Shiverton Hall (8 page)

George clasped his hand to his mouth.

‘Are you all right, George?’ Penny asked, not realising the import of what she had just said.

‘That’s it,’ George said, the night before rushing back to him with frightening, burnished clarity. ‘That’s what Stripes said.’

‘What did he say?’ Arthur asked, urgency creeping into his voice.

George took a deep breath and looked up at his friends.

‘Jump,’ George whispered. ‘He said “Jump”.’

Chapter Six

Professor Long-Pitt’s classroom had once been Lord Shiverton’s study. Dark, almost black, oak panelling inlaid with gold brambles and thorns covered the walls and gave the impression, as the pupils were reflected in it, of a glinting, living forest. The desks were set out in a semicircle around Long-Pitt’s desk, which had a clutter of strange items on it: a bell jar containing a stuffed cat in a spotted pinafore; a half-broken clock, still ticking, but with its springs and cogs tumbling out; a lamp shaped like a branch with a preserved bat hanging from it; and a pile of mouldering books.

The desks were already half-filled with students as Arthur and Penny found a seat together, opposite Dan Forge, who bared his teeth at Arthur.

Penny rubbed her red eyes and slumped over her desk. ‘I’m just going to rest my eyes. Wake me when Professor Long-Pitt comes in,’ she mumbled.

‘Too late,’ Arthur replied, nudging Penny.

The light chatter in the room died and the students stood up as the professor entered. Arthur, not yet used to the formality, got to his feet a little later than the others and received a glare from Long-Pitt for his trouble.

‘Please sit,’ Long-Pitt said icily, as she cleared some room on her desk for the books she was carrying.

She was wearing a long, grey dress, with her hair in a tight bun, and looked exactly like the sort of evil governess who would lock children in toy chests in horror stories. She surveyed her pupils and made an unconvincing attempt at a smile.

‘Good morning,’ Long-Pitt said. ‘As you all know, this year we’ll be studying the Romantic poets. How did you all get on with your summer reading? Penny, what did you think of William Blake?’

Penny, sleepily doodling on her book, panicked. ‘Blake?’ she said hazily. ‘Oh, er . . . he’s good, I guess.’

‘He’s
good
you
guess
?’ Long-Pitt said witheringly. ‘The masterpieces that are
Songs of Innocence
and
Songs of Experience
are just OK, are they?’

Penny blushed as the professor turned on Arthur.

‘Arthur Bannister, our resident genius,’ she continued, with a hint of malice, ‘surely you have something illuminating to say. How did you enjoy Blake?’

Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Actually,’ he said awkwardly, ‘I wasn’t aware that we had any summer reading.’

Long-Pitt stared at Arthur incredulously and the rest of the class tittered behind their textbooks.

‘Weren’t aware?’ Long-Pitt enquired, wide-eyed. ‘Forgive my surprise, Mr Bannister, but I sent out the reading lists myself and I distinctly remember sending one to you. 23B Sudden Street, Hammersmith, London. Is that correct?’

Dan and a beefy friend of his looked appalled at the idea that anyone should live in a flat and not an enormous country house. Arthur resisted the urge to throw something at them.

‘Yes, Professor,’ he replied as steadily as he could.

‘Yes,’ Long-Pitt agreed. ‘Try harder, Mr Bannister. We don’t hand out scholarships to just anybody and I wouldn’t want to have to put you on a train back to London so soon.’

‘What a witch!’ Penny said as she and Arthur made their way towards the lower-school common room after the lesson.

‘Is she always like that?’ Arthur asked.

‘Pretty much, but that was uncalled for – it’s only your first week!’

‘I don’t understand,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘She can’t have sent me the reading list in the post because it never arrived.’

‘Maybe she’s trying to sabotage your scholarship?’ Penny said conspiratorially.

‘And Dan Forge,’ Arthur said. ‘He was absolutely loving it, watching me squirm and laughing about my address.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about Dan. He’s just a snob. Who cares? I’d love to live in London.’

‘Thanks, Penny,’ Arthur said, squeezing Penny’s arm gratefully.

Penny flushed a little and replied lightly, ‘Don’t mention it.’

Jake and George were already ensconced on a huge sofa in the lower-school common room, with piles of jammy toast balanced precariously on its arms. The common room had been a ballroom, so it was light and spacious. It was the only part of the school that made any concession at all to the modern world: the shining wooden floor was furnished with brightly coloured sofas and beanbags; the faded, flocked wallpaper was covered by posters and photos; and where once butlers and maids would have stood were vending machines and football tables.

‘This is awesome,’ Arthur said, eyeing up the huge television in the corner.

‘I know,’ Penny said, as they made their way towards their friends. ‘Professor Long-Pitt loathes it, but someone’s dad paid for the revamp a few years ago, so she was backed into a corner. You should see the sixth-form common room – they’ve got a basketball hoop.’

Just as Arthur was about to sit down, he was blinded by a flash of light. Someone had shoved a camera in his face. When his eyes had recovered, he saw a small girl, with wonky pigtails and enormous braces, holding a Polaroid camera and looking at him with undisguised adoration.

‘Hello,’ she breathed. ‘I’m Xanthe Fry. I’m Head of the Lower School.’

