Alice-Miranda Takes the Lead Read online

  ‘Helloooooo?’ Alice-Miranda’s voice echoed through the rafters. She wondered if there might be a flat above the stables just like they had at home. But she couldn’t see a staircase. Her voice brought no human reply, but the yowling of several cats filled the air.

  Alice-Miranda decided that a stable block such as this would no doubt belong to a large house. She wanted to keep exploring but her watch said that it was now half past two. Millie, Susannah and Sloane should have been home by now. Perhaps they would come looking for her.

  Emerging into the afternoon sunshine, Alice-Miranda shielded her eyes and waited for them to adjust to the light. Bonaparte acknowledged her presence with a snort. He was dozing against the gate with one eye open, watching the black cat who had now taken up residence on top of the feed bin which hung over the gate.

  ‘All right, Bony, there’s no one here. But I see you’ve got plenty of friends to keep you company, so I’m off to find the house that must belong to these stables.’ Alice-Miranda patted the top of another ginger cat’s head as it rubbed its neck up and down her riding boot.

  The estate was dotted with handsome trees, claret ash, oak and fir, many of which Alice-Miranda recognised from her outings with her own gardener at home, Mr Greening. He loved that she asked him so many questions about the names of the plants and although she was still only seven and a half, Alice-Miranda’s knowledge of botanical species was something Mr Greening was secretly very proud of.

  As she walked further along the driveway, the grassy edges were replaced with a cobblestoned guttering, a sure indication that somewhere up ahead there would be a house. No one would go to that much trouble for a road to nowhere, Alice-Miranda was certain. Through the jungle of branches, she spied an overgrown lawn. A huge ornate fountain sat partially hidden by the mass of weeds and waist-high grass.

  ‘Hellooooo,’ she called again. The only reply was the meow of a cat. Alice-Miranda looked down to see that the tabby from the stables had joined her on her walk. ‘Oh, hello puss.’ She reached down and patted the top of his head. ‘Fancied an outing, did you?’

  All of a sudden, Alice-Miranda had a strange feeling that she was being watched. She turned around to see that her tabby friend had been joined by at least ten more cats padding along silently behind her.

  ‘Goodness me, there are an awful lot of you indeed,’ she addressed her feline audience. ‘Do you all live here?’

  An uneasy recollection invaded her mind. ‘Cats, lots of cats,’ she said aloud, before dismissing the thought. Alice-Miranda didn’t believe in witches. They were only in fairy stories.

  Like the Pied Piper with his merry followers, Alice-Miranda continued her way up the drive. She rounded a sweeping bend, where the foliage was so thick it created an arch like a giant’s ribcage from one side of the road to the other. Another set of iron gates, hanging open from their limestone columns, beckoned her to enter. There was a name on the left-hand pillar, obscured by a tangle of ivy stuck fast to the tarnished brass plate. She reached up as high as she could and tried to pull back the greenery. It was tricky but Alice-Miranda caught a handful of leaves and wrenched hard. She traced the blackened outline of the words Caledonia Manor.

  Alice-Miranda knew the house couldn’t be too far away. She began to jog, anxious to find out if there was anyone at home who could set her in the right direction. Her furry friends circled around her, some racing in front as if they knew exactly where to go. Up ahead, she could have sworn she saw a black figure scurrying into the bushes.

  ‘Hellooooooo,’ Alice-Miranda called. ‘Can you help me, please? I seem to be lost.’ But the figure disappeared and so Alice-Miranda continued on her way.

  At last, the trees thinned out and there it was in front of her. ‘Goodness.’ She drew in a sharp breath. ‘What an amazing house.’

  Caledonia Manor was indeed an amazing house. Its ancient limestone blocks glinted in the sunshine. Four Ionic columns formed a magnificent portico with five steps leading to the most enormous double entrance doors Alice-Miranda had ever seen. Her own house, Highton Hall was renowned as one of the most beautiful homes in the country, but surely Caledonia Manor could once have been included in the same company.

