The Body Thief (4 page)

Planting Seeds

It was a raining heavily when Silas, followed loyally by Thorn, made his way into the conservatory to greet his new arrival—Miss Isabella Winterbottom. He found the girl sitting patiently in a large armchair, her hands neatly folded in her lap. She was wearing a pretty white dress and had a silk ribbon around her silky black hair.

“Uncle Silas!” she yelled as the ghostly master of Sommerset moved toward her. “I’m so happy to finally meet you!” She jumped up and embraced her uncle, planting a large kiss on each of his pale cheeks. “I cannot thank you enough for inviting me to Sommerset,” she said excitedly. “This is the most beautiful place I have ever seen!”

“I’m glad you like it, Isabella,” said Silas. He watched Isabella’s face with a sense of delicious anticipation as he waited for the young girl to look past his chair and see the predatory reptile slinking along the floor behind him.

Like clockwork, Isabella’s large blue eyes dropped from her uncle’s gaze to the ground behind him. Silas leaned closer, waiting for the terrified scream to tear from her lungs.

“Ohhhh, how cute!” she purred, crouching down to pat the creature on the sharp contours of his swampy green flesh. “What is his name, Uncle?”

For once Silas was lost for words. He turned his chair and watched in amazement as Isabella stroked his deadly pet as if it were a puppy. For his part, Thorn growled softly at the strange girl, thoroughly enjoying the attention.

“His name…is Thorn,” Silas managed to say. “You are not
afraid
of him?”

“Oh, no,” said Isabella, laughing gently. “I think he’s sweet.”

“Indeed,” said Silas, unable to conceal his disappointment.

“Now, Uncle,” said Isabella, getting to her feet. “There is one piece of business I would like to get out of the way.” She reached into a pocket and produced a folded envelope that she passed to her uncle. “This is the check for ten thousand dollars that you sent to me. I am returning it to you.”

“Returning it?” said Silas with not a little indignation.

“That’s right,” said Isabella matter-of-factly. “The truth is, my father has been very successful in business, and I had no need for your money. It would be a terrible waste if I took money I didn’t need, don’t you think?”

Silas could only nod. The young lady entranced him as she glided about the conservatory like a princess in her palace. The performance was extraordinary!

“Tell me, Isabella,” he said casually, “do I look sick to you?”

“Oh, yes, terribly sick, Uncle,” she said earnestly. “In fact, I was just thinking to myself,
poor Uncle Silas is the sickest looking thing I’ve ever seen
.”

The pale man smiled thinly. “How very honest you are.”

“There is one more thing I wish to clear up,” said Isabella, who had walked the length of the conservatory and was now touching the dark narrow leaves of a potted fig tree. “I know that you are dying and that you have probably invited me here to decide if I would make a suitable heir.” She stopped and looked at her uncle intently. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Possibly,” said Silas.

“Then I need to make one thing very clear, Uncle,” said Isabella firmly. “I have no interest in your money or your house—as beautiful as it is. In fact, if you were to make me your heir I would have to refuse.” She smiled warmly at Silas. “I hope you’re not too angry with me.”

Isabella peered closely at her uncle’s darkened eyes—they seemed to be dancing. “Not at all,” said Silas soothingly. “Such frankness is a very rare thing. How old are you, child?”

“I’m thirteen,” said Isabella proudly.

“You are the eldest,” he said playfully, leading Isabella through the morning room and into the entrance hall. “I expect you will be a good influence on your cousins.”

Isabella stopped suddenly. “Did you say
cousins?
”

“Indeed,” said Silas. “Adele and Milo—they are your
cousins
, are they not?”

“Yes, Uncle, but I’m a little confused,” said Isabella. “Wasn’t Milo Winterbottom killed by a volcano?”

Silas’s eyes narrowed, as if he were reaching for a memory that he had long since discarded. Finally, his eyes crackled. “Oh,
that
,” he said grimly. “There was an eruption, that much is true; however, your cousin Milo was not a casualty. It seems he was playing in a cave when the volcano erupted.” Silas ran a bony finger over his bottom lip. “Not disappointed, are you?”

“Disappointed?”
Isabella cleared her throat—the certainty flooding back into her refined voice. “I’m thrilled! When father told me that poor Milo was dead, I cried for hours. But now I have
two
cousins to get to know. Oh, Uncle, this is the best day of my life!”

