Spellbound Read online

  Spellbound

  Anna Dale

  To Mole Coleman, Jo Galpin and Kerry Kelsey

  Contents

  Chapter One West to Freshwater

  Chapter Two An Invitation to Breakfast

  Chapter Three Goggle Drops

  Chapter Four Roasted and Soaked

  Chapter Five The Tall Lady

  Chapter Six Athene’s Make-over

  Chapter Seven A Stripy Stranger

  Chapter Eight The Low Gloam at Last

  Chapter Nine Home Sweet Home

  Chapter Ten All Work and No Play

  Chapter Eleven An Audience with the Otter

  Chapter Twelve Humdudgeon Confesses

  Chapter Thirteen Searching for the Spell

  Chapter Fourteen The Truth about the Battle of Barnyard Bedlam

  Chapter Fifteen Cooped Up

  Chapter Sixteen A Bucketful of Terror

  Chapter Seventeen A Dam and a Blast

  Chapter Eighteen Waters Dark and Deep

  Chapter Nineteen Above and Beyond

  By the Same Author

  Also by Anna Dale

  Chapter One

  West to freshwater

  It goes without saying that brothers and sisters often share things with each other, like knock knees, turned-up noses, freckles, the measles, and – if they are kind and generous – toys and bags of sweets; but apart from sharing the same father and mother, Athene and Zachary Enright, aged twelve and six respectively, didn’t share anything at all.

  To start with, they looked as completely unalike as a panda and a porcupine. Athene had a sheet of dark brown hair that she wore tucked neatly behind her ears or braided into the tidiest plait that you have ever seen, whereas her younger brother, Zach, looked as if he had daubed his head with glue and stuck it in a hayrick. Blonder than custard, his hair was always in a state no matter how often his mother tried to tame it with a comb. Athene was tall and thin and Zach was small and stocky. Bookish and something of a know-it-all, Athene excelled at school in almost every subject whilst Zach was inattentive and more of a sporty, adventurous type.

  Zach’s nature was as sunny as a day in June, which was when he had been delivered into the world. Athene, on the other hand, had been born on a December night, slap-bang in the middle of a howling gale and her stormy moods and strong will reflected it.

  No two siblings could have been so dissimilar as Athene and Zach. They were as distinct from each other as chalk is from cheese. Even their names were at opposite ends of the alphabet.

  Of course, there are some people who have nothing at all in common and yet can get along extremely well. Regrettably, this was not the case with the two Enright children. Athene detested her brother from the minute she set eyes on him, wrapped in a white blanket, in his crib on the Katherine ward of Watford General Hospital. Baby Zachary George had done nothing in particular to invoke his sister’s deep-seated hatred (at the age of three hours old he could barely do anything but blink). It was the very fact of his existence that she found so maddening – and, from that moment, she promised herself that she would behave as unpleasantly towards him as she could.

  By the age of twelve, Athene’s spiteful treatment of her brother had become second nature to her. If Zach turned on the television, she switched channels immediately; if they played snakes and ladders together she cheated like crazy to make sure that she won; if they both wanted the last chocolate biscuit on the plate she would give him a pinch to make him change his mind.

  On the morning of the third of March, which was a Saturday, the Enright family were to be found in the living room of their home in Chorleywood, leafing through a stack of glossy catalogues, discussing where they would like to spend their summer holiday.

  ‘I want to go camping,’ said Zach.

  ‘Do you, dear?’ said Mrs Enright nervously. She did not like the thought of sleeping outdoors where there were creepy-crawlies and funny smells. She also had an irrational fear of zips.

  ‘I hate camping,’ Athene said with a frown.

  ‘What about a boating holiday?’ said Mr Enright keenly. ‘A week on a canal in Worcestershire sounds nice.’

  ‘Yeah, let’s go on a boat!’ said Zach. ‘A big one with a red sail!’ He bounced up and down excitedly on the sofa.

  ‘I hate boats,’ said Athene, scowling hard.

  Eventually, they settled upon two weeks in a farmhouse in Somerset, which offered Bed and Breakfast. Athene was the one to suggest it. She found a picture of the farmhouse in a catalogue which told her to ‘While Away the Summer in the West Country’. Her attention was grabbed by the colour of the farmhouse’s front door. She wasn’t especially fond of the colour itself but she was extremely proud of knowing what it was called.

