Arnie Jenks and the House of Strangers Read online

  Arnie Jenks and the House of Strangers

  Tim Bradley

  Copyright © 2014 Tim Bradley

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study,

  or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents

  Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in

  any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the

  publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with

  the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries

  concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

  Matador®

  9 Priory Business Park,

  Wistow Road, Kibworth Beauchamp,

  Leicestershire. LE8 0RX

  Tel: (+44) 116 279 2299

  Fax: (+44) 116 279 2277

  Email: [email protected]

  Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador

  ISBN 978 1783066 193

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Matador® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

  Converted to eBook by EasyEPUB

  For Alex

  Contents

  Cover

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The World of Arnie Jenks

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Start of Everything

  ‘Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!’ yelled Arnie, as he ran full pelt, arms outstretched like aeroplane wings, down the longest and widest corridor in Shabbington Hall. As he reached maximum speed, he let himself go and slid, jerking and twisting along the polished floor, his legs splaying dangerously further apart, until shuddering violently, he crumpled to the ground with a deadening thwump.

  For a second he lay there listening fearfully, heart pounding, expecting to be caught before scrambling back the way he had come. Ahead of him, past the crumpled suits of armour and dusty display cases, the passage opened out into a square hall. From here rose a zigzagging staircase above which a huge crystal chandelier hovered regally. Hearing a gaggle of voices, he sprinted on and straight into the path of a woman.

  ‘Arnie Jenks! In a rush to be somewhere?’ she demanded, as he swerved to avoid colliding with her.

  ‘Sorry Miss McGarry,’ he panted, pulling up sharply, clocking his shoes that lay in a corner one on top of the other.

  ‘You know the rules governing this place. No running! If Lord Martlesham had seen you he would have no qualms about sending you straight back to school.’ She glared at his woolly socks.

  ‘He didn’t though, did he?’ said Arnie, looking around nervously to make doubly sure.

  ‘No – I think I saw him leave – just your good luck. But I’m not best pleased,’ she said firmly.

  Arnie grinned and fingered his shock of unruly brown hair. ‘I wasn’t running really Miss. More like “sliding”. Got a bit carried away. Sorry.’

  ‘Well, despite what it may look like, this particular stately home doesn’t need an over-enthusiastic twelve-year-old roughing it up any further – “time” has done enough of that,’ she emphasised, flicking her eyes up to a bunch of thick cobwebs that hung across the corner of a grubby water-stained ceiling.

  ‘Yes Miss,’ he said apologetically.

  ‘Mmmm…’ she demurred, before deciding his punishment. ‘If you want to make amends then you can hand these out.’

  She thrust a wad of plastic-coated cards towards Arnie, which he began reading as another boy sidled up awkwardly, slightly out of breath.

  ‘Where have you been Connor?’ Miss McGarry asked, ‘Not running about too I hope?’

  ‘Oh, no Miss,’ he said twitching, adjusting his glasses and trousers at the same time. ‘Just finding my notebook, there’s too much here for me to remember!’

  Miss McGarry narrowed her beady eyes towards Arnie.

  ‘I’ll use my memory!’ he said perkily.

  ‘Yes, well…’ she said a little unsure, ‘I’ll be expecting originality and accuracy in your account of our visit here. No cribbing from the Internet later!’

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of it Miss,’ Arnie smiled sincerely.

  His teacher frowned.

  Arnie attempted to act serious by returning his gaze intently to the cards he was clutching.

  Miss McGarry then turned towards a younger woman at the far side of the hall who was struggling to count twenty or so bobbing heads, as the children around her kept switching places, causing her to start again from the beginning.

  ‘Miss Pink! I think we should get going. We have a lot to see.’

  Miss McGarry caught Arnie rubbing his hands together.

  ‘You should be wearing a jumper under that blazer,’ she remarked, checking out his uniform.

  ‘It’s ok,’ he said brightly, ‘the cold doesn’t bother me much.’

  ‘It will here,’ she said, brushing away some tiny icicles from the inside of a window.

  Arnie shrugged away the suggestion as Connor began making peculiar grunting sounds, his face buried deep into his satchel.

  ‘Here we are!’ he squeaked, producing an awfully long pencil. ‘Ready for anything that might be thrown at us!’

  ‘Now then everyone,’ Miss McGarry wailed, gazing over the chattering pupils, ‘come and take one of these guides.’ The children eventually formed a line and Arnie dutifully handed out the cards.

  ‘Good. We’ll begin along here,’ she decided, pointing back down the long corridor and towards a door on the right.

  ‘What’s through there?’ queried Arnie, as he crammed on his scuffed shoes.

  ‘Where the servants once worked I think,’ said Connor, turning his map the right way up and studying the floor plan. Miss McGarry approached the opening and beckoned everyone to follow, pushing on like an explorer into the lonely half-light, feeling the way forward with her hand.

