Griselda Heppel

Chapter 1

One Fine Day in April 1968

They were up to something.

Storming into the kitchen to tell Mum that if Robbie didn’t stop doing the twist in front of the TV screen right now I’d twist his head right off, I was brought up short. It was something in the way Mum’s gaze met mine before dropping back to the sheet of paper on the table before her, the tiny movement of her hand as if she thought to hide it; while Dad just stood, hands in his pockets, looking nowhere in particular.

‘What’s this?’ I said. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Come and sit down, Eleanor,’ said Mum. ‘We’ve got something to tell you.’

Oh no. This didn’t look good. Sliding into a chair, I glanced at Dad. But he’d seized the kettle, as if this was the most important thing he could do, and was filling it at the sink. On the worktop beside him lay a tray with teapot, cups and saucers, and – what, on a weekday? – a plate of chocolate biscuits. Something was definitely going on.

‘Such good news,’ said Mum, giving me her most encouraging smile. ‘We’ve found you a school!’

From the hob the kettle made a rushing sound. I let it fill my brain, willing it to block out the meaning of what I’d just heard. ‘I don’t need a school,’ I said. ‘I’ve got one.’

‘No, Eleanor. Things… have changed.’ Mum followed Dad with her eyes as he filled the teapot, brought the tray to the table and sat down.

‘Proper tea! Shall I call Robbie?’ I was already half out of my chair. Anything to derail a conversation that didn’t bode well. Even if it meant luring my wretched brother away from his sole mastery of Crackerjack on BBC 1 to demolish all the biscuits.

‘No.’ Dad put a hand on my arm. ‘Not yet. Listen to Mum. She’s had a letter from your Great-Aunt Margaret, who runs a really nice school in the countryside, in a beautiful old house surrounded by fields and woods and… oh yes.’ His eyes gleamed in the way they always did when he tried to enthuse me and Robbie for yet another slog around a mediaeval castle. ‘With ponies! Doesn’t that sound fun?’

I watched Mum pour the tea and couldn’t reply.

‘The thing is, Ellie—’

‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ Mum snatched up the letter. ‘She’s offered you a place! For next term. At such short notice I never imagined—’

‘What?’ My hand knocked my cup, splashing tea into the saucer. ‘Straight after Easter? No. I’m not going. I’m not leaving West Hill. I’ll—’

‘Eleanor—’

‘—manage better after the holidays, you’ll see. I’ve got Angie’ – my voice rose, and I couldn’t help it because all the time I talked, Mum just shook her head, her mouth getting tighter and tighter – ‘and… and some of the others, they’ll be on my side—’

‘Mrs Scott phoned last week.’

That silenced me.

‘We didn’t tell you,’ Mum went on. ‘Didn’t want to upset you, not until we had a solution. She was very calm… and quite pleasant, really… but firm. Said it was regrettable but after what… happened’ – Mum’s voice went funny, as if the words didn’t want to come out – ‘she couldn’t possibly have you back. I’m sorry, darling.’

‘Not have me…’ I got no further. Everything – blue and white crockery, scrubbed pine tabletop, Mum’s hand holding the letter – dissolved into a blur in which images from that last awful day flooded my mind and wouldn’t disappear, no matter how hard I blinked.

Mum put down the letter. I could tell she wanted me to look at her, meet her gaze, but my eyes swam with hot tears and I bent over my teacup.

‘Eleanor, listen,’ she said. ‘It may be for the best.’

Now my head shot up. ‘How can it be for the best? I’ve been expelled! How fair is that?’

I knew something had to happen, that there’d be… what was Mrs Scott’s favourite word? Ah yes, consequences. They’d been hanging over me all through the holidays, she’d made sure of that. But this!

‘Not expelled.’ Dad put his arm around my shoulder. ‘You’ve been asked to leave. That’s different. No one at your next school need know your record.’

I yanked my shoulder away. ‘My… I have a record?’ It came out as a shriek.

Mum glanced at the door but luckily the kids’ cheering on Crackerjack covered everything else. ‘Of course you haven’t.’ She glared at Dad. ‘But you do need a fresh start. And that’s where Great-Aunt Margaret comes in. I wrote to her, you see, as soon as we knew… the state of things… and she replied at once. A good sign, don’t you see? She really wants you!’

Rubbing my face on my sleeve, I tried to focus on her, tried to take in the meaning behind that eager smile. ‘How can she want me?’ I said at last. ‘I’ve never met her, never even heard of her. Who is Great-Aunt Margaret?’

‘Great-Aunt Margaret—’ Mum began.

Then it hit me. Nice school in the countryside, Dad had described it, with fields, woods, ponies… A hollow opened up in my stomach. ‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘It’s a boarding school, isn’t it? You’re sending me away.’

No need for either of them to answer. Not when their expressions said it all.

‘I can’t believe this,’ I said. ‘You want to get rid of me too, just like Mrs Scott.’

‘Eleanor, no.’ Mum’s face crumpled. ‘Of course we don’t. But we tried all the schools around here. None of them had room.’

