The Minivers Fight Back Book 2 Page 5

  Emily pushed back the sheets and slid quietly out of bed. She climbed onto a chair and opened the bedroom door, then tiptoed out to the kitchen. Livia was sitting at the table with a pile of folded newspapers pushed to one side. She was writing furiously in a hardcover notebook and seemed not to notice Emily’s arrival. Emily moved closer, not liking to interrupt, and suddenly Livia gave a scream and clutched the book to her chest.

  ‘What are you doing? You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that!’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Emily, meekly. ‘I didn’t like to disturb you.’

  ‘Well, you did,’ said Livia, but she was too gentle to hold the grudge, and quickly recovered her temper. ‘Would you like some breakfast? Don’t look at those newspapers: they’re quite dreadful. They’ll only upset you.’

  ‘I’ll have to see them some time,’ said Emily, but her resolve was not yet strong enough to push the point. ‘I don’t want any breakfast, Livvy. I’m wondering if you have a street directory. I want to look something up.’

  ‘There’s one in the car.’ Livia looked doubtful. ‘What are you looking for?’

  ‘Nothing important,’ said Emily innocently. If it had been Rosamund, Livia might not have fallen for it, but Emily’s face did not look as if it hid any sneaky intentions, and Livia did not ask any further questions.

  ‘All right. I’ll get it for you,’ said Livia. She went off to the garage and came back a few minutes later with a dog-eared book.

  ‘Here it is. By the way, Gibraltar’s gone away for a day or two. He says you’re to lay low until he comes back. I’ve got to go to work now – can you make yourselves breakfast and lunch?’

  ‘If you can get the cornflakes down for me.’

  Livia glanced up and saw the box of cereal sitting out of reach on top of the dresser. ‘Sorry, I keep forgetting. Here you are. I’ll see you again this afternoon.’ She picked up her work dustcoat and stuffed her diary into the woven bag she always carried. A minute later, Emily heard the roar of the yellow car’s engine as it reversed up the driveway into the street.

  Emily climbed up onto the kitchen chair and pulled the street directory onto her lap. According to Livia, Millamant was being kept in a building called the Bridge House. It was the old toll-keeper’s home at the end of a bridge over the Artemisia River, and it had been empty for many years. Now Madame seemed to have turned it into a sort of secret prison. Emily found the page with the Bridge House on it without too much difficulty but, rather to her disappointment, studying the map did not fill her head with any particular inspiration. She tried to remember what the Bridge House looked like, and pictured a grey stone arch with windows, and a sort of balcony on top. But the details of how many windows there were and whether someone of her size might climb up to them unseen; whether there was a door, and if so, how it was secured, had never even occurred to her. To find out for certain, she would have to go and look.

  Emily closed the directory and thought hard. She was not a naturally disobedient girl, and if someone like Papa King or Millamant told her to do something, then she would generally do it. But this did not happen very often. Unlike most girls their age, she and Rosamund were used to making their own decisions, and right now, Emily knew she needed to act. If Milly was going to be rescued it had to be done quickly. The question was, how? Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft footfall and she looked up, and saw Rosamund enter the room. Before Emily had a chance to stop her, she stretched up and grabbed the top-most newspaper from the pile on the kitchen table.

  Emily gave a horrified gasp. ‘Rose! What are you doing? Livia said we shouldn’t look at the newspapers!’

  ‘It’s too late.’ As she spoke, the heavy paper came apart in Rosamund’s hands. It hit the floor at her feet and left her standing, clutching a single venom-laden sheet. Rosamund stood, staring at the headline, looking exactly like the statue of herself in the TV-6 studio foyer. Emily wondered fleetingly if the statue was even there any more, and then she saw that Rosamund had begun to cry. She jumped down from her chair and prised the sheet of paper from her hands.

  It was page three of the Artemisia Mail. Half the space was filled with a photograph of Rosamund’s shoe wardrobe at Miniver House. A security guard – it was, of course, the treacherous Primrose – stood in front of several racks of dainty shoes with a disgusted expression. Above it, a headline read: MINIVER OR MONSTER?

