Alice-Miranda Takes the Stage Page 11

  September picked up the phone and dialed the common room at Fayle.

  “Hello,” she purred. It’s September, Septimus’s mother.”

  “Oh, hello, Mrs. Sykes,” the house master, Mr. Huntley, replied.

  “Please, call me September.” She smiled down the phone. “Is my darling Septimus about?”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Sy—I mean, September, but Sep is, er, at …” He ran his finger down the list of names on the sheet which gave him the whereabouts of all the boys at their afternoon activities. “Your son is currently at football training.”

  “Football? That doesn’t sound like Sep at all,” September replied.

  “Well, I can assure you that’s where he is. Would you like me to have him phone you when he gets in?” Mr. Huntley inquired.

  “Yes, I’ve called four times now since the weekend, but he’s never available,” September moaned. “Anyone would think he loves that school more than his own mother.”

  “No, I’m sure that’s not true at all. Sep is doing a great job of settling in. I don’t remember a boy so enthusiastic about being involved in … well, just about everything. There’s nothing to worry about.” Horatio Huntley was losing his patience and thanking his lucky stars that it must have been one of the other residents who had taken Mrs. Sykes’s calls on the previous three occasions.

  “Well, I haven’t got time to keep phoning, Mr. Hunter,” September tutted.

  “It’s Huntley, Horatio Huntley, madam,” he corrected her.

  “Whatever. Perhaps you can tell me about his new little roommate?”

  “Yes, of course. He’s a good lad, name’s Lucas Nixon. I think they’re getting along extremely well. Both keen on their sports and their studies, and they’ve both won themselves parts in the school play that we’re doing with the girls from Winchesterfield-Downsfordvale,” Mr. Huntley offered.

  “So he’s an actor, just like his father.” September grinned and checked her reflection in the refrigerator door.

  Horatio sighed. “I’m sorry, September, but I’m not at liberty to discuss the boy’s family.”

  “Well, of course you can, Horatio,” September assured him. “You know I won’t tell anyone—and he is sharing a room with my son. I’d like to know that his parents are good eggs. Don’t want to find out darling Sep is sleeping next to the son of an axe murderer or something.”

  Horatio had just about had enough. “Mrs. Sykes, I’m terribly sorry, but I must go. One of the boys has just superglued his finger to his science project. I’ll let Sep know you called.” And with that, he hung up.

  “Rude,” September huffed.

  Smedley arrived home just as the call finished. His brow looked like ten rows of pearl-stitch knitting and he was as pale as a pint of milk.

  “You have to call the headmaster at Fayle, Smedley, and make a complaint about that rude house master, Mr. Huntley.” September opened the fridge and retrieved two large prepacked tubs of potato salad. “He just hung up on me.”

  “Really?” Smedley looked at his wife. “Why?”

  “Some stupid brat had superglued his finger to his science project or something. Surely he could have waited.”

  September took the lids off the plastic tubs and emptied their contents onto two plates.

  “Oh, we’re not back on that again, are we?” Smedley screwed up his face. “A man can’t live on potato salad alone. Can’t we have some meat?”

  “No. I’ve just started the carbo-salad diet, and if I have to suffer, you do too.” September pushed the plate in front of her husband.

  Smedley glanced at the pile of letters on the countertop and sighed loudly.

  “I have to go out,” he gulped.

  “Why?” September demanded.

  “Business.” He grabbed his briefcase and jammed the letters inside.

  She pouted. “When will you be back, then?”

  “Later.” Smedley strode out the back door.

  September heard the car door slam and the tires squeal as he backed out of the driveway. As she sat at the kitchen table picking her way through the potato salad, she noticed a letter that must have fallen on the floor when Smedley grabbed the pile off the countertop.

  She reached down to get it and noticed the words Private and Confidential emblazoned across the top. Her stomach did a backflip. “What’s all this, then?”

  September marched over and flicked the switch to start the kettle.

