Milo and the Pirate Sisters (4 page)

CHAPTER NINE

HELP FROM BIG ELLA

‘
B
ig Ella! Milo! Shane!’ Mum screeched when the three of us came out of the house. ‘You should have stayed safe in your room, Milo. You too, Big Ella,’ she added. ‘I thought you were with us. Were you stung?’

‘The bees have left, my dear,’ said Big Ella. ‘Everything is OK.’

‘Big Ella, how did you manage?’ began Mrs Grace.

‘Oh, I’m used to giant bees in Africa,’ Big Ella laughed. ‘One learns how to deal with them and send them on their way home.’

There was much oooing and aaahhing from the women as they patted Big Ella and said what a brave lady she was.

‘I’ll take the boys to my house for tea whilst you ladies clean up the mess,’ said Big Ella.

How cool was that!

When we arrived, Mister Lewis was sitting in her kitchen, talking gently to the hatful of bees on his lap.

‘My clever friends,’ he said.

‘Oh, it was nothing, Mister Lewis,’ said Shane. ‘Me and Milo can handle anything …’

‘I think Mister Lewis is talking about his bees, Shane,’ chuckled Big Ella. ‘Now let’s
pack some buns and get him and his bees back to their new home. Shane tells me that it’s an old mill, Mister Lewis. How quaint.’

Mister Lewis’s waxy face went a paler shade of its usual porridge colour as he munched a bun.

‘I think not, Big Ella,’ he sighed. ‘Those women …’

‘Women?’ said Big Ella.

‘In the mill, Gran,’ put in Shane. ‘Mister Lewis says they’re there, but me and Milo didn’t see or hear them.’

‘All we heard was squawking crows,’ I said. ‘Women can sound like that …’ I tapered off when Big Ella laughed.

Mister Lewis was shaking his head – obviously a bit confused between crows and women.

‘Well then,’ said Big Ella, picking up her big bag. ‘Let’s go and sort this out. No buts,’
she went on when Mister Lewis got a bit agitated. ‘You must be brave, Mister Lewis. When I lived in deepest Africa there were some spooky characters who
thought
they were from the netherworld and frightened many decent folks. But people like me stood up to them and they’d usually go away.’

‘Usually?’ Mister Lewis said, with a tremor in his voice.

‘Ah, except for the real ones who’d bite heads off,’ said Big Ella. She laughed when Mister Lewis’s face turned green.

‘I’m joking,’ she said. ‘There’s no such thing as ghosts …’ Then her voice tapered off. ‘Oops. Sorry!’ she whispered.

‘Ghosts?’ laughed Mister Lewis. ‘I think you’ll find, dear lady, that there are more displaced ghosts like me out there. And that’s what bothers me.’

CHAPTER TEN

WHO TRASHED THE ROOM?

B
ig Ella’s car coughed into life after several turns of the key; each time it died, Mister Lewis almost did the same – died again, I mean.

‘I’ve never been in one of these contraptions,’ he said, clutching his hatful of bees.

Truth is, it
was
a contraption that Big
Ella had bought from a man who’d left the country – that’s what my dad told me. Something to do with a banjaxed heist of farm chickens whose owner had a fine swing with a hurley.

Another splutter and the car moved, and so did Mister Lewis, wafting behind the back seat with his precious hatful of bees that were buzzing drowsily.

‘Oh, what a lovely view,’ exclaimed Big Ella when we crossed the bridge. The car screeched to a halt at the wall that overlooked the field and the old mill.

‘This is just perfect for you, Mister Lewis,’ she said as she locked the car. ‘So much nicer than the dusty tower. And look, there are lots of flowers with healthy pollen for your bees,’ she gushed.

We walked along the track towards the mill, keeping a good distance from
the horses’ field. Not that
that
made any difference. When Mister Lewis caught up with us, after rounding up a few stray bees, the horses went mental again.

‘Goodness,’ said Big Ella. ‘Such noisy creatures!’

Me and Shane glanced at each other, but neither of us would spill the beans that it was Mister Lewis who was responsible for the horses’ behaviour.

Big Ella admired the run-down mill and said it must have been beautiful in olden times. And she didn’t mind puffing up the winding stairs. But when we passed the two locked doors she gave a sort of shiver.

‘Are you cold, Big Ella?’ asked Mister Lewis when he reached his own door.

‘Oh, not at all,’ she replied. ‘Just a slight draught. You folks must have felt it too …’

She broke off when Mister Lewis opened
his door and let out a shrill cry. ‘My goodness!’ he exclaimed. ‘Look at this mess!’

Well, there certainly was a mess: the cushions had been thrown around, eggs were broken on the floor and all our tidying had been undone.

‘Who would do something like this?’ wondered Big Ella, her hands on her hips and her face scrunched with anger. ‘Don’t tell me,’ she went on. ‘It could only be those two whatsernames, Podge and Munch.’

‘I hope so,’ sighed Mister Lewis.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked. ‘Why would you want them to do this?’

‘Because they’re ordinary living humans,’ he said, ‘and I can deal with them. But …’ His voice tapered off.

‘Are you back to thinking about those scary dead folks, Mister Lewis?’ muttered Big Ella. ‘You settle down, honey. This is the
work of a couple of no-good youngsters. Now let’s get to work.’

