Silas and the Winterbottoms Read online

  With the covers pulled up over her head, Adele was hiding from the world. Only her wild red hair was visible, bursting out from under the blanket looking like a head of broccoli.

  ‘Come now, Cousin,’ said Isabella, trying very hard not to yawn, ‘you must look on the bright side. Things aren’t that bad.’

  ‘Yes they are!’ cried Adele. ‘I nearly killed the one thing on earth Uncle Silas cares about! He will never forgive me. Never!’

  ‘The vet said Thorn will make a full recovery,’ reasoned Isabella. ‘Besides, I am quite sure Uncle Silas will not hold it against you . . . forever.’

  ‘Yes, he will.’ Adele pulled the blanket from her face and wiped at her eyes. ‘Oh, Isabella, how did it all go so wrong?’

  ‘Dearest,’ said Isabella mournfully, ‘you must try to stay positive. In the morning things will not seem so awful. And even if Uncle Silas doesn’t forgive you, well, at least you have the love and affection of your dear parents. Nothing can change that.’ She kissed Adele on the cheek. ‘Nothing at all.’

  Long into the night Adele lay awake wondering how on earth she would survive in Ratchet’s House. For that was certainly her future now. The professor would never forgive her for coming home empty-handed. She would be locked away from her father and her books . . . from everything she loved.

  Later still, exhausted and afraid, Adele sat on the end of her bed and thought back over all that had happened since she first arrived on the island. And as she did a rather interesting thing began to happen – the events of the past week bloomed like a garden springing up from the earth; things she had seen, things she had done, things she had been told, each moment found its place among the flowerbeds and groves and lawns, until finally the whole garden stretched out before her. It was suddenly very clear.

  And for the first time in a long while, Adele Fester-Winterbottom knew exactly what to do.

  VENGEANCE

  Silas emerged from his bedroom at exactly seven-thirty, trailed by a very ill-tempered Thorn, who was still recovering from the effects of the chicken poisoning. Waiting patiently in the hall outside was Mrs Hammer, ready to greet the master formally and hand him Thorn’s silver leash, just as she did every morning.

  ‘I had the cook prepare some broth for you, sir,’ Mrs Hammer informed him as they headed down the wide corridor towards the elevator.

  ‘I am not hungry,’ said Silas, his voice weak.

  ‘Sir, perhaps one of the servants should take Thorn for his walk. You do not look at all well.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Silas firmly. ‘I can do it myself.’

  Mrs Hammer pushed the gold button on the elevator panel and the gilded doors slid open – the cabin glowed in a halo of morning light. As Silas entered the cage the cables gave a familiar tight screech, flexing against the pulleys.

  Silas stopped. Listening.

  With a click of the joystick he backed out of the cage.

  ‘Is there something wrong, sir?’ asked Mrs Hammer.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Silas softly.

  He picked up Thorn’s heavy leash and threw it into the elevator. The metal chain and thick silver collar hit the shiny floor with a loud clunk.

  Silas looked up again, staring intently into the hoistway.

  Moments later the rope snapped in the pulley. The last threads of steel holding the rope together tore apart and the cable uncurled, flailing around the shaft and lashing the supporting columns in a volley of cracking sparks which shot out like bullets.

  The elevator began to plummet, sending a powerful gust of wind down the chamber.

  Mrs Hammer cried out.

  One floor below, Milo and Adele were on the landing as a furious wall of wind rushed from the shaft, nearly blowing them over. Down in the entrance hall the staff, assembled for their morning inspection, looked up as the giant iron cage fell.

  The elevator dropped . . . third floor . . . second floor . . . first floor . . .

  The cage crashed to the ground with a thunderous roar, the ornate iron bars buckling like paperclips. The ground shook. A cloud of smoke blew out from the wreckage and a deep crack broke across the stone floor.

  Screams erupted like sirens as the line of maids and servants broke apart. It looked like a bomb had just exploded.

  On the fourth floor, Silas Winterbottom was peering down into the smoky cavern of the elevator shaft, his black eyes fixed on the smouldering wreckage below.

  ‘Mercy!’ shrieked Mrs Hammer. She coughed violently as thick clouds of smoke filled her lungs. ‘What on earth could have happened?’