  Alice-Miranda bounced along beside Miss Reedy all the way to Fayle. The steel-gray sky was threatening rain, but Miss Reedy armed the girls with their raincoats and umbrellas, knowing that a brisk walk was just the thing to get them settled before the first read-through of the play. The group marched in two straight lines through the tiny village of Winchesterfield: past the Victorian terraces, past the butcher, baker and post office and past the little grocery shop with the flat above, which used to belong to Sloane Sykes’s grandfather Percy. The longest part of the walk was down the hedge-lined driveway at Winchesterfield-Downsfordvale and back up the even longer driveway at Fayle.

  “What a lovely school,” Alice-Miranda remarked as they walked along a pathway bordered on both sides by clipped camellia hedges. On the way over, Miss Reedy and her smallest charge had chatted about all manner of things—books they’d read, Miss Reedy’s recent trip to the city and ideas for some of the scenes in the play. Miss Reedy had written the adaptation herself and was keen to see it come together. When at last the main school building came into view, Alice-Miranda couldn’t help feeling as if she’d been there before.

  Millie caught up to her friend. She’d spent the walk chatting to Jacinta. Only a few months ago, the two barely spoke at all, but since Alice-Miranda had arrived at school, Millie had come to realize that although Jacinta was a little highly strung, she was really very good fun.

  “It’s huge, isn’t it?” Millie looked up at the building, with its four Ionic columns and grand portico. Then she thought for a moment. “You know what this place looks like?” She tilted her head to one side.

  Alice-Miranda nodded. “Yes. That’s it. It’s almost exactly the same.”

  “The same as what?” Miss Reedy asked, glancing down at the tiny girls.

  “Oh, the same as a friend’s house.” Alice-Miranda smiled.

  “Goodness, you do have fortunate friends to live in a house like this. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Miss Reedy admired the detailed plasterwork.

  One half of the double front doors swung open and Mr. Lipp emerged. His red suit stood out against the dreary day.

  “Good afternoon, ladies.” He nodded. “We’ll head straight to the drama center. The boys are gathering there now.”

  Millie and Alice-Miranda fell to the rear of the group as they took in every detail of the mansion. A shiny brass nameplate beside the front doors bore the building’s name: MCGLINTOCK MANOR.

  “Come along, girls,” Mr. Lipp called as he waited for the group at a stone archway. “We must get started posthaste.”

  Alice-Miranda and Millie ran to catch up.

  The drama center, though apparently brand-new, looked as if it had been part of the school forever. The girls were ushered through an opulent foyer and into the top of a large theater with curved rows of tiered seating and a stage area below. They walked in single file down to the bottom two rows. The girls were directed to take a seat on the left-hand side, while the boys from Fayle sat on the far right. Jacinta spotted Lucas first of all. She waved frantically. He looked up and raised his left hand.

  “Which one is your brother?” Alice-Miranda asked Sloane, who had sat down beside her.

  Sloane gazed over at the group of twenty or so boys. “There he is.” Sloane shuddered. “Next to that boy waving.”

  “Oh, that’s Lucas. They must be friends already.” Alice-Miranda stood up and waved to her soon-to-be cousin. “He looks just like his dad, doesn’t he?”

  Sloane peered across at the boys and nodded. He certainly did.


  “Jacinta adores him,” Alice-Miranda stated. “I do too, but not in that way. They didn’t like each other at all a few weeks ago, but then they had a long chat and voila, they became great friends.”

  Sloane decided right there and then what she must do. Jacinta was no match for her charms. If Sloane played her cards right, Lucas would be falling all over her in no time.

  Mr. Lipp and Miss Reedy stood side by side on the stage, looking up at the assembled students. It was Miss Reedy who spoke first, about the importance of learning lines and being on time for rehearsals. Her stern voice rang out through the theater, apparently coming as quite a shock to some of the boys, whose faces took on a pale tinge.

  Her message was loud and clear. “Tardiness will not be tolerated, inappropriate behavior of any sort will not be tolerated and missing rehearsals for any reason other than extreme illness will not be tolerated. This is the first time that our two schools have joined forces in over ten years. I would like this to become an annual tradition once more, as would you, Mr. Lipp, I presume.” She frowned at the teacher beside her, who nodded like a jack-in-the-box. “As we enter a new age of cooperation, I look forward to nothing less than a performance of the highest standard. And, above all”—her voice softened—“I hope that you will have a lot of fun in the process.”

