‘But why did he forbid it?’ said Mirabelle, her jaw clenched, eyes shining with anger.
‘I’m sorry, Mirabelle. You’ll have to ask Enoch that,’ said Dr Ellenby. He leaned back in his chair, and Jem noticed how tired and old he looked, as if he’d just exerted himself by carrying a great weight.
Mirabelle looked at her hands in her lap. ‘Right, I see. But tell me, Doctor, and I’m asking you now in your professional capacity, can you help me?’
Dr Ellenby leaned across the desk, his brow knotted with concern. ‘Of course, Mirabelle. What is it?’
Mirabelle looked up at him, her grey eyes cloudy with tears. She slapped a hand against her chest. ‘It’s just that since I’ve learned about my mother I’ve been experiencing this pain. It comes and goes. And it hurts. It hurts so much.’
Mirabelle lowered her head. Jem could feel the hot sting of tears in her own eyes, and she wiped them with her sleeve.
‘I’m sorry, Mirabelle, but that’s grief. It’s something we humans experience. I’m afraid there’s no cure for it,’ said Dr Ellenby.
Jem felt a fierceness take hold of her. She was angry that Dr Ellenby seemed so useless. The slack-jawed look of Bertram beside Mirabelle didn’t help matters. She got up from her chair, leaned over to Mirabelle and held her tightly. Mirabelle seemed surprised, but she returned the hug fiercely.
‘It never goes away,’ Jem said to Mirabelle, ‘but it does become less painful with time.’
Mirabelle looked up at her. She seemed reassured and she tried to smile. Jem squeezed her arm and sat back down.
‘She’s right, Mirabelle, it does,’ said Dr Ellenby. ‘There is no cure, but time heals the wound.’
Bertram nodded. ‘Yes, it does,’ he said. He looked quizzically at Dr Ellenby. ‘Does it?’
Dr Ellenby looked at the now empty brandy bottle and sighed. ‘Oh, Bertram.’
Mirabelle took a deep breath, straightened her back and stood up. ‘We should go,’ she said.
Jem was impressed by her strength and poise.
Mirabelle reached a hand across the desk. ‘Thank you, Doctor. You’ve been most helpful. And kind.’
She looked him straight in the eye, and he shook her hand and nodded in appreciation.
Bertram stood up, notebook in hand. ‘Carrot, perhaps? Does it taste of carrot?’
Dr Ellenby raised his eyebrows at him.
‘Goodbye, Bertram. I’m glad you enjoyed my brandy.’
Dr Ellenby escorted them all to the front door. Jem stole a quick glance at Mirabelle, and Mirabelle nodded to let her know she was all right. Despite her upset, Jem could see that she was already stronger. Looking at her like this made her proud of her friend.
Dr Ellenby said goodbye to them at the front door. He asked Bertram if the brandy had had any effect. Bertram shrugged. He looked clear-eyed and well aware of where he was. Dr Ellenby made a remark about his ‘unique constitution’ then wished them all goodnight. When the door closed, Jem and Bertram looked at Mirabelle.
‘I’m going to talk to Enoch,’ she said. ‘I’m going to find out the full story once and for all.’
‘He owes you that much,’ said Jem.
‘We should go,’ said Bertram.
They headed for the end of the lane that opened out on to the green. A raven looked down at them, and Jem could see the moon glinting in its one good eye.
‘Stop,’ Bertram hissed.
They all stopped while Bertram pointed at a figure sitting on a bench at the edge of the green. They would have to try to pass by whoever it was unseen, and Jem knew that was impossible.
She looked at Bertram. ‘Is there another—’
‘It’s all right,’ said Mirabelle.
Jem felt her heart lurch when Mirabelle stepped out of the laneway, but she followed her, along with Bertram, trusting Mirabelle’s instinct.
‘Freddie?’ said Mirabelle.
Freddie looked startled. He’d been concentrating on something he was holding between his hands. He wiped his eyes, and it was clear to Jem that he’d been crying.
‘You’re not supposed to be here. It’s forbidden,’ he said to them, but Jem could tell he said it more out of fear for their safety than as a warning.
‘We’re going back home straight away, Freddie. We promise. You won’t tell anyone we were here, will you?’ said Bertram.
Freddie shook his head and sniffed. ‘Course not.’
‘What’s wrong, Freddie?’ asked Jem.
She was startled when his face crumpled. ‘There’s a man in . . . there’s a man . . .’
Jem felt a sudden hot prickling panic. They were standing in full view on the green, and she wanted to shush Freddie, but she didn’t want to be unsympathetic.
‘What man?’ asked Bertram.
‘A man who isn’t a man,’ said Freddie. ‘He’s some kind of . . . some kind of monster. My dad let him in. It’s like he has him under a spell. He can’t see that he’s . . .’
Freddie’s voice trailed off as he fought to compose himself.
‘What’s that you’re holding?’ asked Bertram.
Freddie held the object up. ‘It’s a jar. He ate something from it. He said it was a soul.’
Bertram tottered backwards on his feet. For a moment Jem thought it was because he was drunk, but she remembered the brandy had had no effect on him whatsoever. This was something else.
‘A what?’ he whispered.
‘A soul. He ate it. It was alive. She was alive. I’m sure of it. She was alive and he ate her. And he says he hunts for these souls and he’s been hunting them for hundreds of years.’
Bertram came towards him, his face twisted in fear. Jem exchanged a worried glance with Mirabelle. She could see she was disturbed too. The air was tingly, electric, and Jem felt the overpowering urge to run for cover.
‘Give it to me,’ said Bertram, reaching out a hand towards Freddie. ‘Let me see it. Please.’
The ‘please’ was like something a child might say, an agonized plea, a yearning for protection just before the advent of some
