Katherine Woodfine - The Painted Dragon

First published in Great Britain 2017

by Egmont UK Limited

The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

Copyright © Katherine Woodfine, 2017

Illustrations copyright © Karl James Mountford, 2017

First e-book edition 2017

ISBN 978 1 4052 8289 5

Ebook ISBN 978 1 7803 1748 9

www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Stay safe online. Any website addresses listed in this book are correct at the time of going to print. However, Egmont is not responsible for content hosted by third parties. Please be aware that online content can be subject to change and websites can contain content that is unsuitable for children. We advise that all children are supervised when using the internet.

For Jackie and Zoe, for all the mysteries and adventures

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Copyright First published in Great Britain 2017 by Egmont UK Limited The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN Copyright © Katherine Woodfine, 2017 Illustrations copyright © Karl James Mountford, 2017 First e-book edition 2017 ISBN 978 1 4052 8289 5 Ebook ISBN 978 1 7803 1748 9 www.egmont.co.uk A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Stay safe online. Any website addresses listed in this book are correct at the time of going to print. However, Egmont is not responsible for content hosted by third parties. Please be aware that online content can be subject to change and websites can contain content that is unsuitable for children. We advise that all children are supervised when using the internet.

Dedication For Jackie and Zoe, for all the mysteries and adventures

PART I: White Dragon PART I White Dragon Visitors to London’s Bond Street galleries should not miss works such as Casselli’s The White Dragon, currently on display at the Doyle Gallery. This exquisite example of Italian painting has a fascinating history, having been owned by many of the crowned heads of Europe, including Philip II of Spain and Catherine the Great . . . From Chapter IV of A Traveller’s Guide to London with 4 Maps and 15 Plans by the Reverend Charles Blenkinsop, 1906 (from the library at Winter Hall)

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

PART II: Green Dragon

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

PART III: Red Dragon

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

PART IV: Dragon Passant

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

PART V: Dragon Courant

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

PART VI: Dragon Combatant

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

PART VII: Dragon Regardant

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

AUTHOR’S NOTE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Back series promotional page

PART I

White Dragon

Visitors to London’s Bond Street galleries should not miss works such as Casselli’s The White Dragon, currently on display at the Doyle Gallery. This exquisite example of Italian painting has a fascinating history, having been owned by many of the crowned heads of Europe, including Philip II of Spain and Catherine the Great . . .

From Chapter IV of A Traveller’s Guide to London with 4 Maps and 15 Plans by the Reverend Charles Blenkinsop, 1906 (from the library at Winter Hall)

CHAPTER ONE

October 1909

She wasn’t sure exactly when she realised that someone was following her. The interview with Detective Worth had taken longer than she had expected, and when she stepped out on to the street, it was already dark. The daytime crowds had vanished and Piccadilly seemed unnaturally quiet, with only a few figures hurrying by in the rain, their faces hidden beneath their umbrellas.

In a different mood, she might have thought that the way the yellow light from the street lamps shimmered on the wet road was beautiful. She might have wondered about how she could paint the hazy reflections in the shop windows, or the headlamps glowing in the dark. But for once, she was not thinking about painting. She was too distracted by her conversation with Detective Worth to pay attention to anything around her.

The evening air was cold and dank: she found herself shivering in spite of her good coat. She thought longingly of tea and a warm fire, but she dared not hurry home too quickly – the pavement was slick with water, and slippery with damp leaves. Instead, she slowly picked her way towards the underground railway station.

When she became aware of the man walking behind her, she had the feeling that he must have been there for some time. Lost in her thoughts, sounds muffled by the rain, she had not noticed his presence. Now, she glanced up into a darkened shop window and saw his reflection for a split second: a shadowy shape with square shoulders and the outline of a bowler hat. He was a few yards behind, keeping pace with her – she could hear the regular rhythm of his footsteps. All at once, she felt the creeping sensation that there were eyes fixed upon her back.

She shook herself. She was being stupid, she squashed down the impulse to turn around and look. He was probably just some ordinary man leaving his office late after a long day. To prove it to herself, she made up her mind to cross the road, feeling sure that he would not follow. There , she told herself triumphantly, as she made her way across the street, and on to the opposite pavement. She knew she had been imagining things. The interview with Detective Worth had rattled her, that was all.

For a few yards, she walked more easily. But a moment or two later, she heard it behind her again: the steady beat of footsteps. A chill swept over her. The man was still there.

She couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder now, but in the darkness all she could see was the silhouette of the bowler hat moving towards her. Alarmed, she turned and crossed the street again: a minute later, the man followed. Her heart had begun to thump painfully in her chest, and her breaths were quick and sharp. She hurried on, as quickly as she dared, but the footsteps just seemed to grow louder. She went faster, panic rising, sure of nothing except that she must get away.