Before they knew it, lunch was on the table, and Uncle Paton was carving the lamb. But the rich smells and a yearning, empty stomach couldn't dislodge the thought of Monty Bone's letter from Charlie's mind. He was told to take a tray of food up to Grandma Bone, and as he carried it carefully across to the table in her room, he couldn't stop himself from thinking, She knew about that letter and she doesn't want Dad to come home, ever.
"You've spilled the water," the old woman grumbled as Charlie left the bedroom.
"Sorry," Charlie closed the door while his grandmother was complaining about dry potatoes and not enough gravy.
"Are you going off again?" Maisie was asking Paton when Charlie returned to the kitchen.
"Not until Monday night," said Uncle Paton. "I'll have to inform the police, of course."
"But..." Charlie stared hard at his uncle. "Haven't you found out enough?"
"No, Charlie. I'm on the trail of something else.
It's all connected, I suppose, but we need to know the whereabouts of that pearl-inlaid box."
"Maybe they found it in Mr. Bittermouse's study," said Charlie.
Uncle Paton shook his head. "In that case, why kill him?"
"The sword did it. It acts on its own, you know."
Maisie's knife and fork clattered onto her plate. "Please," she begged.
"You're putting me off my lunch. Can't we talk about something pleasant for a change?"
"The weather?" said Charlie, grinning at the snow. "Maybe the school will be closed and we can go tobogganing in the Heights."
"And I'll slip, fall on my bottom, and drop the shopping," Maisie said with a laugh.
The snow continued to fall.
After lunch, Charlie went up to his room. Claerwen was fluttering over the windowpanes as though she were trying to become part of the snow. Charlie took her onto his hand and she walked up to his shoulder, where she sat, her wings folded, and watched him writing an essay for English. "Vacation."
Charlie didn't go on vacations. There was a break from school, but he had never experienced a journey to a sunny place with yellow beaches, blue skies,
and pink and white houses. Now and again, Uncle Paton would take him to see his greatgrandfather who lived beside the sea: a fierce gray sea, where seagulls gathered and wild waves lashed the black rocks. But these visits had to be kept secret because if Grandma Bone had known her father's whereabouts, she would have sought him out and harried him to his grave. There was another reason. Great-grandfather's brother lived there, a boy named Henry who had never grown up, caught in time by the Twister, a marble of astonishing beauty that Ezekiel had used to try and banish Henry to the Ice Age.
Charlie smiled when he thought of Henry, safe in his own brother's cottage by the sea.
After a few minutes of deep thinking, Charlie imagined a vacation spent on a Caribbean island. And then he realized that he didn't have to imagine it; if he could find a photograph of someone actually sitting on a Caribbean beach, he could travel there. But Charlie had become wary of picture traveling. It was never quite as much fun as he hoped. He could never take a friend, and the journey home often left him feeling a little unsteady. He must now conserve his energy for the dangerous journey into Badlock to rescue Billy Raven.
His essay completed, Charlie felt he deserved a cookie, maybe two. The house was very quiet. His grandmothers were both sleeping, no doubt, and Uncle Paton would be writing up his notes for the next chapter of his book, A History of the Yewbeams.
It was not yet evening, but the sky was dark with snow to come, and snow was still falling. Charlie could hardly see his way to the back of the kitchen.
Details in the room were vague and incomplete, as though covered by a thin, gray veil. Charlie found a package of cookies and brought it to the table. He sat down and began to eat them while he watched the snow gently falling.
The doorbell rang.
If the sound had woken the grandmothers, they apparently didn't feel obliged to go to the door. Nor did Uncle Paton.
The bell rang again.
Charlie had seen no one pass the window. Filbert Street appeared to be deserted; snow lay on the parked cars, three inches deep.
The third time the bell rang, it was hardly a sound at all. Charlie had the impression that it was only inside his head. But he felt compelled to go to the door. He opened it tentatively and a cloud of snow-flakes floated into the hall.
A woman stood on the doorstep. Her hair was as white as the snow. She wore a thick white coat, and a soft yellow-gold shawl lay on her shoulders.
Charlie gasped. His hand flew to his mouth. For a moment he thought a snow angel had landed at their door.
And then he recognized the woman. "Alice Angel," he whispered.
Alice smiled. "Hello, Charlie. May I come in?"
He stood aside and she walked into the hall. A delicious smell drifted past Charlie and he remembered Alice's store, Angel Flowers, where tall white blooms perfumed the air with their heavenly scent.
"Where have you been?" he asked.
"I've been in my other store," she said, putting a small leather case on the floor. "It's a long, long way from here."
Charlie took Alice's soft white coat and hung it on a peg. "Why have you come back?" he asked.
"Olivia," she said.
"Olivia?" Charlie took Alice into the kitchen and put on the kettle. The room seemed suddenly brighter, especially where Alice stood in her white dress and long silver-gray boots. "It's funny you should come here now," he said,
"because Olivia may be in trouble."
"I know," said Alice, with a frown of concern.
"She betrayed herself."
"Tell me how." Alice sat at the table while Charlie made her a cup of tea.
She hadn't asked for one but was very happy to drink it while Charlie told her about the stone gargoyle and the skeleton Olivia had conjured up to scare Eric the animator.
Alice Angel's solemn face broke into a smile. "How very appropriate: a skeleton. Olivia certainly has a wild imagination. But she shouldn't have let her endowment be known. Now I've lost her."
There were footsteps on the stairs, and Charlie and Alice looked at the door.
Charlie hoped it wasn't Grandma Bone. But Uncle Paton looked into the room and immediately recognized Alice Angel.
"Dear Alice, what brings you here?" he asked. "In a snowstorm, too. It must be urgent."
"It is," she said earnestly. "I may live three hundred miles away, but I always know when Olivia needs me. It's an instinct I have; I can't explain it.
As soon as I got to the city, I went around to Olivia's house." Her face clouded and she nervously sipped her tea. "They wouldn't let me see her."
"Wouldn't... ?" Uncle Paton sat down abruptly. "Why on earth?"
"Olivia's father came to the door," Alice continued. "He said that Olivia wasn't quite herself. I begged him to tell her that I had arrived, that I wanted to see my dearest goddaughter, so he went up to her room while I waited in the hall." Tears glittered in the corners of Alice's large hazel green eyes. "When Mr. Vertigo came down, he said ... he said..." She stopped and dabbed her eyes with a white handkerchief.
Paton laid a hand on her arm. "What did Mr. Vertigo say?"
Alice straightened her back and tucked her handkerchief into her sleeve. "He said that Olivia didn't want to see me and would I please leave the house immediately."
Charlie couldn't believe his ears. Olivia loved her godmother. What had happened to turn her against Alice Angel, unless...
"I'm afraid they have gotten to her already." Alice's voice was firmer now.
"But I am not going to give up, and I am certainly not going to leave this city. I shall stay here until Olivia is herself again. The trouble is"—she hesitated—"I'm not sure where I can stay. The house I used to live in is still empty, but it's very, very cold."