Taggie didn’t hear the footsteps outside her room after she was supposed to be asleep, nor did she see the lantern-light shining through the gap at the bottom of her door. She didn’t hear the door handle creak open because her earphones were set at full volume – which Mum always told her not to do, claiming she’d be deaf before she was twenty.
The door swung open, and the figure framed by the light gawped in surprise at Taggie, who, dressed in her loose jim-jams, was bending backwards as she aimed a solid kick at the head of a target mannequin. The somewhat unrealistic figure had been made from a mop, various sticks, and some of Dad’s old clothes, found in another bedroom.
Taggie’s foot missed the bristling grey head and she nearly lost her balance as she stared at the equally surprised Jemima standing in the doorway. She hurriedly turned the music off.
‘What are you doing?’ Jemima asked.
‘Practising,’ Taggie said impatiently. ‘I didn’t do any in Cornwall. My sensei, Mr Koimosi, said it’s very important to keep fresh.’
It was six months now since Taggie had swapped ballet for the much more exciting kick-boxing class at the local gym. Mum had grumbled about how unladylike it was, but signed the forms anyway. Taggie hadn’t quite got round to telling Dad yet.
She pulled Jemima inside quickly and shut the door.
‘You haven’t told Dad yet, have you?’ Jemima said shrewdly.
‘You know what he’s like. He wouldn’t let you play rugby.’
Jemima’s lips curled up victoriously, an expression Taggie was dangerously familiar with. ‘And if you ever tell him, I’ll say who left the gate open the day Harrod escaped.’
‘I didn’t!’
Taggie took her earphones out. ‘I saw you. You went out on your bike and forgot to close it after.’
‘Oh. And you never told?’
‘No.’ Taggie paused just long enough. ‘Not yet.’
‘Thank you,’ Jemima said meekly. It had taken six hours to find the neighbour’s Labrador puppy that day.
‘What do you want, Jem?’
‘I saw something,’ Jemima said in a whisper. ‘Something in the garden. I couldn’t sleep, I’m not tired, so I was looking out of the window. The news said there’s supposed to be meteors tonight.’
‘What did you see?’
‘I don’t know. It’s quite dark out there. Whatever it was, it was slinking round the fuchsia hedge.’
Taggie suddenly felt cold. She glanced nervously at her bedroom window. ‘A burglar?’
‘I don’t know. It was all black. Like a shadow that wasn’t attached to anything.’
‘All right, hang on.’ Taggie switched off her lantern. Jemima flicked hers off, too. Slowly Taggie pulled the curtains back, fearful that any sharp movement would pull the rickety old curtain pole off the wall. The sisters leaned on the windowsill and peered out into the garden.
Hundreds of stars twinkled in a cloudless sky; their thin, silky light illuminated a dark lawn surrounded by black bushes. Taggie watched for several minutes. ‘There’s nothing out there, Jem,’ she said. Once again she was playing the big sister role, being all positive and reassuring.
‘Taggie, please,’ Jemima pleaded. ‘I saw something. And . . .’ She took a big breath, screwing up her courage. ‘Don’t laugh, but there was something really odd about that squirrel this afternoon.’
‘What sort of odd?’
‘It was white.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I swear. And, it was wearing glasses, and—’
‘Glasses?’ Taggie interrupted with a sceptical stare.
‘I knew you’d laugh,’ whined Jemima.
‘I’m not laughing.’
‘You saw how Dad behaved at the well this afternoon. He was more scared than he was angry. There’s something odd going on, Taggie.’
Taggie pulled the curtains closed again and switched her lantern back on. She remembered very clearly Dad asking: What sort of squirrel? ‘All right, let’s go and tell him something’s out there.’
‘No!’ Jemima implored. She pulled at Taggie’s arm.
‘He’s our dad, Jem. He won’t want us upset over something that might or might not be lurking outside.’
‘Well . . . you say you saw it, then.’
Taggie sighed. Sometimes being the big sister could be such an effort. ‘All right. Come on.’
They heard people talking as they reached the bottom of the stairs, where there were some electric lights. At first Taggie thought Dad must have the TV on loud. Then she remembered he didn’t have a TV. Dad liked books: two rooms downstairs had floor-to-ceiling shelving completely filled with books, and there were piles and piles on every piece of furniture too.
