Katie Watson Mysteries in Time Box Set Read online

  2

  Otterly Manor

  The journey to England felt like old times. Charlie and I imagined everyone we met on the plane was a suspect in our made-up murder mystery. Once I laughed so hard, my complimentary Sprite came gushing from my nostrils, and then we both laughed so hard the flight attendant came to check everything was alright. I almost managed to forget the wretched reality: this was the last time we’d be going to Nan and Pop’s together before everything changed.

  But all the old tummy knots came back as soon as Pop collected us at the airport. Of course I was happy to see him; but on the drive home, I wished he would just talk about the weather or anything other than the upcoming trip to Scotland and how magnificent the Highlands would be this time of year. If I’d felt the bitter sting of missing out before, by the time we got to the farmhouse, I was boiling with it.

  Nan set out tea for us in the conservatory, but I could hardly enjoy my buttery scone loaded with clotted cream and jam. All she wanted to talk about was Charlie’s big move to university and all the wonderful experiences he would have. I found I’d lost my appetite and held the second half of my scone under the table until Oscar, my grandparents’ cocker spaniel, stealthily put it away with one wet chomp.

  After tea, Pop had the brilliant idea of pulling out some of his old trekking photos from the attic to show Dad and Charlie. Normally, I never miss a trip up to the attic. You never know what mysterious object from the past you may find up there, from my great grandmother’s gramophone with its huge copper trumpet to Mum’s collection of riding trophies. But this time I hung back to help Nan and Mum clear away the tea things.

  “Are you feeling alright, Katherine?” Nan eyed me sideways and pursed her lips the way she always does when she’s being shrewd, making her dimples twice as deep. “I must say, you look a tad flushed.”

  I shrugged as I handed her a stack of plates. “Just tired from the journey, I guess.”

  “I don’t doubt you are! Why don’t you go upstairs and have a lie down until dinner? It won’t do to have you coming down with a fever. Pop and I have planned some lovely Days Out for the three of us.”

  A Day Out is Nan and Pop’s code word for an educational trip: visits to museums, historic monuments, famous gardens, the occasional castle. All interesting in their own way, and Charlie and I always find a way of turning Days Out into live action detective stories. But a Day Out to some old building with no Charlie to joke around with? That was hardly the sort of adventure I was looking for, the sort my life seriously lacked.

  Nan carried on, happily scrubbing away at the plates. “Pop discovered a really fine old house that’s been sitting right under our noses all this time in a neighbouring village. Otterly Manor, it’s called. Have a look beside the telephone, Katherine. I do believe Pop’s got a brochure about it.” She craned her head around and nodded towards the little table under the telephone. “Would you believe, it was built in the sixteenth century and such a specimen! We thought we’d go and explore it tomorrow after we drop this lot off at the station. What do you think, Katie dear?”

  I forced what I hoped appeared to be a believably genuine smile.

  “You see, Katherine?” Mum piped in. “An adventure already budding!”

  I turned my head so Nan wouldn’t see me roll my eyes.

  Mum shot me a stern glare back, but transformed it magically into a smile as Nan turned around from the sink.

  I felt a little ashamed, but I was also fed up. “C’mon, Oscar. Let’s go outside,” I said, patting my leg so he would follow me. Reluctantly, I picked up the brochure on my way to the door with no intention of actually looking at it, but to keep Nan happy. But after a few minutes of sitting on the wishing well, looking blankly down into its black depths, I unfolded the brochure and let my eyes skim over it. They travelled immediately to the words Riding at Otterly Manor, and my heart gave a little leap. I continued reading hungrily. Otterly Manor boasts one of the largest remaining royal hunting grounds in the country. Experience riding horseback like the ladies and lords of old at Otterly Manor’s Equestrian Centre.

  I folded the brochure back up and wedged it into my pocket. I wouldn’t dare let Mum see this. She had said I was strictly to stay away from horses; but surely it couldn’t hurt me just to go and look at them, could it?

  Yes, it could. I knew it would be torture to come so close yet not be able to ride. But that didn’t matter. I needed to be near horses … to prove to myself that I wasn’t afraid so I could prove it to Mum and everyone else. For just a moment, I allowed my imagination to paint a picture of me on Gypsy, galloping across an ancient forest. It was just a thought, but the thought alone was so exhilarating, I now felt tomorrow’s Day Out to Otterly Manor couldn’t come soon enough.