  ‘I would have thought it was obvious,’ said Silas calmly. ‘Somebody just tried to kill me.’

  In the oval dining room, Rosemary, Milo, Adele and Isabella sat at the far end of the grand table. Gathered behind them was every member of the household staff who had been present when the elevator crashed. They had been summoned by Detective Dickens, who was in charge of the investigation.

  ‘This morning,’ began Silas from the head of the table, ‘an attempt was made on my life. Detective Dickens has just informed me that the elevator rope was cut with some sort of knife or sharp object. Someone was determined to give me a most violent death.’

  A wave of disbelief rippled across the room.

  ‘Are you sure about this, Detective?’ said Rosemary anxiously.

  ‘Oh yes, ma’am,’ confirmed the heavily bearded detective. ‘Mr Winterbottom would have been crushed on impact.’ He made a rather vile spluttering noise with his lips. ‘Every bone in his body crushed. Like a bug.’

  ‘I don’t mean that,’ snapped Rosemary. ‘I mean, are you sure that it was intentional?’

  ‘No doubt at all, ma’am,’ said the detective sombrely. ‘Now I’m going to need a statement from everyone who was here last night . . . including the children.’

  ‘Oh, this is too awful,’ sobbed Adele, covering her face.

  ‘Surely you don’t suspect us?’ said Isabella, looking at the detective like he was a complete nincompoop.

  ‘Well to be honest with you, young lady,’ said Detective Dickens, ‘most crimes of this nature are committed by a family member.’

  ‘Well in that case, look no further than Milo Winterbottom,’ declared Isabella, thrusting her finger across the table in the direction of her cousin. ‘He came to Sommerset seeking revenge against Uncle Silas – he told me so himself!’

  Gasps erupted around the room.

  ‘Isabella, that’s a wicked thing to say!’ said Rosemary.

  ‘It’s the truth,’ said Isabella confidently. ‘Milo came here to get even with Uncle Silas because his parents exploded. The boy is a lunatic. Ask Adele if you don’t believe me.’

  All eyes fell upon Adele. She felt the burden of all those people staring at her . . . waiting on her answer. It was suffocating.

  ‘I don’t remember,’ she told them.

  ‘Of course you do,’ snapped Isabella. ‘Tell them, Cousin; tell them what Milo said.’

  ‘Miss Adele,’ said the detective sternly, ‘I would ask you to think very carefully about what you recall. Attempted murder is a serious business.’

  ‘Milo’s not a murderer!’ cried Adele. ‘He didn’t really mean what he said. It was just . . . he was upset, that’s all. We all say things we don’t mean when we’re upset, don’t we?’

  Detective Dickens was scribbling something down in his notebook. He stopped and looked directly at Adele. ‘What was it precisely that your cousin said?’

  The room was utterly silent, every ear cocked. Adele did not dare look up in case her eyes fell on Milo. In her rush to defend him she had said too much. Now there was no choice but to tell the truth. She felt sick.

  ‘It’s okay, Adele,’ said Milo suddenly, his voice small. ‘This is my problem and I’ll deal with it.’ He turned to the detective. ‘I told my cousins that I came to Sommerset for revenge.’

  The room erupted in a frenzy of gasps and whispers.

  ‘Quiet, please!’ shouted the de
tective. ‘There must be silence . . . please!’

  With his eyes blanketed by a fringe of thick black hair, no-one could tell where Milo was looking. His lips were tense and pale.

  ‘Milo,’ said the detective carefully, ‘did you cut the cable on the elevator?’

  ‘No,’ the boy said in a firm voice. ‘I wanted to hurt Uncle Silas for what he did to my parents but that doesn’t mean I wanted to kill him.’ He lifted his eyes, pushing the hair from his face and staring straight at his uncle. ‘My parents raised me better than that.’

  ‘What were your movements last night, Milo?’ said Detective Dickens.

  ‘I . . . I went to bed straight after dinner,’ he said, his voice shaking slightly. ‘I read a book for a while and then went to sleep.’

  Silas leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. ‘You didn’t leave your room all night, Milo?’

  ‘Not once,’ he answered.

