he has his own house, next to the heath.”
There was a bone-juddering clap of thunder directly above them. Both boys looked up as torrents of water dropped, drenching them to the skin in seconds.
“Quick!” Jack cried, running back to Mord Hall, picking his way across a flower bed to seek shelter underneath the overhanging roof of a bay window. Terry squeezed up close to him as lightning tore the sky apart.
“Our bikes are going to be soaked,” Terry moaned.
Jack grabbed Terry, dragging him down into a crouch.
“What is it?” Terry squealed.
“Lady Goremore!”
Peeping round the casement, Jack saw Lady Goremore striding away from the house. Beside her was Nick Skinner. He was holding an enormous black golfing umbrella over her head, to keep her dry. The storm was too loud for Jack to hear what they were saying.
“We need to follow them,” he said and, without looking back, he sprinted into the torrential rain.
Keeping low, Jack dashed towards the trees that lined the avenue. Running from trunk to trunk, he caught up with Lady Goremore and her gamekeeper, staying behind them so as not to be seen.
“Will we have it before Friday?” Lady Goremore asked Nick Skinner. “The house will be full of people all day. It can’t be brought in on Friday.”
“It’ll arrive tomorrow or the next day, I reckon,” Nick Skinner replied, with a voice like gravel. He was barely audible above the rain and Jack had to read his lips.
“What about the storm. Will it delay it?”
“Probably.” Nick glanced at the sky. “Storm’ll pass, though.”
“But will we or won’t we have it before Friday?” Lady Goremore’s voice was hungry.
“There’s no guarantee we’ll get it at all.”
“I want it!” Lady Goremore stopped walking and gave Nick Skinner a sly smile. “I don’t employ the finest shot in England for nothing.” She took hold of his chin. “Or, are you not him?”
“I am,” Nick Skinner replied, and Jack found he was holding his breath. He thought for a moment they were going to kiss, but Lady Goremore pushed Nick Skinner’s chin away and carried on walking.
“Can’t shoot it.” Nick shook his head, catching up with her. He tapped his temple. “Got to be clever about it.”
“Well then, be clever.”
Jack expected Nick Skinner to simper and flatter Lady Goremore, but his face was placid and unreadable. “I’ll do what I can.”
“What you can do, is kill it!”
They passed through a gate into a walled garden. Jack hurried out from the shelter of the trees, but there was no way he could follow them without being seen. His head was whirling. Though they hadn’t said it, he was almost certain they’d been talking about the bearded vulture. His insides churned with alarm. They were plotting murder!
With his clothes sticking to his skin and hair plastered to his face, he ran back to Terry, who was still sheltering against the house.
“Did they see you?” Terry asked.
Jack shook his head.
“Did you discover anything?”
“I’ll tell you on the way. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
The boys pelted down the driveway, picked up their bikes and pedalled like fury downhill, towards town. The road had become a river. It was slippery and treacherous. Thunder boomed and lightning crackled as water came down from the heavens like an icy monsoon.
Jack’s thoughts were dark, his heart thundering, his emotions tumultuous.
The storm was so loud, the boys had to shout at each other to be heard. Deep puddles, collected in the dips of the road, drenched them again and again as they sped through.
Terry screamed when a bolt of lightning lit up the sky, pretending he’d been electrocuted, and Jack suddenly couldn’t stop laughing. He felt safer the further away they got from Mord Hall. He calmed down as they cycled through town and by the time they reached the canal, he was keen to stop and tell Ava everything they’d discovered.
They dropped their bikes and hammered on the Kingfisher cabin door.
Ava opened it and stared. “Stay there,” she ordered, getting out a bin bag and laying it down on the floor. “Come in and stand on that.” She called over her shoulder, “Tippi, we need a couple of towels.” She looked at them. “Don’t move or you’ll get everything wet.”
Tippi ran in. Behind her came Nan with an armful of towels and a couple of blankets.
“Hi,” Jack said. “Sorry to drop in on you like this, but we were getting drenched.”
“Not a problem.” Nan smiled. “Now, strip down to your underwear,” she instructed, “or you’ll both catch a cold.”
Jack and Terry looked at each other in alarm and Ava laughed. “Don’t worry. I won’t look.” She turned her back and covered her eyes.
Both boys hurriedly pulled off their sodden shirts, socks and trousers, and wrapped themselves in the towels Nan was holding out. It was only when he sat down at the table, covered in a blanket, that Jack realized he was shivering, and his fingers looked like white raisins.
