Christine Morton-Shaw - The Hunt for the Seventh

S OMEBODY DIED HERE ONCE . Im convinced of it. Somewhere here, in this huge garden. I feel them watching me.

It happens at odd times when Im feeding the peacocks or helping Dad burn the fallen leaves. The back of my neck will prickle. My hands will go sweaty. Turn around slowly, Ill think. There is someone behind me. But when I turn around, there is never anyone there.

I cant tell Sal: shed just get hysterical. Then Id get into trouble for trying to scare my little sister again. And I cant tell Dad. Hed only think it was Mom. Hed get ill again; hed sit like a stone for hours; hed stop shaving, stop eating again. Hed lose this new job.

Me? Above all, Id love it to be Mom. Id give anything to be able to look up and see her there just one more time. But its not Mom. She would never want to scare me.

Its a child, I think, because they seem to like playing games. They take me by surprise by rearranging the flowerpots or setting the swing swaying under the apple tree. But thats happened only twice. Most of the time they just creep up behind me. They move up very close. I can hear their breathing, sometimes even feel it on my neck.

The first time it happened was when the old gardener, Harold, was showing Dad around that very first day. It was windy, and they were struggling to keep the maps from flapping away across the lawns. We were in the Tudor Garden. Sal was skipping her way down the paths.

I was standing behind a cherub fountain, when suddenly I heard it. A breath; a soft footstep came up close behind me.

I peered out from behind the statue. I walked all around it twice. I was alone.

Yet I heard someone speak. It sounded like a young girls voicesuch a small, cold whisper.

Find the Seventh! she said.

Then the old gardener laughed at something Dad had said, and they strode off, maps flapping in their hands like struggling birds.

Find the Seventh.

Ive described it all, except for the fear. The instant dry mouth. The sweat that forms. The tears that prickle. The sickly feeling. Whoever it is who is watching me in the garden Id rather not find at all.

But I cant tell Sal or Dad.

I dont know what to do.

W EVE BEEN GIVEN some rooms all the way at the top of the south turret. They are the old embroidery rooms and the seamstresses quarters from centuries ago. The retiring gardener showed us up some old back stairs that led from the kitchen. Then we came to a small landing with several doors leading off. One of these led to a narrow spiral staircase. We struggled up it with the suitcases.

Always always use the back stairs, said the old gardener. The master hates to meet up with anyone. Phew! Nearly there.

We came out into a long circular corridor with doors lining it. One by one he opened them, and we followed him into each curved room.

Ive never lived in a turret before. Ill feel like a medieval knight! First, the bedrooms. The biggest one is for Dad. Mine and Sals are crummy, small things, both leading off the living room. Sal instantly claimed the best one for herself. In my room there was nothing much except for a wonky bookshelf, filled with dusty old encyclopedias. One of them was being used to prop up one leg of a wobbly chair. The whole thing didnt look very promising. On the living room floor was a cat dish with some old tuna caked in it.

Sukis vanished, Harold said. Sulking, no doubt! She hates change. If she shows up, Ive left my phone number on the kitchen bulletin board.

Sally looked around with her nose screwed up. Its kind of smelly ! she said. (At ten she is much too fussy about Everything.)

Next, we filed into a tiny kitchen and then a bathroom, with a dripping shower over an ancient bathtub. Then back to the chilly living room. And two tiny storerooms. Back in the curved corridor Dad sat down on a suitcase.

Itll do, he said.

There was one door left unopened. I stared at it. Whats through there? I asked.

Harold glanced at it briefly. Through there? Nothing.

How can there be nothing? Its a door!

Its locked, said Harold, as if that settled it. Ive never bothered with it myself.

But I didnt quite like the way he said it, as if he didnt want to be asked any awkward questions. Well, who has the key? I insisted.

Harold frowned down at me. If theres one thing the master dislikes more than children, its questions! Youll find out when you meet him later. He nodded darkly to Dad. And you two, youd best keep your mouths shut around him, thats for sure.

I opened my mouth again, but Dad cut me short. Thats enough, Jim! said Dad. Let it go now.

He looked tired. Gray. So I let it go.

But it didnt let me go.

Find the Seventh! a young girls voice whispered, right at my ear.

I glanced back at the door before scuttling to catch up with Dad in the living room. I was too scared to be out here by myself, even for a few seconds.

I wasnt sure I was going to like it here at all.

It was almost bedtime by the time we were finally summoned to the masters study. The royal summons. We walked nervously through the Grand Hall, upstairs, and along the echoing corridors. The passages were lit by dim lamps or, in more remote places, just the tiny glow of emergency lights set into the ceilings.

The only sounds were the ticking of the many clocks we passed. Every so often as we walked along, I heard the faint whirring of something small, set high into the walls. This puzzled me until I glanced back and spotted the small electric red dot of a security camera as it swiveled our way.

I wondered who was watching us.

The butler met us at the top of a long flight of stairs. With an impassive face, he ushered us into a dim study and closed the doors on us. Now we were alone, just us and Lord Louis Minerva III.

He was sitting in his wheelchair in front of a huge log firea grumpy-looking old man with a glass of amber brandy in one hand. He gestured us to step forward into his golden halo of firelight. When he smiled at us, his eyes were cold and filled with dislike. He made me think of a lizard.

Mr. Brownand your delightful children! Do come in. I trust your rooms are sufficient?

Perfectly, thank you, sir, said Dad.

I glanced around the room. One whole wall held screen after screen, the monitors of a vast closed-circuit TV system. Each screen flickered with ghostly images of various parts of the grounds. There was the great staircase. And the calm face of the lake. And the gatehouse with its flag, floodlit, on top.

The only light came from the flickering fire and those screens flashing a cold silver from frame to frame. I began to feel as if Id stepped into some old silent movie.

Lord Minerva gestured Sal and me to step even closer. He regarded us silently. This made both of us fidget. Eventually he gestured toward the screens.

I dont get out much these days, he said with a tight little smile. Nevertheless, as you can see, I am in complete control of my entire estate. I have eyes everywhere, some of them hidden. I trust I shall not have cause to regret your coming here.