  ‘It’s viridian,’ she told everybody smugly. She always took great pleasure in using long, unusual words, never wanting to miss an opportunity to demonstrate how smart she was.

  ‘What a lovely farmhouse – and it’s in Somerset!’ said Mrs Enright delightedly. She had been on holiday there when she was a girl and had spent many happy hours cycling through its countryside.

  ‘This house has got a croquet lawn and a tennis court!’ said Mr Enright who always packed his training shoes when he went away. He liked to keep himself in trim.

  ‘And a pond!’ exclaimed Zach.

  They were planning to go there in the first two weeks in August, which was, reputedly, the hottest time of the year. With any luck, thought Athene slyly, by the time that we’ve arrived, the pond will have dried up.

  She had no idea as she sat there, gloating because she had succeeded in getting her own way, that this year’s summer holiday would turn out to be the most thrilling and, by far, the most dangerous that she had ever had.

  On the fourth of August, the Enright family got up bright and early and piled into their car. The journey from Chorleywood to Somerset was long and hot and not without moments of tension. Athene and Zach sat next to each other in the back seat for three-and-a-half torturous hours and when they drove past a sign for the village of Mistlebrook and pulled up in the driveway of Freshwater Farmhouse, Athene felt so relieved that she almost gave a hearty cheer. She had barely waited for the wheels to stop turning before she undid her seatbelt and scrambled eagerly out of the car.

  The farmhouse was three times the size of their house back in Chorleywood. It had the lumpy, lopsided look of somewhere very old. Athene was pleased to see that its door was the same shade of bluish-green as it had been in the photograph. As she watched, the door opened and a dog tumbled out of it, followed by a woman who looked nothing like the type of farmer’s wife that Athene had read about in books. What was this woman doing in flip-flops, a pair of shorts and a halter-neck top? Where were her galoshes, her apron and her ruddy cheeks? What on earth was she thinking of?

  Despite her unauthentic wardrobe, the woman proved to be rather nice. Her name was Mrs Virginia Stirrup.

  ‘But you can call me Ginnie,’ she told them.

  Ginnie looked over sixty and was slimmer than a reed, yet she hoicked two suitcases out of the boot of the Enrights’ car with no trouble at all.

  Trying not to trip over her portly black labrador whose name, rather aptly, was Podge, the Enrights followed Ginnie into the farmhouse. Passing through the living room was like perusing the stalls at a jumble sale. There were pictures, board games and jigsaws, and books in untidy, precarious piles. In the furthest corner of the room was a table with four chairs placed around it which was where the guests were served their home-cooked breakfasts. Beyond the table and chairs was a wide, carpeted staircase which they climbed to get to the guest bedrooms in the west wing.

  All hell broke loose when Athene discovered that there were only two of them.

  ‘I’m n
ot sharing a room with Zach,’ Athene informed her parents.

  Mr and Mrs Enright did their best to persuade their obstinate daughter to change her mind, but they met with stiff resistance.

  ‘I don’t mind sleeping in the bathroom,’ said Athene. ‘It’d be quite cosy, I expect. I could bed down in the bathtub.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said her dad. ‘Why do you have to make such a fuss? Sharing a room with your brother isn’t that much of a hardship, surely.’

  ‘I’d rather sleep outside,’ said Athene, steely-eyed and determined. ‘I’d rather sleep on the moon.’

  In the end, she got what she wanted. It was decided that Zach would move into their parents’ room and share with them for the next two weeks. Ginnie lugged a camp bed upstairs, single-handedly, and put it in a corner of their bedroom.

  Athene was relieved and delighted to be sleeping in a room on her own. Hers was a large, grand, grown-up sort of bedroom with tapestries, dark furniture and a chandelier.

  After the Enrights had unpacked, they went downstairs and sat on one of the big old sofas in the living room. Over a glass of lemonade and a freshly baked macaroon, Ginnie told them all about the history of Freshwater Farmhouse. It was built in the 1500s, but the Stirrups had only lived in it for ninety of the intervening years, starting with Ishmael Stirrup who had bought the house for a meagre sum from a pair of dotty old ladies called Ada and Fredegond Cheese.

