Arnie Jenks and the House of Strangers

Cover

‘Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!' yelled Arnie, as he ran full pelt, arms outstretched like aeroplane wings, down the longest and widest corridor in Shabbington Hall. As he reached maximum speed, he let himself go and slid, jerking and twisting along the polished floor, his legs splaying dangerously further apart, until shuddering violently, he crumpled to the ground with a deadening thwump.

For a second he lay there listening fearfully, heart pounding, expecting to be caught before scrambling back the way he had come. Ahead of him, past the crumpled suits of armour and dusty display cases, the passage opened out into a square hall. From here rose a zigzagging staircase above which a huge crystal chandelier hovered regally. Hearing a gaggle of voices, he sprinted on and straight into the path of a woman.

‘Arnie Jenks! In a rush to be somewhere?' she demanded, as he swerved to avoid colliding with her.

‘Sorry Miss McGarry,' he panted, pulling up sharply, clocking his shoes that lay in a corner one on top of the other.

‘You know the rules governing this place. No running! If Lord Martlesham had seen you he would have no qualms about sending you straight back to school.' She glared at his woolly socks.

‘He didn't though, did he?' said Arnie, looking around nervously to make doubly sure.

‘No – I think I saw him leave – just your good luck. But
I'm
not best pleased,' she said firmly.

Arnie grinned and fingered his shock of unruly brown hair. ‘I wasn't running
really
Miss. More like “sliding”. Got a bit carried away. Sorry.'

‘Well, despite what it may look like, this particular stately home doesn't need an over-enthusiastic twelve-year-old roughing it up any further – “time” has done enough of that,' she emphasised, flicking her eyes up to a bunch of thick cobwebs that hung across the corner of a grubby water-stained ceiling.

‘Yes Miss,' he said apologetically.

‘Mmmm…' she demurred, before deciding his punishment. ‘If you want to make amends then you can hand these out.'

She thrust a wad of plastic-coated cards towards Arnie, which he began reading as another boy sidled up awkwardly, slightly out of breath.

‘Where have
you
been Connor?' Miss McGarry asked, ‘Not running about too I hope?'

‘Oh, no Miss,' he said twitching, adjusting his glasses and trousers at the same time. ‘Just finding my notebook, there's too much here for me to remember!'

Miss McGarry narrowed her beady eyes towards Arnie.

‘I'll use my memory!' he said perkily.

‘Yes, well…' she said a little unsure, ‘I'll be expecting originality and accuracy in your account of our visit here. No cribbing from the Internet later!'

‘Wouldn't dream of it Miss,' Arnie smiled sincerely.

His teacher frowned.

Arnie attempted to act serious by returning his gaze intently to the cards he was clutching.

Miss McGarry then turned towards a younger woman at the far side of the hall who was struggling to count twenty or so bobbing heads, as the children around her kept switching places, causing her to start again from the beginning.

‘Miss Pink! I think we should get going. We have a lot to see.'

Miss McGarry caught Arnie rubbing his hands together.

‘You should be wearing a jumper under that blazer,' she remarked, checking out his uniform.

‘It's ok,' he said brightly, ‘the cold doesn't bother me much.'

‘It will here,' she said, brushing away some tiny icicles from the inside of a window.

Arnie shrugged away the suggestion as Connor began making peculiar grunting sounds, his face buried deep into his satchel.

‘Here we are!' he squeaked, producing an awfully long pencil. ‘Ready for anything that might be thrown at us!'

‘Now then everyone,' Miss McGarry wailed, gazing over the chattering pupils, ‘come and take one of these guides.' The children eventually formed a line and Arnie dutifully handed out the cards.

‘Good. We'll begin along here,' she decided, pointing back down the long corridor and towards a door on the right.

‘What's through there?' queried Arnie, as he crammed on his scuffed shoes.

‘Where the servants once worked I think,' said Connor, turning his map the right way up and studying the floor plan. Miss McGarry approached the opening and beckoned everyone to follow, pushing on like an explorer into the lonely half-light, feeling the way forward with her hand.

