The Whispers of Wilderwood Hall (17 page)

“You
know
that isn't true, Flora, not now,” I remind her.

Flora's gaunt face suddenly brightens, and her brown eyes fill with hope. “To think I saw you in my dreams as a shadow, yet you are like my one true light in this dark place!”

“
I really don't know about the dream part,” I say, walking over to join her by the sinks with a smile and a shrug. “But I'm glad I make a difference. I just wish I could be around more for you.”

“Oh, so do I!” says Flora, taking both my hands in hers. “Wouldn't that be grand?”

It's lovely to see her so comforted by the idea. But the hope and happiness in my
own
heart suddenly dims – and Flora sees that.

“What?” she asks. “What is it, Ellis?”

“I – I might be wrong, but I think my mother and her new husband might be thinking of sending me away to a boarding school,” I tell her as I lean back against the other of the two deep, low sinks.

“No!” Flora gasps, squeezing my hands more tightly between hers. “They can't do that!”

I see the rising panic in her eyes and instantly regret telling her.

“Look, it might not happen,” I say quickly, as much to comfort myself as Flora. “They haven't said anything to me. And if they did, I would just say … I would just say
no
, I'm not going.”

“And they couldn't force you to?” asked Flora, amazed and surprised that a girl of my age could say such a thing to her elders.

“
No, absolutely not,” I assure her.

At the same time I wonder what will become of Weezy … will
she
end up being persuaded to go back to her school in Devon? And if she is, what chance do
I
have of getting out of it? But I don't want to think about that right now. Flora's situation is
so
much worse than mine and I don't want to add to her unhappiness. So I try and think of something
else
to say that might be positive.

“Hey, you know, the governess doesn't seem as bad as the others,” I point out, thinking that Miss Matilda sounded quite strict but fair. I mean, she didn't take the side of the spoilt little boy either time he was whining about Flora and trying to get her into trouble.

My friend's face darkens at that, though.

“Miss Matilda may not snap at me the way the others do, but she is nasty in her own way; she looks down her nose at me, as if I am nothing. As worthless as ashes.”

I'm sorrier than ever for Flora. I might feel like I'm on the outskirts of my mum's life at the moment, but I'm reminded again of how Flora really is utterly,
scarily
alone. And for a fleeting second, that makes me think about Wilderwood itself, standing empty
and
unloved for so many decades. What happened to it? Apart, of course, from the hippy bloke in the 1970s with his strange dreams of the sea lapping at the skirting boards.

More importantly, what happened to Mr Richards, the first owner of the Hall? Did he simply get bored and abandon the place for some exciting new prospect? Maybe he saw business opportunities in America, when the family went to visit, and never returned to the UK.

I really,
really
need to research this once we get an internet connection. 'Cause if I can find out more about the house and the Richards family, maybe I can find out what happened to their staff too…

Then suddenly, unexpectedly, I notice that while my mind whirled with thoughts of Wilderwood and its inhabitants, Flora's expression has switched from sorrow to a knowing smile.

“You might not want to sit there, Ellis,” she says, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Why not?” I ask warily, turning to look down at the clean, empty and innocent-looking porcelain sink.

“That's the one I use to empty the chamber pots…”

Instantly,
I jump away in horror, then join in with Flora's giggles.

I'm still giggling when there's a sudden tugging at my back, and I find myself lurching away from Flora, my hands slipping out of hers, as if I'm being pulled by elastic ropes.

And then I'm floating free and fast, doors and walls a blur until I feel the warm wood of the nursery windowsill under my hands, and hear the familiar voices of Mum, RJ and the others, their excited chat continuing just as it had before I slipped and slid into that other Wilderwood.

So yes, I'm back home.

Though I suppose I wasn't ever really away…

Three's company, four's a crowd. It seems that way right now, as RJ strides through the wind-nipped village streets, with Mum linked into his right arm and Weezy linked into his left.

“Come on, Ellis!” Mum says over her shoulder, waving me to join in with her free hand.

“I'm fine,” I say.

But Mum halts the threesome to let me catch up anyway.

“Hey, how cute is that, huh?” says RJ, using the pause to point at a little cottage I hadn't noticed before.

It's right behind the bench by the bus stop where I sat shivering the other day, till Moira the
waitress
motioned me to come inside the Cairn Café. The tiny house is low, just one storey high. RJ might think it's cute, but he'd never be able to stand up in it.

In the panel of glass above the front door the name
Honeysuckle Cottage
is painted in faded gold lettering, while bare rose branches ramble haphazardly over the walls, the blooms hidden for now but ready to appear with a pop when spring turns to summer.

Still, it's hard to think of summer today when the weather has switched from beautiful this morning by the pool in the rocks to winter-ish this afternoon on Glenmill's main street. (“That's Scotland for you,” Mr Fraser joked when he set off in his van with Cam and his busted bike, after temporarily fixing the gates.)

“Yeah, super cute,” says Weezy, pulling her parka more tightly around her. “Cute as a kitten. Cute as a
box
of kittens. Now can we ditch the village tour and get that hot chocolate?”

To celebrate RJ coming home, we're eating cake – and hot chocolate – out.

We're also celebrating the fact that the paparazzi bloke wasn't there (Mr Fraser and Cam went to look
for
him and only found a few empty Coke cans from when he must've staked out the house). He shouldn't be back either, not now the gates are closed and RJ's called and got his lawyers on to the case.

“Sure,” RJ answers Weezy. “Is that it there?”

RJ points to the only commercial building in a street full of mismatching houses. Its lights are like beams of comfort in the late afternoon chilly gloom.

