The chopper landed on the helipad to the rear of the mansion. Kensy was unsurprised at the lack of a welcoming party, but the fact that she couldn’t spot even one of the grounds staff was a concern. Where was everyone? Usually Shugs or O’Leary were pottering around somewhere in the garden. It was strange not to see a soul.

Tippie MacGregor hadn’t said a word for the entire journey. Perhaps she’d been regretting allowing herself to get talked into the trip.

When Kensy had called and told Tippie about Fitz, and her suspicions that Mim was in trouble too, the woman had seemed deeply concerned. Though when Kensy said she wanted to take the chopper to Alexandria with Curtis, Tippie had done her best to convince the girl that wasn’t a good idea. Finally she’d agreed, but only on the proviso that Kensy didn’t mention anything about what had been going on to the staff at Alexandria. Kensy had already decided that herself. It was impossible to know who to trust at the moment, so the tighter the circle the better. And the fact that she didn’t really trust Tippie as far as she could throw her was also foremost in her mind.

As the group alighted from the helicopter and headed for the rear garden, Tippie finally found her voice.

‘We need to search the house from top to bottom,’ she said. ‘Mim and Fitz could still be here somewhere.’

Curtis frowned. ‘From what Kensy said, it’s not likely.’

‘Why is that, Curtis? The woman could have had a fall. Kensy said that the line suddenly went dead. It doesn’t mean that Mim’s been abducted,’ Tippie said. ‘She might have just had an accident. Kensy said that she was talking at a rate of knots. Maybe she misheard her.’

Kensy shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. She made it very clear that someone had taken Fitz. Common sense would say that they got to her at the same time.’

Tippie eyeballed the girl. ‘Well, common sense would also tell us that if we do find her she may be in bad shape – or worse.’

Kensy felt her stomach knot. ‘She’s going to be fine,’ she snapped. She only wished that she believed her own words.

Tippie touched Kensy’s arm, stopping her in her tracks. ‘Things don’t always work out the way you want them to, Kensington. Have you ever really thought about this business we’re in? Pharos is on the side of good, but in order to do good . . . sometimes evil isn’t far away.’

Kensy glowered at her. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Tippie hadn’t done herself any favours in the past few minutes. Kensy would have said the woman was being outright combative – but why? What was she hoping to achieve?

Tippie pursed her lips. ‘It might look like we’re always on the right side, but are we? Do you think Pharos hasn’t ever done anything bad in the name of good? I could rattle off a list as long as your arm. One can never afford to be high and mighty about things – not when we’re just as guilty of evil doings ourselves.’

Kensy and Curtis exchanged concerned looks. Curtis thought Tippie sounded a bit unhinged. Kensy wondered if what she said was true. Did Pharos really do evil things in the name of good? Was that what was happening now?

Kensy took a deep breath.

‘Let’s go to the greenhouse,’ she said. It was where Mim spent a great deal of time looking after her plants and working on the creation of new species. Curtis nodded and Tippie murmured agreement, though she didn’t seem to be in a hurry as the children scurried towards the huge glass building adjacent to the high stone wall at the side of the mansion. The woman dropped back behind them.

‘Mim! Are you here?’ Kensy shouted.

‘Mim!’ Curtis echoed as he hurried through the rows and rows of plants – some of which he recognised, while others were among the strangest looking things he’d ever seen. But now wasn’t the time to investigate.

They could hear a radio on – the announcer was reading the afternoon news.

Tippie headed directly to the potting area.

The radio began to crackle with static, and then suddenly the female newsreader’s voice was replaced with a man’s. Someone was trying to broadcast a message. ‘This is – chh – ney. Anyone the– chh . . .’

‘What was that?’ Kensy called, running towards the source. She thought it sounded like someone was trying to use the frequency, but it was dropping in and out. Curtis was right behind her.

As they turned the corner, the children could see Tippie standing near the bench. The radio had gone silent.

‘What happened to that?’ Kensy demanded, looking at the device lying on its side surrounded by overturned pots and piles of soil.

Tippie shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. It was like that when I got here.’

But Kensy didn’t believe her for a second. She reached for the dial and tried to switch the radio back on but with no luck.

‘Did you hear that static before? It sounded like someone was trying to relay a message,’ Kensy said.

‘It could have been anything, Kensy,’ the woman rebuked. ‘Shortwave radios are notorious for interference. It was likely a truck on the motorway or something.’

