The Monsters of Rookhaven Page 3

  Mirabelle trailed off because Enoch looked astounded by her comment.

  ‘They are not from the village,’ he repeated slowly, as though she had failed to understand something.

  ‘I know, Uncle.’ She understood his fear, and she shared it, but seeing how terrified the girl, in particular, had been after the flowers’ attack had softened her attitude towards the interlopers.

  ‘Only those from the village receive dispensation.’

  ‘I know but—’

  Uncle Bertram burst through the door in his human aspect. He was red-cheeked and panting, and he flapped his cravat at everyone.

  ‘Helloooo, I was just wondering what was happening,’ he said, smiling nervously, twitching all the while. He looked at Jem and Tom. ‘Ooh, do we have visitors? Where did they come from?’

  An exasperated Mirabelle rubbed her palm across her forehead at Bertram’s terrible acting.

  ‘We found them on the Path of Flowers,’ she sighed.

  ‘We?’ Bertram squealed.

  ‘I meant me and . . .’

  ‘And your pet bear,’ said Tom.

  ‘Pet bear?’ squealed Bertram, this time looking rather offended.

  Tom was coughing again. It sounded as if wet stones were rattling around in his chest. Mirabelle saw the concerned look on Jem’s face.

  Tom waved his hand at Enoch and Bertram. ‘Look, we don’t want to cause too much—’ he coughed again. ‘Too much trouble,’ said Tom, now almost doubling over as the coughing fit took hold.

  Mirabelle wasn’t totally surprised when Tom’s eyes rolled up in his head and he hit the floor. What did surprise her was how gracefully and slowly he did it, like a ballerina at the end of a performance.

  Jem ran to him, shouting his name. She tried to raise him up, but his head lolled back at an alarming angle. She turned to the others, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘Help him, please.’

  No one moved. Both Bertram and Enoch look shocked.

  ‘Please!’ Jem shouted with a sudden fierceness.

  Mirabelle went to Jem and helped her hold Tom’s head. His skin felt clammy and feverish, and his eyes were rolling behind his eyelids. She saw the terror on Jem’s face as she held her brother, the way she looked at him, as if fearing he might vanish at any moment. That’s what made her decision for her. She nodded at Bertram.

  ‘Uncle, take him upstairs, please.’

  Bertram looked at Enoch.

  Enoch looked at Mirabelle. ‘But he’s a stranger! He shouldn’t be . . .’ he spluttered.

  Mirabelle shook her head and turned back to Bertram. She could see the confusion on his face as he seemed to wrestle with some inner turmoil, the slight glimmer of pity in his eyes even while he looked on fearfully. ‘Please, Uncle. He’s very ill. We can’t leave him like this.’

  Bertram looked at Enoch again. ‘It can’t hurt, can it? I mean . . .’ He gestured at Tom. ‘Look at the poor boy.’

  Enoch looked at Tom. Mirabelle saw her uncle’s jaw clench tight, and a strange look pass across his face. She couldn’t read it, but she could see he too was struggling with something, as if he were in pain. Caught between her anger and Bertram’s gentle pleading, he suddenly seemed uncharacteristically indecisive. He was about to speak, but as he hesitated Mirabelle took advantage of the moment to nod at Bertram, who scurried over and lifted Tom into his arms.

  Mirabelle directed him towards the stairs and told him which bedroom to use. She nodded at Jem to follow, and was just about to step after them herself when Enoch laid a hand on her arm and looked down at her.

  ‘But they’re strangers, Mirabelle. From outside.’

  There was that look again. Mirabelle sensed Enoch’s earlier conviction seemed to be faltering. He almost seemed to be beseeching her.

  Mirabelle shook her head. ‘They need our help, Uncle.’

  And she followed them upstairs.

  Jem

  The blind panic that took hold of Jem as soon as Tom fainted was the worst she’d ever felt. It was even worse than the white-hot nerve-shredding agony of hearing her parents had died. She couldn’t lose him too. He was all she had left. She started to tremble uncontrollably and didn’t think she’d be able to make it up the stairs behind the man called Bertram, who was carrying her brother.

  Then she felt a hand on her arm, and she looked into the calm grey eyes of the girl, Mirabelle. Mirabelle smiled.

  ‘He’ll be all right.’

