Goodly and Grave 3-Book Story Collection

“She hasn’t sent a message?”

“No.”

“I see. Did you hurt yourself?” he said.

“When the cup broke? No, it—”

“No. I meant with Elvira. I heard you had an encounter with her.”

Lucy put her hand to her mouth. No one else had seen what happened. So it was true. The animals were acting against her, spying on her and somehow reporting back to Lord Grave.

“Yes. I know everything that happens in this house. And I know—” He paused.

Lucy waited for him to say he knew about everything else she’d been up to. Visiting the library, and the raven. Her investigations into Lady Sibyl’s carriage.

“I know you don’t want to be here, Lucy. That’s natural. I promise all of this will make sense soon.”

“Why can’t it make sense now?”

Lord Grave didn’t reply, but strode over to the door and opened it. His stern expression told her that their not-so-cosy chat was over. Lucy turned and left the room. When Lord Grave had closed the door behind her, she leaned against the wall. Once her heart had stopped thumping quite so hard and her legs were less wobbly, she walked slowly back to the kitchen.

What did Lord Grave mean by all of this will make sense soon? Would that be when he was using her for whatever horrific purpose he and Ma’am had in mind? And that would probably be sooner rather than later now that Lord Grave knew what she’d been up to and was no doubt suspicious of her. Lucy couldn’t escape on her own; her disastrous attempt had proved that. And she had no idea how she was going to get to the Wish Book without Lord Grave’s network of spies detecting her.

Things really can’t get any worse, she thought.

But then they did.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE EYES OF CARUTHERS

It had been two days since Violet had gone missing. All the Grave Hall servants were gathered round the kitchen table. Except for Mrs Crawley, who was attempting a new recipe to distract herself. She had her back to everyone as she stirred a pot on the kitchen range, but Lucy could see the housekeeper-cum-cook’s shoulders shaking as she stifled a sob.

“His Lordship’s having a meeting now with Lady Sibyl and the rest of … his friends. They’re going to help organise a search. Poor little Violet.” Vonk said. He took out a large striped handkerchief and blew his nose.

“Poor little milksop,” agreed Becky, stroking Smell, who was curled up on her lap. She sounded almost sad.

As for Lucy, she said nothing. Fury boiled inside her as she reread the names of the missing children listed in the Penny. Couldn’t any of Lord Grave’s household see what was happening? It was obvious to Lucy that Lord Grave had taken Violet. It was ruthlessly clever of him. No one would suspect him of kidnapping his own scullery maid.

What would he do to her? Hand her over to the mysterious Ma’am? Violet with her kind heart and soft voice would have no chance of saving herself. Lucy couldn’t bear to think of the terrible magic that might be practised on the poor child. Lucy looked up from the Penny and gazed round the table. Should she tell the other servants her suspicions? But what if one of them, or all of them, were in on it too?

After a while, Vonk got up from the table and went into his butler’s pantry, which lay just off the kitchen. When he came back, he was wearing his green floppy gardener’s hat.

“I think the best thing we can do is get back to work. Mrs C, is there any chance I could snaffle a couple of pails of your latest home-brew? The one with your Extra Violent Mustard Mix added to it?”

Mrs Crawley turned from the range. Her beard stuck out in tufts, as though she’d been raking it with her fingers and her eyes were red. “Resorting to drink won’t help us find Violet,” she sniffled.

“I don’t want to drink it! The roses have terrible greenfly and I thought a good drenching with that ale might be just the thing.”

“Oh, Vonk!”

“Bernie, I’m not saying the ale isn’t delicious – merely that it’s multifunctional,” Vonk said hastily.

Mrs Crawley brightened a little. “I’m sure I can spare some in that case.”

“Thank you. Why don’t you have a little nap before starting on lunch, Mrs C? You look worn out.”

“I might just do that. Lucy, would you help Vonk take a couple of pails to the potting shed?”

Lucy agreed readily, because at last a plan to successfully steal the Wish Book was forming in her mind and a visit to Vonk’s potting shed could provide her with something she needed.