  ‘We like to think of them as Gouda and Cheddargond,’ said Ginnie, grinning broadly. She pointed to a framed picture of the pair, which was hanging on the wall beneath an oil painting. The sisters were old and jowly and their ample figures were dressed prudishly in black bombazine. Neither sister was smiling. ‘People didn’t say “cheese” in those days, not even if it was their surname!’ said Ginnie with a giggle.

  Athene didn’t think that there was much to chuckle about when she heard the reason behind the sisters’ hasty sale. Apparently the Cheeses had sold up in a hurry after having witnessed something very odd one night, which seemed to have convinced them that the old farmhouse was haunted.

  ‘You mean they saw a ghost?’ said Athene.

  There had been no mention of spectral residents in the holiday catalogue. If Athene had known that Freshwater Farmhouse was haunted she may not have been quite so madly keen to stay in it.

  ‘Don’t worry, sweetie,’ Ginnie said, idly stroking a tabby cat that had jumped on to her lap. ‘There’s nothing to be scared of. There are no ghosts here. Never heard so much as a groan or a rattling chain. Those Cheese sisters were seeing things, if you ask me. A right doolally pair they were, by all accounts.’

  Athene took a sneaky sideways glance at her brother to see if he had been frightened by Ginnie’s talk of ghosts. Perhaps, when night-time came, she could wrap a bed sheet around herself and pretend she was a spook to give him a scare.

  Disappointingly, Zach did not appear to have been listening to anything that had been said. He had brought his coloured pens and drawing pad downstairs and was scribbling away to his heart’s content. She watched as he drew a stick figure with mad, spidery hands and a very long dress, and then another and then another until he had filled a whole page. Athene smirked. Zach was not much good at art. Very tall ladies were all that he could draw. He never drew anything else.

  The plate of macaroons had been emptied by the time that Ginnie had finished telling them about all the Stirrups who had lived at the farm. Ginnie’s husband Jonathan (known as Jonnie) was the great-grandson of Ishmael. Jonnie had inherited the house a quarter of a century ago and he and Ginnie had brought up a son and two daughters, all of whom had flown the nest. Jonnie had been an architect but nowadays he kept himself occupied by dabbling in farming. It had been Ginnie’s idea to start up the Bed and Breakfast business because, in her opinion, the farmhouse was far too big for two and, with her children gone, there was nobody left to make a fuss of.

  ‘Apart from your cat,’ Athene pointed out.

  ‘Yes, she’s a dear,’ said Ginnie, smiling fondly at the tabby who was curled up on her knees. ‘Her name is Crumbs. We got her from a neighbour who brought her round in a biscuit tin. An empty one, I hasten to add. That’s why we called her Crumbs, you see.’

  Aside from Crumbs and their labrador, Podge, the Stirrups owned a cow, three pigs, two goats, and several hens and ducks.

  ‘All of whom need feeding,’ Ginnie told her guests with a sigh. She lifted the sleepy cat from her lap and got to her feet. ‘You’ll excuse me, won’t you, while I see to my menagerie?’

  The Enrights had their evening meal in The Stag and Pheasant, a pub which was a ten-minute car-ride from the farm, in a village called Owlet Corner. Athene ordered toad-in-the-hole to be followed by apricot pie. The gravy was too thick and the piecrust burnt but she ate her dinner quietly, without a fuss. After she had won the fight to have a bedroom of her own, she had been warned not to step out of line for the rest of the day. If she did not behave well enough from now until bedtime, it was highly likely that she would receive a punishment. There had been talk of a bicycle ride the next morning and she did not want to risk missing out on such a lovely treat.

  When they returned to Freshwater Farm, they were all worn out after their eventful day and, sticking to her plan to be good, Athene made no objection when she was advised to go to bed at half past eight.