  The trembling started to recede, and Jem clenched her fists in an effort to ward off its possible return.

  Tom was carried into a bedroom containing a large four-poster bed, a couch, a table and some chairs that looked as if they had all seen better days. There were heavy velvet drapes drawn across the windows, which reached almost from the ceiling to the floor.

  Bertram placed Tom gently on the bed, then stood back, looking nervously at Enoch as he entered the room.

  Jem found Enoch, with his dark clothes and cold demeanour, an intimidating presence. From the way Bertram treated him it was clear that he was in charge, but he didn’t react to Bertram now. He just stood rooted to the spot, staring at Tom, and even in her anxious state it was clear to Jem that he was perturbed in some way.

  ‘We need to call Dr Ellenby,’ said Mirabelle.

  A warm sense of relief washed over Jem when she heard the word ‘doctor’. This at least was something she understood. Enoch gestured for Bertram to come closer to him and he spoke to him in hissing whispers. Bertram nodded and left the room. Enoch’s eyes alighted on Jem, and she tried to hold his gaze without flinching, knowing that was what Tom would expect of her.

  Another gentle pressure on her elbow, and she found Mirabelle guiding her towards a chair, which she’d put by the side of the bed. Jem nodded in gratitude and pulled the chair closer to the bed, then reached out and took one of Tom’s clammy hands.

  She waited with her eyes fixed on Tom and the rise and fall of his chest. She wasn’t sure how much time passed, but she could sense Mirabelle nearby, while Enoch waited by the door. At one point two girls dressed in checked blue-and-white pinafores came into the room. They looked like twins, but Jem paid them little heed, preferring instead to keep her eyes on Tom. She heard them address each other as Dotty and Daisy, and she could feel their eyes on her as they whispered to one another. Then, almost as suddenly as they’d appeared, they were gone.

  Half an hour later Jem heard what sounded like a car approaching and stopping outside the house. Bertram came back into the room with an older man following behind him. This man was elegantly dressed in a brown jacket over a cream-coloured waistcoat with dark vertical stripes. He had a neat beard and round glasses. His voice was soothing and warm.

  ‘And what do we have here?’ he asked.

  ‘A stranger,’ Enoch replied, and Jem could feel herself bristling at his use of the word. It seemed dismissive and cold.

  ‘Thank you, Enoch,’ said the man, heading towards the bed. ‘Your wildly hospitable attitude to guests is most impressive.’

  The man held out his hand in greeting and Jem shook it.

  ‘Dr Marcus Ellenby at your service.’ He smiled. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Jem. Jem Griffin.’

  ‘From?’

  ‘London.’

  ‘Well, hello, Jem Griffin from London. I’m very pleased to meet you.’

  Jem liked him immediately. He was different to the others. He seemed . . .

  She struggled to find the word and was surprised by how obvious it was when it finally came to her.

  Ordinary, that was it. He seemed ordinary compared to the people who lived in this house.

  He peered at Tom.

  ‘And who might this young fellow be?’

  ‘This is Tom, my brother,’ said Jem, swallowing hard in an effort to stay composed. The feelings she’d been bottling up while she’d kept her eyes fixed on Tom were now bubbling to the surface.

  Dr Ellenby nodded and patted her on the shoulder. He lifted his batte
red leather doctor’s bag onto the side of the bed and set to work. He unbuttoned Tom’s shirt and rolled him gently on his side to listen with his stethoscope. Jem’s eyes watered as she noticed him pause ever so slightly when he saw the livid scars on Tom’s back. To the doctor’s credit, he passed over them without comment, and Jem felt absurdly grateful.

  He checked Tom’s heartbeat, temperature and blood pressure. Jem noticed the knotted nature of the doctor’s long fingers, the large knuckles that looked like bulging points of tree roots, and yet there was a practised delicacy to his movements.

  He smiled at Jem again while he listened.

  ‘A good strong heart,’ he said. He put his things away. ‘It seems young Tom here has a touch of fever. He needs a little rest and some medicine.’ He took a bottle from his bag and laid it on the bedside table. ‘This is to be taken four times a day for the next week. And he must not be moved for at least five days. He needs to regain his strength. Which means he needs to be fed.’ Dr Ellenby gently pinched a little skin on Tom’s arm. ‘Well fed,’ he said, turning to look pointedly at Enoch.