  “Fun? Is she kidding?” Lucas whispered behind his hand to Sep. “She’s terrifying. Glad she doesn’t work here.”

  “What was that, young man?” Miss Reedy glared up at Lucas.

  “Nothing, miss. I was just saying I can’t wait to get started,” he lied.

  Sep had not taken his eyes off Miss Reedy, who apparently had a built-in tracking and radar system capable of picking up even the softest of sounds and most minuscule movements. He thought she’d be a valuable asset to the government’s security agency with those skills.

  Mr. Lipp then handed out the scripts. Each student’s name was printed clearly at the top and their lines had been highlighted throughout.

  “Oh, and please don’t lose those,” Miss Reedy added, “or you will be writing them out again by hand.”

  There was an audible gulp from the group.

  The read-through began. Several of the students decided to try out different accents, with varying degrees of success. One young lad, playing the role of Sneezy, sounded like a breathless old man and was told under no circumstances could he keep that voice, until Mr. Lipp pointed out to Miss Reedy that it was, in fact, his real voice. The poor lad was suffering terribly with allergies, which Mr. Lipp thought added to the authenticity of the part.

  An hour passed, and Miss Reedy and Mr. Lipp seemed pleased with the students’ efforts. They indicated that the children could head up to the foyer for a few minutes while the teachers conferred on some matters.

  The girls and boys left the theater. They walked up opposite aisles and milled about in two separate groups, until Alice-Miranda marched over to say hello to Lucas.

  “There you are.” She smiled. “How are you getting on?”

  Lucas nodded. “Fine. Yeah, it’s good.”

  “Jacinta, Millie,” Alice-Miranda called. “Come and say hello.”

  The two girls walked over to join the pair. Jacinta was just about to say something, when Sloane Sykes appeared.

  “Hello,” she purred. “You must be Lucas. I feel soooo sorry for you.”

  “Why?” Lucas replied.

  “You have to share a room with my disgusting brother.” She grimaced.

  “Oh, so you’re Sloane,” said Lucas.

  “Yes.” She fluttered her eyelashes.

  “There’s no need to feel sorry for me. Sep and I are getting on great.” He grinned—and there it was, that million-dollar smile, just like his father’s.

  Sloane smiled back. “I met your dad the other day.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Lucas smirked. Alice-Miranda, Jacinta and Millie giggled. Sloane laughed too, though she had no idea what she was laughing about.

  “Next time we come over to Fayle, you’ll have to show us around,” Jacinta said.

  “Yeah, that’d be great. Although there are heaps of places I don’t know yet either,” Lucas replied.

  Septimus Sykes was standing on the other side of the room, hoping to avoid his sister. She was bound to make a scene. Lucas spotted him and motioned to his friend to join them. Sep didn’t move.

  “Hang on a minute,” Lucas told the girls, and waved again at Sep. Septimus was reluctant, but he didn’t want to disappoint Lucas and seem rude. He walked over to his friend.

  “Hello.” Alice-Miranda held out her tiny hand. “My name is Alice-Miranda Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones and I’m very pleased to meet you, Sep.”

  Septimus couldn’t help but smile.

  “These are my friends, Millie and Jacinta.” She nodded at the girls. “And I think you know Sloane.”

  Millie and Jacinta smiled, but Sloane just curled her lip into a snarl.

  “Hello,” Septimus said to Millie and Jacinta. He glanced at his sister. “I see you’re in a good mood, as usual.”

  “All the better for seeing you, big brother,” Sloane bit back.

  Miss Reedy and Mr. Plumpton appeared in the foyer.

  “Come along, girls, we must be going,” Miss Reedy boomed. “You’ll need to put your raincoats on.”

  “See you soon.” Alice-Miranda gave Lucas a quick hug. His face turned the color of Mr. Lipp’s suit.

  With the exception of Sloane, the other children exchanged polite goodbyes. “Bye … see you tomorrow … nice to meet you …”

  Miss Reedy stood tall at the head of the line. Outside, it had started to drizzle.

  “It’s so cold,” Sloane grouched. “I don’t know why we couldn’t have taken the bus.”

