The Chrysalid Conspiracy (10 page)

Amelia agreed and then, to her shame, she realised that not once since she had left this morning had she thought about her mother. “Do you suppose this is what they call growing up?”

“I think so. I wonder if the grown-ups are ready for it?” came the reply.

***

When Amelia arrived home her mother was in the shop with her little spray gun, working on the flowers and shrubs.

“Hi, Mum. I hope you’re not giving them performance-enhancing drugs?”

Lucy looked up and smiled, pleased to see her. “Hello my love,” she said. “I don’t think they can arrest me for it, but yes. I’m just improving their seduction capabilities a little.”

Amelia leaned back against the door.
Talk about seduction,
she thought as she absorbed the fragrances of the shop, Mozart surrounded by the aroma of roasting beef drifted in from the kitchen. George, her honorary Granddad drifted in to complete the picture.

“Hello sweetheart,” he greeted her. “Had a good time?” He was well over sixty and well under six feet. A short, stocky man he was less than handsome with rugged outdoor features and gave the impression that, under that full, greying beard, was a strong square jaw. The long hair, with grey streaks, was pulled back into his usual ponytail, and his plain white shirt had the sleeves folded back to just below the elbows. He was, as he described himself, a ‘product of the sixties’, even down to the multi-coloured apron.

“Hi Granddad. It was great, except I had an argument with a horse.”

Lucy looked up, alarmed. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Of course Mum, I’m fine. But I didn’t exactly win.”

“How’s the horse then?” laughed George as he returned to the kitchen. Lucy and Amelia followed him in to help.

“Big, Granddad,” said Amelia. “It’s a shire horse.”

“You won’t win with one of those,” said George. “Trust me.”

While they were sorting and chopping vegetables, Amelia told them about her reaction to the rabbits. Lucy made her scrub her hands thoroughly. It was when she began describing the caravan in great detail that George accidentally cut his finger. Not badly, but enough for her mum to make a fuss of him.

Amelia became alarmed. Her normally confident outgoing honorary Granddad looked positively bewildered. His confidence vanished for a moment, and then he bounced back with forced good humour and jokes about age and senility.

“Must check the oven,” he said. He turned his back on them and kept himself occupied for a while.

Amelia laid the table and organised the drinks, wine for the adults, with iced orange for her and Rayn. She picked out a large vase of flowers and was just about to finish the job when Bridie and Rayn arrived.

Rayn walked straight up over to George.

“Hello, Mr George,” she said as she walked straight up to him. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Amelia lost the conversation between them as she was staring at Bridie. Rayn’s mother’s face was drained of all colours as she stood in the doorway staring at George. She looked totally shell-shocked.

The confused women threw out a forced smile as George walked quickly over to her.

“Hello,” he said. “Pleased to meet you at last. Lucy has told me all about you.” He took her hand and shook it rather violently. “You must be…” He left the question hanging, leaving an opening for a response.

Bridie managed her name on the second attempt. She cleared her throat, quickly recovered from whatever it was, then regained her composure and greeted him with the smile of an actress. This strange sequence of events took no more than a second or two and Amelia was left wondering if it had been her imagination.

Dinner proved to be a great success. George really was an excellent cook, even the Brussels sprouts tasted nice and by now Bride looked relaxed and cool-headed as she exchanged first meeting pleasantries with a relieved looking George.

“How do you get the brussels to taste like chestnuts?” Rayn asked George.

“Trade secret,” he told her.

“I think Rayn has a few cooking secrets too,” Amelia interrupted. “She and Bridie live off the land.”

“And supermarkets,” Bridie was quick to add. “Hunter gatherers became extinct with the rise of accountants.” Everyone laughed.

Amelia noticed George and Bridie exchange glances. She had almost forgotten her earlier feelings and had become absorbed in the moment and the company, but she suddenly developed a sense of unanswered questions and half-forgotten memories. Pushing away this unnatural intrusion of her mind she joined in the laughter.

“Tell me more,” said George, turning to Rayn.

“I can’t,” said Rayn.

“Trade secrets?” remarked George.

“No,” she said, “I just don’t know the names of the things we pick.”