She and Vonk made their way outside in silence. When they were nearly at the potting shed, Lucy decided to risk some subtle questioning to find out if she could trust Vonk or not.

“Do you think Lord Grave will be able to find Violet?”

“If anyone can find her, he can,” Vonk said.

“Because he’s so important? And he’s powerful too, isn’t he? In … lots of different ways.”

They had reached the shed by now. Vonk opened the door and ushered Lucy inside. “Yes, that’s right. Now put that bucket on the work table over there,” Vonk said, his back to Lucy as he took down various packages from the shelves that lined one wall.

Lucy did as he asked, then swiftly surveyed the shed. There were various gardening tools hanging from hooks on the wall opposite the shelves. While Vonk’s back was still turned, Lucy unhooked a small pair of shears.

“Do you think there’s a link between Violet and the other children?” Lucy asked, when she’d safely pocketed the tool.

Vonk turned back to the bucket and began carefully pouring the contents of a bottle into it. “Ma’am—” He stopped, looking horrified. The bottle slipped from his grasp and landed in the bucket with a splash. He began fishing it out. “I mean, ma … many people think that is a possibility.”

There was an awkward pause. Lucy’s heart thudded. So Vonk was part of the kidnapping plot too! He was bound to warn Ma’am and Lord Grave that he’d slipped up. And that meant Lucy was in more immediate danger than ever.

“Well, if you don’t need me for anything else, I’ve got some boots to see to,” she said, forcing herself to sound calm, even though her insides squirmed with fear as well as disappointment at Vonk’s treachery.

“That’s fine. Off you go,” Vonk replied in a strained voice.

“See you later then,” Lucy said brightly. She left the shed as nonchalantly as she could and began strolling back to the house.

But when she was sure Vonk couldn’t see her, she raced over the manicured lawns. As she ran, she noted with relief that Lord Grave, his revolting cronies and Bathsheba were down by the lake, having a pre-lunch walk. No doubt planning their next despicable move, Lucy thought. Which could well involve something nasty happening to Lucy herself. There was now no time to lose in putting her plan to steal the Wish Book into action. Then she could free the raven and he would help her escape. After that, she would find a way to rescue Violet and the other missing children.

Lucy whipped through the vegetable garden and into the kitchen, which was thankfully empty. Mrs Crawley must be having her nap. Lucy caught her breath for a moment. As she did so, she had a sudden thought. She rummaged through the kitchen store cupboard and grabbed a tin before creeping upstairs, heading for her room.

She paused in the hallway to check for danger. But the house was quiet. Becky was nowhere to be seen, neither was Smell. Lucy sprinted off again and up the stairs. But in her haste, she tripped on the last stair before the first-floor landing, staggered and then fell sideways. She crashed into the cabinet she’d once hidden behind. It rocked on its spindly legs and its doors flew open. A number of wooden boxes tumbled out. Lucy picked herself up and was about to run off again when she noticed each box had a label pasted on it. She grabbed one of them. The label said Harold Jameson. Inside was a toy ship, with its masts broken. Lucy knelt down and opened another labelled Deborah Jones. A red hair ribbon lay inside, torn in half. Heart thumping, Lucy noticed that one of the boxes looked newer than the rest.

Violet Worthington!

Lucy fumbled the box open. Something green and woolly lay inside.

Caruthers.

Violet’s beloved knitted frog.

Poor Caruthers looked rather mangled. Two strands of black thread hung from where his button eyes had been and a hole in his stomach was leaking sawdust.

There was something else in the box too. A note. The handwriting was cramped, untidy and very hard to read. Lucy could just about make out the words Ma’am particularly wants to but the rest was illegible.

This was it.

Conclusive, absolute proof that Lord Grave was responsible for the missing children together with Ma’am, who seemed to have something ‘particular’ in mind for poor little Violet.

Lucy was sure of only one thing.