Kensy looked at Curtis, who shrugged.

‘Do you think this is where they got to Mim?’ the boy asked.

‘It’s possible,’ Tippie said. ‘Although perhaps Mim’s just a messy gardener.’

‘No, she’s not,’ Kensy said crossly. ‘She’d never leave things like this. Clearly she’s not here – we need to go to the house.’

With Kensy and Curtis in the lead, the group hurried to the back door and walked into the mansion’s rear hallway, where they were confronted by the unmistakable smell of smoke wafting through the passageway.

‘Something’s burning!’ Kensy exclaimed.

She charged downstairs to the labyrinth of rooms housing the main kitchen, several butlers’ pantries, the larders, a scullery and the laundry complex, along with Kensy’s favourite secret tunnel, which led to the old stables that now provided accommodation for the Pharos student body when they were on site. Curtis and Tippie were hot on her heels.

‘The cooker!’ Curtis yelled when they reached the main kitchen. As he grabbed a pot holder and pulled the door open to investigate, a cloud of thick black smoke engulfed the room. Curtis waved his hand about and could see there were two cakes inside, both well beyond baked. The boy pulled the blackened tins and their contents out, setting them down on the edge of the sink.

‘Mrs Thornthwaite must have forgotten she had something in the oven – stupid woman could have burned the whole house down,’ Tippie scolded.

‘I’ve never known Mrs Thornthwaite to burn anything,’ Kensy said, and gave Tippie a glare.

‘Well, I don’t think we’ll bother with those,’ Tippie said. ‘But these look fine.’ The woman pointed to a batch of fresh biscuits and a chocolate slice cooling on a rack.

‘Something’s happened,’ Kensy said. ‘Mrs Thornthwaite never leaves her cooking unattended.’

Curtis had already left the room. He hurried down the corridor, poking his head through every doorway.

‘Mrs Thornthwaite!’ Curtis shouted. ‘Are you here?’ Kensy ran after him, racing in and out of the spaces, calling the woman’s name.

But it was Curtis who found her.

‘Kensy! She’s here!’ the boy shouted from the dry goods pantry, where all of the flours, sugars and the like were stored.

Kensy charged into the room, followed by Tippie, who let out a loud gasp at the sight of the woman.

Mrs Thornthwaite was lying on her side, a river of blood flowing from the back of her head.

‘Is she dead?’ Kensy whispered.

Curtis grabbed the woman’s wrist and could feel the dullest of pulses. ‘No, she’s alive, but only just. We need get her to hospital right away.’

‘Whatever could have happened?’ Tippie asked.

Kensy thought the way she said it was odd, and the fact she said it, even stranger.

Surely Tippie could work that out for herself. And hadn’t she just predicted that we they might find awful things here? Had that been a random prediction, or had she known what they should expect?

‘I’d say someone’s belted her across the back of the head with a blunt instrument, wouldn’t you?’ Kensy said, noticing the splatter of blood across the floor as she pulled out her phone.

There was no point calling Dr Foster at the Pharos Clinic in London, but Dr Brown in the village here looked after everyone at Alexandria, and he was Pharos too. She had no idea if his number was in her contacts, but given it was Pharos issue she suspected if she typed in doctor he would likely come up. Fortunately she was right.

‘Hello, Doctor Brown, it’s Kensington Spencer. We need you at Alexandria now. It’s Mrs Thornthwaite,’ she jabbered.

The man said that he’d be right there, but in the meantime there was a comprehensive medical kit in the kitchen. He was in charge of placing them around the estate for use in just such an emergency.

Curtis ran to find it and returned a minute later. Kensy opened the bag and was relieved to find an RUOK 5.0 inside. At least they could do some scans and see what they were dealing with. Dr Brown could take over as soon as he arrived.

Kensy ran the device the length of the woman’s body and watched as the hologram appeared beside her. Mrs Thornthwaite’s blood pressure was dangerously low and still dropping, and there was a gash several centimetres deep on the back of the woman’s head. She was unconscious and the machine suggested she would remain that way for some time, but it detected no internal haemorrhaging or organ failure. There was significant swelling near the wound, which was a worry. Curtis had grabbed some bandages and was doing his best to stem the blood flow. Tippie hovered, though at this point she hadn’t contributed anything useful.

‘What can I do?’ she simpered.

‘Get out of the way,’ Kensy growled.

