Fall of a Sparrow , livre ebook

Troubador Publishing Ltd - Griselda Heppel

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

88 pages

English

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

11 year-old Eleanor has been sent away to a spooky old school run by a great-aunt she's never met. Shunned by the other girls, dismayed by Great-Aunt Margaret's coldness, Eleanor struggles with loneliness; so when a strange, skinny little boy, all flapping arms and nodding head, greets her as a long-lost friend, it feels great to have an ally, however quirky his behaviour. As Davey follows her around, begging her to play games and climb the lime tree 'like they used to,' Eleanor is baffled; then bewilderment turns to horror when she realises the boy knows things about her he can't possibly know, things no one should know... Susanna, her one friend, helps her face the truth. Unravelling the mystery draws Eleanor into a dark web of family history, awakening a tragic past that soon threatens to engulf her.

Informations

Publié par	Troubador Publishing Ltd
Date de parution	28 avril 2021
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781800469235
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0250€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Also by Griselda Heppel

Ante’s Inferno

The Tragickall History of Henry Fowst

Copyright © 2021 Griselda Heppel

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Matador
9 Priory Business Park,
Wistow Road, Kibworth Beauchamp,
Leicestershire. LE8 0RX
Tel: 0116 279 2299
Email: books@troubador.co.uk
Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador
Twitter: @matadorbooks

ISBN 9781800469235

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Matador® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

In memory of
Rupert Heppel
1950 – 2018

There’s a special providence in the fall of a sparrow.
William Shakespeare, Hamlet

