Ada marched Stella along the tiled corridor. Hot misty air drifted out of doorways, icy winds whirled around unexpectedly and water dripped.

Stella said, ‘Are they very angry, Ada?’

‘What do you think, Miss?’ snapped Ada discouragingly.

She pulled Stella through an archway and down a short flight of slippery stairs. The wave bath machine made a slow, grunting clank, clank, clank. A deep-sounding noise that Stella could hear through her feet and in her teeth. Thick steam billowed around. Drops of warm water condensed on the blue and gold mosaic dolphins that decorated the arched ceiling, trickled down the tiled walls and pooled on the floor.

Stella blinked and coughed.

‘I found the child, Ma’am, Miss Temperance, Miss Condolence.’ Ada spoke loudly above the noise. She made a bob and gave Stella a push towards the row of baths.

Stella took a few nervous steps and stopped.

Clank, clank. Each time the machine made another slow cycle, the six baths rocked forward and back. In each bath, waves formed and broke over the foot and then over the head. Water splashed out of the baths and trickled down the drain and more water poured in from above.

Three baths were empty. Three baths were full of Aunts. They were wrapped and strapped up like enormous puddings, basting in the steaming water.

Clank, clank. The wave bath machine lifted the row of baths. The Aunts’ heads were raised up and a wave broke over their legs and feet. They all glared at Stella.

‘Come closer,’ commanded Aunt Deliverance. ‘Ada. Where did you find her?’

‘Under the pier, Ma’am.’

Aunt Deliverance studied Stella, her eyes like two little currants. For some reason, Aunt Deliverance seemed even more frightening strapped helplessly into the wave bath like this than she did wheeling around in her Bath chair. Only her pasty, boiled-looking face showed, and only when the bath rocked forward. The rest of her was streaming wet canvas, straps and buckles.

‘Stand up straight, child. Don’t hunch your shoulders,’ she snapped. She looked unusually grim. Aunt Temperance and Aunt Condolence made outraged sniffing noises.

Stella straightened up, put her hands behind her back and her ankles together.

‘You are repeatedly disobedient, wilful, obstinate . . .’ Clank, clank. The bath slowly rocked backwards and the Aunts’ faces disappeared from sight. There was a surge and a splash. Clank, clank. ‘. . . intractable and ungrateful,’ Aunt Deliverance went on, as she rose up again, streaming with water. ‘Look at the state of your clothes. You seem to have no idea how a lady should behave. Your lessons show no improvement at all, and Condolence tells me your performance on the pianoforte is getting worse . . .’

‘Yes, indeed,’ said Aunt Condolence.

Another wave broke over their feet, and the bath clanked and rocked backwards. A wave crashed again. Clank, clank. Aunt Deliverance continued, ‘. . . which hardly seems possible. Temperance tells me you constantly question her during lesson time. Sordid curiosity! Yesterday you missed luncheon and today Ada finds you skulking under the pier. Disgraceful! And dangerous.’

Aunt Deliverance glared at Stella as the bath tipped backwards.

Stella stared back miserably. Clank, clank.

‘I will not have any more of this behaviour.’ Aunt Deliverance appeared again, looking thunderous. ‘You will be dutiful, punctual and obedient. You will apply yourself to your lessons and I will see improvement in your conduct. No tea today, bread and water for your supper. And you will spend two hours every morning practising your deportment to correct that slouch.’

Stella said, ‘Yes, Aunt Deliverance,’ and looked sadly down at her waterlogged shoes.

 

Friday was Stella’s bath night, which was fortunate because she was drenched to the skin and felt shivery and miserable.

The Aunts had a magnificent private bathroom. Tiles with pictures of brilliantly coloured birds on them were set in the panelled walls. The taps and pipes were gleaming copper and brass, the gaslights hung with sparkling crystals and the enormous bath was surrounded with mahogany panelling.

Ada leaned over the bath to fiddle with the levers and taps. The Hotel Majestic was extremely modern and, as well as the Vertical Omnibus and flush-down water closets, it had piped hot water, which meant the servants did not have to carry the water to fill the baths. When the levers were adjusted correctly and the taps were turned, the hot water came sputtering and steaming from a spout in the shape of a dolphin, straight into the bathtub.

The dolphin hissed and shot out a cloud of steam. Ada jumped, muttered something under her breath and adjusted a lever. The dolphin clanked and gurgled and spluttered and spat. Ada banged it with the side of her hand and it made a final coughing noise and water gushed into the bath.

As the bath filled, Ada helped Stella undress, not very gently, and tied her hair up. She leaned over to turn off the taps. Stella climbed into the bath and Ada bustled about, muttering under her breath. She took the bundle of wet clothes away and came back with underclothes and a nightgown, and hung them over the back of the chair. ‘Wash yourself properly. Don’t get that hair any wetter, mind, Miss,’ she said, and went away again.

Stella lay back in the warm water. She had not cried when the Aunts had been scolding her, but now, when nobody could see, she let two tears trickle down her face and drip into the bathwater.

It was a familiar, dismal feeling to be in disgrace. And this time, Aunt Deliverance had been especially furious. Stella sighed, lifted the sponge and let the water trickle onto her face and wash away the tears.

She wondered what Ben was doing right now. Perhaps he was helping the Professor get ready for the magic show in the theatre. Or perhaps the Professor was making him see things in the ink again. Trying to find Mr Filbert’s bottle. Poor Ben. It sounded as if he had a wretched life. The Professor was even more frightening than the Aunts, and more dangerous.

She thought about what Ben had said, that she might be fey. It seemed very unlikely. She couldn’t see things that were not there, as he did in the ink. She certainly couldn’t do anything like that.

