Shiverton Hall, the Creeper by Emerald Fennell Read Free Book Online Page B

Rose Cottage, Woodland Row, Grimstone.’ He had walked up and down Grimstone’s quaint, cobbled high street about a hundred times and had absolutely no clue where he was going.
    He reluctantly opened the door to Aunt Bessie’s Sweet Shop. The little bell tinkled as he entered the fog of cigarillo smoke and sherbet dust that made up the atmosphere of Grimstone’s least child-friendly shop. Aunt Bessie stood, as always, behind the counter, sucking on a small, brown cigar, her bleached hair frazzling in all directions. She hadn’t bothered to take down the Christmas decorations – in fact, they might even have been from the Christmas before – and they hung limply from the ceiling, gently poking customers in the eye as they entered.
    ‘What do you want?’ Aunt Bessie barked.
    ‘I was just wondering, could you direct me to Rose Cottage?’ Arthur asked.
    ‘Do I look like a bloody map?’ Aunt Bessie sneered, revealing red lipstick all over her yellow teeth.
    Arthur sighed. ‘Can I have some strawberry laces, then?’
    ‘That’s more like it,’ said Aunt Bessie as she aggressively shook some strawberry laces on to the scales.
    ‘Do you want bonbons too? We got lots of bonbons.’
    ‘No, I don’t really like bonbons, thanks,’ Arthur said.
    Aunt Bessie glared at him.
    ‘Oh, all right, fine. Some bonbons, then, too,’ Arthur huffed.
    ‘Rose Cottage, was it?’ Aunt Bessie said, taking a long puff. ‘It’s up past the high street, just on the lane past the woods. Very hoity-toity, the owner is.’
    Arthur rolled his eyes and passed Aunt Bessie a five-pound note.
    ‘I’ll keep the change, shall I?’ Aunt Bessie asked. ‘For my troubles.’
    Arthur opened his mouth to protest that it was his pocket money for the whole week, but the look on Aunt Bessie’s face made him think better of it.
    Arthur made his way up the lane through the woods. He hadn’t seen a single house for ten minutes and was now wondering whether Aunt Bessie had been winding him up. He was just about to turn around when he heard rock music being blasted from the path up ahead. Curious, he carried on, following the music as it grew louder and louder.
    A little further up the path was a clearing and, within it, a tiny thatched cottage with a bright pink painted door. Around the rambling front garden, tall trees were filled with multi-coloured ribbons and wind chimes, and the lawn itself was covered in garden gnomes. On the little white gate was a plaque bearing the name Rose Cottage , and underneath was a handmade sign that read: Get lost!
    Arthur tentatively walked through the gate and rung the doorbell. There was no response, probably because the Rolling Stones were being played at a deafening volume inside. Arthur followed a gravel path around the cottage, peering in the windows, until he got to the kitchen and spotted an old lady with bright orange hair wearing a green, silk kimono, dancing along to the ancient record player.
    She turned, saw Arthur and screamed. Arthur, in his surprise, screamed back. The old lady grabbed a frying pan from the drainer and threw open the window. ‘Who the blazes are you?’ she demanded, swiping at him with the frying pan.
    ‘Are . . . are you Mrs Todd?’ Arthur stammered.
    ‘Who’s asking?’
    ‘I’m Arthur,’ Arthur said. ‘I’m a student at Shiverton Hall. I’ll be coming to help you on Wednesday afternoons.’
    ‘Oh Lord,’ Mrs Todd groaned. ‘They’ve sent another one, have they? I keep telling them I don’t need any help.’ She eyed him up and sighed. ‘Well, I suppose you’d better come in then, Albert.’
    Arthur sat in Mrs Todd’s shambolic sitting room, holding a chipped china teacup . He took in the broken piano, and the garish floral curtains, and the dying plants. The walls were filled with absolutely hideous portraits and Mrs Todd noticed Arthur looking at them.
    ‘Ghastly, aren’t they?’ she said. ‘My son does them. No talent whatsoever, poor boy, but one must be