Free Strange Star by Emma Carroll Page B

puddlesand ruts made by cartwheels. On reaching the main road, the ground became smoother, and we settled into an easier pace. Though it was another cold, sunless day, the fresh air helped improve my spirits. So did Mercy feeding me barley sugars so sweet they made my teeth ache.
    Then, out of nowhere, she said, ‘It’s hens this time.’
    ‘Hens?’
    ‘Mrs Morrison’s Speckled Sussexes. All fourteen taken and not a single feather left, so I’ve heard.’
    My brain took a moment to catch up. ‘Weren’t some ducks taken from Dipcott Farm the other day? And didn’t a horse get bitten too?’
    ‘They did. It was.’
    I dug my free hand into my pocket. ‘Then that’s an awfully hungry fox if you ask …’ I stopped. ‘Oh.’
    Inside my pocket I found something cold and hard and little. It was, I remembered, Mr Walton’s brass button, the one he’d dropped at Mam’s grave. It gave me an idea – one that might make things clearer, and prove to myself that I could still be brave.
    ‘Eden Court’s up this way, isn’t it?’ I said.
    ‘It is – another half a mile or so. That Mr Walton’s moving more belongings in today – bottles of things, ropes and pipes and rolls of wire, so I’ve heard.’
    It sounded fascinating.
    ‘Fancy a closer look?’ I asked.
    Mercy stopped. ‘What, go in to Eden Court?’
    ‘Not into the house, no.’ I pulled the button from my pocket and showed her. ‘Just to the front door to return something, that’s all.’
    ‘Why, you sly thing!’ The admiration in her voice told me she approved.
    At the crest of Sweeper’s Hill we turned off the main road onto a lane, which I remembered for how the trees arched high above it. From here, Eden Court was only a few hundred yards away, its roofline visible through the treetops.
    ‘Can you see the house? Does it still look like a castle?’ I asked.
    ‘It really does,’ said Mercy, a shudder in her voice. ‘I bet it’s got cannons on the roof. Actually, come to mention it, there is something up on the roof. I’m sure it wasn’t there before.’
    I felt a twinge of excitement. ‘What is it?’
    ‘It looks like a flagpole or something, but without the flag.’
    Which didn’t sound that exciting, after all.
    ‘Come on,’ I said, tugging her arm. ‘Let’s see if Mr Walton is at home.’
    Minutes later we’d reached the gates.
    ‘This is it,’ Mercy said. ‘Eden Court.’
    In my head, I saw the gateposts: grey stone pillars with bird shapes carved into them that Mam once told me were phoenixes. ‘They’re all about hope, those birds,’ she’d said. ‘In the story they rise up from the flames, just to prove that even when everything’s destroyed, life can begin again.’
    At the time, I didn’t get what she meant. I wasn’t sure of it now, either. Life without Mam was full of things I didn’t understand: Mr Walton at her gravestone being one of them.
    Then Mercy said, ‘Oh, I wasn’t expecting the gates to be wide open.’
    ‘All the easier for us to get in,’ I said.
    Mercy hesitated. ‘It don’t exactly look welcoming, though.’
    ‘It never has,’ I reminded her. ‘Come on.’
    We’d only gone a few yards down the drive when from behind us came the thud of hoofbeats. Rapidly, they got louder. I heard the snorts of horses, the slap of reins. Mercy bumped against me. In a tangle of arms and legs, we fell sideways. From the damp, rank smell, I guessed we’d landed in a ditch.
    The cart thundered past, so close I felt my bonesshake. Then it was gone. All that remained was dust, which settled thickly in my throat.
    ‘He could’ve blinking well killed us!’ I said, scrambling to my feet. ‘Are you all right, Mercy?’
    Nearby, leaves rustled as she stood up. ‘I’ll live.’
    A quick brush down and we set off again, more cautiously this time. What I’d forgotten about Eden Court was how short the driveway was. It ended sharply round the next bend. The house, I recalled now, with its stone steps and