She needed to act now and act fast. Otherwise Violet and the other children were as good as dead. And soon Lucy would be too.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

LUCY’S EXPLODING BRAIN

Cramming Caruthers into her pocket, Lucy continued dashing up the stairs, more determined than ever to steal the Wish Book, free the raven and bring Lord Grave, Ma’am and all the rest of them to justice. When she reached her room, she snatched up a cloth bag belonging to Becky and stuffed the tin she’d taken from the kitchen inside it along with a long woollen scarf she found in Becky’s chest of drawers. Panting, she knelt by the fireplace. Turner and Paige were motionless on the tiles as normal.

“Psst!” Lucy hissed.

Neither of them moved.

“Oi!” Lucy said more loudly. She poked Mr Turner in the side, then did the same to Mr Paige. The tiles were cold and hard against her fingertips. Why weren’t they waking up?

Lucy sat back on her heels, thinking hard. What was it she’d said when she’d first seen them come to life? It seemed like weeks had passed since then, but it was only a few days ago. Wasn’t it something about wanting to learn how magic worked?

Learn.

Libraries were places of learning. Perhaps then, that was the word that woke Turner and Paige?

So she whispered, “I want to learn about … magicians.” It seemed somewhat feeble, but right now her aim was to get inside the library and there was no time to come up with something more convincing.

After a few moments, the two men began to move in their tiles. Once again, at his invitation, she took Mr Turner’s hand and they passed through the bedroom fireplace into the library.

There above the mouse-sized door were the books, one of which could solve all her problems. If only she could grab it now! But she had to wait for the right moment. So, she reluctantly went through the palaver of watching the mouse-sized door grow to Lucy-sized before joining the seven Mr Paiges in the reading room. This time it was the Mr Paige who stood furthest to the left who spoke first.

“You want to learn about magicians?”

“Yes.”

“What exactly do you want to know?”

“I … um … how does someone become a magician?”

“Magicians are born not made.”

“And … how do magicians do magic, exactly? Do they cast spells?”

“There are various ways of creating magic. Spells, potions, even the power of the imagination.”

“Lord Grave’s a magician, isn’t he?” Lucy said.

“That’s correct,” said Mr Paige.

“And … are there good magicians and evil ones?”

“Yes, that is the case,” Mr Paige said slowly. He sounded wary, as though he was rather uncomfortable with the way the conversation was heading. “And on that note, I think we should stop for today.”

“But I have lots more to ask!”

“As we said last time you visited, we are only allowed to tell you a small amount at each visit. Otherwise—”

“Oh, yes, my brain might explode. Ridiculous idea. As if,” Lucy said and rolled her eyes.

“Not at all! It’s a genuine risk!”

“But I’ve hardly asked you anything. I think we should go on.”

“No. We really mustn’t.”

Lucy stamped her foot. “But you have to! I–– Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!”

“What’s wrong?” the Mr Paiges cried.

Lucy collapsed to the floor. She curled herself into a little ball, clutching her head. “I think it might be too late. All this talk about magicians. It’s too much to take in. I think my brain is going to explode. I have a terrible headache.”

The seven Mr Paiges crowded round her. They shouted for Mr Turner, who raced in, almost dashing his own brains out as the door was still Lucy-sized not Mr Turner-sized.

“Oh, Mr Paige, what’s happened?”

“She says we’ve overfilled her brain!”

“What exactly have you been telling her? Have you overdone it?”

“Overdone it! Of course not! We hardly told her anything! We’re always very careful about how much information we impart!”

“Well, you’ve done something to the poor child!”

The seven Mr Paiges surrounded the one Mr Turner and they all started shouting at each other. And while they bickered, snapped and argued, Lucy uncurled herself, crawled through the legs of the Mr Paiges surrounding her and sped out of the Reading Room, back into the library. Silently, she closed the door behind her and turned the key in the lock before taking it out of the keyhole and dropping it in her jacket pocket.

She leaned against the door, shaking.

“Lucy, let us out!” shouted Mr Turner. “Please, miss!”

“Will not!” Lucy shouted back.