  ‘See, Detective?’ Silas said. ‘The boy has a perfectly reasonable alibi. You must look elsewhere for my assassin.’

  ‘Are you kidding me?’ snarled Isabella, thumping her hand on the table. ‘Milo is a two-faced little orphan – you cannot believe a word he says! I demand you arrest him now before he kills us all!’

  ‘Shut up!’ shouted Milo, leaping to his feet. ‘I hate you! I hate all of you!’

  With that the young boy ran from the room, taking with him the heavy cloud of suspicion. He wanted to run far away but did not know where he would go. With tears stinging his face Milo hurried out of the mansion. He had never felt so alone in his entire life.

  Amid the chaos which followed, the meeting came to a rapid conclusion. Most of the servants returned to their quarters to gossip about the morning’s shocking events while Rosemary went in search of Milo. Isabella disappeared shortly after, retiring to her room with Hannah Spoon to get her toenails painted.

  When Milo entered the greenhouse he found himself in a lush garden teeming with lime trees, sweet peppers and exotic ferns with leaves that spread out like butterfly wings. Down the far end of a very long aisle he found who he was looking for, digging in a bed of turnips.

  ‘I guess you’ve heard what happened,’ said Milo.

  Moses nodded. ‘Police were down here asking questions.’ He looked at the boy. ‘You been crying?’

  ‘No,’ said Milo defensively. He wiped at his eyes. ‘The detective, he doesn’t think it was an accident. The thing is, last night I couldn’t sleep so I decided to take a walk in the gardens. I saw the light on in your cottage so I came down.’ He paused. ‘I knocked but you didn’t answer.’

  Moses shrugged gruffly. ‘Didn’t hear you, that’s all.’

  ‘I went around to the back of the cottage,’ continued Milo, ‘and looked in through the window . . . You weren’t inside, Moses.’

  With his index finger Moses gouged a row of holes into the soil and pushed a turnip bulb into each one. ‘I went out – didn’t get back until morning.’

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘None of your business,’ grunted the old man.

  After a lengthy silence Milo said, ‘I know that you and Uncle Silas hate each other.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ the gardener demanded.

  ‘I . . . I’d rather not say.’ Milo swallowed. ‘I’ve seen the way you two look at each other – it’s pretty clear that you’re not friends. So when I heard that someone had cut the elevator cable . . .’

  ‘You think it was me, do ya?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Milo honestly. ‘Is it true – do you and Silas hate each other?’

  ‘We’re not friends,’ he said, scratching at his chin, ‘that much is true.’

  ‘Because of the car accident?’

  The old man glared at him, his nostrils flaring. He dropped the bag of bulbs and stalked off.

  ‘I know that Lady Bloom was killed and your son badly hurt,’ Milo called after him. ‘I’m sorry, Moses. I know what it feels like when something terrible happens to someone you love.’

  Moses stopped at the back door of the greenhouse. ‘I can’t talk about that, Milo,’ he muttered.

  ‘What are you afraid of? Has Uncle Silas threatened you?’

  ‘Just leave it, boy,’ the old man said softly.

  But Milo would not leave it. He sat down on a wooden crate and looked down at the dirt floor. ‘I just want to know the truth, Moses. About my uncle . . . about everything. I think that’s why I came to Sommerset. To find the truth about my family.’

  ‘I understand, lad. Someday,’ said Moses, pushing his straw hat further down on his head. ‘Someday, when the time is right I’ll tell you what I know. But not today.’

  Then Moses turned and walked back to the garden bed to plant another row of turnips.

  A full moon hung high in the sky above the entrance hall, washing the cracked stone floor in soft light. Adele hurried past the wreckage that was once the elevator shaft and disappeared down a wide corridor, her bare feet pattering lightly across the floor. She crossed the final corridor and entered the anteroom.

  He was waiting for her.

  She gasped. Silas sat in the darkened vault, his eyes flickering in the darkness. Thorn stood guard beside his master.

  ‘It is time for your first report, child,’ said Silas softly.

  Her heart thumped madly in her chest. ‘I, um, I haven’t really got a great deal to tell you, Uncle. My cousins haven’t done anything unusual or interesting . . . truly. Milo is so quiet and Isabella, well, she spends most of her time playing with Thorn or having her hair combed.’