I stared at her. So that’s what all those ‘work’ phone calls last week had been about, for which she’d shooed Robbie and me into the garden so she could concentrate. The floor seemed to slide from under my feet and I wrapped my ankles around the legs of my chair, pressing my bones hard against the wood. ‘Not true,’ I said. ‘There must be somewhere.’

Dad shook his head. ‘I’m afraid n—’

‘There must be.’ I wouldn’t look at him. Or Mum. ‘Some school that will… yes!’ It came to me. ‘What about St Chad’s? I could go there with Mum and Robbie! OK, so they don’t normally take girls, but—’

It was no use.

‘I know this sounds hard,’ said Dad, putting his hand on mine, ‘but Mum and I think it will be good for you to get away completely. And Ashstone House is an excellent school.’

‘You can learn to ride, Eleanor!’ Mum’s eyes shone. ‘You’ve always wanted to do that. Now’s your chance.’

My leg muscles began to ache as a wave of tiredness swept through me. Unwrapping my ankles from the chair legs, I sat up and took a few sips of tea. To my surprise there flickered, somewhere deep inside me, the tiniest spark. It was true. I had always wanted to ride. Ever since watching Champion the Wonder Horse, anyway. Just like Robbie wanted to drive a tank and mow people down.

Coming round the table, Mum gave me a hug. I buried my face in her shoulder, woollen threads tickling my nose, and took a few deep breaths. All right, then. If this was what I had to do, I’d do it. Then the thought came to me that soon I’d have to manage without hugs like this, and I couldn’t speak.

‘Right.’ Rising to his feet, Dad smoothed down the hair at the back of his head. ‘I’m only halfway through redrafting Chapter 8, so…’

‘Wait.’ Pulling away from Mum, I looked at her. ‘You still haven’t explained about Great-Aunt Margaret. Why’ve I never heard of her before?’

‘Because,’ said Mum, ‘I hadn’t either, not until five years ago. She wrote to tell me her husband had died. It seems he was my uncle – Grandpa Fielding’s brother.’

Now I forgot everything. ‘Grandpa had a brother?’

The door swung open and Robbie charged in. ‘Ha, you missed a smashing programme, El – hey!’ His eyes fell on the table. ‘Chocolate biscuits! Why didn’t anyone tell me?’

Chapter 2

Ashstone House

For the next two weeks, the happiest person in our household was, without a doubt, Robbie. While I woke every morning with butterflies in my stomach at the thought that, not today, no, but soon, everything in my life was about to change, Robbie took to entering my room and looking round, as if deciding which part to occupy first. I threw him out, of course, so then he made for the sitting room to bounce on the sofa, crowing that now, at last, he’d get to watch whatever he wanted on television; and, seeing as I wasn’t going to be around, he might as well have my after-lunch sweet ration too. When, on the last day of the holidays, he interrupted my packing every ten minutes to tell me what time it was, even Angie – who’d come over to see me off – rolled her eyes.

‘Guess there are some people round here you won’t miss that much,’ she murmured.

Crouching down to rifle through my bookcase for which of my favourites to take, I had my back to the room. ‘I’ll miss you,’ I said.

‘Ah – hum. Me too,’ she said. ‘But you’ll make lots of new friends, don’t worry. Ashstone House sounds so cool.’

‘Yeah.’ I stared at the books in front of me.

‘And the head being your long-lost relation!’ Angie flopped onto my bed. ‘I still can’t believe nobody knew about her. Not even your mum.’

‘Yup.’ Rising, I tossed a couple of paperbacks into my trunk lying open on the floor. ‘A family rift, apparently. Happened long before Mum was even born. She grew up thinking her father was an only child.’

‘That’s so sad.’ Angie folded her arms over her knees. ‘Do you think they had an argument, your great-uncle and your grandpa?’

‘Who knows?’ I shrugged. The figure of the grandpa I could only just remember rose before me: a tall, shadowy presence with watery eyes and a soft moustache, who patted my five-year-old head and hid jelly babies in my pockets. How could anyone pick a fight with him?

A thundering on the door followed by a piercing, ‘At the next stroke, it will be 11.30 am precisely,’ made us both jump. Angie’s head hit the wall behind her, and her face screwed up in pain. That was when it occurred to me that picking a fight with your brother might not be so unlikely after all.

Robbie knew what he was doing, though. If I could have stopped time passing I would have. I closed my trunk, chatted away to Angie, tried to eat lunch, anything not to think about the moment when Dad would finish packing up the Mini and that would be that. But at last I couldn’t duck it anymore. As Dad held the passenger door open for me to climb through into the back, I turned to say goodbye to Angie and Robbie – and for a second wondered where my brother had got to.

‘Bye, Ellie.’ Angie gave me a big smile. ‘Good luck!’

Returning the smile with the broadest one I could manage, I spotted Robbie, and realised why I hadn’t before. He wasn’t leaping about. Or crowing. He just stood beside Mrs Stewart from next door who’d come over to look after him, saying nothing, one hand clutching something in his pocket, watching as first I, then Mum, got into the car.

Then, as we were about to leave, Robbie dashed forward, a funny, solemn expression on his face, and thrust his arm around the frame of Mum’s open window. I felt something drop into my lap, but Dad started the engine and I just had time to wave at Robbie as we drove off.