  ‘Goodnight, Eeny,’ said Zach. Her brother had always called her ‘Eeny’. He hadn’t been able to get his tongue around ‘Athene’ as a toddler. Eeny had been the best that he could manage and now that he was six and quite capable of saying her name properly, he stuck steadfastly to its shortened form. Athene reckoned that he only did it to get on her nerves. Just lately, her father had taken to calling her by this name as well or, worse, Eeny Meeny Miny Mo, which was ten times more humiliating.

  ‘Night, dung breath,’ Athene said, in a voice that was far too hushed for her parents to overhear.

  Zach giggled. He did not seem to mind when she called him by a nasty name. Any normal brother would cry or stick his tongue out or say something horrible in return – but not Zachary Enright. His happy-go-lucky attitude was a constant source of irritation to Athene. It took quite an effort to think of hurtful things to call him – and sometimes she thought that it wasn’t worth the bother.

  Alone in her bedroom, Athene put on her nightdress and switched on her bedside lamp. She sat cross-legged on her bed and wrote down the day’s events in her diary, which she did, habitually, every night. Her diary entry completed, she crossed the floor to close the curtains. They were made from a heavy material and she found it a struggle to drag the curtain rings along the poles. The room had three enormous windows and Athene abandoned her task in the end. There was no need to draw them completely in any case. The farmhouse was several miles from the nearest village of Mistlebrook and all that the windows looked out upon were lawns and fields at the front of the house and a walled garden at the rear. Athene watched from a window, confident that no human eye could see her standing there. The driveway stretched eel-like towards the nearest road.

  Athene climbed back into bed and put out the light.

  There is something very unnerving about being alone in a strange room in the dark and although the sun had not quite set, and in spite of the fact that Athene wasn’t easily scared, she felt the need to pull the bedclothes right up to her chin. She lay underneath them very stiffly for the next five minutes. It was far too quiet. There were no noises coming from her parents’ room or from the fields and gardens outside. The only sound that she could hear was the thump-thump-thump of her heart.

  Athene wasn’t sure if she believed in ghosts or not. It depended at what hour of the day she was asked for her opinion. At half past four in the afternoon, in a room full of people, as she was preparing to help herself to her third macaroon, she might say that they probably didn’t exist but if she was asked at a quarter to nine in the evening, just before nightfall, it was quite likely that she would have cha
nged her mind.

  The Cheese sisters had been sufficiently spooked to sell their house for next to nothing and move out of Somerset altogether, whereas Ginnie and Jonnie had lived in the farmhouse for twenty-five years and had not seen a ghost in all that time. Who was Athene to believe?

  She felt chilled suddenly. Was there a draught? Had she left a window open? Did a curtain billow just then? Her heart thumped very fast. She’d never get to sleep at this rate. What on earth was she to do?

  There was no little brother to call out to. She had taken great pains to ensure that she had this bedroom all to herself – and there wasn’t a favourite teddy bear or doll to hug in her arms. Now that she had started secondary school, Athene had told herself that she was far too old for such childish things.

  If she knocked on the door of her parents’ room and told them that she didn’t like being on her own she would probably be torn limb from limb and the cycle ride tomorrow would most certainly be off. Perhaps she could find a soft toy of some sort downstairs. There had been board games and jigsaws in the living room so perhaps there were a few soft toys too. Or – even better than a toy – she could track down a live animal. Podge was too excitable and he’d probably take up half the bed – but Crumbs the cat was small and furry and likely to be as warm as toast. Pigs and goats were not even worth considering. Athene’s mind was made up. Crumbs would be just perfect. With a comforting presence like Crumbs curled up next to her, a good night’s sleep would be guaranteed. Without further ado, she threw back her bedclothes, put on her slippers and went off in search of the Stirrups’ cat.

  There were rooms in the house where guests were allowed to roam and other rooms that were not to be strayed into unless you were a Stirrup. Athene looked in them all. She even dared to peek into the kitchen where Ginnie and Jonnie were drinking tea and listening to a concert on the radio. It was Athene’s first glimpse of Jonnie Stirrup. She noted that he had hay stalks in his hair and was wearing an old holey jumper. Podge was in the kitchen too. He was the only one to see Athene peeping through a crack in the door. Luckily for her, Podge was half asleep and could not rouse his bones to get out of his basket and greet her. A cocked ear and a couple of whirls of his tail was all that he could muster.