She had to hurry. Paige and Turner were clearly magical in some way and could probably deal with a locked door. If only it was mouse-sized again. Even in their fireplace form, Turner and Paige were almost a foot high and too big to get through it. At the very least, it might slow them down.

As she was thinking this, the door wobbled.

Became Bathsheba-sized.

Dog-sized.

Smell-sized.

Mouse-sized!

Lucy watched, amazed and delighted. Locking the door must have automatically triggered its size-changing magic.

Now all she had to do was find the Wish Book and take it to the raven.

Lucy pushed one of the leather sofas against the mouse-sized door, underneath the shelf that held the metal books. This also helped to muffle Turner and Paige’s shouts. The sofa had a high back and by perching on it and stretching up as high as she possibly could, Lucy’s fingertips reached the edges of the books. Now she was up closer, she could see there were five of them. Four metal books, one gold, one silver, one copper, one iron, and one book that wasn’t metal, but made of glassy, see-through material.

Lucy eased out the book with the iron cover. Everything inside it was black, including the pages. She shook it to see if it would do anything, tell her anything. But it remained dark and silent so she dropped it on the sofa. She pulled the gold book out next, but the pages inside were in a language she didn’t understand. Lucy slung it on the sofa in disgust. How was she supposed to know which book to take when she couldn’t even read their contents? She tried the silver book next. It was tucked further back on the shelf than the others and she couldn’t quite reach it. She stood on her tiptoes, wobbling dangerously. Still not near enough. She gave a little leap and just managed to snatch the silver spine before losing her balance and toppling backwards. She tumbled off the sofa and on to the floor, the book falling with her. One of its pointy metal corners struck her on the head.

She lay dazed for a few seconds. When the library stopped tilting giddily around her, she sat up and grabbed the book. It was very heavy and had a sharp metallic smell. She opened it carefully and peered at the thin silver pages. Engraved on the very first page were the words:

For Wishes, Spell.

She’d found it!

But those were the only words in the whole book. The other pages had holes punched in them, just big enough for Lucy to be able to stick her finger through. The first page had one hole, the second two and so on. How could this strange object possibly free the raven? It seemed impossible to imagine.

Lucy stuck her finger through the first hole on the first page. The edges of the hole were as lethal as one of Mrs Crawley’s chopping knives and she had to be careful not to slice off her fingertip.

“I wish I was at home at Leafy Ridge,” she said firmly.

Nothing.

She was still in the library. No need to panic, she told herself. The raven would know how to use it. She’d better stop dithering and get it to him.

But as she was shoving the Wish Book inside the bag she’d brought with her, there was a rattling noise in the library fireplace. Lucy watched, horror-struck, as a figure appeared in the tiles. It had prominent eyebrows and a miniature black panther at its side.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

SNIFFED OUT

Lucy dived behind the library curtains and drew them closed, leaving a small gap to peer through. Seconds later, Lord Grave and Bathsheba slid from the tiles, changing from the miniature ceramic version of themselves to full-sized flesh, blood, fur and teeth. Another figure appeared in the tiles. A figure wearing a beard, a flowery dressing gown and fluffy pink slippers.

“Where on earth have those two got to?” Lord Grave said, frowning in his bushy-eyebrow way. “They’re as bad as Smell. None of them have kept a proper eye on the girl, despite my instructions. Now look at the mess we’re in.”

“If only she hadn’t found Caruthers,” said Mrs Crawley, who was now her full six-foot-three-and-a-quarter-inches self.

Lucy almost cried out in anger and sorrow. It was horrible to discover that the housekeeper-cum-cook was in on Lord Grave’s wicked activities. She must have only been pretending to be upset about Violet. Although she’d put on a most impressive act. Even now, her eyes were still rather red.

“If we don’t find her, we’re all at risk, Mrs C. Ma’am most of all. Imagine if Lucy goes to the authorities. Or the Penny Dreadful, come to think of it. If people begin nosing around …”

“I don’t think she’ll have got far,” Mrs Crawley said.

Bathsheba suddenly leaped on to the sofa Lucy had shoved against the wall and started growling and clawing at the leather.