  The next morning, the dreaded goodbyes came and went in the dreary, dewy dawn at the train station. Being left behind still stung, but now part of me was eager to see them go.

  “Be good, Katie,” Dad said. “We’ll be thinking of you all the time.”

  “Keep a sharp eye on things, Watson,” Charlie said. “And here. This is for you.” He handed me a tatty, pocket-sized, leather-bound book with The Hound of the Baskervilles embossed in gold on the binding.

  “But this is your copy. I can’t take it.”

  “Yours now. I’m promoting you to head detective in my absence. Just don’t forget to write me with all the juicy mysteries you unravel.” He smiled and ruffled up my hair. I clutched the book to my chest with a lump in my throat.

  Lastly, Mum pulled me into a tight hug, then held both my forearms so we were eye-to-eye. “Try to enjoy yourself, Katie. You never know what may happen.” She smiled, then added with extra emphasis, “And Katie, please, be careful.”

  I hugged Mum and waved them off as the train pulled away. But all I could think was how much I didn’t want to be careful. I didn’t want to be babied. I wanted an adventure, and I was going to have to find one. Maybe one would be waiting for me at Otterly Manor …

  3

  I Spy

  Back at the farmhouse, Nan and Pop appeared to have forgotten all about our plans for a Day Out. They both settled down in their chairs to read the papers. I inwardly groaned as I stalked up to my bedroom and took Charlie’s leather copy of The Hound of the Baskervilles from the bedside table. Curling up under my duvet with Oscar sprawled across my feet, I tried to get lost in the story of a wealthy heir who begs the help of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson when he is cursed by a demon dog. But a few pages in, I gave up and put the book down. It wasn’t that the story was boring — I’d loved every Sherlock Holmes mystery I’d read so far, and this was Charlie’s favourite. But reading it then only gnawed at the miserable, discontented feeling in the pit my stomach. I didn’t just want to read an adventure … I wanted to live one. That imaginary picture of me and Gypsy galloping across the royal hunting ground reappeared in my mind like a cruel joke. Like that was ever going to happen. I squeezed my eyes shut, thinking maybe I would just sleep the summer away, curled up in my nest like Fergie and Francis, but all alone … a lonesome little hibernating rodent.

  My hibernation plan came to a swift end.

  “Katherine?” Pop rapped his knuckles once on the door before poking his head around to look in on me. “Feel up to an outing? Nan’s packed a picnic to write home about. My own rhubarb crumble for dessert,” he added, his bushy white eyebrows wiggling up and down. They stopped wiggling and knitted together. “Unless of course you’re feeling poorly?”

  “No,” I said, pushing the duvet back and swinging my legs to the floor. “I’m fine. I’ll be right down.” Eager to set off, I stuffed my spy journal down into my backpack, then picked up The Hound of the Baskervilles and fanned my thumb through its gold leaf pages. “Why not?” I thought, and nestled it down into the bag as well. It could be a good distraction if things didn’t go so well with the horses.

  Although we spent every summer in England, it always took me by surprise just how grey and bleak
the days could be. Still, the countryside glowed emerald green against the grey sky, and the hedgerows and little village gardens were in full summer bloom.

  At the end of a quaint village road lined with gift shops, tea shops and pubs, Pop turned into a drive with a gatehouse. Tall, cast-iron gates barred the way. A lady with a name badge strolled drowsily out of the gatehouse and scanned a card Pop held out to her.

  “Welcome to Otterly Manor,” she said, half yawning. Next thing, the gates creaked open and we were driving down a green, sweeping valley carpeted in patches of thick bracken.

  “Keep your eyes open.” Pop nodded towards the window. “Otterly Manor boasts one of the country’s oldest deer parks. Been here since medieval times. If you’re lucky, you’ll spot the white hart himself.”

  “If you spot the white hart, you will be lucky, as the old superstition has it,” Nan added.