It goes in your family, he had said. His gran was part selkie. There was nothing in the Atlas about selkies, she was sure of that. And nothing in French Conversation for Young Ladies, either.

Perhaps Polly knew about them.

And were there selkies in her own family? Or something else?

All Stella knew about her parents was that they had died when she was little. The hotel residents sometimes hissed and whispered behind their hands, and Stella had overheard enough scraps of servants’ gossip to know there was some kind of secret. Perhaps a scandal. But the Aunts would never answer her questions. Curiosity is Vulgar, Silence is Golden, Aunt Deliverance said. Sometimes two or three times a day.

There was a framed daguerreotype in Aunt Deliverance’s bedroom, an ancient picture of all three Aunts as very young ladies (but quite recognisable, from their stern and disapproving expressions). On Aunt Condolence’s lap sat the fourth sister, a baby with round startled eyes, dressed in an extraordinary quantity of frills and ribbons.

That baby was Stella’s mother, Patience.

Stella squeezed the sponge over her face again and thought about the baby in the picture. How could she find out more about her mother? And what about her father? She did not even know his name. Her surname, Montgomery, came from her mother. The Aunts never spoke of her father, but it was clear they disapproved strongly. She had always known he had been somehow disreputable. Or perhaps he had done something disgraceful. But now she wondered if it were something else. How could she find out?

Outside the bathroom door, the maids were gossiping again. Stella could hear gasps and giggling. There was a knock at the door.

She wiped her face and called, ‘Come in.’

Polly pushed the door open. ‘Here you are, Miss,’ she said, and put a pile of folded towels on the chair.

‘Thank you, Polly.’ Stella sat up in the bath. ‘What’s happening?’

Polly giggled and said, ‘I shouldn’t tell you, Miss. I shouldn’t, really.’

‘Oh, go on, Polly.’

Polly perched on the side of the bath. ‘Well, Miss. The police detectives from London are here.’

‘Ohh,’ said Stella.

‘They’re down in the entrance hall right now, talking to Mr Blenkinsop and James and Mr Fortescue.’

Stella nodded. Mr Fortescue was the owner of the hotel.

‘Well. When they went to look at poor Mr Filbert, in the conservatory, you won’t believe what they found, Miss.’

‘What?’

Polly lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Just old sticks, twisted up, like a scarecrow. In Mr Filbert’s clothes. But no body. And the conservatory locked, Miss. And James watching the door.’

Stella put her hand to her mouth.

‘They’ve dragged it into the entrance hall. It’s lying there now. The police say if there’s no body, there’s no murder. They think it’s a trick. A swizzle. They’re going back to London tomorrow.’

‘But what about Mr Filbert?’ asked Stella, half to herself.

Polly got up from the bath. ‘Well, Miss. It’s like in The Gypsey’s Warning, or Love and Ruin.’ She held up a finger. ‘Foreigners, Miss. You can’t tell what they’ll get up to. That’s what people are saying.’ She gave a giggle and whisked out of the bathroom.

Stella stared blankly at the empty room. But Mr Filbert was dead. Ben had seen it happen. He’d seen the Professor stab him in the chest.

After a moment, she climbed out of the bath, dried herself roughly and pulled on her nightclothes. She opened the bathroom door. The Aunts were getting dressed for dinner in their bedrooms. She could hear Aunt Deliverance scolding Ada and Aunt Condolence’s Particular Patent Corset twanging busily.

Stella tiptoed across the empty parlour, pulled open the door and peeped out. The passage was deserted. She crept along to the main staircase, towards the echoing sound of voices, and leaned over the banisters. Below, the entrance hall was crowded with clustered groups of residents and servants.

A body lay in the middle of the patterned marble floor. It was the figure of a man, made from twisted sticks. It was dressed in a shirt, trousers and slippers. The arms were outflung, the back was arched and in the centre of the white shirtfront was a dark, spreading stain.

The face of the figure seemed to be staring straight up at Stella. And although it was formed only from twigs, it was somehow twisted into an expression of horror. Stella felt shaken. She swallowed and tore her gaze away from the grotesque scarecrow. She studied the other people milling around it. From above, Stella could see only the tops of their heads, but she spied two policeman’s helmets, and she recognised the grey hair of the housekeeper, Mrs Abercrombie, fussing around the maids’ lace caps, chivvying them back to work.

At the front desk stood Mr Fortescue, an enormous gentleman with very impressive orange wavy hair. With him were the shiny bald head of Mr Blenkinsop and the dark, smooth hair of James, the conductor of the Vertical Omnibus. Several men in hats appeared to be asking them angry questions and writing the answers in their notebooks. The police detectives, thought Stella.

She started down the staircase. She should tell the police detectives what she had seen and what she knew about the Professor and Mr Filbert. Would they listen to her?

Quick footsteps from behind made her jump. It was Ada, and she looked furious. She grabbed Stella’s arm with a hard hand and dragged her back up the stairs and along to the Aunts’ rooms, scolding in an angry undertone.

‘What are you up to now, Miss?’

‘But, Ada —’

‘Priggling around in your nighty. Making trouble again.’

‘I’m sorry, Ada. I was —’

‘Hold your tongue, Miss.’

Ada whisked her along to her bedroom and pulled her inside. She picked up the hairbrush and yanked it through Stella’s damp, tangled hair, hard enough to make her cry out. When she’d finished, she gave Stella a sharp rap on her head with the brush. ‘You stay put, Miss, or you’ll catch it,’ she snapped. She stalked out of the room, slammed the door and turned the key in the lock.