Arnie hung back until he was alone before reaching for the iPod in his pocket. As he touched it, a hellish screech from above made him jump. Spinning round, he peered upwards and spied through a skylight the shape of a bird descending. It landed with a scraping of claws, like blades upon steel, casting a sinister shadow down into the hall. Arnie darted away in the direction of the others.

Turning into a corridor he caught sight of the school group heading further into the gloom. Recognising the last figure struggling to keep pace with the others, he crept up behind him very stealthily.

‘Gotcha!' he hissed.

‘Stop it Arnie!' Connor said, whirling round in a flurry. ‘You know I hate being scared!'

‘Only joking!' Arnie teased.

‘Well it isn't funny!'

‘Sorry,' Arnie said. ‘I'm sure there's nothing to worry about…
down here in the dark…
'

‘Hope not.' Connor swallowed deeply as they joined the line of children who shuffled and fidgeted, trailing behind Miss McGarry like one very long caterpillar. Moments later, they reached a set of stone steps and gripping the iron handrail tightly, one by one they descended into the depths of the house.

After the tour of the ground floor and basement rooms was over, everyone broke for lunch before assembling once more in the hall.

‘Now pay attention everyone,' piped up Miss McGarry, ‘your task for this afternoon. I want you to select a character or a room of your choice that would make for an interesting story using the history around you as a basis. Notes are fine – we can work them up next week. I suggest splitting into pairs. Is that clear?'

‘I thought we were all done,' said Arnie, yawning. ‘It's supposed to be a day out!'

‘But not a day off,' reminded Miss McGarry sarcastically from over her shoulder as she moved away to deal with a pupil whose nose had started to bleed.

‘Ok,' said Arnie reluctantly. ‘But I…'

‘What's up?' said Connor cutting in.

‘I can't see much here that would set the world alight.'

‘We could write up the Martlesham family tree? That would fill up a few pages.'

‘That's a bit dull though, isn't it?' said Arnie flatly. ‘Just names and
dates!'

‘What do you want to do then?'

Arnie's eyes lit up. ‘To discover a
secret
!'

‘Well how?' said Connor clueless. ‘We can't expect to dig up a chest full of coins or stumble over a forgotten skeleton hanging in a dungeon…'

‘We could try – there must be something to find that nobody knows anything about.'

‘Why?' said Connor simply. ‘Think of the people who have spent their time looking. And if
they
haven't found anything by now, what chance have we got?'

‘It's quite possible though,' said Arnie, rubbing his chin, ‘this house is humongous! Who knows what's stashed about?'

‘Couldn't we just do the family tree?' said Connor wearily. ‘It's the sort of thing we're expected to do in places like these.'

‘Exactly!' said Arnie, as his eyes drifted over to the edge of the stairs. ‘So – let's not.'

Connor heaved a sigh and dragging his feet like a lifeless puppet, followed Arnie to where they both stood staring at a portrait hanging on a nearby wall. It was of a woman in a dark green dress seated next to a small open window.

‘Wow! What scary eyes she's got!' whispered Arnie, tilting his head from one side of the frame to the other.
‘See how they follow you around as you move?'

‘Freaky!' said Connor, clutching his pencil tightly.

Arnie stiffened.

‘What?' stammered Connor.

‘The painting must be…
inhabited
!'

‘How do you mean?' Connor said nervously, as Arnie leaned in close to the face.

‘Is it me or did her lips twitch just then?'

‘Don't say that,' said Connor worriedly.

Arnie rubbed his finger over a little metal strip fixed along the bottom of the portrait. It bore an inscription:

“Lady Dervela Martlesham 1562-1628
.”

‘It's ok Con – she's dead for sure,' he said soothingly. Connor dared one more glance.

Arnie shifted along and raised his hand. ‘Hey, this is cool!'

Connor scuttled up and peered closer.

‘Look!' said Arnie, pointing to a series of sketches. They showed an anonymous figure in a cloak climbing through an open panel in a wall. Once safely hidden in the tiny space behind, he was lowered by ropes through a vertical gap between the brickwork into the sewers below from where he was led to safety.

‘A priest hole!' said Arnie breathlessly. ‘Could it still be here somewhere do you think?'