“That sofa’s not usually there,” Lord Grave said in a soft voice.

“And those books are normally on that shelf,” Mrs Crawley replied.

Lord Grave and Mrs Crawley hurried forward and rolled the sofa away from the wall. While they were distracted, Lucy attempted to open the library window. But the handle was stiff and bound to make a harsh grating noise that would be overheard. She’d have to wait for the right opportunity.

“Turner, Paige, are you in there?” Lord Grave was shouting.

“Your Lordship, is that you?” Mr Turner replied weakly. “We’re trapped! The girl, she tricked us!”

Lord Grave gave the mouse-sized door the briefest of glances. It grew Lord Grave-sized in an instant. The handle jiggled and rattled and then the door lurched open. Mr Turner and Mr Paige fell into the library, red-faced, choking, clasping their throats, as though they’d been struggling to breathe.

“The girl, your Lordship,” said Mr Turner raspily. “She did this.”

“The books,” said Mrs Crawley. “One’s missing.”

Mr Turner looked at the books on the sofa and then at the shelf. “It’s the Wish Book.”

“Why would she take that? How would she even know about it? Did you tell her, Turner?” Lord Grave demanded.

“Most certainly not. We did exactly as you asked. Gave her a little information each time.”

“She’s a clever girl. She’ll work out how to use it anyway,” Lord Grave said.

“But how could she have left the library?” Mr Turner asked.

At that very moment, Bathsheba began growling again. Then Lucy heard a snuffling noise.

Lucy quivered in her hiding place behind the curtains. Any second now, Bathsheba was going to sniff her out. Moving as quietly as she could, she took the scarf and the tin from her bag. She wound the scarf over her mouth and nose and loosened the lid of the tin before flinging the curtain aside.

“Lucy!” Lord Grave bellowed and stepped towards her.

“Dear girl,” Mrs Crawley chimed in.

“Keep away from me, all of you!” Lucy lobbed the tin she was holding at Lord Grave. The loosened lid flew off and a bright orange cloud of Extra Violent Mustard Mix immediately engulfed Lucy’s enemies. Lucy turned away to avoid any stray puffs of the mustard, but even so, her eyes began to water. With tears streaming down her face, she yanked the library window open and climbed outside. Behind her, she could hear Lord Grave and the others coughing, spluttering and sneezing. Good. They deserved to suffer.

Lucy crouched on the stone windowsill for a few seconds. She pulled the scarf down round her neck and breathed in the fresh, clean air while planning her next move. The ivy growing past the window was her only hope. Would it hold her? Maybe not with the added weight of the Wish Book. So she threw the bag containing the book on to the grass below, hoping that it wouldn’t get damaged. Then she began climbing down the ivy.

But the ivy had other ideas.

Lucy was halfway down the ivy when it began to poke into her ears and nose and mouth and generally make a nuisance of itself. But she didn’t panic. She’d suspected the ivy might be one of the measures Mr Turner had said were in place to protect the library and so she had come prepared. Blinking away tears (the ivy’s exploration of her nostrils was making her eyes water again), Lucy hung on to the ivy with one hand and fumbled around in her pocket with the other, taking out the shears she’d stolen from Vonk. She began hacking away at the creeping plant, which hissed and wriggled like an angry snake and began to shrivel. It loosened its hold just long enough for her to climb further down and then leap the last few feet to the ground.

Sounds of coughing and sneezing and raised voices were still coming from above. Lucy looked up. A few drops of rain fell on her upturned face. No, not rain. A fine mist of water was drifting down from the library window. Lord Grave must have magicked up some sort of shower in the library to damp down the Extra Violent Mustard Mix. She had to get going before he, Bathsheba and Mrs Crawley recovered enough to pursue her. Lucy raced across the grass, the bag holding the Wish Book banging painfully against her hip. She sped round to the back of the house and into the kitchen where Becky and Smell were having a sly nap.

“What’s going on?” Becky said, jerking awake. But Lucy didn’t reply. She whizzed past and out again, up the stairs and off towards the Room of Curiosities.