  I peered out of the window, looking for movement in the bracken. Sure enough, as the road wound upward through a lane of massive, gnarled oaks, I spotted a rack of antlers protruding up through the high undergrowth. The stag trotted forth, completely unafraid of our car, and Pop stopped the car as he led his family of downy does and speckled fawns in procession across the road to graze on the other hillside.

  “Wow!” I caught myself mouthing before I remembered that Dad and Mum and Charlie would soon be seeing wild reindeer that would probably dwarf these little tame ones. But these park deer were pretty, and I told Pop so when I caught his eyes smiling at me expectantly through his bushy white eyebrows in the rear-view mirror.

  The road threaded upwards through the trees until it levelled out onto a wide, flat meadow that had partly been turned into a gravel car park. As soon as Pop turned onto the gravel in search of a parking space, we saw it, straight ahead: a monstrosity of stone soared up out of nowhere. The house — if you could even call it a house — was much grander than I’d imagined. With its great, stone face, stacks of chimneys, crenellated towers and turrets all piled up on top of each other, it was more of a cross between a castle and a town.

  “Here we are!” Nan chirped as Pop turned off the engine. “What do you think of it, Katherine?”

  “It’s … big,” was the most creative response I could come up with at that moment.

  Pop chuckled. “Big is right! We’re going to need our vittles before we tackle the inside. Winny, how about those sandwiches?”

  Finishing my sandwich and swigging down the last gulp of ginger beer, I shivered and pulled my hands inside my hoodie. Cold as I was, I was dying to go off in search of the riding centre. We must be close, I thought; and as the thought crossed my mind, I heard the wonderful sound of a horse whinnying in the distance. I strained my eyes to see through the oak trees and could just make out the bobbing movement of a cantering horse and rider in the distant meadow.

  “I know what’ll warm you up,” Pop said, snapping me out of my trance. “Let’s give Oscar some exercise, then we’ll head for the house. What do you say, Katherine?”

  I nodded. “Looks like there’s a big field over there,” I said, pointing to the meadow where I’d seen the horse.

  Nan stayed behind to tidy up the picnic while Pop and I took Oscar to play. Pop found a field much closer to the house than the meadow where I’d seen the rider, but at least it gave me a good view of the Manor’s old stables, now used as a warehouse for storing old displays and gardening tools.

  Oscar went wild when Pop produced his tennis ball in its plastic sling. Pop knows I love dogs, so he always lets me take charge of slinging the ball. I held the sling back behind my head, then flung it forward, catapult style, sending the tennis ball soaring like a home-run hit. Oscar shot forward to catch it just before it hit the ground.

  After a few minutes of the chase, Oscar was panting and my socks were properly soaked through. I stuffed the ball sling into my backpack and hoped Pop would suggest stopping by the café; but he said it was time to find Nan and warm up inside the house.

  The only trouble was, inside the vast, cavernous stone house felt even colder than outside! We walked through the first gate tower into a grassy courtyard with marble statues. On the opposite side of the courtyard, we were met by another mass of stone towers, turrets and latticed windows. Then through another passage into a stone courtyard where a sign with an arrow pointed to an arched doorway in a wall decorated with antlers like an old hunting lodge. Finally, following the arrow, we entered the house … or a tiny part of the house, anyway.

  Just inside, an ancient-looking man in a thick winter coat greeted us in the dark passageway, dabbing his elongated nostrils with a handkerchief. “Welcome to the Great Hall of Otterly Manor. The tour begins here and is self-guided. Oh, and for the little girl …” He picked up a booklet from a side table and offered it to me with a soppy smile. It had a silly cartoon drawing of a young girl in frilly clothing on the cover. A speech bubble came from her mouth with the invitation, “Can you spot these missing objects in the house? Put an X beside each object you find to win a prize at the end of the tour.”

  “Good luck, ducky,” the old man said. “Extra points for finding the Green Man. He’s a tricky one to spot.” And he gave me a wink that looked rather like he’d got something in his eye.

  “Thanks.” I smiled, then promptly turned away, dropping the smile and stuffing the pamphlet into my hoodie pocket. Honestly, why did everyone seem to think I was a baby? I didn’t want to spot missing objects. In fact, I didn’t want to be in that draughty old house at all. All I could think about was the horse and rider I’d seen out on the grounds, unaware of the wind and drizzle as they galloped across green meadows. Meanwhile, here I was playing a game of I Spy all to win a stupid pencil eraser.