“I hope there are even better ones to come,” said Silas as he summoned an under-butler. “Escort my niece to her room, and make sure she has everything she needs.”

Isabella kissed her uncle and once again declared her unimaginable happiness before following the under-butler up the grand staircase. She gave a final wave to Silas, climbing the large marble stairs with all the poise of a princess in a castle.

Silas watched until she disappeared into the corridor along the eastern wing. After returning to the conservatory, he fed Thorn from a silver tray layered with raw strips of water buffalo, and then summoned Mrs. Hammer, informing the head housekeeper that his niece was to be given every possible attention.

“Of course, sir,” said the housekeeper with considerable enthusiasm—Isabella had deeply impressed Mrs. Hammer on their first meeting by complimenting the old lady on her remarkably youthful appearance (which was complete nonsense because everyone who knew Mrs. Hammer agreed that her face resembled a baked potato). Isabella had made particular mention of her
dignified
nose and
delicate
ears. “She seems like such a delightful child!”

“Watch her closely, Mrs. Hammer,” instructed Silas. “Watch and listen—I want to know everything she does.”

“But,
sir
, surely you don’t suspect her of any wrongdoing?”

“She is a Winterbottom,” said Silas proudly. “I would expect nothing less.”

The Reluctant Guest

Please make yourself comfortable, Master Milo,” instructed the bald under-butler with the enormous bottom lip. “Your uncle will be along shortly.”

Milo Winterbottom was determined to hate Sommerset from the moment he accepted his uncle’s invitation. Yet, as the limousine had crossed the bridge, weaving between acres of gardens exploding with color and meadows teeming with wildflowers, his hatred dissolved into awe and wonder.

For a boy who spent most of his free time in a florist, the grounds of Sommerset were a kind of nirvana. Everywhere he looked thousands of blooms sprang up from among sparkling rivers of lush green lawn in a tapestry of colors.

It was only after the limousine had pulled up outside Sommerset House and Milo was ushered into a walled garden and told to wait that he came back to his senses.

“If you need anything,” said the under-butler, “just press the button above the yellow tulips. Someone will come immediately.”

Milo smiled stiffly. “Thank you.”

The butler bowed dutifully, then disappeared through a black iron gate.

A tide of nerves churned in the pit of Milo’s stomach and he suddenly felt terribly alone. He found it impossible to simply sit there on the stone bench and wait for his uncle, so he decided to explore the gardens properly. Perhaps that would take his mind of
where
he was and
who
he was about to meet. Under a large trellis in the center of the patio his attention was immediately drawn to a bed of brilliant blue flowers. He crouched down, looking closely into the eye of the bloom.

“She’s a beauty, that one,” came a rasping voice from over his shoulder. Milo looked around and saw an old man in muddy overalls, his watery eyes unblinking and rather mischievous. “I’ll bet me cotton socks you don’t know the name of that rose you’re admiring.”

Milo took the challenge, studying the flower intently. “Well, from the shape of the head it looks like a Myriam rose…but I’ve never seen one this color before.”

“Course not, but you’re close. This here is a hybrid, created especially for Sommerset.” He nodded briskly. “By the way, name’s Moses.”

Milo stood up, feeling rather proud of himself. “Nice to meet you Moses—I’m Milo. Have you worked at Sommerset for a long time?”

“Too long,” he muttered, and then pointed to the flower beds on either side of the trellis. “What about this lot then?”

“Leanders,” said Milo confidently. “And those over by the far wall are Prominents and then Caesars and Montanas.”

The old gardener grunted in approval. “Tell you what, there’s a special rose I reckon you’d like to see—it’s called the Phoenix rose, and the only place she grows is here at Sommerset.” He scratched at his gray whiskers and a troubled look came over his face. “They’re hidden away, of course. The master don’t like to share ’em with anyone.”

“Why not?” asked Milo.

“Because they are precious,” said another voice, its melodious tones sliding into Milo’s eardrums like trickles of icy water. “But for
you
perhaps I can make an exception.”

The boy spun around.

“Hello, Milo, I am your Uncle Silas.”

