Sophie Cleverly - The Lights Under the Lake

As we huddled together on the plush carpet, Miss Bowler went right up to the desk and slammed her hand down on the bell about three times. For a full minute there was no answer, but eventually a man appeared from the door at the back.

He was fairly old, with greying hair and a stooped back, but he moved quickly. He wore a pair of golden spectacles. A smoking jacket and stiff shoes clung to him awkwardly. “Mm?” was all he said.

“We’ve arrived from Rookwood School,” said Mrs Knight, going up to him with her clipboard. “We were hoping to check in.”

The man looked at her as if she’d just asked him to polish her shoes. “It’s rather late, madam,” he said.

“Well, when I booked, I explained that—” Mrs Knight started, but Miss Bowler was having none of it.

“Never mind that!” she boomed. “We’re here now!”

“This is most irregular,” the man muttered as he pulled a hefty book out of the desk drawer. “Twice in one night! Guests thinking they can just turn up and …” His muttering got quieter until I could no longer hear what he was saying, which was probably a good thing. What a grumpy old man!

Ivy leant over. “I wonder who else turned up late?” she whispered, and I shrugged in reply.

The man turned the book round to face Mrs Knight. “Sign here, then. My wife will show you to your rooms shortly.”

“Any chance of some grub?” asked Miss Bowler.

He lifted his gaze slowly and fixed her with a nasty glare that would rival my own. “The kitchen is long since closed, madam . You will have to go to the dining hall in the morning.” With that, he slammed the guest book shut, turned on his heel and headed back through the door behind him.

“If that was a warm welcome,” I said to Ivy, “I’d hate to see a cold one.”

e’d been waiting at least ten minutes before the door at the back of the room opened and the sound of raised voices blared out. A woman, who I thought must be the man’s wife, came out of the door and shut it behind her (with quite some relief, I thought).

“Good evening,” she said. She had a much friendlier face than her husband, though it currently looked red and flustered. She wore a plain dress with an apron, but expensive-looking earrings glinted beneath her greying hair. “I’m Mrs Rudge. I’ll be showing you to your rooms. We usually have a girl to do this, but she’s off sick.” Her tone was apologetic, though I noticed she didn’t actually say sorry for her husband’s behaviour.

She looked around the room at all of us. Most people were sitting on their suitcases. Scarlet and I were leaning against a wall, while Rose and Ariadne were trying their best to share one striped armchair in the corner. The prefects were standing by the teachers with their arms folded, apparently trying to make it seem as though they were in charge too. From the look on Mrs Rudge’s face, I suspected we weren’t her usual type of clientele.

“Your rooms are on the top floor of the building,” she said, pulling a bunch of jangling keys from a hook beside the door. I felt Scarlet twitch beside me.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of something to eat?” Mrs Knight asked, deciding to try a politer approach than Miss Bowler’s.

Mrs Rudge nodded, though she didn’t meet our teacher’s eyes. “I can bring you up some bread and butter. I’m afraid that’s all I can manage with the kitchen closed. My husband is very particular about these things.”

Mrs Knight looked sympathetic. Miss Bowler looked like she was about to eat the reception desk.

“I’d love some bread and butter, actually,” Scarlet said to me under her breath. “Much better than stew.”

My stomach growled, and I had to agree.

“This way, please,” said Mrs Rudge.

She led us out of the reception area and along a dark corridor which we all trod in a line, like ducks following their mother. We were too tired for chatter. The walls were dark wood, the carpets plush and red. There was a staircase, with sconces going up it – some of the candles lit, others not. I wondered if they’d never been lit in the first place, or if a draught had blown them out.

There were three floors, not unlike Rookwood, though I wasn’t sure if the hotel was quite the size of our imposing school. But then it was dark, and how much of it had we actually seen? Once we’d made it to the top, Mrs Rudge went along unlocking all the doors and lighting the lamps, while Mrs Knight peered at her clipboard with the room assignments on it.

We leant against the wall as we waited for our names to be called. There were portraits running all the way down the stairs – portraits of long-dead strangers, as far as I could tell. I tried not to imagine that they were staring at me.

“Ivy Grey, Scarlet Grey,” Mrs Knight called from further down the corridor. “Ariadne Flitworth and, erm …” she lowered the clipboard. “Rose?”

Rose’s gaze flicked down to the floor, but she said nothing. If she had a surname, she wasn’t giving it away.

“This one here, please,” said Mrs Knight.

“That’s not fair, Miss,” Elsie whined as we made our way up the staircase past the other girls. “How come they get the big room? I thought it was ours?”

I was surprised that she’d made such an outburst in front of the teachers, but I supposed she was as tired as the rest of us. Luckily Miss Bowler was dropping off her bags into the teachers’ room at the other end of the corridor at that point, otherwise she probably would’ve bellowed a reply and woken the whole hotel.

“I’ve tried to put everyone together with their friends,” said Mrs Knight patiently. “And I’ve had to rearrange since we’ve lost Betty and gained Rose. No arguments, please.”

“Yeah,” said Scarlet, pulling a face at Elsie. “No arguments.”

We took our bags over to the open door where Mrs Knight stood, and peered in.

The room was huge , much bigger than our dorm rooms back at school. Dark red striped wallpaper coated the walls, and heavy curtains hung at the windows. And the beds! There were two enormous four-poster beds, each with cream drapes.

“Oh my word,” Scarlet exclaimed. It was the fanciest bedroom I’d ever seen, and I knew she was thinking the same.

“Oh, it looks just like my bedroom at home!” said Ariadne, beaming.

“Of course it does,” said Scarlet, giving her a friendly jab in the arm.

Rose wandered in, staring around at everything, fascinated. I followed her and dropped my bag to the floor. It only took a moment for Scarlet to run in and start bouncing on the bed.

“Wheee!” she cried, the mattress creaking as she jumped.

Miss Bowler’s face suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Stop that!”

Scarlet slowed her bouncing to a halt and then plopped down on to the covers. Miss Bowler marched on down the corridor.

There was furniture in the room too, big, heavy wooden pieces that looked like they were from the last century. And perhaps the strangest thing was a bath , in front of the windows. Not just a tin bath either, but a real bath with taps and silver clawed feet. “Look at this!” I said, walking over to it.

“Goodness,” said Ariadne. “A bath in a bedroom? Well, I don’t have that.”

It looked quite old, and it reminded me a little of the baths at Rookwood, but it was more ornate and expensive-looking. I turned the tap to test it, and listened as the pipes clunked below. There was an empty moment, and then the water began to gush out. It was a slightly odd colour, with leafy fragments in it.