Home > The Mystery of Black Hollow Lane(9)

The Mystery of Black Hollow Lane(9)
Author: Julia Nobel

   Emmy leaned her chin on her hand. It sounded like Anne had gotten caught up in other people’s secrets. Those secrets weren’t worth killing her, were they?

   Barlowe stopped pacing. “Now, now, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s go back a little earlier and talk about the War of the Roses.”

   As jet-lagged as she was, Emmy had no trouble staying awake in this class. Barlowe was animated, engaging, and witty. It was nothing like her history classes at home.

   While everyone else packed up, Master Barlowe brought Emmy a book titled How to Destroy a Dynasty: Lessons from the Tudors and Stuarts.

   “Here’s the text we are using this term,” he said. “I would imagine the only British history you’ve studied is the part where your ancestors kicked us out of the colonies and said they would no longer listen to our king?”

   Emmy bit her lip and nodded.

   “Don’t worry,” Barlowe reassured her. “We’ll have you up to speed by the time your General Certificate Exam rolls around in fifth year. I’ll talk to Madam Boyd, and we’ll come up with a plan to get you on track. And we’ll try to make it as painless as possible.”

   “Master Barlowe,” Jack said, “should I take Dev his homework?”

   Barlowe frowned. “Unfortunately, Mr. Masrani is no longer a student here.”

   Jack’s jaw dropped. “He left?”

   “His parents picked him up this morning.”

   “But why?”

   “I’m afraid I don’t know much more than that,” Barlowe said. “I’m sorry.”

   Jack looked worried, and Emmy didn’t blame him. Whatever happened on the chapter house roof must have been pretty serious if it made someone leave the school.

   Emmy, Jack, and Lola slid out of their bench and walked toward the door, but Lola turned back.

   “Yes, Miss Boyd?” Barlowe asked.

   “Is what you were saying really true?” Lola asked. “About everyone in the Tudor period keeping secrets?”

   “Everyone has secrets, Miss Boyd,” he said as he ambled down the stairs. “Some people are just better at hiding them than others.”

   • • •

   Brown and orange leaves crunched under Emmy’s feet as she made her way to Latin Society. The things Barlowe had said about secrets were really sticking in her mind. Was it true that everyone had secrets? Not just little secrets, but big ones, secrets that changed people’s lives? She didn’t have any secrets like that. Other than the box hiding under her bed. But that wasn’t a really big secret, was it?

   Emmy looked at her map again. She’d better pay attention if she was going to find this place. The Latin Society had its own building called the Lighthouse, which seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. None of the pathways were marked, and she kept running into dead ends where the path just randomly stopped.

   After wandering through a garden for a while, Emmy finally found a small stone hut. It had a steep roof, no windows—and no door. They must not expect a lot of visitors.

   Emmy walked around the hut a few more times. Still no door. She could be out here forever, and she’d never figure this out.

   Crunch, crunch, crunch. Someone was coming down the path. A dark-haired boy came around the corner. He looked familiar—Emmy thought he might be in Edmund House—and she smiled at him. He didn’t smile back. He didn’t even look at her. He brushed straight past her like she wasn’t even there and disappeared around the back of the cottage.

   Emmy hesitated for a minute, then followed him. She hurried to the back of the cottage, but by the time she got there, the boy was gone. She put her hands on her hips and stared. There had to be an entrance she hadn’t noticed. The hut was made of stone and was surrounded by purple flowers, probably lavender. She frowned. There was one sparse patch in the flower bed, bare except for a plant with long sharp leaves that grew tall out of the ground like a guard. She squinted at it. If it looked like a guard, it might be protecting something. Something like a secret entrance. She stepped into the bare patch and peered around the menacing plant. An image, worn and faded, was stamped into the wall. It looked like a skull with something on either side, but she couldn’t make out what it was.

   Emmy scratched her cheek. It was strange; somehow it reminded her of something. But that was impossible. She’d never seen anything like this in Connecticut. She carefully reached around the hairy red stalk and tried brushing some dirt off the symbol.

   CRACK!

   The skull shrank back into the wall, and a gap appeared between two stones. She squeezed her fingers inside it and pulled. The wall swung open.

   There were a lot of people crammed into the cottage, and all of them were talking about things she didn’t understand.

   “Don’t be a prat, Asher, you can’t talk about Cicero’s philosophy without talking about his politics,” someone said.

   “I’m just saying his writings are strong enough on their own,” another responded.

   It was like she had walked into another world, one where teenagers thought Latin was fascinating. Emmy pulled the hidden door closed and spotted the dark-haired boy. He was talking to a man who wore a sleek black suit and the shiniest shoes Emmy had ever seen. He did a double take when he saw her, and he whispered something to the dark-haired boy.

   “I see we have a new student!” The man smiled at Emmy. “And who might you be?”

   Emmy tugged on the sleeve of her sweater. “Um, I’m Emmy, I mean, Emmeline Willick. Madam Boyd said she’d signed me up for Latin Society.”

   “Ah yes, I think she mentioned something about that. So sorry, I had meant to leave a guide out there to show you how to get in. You figured it out all right?”

   “Eventually.” Emmy glanced at the boy. He lifted his chin and sniffed, like someone was serving him brussels sprouts. Then he scowled and walked away. Emmy raised an eyebrow. Nice guy.

   “I’m Master Larraby,” the man said, “and I am the head of Latin Society.”

   Larraby. So, this was the teacher who had left her sitting in the hallway for an hour the day before.

   “We’re working in discussion groups today, but I don’t think you’re quite ready to debate the finer points of Roman politics. Why don’t you use this opportunity to catch up on some of your homework?”

   Emmy found a quiet corner and opened her Humanities text, sneaking a few peeks around the room. Nobody seemed to have even noticed her. They were all talking and laughing like Latin was the most fascinating subject in the world. The mean dark-haired boy was sitting with Jack’s brother, who didn’t seem too bothered by his broken arm. He was leaning on the arm of a leather chair, gesturing wildly like he might have been recounting an adventure. Maybe breaking his arm had been an adventure. He sounded like a bit of a daredevil. But it wasn’t an adventure for the other boy, the one who had left school. Emmy looked around the room. No one seemed shaken up by what had happened to one of their own members.

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