It wasn’t until we’d left them all behind that I looked to see what he’d given me.

Loki, his favourite troll.

I held it tight for a long time, stroking its long, straggly black hair.

The drive took hours. Ashstone House lay deep in the Sussex countryside, and the roads wound more and more, so that by the time we descended a long track leading to a great, square, gabled house, I was too sick to care what came next. After a minute or two of gulping the fresh air outside the car, I followed Mum and Dad down a dark stone porch to an open door at the end, where a figure waited to greet us.

‘Frances, James – how lovely to meet you.’

As Mum and Dad leaned forwards to shake hands, I caught a glimpse of a stately, white-haired lady with a hook nose and pale eyes. Turning, she led the way along one side of a huge, square hall, filled with long tables laid for supper.

‘This is so good of you, Aunt Margaret,’ said Mum. ‘I don’t know what we’d have done without—’

The white curls fluttered, showing a bluish tinge, as the figure walking before me shook her head. ‘Don’t, please.’ She raised her hand. ‘I was so glad you got in touch. I hated this whole business, you know. I could never understand Alexander’s attitude. I’d have got him and your father together long ago if I’d had my way. I expect you felt the same.’ Reaching a staircase, she turned right down a dark corridor.

‘Well, yes.’ Mum hurried to catch up. ‘I would have if—’

‘Ah. You didn’t know about it, I forgot. Better that way, perhaps.’

‘Actually—’ Mum began.

‘Come in, come in!’ Throwing open a door, my great-aunt ushered us through it. ‘Sit down and tell me all about yourselves.’ Waving my parents to a worn, pale blue sofa near a big marble fireplace, she turned to me. ‘And now, Eleanor, let’s have a look…’

She stopped dead. The warmth in her expression vanished, to be replaced by something that looked like shock. It certainly shocked me. I stood, hardly daring to breathe, as she stared at me, motionless, save for a slight quivering around her chin; and when at last she moved to sit down opposite my parents, I almost fell back, as if released by a spring. As Mum leaned forwards, eager for family information – which, judging by the closed look that now appeared on my great-aunt’s face, she was getting very little of – and Dad nodded at intervals, as if that could disguise the way his gaze, as ever, slid around all the architectural details of the room, I stayed where I was, puzzling over that stare. What could it mean? Was I so different from expected?

I was still trying to work it out when my great-aunt rose to her feet. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Time to show Eleanor where she’ll be sleeping. All she needs for now is her overnight bag; trunks will be brought up in the morning.’

I stood up straight, ready to smile, but she swept past without a look. Instead, Mum put her arm round me as we followed my great-aunt out of her study and up the wide, polished oak staircase. Turning left at the top brought us into a gloomy room lit by sash windows on one side, in which four beds covered in identical yellow bedspreads, and a single painting of flowers in a blue jug on the wall, gave the only splashes of colour. Looking round at all that heavy, dark furniture and wooden panelling, I felt something shrivel inside me.

My great-aunt must have noticed because her voice took on a cheery note. ‘Fairfax won’t look deserted for long, you’ll see. By this evening it’ll be mayhem in here.’ She cast her gaze heavenward as if in need of help. ‘Down there’ – she pointed through a doorway straight opposite – ‘is Hampden, for the little ones; then the bathroom, and my bedroom round the corner. If anyone gets up to mischief during the night I know about it. Nothing gets past me.’

Mum smiled nervously, trying to catch my eye; which was more than I could say for my great-aunt. She’d still not so much as glanced my way. It was almost as if, having seen my face once, she couldn’t bear to do so again. But why? What had I done?

Of course. She knew. It was Mrs Scott, I bet it was! All that stuff she told Mum about no one at my next school needing to know… Had she been lying? If so – my hands clenched into fists by my sides – if ever I got back to West Hill and set eyes on that pinch-nosed, tight-lipped hypocrite of a headmistress again, I’d… I’d…

‘Eleanor,’ said Mum, ‘are you all right?’

I nodded, unclenching my fists.

‘The term will fly by, you’ll see,’ said Dad. ‘My goodness, what a splendid house. Fairfax, Hampden – I love the idea of naming all the dormitories after Civil War generals. And, Ellie, look at this.’ Walking over to a small diamond-patterned window, he reached for the handle. ‘Funny to have windows overlooking the dining room, isn’t it? It’s because it was originally an open courtyard before someone thought of covering it with glass. Much later, of course. Come and see.’

Poking my head out, I followed his gaze upwards to the thick, misty panes above.

‘From the second floor you should be able to get out onto the roof and walk round the glass bit. You’d have to keep to the leads, of course – you know, the flat parts – but that wouldn’t be diffic—’

‘James,’ said Mum, ‘do you mind switching work off just for once? Ashstone House is not one of your research projects.’

From the sash window at the opposite end of the room, where she’d been showing Mum the view, Great-Aunt Margaret crossed the floor and pulled the casement closed. ‘These are never opened, James. We don’t want anyone leaning out. And there is certainly no access to the roof from the top floor.’