The Mystery of Wickworth Manor (8 page)

The house beyond the kitchen was in darkness. The moon had risen and silver light fell in through the windows, striping the ground like the keys on a piano. He thought about what Carol had said, about having people to watch out for him. She was right.

Would Paige be asleep? Was it too late to apologise?

He walked towards Bluebell to see.

As he got closer, he heard Paige’s voice coming from inside. ‘No, he wasn’t at tea, I told you.’

The door to her room was slightly ajar. Curtis stood in the corridor. Were they talking about him?

‘Well, where is he then?’ Jo asked.

‘Why do you care? I thought you were meant to be
my
friend.’

‘I am your friend. Don’t be daft. I just wondered that’s all. I think he’s kind of cute, don’t you?’

‘Cute?’ Paige sounded horrified.

‘Yes. Not as cute as Liam, though.’

Curtis heard Paige squeal in disgust. ‘Joanne Cartwright, you are one strange girl.’

‘I feel a bit sorry for him.’ Sal’s voice was soft. ‘He doesn’t know anyone. And he’s kind of awkward. As though he doesn’t know what to say.’

Curtis felt his stomach turn cold. He reached out and leaned against the corridor wall. Sal felt sorry for him. Sal, who crept around like a mouse doing whatever Paige and Jo told her to do. He couldn’t believe it.

He breathed in and out, slowly.

‘He’s always got something to say,’ Paige said. ‘Some la-di-da nonsense every time he opens his mouth. You should have heard him today, “There’s a scientific explanation for everything.”’ She spoke in a plummy voice, a cross between Hugh Grant and Prince William;
nothing
like the way he spoke. ‘“The world is round,”’ she continued, ‘“and so is my massive head. I know everything about everything. And you are an idiot.”’

Jo burst out laughing. ‘Do it again!’

‘“My name is Curtis Maximilian Frederick Okafor and I am a Northdene Prep boy. Ask me any question and my computer-brain will uncover the answer in seconds. There is nothing I don’t know.”’

‘Can I ask a question?’ Jo asked.

‘“Fire away, old chum.”’

‘What is the square root of six hundred and forty-five?’

‘No,’ Paige said in her real voice. ‘No maths. Ask me something else.’

‘Oh, OK. Well, why are you here and not at Northdene any more?’

‘“Righto. Well, I had to leave, you see. I accidentally burned down the science lab. I was attempting to prove that fire is hot. So I lit a match too close to a Bunsen burner and – whoosh – the place was burned to a crisp in moments. After that, the dear headmaster asked me not to come back. So I’m slumming it with chavs, old bean.”’

There were howls of laughter coming from inside Bluebell now. Curtis pressed his eyes closed, ignoring the sting of tears. But he couldn’t close his ears. Paige was whooping and gasping for air.

Curtis took two steps closer to the door. He should go in. He should go in and confront them; he should yell and tell them that they had him all wrong, that he wasn’t like that at all.

But he didn’t go in.

He couldn’t walk into the middle of their laughter.

Curtis turned away.

He didn’t care what they thought. He wasn’t their friend, anyway. He didn’t even like Paige. There was no way he was going to apologise to her now.

He didn’t need anyone. Carol was wrong. He was better off by himself.

Chapter 17

Paige’s sides ached from laughing. She had tipped off the bed on to the floor and now lay there, still giggling. ‘This is good, isn’t it? Fun, I mean.’ She looked across at Sal on the bottom bunk, then Jo above her. ‘It’s nice being here, having a laugh. I think I’m going to like senior school.’

Jo nodded. ‘Me too. We’re meeting some nice people in our group, aren’t we, Sal?’

‘Hmm,’ Sal agreed slowly. ‘I suppose.’

‘No one as nice as me, I hope,’ Paige said. ‘You’re still my best mates.’

‘Of course we are,’ Jo said. ‘I’m just saying.’

Paige felt a sudden stab of unease. It had always been the three of them. Was this the change that the tarot cards had seen? Was that what The Tower had meant on the first day? She picked up her washbag. ‘I’m going to clean my teeth,’ she said. ‘Either of you coming?’

‘I did mine before,’ Sal said.

Jo pulled her duvet up to her chin. ‘Nope. Part of the fun of being on holiday is that you don’t have to clean your teeth. Anyway, it’s gone lights-out. You’ll be in trouble if Mrs Burton-Jones catches you again.’

‘Fine. I’ll go by myself.’ Paige headed out to the bathroom. It was one floor down, on the landing below. The lights were off, though there was a green glow from the fire exit sign. She kept one hand on the wall, to help find her way. She stepped soundlessly in her slippers: down the stairs, along the corridor, as far as the bathroom. She pushed open the heavy door. There was no one left inside, but the mirrors were still misted up from the people earlier. It felt warm and damp, like a rainforest. There were a row of mirrors, some sinks, four toilet cubicles and three showers, one of them drip-drip-dripping water into its tray.

Paige propped her washbag on the edge of a sink and wiped a clear patch in the mist on the mirror. She hummed quietly to herself as she cleaned her teeth.

It had been a weird day. Laughing with Jo and Sal had been fun, but then hearing about their new friends made her brain feel itchy. Her arms were starting to ache from the climbing. And then there was that horrible feeling of being pushed off the rock. There had
definitely
been something there, beside her, while she climbed.

She spat into the sink and swilled some water around her mouth.

