Free The Mersey Girls by Katie Flynn Page B

her needle, Lucy was hopeless. ‘Give it here, you can have it back before bedtime.’
    ‘Thanks, Cait,’ Lucy said gratefully. ‘Now let’s eat the fruit cake.’ She opened the bag, rummaged around for a moment, then stared at her friend, her eyes rounding.
    ‘Cait, the cake’s gone,’ she said in a whisper. ‘I swear to God it was there when we came in but it’s gone now – there isn’t a crumb of it left!’

    Later that night, when the hens, pigs and ducks had been fed, tea had been eaten, and the washing up and clearing away done, Maeve sat down by the hearth with her knitting whilst her father settled himself in his chair opposite her and got out his favourite pipe and the farming quarterly which he favoured. When they were all settled, Lucy with her English books spread around her, Lucy cleared her throat and looked up at her aunt.
    ‘Maeve, do witches eat fruit cake?’
    Maeve put her knitting down and stared, plainly astonished. ‘What a question! There’s no such t’ing as witches and well you know it, young lady. But most people like fruit cake I’m thinking, so if there were such things as witches, and they were offered fruit cake, I daresay they’d eat it and enjoy it.’
    ‘Umm . . . would they steal it, though? Would they take it from – from a person’s box, or bag, or whatever?’
    ‘Now where’s all this leading, alanna? No more answers unless I get some questions in, first. Who stole your fruit cake? And what makes you think it was a witch when it was far more likely to have been a wandering child, or a dog even, if you put it down somewhere.’
    Lucy looked thoughtfully around the room. She did not intend to tell Maeve any lies, but she had no intention of admitting they had been playing at the castle, either. As she had told Caitlin, a secret place of your own was only a secret so long as you told nobody, especially an adult who would feel bound to check out that you were safe and the play-place suitable. And if Maeve ever saw those stone steps – well, Lucy could almost hear the words:
You’ll not go there again, alanna, tis far too dangerous. There’s a million places you can play so stay away from the castle, and that’s an order.
    ‘We did lay the bag down for a moment,’ she admitted, therefore. ‘And when we got back the cake had gone, clean disappeared, and Caitlin said probably a witch had taken it. I expect it was a dog or perhaps even the cattle, because they like sweet things, don’t they? I didn’t really think it was a witch, but I just wondered whether they had a fondness for sweet things, that’s all.’
    ‘Hmm,’ Maeve said. She looked rather piercingly at Lucy, then picked up her knitting once again. ‘Well, don’t go handing me good fruit cake to a cow another time, ástor.’
    ‘I won’t, don’t you worry,’ Lucy said fervently. ‘I’ll keep me bag fastened tight.’ As she said the words she was remembering the fastening – tied tight. She sighed and opened her English book. It was a mystery and no mistake, not that they’d tried to solve it, mind. The truth was they had taken one quick look behind them to where the castle loomed, and they had run as if their lives depended on it, bounding from tussock to tussock, letting the lemon barley water bottle fall and not stopping to pick it up, whilst behind them they seemed to hear a cackle of mocking laughter.
    Once safely in the sloping meadow where the Murphy sheep grazed, however, they had thrown themselves down on the soft grass and looked at one another a trifle shamefacedly.
    ‘Someone played a trick on us,’ Lucy said. ‘There
is
someone in that old castle no matter what anyone says. After all, we know the boat was moved, don’t we? And we know the cake was eaten. Someone had to do both those things and don’t you say “witches” again, Caitlin Kelly, or I’ll scream and hit you, so I will!’
    ‘Witches, undoubtedly witches,’ Caitlin said with great promptitude, and ducked