13 Treasures (12 page)

Warwick was the first person to take a mouthful. His expression quickly turned to one of disgust. He spat into a napkin.

“It’s
salt
!” he said, reaching for the water jug.

“Are you sure?” said Florence.

“Of course I’m sure!”

Fabian’s hand was frozen in midair, his mouth slightly open. His eyes were fixed on the spoon in disappointment.

“Who was the last person to refill the sugar bowl?” said Florence.

“I was,” said Tanya, guiltily. “I filled it this morning.”

Florence snatched the ruined desserts away and began scraping them into the garbage. “For goodness’ sake, try to be more observant!”

Tanya bit her lip in anger. She was only glad that Warwick had been the first to taste it. She was furious with him for telling her grandmother about the incident in the forest when he had given his word that it would go no further. She was furious with them both for the callous conversation she had overheard earlier.

Now in a foul mood, Warwick excused himself. Florence left soon after.

Fabian leaned over and prodded Tanya in the side.

“That was definitely sugar in the pot this morning. I had some on my cornflakes.”

Tanya stared at him. A lazy grin spread across Fabian’s face.

“So when did you switch it?” he asked.

“What?”

“To salt. When did you switch it?”

“
What?
You think… you think
I
did that?”

“Didn’t you?”

“No,” Tanya said coldly. “Why would I?”

Fabian smirked. “For fun?”

Tanya got up from the table, in no mood for dessert now.

“Yeah, that’s right, Fabian. My idea of fun is being made to look like an idiot in front of everyone.”

“Well, the look on Warwick’s face when he took that mouthful was hilarious,” he said gleefully. “And you didn’t add sugar to your own bowl.”

“I didn’t do it.” Tanya made for the hallway, but Fabian beat her to it and stood blocking the door.

“Get out of my way.”

“You know,” said Fabian, “It’s funny how this sort of thing always happens when you’re around.”

Tanya narrowed her eyes, but inside her heart skipped a beat.

“What sort of thing?”

“Like the time when you were staying here because your parents were in France,” Fabian continued. “On the first night we were all watching a film, and when it finished you got up and fell over because your shoelaces had been tied together. You blamed me, but you knew as well as I did that I couldn’t have done it—I was sitting on the other side of the room all night. I never came near you.

“Then last summer you bought those flowers for Florence fresh from the market. And by breakfast the next day they were dead. Every one of them, withered up in water that was as stagnant as if it had been three weeks old.

“And then there was the time when—”

“Is there a point to any of this, Fabian?” said Tanya, trying hard to conceal the tremor in her voice.

“Yeah, there is. It’s
you
. Weird stuff happens when you’re around. You think nobody notices… but I do.”

Tanya forced a hollow laugh. “You have a very vivid imagination. Now, if that’s all then can you get out of my way, please?”

Fabian moved aside, smirking. “There’s something about you that doesn’t add up. You’re hiding something. And I’m going to find out what it is.”

Tanya stiffened. “Just leave me alone. I mean it, Fabian. Stay out of my way.”

“Fine,” said Fabian, airily. “Warwick’s never liked me talking to you anyway. He says you’re a troublemaker.”

“I don’t care what your father says.” Tanya pushed past him angrily. “His words mean nothing—I heard him going back on his promise earlier. I heard him telling my grandmother about finding us in the woods today. He snitched on us. So why don’t you have a good think about who the
real
troublemaker in this house is?”

It took Tanya a long time to fall asleep that night, such was her anger at Fabian and Warwick. She replayed the argument over and over in her mind, each time thinking of better comebacks she could have retaliated with, even mouthing the words in a half-whisper to a silent room. How
dare
Warwick say she was a troublemaker? And how dare Fabian accuse her of switching the sugar to salt?

The thing that was bothering her the most, however—bothering and unnerving her—was that all the time Fabian had been noticing the little oddities that had happened around her. Everything he’d said had been true, from the wilted flowers to the shoelaces tied together: all things that the fairies had done. It shocked her that he had noted it all and never said a word until tonight.

In the end Tanya knew she was just winding herself up, and made herself force it all from her mind in an effort to get some sleep. But when sleep finally came, it was not to last.

She awoke with a start and the unshakable feeling that she was not alone in the room. Her initial thought was that the fairies had come, but as her sleep-fuddled brain came into focus she neither saw nor heard anything that would suggest their presence. The room was silent. There was no fluttering of wings, no whispers, no strange earthy smell. Just her, and the sparse, unwelcoming room.

Unsettled, she allowed herself to lean back into her pillow, trying to shake off the weird feeling and relax. It must have been a dream. What with the upheaval of the past few days, it wasn’t surprising she was having trouble sleeping. She closed her eyes and took a shaky breath, forcing herself to exhale slowly.

Then she froze as she heard something in the darkness, like the soft hiss of a snake—or was it slithering? Something was sliding slowly along with precision, with caution. It was the noise that had woken her, she was sure of it.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Trapped by fear, a prisoner in her own body, she could only listen as the slithering continued. She couldn’t even work out where it was coming from. It seemed so close that it had to be in the room with her… and yet something told her that it wasn’t. But wherever—
whatever
—it was, it was close. Very close.

