The Bonehill Curse (5 page)

Ness nodded. When they heard what had happened perhaps her parents would be so relieved she was unharmed that everything would be all right between them again. And what if the djinn had granted her wish? They would welcome her with open arms, surely!

The morning wore on and Ness watched the distant riverbanks float by. She tried not to wonder what was happening at Rookery Heights or where Morris was, so she concentrated instead on the hissing and splashing around the bow of the barge. At one point Ness glanced behind her and felt a chill. In the distance, to their starboard side, a triangular sail fluttered.

‘Mr Carr,’ she called up the barge, ‘what kind of boat is that?’

Jacob squinted at the sail in the distance. ‘Can’t rightly say,’ he called back. ‘Not like anything we usually see on the river. What d’you reckon, Manny?’

‘Dunno,’ Manny scowled, shading his eyes with his hands. ‘Small. Fast. Peculiar.’

The sail grew larger but the craft kept a distance so Ness could only just make out the dark figures of its occupants.

‘Well, they look to be passin’ us and leavin’ us alone,’ Carr said gruffly.

Ness watched the sail gradually disappear up the river ahead of them.

The river grew busier as it narrowed. Other barges skipped through the waves, their captains waving to Carr. Larger vessels came into view and the air took on a smoky, tarry taste.

‘We’re nearly in London,’ Carr announced.

Ness stared at the pall of black smog in the distance. She hadn’t been home for at least five years. Her heart fluttered.
What will Mama and Father say? How will I explain what’s happened? They must know something about it all – about Carlos and the bottle.
She bit her lip.

More boats and barges, ships and skiffs cluttered the river. Solid brick-built quays began to replace the earthen reed beds that had lined the river’s edge. Manny scurried about, securing stays on the cargo, calling waspishly to other craft that came too close. Soon they were tying up at a dock that was overshadowed by tall warehouses.

Ness sniffed at the smoky air.
London
, she thought.

Part the Second

London

Death Drives a fast carriage.

T
raditional proverb

Chapter Seven

A
S
ho
c
king
D
is
c
overy

‘We’ll be here for a few more hours before we head back to the coast in case you need us, miss,’ Jacob said, as they stood on the dockside. Gangs of burly men swarmed over the
Galopede
, offloading sacks and crates.

Ness smiled. ‘Thank you, Mr Carr, but once I’m home I’ll be fine.’ He’d been too kind already, even sharing a meagre breakfast of ham and eggs. Jacob hadn’t seemed to mind, but Manny’s glare had drifted between his old boots and the tiny flake of meat on his platter.

‘Well, take care. Are you sure you won’t take the price of a cab to get you home?’ Carr said, a frown creasing his tanned face.

‘Thank you, Mr Carr, but my parents are more than able to pay for it. I wouldn’t dream of taking any more from you,’ Ness said, laying a hand on Carr’s arm. ‘And thank you again.’

‘Keep that bottle safe,’ Carr said. He’d given her a sack to wrap it in to protect it from prying eyes.

‘Best be off then.’ Manny scowled at her over Jacob’s shoulder.

Jacob laughed and patted Ness’s hand before turning to bellow at one of the dockers who had dropped a crate.

Ness watched the men scurrying about for a moment; bewhiskered sailors elbowed through a gang of Chinese workers heaving on black-tarred rope as they winched a bale over the side of a barge. Rigging and masts formed a dense jungle that pressed against the blackened brick of the dockside warehouses. Shouts and laughter grated on her ears. It had been five or more years since she had been in London and the memory of the silent, desolate marshes seemed unreal in this churning mass of humanity.
At least the air at the Academy didn’t choke me
, Ness thought as she put the sack on her back and squeezed past a street seller hawking caged birds.

Taverns and nautical outfitters lined the streets leading up from the dock. Old seamen nursed their flagons and chewed on pipes, eyeing passers-by suspiciously, while toothless women in gaudy silken gowns with ribbons drooping in their hair called out to passing sailors.