‘I don't know,' said Connor, pausing to consider carefully. ‘Can't see one on the plan.'

‘Really? You've looked?'

‘Someone has to keep track of things,' he said, squinting hard at the faint print. After a moment he shook his head, satisfied.

‘Doesn't mean it's not there,' disagreed Arnie, ‘just that no one's managed to find it!'

‘Yeah, but…'

‘So it's only a question of where we start looking!' plotted Arnie as he turned to face Connor with a wicked grin.

‘We're not going to get into trouble are we Arnie?' Connor sighed plaintively. ‘Don't you think it would be better if we stayed down here? I'm not made for grief.'

But Arnie had already started to climb.

They swiftly reached the first floor and looked towards the top landing. Arnie's pulse was tripping with adrenalin. ‘I think the entrance is likely to be higher up, you know, out of the way?'

‘Are you sure?' said Connor, holding his head, decidedly giddy.

‘Not one
hundred
per cent. But we have to think like
they
did back then.'

‘Back when?'

‘When they put it in, dummy!'

‘Do we have to?' Connor moaned, as he staggered onwards.

‘Somewhere that isn't obvious,' said Arnie, striding towards the next level.

‘And that is where?'

‘I don't know – but I
will
know when we find it! Imagine it Connor!' said Arnie dramatically. ‘A hidden chamber! Just large enough to
squeeze
into – a place where no one would ever guess you would hide. Where you could be waiting for hours or days – starving or suffocating or…worse!'

‘What if he needed the toilet?' winced Connor.

Arnie marched on defiantly, ‘…and then in the dead of night – when everyone was sleeping – a trusted friend would spring the latch and
splash
! You drop fifty feet into the moat! All dark and black and greasy covered in…'

‘Yes! Yes, I get it…' spluttered Connor. ‘Poo!'

‘…but
danger lurks!
Waiting nearby – a masked killer! Ready at any moment to jump out and give it to you – straight under the breast bone!'

Connor recoiled.

‘Right there!' said Arnie, thrusting an imaginary knife towards Connor. ‘Stab stab stab!'

‘Come on,' said Connor, ‘let's hurry up and get this over with – we still have a real story to write about.'

‘Don't you believe me then?' said Arnie, slightly wounded, as they turned the corner of the landing.

‘Not entirely,' said Connor.

‘See that!' said Arnie, pointing to where a bump seemed to poke out from underneath the peeling, patterned silk wallpaper.

‘What is it?' squeaked Connor.

‘I think it's a handle!' Arnie gasped, ‘it's super camouflaged – no surprise they haven't found it!'

‘What?' said Connor, scanning the surface like a minesweeper.

‘I bet it's connected to a door that will open up right in front of us and reveal…' Arnie circled his hands as if casting a spell ‘…the remains of
the
Lost Prince from…1750 something – imprisoned and forgotten about till now!'

‘Oh Arnie…' said Connor dejected, ‘you're making all this up!'

‘
I
could
be right,'
said Arnie emphatically.

‘No – that bump might just be a bump.'

Arnie shook his head. ‘I'll prove it – stand back, it might be hard to open ‘cos it won't have been used for centuries!'

‘I
am
gonna stand back,' said Connor, retreating behind Arnie, preparing to use him as a human shield.

‘Ready?'

Connor nodded.

‘One – two –
threeee!'
Arnie wrenched the handle urgently towards him.

‘Whoaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!' cried the boys, tumbling back over each other, as a section in the wall flew open and stuff showered down on top of them. They stood up quickly, treading and crunching on a pile of cleaning things – a mop and bucket, brooms and a whole stack of coloured plastic bottles as they shoved their heads into the gap.

‘I don't think this is quite right,' said Connor, after a moment's reflection. ‘It's a cupboard.'

‘We needed to check it out,' Arnie said, annoyed.

‘Give up now?' whined Connor. Arnie shook his head.

They got up and tidied away the mess, cramming it all back in somehow, before closing the door and moving swiftly on.

‘Do you think anyone heard us?' Connor asked Arnie, as they turned another corner. They stopped dead. Arnie's eyes sparkled with excitement.