  On closer inspection, Alice-Miranda could see that the manor was at the mercy of silent invaders. Tendrils of Virginia creeper grew across some of the upstairs window frames and grass as tall as Alice-Miranda peered through the downstairs casements. Alice-Miranda could not even see the whole house, so dense were the bushes at the far end. But she could smell smoke and that had to be a good thing. It meant there was a fire in a hearth somewhere close by.

  She marched up the front steps and pressed the discoloured brass buzzer beside the door. Then she listened for any sound from within. Nothing. Alice-Miranda clasped the lion’s head knocker in the centre of the door with both hands and attempted to loosen it from the grip of time. But it was rusted in place and the door was firmly locked.

  She looked around to see that her feline followers had disappeared, except for one last tabby who she spied heading around the corner of the building. Surely the cats would know best where to find the house’s owner? After all, they were a well-fed looking bunch, and that couldn’t just be the result of mousing in the stables.

  The windows were thick with grime, giving no opportunity at all to see inside. As she beat a path around the side and came to the back of the building, she realised that the house was a vast U-shape, with an open terrace at the rear. The land behind the manor was far less densely vegetated than at the front. There was evidence of an expansive lawn stepping down from one level to the next, with rows of stone balustrade still zigzagging across its width.

  It was only now, when she could take in the whole building, that Alice-Miranda noticed the entire roof of the wing opposite was missing. Blackened rafters poked from the top and the long wall bore holes like Swiss cheese where once there had been windows.

  Alice-Miranda scampered to the top of the terrace and saw her furry friends milling about together at the end of the veranda.

  ‘Hellooooo,’ she called as the cats meowed, rubbed against each other and wound themselves in and out of her legs. ‘Is anyone home?’

  Alice-Miranda moved towards what looked like the kitchen door. There was still no sign of anyone, but when she tried the door handle this time, it opened. Without a second’s hesitation, Alice-Miranda marched inside. Indeed she was right. A large AGA stove dominated the room. The old-fashioned iron cooker sat beside an open fireplace, where a small bundle of kindling was well alight. There was a huge double Butler’s sink and taps that looked like they had come straight from a museum. Saucepans hung on treacherous-looking hooks above the fireplace and a kettle boiled on the stovetop. Someone was home, somewhere.

  Sloane’s knees stopped trembling for the first time since she was unceremoniously dumped by Stumps in yet another pile of manure. Her face, as pale as parchment, was beginning to regain some colour as she sat on a straw bale, moaning softly to herself.

  ‘Are you feeling any better?’ Susannah asked, patting Sloane on the shoulder.

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ Sloane spat. ‘My legs hurt, my backside hurts and I think I might die.’

  ‘Well, Miss Sloane, I did try to warn you not to mention the “h” word,’ said Wally Whitstable as he handed her a cup of hot cocoa.

  ‘How was I to know what you meant?’ Sloane sniffed.

  Millie spun around to face her. ‘Well, if you’re half the rider you say you are, you’d know exactly what that meant.’

  ‘At my riding school, we don’t know about that because our horses aren’t ill-tempered enough to do what that little brute did.’ Sloane slurped her drink and cast a death stare towards Stumps’s stable.

  Millie glanced at her watch. ‘Alice-Miranda should be here by now. I thought she was right behind you, Susannah.’

  Susannah frowned. ‘I thought she was too, but then, do you remember that fork in the road? I wonder if she might have gone the
other way.’

  ‘She wouldn’t have done it on purpose,’ said Millie. She was starting to worry. Although she knew Alice-Miranda to be a very capable rider, she was also aware that Bonaparte could be a little monster. ‘Wally, do you think I should go and look for her?’

  ‘Let’s give her a few more minutes,’ he replied.

  Charlie appeared at the stable door. ‘Let’s give who a few more minutes?’ he asked.

  ‘Alice-Miranda,’ Millie said. ‘We rode out to Gertrude’s Grove this morning but on the way back Sloane said the “h” word and Stumps bolted. We were all chasing after her but then Alice-Miranda disappeared. She should have been back by now.’

  ‘Yes, she said that she would ride back with me the whole way, the little liar.’ Sloane pouted.

