Goodly and Grave in a Deadly Case of Murder

“I didn’t want him remembering us, just in case. If he mentions anything to the parish constable about detectives making enquiries, it could raise awkward questions. So I tweaked him.”

“You did what?”

“Tweaked him.”

Suddenly Lucy realised what he meant. Lord Grave had tweaked the memories of the children she’d rescued from the clutches of Amethyst Shade to remove all traces of their ordeal from their minds. But until now, she’d never seen a tweak performed. It was most impressive how effortless he made it seem. She suspected it was harder than it looked.

“Can I learn how to tweak?”

“Yes, when I think you’re ready. It’s a very delicate skill you know. Multi-purpose too. You can tweak personalities as well as memories, for example. But get it wrong and you’re in dire straits. Now, let’s get on. We need something to hide behind, just in case my instincts are right and our graverobber makes a reappearance.”

“Look, we could hide behind that,” Lucy said, pointing to a statue of an angel, which stood near Mr Shannon’s grave. The statue was somewhat disturbing to look at. It was green with lichen and had holes where its eyeballs should be. However, the handy thing about the angel was that it stood on a tall, wide plinth, which could screen Lucy and Lord Grave as well as Bathsheba while affording a decent view of Mr Shannon’s grave.

The sun began to set, accompanied by the twittering of the birds roosting in the trees. As darkness fell, the birds stopped singing one by one until a robin perched on the roof of the church gave the very final chirrup of the day. After that, the sounds of the night began. Bushes rustled with unseen creatures. An owl swooped overhead before diving towards the ground. There was a high-pitched squeak, and the owl arced back into the sky, a struggling mouse clutched in its talons.

The temperature in the churchyard was rapidly dropping. Lucy shivered a little and thought longingly of the cosy kitchen at Grave Hall. Mrs Crawley often made hot milk for everyone at the end of the day, sweetened with honey from the bees that Vonk the butler looked after.

“How long do you think we should stay for?” she asked Lord Grave.

“Until sun-up if need be. Now shush, we need to keep as quiet as possible.”

A moment later, Lord Grave sneezed loudly.

“That’s not exactly keeping quiet, is it?” Lucy whispered.

“I think I’ve caught Bertie’s cold,” Lord Grave said stiffly. “Luckily, I planned ahead.” He took a small bottle from his pocket, which contained a luminous yellow liquid. He unscrewed the top and drank the contents, his whole face and even his moustache twisting in disgust. Seconds later, steam piped out of his ears, wreathing himself, Lucy, Bathsheba and the angel in luminous yellow mist.

“What is that?” Lucy whispered.

“A cold remedy. Mrs Crawley gave it to me. You know, I think it’s working!”

Thankfully, the remedy did indeed seem to work, as there was no more sneezing or coughing from Lord Grave over the course of the next two hours, by which time Lucy was on the brink of screaming with boredom. Just when she thought she couldn’t bear it a moment longer, Lord Grave nudged her.

“Someone’s coming,” he said in a low voice.

Lucy peered round the side of the eyeless angel’s plinth. Sure enough, a tall man was approaching, carrying a lantern. It was impossible to see his face properly as he had a scarf wrapped round his nose and mouth and the light from the lantern cast a shadow across his eyes and forehead. He carried a spade.

“Let’s wait a few moments. See what he does,” Lord Grave whispered.

They watched as the man reached Mr Shannon’s grave. He set his lantern down and began shovelling grave dirt into the bag he had with him.

“Oh no!” Lord Grave exclaimed softly.

“What is it?” Lucy whispered back.

“The dratted cold remedy’s wearing off. I’m going to … going to …”

Lucy hesitated, wondering whether she should put her hand over Lord Grave’s nose and mouth. He might think such an action very insubordinate. But before she could decide, his Lordship let rip a violent cough combined with a ferocious sneeze. The cough and the sneeze echoed around the graveyard, waking up the sleeping birds, which chirped and chattered in alarm.

Lucy held her breath, hoping that by some miracle the man hadn’t heard the commotion. But of course he had and he swiftly picked up the half-filled bag of grave dirt and sprinted off, something falling as he ran.

As soon as the man was out of sight, Lucy and Lord Grave leaped out from behind the stone angel. Lord Grave lit the lantern they had brought with them so they could investigate the object the man had dropped.

“It’s some sort of book,” Lucy said, bending down to pick it up, but before she could do so Lord Grave grabbed her arm.

“Wait. In this business, Lucy, it’s vital to assume everything is dangerous until you’ve proved otherwise.”

Lucy could see his point. She had made the disastrous mistake of trusting magical objects before, namely a clockwork raven, which had turned out to be a wicked magician in disguise. “So how do we tell whether it’s safe to touch?”