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Epilogue

Chapter One
One Fine Day in April 1968
They were up to something.
Storm ing into the kitchen to tell Mum that if Robbie didn’t stop doing the twist in front of the TV screen right now I’d twist his head right off, I was brought up short. It was something in the way Mum’s gaze met mine before dropping back to the sheet of paper on the table before her, the tiny movement of her hand as if she thought to hide it; while Dad just stood, hands in his pockets, looking nowhere in particular.
‘What’s this?’ I said. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Come and sit down, Eleanor,’ said Mum. ‘We’ve got something to tell you.’
Oh no. This didn’t look good. Sliding into a chair, I glanced at Dad. But he’d seized the kettle, as if this was the most important thing he could do, and was filling it at the sink. On the worktop beside him lay a tray with teapot, cups and saucers, and – what, on a weekday? – a plate of chocolate biscuits. Something was definitely going on.
‘Such good news,’ said Mum, giving me her most encouraging smile. ‘We’ve found you a school!’
From the hob the kettle made a rushing sound. I let it fill my brain, willing it to block out the meaning of what I’d just heard. ‘I don’t need a school,’ I said. ‘I’ve got one.’
‘No, Eleanor. Things… have changed.’ Mum followed Dad with her eyes as he filled the teapot, brought the tray to the table and sat down.
‘Proper tea! Shall I call Robbie?’ I was already half out of my chair. Anything to derail a conversation that didn’t bode well. Even if it meant luring my wretched brother away from his sole mastery of Crackerjack on BBC 1 to demolish all the biscuits.
‘No.’ Dad put a hand on my arm. ‘Not yet. Listen to Mum. She’s had a letter from your Great-Aunt Margaret, who runs a really nice school in the countryside, in a beautiful old house surrounded by fields and woods and… oh yes.’ His eyes gleamed in the way they always did when he tried to enthuse me and Robbie for yet another slog around a mediaeval castle. ‘With ponies ! Doesn’t that sound fun?’
I watched Mum pour the tea and couldn’t reply.
‘The thing is, Ellie—’
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ Mum snatched up the letter. ‘She’s offered you a place! For next term! At such short notice I never imagined—’
‘ What? ’ My hand knocked my cup, splashing tea into the saucer. ‘Straight after Easter? No. I’m not going. I’m not leaving West Hill. I’ll—’
‘Eleanor—’
‘—manage better after the holidays, you’ll see. I’ve got Angie’ – my voice rose, and I couldn’t help it because all the time I talked, Mum just shook her head, her mouth getting tighter and tighter – ‘and… and some of the others, they’ll be on my side—’
‘Mrs Scott phoned last week.’
That silenced me.
‘We didn’t tell you,’ Mum went on. ‘Didn’t want to upset you, not until we had a solution. She was very calm… and quite pleasant, really… but firm. Said it was regrettable but after what… happened’ – Mum’s voice went funny, as if the words didn’t want to come out – ‘she couldn’t possibly have you back. I’m sorry, darling.’
‘Not have me…’ I got no further. Everything – blue and white crockery, scrubbed pine tabletop, Mum’s hand holding the letter – dissolved into a blur in which images from that last awful day flooded my mind and wouldn’t disappear, no matter how hard I blinked.
Mum put down the letter. ‘Eleanor, listen,’ she said. ‘It may be for the best.’
Now my head shot up. ‘How can it be for the best? I’ve been expelled! How fair is that?’
I knew something had to happen, that there’d be… what was Mrs Scott’s favourite word? Ah yes, consequences. They’d been hanging over me all through the holidays, she’d made sure of that. But this!
‘Not expelled.’ Dad put his arm around my shoulders. ‘You’ve been asked to leave. That’s different. No one at your next school need know your record.’
I yanked my shoulder away. ‘My… I have a record ?’
Mum glanced at the door but luckily the kids’ cheering on Crackerjack covered everything else. ‘Of course you haven’t.’ She glared at Dad. ‘But you do need a fresh start. And that’s where Great-Aunt Margaret comes in. I wrote to her, you see, as soon as we knew… the state of things… and she replied at once. A good sign, don’t you see? She really wants you!’
Rubbing my face on my sleeve, I tried to focus on her, tried to take in the meaning behind that eager smile. ‘How can she want me?’ I said at last. ‘I’ve never met her, never even heard of her. Who is Great-Aunt Margaret?’
‘Great-Aunt Margaret—’ Mum began.
Then it hit me. Nice school in the countryside , Dad had described it, with fields, woods, ponies … A hollow opened up in my stomach. ‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘It’s a boarding school, isn’t it? You’re sending me away.’
No need for either of them to answer. Not when their expressions said it all.
‘I can’t believe this,’ I said. ‘You want to get rid of me too, just like Mrs Scott.’
‘Eleanor, no .’ Mum’s face crumpled. ‘Of course we don’t. But we tried all the schools around here. None of them had room.’
I stared at her. So that’s what all those ‘work’ phone calls last week had been about, for which she’d shooed Robbie and me into the garden so she could concentrate. The floor seemed to slide from under my feet and I wrapped my ankles around the legs of my chair, pressing my bones hard against the wood. ‘Not true,’ I said. ‘There must be somewhere.’
Dad shook his head. ‘I’m afraid n—’
‘There must be.’ I wouldn’t look at him. Or Mum. ‘ Some school that will… yes!’ It came to me. ‘What about St Chad’s? I could go there with Mum and Robbie! OK, so they don’t normally take girls, but—’
It was no use.
‘I know this sounds hard,’ said Dad, putting his hand on mine, ‘but Mum and I think it will be good for you to get away completely. And Ashstone House is an excellent school.’
‘You can learn to ride, Eleanor!’ Mum’s eyes shone. ‘You’ve always wanted to do that. Now’s your chance.’
My leg muscles began to ache as a wave of tiredness swept through me. Unwrapping my ankles from the chair legs, I sat up and took a few sips of tea. To my surprise there flickered, somewhere deep inside me, the tiniest spark. It was true. I had always wanted to ride. Ever since watching Champion the Wonder Horse , anyway. Just like Robbie wanted to drive a tank and mow people down.
Coming round the table, Mum gave me a hug. I buried my face in her shoulder, woollen threads tickling my nose, and took a few deep breaths. All right, then. If this was what I had to do, I’d do it. Then the thought came that soon I’d have to manage without hugs like this, and I couldn’t speak.
‘Right.’ Rising to his feet, Dad smoothed down the hair at the back of his head. ‘I’m only halfway through redrafting Chapter 8, so…’
‘Wait.’ Pulling away from Mum, I looked at her. ‘You still haven’t explained about Great-Aunt Margaret. Why’ve I never heard of her before?’
‘Because,’ said Mum, ‘I hadn’t either, not until five years ago. She wrote to tell me her husband had died. It seems he was my uncle – Grandpa Fielding’s brother.’
Now I forgot everything. ‘Grandpa had a brother ?’
The door swung open and Robbie charged in. ‘Ha, you missed a smashing programme, El – hey!’ His eyes fell on the table. ‘Chocolate biscuits! Why didn’t anyone tell me?’

Chapter Two
Ashstone House
For the next two weeks, the happiest person in our household was, without a doubt, Robbie. While I woke every morning with butterflies in my stomach at the thought that, not today, no, but soon, everything in my life was about to change, Robbie took to entering my room and looking round, as if deciding which part to occupy first. I threw him out, of course, so then he made for the sitting room to bounce on the sofa, crowing that n