  “Moral fortitude, young lady.” Miss Reedy’s bionic hearing had kicked in again. “Stop complaining or we’ll go the long way around.” The teacher glanced at Alice-Miranda beside her and winked.

  Alice-Miranda giggled as they set off through the damp air for home.

  September Sykes was seething. She had just arrived home from her daily workout at the gym and checked the phone messages. She had hoped to hear from Septimus but instead, Golden Gates had left four messages asking her if she could get in touch to organize the return of her stepmother-in-law’s suitcase.

  “What’s in that thing?” she grouched. “Gold bars?”

  Things were not going as planned in the Sykes household. Steaming open her husband’s private and confidential letter had sent Sloane into an incandescent rage. It seemed that Smedley’s “can’t lose, license to print money” retirement-villa scheme was already in trouble. Apparently the construction company had hit a sewer line the previous week when drilling the foundations, spilling thousands of liters of raw sewage into the street and flooding several houses. The cleanup was going to cost thousands and the insurance company refused to cover it. She had confronted Smedley when he arrived home, but he simply told her that it was all going to be just fine and he’d already sorted it out. She didn’t believe him.

  September had a shower and changed into her favorite pink leisure suit. She made herself a cup of coffee using the shiny silver machine Smedley had given her for Christmas, opened a packet of choc-chip biscuits and pranced out to the back garden to soak up the sun. She needed something to take her mind off her stupid husband and his dodgy business deals. She remembered that she’d left the latest copy of Gloss and Goss on top of her gym towel on a pile of laundry. She jumped up to get it and stubbed her toe on the battered blue suitcase Smedley had left beside the utility room door.

  “Oh, blast and blast,” she yelled. “My toe!” Plump tears wobbled, then spilled down September’s perfectly made-up cheeks. “Smedley, you idiot!” she yelled. At that moment, the telephone rang. September hopped inside on one leg to pick it up.

  “Hello,” she said, wincing.

  “Oh, hello, Mrs. Sykes, is it?”

  “Yes,” September grouched.

&nb
sp; “It’s Matron Payne from Golden Gates. I am terribly glad to find you at home. I’ve been calling and calling and I wasn’t sure if you’d received any of my messages.”

  “What do you want, then?” September rubbed her big toe.

  “Well, Mrs. Sykes, it’s your mother-in-law,” Matron Payne began.

  “She’s my stepmother-in-law.”

  “Of course, your stepmother-in-law.” Matron Payne was not enjoying September’s tone at all.

  “Has she died?” September asked.

  “No, she’s as well as can be expected under the circumstances.” It was fortunate September couldn’t see the matron, who was quivering in disgust.

  “What is it, then? I’m very busy. I don’t have all day.” September was thinking about her coffee getting cold.

  “Your stepmother-in-law has been asking about a blue suitcase. Apparently it’s very important to her.

  As you know, she hasn’t been able to speak since the stroke and her writing is awfully wobbly, but this morning she spent rather a long time creating a message which indicated that she is fretting terribly for it. The doctor says it would most likely help speed her recovery if it were found and returned to her immediately,” Matron Payne explained.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” September walked to the patio doors and looked directly at the suitcase, which she had just tripped over.

  “Well, Mrs. Sykes, could you please have a look for it? I know your stepmother-in-law would be very grateful.” Matron Payne was fast losing patience.

  “I’ll tell my husband and he can bring it round, if he finds it, that is. I have to go.” September hung up.

  “Mrs. Sykes,” Matron Payne began, then realized that the line was dead. “I’m sure your stepmother-in-law, Henrietta, one of the loveliest ladies I’ve ever had the pleasure to care for, would be happy to have some visitors,” she whispered into the beeping handset.

  September had already decided midway through the conversation that the battered blue suitcase must contain something of value. Why else would the old girl be so desperate to have it back? She dragged the case toward the outdoor setting and lifted it onto the table. A rusty padlock guarded its contents. September went to the shed and found a pair of pliers with which she mangled the lock until it snapped in two. It was only tiny and came away quite easily. As she unzipped the case and pushed open the flap, a smell of mildew, moldy socks and Stilton cheese rose up and hit her in the nostrils.