‘It’s all right,’ said Mirabelle. ‘They won’t touch you as long as I’m with you.’
Jem nodded without taking her eyes off the path, and she pulled her cardigan tighter around herself. Mirabelle smiled encouragingly, and they both stepped onto the Path of Flowers.
Some of the flowers raised their heads and sniffed the air as they passed. The sight of them made Jem veer straight into Mirabelle. Mirabelle decided that the best way to deal with Jem’s fear was to distract her.
‘What was your mother like?’
She felt odd asking the question. Before her experience with Piglet, she wouldn’t have considered the impact such a question could have. Now she regretted it as soon as she’d asked it. The words seemed sharp, barbed, almost dangerous.
Fortunately, Jem looked grateful to be asked the question.
‘She was kind,’ said Jem. ‘Very kind, not like . . .’
Her brother, your uncle, Mirabelle thought, remembering the hulking shadow – that raised stick.
Jem shook herself. ‘She was just very kind, and she looked after us. She made us feel . . .’
‘Safe,’ said Mirabelle, remembering her visions of Tom and how he’d felt before his mother had died.
Jem nodded. ‘She was a good person.’
‘Yes,’ said Mirabelle. ‘She was.’
Jem frowned at her, and Mirabelle was about to explain what she meant, but she noticed something up ahead through the shimmering rip in the air. She raised a hand.
‘Do you see that?’
Jem narrowed her eyes and looked straight ahead, then nodded.
She and Mirabelle crept up the path until they were a couple of feet away from the tear. Mirabelle relaxed when she realized what she was seeing, and she chuckled to herself and whispered to Jem, waving her through.
‘Come on.’
They both stepped through the tear and into the forest. A few feet ahead, muttering to himself and looking up into the night sky, was Bertram.
‘Uncle?’ Mirabelle whispered.
Bertram wheeled round and gave a high-pitched shriek.
‘I wasn’t doing anything bad,’ he gibbered. ‘I was just . . .’ He pointed up to the sky. ‘I was just looking . . . and . . . and . . .’
‘It’s all right, Uncle. We won’t tell anyone. And we hope you won’t either.’
Bertram smiled gratefully, then looked startled when he realized what Mirabelle was admitting to. He pointed a finger at them agitatedly.
‘You’re not . . . You can’t . . . ooh, but . . . ooh, this is . . .’
‘Yes, Uncle?’
‘You’re . . . you’re not supposed to be out here,’ he spluttered indignantly.
Mirabelle folded her arms. ‘Really, Uncle? And you are?’
Bertram hung his head. Mirabelle couldn’t help but feel a warmth towards him. Only Enoch and Piglet were older than Bertram, but in many ways he was the child of the Family.
He waved his hands about. ‘I was just looking. It looks different, and it’s been so long since I’ve been out here beyond the grounds.’
He reached into his waistcoat, took out his notebook and waved it and his pencil at Jem by way of explanation.
‘I like experiences, you see. I like to record them. I like . . .’ He looked up and pointed at the sky with his pencil. ‘This. I like how it’s different to inside and . . .’ He opened the notebook and started to flick through the pages. ‘I like to record the food I eat because I’ve never eaten like your kind have. I’ve never . . .’
Jem seemed genuinely intrigued and she nodded for him to go on.
Bertram swallowed nervously. ‘I’ve never actually been able to taste your food, but I do like to . . . I like to try.’ He waved around him again. ‘And being out here . . .’ He looked pleased with himself, then did a little nervous shuffle from one foot to the other.
‘Were you tempted to wander, Uncle?’
Bertram hunched his shoulders up and looked at the ground.
‘What else were you thinking about when you were looking at the stars?’
Bertram looked bashfully at her. He shook his head.
‘Were you thinking about Aunt Rula?’ Mirabelle winked at Jem.
‘No,’ he said, toeing the ground with a boot. ‘Maybe,’ he said, looking guilty.
Mirabelle felt an overwhelming urge to hug him, but she stayed where she was. The guilt came when she thought about what she was about to do next.
‘You know you can’t go looking for her?’
‘I know that,’ Bertram snorted, scratching the back of his neck.
‘And you know you shouldn’t be out here.’
‘Neither should you,’ said Bertram, sounding like a petulant five-year-old.
‘It would be terrible if Enoch were to find that you were out here,’ said Mirabelle.
‘It would be worse if he knew you were out here,’ Bertram responded.
Mirabelle shrugged. ‘I’m already in lots of trouble, Uncle. It doesn’t matter to me. Jem and I are going to the village.’
Bertram looked shocked. ‘You can’t do that,’ he whispered.
‘We can and we will, Uncle. The only thing is, are we going to tell Enoch about what you’ve done?’
Bertram looked panicked. He fiddled with his cravat. Mirabelle felt genuinely terrible, but she’d seen an advantage and she was going to take it.
‘You wouldn’t. That’s not fair,’ said Bertram.
‘I wouldn’t, but only under certain circumstances.’
Bertram stopped playing with his cravat. ‘Under what circumstances?’
Mirabelle sighed. ‘Well, there is one thing . . .’
‘What? What is it?’ asked Bertram, his face twitching with hope.
Mirabelle smiled. ‘The village is three miles away, and it would be nice if we could get there and back before anyone notices we’re missing.’
Jem
Jem had never ridden on a horse before, let alone on a giant bear.
As they pounded down the road on Bertram’s back, she could feel the muscles beneath his skin working like iron pistons. She held on as tightly as possible to his fur, and she marvelled at how, with his loping run, it felt as if they were gliding between each footfall and then thudding against the earth only
