Free The Mystery of the Cupboard by Lynne Reid Banks Page A

seeing it.
    The older bits of paper that were fascinating Omri’s father didn’t seem to mean much to the thatchers. They were mulling over the latest bit. One of them pointed and said, quite excitedly, “Here, look, here be ol’ Jack ’Obbs, ’e didn’t retire till a year or two back. Still plays a good game of skittles does Jack.”
    â€œAnd here’s Tom Towsler’s signature, he’s still goin’ strong, saw him in the Red Lion last week.”
    â€œI wouldn’t say ‘strong’,” said another. “Not up ‘ere, he ent,” and he pointed to his own head. The others gave a sympathetic chuckle.
    Omri could hardly believe his ears.
    â€œDo — do you mean, some of the men who thatched the roof last time, who signed the bottle paper, are still around?”
    â€œWhy not? ‘Tweren’t much more’n thirty year ago. Tom ent above sixty, if he’s that much.”
    â€œIt’s extraordinary!” said his mother suddenly. “They might have known my great-aunt! Don’t you think it’s thrilling, Omri?”
    Omri frowned and said nothing. He was thinking.
    â€œWell, I don’t know what you’re all rabbiting on about,” grumbled Gillon, heading back into the house. “Ask me, it’s a dead bore. And I do mean ‘dead’!”
    After the others had gone off, Omri sought out the chief thatcher.
    He was halfway up one of the long ladders. The new thatch had come - huge piles of it, beautiful, golden, and straight, in bundles — and the real thatching work was beginning.
    â€œCould you take me to meet those men — Tom Towsler and Jack Hobbs?”
    The thatcher paused and looked down at Omri. “Well, I dunno… Jack’s on holiday… I s’pose you could try the Red Lion. That’s Tom’s local. They got a garden kids is allowed in. If he was there, of a Sunday like, you could have a word, maybe. He’s a bit funny in the head though, is Tom. You mustn’t take all he says but with a pinch of salt like.”
    On Friday, school finished for half-term — that was nine blissful days of freedom. No homework need be worried about until the night before school restarted. As soon as hegot home, Omri snatched a scone, raced to his room, blocked the doors, and opened the notebook. Patrick was coming tomorrow and he was to meet Tom Towsler the next day. It was more important than ever now that he should read to the end of the story. But he was still only halfway through the notebook. The writing was getting more difficult to read. He supposed Jessica Charlotte was getting weaker and iller.
    I went home on the omnibus as if nothing had happened. The aquamarine earrings were in my pocket and I kept putting my hand in to feel them. I had done it. I had taken my revenge. And I could never be caught — never. Maria had left the room for under two minutes, and the desk where her key was kept was downstairs. She couldn’t suspect me. I had got clean away with it! I remember feeling madly excited and wanting to tell everyone on the omnibus how clever I’d been.
    This feeling of elation lasted for one week. But it was mixed with another feeling, very disturbing.
    I remember that week as one might remember a week of drunkenness or madness when one is not in a normal state of mind, when in fact the mind is not working properly. Later its function returns — one returns to oneself — and looks back in wonder and horror, thinking “Was that I? Was that creature revelling in her vile deed, that conscience-less monster — was that myself?”
    And all the time I felt that part of my mind thatcontains my Gift pulling, dragging at me, urging me to listen to it, to switch ‘on’ and listen. The strange thing was that throughout the entire week, waking and sleeping, the word ‘lead’ kept coming into my mind. ‘Lead.’ ‘Pour the lead,