Milo didn’t reply. He just stared at the ghostly figure sitting before him, his uncle’s long rakish fingers drumming upon the velvet armrests of the antique wheelchair. The frailty of the gaunt, gray face and withered body shocked the boy, but it was Silas’s thick dark hair and the glimmer in his jet-black eyes that hit Milo like a punch to the stomach. They were just like his father’s. And yet, he detected none of the warmth and laughter that rippled through his father’s ebony eyes. Instead, Milo found two dark pits staring back at him—empty and bottomless.

The next thing Milo noticed was the massive crocodile passing along the forecourt. He blinked several times, quite convinced he was having some sort of hallucination.

Silas laughed softly. “That is Thorn. Don’t worry, he is perfectly tame…most of the time.” Silas then turned his attention to Moses. “I want you to go and supervise the gardeners working down by the great lake. Last time those fools pruned my rosebushes it looked as if they’d used a meat ax. Hurry along.”

Without saying a word, the gardener shuffled off toward the passageway.

“He is half demented, the poor man,” said Silas casually. “Not to mention half blind. I should dismiss him, of course, but it’s not in my nature to be ruthless.”

“He seemed very sane to me,” said Milo, crossing his arms.

“Yes, well, looks can be deceiving,” said Silas lightly. “Perhaps you would like to see more of the garden?”

“No, thank you,” said Milo shortly.

After a few moments of painful silence, Silas escorted Milo through a corridor of gates leading to the main house. It was Milo who stopped as they passed under the last stone archway. He didn’t look at Silas. Deep inside the boy, at the very center of his being, a call was being made. Milo knew that if he did not answer it he would regret it for the rest of his life.

It’s now or never
, he told himself.

“Is there something wrong, Milo?” said Silas.

Milo cleared his throat. “I don’t like you, Uncle Silas,” he said softly. “I know that’s not a nice thing to say, especially to someone who’s dying—but it’s just how I feel. Well, I just thought you should know.”

“I admire your honesty,” said Silas calmly. “My only request is that you judge me not by reputation, but rather, by your own observation. Milo, you know my time is very limited.” He watched his nephew closely. “I hope you will try and understand how very much I want to get to know you and your cousins.” Silas smiled softly. “So please, Milo, can you show even a little mercy to a sick old man?”

“How much
mercy
did you show my parents?”

Passing by his uncle, Milo walked toward the house without a backward glance.

***

“Don’t just stand there, you lazy girl, get in here and
help
me!”

Standing in the middle of her elegant bedroom suite, Isabella eyed the maid with considerable fury. After all, she had been left to unpack her luggage without assistance. Not only that, the cup of chilled lemon water and the slice of freshly baked sourdough she ordered had not arrived.

“And where are my refreshments?” she demanded to know as the rather timid-looking girl entered the bedroom.

“Refreshments?”

“My lemon water!” she snapped. “My sourdough!”

Kneeling down in front of a large circle of matching luggage, Isabella unzipped one of the bigger cases and threw it open. “Nothing is where it should be!” she roared. “I told Svanhildur to pack all of my formal clothes in
this
bag, but, of course, she has not. What an unprofessional dwarf she is!”

Isabella buried her head in the suitcase, thrusting her hands deep into the stack of neatly packed clothes and then stopped, glaring up at the servant girl.

“Why are you just standing there?” she hissed.

“Well, um, you see—I’m Adele,” said the girl faintly. “I saw you arriving from the window and—”

“How wonderful for you,” said Isabella curtly. “Don’t take this the wrong way,
Adele
, but Sommerset House has dozens of maids, and I cannot be expected to remember everyone’s name. I shall just call you
girl
and you shall call me
Miss Isabella
, is that clear?”

Adele laughed nervously. “I’m not a maid,” she said. “I’m Adele Fester-Winterbottom, your
cousin
.”

With remarkable speed Isabella jumped to her feet, smoothed down her dress, tightened the ribbon holding her hair in place, and lunged at her newly discovered cousin, wrapping her arms around Adele and squeezing her with all the enthusiasm of a professional wrestler.

“Oh, cousin, it is so wonderful to finally meet you!” she gushed loudly.

“Yes…” gasped Adele, who was finding it somewhat difficult to breathe. “It’s nice to meet you too, Isabella.”

Releasing her grip, Isabella stood back and took a good look at her cousin—what a sad-looking creature! She would be
no
competition at all.

