Mystery at Silver Spires (2 page)

I told Izzy the story and she managed the smallest of smiles at the end, then looked thoughtful. “All the same, we'd better report it, hadn't we, Bryony?”

I nodded slowly. “Yes…I suppose so.”

As it happened, we forgot all about noises in the night as the day went on. The hot sun was shining out of a bright blue sky and the tall spires of the beautiful old main school building glittered like real silver. We strolled from lesson to lesson feeling as though we lived in a fairy tale. It was the most beautiful day we'd had in ages, because, even though it was June, there'd been quite a lot of rain and clouds for nearly a week. Every single student seemed over the moon about the sudden change.

Emily was probably the happiest of our little group of friends, because she'd started a gardening club last term and her vegetable plot at the back of the school kitchens looked amazing now that so much of what she'd planted was ready for picking. There are loads of girls in the club, but Emily is kind of in charge – even though she's only in Year Seven – because she seems to know more than anyone else about growing vegetables. She's been growing them on her parents' farm in Ireland since she was a little girl.

After lunch she insisted that we all go and spend a few minutes picking beans before afternoon lessons, but in the end we hardly picked any, because Emily insisted on giving us a centimetre-by-centimetre guided tour of every new shoot, pea and bean. The garden started off much smaller than it is now, but Stan, the old school gardener, just keeps expanding it. It's great, because we have so many more fresh vegetables for our meals now.

“Look at all these courgettes!” said Emily, her excitement quickly dissolving into a frown. “We've got to start picking them before they turn into marrows.”

And, as if on cue, a bunch of Year Eights came through the gate and gasped at the sight of the garden.

“I swear everything's grown taller in the last two days!” said a girl called Isis.

“It probably has!” said Emily.

“Don't worry, when we've changed after school, we'll come back to work on it properly,” Isis replied. “I just wanted to pinch a few pea pods. I love raw peas!”

Emily pretended to be cross. “So you're the phantom pea stealer!”

Phantom
. It was only a word. Just a silly little word, but it shot me straight back to the noise in the night and when I looked at Izzy I saw her frown, then bite her lip, and I knew she was thinking back too.

Isis was grinning. “That's me!”

“Well don't nick any more or we'll have none left!” said Emily.

After school I went across to the garden with Emily to check she'd got enough helpers, then I joined the others, who were sunbathing – along with half the school – on the sloping lawns at the back of the Silver Spires main building,

“Isn't it bliss?” said Nicole, lying back with her shirt rolled up a little bit.

“I'd like it a little hotter,” Antonia said, frowning.

“Hotter!” squeaked Sasha and Izzy together. “This is as hot as it gets in England, you know!”

Antonia laughed. “You'd think I'd be used to it by now, wouldn't you!”

That got me thinking back to when we first arrived here at Silver Spires last September, a bunch of Year Sevens, all brand new, with no idea what a boarding school would be like. I come from a big family – my dad, my stepmum Anna, three stepbrothers and a little half-brother – so you'd think I'd get along easily in a place that's buzzing with people all day. But actually I was quite homesick for two or three weeks, because I wasn't used to being surrounded by loads of girls and no boys at all. I'm quite a tomboy and, I know it sounds funny, but I don't talk as much as the rest of my friends. I just watch and listen. It's not that I'm shy or anything. Just quieter than most people. Oh, and I set myself challenges too. I suppose that comes from having all these brothers continually daring me to do things. I can smile now, when I think about the fun we have in the holidays, because I'm completely settled at Silver Spires. In fact I totally love it. But when I first came here I felt really homesick whenever a picture of anyone in my family flitted into my mind.

All the Year Seven dorms are named after precious stones – ours is called Emerald. I remember how pleased Emily was to be in this particular dorm, because she comes from Ireland, which is sometimes called the Emerald Isle. It seemed the most obvious thing in the world for Emily and me to become best friends, since she was the only other person in the dorm who wasn't bothered about fashion or pop stars or TV or hairstyles. But, as you get to know people, you always find out that there's more to them than you first thought. And that's true of all my friends in Emerald. Nicole is a superbrain and got a scholarship to Silver Spires. Antonia is brilliant at languages. Izzy is the best ballet dancer I've ever seen, Sasha discovered in the first half of this term that she's got a real talent for rowing, and Emily knows more about growing things and farming than anyone of our age I've ever met. On top of all that, every one of my friends is a
real
friend. You just know you can rely on them to help you out if anything goes wrong.

As I like doing active things, like abseiling and rock climbing, the others all think I'm the brave one. It's not bravery, though, it's just that growing up with all those brothers meant I had to learn to hold my own, because I used to hate it when they teased me. Now, though, they never laugh at me, because they know I can do anything they can do. And here at Silver Spires, whenever I go off climbing or hiking, I always think about my brothers and feel happy inside when I imagine them high-fiving me the way they do at home.

It wasn't until Matron had come round at bedtime to check that we'd settled down and stopped talking, that I properly thought back to what had happened the night before. I wondered if I was the only one doing that.

These days it doesn't get dark till about ten o'clock so, even with the curtains drawn, it was still quite light. It was also very warm in the dorm and Emily had kicked off her duvet and was fast asleep. I couldn't tell if the others were actually sleeping but they were certainly very still. Even Izzy, which was amazing, because I hadn't thought she'd be able to forget the noises that had scared her so badly the night before. Maybe it was the heat of the day that seemed to have wrapped everything and everyone up and left us in a strange, sleepy daze. I certainly didn't think the noise would come again that night.