Bridie joined in. “She has an incredible off the wall instinct about what’s edible and what isn’t. I’ve never known her to be wrong. I’m quite proud of her, even though she’s about seven thousand years too late.”

“And they don’t do a GCE in it at school,” added Amelia.

“Does anybody know if I can get a blacksmith around here?” asked Bridie suddenly. She was scared of meeting George alone, but she had to leave an opening.

“Look no further,” said Lucy and nodded toward George.

“What’s the problem?” he asked.

“We have a horse that needs shoeing,” Bridie told him.

Rayn looked at her mother, her eyes showed her anger. “Horace didn’t tell me he needed new shoes,” she pointed out.

“Well, he told me, so we’ll get him checked out.” Bridie was quick to answer and talked her daughter down.

“I don’t do it myself any more, but I’m sure Nigel would love it. He doesn’t get much chance to work with horses these days. What breed is he?” George enquired.

“He’s a Shire,” said Rayn, glaring at her mother.

“Oh,” said George. “Perhaps I’d better do it myself. They get a bit crabby in their old age.”

Later, while Amelia was doing her Mrs Orugo impression, it being Sunday, she asked her mother if she had noticed anything odd during the evening.

“In what way?” Lucy asked.

“I don’t know. It’s that I just get the feeling that something’s wrong,” said Amelia.

“Something wrong with what?” asked her mother.

“I don’t know. Everything, it seems.”

“Have you been hearing cellos?” Lucy asked with a grin.

“Only the Elgar,” she replied, and giggled.

Amelia eased her fingers between her mother’s toes and pushed gently. She told her about Bridie’s reaction at seeing George. “It was really quite scary,” she added.

“I expect there’s a logical explanation,” answered Lucy. “There usually is.”

“Well, how was it he just happened to cut himself when I was describing the caravan?” argued Amelia.

“It was an accident, for goodness sake.” Lucy showed her exasperation. “Stop reading things into everyday occurrences. It’s not healthy.”

“Well, answer me this. How did he know that Horace was an old horse? Nobody told him that,” she demanded.

“I don’t know, Amelia,” Lucy fended her off. “I’m too tired to think about it. If they knew each other in some previous life and they don’t want anyone to know, then it’s none of our business, is it? Tuck me in, will you my love? I’m so tired,” said Lucy, putting an end to the discussion.

Lying in bed later, Amelia couldn’t stop thinking about the strange events of the evening. What she’d seen when George and Bridie met was real. The fact that George knew Horace was old was real, the cut finger could have been just an accident but her gut instinct told her it wasn’t. Her mind wandered into the abstract as she tried to visualise any reason for their behaviour. Only one thing was certain; they weren’t what they seemed.

Last Friday didn’t seem to want to let go as her mind wandered along its lonely path, confirming her suspicions that Miss Collins, and Miss Dempsey, or the Headmaster come to that, were not what they seemed either.
And now this strange interaction between George and Bridie, what was that all about?
She thought.
I wonder if it’s some sort of mini epidemic or is it just me. Perhaps mum’s right, I’m just seeing things that aren’t there. Mind you, Miss Dempsey hasn’t budged from her pre-programmed stereotype one iota. If she’d come down those stairs breathing fire I could justify my suspicions. Oh come on brain, shut up and shut down.

Turning over to switch off her bedside lamp her little alarm clock cast a green glow across the pillow. The two of them tried to stare each other down until Amelia conceded with, “If you bug me in the morning, you’re straight out the window into the river.” And she turned over and reached for sleep.

Turning over to turn the alarm off in the morning, Amelia felt a stab of pain between her shoulder blades. The clock had a smug look on its face.

“Somebody told you about Horace, didn’t they? Well, enjoy the moment,” she said.

Later, after her early run with Nigel and after her mother was up and about, there was a frantic knocking on the front window. It was Rayn, dressed in a topcoat, gloves and a woollen hat pulled down over her ears.

“Amelia,” she called, “let me in. It’s freezing out here.” She was panting heavily. It had transpired she’d forgotten her school clothes and had left them in Amelia’s bedroom. Amelia did a quick ironing job while Lucy made her some tea and toast, and then insisted that she finish it.

They got on the bus, both laughing. “What happened to you this morning? We waited for you but ended up doing a few laps of the village green,” said Amelia, waiting for her reply.