“I’ll make hot milk,” Nan announced, going to the kitchenette and taking a pan from the cupboard.
Ava and Tippi sat down at the table opposite the boys.
“You made it back from Passerine Pike all right?” Jack asked.
“Ozuru’s dad saw the storm coming and came to pick us up,” Ava said. “We’d only been there an hour when he arrived.”
“Will the skywatch hide be all right in this storm?” Terry asked.
“Twitch thinks so. He’s pleased because it means the other birdwatchers looking for the lammergeier can’t set up camp today.”
“Is he worried it might ruin the chances of the vulture coming this way?” Jack asked.
“No. He says it will probably arrive tomorrow or the next day.”
Twitch’s prediction echoed Nick Skinner’s words and Jack shuddered. He glanced at Tippi, not wanting to tell Ava about Mord Hall in front of her little sister.
Ava noticed and said, “Tippi, could you go and get some of Nan’s socks for the boys to put on? They’re still shivering.”
Tippi nodded and slid from the table.
“So?” Ava whispered, as soon as she’d gone. “You found something out, didn’t you? I can see it on your faces.”
“I think Lady Goremore wants to kill the bearded vulture.”
“What?” Ava looked shocked.
“We need to tell Twitch and the rest of the gang,” Jack said. “We can’t handle this alone.”
“But, what’s it got to do with the cat shootings?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing,” Jack admitted. “It’s something we discovered by accident when we went to Mord Hall.”
“We got jobs, working at the party,” Terry said, through chattering teeth.
“I don’t understand.” Ava frowned. “What makes you think Lady Goremore wants to kill the bearded vulture? Did you hear her say so?”
“Not exactly,” Jack admitted. “But she was having this giant case delivered. We helped the delivery men carry it up to this room. You should’ve seen it, Ava. It was horrible. It’s like a private museum of dead birds of prey.”
“‘If it flies, it dies,’ that’s what she said,” Terry added, looking haunted.
“What about Nick Skinner?” Ava asked. “Did you see him?”
“Yes. We were outside when it started to rain,” Jack said. “He came out of the house with Lady Goremore. I followed them and caught a bit of their conversation. I think they were talking about the vulture.”
“What did they say?” Ava asked.
“Have you got paper and a pen? We should write it all down, before I forget it. My notebook is soaking wet.”
Ava brought over a pad and a pot of pencils. Jack recounted the conversation as he remembered it and she wrote it down.
There was a long silence as the three of them considered the words.
“She doesn’t kill all the birds,” Terry said. “Nick Skinner helps her. That’s obviously why she says he’s the finest shot in England, but I don’t understand why he then says that he can’t shoot it.”
“Because it’s illegal to shoot a protected bird,” Ava replied.
“What do you think Nick Skinner could have meant when he said they had to ‘be clever about it’?” Jack asked. The others shook their heads blankly. That was the comment that made Jack feel most uneasy. Everything about Nick Skinner screamed dangerous. Whatever clever plan he’d come up with, it was likely to be a good one.
The deluge of torrential rain had been drumming relentlessly on the roof tiles when Jack had climbed into his bed. He’d fallen asleep thinking about all the things they’d discovered that day. When he woke up, he became conscious that it was, at last, silent. Blinking his eyes open, he rolled onto his side and sat up. Lifting his bedroom curtains, Jack looked out at a misty fog. The view was so shocking that he bounced onto his knees, pushing the curtain aside.
Down below, there was no road or pavement, but a sea of muddy water. The parked cars looked like they were swimming in chocolate milk.
“Reggie was right!” Jack whispered in awe.
Scrambling out of bed, he hurried onto the landing and was met with a strange sight. His parents were downstairs wearing pyjamas, dressing gowns and wellington boots. They were fishing for objects floating in the pond that had been the ground floor of his home.
Picking up a wooden chair, his dad held it over his head as he sloshed towards the stairs.
“No, not that one,” Jack’s mum said. “Get the wooden chair in the corner. It’s an antique. My mother gave it to us.”
Winnie padded along the landing and lay down beside Jack’s feet, nuzzling her nose into his ankle. She was as confused as he was.
“Ah good, Jack, you’re up,” his dad said. “Come and take this chair off me, would you? Stick it in your brother’s bedroom.”
“What happened?” Jack said, realizing the foolishness of this question as soon as he’d asked it.
“It rained a lot last night,” his dad replied, handing him the chair.
