The girl, on the other hand, seemed a lot more reserved. She constantly rubbed the cuff of her moth-eaten cardigan between her thumb and forefinger, her eyes flitting nervously between Mirabelle and Uncle Bertram in his bear form. She was still trembling a little, and her clothes were plainly old hand-me-downs. Mirabelle wondered where her parents were. Both of the children looked famished. The boy in particular looked a little sickly and seemed to be relying solely on nervous energy to keep him going.
‘We’re very grateful to you and your pet bear for rescuing us from those things,’ said the boy.
Pet bear? Those things?
‘Those things, as you call them, are the Flowers of Divine Lapsidy,’ said Mirabelle.
‘Flowers? Interesting. I’ve never come across flowers like that before. What are they exactly? And what is this place? It all seems very—’
‘How did you get in?’ asked Mirabelle.
‘There’s a hole in the world,’ said the girl before her brother could say anything.
Mirabelle locked eyes with her. ‘A hole?’
The girl nodded, looking almost apologetic.
‘Yes, a great big rip in the air. We saw your house through it.’
Mirabelle felt a flicker of unease. ‘Where did you see this opening?’
‘At the top of the path where those . . . those flowers were,’ said Jem.
‘Our car ran out of petrol near the spot in the forest where we found it,’ said Tom.
‘So, nobody else from the village opened the way for you?’ said Mirabelle.
‘What village?’ asked Tom.
Bertram gave a little panicked snort, and Mirabelle could feel her own disquiet about the whole situation growing. These two clearly knew nothing about the village of Rookhaven, and the fact that they had somehow passed through the Glamour without the use of a key was not normal.
Uncle Bertram slipped round the side of the house while Mirabelle led Jem and Tom up the steps towards the front door. A small flurry of ravens wheeled around the roof, their cawing strange and hollow in the night air. Mirabelle caught sight of their one-eyed leader glowering down from a cornice, then he seemed to lose interest in them and flew up to be with his brethren as they flitted through the holes in the roof at the far corner of the house.
‘This is a very nice place,’ said Tom, coughing into his hand. ‘Who lives here?’
‘My family and I,’ said Mirabelle, opening the front door and ignoring his gaze.
They stepped into the cool dark of the hallway. Mirabelle noted the way the two children looked at their surroundings: Jem blinking in disbelief, her mouth widening in astonishment as she took in the vastness of the house before her; Tom looking almost hungry. He wiped a hand across his sweaty brow and seemed to drink everything in. His eyes roved over the staircase’s ornate alabaster settings, and the convolutions of the chandelier above, its barbed iron arms twisting in and around each other like the branches of a tree.
‘That looks heavy,’ he said.
Mirabelle knew full well that he meant ‘expensive’.
A shadow unpeeled from the murk and the two children took a step backwards as Uncle Enoch revealed himself.
‘And who, may I ask, do we have here, Mirabelle?’ he said, his voice sonorous but with a hint of steel.
Tom cleared his throat and tapped his chest. ‘I’m Tom Griffin, and this is my little sister Jem.’ He fought back another cough.
Enoch ignored him and instead glared at Mirabelle. ‘They’re not from the village.’
‘No, Uncle,’ said Mirabelle. She noted the brief flicker of concern on his face, which only added to the disquiet she’d been feeling since encountering the two children.
She was about to tell him more, but she was taken by surprise when Tom took a step towards Enoch and held out his hand.
‘Tom, no,’ gasped Jem.
Tom ignored her and looked cheekily at Enoch. ‘And who might you be?’
Enoch raised his head back and looked down his nose at Tom while continuing to speak to Mirabelle.
‘How did they get in?’
‘They came through the Glamour. I found them on the Path of Flowers.’
Enoch looked horrified. ‘Impossible!’
‘That’s where I found them,’ said Mirabelle.
Mirabelle had never seen Enoch like this before. He looked angry and confused, and perhaps even a little bit frightened. The sight made Mirabelle feel suddenly cold.
‘Strangers,’ he said, shaking his head in disbelief.
‘Perhaps they could stay, just for a little while,’ said Mirabelle. ‘Their car has run out of petrol . . .’
Mirabelle trailed off because Enoch looked astounded by her comment.
‘They are not from the village,’ he repeated slowly, as though she had failed to understand something.
‘I know, Uncle.’ She understood his fear, and she shared it, but seeing how terrified the girl, in particular, had been after the flowers’ attack had softened her attitude towards the interlopers.
‘Only those from the village receive dispensation.’
‘I know but—’
Uncle Bertram burst through the door in his human aspect. He was red-cheeked and panting, and he flapped his cravat at everyone.
‘Helloooo, I was just wondering what was happening,’ he said, smiling nervously, twitching all the while. He looked at Jem and Tom. ‘Ooh, do we have visitors? Where did they come from?’
An exasperated Mirabelle rubbed her palm across her forehead at Bertram’s terrible acting.
‘We found them on the Path of Flowers,’ she sighed.
‘We?’ Bertram squealed.
‘I meant me and . . .’
‘And your pet bear,’ said Tom.
‘Pet bear?’ squealed Bertram, this time looking rather offended.
Tom was coughing again. It sounded as if wet stones were rattling around in his chest. Mirabelle saw the concerned look on Jem’s face.
Tom waved his hand at Enoch and Bertram. ‘Look, we don’t want to cause too much—’ he coughed again. ‘Too much trouble,’ said Tom, now almost doubling over as the coughing fit took hold.
Mirabelle wasn’t totally surprised when Tom’s eyes rolled up in his head and he hit the floor. What did surprise her was how gracefully and slowly he did it, like a ballerina at the end of a performance.
Jem ran to him, shouting his name. She tried to raise him up, but his head lolled back at an alarming angle. She turned to the others, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘Help him, please.’
No one moved. Both Bertram and Enoch look shocked.
‘Please!’ Jem shouted with a sudden fierceness.
Mirabelle went to Jem and helped her hold Tom’s head. His skin felt clammy and feverish, and his eyes were rolling behind his eyelids. She saw the terror on Jem’s face as she held her brother, the way she looked at him, as if fearing he might vanish at any moment. That’s what made her decision for her. She nodded at Bertram.
‘Uncle, take him upstairs, please.’
Bertram looked at Enoch.
Enoch looked at Mirabelle. ‘But he’s a stranger! He shouldn’t be . . .’ he spluttered.
Mirabelle shook her head and turned back to Bertram. She could see the confusion on his face as he seemed to wrestle with some inner turmoil, the slight glimmer of pity in his eyes even while he looked on fearfully. ‘Please, Uncle. He’s very ill. We can’t leave him like this.’