  ‘Adele, if you will not be honest with me, how on earth can you expect me to entrust this estate to you?’

  ‘Honestly, Uncle Silas,’ Adele whispered, ‘I don’t know anything.’

  ‘I find that rather difficult to believe.’ Silas stroked his chin. ‘Actually, I find it impossible to believe. You see, I recently learned that even before you agreed to spy for me, you were seen eavesdropping on Milo and that idiot Knox in the orchard. My source tells me that you were hidden from view in the arbour while my nephew and the boy were deep in conversation.’ He smiled coolly. ‘Adele, let us not forget the dark future which awaits you at Ratchet’s House if you fail. Come now, tell me what you know.’

  ‘It’s nothing really,’ explained Adele. She felt utterly powerless against her uncle. He was always ten steps ahead, laying traps and playing games. It was true, she had stumbled upon Milo and Knox talking in the orchard, but she had not set out to eavesdrop. Yet that is exactly what she did . . . and Silas knew it.

  ‘Milo was asking about Moses,’ she confessed. ‘About how long he had been at Sommerset – that sort of thing.’

  ‘What else?’ said Silas firmly.

  ‘Well . . . he was asking about the car accident that killed Lady Bloom.’

  Silas leaned forward in his chair, his eyes hungry. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Milo seemed very curious.’ She shook her head. ‘That’s all I know.’

  ‘Has Moses spoken to the boy?’ he hissed. ‘Tell me!’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Adele. ‘I haven’t seen them together, Uncle Silas. What I told you is the truth and that’s all I know.’

  His face shone a ghostly white and when Adele lifted her head to look at him something terrible and black danced behind his eyes.

  ‘It is as I expected,’ he whispered, then closed his eyes. When he opened them again Adele saw a new softness there. ‘You have done well, child – but next time, do not lie to me or I will not be so forgiving.’

  When Adele entered the darkened library she was still shaking. Silas’s black eyes and the chill in his voice were burned into her memory. He was playing with her, she knew that now. Milo was the one he was really interested in. Not her.

  Had she truly thought she had a chance of becoming the next heir of Sommerset?

  Pacing in front of the black marble fireplace, Adele tried to calm herself. To think clearly. For every puzzle there was a solution �
�� her father had always said that. Her mind flooded with visions of the cloaked Dr Mangrove. Of the elusive basement. If she could only find a way in. Then, perhaps, she would know how to deal with Uncle Silas.

  Looking up into the darkness of the library’s towering wall of books, Adele noticed for the first time how the moonlight broke through the large windows on the upper level, sifting into a narrow shaft of light which hit a remote corner of the second-floor shelves. It looked very peculiar, this single shard of light spotlighting a small row of books . . . as if . . . as if it were pointing the way.

  Then it hit her. Theodore Epstein Bloom’s engraving at the threshold to the library’s secret entrance: Only in Darkness will you see the Light.

  Did it refer to this – a single point of moonlight cutting through the darkened library? That had to be it! Taking two steps at a time, Adele raced up the narrow staircase to the second floor, sprinting around to the furthest corner of the room. The moonlight narrowed into a small round beam illuminating a narrow range of books on the bottom shelf. She crouched down and read the spines which were glowing a silvery white. The Complete History of String Vols 1–6.

  Her heart sank. String? What did that have to do with the secrets of Sommerset House? With little enthusiasm she grabbed volume two from the shelf. As it slid out a grinding sound, like metal wheels beginning to turn, broke the silence. Then the entire row of books split in the middle, cranking slowly back on either side like a parting curtain.

  Adele could hardly believe it.

  Tilting her head she squinted into the deep recess which had opened behind it. The cavity was lined in red velvet and held a small number of tattered old books. She reached in and carefully pulled them out. They looked ancient. One by one she sorted through the titles, her hands tingling with excitement and fear – The Journal of Theodore Epstein Bloom; How to Mind Control the One You Love; The Lost Art of Black Magic; The Science of the Soul.

  The final tome was pale blue with faded silver lettering. Sommerset House: Architectural notes and Blueprints 1822. Yes! If any book could help her find a way into the basement, this was it.