  ‘Oh, do be quiet, Sloane. Just because you’re the most pathetic rider I’ve ever seen! Consider yourself lucky not to be in hospital.’ Millie stood with her hands on her hips.

  ‘Now, now, Miss Millie, that’s not like you,’ Charlie chastised. ‘Don’t worry about the little one. We’ll give her another ten minutes and then we can take the Land Rover out and have a look. You know she’s smart. Bonaparte’s probably thrown a shoe and she’s walking him back so he doesn’t go lame.’

  ‘Yes, that’s probably it,’ Millie nodded, glad that Charlie had thought of such a sensible explanation. But Millie had a niggling feeling about Alice-Miranda being out there in the woods on her own. Even though it was still only mid-afternoon, the sooner Alice-Miranda was back home safely the better, as far as Millie was concerned.

  Alice-Miranda called out three times before she decided she’d have to venture further inside Caledonia Manor in order to find its occupants.

  She exited the kitchen through a door which led to a long passageway. At the end, the ceiling opened up double height to a stately entrance hall dominated by an elegant carved staircase. It was truly a magnificent piece of craftsmanship, rising in one broad flight before splaying left and right to an enormous gallery landing above. Most of the furniture in the hall was hidden under yellowed sheets, while a thick lashing of dust covered the flagstone floor. Alice-Miranda noticed that the only footsteps unsettling the grime were her own, so she decided that whoever lived in the house did not use that route to get to the second floor. She returned to the kitchen, thinking she might find a set of backstairs like the ones at home.

  Alice-Miranda tried another door off to the left. She turned the handle and was surprised to find it locked.

  ‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Is anyone in there? I need some help, please. You see, I’m lost and I don’t know how to find my way back to school.’

  There was no reply.

  She tried another door opposite. The handle turned. Alice-Miranda opened it to find that the passage led to a smaller hallway with a much plainer staircase.

  ‘Helloooo, is anyone up here?’ she called as she climbed, every step creaking more noisily than the one before. At the top of the stairs, Alice-Miranda could see that she was at the far end of the landing she had spied from the front hall. She was about to explore further when there was a loud crash downstairs. Alice-Miranda ran as quickly as she could down the backstairs and into the kitchen, where she glimpsed a flash of black scurrying through the door which had previously been locked.

  ‘Stop!’ she called. ‘Please, come out. I’m lost and I’d really like to talk to you.’ She heard the door click shut. And then she saw it: a large brass key in the door lock.

  Alice-Miranda knocked on the door and then turned the tarnished brass handle. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but had in her mind something like the side sitting room at home with its comfortable couches and television in the corner. This room, however, bore no resemblance.

  It was a large space with a threadbare maroon-velvet chaise longue, just the right size for a child. There was also an impressive cedar bookcase which took up the entire length of the wall opposite the windows. A miniature pair of wingback chairs faced the garden and, in between them, on a low inlaid table, a tiny children’s tea set in delicate blue-and-white china was laid out perfectly as if guests were expected. Underneath one of the windows stood a huge Victorian doll’s house and a white rocking horse. A wicker pram full of porcelain dolls completed the picture. Alice-Miranda noticed at once that, unlike the front hallway, there was not a skerrick of dust on the furniture and she could see her reflection in the gleaming timber floor.

  ‘I know someone’s here. I’d really like to meet you,’ Alice-Miranda called as she walked around the room. She reached into the pram and examined one of the china dolls. Its brilliant blue eyes opened and closed slowly when Alice-Miranda picked her up. ‘I need to talk to you. I’m lost and I have to find my way back to school!’

  Alice-Miranda was sure she had seen with her own eyes the same figure dressed in black she’d spied earlier in the garden disappear into this room. Trouble was, there didn’t seem to be any other doors and there was certainly no one inside.

  She checked behind the chairs and near the doll’s house. The bookcase laden with hundreds of stories beckoned and Alice-Miranda read the titles on the leather-bound spines. Treasure Island and Alice in Wonderland stood alongside Moby Dick and Great Expectations and hundreds of other classics. Alice-Miranda walked along the length of glassed-in shelves before coming to an open section.

