The Mystery of the Cupboard by Lynne Reid Banks

thief,” said Patrick.
    Omri felt strangely upset. “Let’s go to bed if that’s all you can say,” he mumbled, and stood up to undress.
    The boys got into their pyjamas in silence. Patrick knew he’d upset Omri and was sorry, but he was too stubborn to take his judgement back.
    When they were ready for bed, he suddenly said, “Let’s see the cashbox.”
    Omri, with obvious reluctance, as if he didn’t think Patrick deserved to see it now, fished it out from under the bed and unwrapped it. Patrick did all the things Omri had done with it: tried to open it, felt the sealing wax, shook it gently. Then he examined the keyhole.
    â€œYou realize the magic key would almost certainly open this,” he said quietly.
    Omri sat up straight with a jolt. “Of course! I never thought of that!”
    â€œPity it’s in the bank,” said Patrick meaningfully.
    Omri said nothing. He was thinking furiously.
    â€œThere’s something I don’t get,” said Patrick. “The key was round this Jessica Charlotte’s neck when Frederick was writing. And soon after, she died. How did it get to your great-grandmother?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œWell,
she
had it, didn’t she? The magic one, the copy. She gave it to your mum when
she
was dying - that’s what you told me.”
    Omri’s mouth opened. Another angle he hadn’t thought of. He just hadn’t made the connection. Of course the key, and the cupboard too, must have found their way back to Maria after Jessica Charlotte’s death, or his own mum couldn’t have inherited them.
    â€œPerhaps it was in the will,” said Omri. “If there hadn’t been a will, everything in this house would have gone to Frederick, would have stayed here until
he
died, which was only last year.”
    â€œAnd what about the earrings? What happened to them?”
    â€œShe’d never have sent the earrings back to Maria! That would have been like admitting she stol— took them, and in any case she half-thought Maria had died before her.”
    â€œThen she’d have left everything to Lottie.”
    â€œNo, no, you’re getting mixed up. Lottie was dead, she died in the London blitz.”
    â€œOh, yeah… How did she know that, though?”
    â€œWho? Jessica Charlotte? How did she know what?”
    â€œYou said she wasn’t in touch with Maria, right? And that Maria wasn’t in touch with Frederick, never met him? So how could she have known even that Lottie was dead? The newspapers?”
    Omri shrugged and shook his head. There was a thinking silence, and then Omri said slowly, “Or… her Gift.”
    â€œHer what?”
    â€œThat’s what she called her ability to - like, know things she couldn’t normally know. Maybe she - poured the lead, and found out that way about Lottie, and my mum.”
    â€œIf she could know that, she could know Maria was still alive.”
    â€œMaybe she hadn’t done it when she wrote the Account,” said Omri slowly. “Maybe she only did it at the very end.”
    â€œYou said she was too weak even to write. How could she possibly do this lead-pouring bit? It’s boiling metal we’re talking about, she couldn’t even boil water to give the thatchers their tea.”
    Omri stood up slowly.
    â€œThe thatchers,” he said breathlessly. “The thatchers! That’s it!” He opened the notebook to the last written-on page. “What do you make of this?”
    Patrick read it. He looked up. “‘Confidence’ and‘followed’ spelt wrong. Looks like a child’s writing.”
    â€œOr a person who wasn’t very educated. Wait. Just wait till tomorrow when we meet Tom Towsler at the Red Lion. He’ll have something interesting to tell us — I know he will! If only Tony’s dad gives us a chance to talk to him alone.”

11
Tom
    T o Omri’s