Lord Grave took what looked like a fat silver pencil from his pocket. “This is one of Lord Percy’s contraptions. It whistles if it detects harmful magic in an object. It’s Percy’s strongest skill, you know, to—”

A grating noise interrupted Lord Grave. Bathsheba gave a low growl of warning. Before Lucy could turn to see where the noise was coming from, a great stone fist slammed down on Lord Grave’s head, flattening his top hat and sending him slumping to the ground. The plinth the eyeless angel had stood on moments before was now empty. Its former occupant stepped over Lord Grave’s prone body and lunged at Lucy, growling in a completely un-angelic manner.

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_89ac95c3-1e73-5a8b-bd8a-81e04c775b41)

THE NOT SO PITILESS PREDATOR (#ulink_89ac95c3-1e73-5a8b-bd8a-81e04c775b41)

Bathsheba roared ferociously at the angel and leaped at it, her fangs and claws bared, but even these powerful weapons couldn’t damage stone. The angel shook the panther off like an irritating fly before grabbing Lucy by the collar and hauling her up until the two of them were face to face. Those awful empty eyes stared into Lucy’s and the stone lips curled into a snarl. Lucy wriggled and squirmed. The angel’s grip was slowly choking her.

The angel began clomping heavily through the grass towards the grave that had been disturbed. The robber had returned and was bending down to pick up the book he had dropped.

“Bathsheba,” Lucy managed to choke out, “attack that man – please attack!”

The panther seemed to understand Lucy’s command. She hunkered down into a crouch before launching herself at the graverobber, knocking him over. The book he’d retrieved moments before left his grasp again. This time, it flew from his hand and landed in the tangle of a nearby overgrown grave. The man had no chance to run after it: Bathsheba had pinned him to the ground in an instant.

With the man safely pinioned and the precious clue secure for now, Lucy turned her attention to escaping her stony captor’s clutches. As a first stab at gaining her freedom, Lucy poked the angel in its empty eyehole, but this made no impact whatsoever. Panic swamped Lucy as she struggled and choked in the angel’s grasp. The angel twisted the collar of her jacket so that it dug painfully into her windpipe. If she didn’t escape soon she was going die of strangulation! Anger began to overtake Lucy’s panic and fear. She wasn’t going to let this happen to her.

“Why are you doing this?” Lucy spluttered out between choking coughs. “You’re supposed to be on … be on … the side of good. Which is my side! Put me down.”

The angel’s grip on Lucy’s collar loosened. Lucy took in great ragged gulps of air. Her captor stared at her. A dim light glimmered in its eyeholes as though Lucy’s admonishments had sparked life in there. But the light died after a few seconds and the angel’s grip tightened again. Lucy frantically tried to fathom what was happening. Was getting angry with the angel triggering some kind of magic? Although Lucy’s magical abilities were still very new to her and she didn’t understand much about how it all worked, she did know that imagining what you wanted to happen sometimes played a part. Lucy held on to her anger, refusing to let fear take over.

“You … should be … ashamed of yourself, helping a criminal!” she said between gasps for air.

Again the angel’s eyes glinted. Again it paused in its efforts to strangle Lucy. Convinced now that her anger was having an effect, Lucy continued to berate her attacker. At the same time, she visualised the angel releasing her and pursuing the graverobber instead. As deeply and vividly as she could, she imagined landing on the soft grass, the ground vibrating as the stone angel pounded towards the graverobber, and his cries as the angel imprisoned him in her stony arms. She held the images in her mind.

And held them there.

And held them there.

The grip on Lucy’s collar loosened, sending her tumbling to the grass. She rolled out of the way of the angel’s feet; it was clumping towards the graverobber now, just as she’d imagined it doing. With the angel suitably distracted, Lucy crawled swiftly over to Lord Grave, who was still lying flat out on the grass. She shook him.

“Sir, sir, please wake up!”

But Lord Grave lay frighteningly still. Lucy put her ear against his chest. She could just about make out the comforting whump whump of his heart. She sat back on her heels, shaky with relief that at least Lord Grave wasn’t dead. But now she needed to get help and fast! The best thing to do was to shortcut back to Grave Hall and fetch help. She briefly surveyed the situation. The angel was looming over the graverobber now, and Bathsheba still had him firmly under her paws, so hopefully there was no immediate danger.

Lucy hurriedly began the process of shortcutting back to Grave Hall, imagining herself in the meeting room where the rest of MAAM would be waiting. But before she’d got very far, a rough but friendly tongue licked the back of her neck.

“Bathsheba! You’re supposed to be guarding the …” She looked frantically around and saw that the graverobber was now free and on his feet, seeking the book he’d dropped. Even worse, the angel had turned away from and was heading for Lucy again, its face contorted with anger.