Free Shiverton Hall, the Creeper by Emerald Fennell Page B

Cornwall said. ‘What is odd about it, aside from the way it looks and the feeling it gives the viewer, is the fact that Gainsborough did not paint it. Or if he did, he painted it after he painted the rest of it. When the painting was completed and handed to the Pontefracts, Mrs Pontefract’s younger sister made a watercolour copy in order to improve her brushstrokes. The copy is extremely detailed, and rather good, but it does not contain the figure.’
    Cornwall plucked an old book from one of the shelves and opened it with a dusty crack. The volume contained a copy of the watercolour, and the students passed it round and examined it.
    ‘So, where did it come from?’ Cornwall continued. ‘Who is the Creeper? Why did it appear? We only know that by the time the portrait was passed on to its next owner the Creeper was there.’
    ‘Weird,’ Penny said.
    ‘It’s not the only weird thing about this painting,’ Cornwall said. ‘According to various sources, this picture is cursed.’
    ‘Great,’ Arthur said under his breath. ‘Exactly what this place needs.’
    ‘Legend has it that in every place this portrait has hung, a child has disappeared,’ Cornwall said. ‘They say the Creeper clambers out of the painting and possesses the child . . . for whenever a child vanishes, so does the Creeper.’
    The class looked nervously up at the picture. The figure seemed even more malevolent than before.
    ‘If that’s true then why hasn’t someone just burned it?’ Xanthe said sceptically.
    Cornwall laughed. ‘You’d be pretty idiotic to burn a painting that’s worth a fortune. Curse or no!’
    ‘Sir,’ George said. ‘Do you think it’s a good idea that we have this painting here? You know, in a school full of kids.’
    Cornwall smiled enigmatically and put on his sunglasses. ‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll all be all right,’ he said. ‘As long as the Creeper stays on that hill. It’s when you can’t see him that you should be worried.’
    The bell rang, but the class remained, transfixed by the painting.
    ‘Well, go on, then,’ Cornwall sighed. ‘Shoo!’
    The class began to gather up their things, gossiping excitedly about the Creeper.
    Arthur and George approached Cornwall, who seemed to be engrossed in a text message on his crystal-encrusted phone.
    ‘Mr Cornwall,’ Arthur asked politely.
    ‘What?’ Cornwall snapped.
    ‘Do you think that story is true, about the painting? It’s just . . . things have happened here before,’ Arthur continued nervously.
    ‘A cursed painting?’ Cornwall laughed. ‘Come on, you boys are too old to believe that sort of thing!’
    ‘So, it’s not true?’ George asked.
    Cornwall sighed and put his phone down. ‘Look, half of Hampton Court is supposed to be haunted,’ he said. ‘There must be hundreds of old jugs or pictures or bits of furniture that are supposed to have weird properties. Are there stories about this painting? Yes. Does that mean I believe them? Of course not! I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it’s only a story.’
    ‘Yeah,’ George muttered to Arthur as they left the library. ‘I’ve heard that before.’

Chapter Eight
    The following Wednesday, Arthur made his way up the path through the woods to Mrs Todd’s house, trying not to think about the long fingernail that had been embedded in the trees so many centuries before.
    It was a warm afternoon, and even though the woods glimmered in the sunlight, Arthur still felt a little anxious walking through them alone. Ever since the burned man had paid him the midnight visit at Christmas, Arthur was terrified that he might bump into him again.
    Arthur paused. A twig snapped behind him. He turned around, but saw nothing, although, he realised uneasily, there were plenty of places to hide. He began to walk more quickly. He could see the smoke curling from Mrs Todd’s chimney: he was nearly there. Something rustled in the bushes to his right and before he had time to run, he felt a hand on his