“I already feel like we are sisters, don’t you?” said Isabella. “Not that we look alike, of course—you are so pale and then there is your hair.” She reached out and felt the frizzy tips of Adele’s flaming red hair. “Oh, you poor thing!” she said mournfully. “Are you teased
awfully
at school?”

Adele felt the blood rush to her freckled cheeks. She wanted to melt into the floor and disappear. “No,” she mumbled. “In fact, some of my friends really
like
my hair…”

“Oh, you are funny, cousin,” said Isabella, laughing. “Now tell me, have you met our uncle yet?”

Adele nodded her head.

“Isn’t he the sweetest man you have ever met in your life?”

“You think Uncle Silas is
sweet?
”

“Oh, yes,” declared Isabella. “He could not have been kinder to me—he is so warm and cuddly…and Thorn is just the cutest little crocodile I ever saw!” She smiled at Adele. “Don’t you agree, cousin?”

“Well…I guess,” she said somewhat doubtfully.

“But enough about dear Uncle Silas,” said Isabella, clapping her hands. “Tell me all about yourself, and do not leave anything out. I want to know
everything
about you!”

Adele looked at her cousin, in her pretty dress with her perfect skin and silky hair and her polished manners—she would never be able to win over Uncle Silas against someone that perfect. It was stupid to even try.

“There’s not much to tell,” said Adele meekly. “I’m very boring, really.”

“Oh, I am sure there is a lot to tell,” said Isabella gazing wide-eyed at her cousin. “I already know about that awful business with your mother and those killer birds. She sounds completely insane!” She smiled at her cousin, failing to notice the humiliation on Adele’s face. “What about your father—what is he like?”

“He is very kind,” said Adele softly. “He restores damaged books and he has been teaching me—”

“How
interesting!
” interrupted Isabella. “Now, what do you know of our
other
cousin—Milo Winterbottom?”

Adele did not get the chance to answer, because Fremantle, a very tall servant with a tiny head, entered the bedroom carrying a gleaming silver tray. With great care he placed the tray on a side table next to the young ladies.

“I hope the snack is to your satisfaction,” he said in a slow flat drawl.

“So do I,” snapped Isabella, lunging at the sourdough like she had not eaten in weeks. “That will be all, servant.”

Before Fremantle could gather his tray and leave, a frantic-looking chambermaid by the name of Hannah Spoon hurried into the bedroom carrying a set of hand towels and stood nervously in front of Isabella.

“They have been warmed just like you asked, Miss.”

“Let me feel them,” she mumbled, her cheeks bloated with bread. “That’s much better. You may put them in the bathroom, and then you can unpack my cases and place my clothes in the closet in alphabetical order according to color.”

“Yes, Miss Winterbottom.”

“Oh, and you with the funny head,” said Isabella, snapping her fingers at Fremantle. “You may help her with the unpacking.”

Before Fremantle had a chance to object, Isabella had grabbed Adele by the hand and disappeared down the lengthy corridor of the eastern wing.

***

In a cloistered piazza at the western end of the garden, Silas and Thorn moved along a path lined with Sweet Brier roses. Thorn lifted his head and emitted a low growl as Moses passed them, shuffling across the patio, carrying a cardboard box full of potted tulip bulbs.

“How are the Phoenix roses?” said Silas. “Have they opened yet?”

“Nearly open,” muttered Moses, not stopping to address his master formally.

“Wait,” said Silas firmly.

Moses stopped in his tracks.

“I’m sure I don’t have to remind you,” said Silas, moving along the path toward the old gardener, “that I do not want any trouble while my nephew and nieces are here.”

“I don’t make trouble,” said Moses gruffly.

“Indeed,” said Silas. “Just make sure you don’t.” He pulled up in front of Moses, turning his chair sharply to face him. “After all, I haven’t much time left, and a great deal depends on this visit. By the way, how is your boy Ezra doing at St. Bernadette’s—I trust the nurses are taking excellent care of him?”

The old gardener’s body stiffened as if the words were a spell that had cast him in granite.

Silas smiled coolly. “Are we clear, Moses?”

A long minute ticked over before Moses finally grunted, indicating that he understood. He then shuffled quickly across the terrace, disappearing into the greenhouse.