Free Shiverton Hall, the Creeper by Emerald Fennell Page A

painting that now hung above the fireplace. The portrait had caused quite a stir, with the students already speculating that it was most probably worth more than the entire Shiverton Hall estate put together.
    Jake sat on the chair nearest to Cornwall, craning forward earnestly. ‘All right, keen-o?’ Penny said as she sat down beside him.
    ‘Shhhhh,’ Jake hissed. ‘He’s about to talk.’
    Penny rolled her eyes at George and Arthur.
    ‘Right,’ Cornwall made a start, ‘is everyone sitting comfortably? Then let’s begin.’
    He pointed to the portrait, which depicted a man and a woman, in liquid, dove-grey silks, sitting in the foreground of a vast, grassy landscape.
    ‘This is Mr and Mrs Pontefract,’ Cornwall began, squinting up at the painting. ‘A hugely rich landowner and his equally loaded wife. This portrait was painted to commemorate their marriage, and to remind anyone who happened to walk past it quite how powerful they were. Everything you can see, from this lake to the left to the hills and forest in the distance, forms part of the Pontefracts’ gigantic estate.’
    George whistled.
    ‘Impressive stuff,’ Cornwall agreed. ‘And this painting is one of Gainsborough’s finest. As you can see, Mr Pontefract is holding a book. He was keen to be seen as a learned man, and not just a farmer, which the fashionable set of the day seemed to think he was. His wife’s hands and lap are unpainted – does anyone have a guess as to why that might be?’
    The class stared back at him blankly.
    ‘The couple wanted Gainsborough to add a child as soon they had one, but sadly, it was not to be. The Pontefracts’ only child disappeared a few months after she was born. Snatched from her nursery, where the painting was hanging.’
    Penny looked at the blank space on Mrs Pontefract’s lap sadly. ‘How awful,’ she said out loud.
    ‘It is awful,’ Cornwall agreed, ‘and I’m afraid poor Mrs Pontefract didn’t live much longer herself. When she died, Mr Pontefract gave the painting away. Said he couldn’t bear to look at it.’
    ‘I don’t like it,’ Xanthe said, screwing up her nose. ‘It gives me the creeps.’
    Cornwall looked at Xanthe with interest. ‘That’s unusually perceptive of you, Xanthe,’ Cornwall replied. ‘What makes you say that?’
    The class turned to look at Xanthe. It was unlike her to be moved by anything, much less scared.
    ‘I don’t know,’ she replied, looking uneasily at the painting. ‘I just don’t like it, that’s all.’
    Cornwall smiled and pointed up at the portrait. ‘Xanthe isn’t the first to be unnerved by this picture. Tell me, does anyone notice anything unusual about it?’
    The students peered up at the painting.
    ‘The faces . . .’ Jake said suddenly.
    ‘Good!’ Cornwall responded. ‘What about the faces?’
    ‘They look . . . scared,’ Jake said.
    ‘Indeed they do. Difficult to perceive at first, but the longer you look, the more evident it becomes.’
    Arthur noticed it for the first time, a slight tension in Mr Pontefract’s mouth and a glimmer of fear in his wife’s eyes. They seemed to be staring out of the painting imploringly, begging the viewer for something, but for what exactly was not clear.
    ‘There is something else,’ Cornwall continued. ‘Something even stranger. Can anyone tell me what it is?’
    The students searched the painting, but no one raised their hand.
    ‘Look at the hill, just before the forest,’ Cornwall said.
    Arthur felt a ripple of anxiety when he saw what Cornwall was referring to. In fact, the whole class, one by one, began to shiver as they realised.
    There was a figure standing on the hill.
    Although it was barely more than a shadow, a dark whisper, its malevolence was somehow absolute. It seemed to be watching the couple, and in what must have been some painter’s trick, the figure appeared to creep closer without ever actually moving.
    ‘Gainsborough scholars call this figure “the Creeper”,’