Stella had a plan. Racing over to her desk, she grabbed a pencil and a piece of paper. There was a small gap at the bottom of the heavy wooden door. Stella slipped the piece of paper through it. Then, using the sharp end of her pencil, she gently poked the key through the lock. Poke it too hard and it would miss the paper, and land with a loud CLANG on the wooden floor. That was sure to alert Aunt Alberta.
This had to be done very slowly.
Little by little the key passed out of the hole. CLUNK.
Stella caught it with the sheet of paper below.
Next she pulled the paper back under the door. Her face lit up as she saw the key pass through the gap. She clasped it to her chest as if it was the most precious thing in the world. Her hands shook in anticipation. She put the key back in the lock, and like a master criminal cracking a safe turned it very gently.
CLICK.
The door was unlocked.
The little girl turned the big brass handle and opened the door. At first just a crack. She peeped through the gap, checking that the coast was clear. The long, empty corridor stretched out before her.
Stella was still barefoot and in her nightdress. There wasn’t time to dress properly. Alberta might come back to check on her at any moment. She had to make her escape right now, while she still had the chance.
Having lived at Saxby Hall her entire life, Stella knew the house inside out. Without even thinking she was aware of where every creak in the floor was. Tiptoeing along the corridor, she artfully dodged every squeak. Creeping around like this, she felt like a burglar in her own home.
Finally Stella reached the landing, and peered through the balustrades at the top of the stairs. From there she could just see the huge oak front door of Saxby Hall.
When it came to creaks or squeaks the stairs were even more treacherous than the corridor. The little girl descended the first flight with extreme caution.
Halfway down she heard a noise behind her.
CLOMP CLOMP CLOMP.
Footsteps.
CLOMP CLOMP CLOMP.
Someone was coming along the corridor.
CLOMP CLOMP CLOMP.
Stella looked behind her.
CLOMP CLOMP CLOMP.
It was only Gibbon, the butler.
Stella sighed with relief. Much as Stella wanted to beg him to help her escape, it was no use. The faithful manservant was so ancient now he had become almost completely deaf and blind. Try as anyone might, there was absolutely no way of getting through to him. He was in a world all of his own.
Gibbon’s black frock coat was dusty and worn, his white serving gloves were riddled with holes, and his old worn shoes flapped whenever he took a step.
However, the butler was marching proudly down the corridor carrying his silver tray. Wobbling on top of it was a tiny pot plant. “Your breakfast, Duchess!” he announced, as he opened the door to a cupboard and stepped inside.
Stella shook her head. The poor old butler was always getting everything wrong.
As quickly and quietly as she could, the girl continued descending the stairs.
SQUEEEEEEAK.
NO! She had forgotten the noisiest stair, the very last one up from the entrance hall. To have come all this way and be caught now would be a disaster.
At the far end of the corridor Stella could hear noises coming from her father’s study. It was the sound of the room being ransacked – books and boxes were crashing to the floor, and papers were being scattered. Alberta was talking to herself. She was cursing angrily, “Where have you hidden these blasted deeds?!”
Stella figured that her aunt wouldn’t have heard her, and began to tiptoe across the hall to the front door.
RING RING RING RING.
The noise gave the little girl a fright.
RING RING RING RING.
It stopped her in her tracks.
RING RING RING RING.
But it was only the telephone ringing in what was Papa’s study.
RING RING RI—
Alberta picked it up. Stella stayed dead still to listen.
“Saxby Hall, Lady Saxby speaking!” said the woman. The girl shook her head in disbelief. Alberta might have been Lady Alberta, but she wasn’t ‘Lady Saxby’. That was Stella’s mother’s title, and now it was hers.
“Ah, Headmistress! Lovely to hear from you.”
It must be Miss Beresford, the headmistress of Stella’s school, St Agatha’s School for Aristocratic Girls.
“No, she won’t be coming back to St Agatha’s any time soon. There’s no change I’m afraid. Yes, she’s still in a very deep coma.”
How could her aunt tell a complete and utter lie like this?
“No, no, there’s no need for you or any of the girls to visit, thank you! I know it’s Christmas coming up, but you can post her present and I will look after it for her. Yes, Headmistress, it is a sad, sad situation. Especially for me as my niece means the world to me. Oh yes, of course, I’ll call you the moment she wakes up. If she ever does, that is. Perhaps we all have to prepare ourselves for the worst. I am so sorry, Headmistress, but I am in floods of tears at the thought.”
Next came the sound of Alberta wailing.
“Ah-ah-ah! AH-AH-AH!! AAH-AAH-AAH!!! AAAHHH-AAAHHH-AAAHHH!!!!” before she finished the telephone call with a bright and breezy, “Toodle-pip!”
DING!
The handset was put back on its hook.
“Nosy old trout,” Alberta muttered to herself.
Stella was terrified. “Prepare ourselves for the worst”?! What was the wicked woman planning for her? She had to escape. Now.
The girl tiptoed past the ancient suit of armour that always stood by the front door. She was careful not to brush against the suit, or the weapon it was holding in its metal glove – a flail – might fall to the floor. The spiked ball and chain was sure to make a loud CLANK on the floor if it did.
Silently Stella made her way over to the huge oak front door. She turned the handle, but it was locked. Normally it was only locked from the outside when the family went out, but Alberta had locked it from the inside. Presumably to keep her niece in. Since Stella could remember, the numerous keys for this sprawling country house had all been kept in a cupboard by the door. Stella checked the cupboard. It came as no surprise to find it was bare. Alberta must have hidden all the keys somewhere.
Next the girl clambered up on to the windowsill, and tried to open the windows. They were locked too. Smashing one was far too risky. The noise of shattering glass was sure to alert her aunt, much more than a squeak in the floor.
As Alberta continued her search for the deeds, cursing and emptying boxes in the study, Stella remembered something. Her mama and papa always kept a secret spare key for themselves under the doormat in case of emergency. Stella was pretty sure Alberta wouldn’t have known about it. Lifting up the mat, the old rusty key lay there like a piece of long-buried treasure.
As she straightened up holding the key in her hand, Stella slowly realised something. Two large yellow eyes were staring back at her. The eyes of an owl. It was Wagner. He was hanging upside down from a light fitting on the ceiling. Like a bat. A terrifying owly bat.