  ‘A full week?’ said Enoch.

  Dr Ellenby nodded, pursed his lips and fixed Enoch with a look over the rims of his glasses.

  Enoch sighed.

  Dr Ellenby slapped the side of his bag. ‘Very good. We’ll see you learn the rudiments of a good bedside manner yet, Enoch.’ His face crinkled as he smiled.

  Enoch shook his head ruefully.

  ‘It’s good to see you, Marcus,’ he said.

  Dr Ellenby nodded. ‘And you, Enoch. It’s been a while.’ Jem noticed an odd strained moment of silence between the two men. Bertram had been quiet all this time and now he blurted: ‘It’s been quite a few years, hasn’t it? We haven’t seen you since . . .’

  Bertram trailed off as Enoch blinked coldly at him. Jem noticed Dr Ellenby stiffen slightly, his hand tightening on the handle of his bag.

  ‘Well, then. I’ll be off.’ He nodded at Jem. ‘Take good care of him now. Keep him fed and rested, and don’t take any nonsense from Enoch here. Am I right, Mirabelle?’

  Mirabelle grinned at him. ‘Yes, Dr Ellenby.’

  The doctor seemed to hesitate for a moment, then he came towards Jem and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. ‘He’ll be safe here,’ he said quietly.

  Jem felt her heart sink as she watched Dr Ellenby leave, though Mirabelle was by her side in seconds, as if sensing her panic.

  ‘You can stay with your brother tonight. Uncle Bertram will fetch some bedclothes for you and will set you up on the couch. Won’t you, Uncle?’

  Bertram nodded, while Enoch rolled his eyes as he almost glided from the room. Bertram followed him.

  ‘Don’t pay any heed to Uncle Enoch. He’s just not used to visitors,’ said Mirabelle. ‘I’ll get you some food from the pantry. What would you like?’

  Jem didn’t know what to say, but her belly started to rumble. Mirabelle left the room with a promise to be back soon.

  She returned a while later carrying a large tray of food. Bertram came with her, carrying a blanket and two pillows, which he deposited on the couch. Mirabelle laid the tray on a table, pulled up a chair and motioned for Jem to sit.

  Jem sat in front of the tray, which was piled with a bewildering mixture of food. There was sliced beef, apples and oranges, grapes, cheese and crackers, two loaves of bread, several boiled eggs, tea and milk, a bowl of strange brown fruit that Jem had never seen before, a fruit cake, a chocolate cake and a thing that she recognized as a pineapple, but only because she’d once seen one in a book. She wondered what her mum would have made of all this food. She remembered her bemoaning her meagre ration of tea, and wondering if they’d all ever see a banana again.

  Uncle Bertram hovered nearby, wringing his hands together with delight, nodding enthusiastically at the food:

  ‘The eggs were only boiled this morning. The beef I am assured is of the finest quality. These are called kiwi fruit. I am told they are of an excellent vintage.’ He waved a hand airily. ‘Whatever the term is.’

  Jem had never seen kiwi fruit before. She’d only heard of them from their old neighbour Mrs Tate whose son had been stationed in New Zealand during the war. Mrs Tate would read the description from his letters. ‘Tangy and sweet’ he’d called them. The description alone was enough to make Jem salivate. It made her hunger for something more than the gritty coarse bread everyone had to make do with.

  But as appealing as kiwi fruit sounded, she decided to go with the familiar. She picked up a boiled egg, keenly aware that Bertram was examining her every move. Her stomach growled as she took the shell off and as she bit into the egg she thought she heard a tiny whimper from Bertram.

  ‘What’s it like?’ he asked, licking his lips.

  Jem looked at him, feeling awkward, with a mouth full of egg. The oddness of the question took her by surprise. She started to munch quickly.

  ‘How would you describe the taste?’ he said, wrestling a notebook and pencil from his waistcoat pocket.

  Jem was at a loss for words. ‘Eggy?’ she said.

  ‘Eggy! Wonderful!’ said Bertram, almost bursting with excitement as he scribbled in his notebook.

  ‘Uncle! Please!’ Mirabelle protested.

  Bertram’s mouth and face twitched, and he looked away guiltily.

  ‘Of course, of course. My apologies,’ he muttered. He moved towards the door. ‘I would just like to point out that every element of this delicious repast has been sourced by my nephew, Odd. He assures me everything is of the highest quality.’