  Nan and Pop had already started their self-guided tour in the next room, which, according to the plaque on the wall, was the Great Hall, and I could hear them whispering in raptures over every little detail through the doorway. I scuffled along after them, my wet tennis shoes squeaking against the chequered stone floor tiles. Once inside, my eyes travelled automatically up and up to the high, wooden ceiling that reminded me of a honeycomb, then around the walls where dozens of life-sized portraits hung.

  Ok, I had to admit, it was a pretty impressive dining room. Of course, it would have been better had there been a fire in the gigantic hearth. And better still had Charlie been there to laugh at the ridiculous-looking people in the portraits, especially the man in the stiff, silk suit with a lace collar, high-heeled shoes with big bobbles on top and a silly, pointed goatee beard. An engraved golden plate on the frame informed me the frilly man was the Second Earl of Dorset. If only Charlie had been there, he’d have made up the most wonderful whodunit scenario. Was it Mr Fancy Pants with the fire poker in the Buttery? Or was it Lady Pugnose with a hairpin in the Orangery? Just the thought of what Charlie would say made me giggle the tiniest of private giggles, yet it echoed around the cavernous room, right up to the honeycomb ceiling. One of the wardens — a poodle-haired old lady — gave me a disapproving scowl, and I was all too glad to follow Nan and Pop out of the Great Hall and into the Great Staircase.

  I must say, I felt a small blip of excitement walking up that staircase. It was one of those wide, wooden ones with heavy banisters like the deck of a pirate ship. The walls were painted with interesting designs of dogs and birds, lounging ladies and musical instruments. And at every turn, a wooden leopard perched on top of the banister posts, showing off a coat of arms.

  “What’s with all the leopards?” I whispered to Pop who was inspecting a pane of stained glass.

  “Oh, that.” Pop grinned, always pleased for the chance to show off a bit of trivia knowledge. “That, you see, is the heraldic symbol of the Buckville family. Thomas Buckville, the First Earl of … er, what was it?” He took his glasses from his coat pocket and quickly consulted his guidebook. “Ah, that’s it. First Earl of Dorset. Anyway, he had the leopards installed when he took over the place and redecorated it.”

  “Oh,�
�� I said, trying to sound impressed.

  The Great Staircase led to a long passage, and I do mean long, as in bowling alley long! Not only was it long, it was dark and creepy, and, as Mum would say, “wonderfully wonky”. The floors sloped one way, the walls another. And creepier still, all down the wood-panelled walls hung old portraits of stuffy, sombre-looking gentlemen and ladies in what looked to me to be very uncomfortable clothing. I walked hastily along the wonky gallery towards the only source of light at the very end, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that all those eyes followed me, marking my every squeaky step.

  I was glad to leave the portrait gallery, but my goodness! This house went on forever like a maze! There was bedroom after parlour after airing room; you name it and there was a room for it in Otterly Manor. And Nan and Pop couldn’t seem to get enough of rooms!

  At last we came to another large, much more open gallery with billiard tables and lots more huge, hanging paintings. A medium-sized one in the corner caught my eye. It was of a girl, about my own age probably, but dressed just like a little queen with golden braids woven tightly around her head. Still, she didn’t have the same snooty look as most of the other portrait characters. Somehow she was so lifelike, like someone I might make friends with at school. Her round, rosy cheeks gave her a kindly look and her face sparkled with a pair of clever blue eyes, though there was a speck of sadness in them as well. A bird perched on her finger, and her other hand rested on the head of an enormous grey dog.

  My imagination had just begun to play with the thought of what it would be like to live in that golden-haired girl’s world when I heard Nan whispering excitedly to Pop behind me. Nan collects special porcelain pieces, and she had just come across a glass case full of what must have been extra special pieces by the look on her face. A hefty warden sitting nearby stood up and approached the case with a smug look of information. Sure enough, the three of them were deep into plates, wash basins and figurines before you could say “China”. There was no doubt about it — I was going to be stuck in this musty gallery for eternity.