  Arnie hung back until he was alone before reaching for the iPod in his pocket. As he touched it, a hellish screech from above made him jump. Spinning round, he peered upwards and spied through a skylight the shape of a bird descending. It landed with a scraping of claws, like blades upon steel, casting a sinister shadow down into the hall. Arnie darted away in the direction of the others.

  Turning into a corridor he caught sight of the school group heading further into the gloom. Recognising the last figure struggling to keep pace with the others, he crept up behind him very stealthily.

  ‘Gotcha!’ he hissed.

  ‘Stop it Arnie!’ Connor said, whirling round in a flurry. ‘You know I hate being scared!’

  ‘Only joking!’ Arnie teased.

  ‘Well it isn’t funny!’

  ‘Sorry,’ Arnie said. ‘I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about…down here in the dark…’

  ‘Hope not.’ Connor swallowed de
eply as they joined the line of children who shuffled and fidgeted, trailing behind Miss McGarry like one very long caterpillar. Moments later, they reached a set of stone steps and gripping the iron handrail tightly, one by one they descended into the depths of the house.

  After the tour of the ground floor and basement rooms was over, everyone broke for lunch before assembling once more in the hall.

  ‘Now pay attention everyone,’ piped up Miss McGarry, ‘your task for this afternoon. I want you to select a character or a room of your choice that would make for an interesting story using the history around you as a basis. Notes are fine – we can work them up next week. I suggest splitting into pairs. Is that clear?’

  ‘I thought we were all done,’ said Arnie, yawning. ‘It’s supposed to be a day out!’

  ‘But not a day off,’ reminded Miss McGarry sarcastically from over her shoulder as she moved away to deal with a pupil whose nose had started to bleed.

  ‘Ok,’ said Arnie reluctantly. ‘But I…’

  ‘What’s up?’ said Connor cutting in.

  ‘I can’t see much here that would set the world alight.’

  ‘We could write up the Martlesham family tree? That would fill up a few pages.’

  ‘That’s a bit dull though, isn’t it?’ said Arnie flatly. ‘Just names and dates!’

  ‘What do you want to do then?’

  Arnie’s eyes lit up. ‘To discover a secret!’

  ‘Well how?’ said Connor clueless. ‘We can’t expect to dig up a chest full of coins or stumble over a forgotten skeleton hanging in a dungeon…’

  ‘We could try – there must be something to find that nobody knows anything about.’

  ‘Why?’ said Connor simply. ‘Think of the people who have spent their time looking. And if they haven’t found anything by now, what chance have we got?’

  ‘It’s quite possible though,’ said Arnie, rubbing his chin, ‘this house is humongous! Who knows what’s stashed about?’

  ‘Couldn’t we just do the family tree?’ said Connor wearily. ‘It’s the sort of thing we’re expected to do in places like these.’

  ‘Exactly!’ said Arnie, as his eyes drifted over to the edge of the stairs. ‘So – let’s not.’

  Connor heaved a sigh and dragging his feet like a lifeless puppet, followed Arnie to where they both stood staring at a portrait hanging on a nearby wall. It was of a woman in a dark green dress seated next to a small open window.

  ‘Wow! What scary eyes she’s got!’ whispered Arnie, tilting his head from one side of the frame to the other. ‘See how they follow you around as you move?’

  ‘Freaky!’ said Connor, clutching his pencil tightly.

  Arnie stiffened.

  ‘What?’ stammered Connor.

  ‘The painting must be…inhabited!’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Connor said nervously, as Arnie leaned in close to the face.

  ‘Is it me or did her lips twitch just then?’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ said Connor worriedly.

  Arnie rubbed his finger over a little metal strip fixed along the bottom of the portrait. It bore an inscription:

  “Lady Dervela Martlesham 1562-1628.”

  ‘It’s ok Con – she’s dead for sure,’ he said soothingly. Connor dared one more glance.

  Arnie shifted along and raised his hand. ‘Hey, this is cool!’

  Connor scuttled up and peered closer.

  ‘Look!’ said Arnie, pointing to a series of sketches. They showed an anonymous figure in a cloak climbing through an open panel in a wall. Once safely hidden in the tiny space behind, he was lowered by ropes through a vertical gap between the brickwork into the sewers below from where he was led to safety.

  ‘A priest hole!’ said Arnie breathlessly. ‘Could it still be here somewhere do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Connor, pausing to consider carefully. ‘Can’t see one on the plan.’

  ‘Really? You’ve looked?’

  ‘Someone has to keep track of things,’ he said, squinting hard at the faint print. After a moment he shook his head, satisfied.

  ‘Doesn’t mean it’s not there,’ disagreed Arnie, ‘just that no one’s managed to find it!’

  ‘Yeah, but…’

  ‘So it’s only a question of where we start looking!’ plotted Arnie as he turned to face Connor with a wicked grin.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Locked Room

  ‘We’re not going to get into trouble are we Arnie?’ Connor sighed plaintively. ‘Don’t you think it would be better if we stayed down here? I’m not made for grief.’