  Bertram left the room.

  ‘You can stay in this room. There’s a bathroom through that door,’ said Mirabelle, pointing to a door set into the wall on the right.

  Jem nodded, unable to speak because her mouth was now crammed with bread.

  Mirabelle lowered her voice and looked at her grimly. ‘You can’t leave this room at night under any circumstances, especially after midnight. You must stay in here from the moment it gets dark until morning.’

  The tone Mirabelle used stopped Jem in her tracks. She was aware that her mouth was open, but for some reason she couldn’t seem to close it. She only half chewed the wodge of bread and swallowed it. She felt it almost stick in her throat.

  ‘Why?’ she said.

  Mirabelle shook her head. ‘Just please don’t leave this room. Promise me, no matter what you hear.’

  Jem felt a tremor of unease at Mirabelle’s tone, but she managed to nod.

  Mirabelle looked relieved. ‘Thank you.’ She headed for the door. ‘I’ll speak with my uncle and ask him to let you both stay a little longer.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Jem. ‘Thank you so much.’

  Mirabelle left the room and closed the door behind her. Jem was grateful because she was feeling overwhelmed again, and she covered her face with her hands in an effort to fight back the tears.

  She barely heard the whisper behind her.

  ‘Jem?’

  Tom was trying his best to sit up in bed. He looked even more deathly pale than before. Jem ran to him and pushed him gently back by the shoulder. Tom swallowed and looked at the bed canopy above him in confusion.

  ‘Where . . . ?’

  ‘We’re in the house. They’re letting us stay. You need to rest.’

  She gave him some water from a glass, which he drank thirstily, then she gave him a beef sandwich, but he only nibbled at it. She saved it for later on a plate by the bed. She gave him some medicine as per the instructions on the bottle. It seemed to make him drowsy and he drifted off to sleep, looking almost serene now, and less like a boy who’d been burning up from within for days.

  Jem organized her own bedding. The couch was huge and looked comfortable. The blanket smelled as if it had been stored in mothballs for decades. Jem fussed over Tom a little, then settled herself on the couch for the night. She left the drapes open just a crack so that a sliver of moonlight could light her way should Tom need her during the night. She l
ooked up into the dark, her mind fizzing with the sights she’d seen. Whenever she tried to close her eyes, she could see the mass of ravenous flowers, the red eyes of the enormous bear. It took a while, but the exhaustion she’d been battling, coupled with the events she’d experienced that day, finally drove her into a deep, deep sleep.

  Jem dreamt.

  In her dream, she was too terrified to move beneath the heavy blanket. A shadow had passed over the sliver of moonlight, and somewhere far away she heard a sound like the flapping of leathery wings.

  Mirabelle

  ‘No one is eating anybody,’ growled Mirabelle.

  She glared across the dining-room table at Daisy, who smirked in response.

  ‘It was a reasonable question,’ said Daisy, pouting at Mirabelle.

  ‘Was it a reasonable question?’ asked Bertram a little too hopefully as he looked at Enoch sitting at the head of the table with Eliza.

  ‘They can leave as soon as the boy wakes,’ said Enoch.

  ‘Dr Ellenby said he needs a week to rest,’ said Mirabelle.

  ‘Can we eat them then?’ asked Dotty sweetly.

  Mirabelle slammed her palms down on the table. ‘I told you already!’

  Dotty’s eyes brimmed with tears and her lower lip started to quiver. Gideon, who had been gnawing on a bone in a corner of the room behind Mirabelle, looked up and frowned.

  ‘Absolutely not. Mirabelle is right,’ said Bertram. ‘It would be rude.’ He nodded and looked very gruff and serious, then he seemed to reconsider. ‘Would it be rude?’ he asked, looking hopefully again at Enoch.

  Mirabelle could feel a tightness in her chest. She glowered at the twins and Bertram.

  ‘We used to hunt humans,’ said Daisy gleefully.

  ‘This is true,’ said Eliza.

  ‘And they used to hunt us,’ said Dotty, looking cowed and miserable.

  ‘Which is why we have the Covenant to maintain balance and peace between us. We do not encroach on them, and they do not encroach on us. We stay within the confines of the Glamour. That is the agreement we made with the humans generations ago, and we must respect it,’ sighed Enoch.