The pipes grumbled and knocked as water ran through them.

She turned off the tap.

The pipes kept on knocking.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Paige thumped the tap. Stupid old house. She looked at the mirror again. It had misted over. All she could see was her own vague, pink and yellow shape reflected back at her. She wiped it again with a squeak. A drop of water rolled down the glass.

What was that?

Had something moved behind her?

She spun around.

The room was empty.

But the noise from the pipes continued, like a faraway drum getting closer. Or like the rattle of coach wheels on a stony road.

‘Is something there?’ Paige whispered. ‘Show yourself!’

There was a whispering sound. Wind through trees? Or something else?

She turned back to the mirror slowly. Mum said that mirrors could be routes into other worlds. She said that at Halloween if you spoke the name of a dead person three times in front of a mirror, then you would dream about them that night.

Paige took a deep breath. It wasn’t Halloween, but it might work anyway. Did she dare?

‘Wickworth Boy,’ she whispered.

The knocks got louder, matching the insistent thumping in her chest.

‘Wickworth Boy,’ she said.

‘Wickworth Boy.’

Silence.

The thumping stopped. Paige held her breath. She looked at the mirror. The mist had cleared. Her own face looked back, green eyes wide with fear.

Paige picked up her washbag and clenched it to her chest.

Why had she done that?

Stupid, stupid.

She backed away from the mirror, keeping an eye on it the whole time.

She yanked the bathroom door and staggered out. The landing was deserted. And then she saw it. A white mist hovered at the far end of the corridor. She stifled a moan. It twisted in the air.

‘Paige,’ a voice whispered.

‘Who is it?’ she stammered.

‘Paige. We’re coming.’

There was a surge of energy, like static electricity bouncing along the walls. Paige felt it hit her and all the hairs on her arms rose. Her heart leapt in her chest.

She dropped her washbag.

And ran.

The sound of ghostly laughter floated up the stairs behind her.

Paige’s heart was hammering like hooves at a gallop. She felt sick. This was real. She had believed it was before, but now she knew. She knew in the same way that she knew which way was up or that the sun would rise tomorrow. The Wickworth Boy was real and he was looking for her. They had messed with something big. Spirits were on the move.

She lay on her bed with her eyes open. She stared at the ceiling just half a metre or so from her face. Sal and Jo were breathing gently, fast asleep.

The Wickworth Boy had come for her.

And she had been so scared.

Paige felt her face get hot.

If anyone had asked her whether she was brave or not, a few days ago she would have said yes, definitely, no question.

Now she wasn’t so sure.

She rubbed her cheeks. If Mum had seen a ghost, she would have talked to it, not run away. She would have asked what it wanted and how she could help. Mum said that ghosts were just people who weren’t ready to say goodbye.

If only she could call Mum. But she couldn’t. Mum believed phones only rang at night if it was bad news. Paige couldn’t frighten Mum like that.

In the dark, a different idea began to form. She couldn’t call home for advice, but she could do the next best thing. She had her tarot pack with her. She could try to find out what the Wickworth Boy wanted. She could be brave.

She climbed down out of her bunk quietly, then riffled in her bag until her fingers wrapped around the pack.

Where could she do it?

It was too dark in here and if she switched on a light, it would wake the others. For some reason, she didn’t want to tell them what she’d seen. Not yet, anyway.

The painting.

She should do it in front of the painting. Curtis wouldn’t mind being woken up. And she didn’t care if he did mind. He had been horrible to her all day. The painting wasn’t his, anyway. It wasn’t his property.

Paige put on her dressing gown and slippers and left Bluebell. She walked quickly along the corridor. Outside his room, she paused and then knocked gently.

She heard a noise from inside.

Was it ‘come in’? It was close enough. She pushed open the door. Her eyes took a minute to adjust to the darkness. She could make out a lump on the bed; it turned over, then sat up. ‘Paige?’ Curtis said. His voice sounded thick, as if he had a cold. ‘What do you want? Leave me alone.’

‘It isn’t you I’m here for. It’s the Boy.’ Paige avoided the piles of junk in the room and walked over to the window. She pulled open the curtain. The sky outside twinkled with stars. The moon was as round as a saucer of milk. It was clear and bright enough to see the lawn and the lake below.

‘What are you doing?’ Curtis said. ‘What do you want?’

Paige ignored him. She glanced around the room for the painting. It was propped against the end of the bed. She swivelled it slightly so that it was in a better position.

‘Hey,’ Curtis said, sitting up.

‘It isn’t yours. I need it for a minute.’ She sat down in front of it and took out her cards. She shuffled them quickly. Then she laid the pack between her and the painting and cut the deck once, then twice.

Curtis leaned over the edge of the bed to watch her. He didn’t say anything. Paige concentrated on the pack, ignoring the sound of Curtis’s snuffly breathing. She turned over the cards and arranged them in a cross shape: the Page of Swords, the Empress, the Nine of Swords, the Knight of Cups, the Sun, the Four of Pentacles, the World.

Two sets of dark eyes watched her in the moonlight, one static, oil on canvas, the other curious, alert.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I thought you didn’t believe in it.’

‘I don’t. I just wondered, that’s all.’

Paige wasn’t exactly sure what all the cards meant in the positions she’d put them. But Mum always insisted that didn’t matter, what was important was to try to see what message the cards were giving.