  But Arnie had already started to climb.

  They swiftly reached the first floor and looked towards the top landing. Arnie’s pulse was tripping with adrenalin. ‘I think the entrance is likely to be higher up, you know, out of the way?’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Connor, holding his head, decidedly giddy.

  ‘Not one hundred per cent. But we have to think like they did back then.’

  ‘Back when?’

  ‘When they put it in, dummy!’

  ‘Do we have to?’ Connor moaned, as he staggered onwards.

  ‘Somewhere that isn’t obvious,’ said Arnie, striding towards the next level.

  ‘And that is where?’

  ‘I don’t know – but I will know when we find it! Imagine it Connor!’ said Arnie dramatically. ‘A hidden chamber! Just large enough to squeeze into – a place where no one would ever guess you would hide. Where you could be waiting for hours or days – starving or suffocating or…worse!’

  ‘What if he needed the toilet?’ winced Connor.

  Arnie marched on defiantly, ‘…and then in the dead of night – when everyone was sleeping – a trusted friend would spring the latch and splash! You drop fifty feet into the moat! All dark and black and greasy covered in…’

  ‘Yes! Yes, I get it…’ spluttered Connor. ‘Poo!’

  ‘…but danger lurks! Waiting nearby – a masked killer! Ready at any moment to jump out and give it to you – straight under the breast bone!’

  Connor recoiled.

  ‘Right there!’ said Arnie, thrusting an imaginary knife towards Connor. ‘Stab stab stab!’

  ‘Come on,’ said Connor, ‘let’s hurry up and get this over with – we still have a real story to write about.’

  ‘Don’t you believe me then?’ said Arnie, slightly wounded, as they turned the corner of the landing.

  ‘Not entirely,’ said Connor.

  ‘See that!’ said Arnie, pointing to where a bump seemed to poke out from underneath the peeling, patterned silk wallpaper.

  ‘What is it?’ squeaked Connor.

  ‘I think it’s a handle!’ Arnie gasped, ‘it’s super camouflaged – no surprise they haven’t found it!’

  ‘What?’ said Connor, scanning the surface like a minesweeper.

  ‘I bet it’s connected to a door that will open up right in front of us and reveal…’ Arnie circled his hands as if casting a spell ‘…the remains of the Lost Prince from…1750 something – imprisoned and forgotten about till now!’

  ‘Oh Arnie…’ said Connor dejected, ‘you’re making all this up!’

  ‘I could be right,’ said Arnie emphatically.

  ‘No – that bump might just be a bump.’

  Arnie shook his head. ‘I’ll prove it – stand back, it might be hard to open ‘cos it won’t have been used for centuries!’

  ‘I am gonna stand back,’ said Connor, retreating behind Arnie, preparing to use him as a human shield.

  ‘Ready?’

  Connor nodded.

  ‘One – two – threeee!’ Arnie wrenched the handle urgently towards him.

  ‘Whoaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!’ cried the boys, tumbling back over each other, as a section in the wall flew open and stuff showered down on top of them. They stood up quickly, treading and crunching on a pile of cleaning things – a mop and bucket, brooms and a whole stack of coloured plastic bottles as they s
hoved their heads into the gap.

  ‘I don’t think this is quite right,’ said Connor, after a moment’s reflection. ‘It’s a cupboard.’

  ‘We needed to check it out,’ Arnie said, annoyed.

  ‘Give up now?’ whined Connor. Arnie shook his head.

  They got up and tidied away the mess, cramming it all back in somehow, before closing the door and moving swiftly on.

  ‘Do you think anyone heard us?’ Connor asked Arnie, as they turned another corner. They stopped dead. Arnie’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

  Immediately in front of them hung a red cord at waist height and a little beyond on the left hand wall a door painted black with a gold “M” above it.

  ‘Looks inviting,’ taunted Arnie.

  ‘I really need the toilet,’ said Connor, pushing his knees together.

  ‘What?’ Arnie couldn’t believe it. ‘Just as we are on the verge of discovering what I know is a secret hideaway?’

  ‘You said that last time.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s in there. We can’t lose a second!’

  ‘Neither can I, I really need to go,’ pleaded Connor.

  ‘Well hurry up then – and don’t be long.’

  Connor hobbled off along the landing.

  ‘I need you as a witness,’ he called back over his shoulder. But Connor didn’t reply.

  ‘Could wait I s’pose,’ Arnie mumbled to himself as he eyed the rope. ‘It is either in there or it’s not,’ he reasoned sensibly, ‘but if it is – I’ll be famous!’ He stepped forward and edging around the barrier leant close to the door and listened. Satisfied that nothing was stirring from inside he turned the knob and, summoning up his courage, pushed. It refused to budge. It was locked. He stood back and looked around for a key but could find nothing. His eyes wandered upwards.