“Sorry,” said Rayn. “I overslept.”

“That can happen,” said Amelia.

“Not really. The truth is, it was just too cold,” she confessed.

“Don’t tell that to Nigel, he’ll say that’s no excuse at all. He said he would love to have you join us, by the way. First session is in the gym this evening. Okay?”

“Thanks,” said Rayn. “I’m not sure I’m looking forward to it, but thanks.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes as the bus trundled along.

“Oh, look!” said Rayn, pointing out of the window. They were passing the Moonraker; men in yellow jackets, hard hats and wielding chainsaws were stripping the old oak of its branches. It looked like a beached whale being torn apart by scavengers. Amelia felt sick. Both girls were silent for the rest of the journey, each lost in their own thoughts.

At mid-morning break, Amelia received a message telling her to report to the library. She was met by Jenny the librarian, and Miss Collins.

“Ah, Jaxson,” said Miss Collins. “Jenny, would you give us a moment?” Jenny left, looking rather deflated.

Miss Collins seemed very agitated. “I’m afraid I can’t let you have a copy of the professor’s book,” she said.

“Oh?” said Amelia.

“Yes,” she said. Her voice dropped considerably. “It would seem that not only have we lost it, but it’s also been deleted from the computer.”

“That’s okay, Miss Collins. I’ve got the copy you left in my locker,” Amelia reassured her.

“I don’t understand. That wasn’t me. I don’t have a master key.”

“But it was all neatly wrapped and tied with string. I was sure it was you.”

“I assure you it wasn’t. It must have been the professor himself. When was this?” she asked.

“I found it just a few minutes ago, at the start of break.” Amelia answered. Miss Collins thought for a moment and then replied.

“I did speak to him on Friday about you wanting to read it.” She picked up a book from off the desk. “Was it about this size?” she asked, holding it up.

“Oh no, Miss Collins, it’s much bigger than that. It looks about A4 paper size.”

“Ah, it must be the one he’s been working on.” she said. “This is most unusual. I wonder what he’s up to.” She looked on edge and doubtful.

“Would you like me to give it back, Miss Collins?” asked Amelia, not quite sure which answer she would prefer.

“No, no. That’s all right. Would you pop up to his office and ask him if he knows about the missing copy, please? I’m sure he would like to be kept informed.”

Amelia ‘popped’ her way up the six staircases to that long, miserable corridor. She knocked and entered on the Headmaster’s command.

He sat at his glass-topped desk, writing furiously. His face was flushed and those big baggy eyes were moist. He looked pleased with himself.

“Ah, Miss Jaxson, how are you this fine morning?” It was an unusual greeting from this normally introverted man.

“I’m fine, thank you, Headmaster,” Amelia replied. “Miss Collins asked me to come and see you.”

“Ah yes, I must speak to her. Look at this.” A long bony finger tapped on the cover of a magazine in front of him. “I expect to be vindicated, very soon,” he said. He wasn’t just smiling; his face positively radiated exhilaration.

“I found your book in my locker, professor,” she said, eager to make her exit. “Miss Collins asked whether it was still all right now the library copy is missing?”

“What? Missing? Yes, I thought perhaps it would be,” he said, his voice beginning to crack.

Amelia repeated what she’d been told by his secretary and every ounce of emotion drained from his face. There was a long embarrassing pause.

Eventually the professor spoke. His voice had reduced to a whisper and he was almost incoherent. “Take good care of my book, Amelia. Miss Collins said you could be trusted. It’s the only one left now. No one must know you have it”

“Yes professor,” she said dutifully. Her mouth was dry.

“Oh, and please – be very, very careful,” he added.

“Why is that, professor?” she said, thinking that this was now getting bizarre.

“Go now. Yes, you had better go now.” He looked terrible and his speech had become slurred. Amelia left, not sure whether to be scared or concerned.

Making her way back to the library she told Miss Collins that it was okay for her to have the book. “I hate to say this,” she blurted out suddenly, “but I think the professor has been drinking.”

“What?” Miss Collins shouted. She leapt up so quickly her chair fell backwards and she literally ran from the library. Amelia stood there and tried to tot up how many rules the school secretary had just broken.