Immediately in front of them hung a red cord at waist height and a little beyond on the left hand wall a door painted black with a gold “M” above it.

‘Looks inviting,' taunted Arnie.

‘I really need the toilet,' said Connor, pushing his knees together.

‘What?' Arnie couldn't believe it. ‘Just as we are on the verge of discovering what I
know
is a secret hideaway?'

‘You said that last time.'

‘I'm sure it's in there. We can't lose a second!'

‘Neither can I, I really need to go,' pleaded Connor.

‘Well hurry up then – and don't be long.'

Connor hobbled off along the landing.

‘I need you as a witness,' he called back over his shoulder. But Connor didn't reply.

‘Could wait I s'pose,' Arnie mumbled to himself as he eyed the rope. ‘It is either in there or it's not,' he reasoned sensibly, ‘but if it is – I'll be famous!' He stepped forward and edging around the barrier leant close to the door and listened. Satisfied that nothing was stirring from inside he turned the knob and, summoning up his courage, pushed. It refused to budge. It was locked. He stood back and looked around for a key but could find nothing. His eyes wandered upwards.

Arnie raised himself onto his tiptoes and straining, reached out with his right hand onto the ledge that hung proud over the top of the door. He flailed about, panting and grunting, edging himself along until suddenly his middle finger touched a hint of cold metal. He tickled gently and it moved a little towards him. And that is where it remained.

‘You!' said a voice authoritatively.

Arnie lowered himself down and gingerly turned round. In front of him stood the gaunt figure of a man, who appeared to Arnie to be very old, gripping a silver topped black cane. His eyes burned silently while his jagged face twitched above the right cheek.

‘I was looking for a secret hiding place,' Arnie said meekly.

‘Well, if it is behind that door it stays hidden.' The old man tapped his cane lightly on the carpet several times. ‘What lies inside is not for public view.'

‘Ok,' said Arnie reasonably. ‘In that case – I will have to pretend to have seen it and make the story up.'

‘Yes, I'm sure a young chap like you has a very vivid imagination.'

‘Yeah, guess so,' said Arnie, a little embarrassed. He paused. ‘Is there a secret hidden in there?' he dared to ask.

‘I'm not telling,' the old man said mysteriously.

‘I'll take that as a maybe?' tried Arnie, putting on his most endearing face.

‘You can take it anyway you like, but what's inside that room remains private.'

Arnie opened his mouth to speak.

‘So off you go now,' said the man quietly.

‘Sure.' Arnie sidled away across the landing. As he turned onto the stairs, he risked a quick look back but found himself alone.

A whistle blew.

Arnie bounded down the stairs two at a time, reaching the hall to see his classmates wandering in from all sides.

‘Ten minutes everyone – we'll soon need to be on our way,' said Miss McGarry, standing at the front door waving frantically to the coach driver, as Miss Pink counted up all the pupils she could see.

‘Any luck?' said Connor, beetling up as Arnie hunched down onto the bottom step.

‘No – never got in there,' he huffed.

‘Got in where?' said Miss McGarry suspiciously, veering across towards them. Connor slunk away.

‘I'd hoped to discover a priest hole,' Arnie said, lowering his eyes.

‘Well, you set yourself a tough task there,' she consoled him. ‘Those craftsmen were very ingenious back then and unless you knew the trick of
how
they were concealed you would be very unlikely to spot them.'

‘Oh yes – but you see…'

‘Never mind,' she interrupted, ‘you can invent one. It's the storytelling that counts as much as the facts I sometimes think, though don't let the Headmaster know I said that!'

Arnie sighed and, securing his rucksack over his shoulder, got up and slouched towards the exit.

Miss McGarry stopped him. ‘Where are you going?'

‘The bus?'

‘No, no, no – you are being collected from
here.
'

Arnie looked blank.

‘I've had a message from your form master. Your aunt has rung to say she's coming to pick you up and take you home.'

‘Eh?' said Arnie, slow to cotton on. ‘But my dad's meant to be collecting me from school.'

‘Something about him not being back until tomorrow?' Miss McGarry remembered.

‘Oh, yeah – he's been working away all week.' Arnie looked down at his shoes. ‘He promised to be back in time for the weekend though.'