  There was no point in avoiding it any longer. For the next few minutes, Emily and Rosamund sat on the floor, trying to make sense of one hateful article after another. Journalists they had known for years, people who had sucked up to them at Miniver House press conferences and fallen over themselves with excitement when they were given exclusive interviews, were suddenly calling the Minivers vile names, and gleefully accusing them of greed and excess. For years, Papa King had controlled the way the newspapers wrote about them. This was payback.

  ‘It says here that neither of us can sing,’ said Rosamund, pointing to a paragraph on page two. ‘Miniver Records is releasing a single of me, singing without backing tracks and overdubs, so people can hear how awful I really am. Oh look, Emmie, it’s “Miniver Morning”. It was my very first single. I was only eight years old. Surely people must see how cruel that is?’

  ‘Livia’s right. We shouldn’t be reading this.’ Emily bundled up the paper and jammed it into the rubbish bin. ‘There. That’s where it belongs. How dare they say you can’t sing? You’re the most popular singer in the history of the Artemisian charts.’

  ‘Oh, what does it matter, anyway?’ Rosamund buried her nose between her bare knees, and stared at the lino. ‘Being a Miniver’s such a stupid life. Do you know, Emmie, I used to look at myself in the mirror sometimes and wonder what on earth I was? I used to feel as if I’d come from outer space. Some nights I was so unhappy that I would just lie in my bed and cry until I was almost sick. Only, you were happy, and so was Milly, so I never said anything – only that once, on the night of my birthday party, before all this began. After that, there was never any time to wonder about it. I was too worried about staying free, and finding you again.

  ‘But now –’ Rosamund shook her head, ‘– now I don’t know what to do any more. I’m not a Miniver, I’m not anything. Everybody hates us and I’m frightened. In a few more years I’m going to be grown up. If I’m not famous, if I’m not a Miniver everybody loves, who will I be? Some weird little freak nobody wants?’ Rosamund trembled. ‘What am I going to do? Even if we escape, even if we leave Artemisia forever, what future is there? Am I going to be like this forever, two feet high? I don’t want to be a Miniver, Emmie. I want to be normal.’

  ‘Don’t say that, Rose,’ said Emily. ‘If you weren’t a Miniver, you wouldn’t be you. And we wouldn’t have each other.’

  ‘No. Nobody can ever change that.’ Rosamund hugged her. ‘Do you know, Emmie, I sometimes think you’re the only person in the whole world who really loves me?’

  ‘That’s not true,’ said Emily. She scrubbed the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘I don’t care what the papers say. There must be some fans who haven’t deserted us. People like Fiona, who’ll never let us down. And there’s Milly. We need to do something about her. In fact – I think we ought to rescue her.’

  Rosamund looked shocked. ‘What?’

  ‘I mean it,’ said Emily. ‘Rose, please. All this time we’ve been worrying about ourselves. We’ve been trying not to think about Milly, because out there in the forest we couldn’t do anything to help her. Well, we’re back in Artemisia now, and we owe it to Milly to try. At the very least we should go to that bridge place and find out if she’s safe. There’s nothing dangerous about just having a look.’

  ‘I’m not sure I agree with that,’ said Rosamund. ‘Anyway, how would we get there? It’s much too far to walk.’

  ‘Livia’s got a car.’

  ‘Livia would never take us,’ said Rosamund. ‘I’m not sure she even likes me very much. She’s always looking at me as if
she disapproves of everything I say.’

  ‘I think Livia’s just worried,’ said Emily. ‘Poor thing. It must be horrible, being related to Madame. Livia trusted her, you know.’

  ‘I do know she trusted her,’ said Rosamund, ‘and believe me, it’s not a recommendation.’ She looked at Emily and considered. ‘I suppose we could drive the car ourselves. We’d have to think about the pedals, though. Our legs would never reach.’

  ‘We’ll come up with something. Just think how marvellous it will be to know Milly’s safe.’