The radio, then, Taggie told herself as they approached the lounge door. But one of the voices was Dad’s.
‘I will not return,’ he was saying insistently.
‘But, sire, the situation is most grave.’
Taggie frowned, the person Dad was talking to had a strange gurgly sort of voice, as if there was liquid bubbling through his throat as he spoke.
‘I have other responsibilities now,’ Dad said.
‘What could possibly be more important?’
‘I do not wish to discuss this . . .’
Taggie stepped on a loose floorboard, which creaked loudly. She recovered fast; holding Jemima’s hand, she walked forward as if nothing was wrong.
The lounge door was flung open. ‘What are you two doing down here?’ Dad demanded. He wasn’t angry; more like anxious.
‘I thought I saw something,’ Taggie said. ‘I couldn’t get to sleep, so I was looking out of the window for shooting stars. Then something moved in the garden.’
‘I saw it too,’ Jemima piped up. She was squeezing Taggie’s hand hard.
‘What?’ Dad asked. ‘What was outside?’
‘Don’t know – it was big and dark,’ Jemima blurted. ‘Is it a burglar, Daddy?’
Dad put his arms round her. ‘Oh my darling . . . No of course not. We don’t get burglars out here. Besides, there’s nothing worth stealing in this old place.’
Taggie was staring into the lounge. A couple of dim wall lights acted more like candles than electric bulbs, casting deep shadows across the room. Even in the gloom there was a strange shadow that she was drawn to; it was almost like a mist flowing around Dad’s antique wingback chair. Her eyes couldn’t quite focus properly, and it wasn’t black like an ordinary shadow, but the darkest red instead. She blinked and squinted hard, concentrating on the weird mirage. The shadow abruptly came into focus as an elderly man in long flowing robes. Taggie thought her eyes were still acting oddly: his skin looked as red as an earthenware pot.
‘Sorry for interrupting,’ she said to him. ‘We didn’t know Dad had a visitor.’
The man’s whole body jumped as if she’d poked him with a stick rather than just said a polite greeting. He gave her a shocked stare.
‘What?’ her dad blurted, he looked from Taggie to the man. ‘You can see . . . ?’
‘Who are you talking to?’ Jemima asked.
As if a whole new set of lights had been switched on, the man in the chair abruptly came into sharp focus.
‘Oh!’ a startled Jemima blurted. ‘Sorry, I didn’t see you there.’
‘Ah . . . Right . . .’ Dad stammered. ‘Girls, this is Mr Anatole, he’s the . . . er, new village vicar. He’s here to discuss the church fete.’
‘Delighted to meet you.’ Mr Anatole rose from the seat. He was at least a head taller than Dad, and his robes were like nothing Taggie had ever seen before. The cloth was a rich heavy mix of scarlet, indigo and emerald, with elaborate patterns in gold thread. It was something a bishop might wear, not a rural vicar. And he would have to be a very important bishop, Taggie decided.
‘What’s happened to your skin?’ Jemima asked.
‘Jem!’ Taggie hissed, furious with her sister for being so rude.
‘Jemima!’ Dad snapped crossly.
Jemima hung her head, hair curtaining down across her eyes. ‘Sorry.’
‘That’s quite all right,’ Mr Anatole said. ‘Dear girl, I’ve had this skin since I was born.’
‘Oh, I see,’ an abashed Jemima muttered.
‘Now look,’ Dad said in a kindly voice. ‘It’s very late. You two are supposed to be asleep. I understand you’re worried, so . . . This is the deal, you go back to bed, and I’ll take a look round the garden when Mr Anatole leaves – which is going to be very soon, OK? Now go on upstairs.’ He kissed both of them. ‘Go on.’
‘Night, Dad,’ they chorused.
‘Goodnight, Mr Anatole,’ Taggie added.
The lounge door shut. Taggie was halfway back up the stairs when she heard Mr Anatole saying: ‘Sire, you have daughters!’
‘Be silent,’ Dad snapped coldly.
Taggie couldn’t remember him being so sharp with anyone before, let alone a vicar. She and Jemima ran all the way back to their bedrooms. With the door closed and the lantern off, Taggie burrowed under her duvet, as if that would shield her from all the strange events of the day. Sleep came surprisingly quickly, but though she was really hoping the Queen would be there to comfort her, it was not to be.