Justine Windsor - Goodly and Grave in A Bad Case of Kidnap

“Who are you?” the girl asked, peering sleepily at Lucy.

“Lucy, this is Becky Bone. Becky, this is Lucy Goodly. She’s our new boot girl. You be good to her now. She’ll be sharing your room.”

Becky stuck out her bottom lip. “Why does she have to share with me?”

“Becky, don’t you be so rude. You know all the other attic rooms are full of animal feed.”

“Your cat’s very sweet-looking,” Lucy said, in an effort to be friendly. She wasn’t entirely being truthful. The cat was scrawny. Its single eye was round, bulgy and bright orange. It had one and a half ears and the tip of its tail was missing. “What’s its name?”

“He’s called Smell,” said Mrs Crawley.

Lucy laughed. “What a funny name. I’ve got a cat at home called Phoebe. But she’s a bit younger than your Smell I think?”

“He’s not called Smell!” snapped Becky. “He’s called Aloysius.”

“But Smell’s so much more fitting,” chortled Mrs Crawley.

Smell wriggled out of Becky’s arms and trotted over to Lucy. As he stood there, blinking up at her with his single orange eye, he made a very small tooting noise, like the world’s tiniest trumpet.

“Oh,” said Lucy, wrinkling her nose. Now she understood why Smell was called Smell.

“It means he likes you!” said Mrs Crawley brightly. Becky scowled even harder at Lucy.

Another girl came into the kitchen, singing quietly to herself.

“This is Violet, she’s our scullery maid. She comes in from Grave Village to help me with the cooking,” said Mrs Crawley. “Violet, this is Lucy, the new boot girl.”

Violet smiled shyly at Lucy as she sat down. She was much younger than Becky, perhaps eight or nine. Wisps of mousy brown hair escaped from her white cotton cap. She began fiddling with her spoon, still singing softly.

“Oh, shut that noise up, Violet,” Becky said, when Mrs Crawley’s back was turned. “This one’s a right milksop. She’s scared of everything, you know. Cries if you look at her wrong.”

Lucy didn’t reply, but suspected Becky probably did a lot worse to Violet than “look at her wrong”.

A very short, curly-haired man was the last servant to arrive for breakfast. He wore a white shirt and a black waistcoat and trousers.

“Ah, you’re the new boot girl. I’m Jacob Vonk, the butler.”

Violet piped up, “And the gardener. And the beekeeper and—”

“That’s right, thank you, Violet. It’s true, I wear lots of different hats, as they say.”

“He’s got a whole cupboard of them!” Violet added.

“Everyone calls me Vonk,” said Vonk. He smiled broadly and shook Lucy’s hand warmly before settling himself into the chair at the head of the table. His feet in their very shiny shoes didn’t quite reach the floor and Lucy guessed he was smaller than she was.

“Some of your porridge would do very well now, Mrs C.”

“Pleasure, Vonk.” Mrs Crawley ladled porridge into bowls. It looked pale and creamy, but there were funny black specks in it. Lucy fished one of them out with her spoon, trying to work out if it was burnt porridge.

“Mrs Crawley,” said Vonk in a stern voice.

“What is it?” said Mrs Crawley in a light, airy what-on-earth-are-you-talking-about? voice.

“The garnish. You know what we agreed. No experimental porridge.”

“It’s extra nourishment, Vonk. There’s lots of hungry people in the world and not enough food to go round. Now insects, they—”

Vonk raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, very well!” Mrs Crawley snatched the bowls of porridge away and replaced them with insect-free portions. She heaped her own porridge with the tiny black corpses. “I toasted them especially for Lucy,” she said, crunching sadly on a mouthful.

“Well I could try one, maybe,” said Lucy, feeling rather sorry for Mrs Crawley.

“Oh, marvellous.” Mrs Crawley sprinkled a couple of the black specks into Lucy’s palm.

Lucy closed her eyes and licked the insects up, swallowing them quickly. “They taste a bit … er … lemony,” she said, coughing.

“Yes, that’s exactly it. They’re ants, you know. More?”

“Um. No, I think I’ve had enough. They’re very filling.”

Once everyone had finished eating, Mrs Crawley began telling Becky and Violet their tasks for the day. Lucy only half listened as she was thinking about her parents again. They’d probably be getting ready for bed now at the Charm Inn where they always stayed when in town. Would they remember to put their money and valuables under their pillows and lock the door while they slept? The Charm Inn was full of terrible thieves who would steal the breath from your lungs, but her parents always insisted on staying there. In fact, half the terrible thieves were her parents’ best friends. They really were hopeless!

Small, warm fingers touched Lucy’s wrist.

“Don’t fret, Lucy. Everyone here’s really nice and we don’t have to work too hard,” Violet said, looking up at her. “If you’re feeling lonely, you could borrow Caruthers. He always makes me feel better.” Violet took something out of her apron pocket. It was a small green knitted frog with button eyes. Violet’s name was neatly embroidered on its underneath.

Lucy smiled. “He’s lovely. Did you do the embroidery?”

“No, that was my mum. She’s very clever with a needle. She works as a seamstress.”

“Well, thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll manage all right at the moment, so you keep hold of Caruthers for now.”

“Silly pair of milksops,” said Becky Bone, giving them both a disgusted look.

When Becky and Violet had gone off to begin work, Vonk showed Lucy to her new room, high up in the attics of Grave Hall.

“This is your bed,” he pointed to a small metal bedstead, one of two in the room. “Rest today. You can start work properly tomorrow. Lord Grave told me you’ve been up for most of the night.”

When Vonk had left, Lucy explored the little room. From the window, she could see the full extent of the wildlife park now the mist had cleared. As well as the elephants and giraffes, she spotted many other animals she’d never seen before, not even in books.

It didn’t take long for Lucy to familiarise herself with the rest of her new bedroom. Apart from the two beds, two bedside tables and a chest of drawers, there was nothing else other than a black iron fireplace. The tiles surrounding the inside of the fireplace had a different design on each side. One side showed a man sitting with a book on his knees, the other a man smoking a long, curved pipe.

Lucy took the trick playing card from her jacket and put it in the drawer of her bedside table before pulling her boots off and lying down. Although she’d been up all night, she was certain she didn’t feel sleepy. There was too much to think about. She’d just close her eyes for five minutes before planning how to escape Grave Hall.

Two minutes later, she was fast asleep.

So she didn’t notice when the tile man with the pipe climbed out of his side of the fireplace and joined the tile man with the book on the other side.

“Well, Mr Paige,” said the man with the pipe to the man with the book, “do you think his Lordship might be right about her?”

“Come on, Goodly, time to get up,” said a voice in Lucy’s ear shortly after dawn the next morning.

“Urgh,” Lucy said and turned over. She’d slept until lunchtime the previous day and then hadn’t been able to sleep that night. And she wasn’t used to such an early start. Gambling for a living often meant going to bed in the mornings and getting up in the evenings, an arrangement Lucy was quite happy with.