Something snapped in her then, pulling her out of the frozen state she was in. Choking back a cry of terror, she threw back the bedclothes and leaped up. A small noise stopped her in her tracks. She froze a second time—but this time it wasn’t with fear. It was to listen. For what she had heard had been unmistakable. The slithering had stopped. But she had heard something—something distinctive.

Someone had
sneezed
.

In that instant, Tanya understood. She strode over to the wardrobe, opened the doors, and swept aside the few clothes that were hanging up, then gave the back of the wardrobe a sharp tap. It was hollow.

She took a step backward as her suspicions were confirmed.

Her wardrobe had been constructed in front of the old doorway to the servants’ staircase. Where, right now, someone was creeping along the passage on the other side. Suddenly, Tanya had a very good idea of who that someone was. She banged on the back of the wardrobe again, hard.

“I know you’re there, Fabian,” she hissed. “And let me tell you—”

Her words stuck in her throat as a horrible noise started from behind the wardrobe: a high-pitched, desperate mewling, like a kitten being slowly strangled. It chilled Tanya’s blood to hear it. Then there was a gurgle and the noise seemed to muffle and grow lower, before stopping altogether. Then the slithering began again, accompanied by the barely audible footfall of someone who was trying to be very, very quiet. It faded as the passage continued past the room and by the next.

Tanya never remembered how she ended up on the opposite side of the room, backed up against the wall as far as she could go. When she woke at four to the bleak morning light, she was huddled cold and stiff in the corner, and as she crawled back into bed all she remembered was thinking one solid thought.

Perhaps the person on the servants’ staircase wasn’t Fabian.

At six o’clock the following morning Amos’s ranting woke the entire household. Tanya shielded her ears from several clatters and clangs from above—the old man had either dropped his breakfast or thrown it. The latter was confirmed when Warwick stomped past her room swearing under his breath.

Moments later, the events in the night came flooding back. In the daylight, the fear she had felt from hearing the noises seemed ridiculous, funny even. It must have been Fabian, she decided. It was too coincidental that the two of them had discovered the old staircase only a short while before, and their quarrel would have been reason enough for Fabian to want to get back at her. But she had foiled him—and would relish pointing it out the first chance she got.

She hauled herself out of bed and got dressed, pondering over what to wear. Her red T-shirt was in the wash and the beaded scarf she had bought from Tickey End made her neck itch. Instead she had wrapped it around the shoebox containing the list of fairy deterrents, the compass, and her one remaining diary that was hidden beneath the floorboards. For now, she decided to try another method of protection from the fairies from the book in the library; she turned her socks inside out, figuring that no one would see them under her sneakers anyway.

When she went downstairs her grandmother was seated at the breakfast table opposite Warwick, grumbling about the amount of food the household was getting through. A huge pot of porridge was steaming on the stove. As Tanya passed by, deliberately ignoring it to spite her grandmother, the hearthfay skittered out from under the pot and hid behind the toaster.

“Good morning,” said Florence.

“Is it?” said Tanya. “My mornings don’t usually begin for at least another hour. I should still be in bed.”

Warwick looked up, acknowledging her presence for the first time.

“Then why aren’t you?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Tanya said pointedly.

Florence lifted her teacup from the saucer.

“Perhaps we could put you in another room if Amos is causing a disturbance. I’m sure Warwick wouldn’t mind clearing one of the rooms on the opposite side of the landing for you.”

“It’s fine,” Tanya muttered. “I wouldn’t want to cause you any further
trouble
.” She deliberately placed an emphasis on the final word, looking her grandmother directly in the eye as she did so. She was gratified to see the teacup in Florence’s hand wobble a little. Her grandmother averted her eyes.

“It’s no trouble,” she said quietly.

Liar,
Tanya thought. Outwardly she said nothing. She helped herself to a slice of toast cooling in the rack and began to spread it with butter.

“There’s hot porridge, freshly made—” Florence began.

“I don’t like porridge.”

“Funny,” said Warwick, gruffly. “I seem to remember you eating bucketloads of it last year.”

“Well, maybe that’s why I can’t stand it now.”

Silence.

“So would you like to do that, then?” said Florence, eventually. “Change rooms, I mean?”

Tanya munched noisily and took her time in replying. She was beginning to enjoy herself in a twisted sort of way. If her grandmother and Warwick had thought her a pest up until now, then they had a shock coming to them. For at that moment Tanya made up her mind to be as much trouble as possible. With a bit of luck she might even get sent back to London; then her mother would have to deal with her. She had to stop herself from grinning at the thought.

“No, don’t bother,” she said finally. She swallowed the last mouthful of her toast and took another bite. Much as she would have savored making Warwick clear out one of the dusty old rooms, she decided against it on the basis that she might end up with something even worse than she already had. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Warwick visibly relax and fought the rising urge to giggle.

She helped herself to a second piece of toast and headed for the kitchen door, half expecting her grandmother to call her back to the breakfast table. But the room behind her stayed silent.

Later that afternoon Tanya caught sight of a movement in the back garden through the kitchen window. She got up from the table and stepped outside the back door, trying to see past the overgrown bushes and shrubs.