The Lights Under the Lake. Sophie Cleverly

all began sluggishly pulling our things down from the luggage rack. “I can’t believe they’re making us walk up there,” I said to Rose as I stared out into the dark. She shivered and wrapped her cardigan tighter round herself. At least it was a clear night and we had the moon to see by.

      We made our way to the front of the bus, Ivy and Ariadne not far behind, and stepped down. There was a chill in the air and the road was bumpy beneath my feet. I was about to complain some more, but I saw the horrified expressions on Elsie and Cassandra’s faces and decided the discomfort was worth it.

      Miss Bowler took charge. “Everyone here? Right! Off we go! No dilly-dallying!”

      “The hotel looks a bit … old,” muttered Ariadne as we began to trudge up the hill with our bags.

      “Perhaps it looks better in the daylight,” Ivy replied optimistically. I grabbed her hand. I didn’t mind the dark, but even now I didn’t like being alone in it. It reminded me too much of the past. And you never knew who might be lurking round the corner.

      The hotel building was above us now, and I looked up at it. It was huge and gloomy, and I could just make out dark stone and pointed roofs, and what looked like oil lamps flickering in some of the windows.

      Eventually the steep road curved round to the left and became a gravel driveway that crunched under our feet. The pine trees were everywhere, tall black shadows in the darkness.

      “I’m cold,” Nadia moaned.

      Elsie whacked her on the arm when the teachers weren’t looking. “Stop whining,” she said.

      I glared at her. What a hypocrite. She was a champion whiner!

      The driveway eventually opened out into a sort of courtyard, with the hotel itself to the left of us, a lamp glowing in its front porch. There were a few motor cars parked outside. To the right was what looked like a stable yard and coach house, and I could hear a horse whinnying somewhere. Rose smiled.

      We stopped in front of the porch. “Here we are!” said Mrs Knight, spreading her arms wide.

      For goodness’ sake, please don’t give us another motivational speech, I thought. I was starving hungry, not to mention cold and tired. I just wanted to get inside. The hotel would have food and warmth and beds.

      Thankfully, if Mrs Knight had been about to give a speech, it didn’t happen, because Miss Bowler shouldered past her and made for the front door. It groaned open as if it hadn’t been used in years, although I knew that couldn’t be true.

      The hotel reception was a wide room with a desk in the middle. There was a bell and an old-fashioned oil lamp on the desk, and not much else. Electricity hadn’t reached the place yet, then.

      As we huddled together on the plush carpet, Miss Bowler went right up to the desk and slammed her hand down on the bell about three times. For a full minute there was no answer, but eventually a man appeared from the door at the back.

      He was fairly old, with greying hair and a stooped back, but he moved quickly. He wore a pair of golden spectacles. A smoking jacket and stiff shoes clung to him awkwardly. “Mm?” was all he said.

      “We’ve arrived from Rookwood School,” said Mrs Knight, going up to him with her clipboard. “We were hoping to check in.”

      The man looked at her as if she’d just asked him to polish her shoes. “It’s rather late, madam,” he said.

      “Well, when I booked, I explained that—” Mrs Knight started, but Miss Bowler was having none of it.

      “Never mind that!” she boomed. “We’re here now!”

      “This is most irregular,” the man muttered as he pulled a hefty book out of the desk drawer. “Twice in one night! Guests thinking they can just turn up and …” His muttering got quieter until I could no longer hear what he was saying, which was probably a good thing. What a grumpy old man!

      Ivy leant over. “I wonder who else turned up late?” she whispered, and I shrugged in reply.

      The man turned the book round to face Mrs Knight. “Sign here, then. My wife will show you to your rooms shortly.”

      “Any chance of some grub?” asked Miss Bowler.

      He lifted his gaze slowly and fixed her with a nasty glare that would rival my own. “The kitchen is long since closed, madam. You will have to go to the dining hall in the morning.” With that, he slammed the guest book shut, turned on his heel and headed back through the door behind him.

      “If that was a warm welcome,” I said to Ivy, “I’d hate to see a cold one.”

       Chapter Seven

       IVY

      e’d been waiting at least ten minutes before the door at the back of the room opened and the sound of raised voices blared out. A woman, who I thought must be the man’s wife, came out of the door and shut it behind her (with quite some relief, I thought).

      “Good evening,” she said. She had a much friendlier face than her husband, though it currently looked red and flustered. She wore a plain dress with an apron, but expensive-looking earrings glinted beneath her greying hair. “I’m Mrs Rudge. I’ll be showing you to your rooms. We usually have a girl to do this, but she’s off sick.” Her tone was apologetic, though I noticed she didn’t actually say sorry for her husband’s behaviour.

      She looked around the room at all of us. Most people were sitting on their suitcases. Scarlet and I were leaning against a wall, while Rose and Ariadne were trying their best to share one striped armchair in the corner. The prefects were standing by the teachers with their arms folded, apparently trying to make it seem as though they were in charge too. From the look on Mrs Rudge’s face, I suspected we weren’t her usual type of clientele.

      “Your rooms are on the top floor of the building,” she said, pulling a bunch of jangling keys from a hook beside the door. I felt Scarlet twitch beside me.

      “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of something to eat?” Mrs Knight asked, deciding to try a politer approach than Miss Bowler’s.

      Mrs Rudge nodded, though she didn’t meet our teacher’s eyes. “I can bring you up some bread and butter. I’m afraid that’s all I can manage with the kitchen closed. My husband is very particular about these things.”

      Mrs Knight looked sympathetic. Miss Bowler looked like she was about to eat the reception desk.

      “I’d love some bread and butter, actually,” Scarlet said to me under her breath. “Much better than stew.”

      My stomach growled, and I had to agree.

      “This way, please,” said Mrs Rudge.

      She led us out of the reception area and along a dark corridor which we all trod in a line, like ducks following their mother. We were too tired for chatter. The walls were dark wood, the carpets plush and red. There was a staircase, with sconces going up it – some of the candles lit, others not. I wondered if they’d never been lit in the first place, or if a draught had blown them out.

      There were three floors, not unlike Rookwood, though I wasn’t sure if the hotel was quite the size of our imposing school. But then it was dark, and how much of it had we actually seen? Once we’d made it to the top, Mrs Rudge went along unlocking all the doors and lighting the lamps, while