So when it
did
come, about five minutes later, my eyes flew open and my heart pounded. There was definitely something – or someone – moving around above our dorm. A muffled scuffle, then a smooth, soft tread, and a kind of rubbing. I told myself to calm down and remember the tiny mouse at home that had sounded like something so much bigger. I really worked hard on hanging on to this memory as I lay there, my ears straining for every sound. But in my heart I knew that, no matter how much I tried to convince myself that this was the same sound, really it was completely different. It just wasn't as scratchy.

“What's up, Bry?” Emily was propping herself up on her elbow, looking at me carefully. “Have you had a bad dream? Are you okay?”

I was glad it was Emily and not Izzy who'd woken up. I didn't have to try and be brave with Ems. She's so down to earth, it was a comfort to have her near me. “It's that noise again. It's not like a mouse, Ems. Listen…”

We kept our eyes on each other and didn't move a muscle and after only a few seconds we both heard the noise. Emily's eyes widened, then narrowed in concentration.

“Actually,” she said, thoughtfully, “I'm pretty sure it's a bird. Poor thing. I hope it's not stuck in there. We ought to tell Mrs. Pridham tomorrow.”

Emily was right. And I guessed Mrs. Pridham would ask the caretaker to take a look. “I expect Mr. Monk will go up and release it,” I said, nodding.

“Release what?” came Nicole's sleepy voice from across the dorm.

“We think it's a bird in the attic,” I quickly told her.

The others didn't wake up fortunately and Emily flopped back down. “See you in the morning, Bry. It'll probably have gone by then, whatever it is… Night.”

“Night,” I replied in a whisper.

It seemed no time at all before Emily's deep breathing told me she was asleep. But I just lay there and kept listening. How could Emily be so sure it was a bird? Birds just don't sound like that. Wouldn't their claws make scratchy noises?

There wasn't a breath of air in the dorm and yet I found myself shivering as the darkness gathered.

At breakfast the following morning I whispered to Emily not to tell Izzy about the noises in the night. “I don't want her to be scared again.”

It was another hot, bright day and there was a lovely, happy atmosphere around Silver Spires. Everyone really likes Saturdays here because, once lessons are over at the end of the morning, you know you've got the rest of the weekend free from classrooms. Emily nearly always goes riding on Saturday afternoons and Sasha goes sculling. Sometimes there are organized activities, which are great, but at other times you really don't want to do much, and today felt like one of those days.

As soon as Emily and Sasha had gone, I went to e-mail Dad and Anna, then I joined the others, who were lying on the lawn. I usually love reading and I'd got a really good book out of the library, so I was looking forward to enjoying it in the sun. The other three were sunbathing and chatting as I tried to get into my book, but somehow I just couldn't concentrate. It wasn't their chatter that was breaking my concentration. It was my own thoughts. I kept remembering the noise we'd heard in the night, and thinking about what Emily had said. Perhaps she was right and it was just a bird?

In fact she probably
was
right, I just wished I knew for certain. I found myself reading the same page of my book over and over again, because every time I got to the bottom of it, I realized I hadn't taken in a single word. In the end I knew I had to do something, so I jumped up.

“What's up, Bry?” asked Nicole, squinting at me and trying to shield her eyes from the sun.

“I'm going for a walk.”

“You're not going in the direction of Forest Ash, by any chance, are you?” asked Izzy, smiling at me pleadingly.

“Want me to get something for you, Iz?”

“Yes please, my ballet magazine. It's on my bed.”

I didn't go straight to Forest Ash, because I'd decided to see if I could find Mr. Monk – even though he hardly ever seems to be around at weekends. It would be such a relief if he could somehow clear up the mystery. I knew Mrs. Pridham had gone away for the weekend, so I hadn't been able to talk to her, and I wasn't sure where to start looking for Mr. Monk.

In the end, I just wandered around, keeping my eyes open and hoping for the best. I've always enjoyed walking. It kind of helps me sort out the muddled mass of thoughts going on in my head. My friends say I'm the complete opposite of a chatterbox and that I never waste words, and I suppose that's true. It's because I'm so used to keeping my thoughts inside my head.

I think it started seven years ago, just after my mum died. I was only five, so my memory of that time is pretty muddled. I don't remember a point when Mum suddenly wasn't there. I just remember being surrounded by people all the time, and having tea parties and picnics and playing games and going to the shops. Everyone must have tried so hard to look after me. I've got one clear memory of playing in a room full of brightly coloured toys, spongy mats and squidgy tunnels and slides, and having such fun, and then sitting down with an enormous cake in front of me, while kind, smiling people talked to me. That was the only thing that spoiled the day for me – all the talking. I preferred having conversations inside my head. On my own. It was easier.

Now I'm older I realize that people were probably just trying to take my mind off the sadness of what had happened. But I must have been too young to take it in because, to tell the truth, I really can't remember feeling sad. I don't even have any recollection of Dad crying, and sometimes now I think how immensely brave and strong he must have been to shield me from his grief.

But it's odd how, when you're so young, everything gets mixed up and distorted, because the thing I
can
remember feeling sad about when I was little is our lovely grey cat, Lana, dying. I can clearly recall Dad burying her in our garden, then holding my hand tight as I whispered, “Bye bye, lovely Lana” over and over again, with a sadness that felt like a stone sitting in my stomach.

Apparently Lana died just after Mum. Dad was upset too, as he'd had Lana ever since he'd known Mum, long before they'd got married or had me. They'd got her from a rescue centre when she was already quite elderly for a cat. So she just died naturally, of old age. It's strange, but every so often I get a really strong memory of sitting beside Mum on the sofa watching TV, leaning right into her, my head resting against her shoulder, while Lana sat on her lap very still, like a lovely, floppy old cushion. But I try not to dwell on that too much as it makes me so sad.