‘I hardly think that tone is necessary, Kensington,’ the woman retorted.

‘Sorry,’ Kensy mumbled, though she wasn’t. Tippie was getting on her nerves and some. The sound of car tyres crunching on gravel alerted the group to the doctor’s arrival. ‘Why don’t you go and meet Doctor Brown – and please bring him straight down.’

‘Where else would I take him?’ Tippie snapped.

Tippie MacGregor didn’t hurry to the driveway. Instead she ducked into the orangery to make a call.

‘Where are you?’ she demanded, then paused before barking a succession of orders. ‘We’ve got a problem with Sidney. He’s got some sort of transmitter. You’ll need to do something about it.’

Tippie was quiet for a few moments then started up again. ‘I have to go – Thornthwaite’s still alive and the doctor has just arrived. I’d best get moving or Kensy will send a search party. She’ll need her own soon – not that she knows it.’

Tippie rang off, then hurried outside, where she found Dr Brown rummaging around in the boot of his old green Jag.

‘Hello!’ she said, startling the man, who stood up too quickly, hitting his head.

‘Ow!’ he yelped, and rubbed his head. ‘Good heavens, Tippie – are you part fox?’

The woman ignored his comment. Of course she was good at turning up unannounced. She was a spy, for heaven’s sake.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

Tippie let out a sigh. ‘It’s a long story, but you need to come quickly. Dear Ida is not in a good way. In fact, I doubt she’s going to make it.’ She brushed the side of her eye, garnering a concerned look from the doctor, then reached for his hand, pressing something into his palm.

‘What’s this?’ the man asked as he unfurled his fingers. He stared at the tiny scarab and then at Tippie, his jaw agape.

It was a bold move, even if she did say so herself, but time was up. New allegiances had to be formed.

‘What are you doing?’ Dr Brown asked. ‘This is a joke isn’t it?’

Tippie smiled and gave the man a withering look.

‘Your choice, doctor,’ she said coolly. ‘And not another word or this won’t end well for you either.’

She wasn’t about to tell him exactly what happened to Ida just yet, but a small threat wouldn’t hurt.

The man’s face drained of colour. He dropped the scarab into his pocket, pursed his lips and followed the woman inside, where they found Ida Thornthwaite dangerously close to death.

Brown proved himself the ditherer Tippie had always thought he was, fumbling about with his equipment, stuttering and stammering. He wasn’t gaining anyone’s confidence, the way he was carrying on – which would make it so much easier to get rid of him when the time came.

‘Kensington, might I have a word?’ the doctor asked quietly.

But Tippie was having none of that.

‘Whatever you need to say to Kensy can be said here, doctor. There are no secrets between us,’ Tippie said, her blue eyes drilling into Brown’s grey ones.

The doctor tugged at his tie, which looked to be trying to strangle him. He cleared his throat but still the words took an age to get out.

‘I . . . I should speak to your grandmother about Mrs Thornthwaite’s care,’ he said.

Kensy shook her head and said that her grandmother was away on important business and there was no time to lose.

‘But your grandmother needs to know what’s going on,’ Dr Brown insisted.

‘We’ll let her know as soon as we can,’ Tippie said, giving Brown her best evil glare.

The decision to transport Ida to the Pharos Clinic in London was not up for debate – on that she and Kensington agreed. Brown could try to rat her out to Cordelia all he liked – he wouldn’t find the woman. And as for Dr Foster in London . . . Tippie would deal with her later. Right now she had far more pressing things to do.

Tippie asked Curtis to make arrangements with Rod, the chopper pilot, who would transform the internal layout of the helicopter into a medivac aircraft, then bring the gurney. She didn’t dare leave Brown and Kensy on their own. He was a much bigger idiot than she’d taken him for.

At one stage, Brown turned his back on her and – though she couldn’t be sure of it – he and Kensy seemed to have more meaningful eye contact than she would have liked.

‘Honestly, where are Rod and Curtis?’ Tippie blurted. ‘Poor Ida won’t stand a chance.’

Dr Brown spun and stared at the woman, but they were interrupted by the rattling of wheels on the flagstone floor.

Mrs Thornthwaite was loaded onto the trolley and the group was away to the service lift at the end of the hall that would take them up to ground level. There was still a chance Ida would pull through – though if Tippie had anything to do with the final outcome, the odds were getting shorter by the minute.