Searching around for a hansom cab, Ness caught a glimpse of a boy about her age. He was dressed in a rather military style tunic and a turban covered most of his black hair. For a second, their gazes met. Ness instantly recognised his fierce glare. She lunged forward, ready to challenge him, but the boy threw himself into the crowd and vanished from sight.

Ness hurried on as the streets widened and she marched away from the river. ‘Not a cab to be found,’ she tutted to herself, glancing over her shoulder. Hopefully the boy wouldn’t dare attack with so many people around. The odd carriage or coach did clatter past but each was occupied and the drivers ignored her calls.

The clothes of passers-by became cleaner, more genteel. Ness nodded and smiled to a group of ladies who stared straight through her in her scruffy river-girl’s clothes.

At last a hansom cab stood by the roadside. Its horse drooped and slumped in the middle. The driver, wrapped in a huge weather-stained coat, slouched in the sprung seat at the back of the carriage, picking his bulbous red nose. Ness gave a cough and the man gazed down from his seat but continued burrowing with his finger.

‘Could you take me to Bonehill House on Brompton Road?’ she asked.

‘Could do,’ the driver muttered in a disgusting, nasal voice, pulling his finger out and rolling what he’d found into a ball. ‘You got money?’

‘No, but my father, Mr Anthony Bonehill, does – lots of it,’ Ness snapped, raising her head imperiously and staring straight into the driver’s eyes. ‘He’ll pay you handsomely for bringing me home.’

The driver looked at her properly and jumped down, wiping his fingers on his grubby coat as he landed. ‘Forgive me, miss,’ he said, pulling open the door to the cab and touching the brim of his hat. ‘It’s just, well, your dress, like . . . It’s not, I mean, I can tell by yer voice that yer genteel, like, but –’

‘Never mind that,’ Ness said, glancing around once and then clambering in, wrinkling her nose at the musty mildewed smell that mingled with the polished leather upholstery. ‘My father will be wondering where I am. Get a move on, please.’

The cab bounced and squeaked as the driver got into the rear seat and flicked his whip at the horse. Ness leaned forward to peer out of the covered passenger compartment just in time to see the boy in the turban breaking cover from the crowd. He skidded to a halt and looked helplessly from right to left as if searching for a ride himself. Ness threw herself back in the cab and banged on the ceiling.

‘Faster, man, faster,’ she snapped at the driver above. She was being followed, that much was certain. She had to lose him and get home.

The cab rocked along the grimy streets but Ness barely noticed the passing neighbourhoods. Her stomach fluttered. She was excited about seeing home again and yet a cold dread filled her too. Her old bedroom stood out clear in her memory, as did the study where Miss Cheem the governess had taught her. In her mind’s eye, she swept into the hallway with its tiled floor and grand staircase. Rowson, the head butler, would stand to attention, arm crooked ready to receive coats. Ness gave a slight smile.

‘Here we are, miss, Brompton Road,’ the driver called down, snapping her out of her thoughts. He said something else but Ness wasn’t listening.

Instead of gazing up at her home, she stared at the pile of smouldering masonry and timber that sprawled where Bonehill House once stood.

The smell of smoke filled the air and a crowd of ragged urchins scrambled over the charred beams and crumbling stonework. They tiptoed in bare feet through hot ash searching for anything worth salvaging.

Ness jumped out of the cab. She staggered over a heap of rubble and ran through what used to be the front door, grabbing at the nearest boy, who cradled a charred satchel in his arms.

‘Get away,’ she screamed, snatching the satchel and almost hurling him bodily behind her. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Leave it out,’ yelled another boy in rags. ‘There’s fine pickings to be ’ad ’ere an’ no mistake.’

Ness advanced on him. ‘Not while I’m here,’ she snarled, raising a fist. ‘This is my house and you’ve no right to be here!’

The boy rubbed his cheek and weighed Ness up. He backed off, then gave a whistle and the other children scurried after him.

Beyond them she saw a young girl in a maid’s uniform, tugging at a silver tray that poked from beneath a pile of bricks. She recognised the tiles of what would have been the reception hall, but they were cracked and grey, peeping through gaps in a thick coating of ash.

