it up. But of course, because Mrs Skelton was complaining about it, Mr Chilvers was taking his time getting around to fixing the problem.
I hurried past the bathroom door. As I walked past Rumer’s bedroom there was the faint sound of a keyboard being tapped. Further down the hall I realised that the shaft of light was spilling down the tiny flight of stairs which were usually out of bounds. The door to the attic was open. I stopped at the foot of the stairs and listened, but there were no sounds from above. Mrs Skelton must have left the door open accidentally. She was probably on her way back right now to close it. Even as I was thinking this, I climbed the stairs, the sun shaft like a beckoning finger that I couldn’t resist. The stairs were quite steep, the boards narrow as if made for tiny feet. At the top there was a small landing and the half-opened door. I pushed it fully open and walked into the forbidden space.
I was disappointed.
The attic was spotless. No cobwebs hung from the ceiling. No mountains of treasure were piled up high. There were boxes. Plenty of boxes. Some looked like boxes that tinned food might come in. Others looked older, like tea-chests, or wooden-slatted things, dark with age. In one corner sat a stack of old suitcases with brass corners and tarnished locks. A scrap of material peeked out from one suitcase, so I figured it might hold old clothes. And there, solving the mystery of the missing piece of furniture from the Blue Room, was the floor-length mirror.
The window was at shoulder-height and the outside was speckled from years of sea spray. It was octagonal in shape and dusty inside, apart from a spot in the centre that looked as if someone had cleared it recently for a better view. I didn’t remember ever seeing the window from outside. The overhanging eaves may have had something to do with this, or it could have been that I never bothered to look up that high. I imagined children dressed in old-fashioned clothes playing marbles or hide-and-seek up here. Had anyone peered from this window waiting for the arrival of a horse and cart? Had someone watched a sailing ship glide through the grey water beyond the bluff?
I could see the edge of the sweeping driveway and the bluff rocks that surrounded us. The water was white-capped today, a hectic motion created by the wind which whistled through the gap in the window’s lintel. Sunlight poured weakly through the window, hitting the mirror that had been propped up against a wardrobe just opposite the stairs.
“What are you doing?”
I fell against the window in fright and looked around to see Rumer peering in at me from the doorway.
“The attic,” I said simply. “I’ve never been in here before.”
“Boring, isn’t it,” she said. “Daddy showed me up here once.” She wandered about the room, sniffing once. She wrinkled her nose then sighed. “This is the worst holiday ever. You’d better come down for lunch. I am not going down there by myself.”
As we left, a wooden chest caught my eye. Its curved lid was tied down with leather straps, each strap secured by a rusted buckle. I touched it briefly as I left the room, and it seemed warm to my fingers. As I passed the mirror I thought I caught a glimpse of blond hair in its cracked corner, but when I took a closer look there was just the reflection of the door. Even as I decided I had seen Rumer’s reflection as she left the room I shivered a little.
I made sure the door was ajar at the same angle I’d found it, and followed Rumer down the stairs. By the time I reached the main staircase, I looked back to the attic stairs, but the shaft of light had disappeared and the end of the corridor was in shadow.
And somewhere above us I heard the attic door slam shut.
Chapter 16
Have you ever noticed that there are some things people say that usually mean the opposite of what they are saying?
Like, when someone says, “To be perfectly honest,” I doubt that’s what
I hurried past the bathroom door. As I walked past Rumer’s bedroom there was the faint sound of a keyboard being tapped. Further down the hall I realised that the shaft of light was spilling down the tiny flight of stairs which were usually out of bounds. The door to the attic was open. I stopped at the foot of the stairs and listened, but there were no sounds from above. Mrs Skelton must have left the door open accidentally. She was probably on her way back right now to close it. Even as I was thinking this, I climbed the stairs, the sun shaft like a beckoning finger that I couldn’t resist. The stairs were quite steep, the boards narrow as if made for tiny feet. At the top there was a small landing and the half-opened door. I pushed it fully open and walked into the forbidden space.
I was disappointed.
The attic was spotless. No cobwebs hung from the ceiling. No mountains of treasure were piled up high. There were boxes. Plenty of boxes. Some looked like boxes that tinned food might come in. Others looked older, like tea-chests, or wooden-slatted things, dark with age. In one corner sat a stack of old suitcases with brass corners and tarnished locks. A scrap of material peeked out from one suitcase, so I figured it might hold old clothes. And there, solving the mystery of the missing piece of furniture from the Blue Room, was the floor-length mirror.
The window was at shoulder-height and the outside was speckled from years of sea spray. It was octagonal in shape and dusty inside, apart from a spot in the centre that looked as if someone had cleared it recently for a better view. I didn’t remember ever seeing the window from outside. The overhanging eaves may have had something to do with this, or it could have been that I never bothered to look up that high. I imagined children dressed in old-fashioned clothes playing marbles or hide-and-seek up here. Had anyone peered from this window waiting for the arrival of a horse and cart? Had someone watched a sailing ship glide through the grey water beyond the bluff?
I could see the edge of the sweeping driveway and the bluff rocks that surrounded us. The water was white-capped today, a hectic motion created by the wind which whistled through the gap in the window’s lintel. Sunlight poured weakly through the window, hitting the mirror that had been propped up against a wardrobe just opposite the stairs.
“What are you doing?”
I fell against the window in fright and looked around to see Rumer peering in at me from the doorway.
“The attic,” I said simply. “I’ve never been in here before.”
“Boring, isn’t it,” she said. “Daddy showed me up here once.” She wandered about the room, sniffing once. She wrinkled her nose then sighed. “This is the worst holiday ever. You’d better come down for lunch. I am not going down there by myself.”
As we left, a wooden chest caught my eye. Its curved lid was tied down with leather straps, each strap secured by a rusted buckle. I touched it briefly as I left the room, and it seemed warm to my fingers. As I passed the mirror I thought I caught a glimpse of blond hair in its cracked corner, but when I took a closer look there was just the reflection of the door. Even as I decided I had seen Rumer’s reflection as she left the room I shivered a little.
I made sure the door was ajar at the same angle I’d found it, and followed Rumer down the stairs. By the time I reached the main staircase, I looked back to the attic stairs, but the shaft of light had disappeared and the end of the corridor was in shadow.
And somewhere above us I heard the attic door slam shut.
Chapter 16
Have you ever noticed that there are some things people say that usually mean the opposite of what they are saying?
Like, when someone says, “To be perfectly honest,” I doubt that’s what
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