  Reaching up to take a closer look, she put her hand on the slim volume of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves and realised immediately that it wasn’t a real book at all. It was made of wood, as was every other one beside it. Alice-Miranda knew that could mean only one thing.

  She pushed and prodded every title along the line. It was only when she reached Pride and Prejudice, second from the last, that there was a loud click and the wall pivoted. It revealed a small windowless room containing a narrow single bed, dressing table and small sofa. A giant wardrobe stood against the far wall. Alice-Miranda could make out the sound of gentle weeping coming from inside.

  ‘Please come out,’ Alice-Miranda soothed. ‘I really do need your help.’ She approached the wardrobe and turned the handle. As Alice-Miranda opened the door, there was a jagged scream and a tall figure within cowered, shielding its face.

  ‘Please, don’t be afraid,’ Alice-Miranda begged.

  She stepped back to allow whoever was inside the cupboard to come out. It was clearly an elderly woman, dressed in black from head to toe. Her blouse, long skirt, tights and shoes – all black – gave her the appearance of a bent stick of liquorice. Atop her head was a black velvet bowler hat with a long black veil that reached down to her waist. The woman sniffed several times in quick sucession, then slowly stood up.

  ‘Hello,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘My name’s Alice-Miranda Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones and I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss …’ Alice-Miranda extended her small hand.

  The woman kept her head bowed and managed to stumble from the cupboard, steadying herself on Alice-Miranda’s outstretched arm.

  ‘Do you have a name?’ Alice-Miranda asked. ‘I’m so sorry if I startled you. I really just need some help. Why don’t you come along with me and I’ll make us both a nice cup of tea.’

  And with that, Alice-Miranda hurried away to the kitchen and busied herself finding the necessary ingredients to put the pot on. She was already pouring two cups of strong black tea when finally the woman appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Oh, there you are.’ Alice-Miranda set the cups down at the kitchen table. ‘Please sit down. You still haven’t told me your name though, miss, and I’d so like to know with whom I’m about to have tea.’

  The woman manoeuvred her crooked frame into one of the antique timber chairs without a sound.

  ‘I simply adore your house,’ Alice-Miranda continued. ‘It’s terribly big and very beautiful, although I see perhaps you haven’t had any help in the garden for a while. It’s hard to keep such a huge place in check, isn’t it? My mummy has an army of help and she still spends hours each week making s
ure things are just so. Do you live here on your own? Because that would be impossible … to keep on top of things, I mean. I’d so love to know your name.’

  Silence enveloped the house. Alice-Miranda grew aware of the ticking of a clock and glanced around the kitchen, searching for it.

  ‘Aren’t you afraid of me?’ the woman asked quietly.

  ‘Of course not.’ Alice-Miranda smiled. ‘Why would I be? In fact, I thought you seemed rather afraid of me – which is very silly indeed.’

  ‘Because …’ the old woman faltered. ‘I’m the one … I’m the one they call the witch.’

  ‘Oh really? I had wondered about that. I met lots of cats on the way up here and the girls at school told me a story a few nights ago about a witch in the woods with hundreds of cats, but I don’t believe in witches. Everyone knows they’re only in fairy stories – unless perhaps you really are a witch, in which case it’s a pleasure to meet you, being the first real witch I’ve ever met.’ Alice-Miranda paused and sipped her tea. ‘Anyway, I really should tell you how I came to be here. You see, I was out riding with my best friend Millie and another friend Susannah and a new girl called Sloane and well, Sloane was riding Stumps and he’s one of those ponies who you should never mention home to because, well, as soon as she did, he bolted and we all gave chase but my naughty little Bonaparte could smell your old vegetable patch and so they went one way and I went the other and that’s how I ended up here at Caledonia Manor.’ Alice-Miranda finished her one-sided conversation and took another sip of tea.

  ‘Oh,’ the woman spoke. There was a long pause. ‘My name’s Hephzibah.’

  ‘What a delicious name.’ Alice-Miranda clapped her hands together. ‘I’m so glad we’ve met properly. Now we can truly be friends.’