somewhere behind her. ‘Have a look for one of those.’
‘I don’t think we should try lighting an oil lamp in the dark,’ said Grace. ‘We don’t know how, and we could end up setting fire to the place.’
‘Hold on, I’ve got a torch!’ cried Una.
There was jingling and then a thin stream of light stretched through the gloom.
‘Yeah, sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s a pen torch on my keyring, so it’s not brilliant.’
The girls had waited until they saw Agata and Drake leave for their evening performances; Jenny had gone with them. Grace felt bad about that. Jenny was going to think the girls didn’t even try to find her after she got kicked out of Mrs Quinlan’s class, but it was a risk they had to take; if Jenny knew they were planning to search Agata’s home, she might try to stop them.
There were a lot of postcards and memorabilia on the walls of the trailer, some in scrappy wooden frames. There was a counter top at one end, covered in delicate teacups, saucers and a large teapot, and a kettle sat on an old camping stove.
Apart from that there was just a single cot bed, a small wardrobe and a bedside table with one drawer. Grace examined some figurines on the table, but decided none of them could be the straw doll. She rifled through the drawer and found nothing but letters and a gold locket. Inside was a picture of a couple on their wedding day. It was very old.
‘I feel kind of rotten about this,’ Rachel said, opening the wardrobe.
‘Yeah, I know what you mean,’ said Grace.
Una crawled out from underneath the bed.
‘Nothing under there but old newspapers. But like, old . There’s one there from the 1930s. It’s American, I think. Maybe she got it from her grandmother.’
‘Maybe she bought it,’ Grace said, closing the drawer.
‘Bought it?’
‘Everything’s so old. The pictures, the trailers, the costumes. I think the carnival has been around that long. I think that’s what the doll is for. It keeps them alive.’
‘Since the 1930s?’
‘Why not? We’ve seen weirder things.’
‘Can’t argue with you there.’
‘Got something!’ Rachel said, half-buried at the bottom of the wardrobe.
She pulled out a bundle of grey cloth, carefully tied with string. Grace held her breath as Rachel pulled open the bow and unwrapped the cloth. Inside was an ornament of deep red wood, carved with such intricate figures Grace barely thought it was possible. It was about the size of her fist, but had ten or more delicate engravings – people cooking fish over an open fire, hiking up a mountain trail, sitting on an outcrop by the sea.
‘That’s gorgeous,’ she breathed.
‘But you couldn’t call it a doll,’ said Rachel.
‘No. Maybe he didn’t give the doll to Agata after all.’
Grace caught the sudden scent of cigar smoke and sprangupright. The trailer door stood a few inches ajar, but she couldn’t see outside. She silently urged Rachel to re-wrap the ornament and tuck it back into the wardrobe, then crept to the door with her finger on her lips.
‘Good evening, little witches.’
Grace froze. The voice came from right outside. In the silence that followed she could see dust settling in the shaft of evening light that filled the narrow gap in the doorway. The voice sounded again.
‘Let’s not pretend we’re not aware of each other, shall we?’
There was a slow creak and the door swung outwards.
His eyes were shaded by the large brim of his hat and his dark trench coat made him seem taller up close. One hand brought a skinny cigar to his mouth. He exhaled slowly, smiling with immaculate, white teeth.
‘Poor Agata,’ he said. ‘Little does she know, as she works so hard in the ring, that her belongings are being picked over and scrutinised.’
In spite of her fear, Grace blushed in shame.
‘Steel your nerves, witch,’ the man said. ‘I’ll keep your dirty, little secret.’
He took one more puff of his cigar, smiled, and walked away.
‘How did he know
‘I don’t think we should try lighting an oil lamp in the dark,’ said Grace. ‘We don’t know how, and we could end up setting fire to the place.’
‘Hold on, I’ve got a torch!’ cried Una.
There was jingling and then a thin stream of light stretched through the gloom.
‘Yeah, sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s a pen torch on my keyring, so it’s not brilliant.’
The girls had waited until they saw Agata and Drake leave for their evening performances; Jenny had gone with them. Grace felt bad about that. Jenny was going to think the girls didn’t even try to find her after she got kicked out of Mrs Quinlan’s class, but it was a risk they had to take; if Jenny knew they were planning to search Agata’s home, she might try to stop them.
There were a lot of postcards and memorabilia on the walls of the trailer, some in scrappy wooden frames. There was a counter top at one end, covered in delicate teacups, saucers and a large teapot, and a kettle sat on an old camping stove.
Apart from that there was just a single cot bed, a small wardrobe and a bedside table with one drawer. Grace examined some figurines on the table, but decided none of them could be the straw doll. She rifled through the drawer and found nothing but letters and a gold locket. Inside was a picture of a couple on their wedding day. It was very old.
‘I feel kind of rotten about this,’ Rachel said, opening the wardrobe.
‘Yeah, I know what you mean,’ said Grace.
Una crawled out from underneath the bed.
‘Nothing under there but old newspapers. But like, old . There’s one there from the 1930s. It’s American, I think. Maybe she got it from her grandmother.’
‘Maybe she bought it,’ Grace said, closing the drawer.
‘Bought it?’
‘Everything’s so old. The pictures, the trailers, the costumes. I think the carnival has been around that long. I think that’s what the doll is for. It keeps them alive.’
‘Since the 1930s?’
‘Why not? We’ve seen weirder things.’
‘Can’t argue with you there.’
‘Got something!’ Rachel said, half-buried at the bottom of the wardrobe.
She pulled out a bundle of grey cloth, carefully tied with string. Grace held her breath as Rachel pulled open the bow and unwrapped the cloth. Inside was an ornament of deep red wood, carved with such intricate figures Grace barely thought it was possible. It was about the size of her fist, but had ten or more delicate engravings – people cooking fish over an open fire, hiking up a mountain trail, sitting on an outcrop by the sea.
‘That’s gorgeous,’ she breathed.
‘But you couldn’t call it a doll,’ said Rachel.
‘No. Maybe he didn’t give the doll to Agata after all.’
Grace caught the sudden scent of cigar smoke and sprangupright. The trailer door stood a few inches ajar, but she couldn’t see outside. She silently urged Rachel to re-wrap the ornament and tuck it back into the wardrobe, then crept to the door with her finger on her lips.
‘Good evening, little witches.’
Grace froze. The voice came from right outside. In the silence that followed she could see dust settling in the shaft of evening light that filled the narrow gap in the doorway. The voice sounded again.
‘Let’s not pretend we’re not aware of each other, shall we?’
There was a slow creak and the door swung outwards.
His eyes were shaded by the large brim of his hat and his dark trench coat made him seem taller up close. One hand brought a skinny cigar to his mouth. He exhaled slowly, smiling with immaculate, white teeth.
‘Poor Agata,’ he said. ‘Little does she know, as she works so hard in the ring, that her belongings are being picked over and scrutinised.’
In spite of her fear, Grace blushed in shame.
‘Steel your nerves, witch,’ the man said. ‘I’ll keep your dirty, little secret.’
He took one more puff of his cigar, smiled, and walked away.
‘How did he know
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