‘Well, I'm sure it must be necessary,' his teacher said sympathetically. ‘And as your aunt doesn't live a million miles from here, it suits her to drop by.'

Miss McGarry checked her watch. ‘Should be due sort of…nowish.'

Arnie shrugged. ‘Her timekeeping can be a bit crap.'

‘I'm sure she won't be long,' his teacher assured him, looking over his head as the other school children started making for outside. She tooted urgently on her whistle and they sped up.

Arnie tried to follow, but she signalled for him to remain where he was.

‘What?' he said.

‘You mustn't wait out there, far too cold. The wind's got up – it's bitter!'

‘But can't I sit on the coach?'

A fork of lightening crackled across the horizon briefly, punching life into the bruised sky.

‘We need to get going. I don't want to risk being late back and these country lanes can be treacherous in the rain.' Miss McGarry pointed to the thickening clouds closing in around them.

‘But…' he squealed, his voice peaking like a piccolo, ‘…I have to stay here on my own?' He grimaced at Connor, who was hanging about in the doorway trying to see what was going on.

‘Miss?' Connor twitched.

‘I'll be there in a minute, hop on the coach,' she ordered, as a distant rumble of thunder echoed somewhere not that far away. Connor jumped nervously and without a second thought scurried to where his transport lay, engine revving angrily.

Miss McGarry turned back to Arnie. ‘Anyway, there is no way that I'd leave you here by yourself.'

His eyebrows rose like a question mark.

‘Ah – hello there!' she said breezily, her gaze shifting.

As Arnie clocked the approaching figure, his jaw dropped.

‘May I introduce you to a Mr Silverthorne, a most respected governor of our school,' said Miss McGarry, reaching out a hand. ‘Isn't that right?'

‘Yes indeed,' said the old man returning the greeting.

Miss McGarry seemed to blush, as he held her hand for a while longer than seemed comfortable. He then turned to address Arnie.

‘Though the majority of my time is mainly spent attending to legal matters for Lord Martlesham, and today I am here doing just that.'

‘Mr Silverthorne has kindly agreed that you may wait here until your aunt arrives.'

‘Absolutely,' he said softly.

‘I trust Arnie will behave himself in the meantime and not get in your way,' said Miss McGarry sweetly.

‘I'm sure he'll be no trouble,' the old man smiled.

Arnie bit his lip.

‘Say “thank you” Arnie,' Miss McGarry implored.

‘Thank you,' mumbled Arnie shyly.

‘This young man and I have already met as a matter-of-fact.'

‘Really?' said Miss McGarry, looking down her nose.

Arnie sucked his teeth.

‘He wasn't…running about was he?' she said concerned.

Mr Silverthorne stared straight at Arnie. ‘He was searching…'

Arnie coughed nervously, sensing a gentle warning in Mr Silverthorne's tone.

‘…for clues to a secret and where in a house like this, one might still lie hidden,' Mr Silverthorne concluded, tapping his cane twice, staccato-like.

Arnie avoided glancing in his direction.

‘Oh well, another time perhaps Arnie?' said Miss McGarry, slightly relieved.

‘Perhaps…' said Mr Silverthorne vaguely. ‘Now,' he said changing the subject abruptly, ‘these lights here in the hallway do work after a fashion but the rest of the building is less well equipped when it comes to illumination. So I think right here will be the best place for you to wait,' he said, indicating a hard bench next to an empty fireplace.

‘Thanks,' said Arnie resigned, as a figure emerged from a far room and stepped across the passage into another.

‘Ah
that
will be his Lordship. I must go.'

Mr Silverthorne smiled, nodding thoughtfully, as he turned and slowly drifted away into the murky depths of the house.

A wonky sounding horn blasted in from outside.

‘That'll be for me. Must get going, look at that truly dreadful weather!' Miss McGarry shook as thunder reverberated overhead. ‘See you on Monday Arnie – have a good weekend!'

Clutching her collar tight she slid out through the front door, head bowed trying to avoid the first splats of rain. Upon reaching the coach she turned back with a brief wave before climbing on board and disappeared from his view.