  ‘And how awful if we get caught,’ said Rosamund, less enthusiastically. ‘All right. I’ll do it, but you must promise me not to do anything dangerous.’

  A memory of Gibraltar saying they should wait until he returned surfaced briefly at the back of Emily’s thoughts, but she pushed it down again.

  ‘I promise,’ Emily said, and she crossed her fingers tightly behind her back.

  Madame sat up in bed eating her breakfast. It was toast with a scraping of margarine and a cup of weak tea, made with last night’s tea-bag. Before going to bed, she had carefully tied her fancy new hairstyle up in a scarf in the hope that she would get another day out of it, but the scarf had slipped during the night and several strands of wispy hair protruded from under the edges. Madame wriggled her toes luxuriously under the blanket and, biting into her toast, read every single word of the morning newspapers.

  On the front page of the Artemisia Mail was a photo of a Miniver doll, skewered on a pitchfork. It was accompanied by a mostly accurate account of the previous night’s events. Five people had been injured and one man seriously burned when the petrol he was using to light a bonfire of Minivers memorabilia accidentally set fire to his clothes. Sixty-seven people had been arrested for various offences including damaging buildings and cars, breaking and entering, and brawling. There was also a photo of Madame and Alex Burton. Unfortunately it was on page four, and not nearly as big as she had hoped.

  Really, thought Madame disgustedly, was that the best one got for a hundred thousand dollars these days? On the other hand, she could not complain about the amount of space given to exposés of the Minivers’ lifestyle. Page after page was filled with articles about their lack of talent, Rosamund’s extravagance, and the amazing things found inside Miniver House. Madame found herself particularly disapproving of Rosamund’s enormous shoe collection. From the number of pairs she owned, anyone would think the girl was a millipede. A famous author had written a pompous article. There is nothing remarkable at all about the Minivers: they are simply midgets, he concluded. Is this the greatest fraud Papa King has pulled off yet? Madame frowned a little as she read this, for while she did not respect Papa King, she did not like her father to be criticised when she wanted his position for herself. She put down her toast, and was scribbling a note to remind herself to contact the press office, when she became aware of another presence in the room. Madame gave a little scream. Kitty, her cat, jumped off the bed, and fled.

  ‘You!’ said Madame. ‘How dare you come in here without knocking?’

  Titus was standing with his arms folded and his back to the bedroom door. He swaggered over, drew up a chair, and sat down beside the bed. Madame gave him a disapproving look and squirmed away back into her pillows.

  ‘You’ve got a nerve,’ she told him. ‘Who do you think you are?’

  ‘Your PR manager,’ said Titus. ‘Chief of Staff, political adviser, and second-in-command. The man who’s going to make you queen.’ He put his hand into his denim jacket and pulled out a small object in a cardboard sleeve. ‘The new single. Prepared by me in the Minivers’ own studio. It’s being debuted on Radio Artemisia this morning. I thought you’d like the first copy.’ He tossed it over. Madame caught it with a crow of delight.

  ‘Is it truly awful?’

  ‘Absolutely dreadful,’ Titus assured her. ‘Scarcely a note in tune, in fact. Unimproved, undubbed and unedited, just as it was when Rosamund first sang it. The manager at Radio Artemisia predicts it will be the biggest selling Minivers single ever.’

  ‘As long as I get the money,’ warned Madame. ‘This is all very expensive, you know.’

  ‘You’ll get the money, all right,’ said Titus. ‘But I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait to listen to it. There are a few things we need to talk about, and the first is this.’ He took out an envelope and passed it to her. Madame shook out a photograph of a brick wall, on which someone had spray-painted the words MINIVERS UNDERGROUND RULE.

  Madame frowned. ‘Minivers Underground? What does that mean?’

  ‘We don’t know yet. That particular slogan was sprayed on the wall of the Artemisia Cement Works early this morning. Naturally, we’ve got rid of it, but it’s worth noting that the Minivers still have their supporters. We mustn’t expect everything to run smoothly.’

  ‘It would be much easier,’ said Madame coldly, ‘if the people in charge of Operation Miniver had actually managed to find the little brats.’