“Yes, but don't get too excited. Remember, it's not got the most fancy menu,” Mum laughs, as we begin to hurry towards the Cairn Café.

“It's fine as long as you like Tunnock's Teacakes,” I manage to almost joke. I'm actually dying to see what world-touring RJ makes of the corny tartan interior of the café and the even cornier background music on offer.

“Wow, it looks busy,” says Mum as we approach the steamed-up windows and see the dark outlines of figures inside.

With a tinkle of the old-fashioned bell above the door, we're in – and me and RJ slide into the one free table by the window.

“Just going to find the loo,” says Weezy, leaving us to wend her way through the tables busy with walkers and little old ladies, mostly.

“
Oh, look,” says Mum as she shrugs off her jacket and hangs it on the back of a chair. “There's Cam, and that must be his mum. I'll just pop over and say hi…”

Sure enough, Cam waves over in our direction, and I shyly wave back at him. A dog – either Joe or Bella – rests its head on the table, its nostrils sniffing hopefully at the newly arrived food on the plates there.

“
He
seems nice,” says RJ, and I turn to see dimples in his cheeks that I've never noticed before. I'm being teased.

“Cam's … OK, I suppose. I don't really know him very well,” I reply, feeling redness heat my cheeks. “He spoke a lot to Weezy this morning, when we met him at the pool. She might have more of an opinion of him than I do.”

“Oh, my Weezy has an opinion on
everyone
, and isn't afraid to let people know,” laughs RJ. “This afternoon, when we had our chat, she really ripped into me. Told me in no uncertain terms why I'd let her down the last few years. I probably deserved it. And Weezy deserved to be allowed to rant at me. Though at least she told me she loved me at the end of it all.”

I'd vaguely heard the boom of their voices from my room, as they thrashed out their differences in
the
old nursery, just across the landing in the main house.

But I don't respond to what RJ just said. One, because I'm jealous that Weezy has a dad she can rant at in close quarters. And two, because I know she has an opinion of
me
. (And it's not a good one.) RJ notices my sudden silence.

“Hey, how have
you
been getting on with my Weezy-Woo?” he asks.

“Er … well…” I mumble, not knowing what to make of that cutesy nickname for such a brittle girl, OR what to say about our stunning lack of stepsisterly bonding so far.

“Uh-oh, not so good?” RJ suggests.

I come out with a nervous sort of laugh in reply.

“Don't let Weezy's hard shell fool you,” RJ says conspiratorially, glancing over to the door of the
Lassies
loos in the Cairn Café. “She's a softie underneath. It's just that she's had a tough time of it lately. Her mum's not an easy person to live with;
I'm
always touring and not around for her; and she's pretty much on course to fail all her exams because of both of us messing her up. And then her dyslexia doesn't help, of course.”

Oh. I instantly think of Weezy's finger tracing
along
the board at the Linn o' Glenmill this morning. So that
wasn't
just a casual gesture; it's what she physically needed to do to help her read the information… ? The kind part of me feels a little sorry and sweeter towards her.

“If you could just be a bit patient with Weezy, that would be great,” RJ implores me with a winning smile. “All of this is so new and hard for her to get used to.”

RJ waves his hand around. It could be that he's referring to the dubious delights of the Cairn Café, but obviously, he's talking about Wilderwood, Mum and me. The
less
kind part of me feels grumpy that RJ hasn't noticed that “all of this” is pretty new and hard for me too. I feel a sudden need to get away from RJ's pep talk.

“Back in a minute,” I tell him, and get to my feet.

He surprises me by grabbing hold of my hand before I go.

“Hey, I also wanted to say sorry to you, Ellis,” he says.

“What for?” I ask, awkwardness curdling in my stomach.

(“Sorry, but I'm thinking about sending you off to boarding school, same as Weezy”?)

“
Sorry for everything being such a whirlwind,” says RJ. “I know me getting together with your mum happened like
that
–” he snaps the fingers of his free hand “– and it's been kind of hard on you. Not to mention moving here. You've got to remember, your mum and me, we're older – well,
I'm
a lot older. And suddenly, when things seem right, you just think, hey, life's too short – let's go for it!”

I blink down at RJ, wanting his words to be genuine, but not totally sure if they are.

“The thing is, being away from you guys,” he continues, “I got a bit of perspective. And maybe I was a bit selfish, and didn't think of the impact on you when I scooped your gorgeous mother off to be my bride. So I'm sorry, Ellis. Truly.”

OK, so RJ sounds like he means it. Truly. Maybe I was overreacting and there
are
no plans for boarding schools. But then once he's back here for good, will RJ and Mum roll themselves up in that bubble of love and leave me out anyway?

I don't think I know my stepdad well enough to ask that (or even
think
of him as my stepdad), so instead I just mumble a shy “That's OK” and set off towards the loos.

My cheeks are hot and I'm feeling flustered,
partly
because of what RJ's been saying and partly because I'm aware Cam's staring. As my mum and his chat, I sense his blackbird eyes locked on me as I weave my way between the tables, past the TV and video player featuring the man singing his jolly songs, accompanied by his noisy accordion.

I manage to mutter a mumbled hello Cam's way (and a pat of a random dog's head) as I reach the far wall … where I almost walk straight into Weezy. She must've come out of the loo, but has stopped on her way back to us, her attention grabbed by a particular framed photo on the wall. The one of the stiff and stern family and staff of Wilderwood Hall.

“It's – it's a great picture, isn't it?” I say, knowing that RJ will be watching, hoping me and his Weezy-Woo will be getting on.