‘What happened? Where is everyone?’ Ness asked the girl. ‘Where are Mr and Mrs Bonehill? Are they . . . Did they get out?’

The maid looked up, dazed, her face streaked with ash. ‘I dunno,’ she said, wiping her eye with the back of her hand. ‘It happened in the night. Master and Mistress were all tucked up, then the next minute it was all smoke an’ flames.’ The maid shuddered. ‘I wouldn’t ’ave come back, only my husband, he said there might be somethin’ left behind that’s worth havin’. I said I wouldn’t come back ’ere for all the tea in China after I saw that . . . that . . . thing . . . but he made me.’

‘Thing?’ Ness repeated, clutching the satchel to her.

‘It was ’orrible,’ the maid whispered. ‘A hideous creature dancin’ through the flames, like a little doll made of bones. No one believed me, mind.’

‘A little doll?’ Ness felt as if she were falling down a deep well. The thing that came out of the bottle, the djinn, had been here . . .

A shadow fell across her and she gazed up at the driver.

‘Beggin’ yer pardon, miss,’ he said, feeding the brim of his hat through his fingers. ‘I know this is a delicate time an’ all but it was a long journey ’cross town an’ I was wonderin’, if yer don’t need takin’ elsewhere, I’ll ’ave me money now please.’

‘I don’t know where anyone is,’ Ness murmured. ‘I don’t even know if they’re alive or dead.’

‘I do need my fare, with it bein’ so far an’ all.’ The driver edged closer.

Ness’s mind cleared and she frowned at the driver. ‘You’re asking me for payment at a time like this?’ Fury boiled up inside her.

‘Well, with all due respect, I didn’t burn your ’ouse down,’ the driver said, his voice hardening. ‘Or aren’t you who you say yer are?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Ness snapped back.

‘Yeah, that would be a clever old ruse, that would.’ The driver leered at her. ‘Trick me into drivin’ you all across town to a place you know ’as just burnt down recent, like.’

‘How dare you?’ Ness stared at the man. His lopsided grin, his round nose and yellowed teeth revolted her.

‘Oh, I wasn’t born yesterday, missy,’ he sneered. ‘Excuse me, miss.’ The driver tapped the maid’s shoulder and pointed to Ness. ‘Could you tell me who this is?’

The maid looked at Ness and shook her head.

‘This is ridiculous. Of course she doesn’t know me,’ Ness said. ‘She’s new, barely the same age as me.’

‘Ridiculous, is it?’ the driver snarled and grabbed her wrist.

Instinctively, Ness gave him a sharp punch to the nose. Swearing, the driver released her, staggering back. Ness turned to run but saw an elderly man striding over the rubble towards them. Although smudged with ash and cinders, she could see that his tails and striped trousers were those of a butler. A silver chain stretched across his bulging waistcoat.

‘Rowson,’ Ness called with relief as the butler drew close. ‘Thank goodness.’

But the butler showed no sign of recognition.

‘This girl reckons she lives ’ere,’ said the driver, gripping his bleeding nose. ‘She says she’s Miss Bonehill.’

‘That’s impossible,’ Rowson said, frowning at the driver and Ness. The butler’s thinning grey hair fluttered in the breeze like the smoke that drifted across the ruins. ‘Necessity Bonehill is dead. She has been these last five years. I went to her funeral myself.’

Better an honest enemy than a false friend.

T
raditional proverb

Chapter Eight

B
a
c
k from the
G
rave

Silence fell across the smoking ruins of Bonehill House as Ness tried to take in what Rowson had just said.

‘Rowson, it’s me, Necessity. I’ve been at Rookery Heights Academy for Young Ladies for the last five years!’

‘I’m not sure who you are, miss,’ Rowson said, stiffening. ‘And I don’t know if this is some kind of practical joke but it’s in very poor taste considering the circumstances.’

‘I knew it.’ The driver gave a yellow grin in spite of his bleeding nose. ‘Call a constable. She’s barmy!’

Ness lurched forward, gripping Rowson’s lapels. ‘Please, Rowson. It’s me, Ness. I used to lock Cook in the pantry and ride on the dumb waiter . . .’