She stuck out a damp hand that was covered in ink, and Arthur shook it.

‘You nearly blinded me,’ Arthur said.

Xanthe squealed with laughter. ‘Oh! You’re so
funny
!’ She snorted, trying to swat his arm flirtatiously and missing.

Penny giggled and Xanthe shot her a look of pure, bubbling poison.

‘What’s the photo for?’ Arthur asked, once it was clear that Xanthe wasn’t going anywhere.

‘Oh, it’s not for me! No, of course not. I’m not some mad stalker or anything!’ She let out a peal of embarrassed laughter. ‘It’s for the lower-school photo board.’ Xanthe pointed towards a large collage composed of a photo of every student with their name written underneath. She fanned her face coquettishly with Arthur’s developing photo and then looked at it. ‘Oh dear.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t think this one is any good. Let’s do another.’ She took another snap, discreetly slipping the first into her pocket.

‘Wow,’ Penny said, as Xanthe ran off to fix Arthur’s photo next to her own on the board. ‘I think you have a fan club!’

‘Paparazzi after you again, Arthur?’ George grinned.

‘No!’ Arthur said, a little too curtly.

George looked surprised. Arthur cleared his throat; he couldn’t let on how anxious he was about having his photo taken.

‘I’ve been thinking about the imaginary friends,’ Arthur said, quickly changing the subject. ‘Do you think what Tristan said is true? That we’re in danger?’

George frowned. ‘To be honest, mate, the more I think about it, the more I reckon it was just a dream. I was seriously tired this morning and I may have blown things out of proportion.’

‘What do you think, Penny?’ Jake asked.

Penny sipped her tea and considered it. ‘George is right,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s so weird – what happened felt so real a few hours ago, but now I can hardly remember it.’

‘What does Lola look like?’ Jake asked.

‘She’s a doll,’ Penny replied. ‘Lola Lollipop. I saw her in Hamley’s when I was really small. She had red ringlets made of real hair, and huge, glass, blue eyes, and she came with her own china tea set. I wanted her so much, but she must have cost a fortune because I went home with a different toy. But I pretended that Lola had seen me in Hamley’s too, and had followed me home to be my friend. She was the same size as me and she knew all of the gossip about the other toys at the shop and she spoke like a princess. But she was only my imaginary friend for a few months because Mum bought me the real Lola Lollipop doll for my birthday, so I didn’t need the pretend Lola any more.’

‘A giant doll,’ George mused. ‘Creepy. What about you, Jake? Did you have an imaginary friend?’

A pained expression crossed Jake’s face. ‘It’s a bit cringe,’ he said.

‘It can’t be worse than Stripes!’ Arthur laughed.

Jake sighed. ‘Well, he was called Brian –’

‘Very imaginative.’ George cut in.

‘– and he was a morris dancer.’

The group tried to hide their mirth.

‘A morris dancer!’ George repeated gleefully. ‘What? One of those beardy blokes who prances around with a stick on May Day?’

‘Morris dancing is a very important part of British culture!’ Jake said indignantly.

‘If you say so, mate,’ George chortled. ‘Hey, they wear bells on their shoes, right? At least you’ll hear him coming.’

Jake tried to move the spotlight on to Arthur. ‘Come on, your turn.’

Arthur shrugged. ‘I didn’t have one.’

‘What?’ Penny said in disbelief. ‘Everyone had one!’

‘Nope,’ Arthur said. ‘Not me. I had these weird things called “real friends”.’

Chapter Seven

A few weeks went by, and soon the strange nightmares and Tristan’s doom-laden prophecy were lost in the demanding timetable of the new term. Jake had offered to help Arthur with some of the subjects he was already lagging behind in, bringing him up to speed in maths and biology. If Jake thought it odd that a student as spectacularly unacademic as Arthur had won a full scholarship, he was too polite to mention it.

Luckily, Arthur was far better at sport than he was at equations, and he successfully tried out for the Garnons football team, much to the annoyance of the Forge triplets, who tried to foul him at every opportunity even though they were on the same team.

Arthur was walking back to house after a particularly brutal game, covered in mud, when he spotted Amber, glossy and beautiful and walking in the other direction. Knowing that he wasn’t looking his best, he hid behind a nearby tree and waited for her to pass, praying she hadn’t seen him.

‘Arthur?’ he heard from behind his hastily chosen hiding place. ‘I can see your feet.’

Arthur sheepishly stepped out from the tree.

‘Were you hiding from me?’ Amber giggled.

‘No! What? No! Of course not,’ Arthur said, peering at the grass around the tree. ‘I lost a contact lens. I was just looking for it.’

Amber nodded sagely. ‘Ah yes, of course.’

Arthur thought he’d just about got away with his fib, when Amber grinned. ‘I’ll help you look,’ she said, and knelt down.

Mortified, Arthur did the same, and began the futile and humiliating task of searching for an imaginary contact lens.

‘So how are you finding school?’ Amber asked, feeling under a rock.

‘It’s great,’ Arthur replied, shaking a bug from his sleeve. ‘Professor Long-Pitt is a nightmare, but apart from that it’s amazing.’

‘The reputation didn’t put you off?’

‘What? All the ghost stories? I don’t really believe in ghosts.’