“I told them I was going to my friend Brandy’s house and that her parents were okay with my spending the night.”
“Ariel!” Unable to think, I bundled a sofa blanket around her. “After I’ve made you a cup of cocoa and something to eat, you have to let them know what’s going on. Meanwhile, take off those wet shoes and settle back comfortably. Wipe your glasses.” I pointed to a paper napkin on the table beside her that I had failed to pick up earlier when tidying away the tea things. I headed for the door. “Now you’re defogged you can see where you are. Try and relax.”
“How can I when my life is in turmoil?”
“We’ll get to that in a minute.” It was good to draw breath in the hall, but before I could fully recuperate I was summoned back to the drawing room by a piercing scream.
“A cat jumped out at me.” Ariel glared at me through her now-clear lenses. “A great, horrid tabby cat.”
“He lives here.”
“I hate cats.”
“Do you?” I forced a smile. Receiving none in return, I fled back into the hall, where I beheld Mrs. Malloy descending the stairs, majestically crowned with purple hair rollers. Having been engaged in her nightly ablutions, she was only wearing one eyebrow. This did not stop her, while clutching her matching dressing gown around her chest, from informing me that I looked pale.
“I feel pale.”
“I thought I heard the kettle whistle.”
“That was a scream.”
“Whose?” She followed me into the kitchen, the clicking of her high heels echoing through the house. “Not Mr. H, waking up to a hangover?”
“He’s not back. He’s only been gone half an hour.”
“You, clearing your lungs?”
“Ariel Hopkins. She absconded from home.”
“The girl you send the books to? The one that’s parents won the lottery?”
“That’s her.”
“Talk about surprises. After you and Mr. H were just discussing them!” Mrs. Malloy hovered at my elbow while I made the cocoa and put a slice of chocolate cake and some digestive biscuits on a plate.
“Ariel could probably do with a sandwich or, better yet, something hot to eat,” I said, picking up the tray, “but I don’t want to waste unnecessary time. I need to phone Tom and Betty. She told them she was staying at a friend’s house. But if they’ve checked and found she’s not there, they’ll be worried to death.”
“Where did she spring from?” Mrs. Malloy graciously held the kitchen door open for me.
“Yorkshire.”
“You don’t say! Why’s she come?”
“That’s the burning question.” I drew up short outside the drawing room door. “If only Ben were here!”
“No sense standing weighing down the floor, is there? Here, give me that tray.” Mrs. Malloy stopped fussing with her purple rollers to give an exasperated sigh. “Your hands are shaking, Mrs. H, and you’ve slopped the cocoa. Talk about making our little guest feel welcome!”
We entered to find Ariel sitting with Tobias on her lap.
“He climbed on and I haven’t been able to get him to budge.” She aimed a fierce look at me through glasses that were way too big for her face.
“I’ll take him,” I offered.
“He can stay if he goes on behaving himself. When he’s still, he’s like a hot-water bottle. And I think he’s picked up on the fact that I don’t put up with any nonsense. Who’s this?” She pointed a finger at Mrs. Malloy.
“Got a mouth, haven’t you?” Mrs. Malloy operates on the theory that children won’t get the upper hand if you don’t let them get taller than you, which is one of the reasons, I suppose, that her ridiculous heels keep getting higher.
Having enthroned herself in the most comfortable chair in the room, she patted the purple crown of rollers and smiled complacently down at her feet.
“I know someone who wears stupid shoes like those.” The cocoa mustache Ariel now wore did nothing to diminish her hauteur. I pitied Tom and Betty, being stuck with the job of preventing her from alienating entire populations at a time. Would they offer Ben and me a substantial bribe to keep her?
“Ariel,” I said firmly, “I need to phone your parents.”
“Betty’s not-”
“Never mind that.”
“Can’t it wait until I’ve told you everything?” She swallowed a mouthful of chocolate cake.
“Has either of them been mistreating you?”
“They won’t let me have a TV in my room.”
“That doesn’t count. Give me the phone number.”
“There’s no need. I’m not the usual fussed-over child. They won’t check up on me at my friend’s house. They’re not that sort. Maybe if I had a real mother it would be different.”
Impervious to this tugging at the heartstrings, Mrs. Malloy got to her feet. “I’ll make the call if you like, Mrs. H; that way it can be kept short and simple. The child’s here safe and sound, and you’ll ring them when you’ve got her story. Give me your phone number, young lady.”
I was grateful for this intervention; it seemed to be in the cards that Tom or Betty would blame me for this escapade, either because I had sent those parcels of books or because I happened to be living and breathing somewhere in England. Ariel mumbled her number, and before she had finished glowering at me, Mrs. Malloy returned to report she had met with incoherence from Betty, in the midst of which the phone had been handed to Tom, who’d added a couple of snorts to the dialogue.
“I expect they’ll have a row deciding what to do with me.” Ariel smirked. “Why have you only got one eyebrow?” she demanded of Mrs. Malloy.
“Because I was in the middle of taking off me makeup when your arrival brung me downstairs.”
“I thought it might be the first sign of some horrible pestilence.”
Mrs. Malloy resumed her seat with a thump sufficient to send a purple roller flying off her head. “Enough chitchat, Miss Rude Face. What brings you here?”
“To talk to Ellie.” Ariel tossed back her sandy plaits. “Last night in bed it came to me she’s the ideal person to help me sort out what’s been going on.”
“And what’s that?” Displaying interest, I leaned forward in my chair.
“Finding myself living in a gothic novel. It all started when Dad won the lottery six months ago and Betty insisted on moving to Yorkshire. Their friends-Mr. and Mrs. Edmonds; I can’t stand them-had gone there to live, and they raved about this grand house not far from them, with parts that date back to Elizabethan times. They thought Dad and Betty should buy it.”
“Where in Yorkshire?” Mrs. Malloy was ready to handle the interrogation with all the aplomb of a chief superintendent from Scotland Yard, while I sat back like the green young sergeant, eager to learn how the great man did things.
“Milton Moor. It’s about twenty miles from Haworth, if you know where that is and why it’s famous.” Ariel licked her cocoa mustache.
“Yes, we do know.” I’d decided against playing the silent sidekick.
“Why, if that isn’t something!” Mrs. Malloy evinced delighted amazement. “Milton Moor’s the little town where me sister lives. I couldn’t remember the name when Mrs. H and me was talking earlier.”
“What’s your sister’s name?” Ariel gave Tobias a nudge when he attempted a nibble at the biscuit she was holding. Disliking selfishness, he got off her lap.
“Melody Tabby. She’s secretary to an accountant.”
“Has to be Mr. Scrimshank. He’s the only one in Milton Moor, it’s that small a place. He handled things when Dad and Betty bought Withering Heights.” Ariel returned my stare. “That’s what I call it, because an icy chill went down my spine the first time I saw it. Not that anyone listened to me. Its real name is Cragstone House. Mr. Scrimshank is a friend of Lady Fiona, as well as being her lawyer.”
“Who’s Lady Fiona?” I asked.
