Free Groosham Grange by Anthony Horowitz Page B
Authors: Anthony Horowitz
back to square one. All his clothes had been torn and stitched together so many times that he must have been surrounded by at least a mile of thread. When he got angry in class – and he did have a very short temper – he didn’t shout. He barked.
He was angry that morning, the first day in February.
“It would appear zat the school ’as a leetle prob-lame,” he announced in his exaggerated French accent. “The busybodies een the Department of Education ’av decide-dead to pay us a viseet. So tomorrow we must albee on our best be-evure.” He glanced meaningfully at Jill and David. “And no-buddy is to speak to zis man unless ’ee speaks to them.”
That evening, Jill was hardly able to contain her excitement.
“He must have got one of our messages,” Jill said. “If the Department of Education find out the truth about Groosham Grange, they’ll close it down and that will be the end of it. We’ll be free!”
“I know,” David muttered gloomily. “But they won’t let us anywhere near him. And if they see us talking to him, they’ll probably do something terrible to him. And to us.”
Jill looked at him scornfully. “Have you lost your bottle?” she demanded.
“Of course I haven’t,” David said. “How else do you think he got the message?”
Mr Netherby arrived on the island the next morning. A thin, neat man in a grey suit with spectacles and a leather briefcase, he was ferried over by Captain Bloodbath and met by Mr Kilgraw. He gave them a small, official smile and a brief, official handshake and then began his official visit. He was very much the official. Wherever he went he took notes, occasionally asking questions and jotting down the answers in a neat, official hand.
To David and Jill’s disgust, the whole school had put on a show for him. It was like a royal visit to a hospital when the floors are all scrubbed and the really sick patients are taken off their life support machines and hidden away in cupboards. Everything that Mr Netherby saw was designed to impress. The staff were all in their best suits and the pupils seemed lively, interested and – above all – normal. He was formally introduced to a few of them and they answered his questions with just the right amount of enthusiasm. Yes, they were very happy at Groosham Grange. Yes, they were working hard. No, they had never thought of running away.
Mr Netherby was delighted by what he saw. He couldn’t fail to be. As the day wore on he gradually unwound and even the sight of Gregor, humping a sack of potatoes down to the kitchen, only delighted him all the more.
“The Council is very keen on the employment of disabled people,” he was heard to remark. “He wouldn’t by any chance be gay as well?”
“He’s certainly very queer,” Mr Kilgraw concurred.
“Excellent! Excellent! First class!” Mr Netherby nodded and ticked off a page in his notebook.
By the end of the day, the inspector was in a thoroughly good mood. Although he had been sorry not to meet the heads – Mr Kilgraw had told him that they were away at a conference – he seemed entirely satisfied by everything he had seen. David and Jill watched him in dismay. Their only chance seemed to be slipping away and there was nothing they could do about it. Mr Kilgraw had managed things so that they had never been allowed near him. He hadn’t visited any of their classes. And whenever they had drawn near him, he had been quickly steered in the opposite direction.
“It’s now or never,” Jill whispered as Mr Kilgraw led his visitor towards the front door. They had just finished prep and had half an hour’s free time before bed. Jill was clutching a note. She and David had written it the evening before and then carefully folded it into a square. The note read: T HINGS ARE NOT WHAT THEY SEEM AT G ROOSHAM G RANGE . Y OU ARE IN GREAT DANGER . M EET US ON THE CLIFFS AT 7.45 P.M. D O NOT LET ANYONE ELSE SEE THIS NOTE.
Mr Kilgraw and the inspector were walking
He was angry that morning, the first day in February.
“It would appear zat the school ’as a leetle prob-lame,” he announced in his exaggerated French accent. “The busybodies een the Department of Education ’av decide-dead to pay us a viseet. So tomorrow we must albee on our best be-evure.” He glanced meaningfully at Jill and David. “And no-buddy is to speak to zis man unless ’ee speaks to them.”
That evening, Jill was hardly able to contain her excitement.
“He must have got one of our messages,” Jill said. “If the Department of Education find out the truth about Groosham Grange, they’ll close it down and that will be the end of it. We’ll be free!”
“I know,” David muttered gloomily. “But they won’t let us anywhere near him. And if they see us talking to him, they’ll probably do something terrible to him. And to us.”
Jill looked at him scornfully. “Have you lost your bottle?” she demanded.
“Of course I haven’t,” David said. “How else do you think he got the message?”
Mr Netherby arrived on the island the next morning. A thin, neat man in a grey suit with spectacles and a leather briefcase, he was ferried over by Captain Bloodbath and met by Mr Kilgraw. He gave them a small, official smile and a brief, official handshake and then began his official visit. He was very much the official. Wherever he went he took notes, occasionally asking questions and jotting down the answers in a neat, official hand.
To David and Jill’s disgust, the whole school had put on a show for him. It was like a royal visit to a hospital when the floors are all scrubbed and the really sick patients are taken off their life support machines and hidden away in cupboards. Everything that Mr Netherby saw was designed to impress. The staff were all in their best suits and the pupils seemed lively, interested and – above all – normal. He was formally introduced to a few of them and they answered his questions with just the right amount of enthusiasm. Yes, they were very happy at Groosham Grange. Yes, they were working hard. No, they had never thought of running away.
Mr Netherby was delighted by what he saw. He couldn’t fail to be. As the day wore on he gradually unwound and even the sight of Gregor, humping a sack of potatoes down to the kitchen, only delighted him all the more.
“The Council is very keen on the employment of disabled people,” he was heard to remark. “He wouldn’t by any chance be gay as well?”
“He’s certainly very queer,” Mr Kilgraw concurred.
“Excellent! Excellent! First class!” Mr Netherby nodded and ticked off a page in his notebook.
By the end of the day, the inspector was in a thoroughly good mood. Although he had been sorry not to meet the heads – Mr Kilgraw had told him that they were away at a conference – he seemed entirely satisfied by everything he had seen. David and Jill watched him in dismay. Their only chance seemed to be slipping away and there was nothing they could do about it. Mr Kilgraw had managed things so that they had never been allowed near him. He hadn’t visited any of their classes. And whenever they had drawn near him, he had been quickly steered in the opposite direction.
“It’s now or never,” Jill whispered as Mr Kilgraw led his visitor towards the front door. They had just finished prep and had half an hour’s free time before bed. Jill was clutching a note. She and David had written it the evening before and then carefully folded it into a square. The note read: T HINGS ARE NOT WHAT THEY SEEM AT G ROOSHAM G RANGE . Y OU ARE IN GREAT DANGER . M EET US ON THE CLIFFS AT 7.45 P.M. D O NOT LET ANYONE ELSE SEE THIS NOTE.
Mr Kilgraw and the inspector were walking