  ‘Another week of Phase Two,’ said Titus, ‘and I guarantee that anyone who sees them will instantly turn them in.’

  ‘I may not have a week,’ said Madame. ‘And there’s something else you’re forgetting. Rosamund Miniver still has Papa King’s half of the key, the key to the Most Secret Room where his will is kept. I need that key, Titus. It’s very important.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry too much. No one’s going to want Rosamund as queen now, no matter how many keys she’s been given.’ Titus suddenly found himself enjoying the conversation hugely. He knew, though Madame did not, that he had snatched the key from Emily at the Artemisia Funfair. At this very moment, it was hanging on a chain around his neck. He decided to fish for more information.

  ‘That relative of yours, Livia. Has she had any luck finding the Most Secret Room?’

  ‘None at all,’ said Madame. ‘Livia’s not a bad girl, but she’s forever drawing and wasting time in the garden when she should be at work. You should see my grandfather’s house.’ Madame shook her head at the horrifying memory. ‘She’s painted it … yellow.’

  ‘Dreadful,’ said Titus solemnly. ‘Is that the grandfather who was the City Archivist?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Madame. ‘My mother’s father, Grandfather Kennedy. He knew where the Most Secret Room was, of course. My mother found out about it from him. Unfortunately, due to some mix-up, she was locked inside it for quite a while, and it … affected her. She went very strange. I could never get her to tell me what had happened.’

  Titus was silent. This was certainly new information. He knew, of course, that long ago Madame and her mother had been banished from Artemisia by Papa King, and that she must have done something particularly treacherous for this to have happened. Titus had always assumed that the records of her crime must be inside the Most Secret Room, and that this was why Madame so badly wanted to find it. But why had Madame’s mother, Susan, been trying to get into it all those years ago? It occurred to Titus that it would be very useful to find out more about the reasons behind the banishment. When that happened, he would be able to blackmail Madame into doing whatever he wanted.

  Very carefully, for he did not want to arouse Madame’s suspicions, Titus said, ‘That’s very interesting. What a shame your mother never told you where the Most Secret Room was. However did she manage to get into it?’

  ‘She stole Papa King’s half of the key out of his desk.’ Madame smirked nastily. ‘I kept watch for her while she did it. The Archivist’s half belonged to my grandfather, but she worked her way around that, too. Look: I’ll show you something.’ Madame opened the drawer of her bedside table and reverently drew out a tiny, ancient tin. She took off the lid, and inside Titus saw some yellow wax, in which someone had long ago left the impression of a key.

  ‘I found it among Mother’s things after she died,’ Madame said. ‘See the little letter “A” on the head? It’s a wax copy of the Archivist’s half of the key. Mother must have pressed grandfather’s half into
the wax when he wasn’t looking. As soon as Livia’s found the Most Secret Room, I can have a copy made. But first you must catch the Minivers and get the other half.’

  ‘I’m working on it.’ Titus said goodbye and left Madame to her breakfast. She was, he thought, one of the most stupid people he had ever met. Nevertheless, she was right about one thing. The Miniver sisters needed to be caught. They knew far too much about what he was doing, and they were a problem that he would take great pleasure in eliminating.

  6

  The Rescue

  Livia came home from work that evening feeling tired, grumpy and hot. She’d had an awful day, in which nothing had seemed to go right. Her search for the Most Secret Room was still going nowhere, and she was running out of places to look. Then, halfway through the day, she had received a phone call from Madame telling her to report to the palace at seven o’clock. Livia could not think of an excuse that would not also make Madame suspicious. She had to pretend she was totally on her cousin’s side.

  It was the sort of evening when she would normally have sat down with a book and some cheese on toast. But when Livia parked the car under the house and clumped up the back steps into the kitchen, she was surprised to smell the scent of cooking. Rosamund was standing on a chair, enthusiastically stirring a great pot that was boiling on the stove. Another saucepan, containing a gloopy tomato mixture, was simmering beside it, and Emily was setting the table with a check cloth and napkins.