We cleaned up as best we could and left the place a bit more comfortable.

‘Just you remember, Mister Lewis,’ said Big Ella as we were leaving, ‘I’ll give those boys a right earful for what they’ve done and they’ll never do anything like this again, believe me.’

‘I do hope you’re right, Big Ella,’ sighed Mister Lewis.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MISS LEE'S STORY

N
ext morning, which was Saturday, I called in to Shane's house. Big Ella drove us into town and dropped us off near the castle because she was going shopping and said that if Shane was with her he'd fill the trolley with junk. We spotted Miss Lee going through the castle gates – she's friendly with some of the staff in there – so we sauntered
in to see what was happening with Mister Lewis's tower.

The broken door was in a big skip along with other old bits, including a grotty blanket that Mister Lewis had left behind in his hurry to get away. That made me sort of sentimental for a few seconds. We could see that the rickety stairs were also gone. In their place were brand-new stairs with a polished, snake-like banister that curved around the cleaned stones of the wall. We stood back to look up at the slotted windows above.

‘It's looking good already, Milo,' Shane whispered. Then he gave a great sigh. ‘Still and all, I liked it most when Mister Lewis was there.'

‘Me too,' I said. ‘I wonder will he ever get to come back here.'

‘Nah,' Shane sighed. ‘It'll be all shiny and posh and full of history nerds who will be
up and down the new stairs, so he'd have to spend all his time hiding or going invisible a lot.'

‘Hoi!' A man wearing a yellow helmet leaned out from a high window. ‘Hoppit, you two. You're trespassing.'

‘We're just having a look,' Shane called back. ‘Our friend lived up there.'

‘Yeah, right,' the man shouted. ‘What century was that? Take yourselves and your imaginary friend out of here. This place is out of bounds.'

Before Shane could think up some more cheeky words, we heard the familiar clip-clop of Miss Lee's high heels crossing the courtyard. As usual, she was carrying a couple of books.

‘Milo, Shane,' she said. ‘What are you two doing here?'

‘Just looking, Miss,' I said.

‘Yeah,' added Shane. ‘We have cool memories of the old tower.'

Which I thought was a very nice answer.

‘Me too, Shane,' replied our teacher. ‘But wait until you see it when it's done up. It will be superb. By the way,' she went on, ‘I was sorry I didn't get to your questions yesterday.'

‘About the mill?' I asked. ‘Can you tell us a bit more now?'

We both held our breath while she looked at her watch.

‘Umm,' she began. ‘I have some time to kill. Well, since you're both so eager, let's go and have tea and buns in the Hungry Duck.'

‘Sure thing, Miss Lee,' whooped Shane, rubbing his tummy in anticipation as we headed down the street.

‘So, the old mill,' Miss Lee began when
we sat at a table and ordered hot chocolate and buns. ‘What do you want to know?'

‘Everything,' said Shane. ‘After when you threw that wobbly at school— Ouch!' he yelped when I kicked his ankle.

Miss Lee laughed. ‘Sometimes a teacher is entitled to throw a wobbly,' she said. ‘Otherwise we'd explode. Now, let's focus on what you want to know.'

‘The mill,' I said.

‘All right,' she began. ‘You probably don't know this, but that mill never actually functioned.'

‘What does that mean?' asked Shane.

‘It means that it was never finished, never actually worked.'

‘Why not?' I asked.

‘Because,' Miss Lee went on, ‘it was said to have been haunted for very many years. Listen now and I'll tell you from where we
left off yesterday.'

So she told us that when the old man who was the last of the Maguire clan died in the eighteen sixties, a distant relative, Timothy McDonnell Maguire, took over. He wasn't interested in restoring the old Maguire mansion. All he wanted was the land, so he set about knocking down the house so that he could use the stones to build a mill. Mills were very important back then,' she said.

‘So where did he stay and eat after he knocked down the house?' asked Shane.

Me and Miss Lee laughed. ‘Trust you to be concerned about food and comfort, Shane,' she said. ‘There would have been a hostelry, a sort of old-fashioned hotel, in the town back then.'

‘Go on about the stones, Miss,' I said before Shane could ask about what sort of grub there would have been in the hostelry.

‘Yes, the stones,' Miss Lee continued. ‘Well, when he ran out of stones, he actually tore down the whole family mausoleum.'

‘A mousy what, Miss?' asked Shane.

‘It's a private burial house for very rich people who like to be buried on their own land,' said Miss Lee. ‘Using those stones to build the mill was not a clever move. After that, scary things began to happen. The local men who were building the mill saw weird figures that flitted scarily about the building works. Anyway, it got so bad that the workers left – even though the money was good.'

‘What did McDonnell Maguire do then?' I asked.

‘That's the strange thing,' Miss Lee said in a whisper. ‘One morning his body was found beside the makeshift grave he'd dug to bury the skeletal remains from the mausoleum.
There were no marks on his body, no blood anywhere. The local doctor, whose notes are in the town library, couldn't find anything wrong with the body.'

‘That's very interesting, Miss,' said Shane.

‘Well, thank you, Shane.'

‘Miss, would you bring us to see a mau—, a mousey—, a boney place sometime, Miss? That'd be great crack.'