Charlie Bone and the Blue Boa. Jenny Nimmo

Grandma Bone who appeared, followed by the prettiest girl Charlie had ever seen. She had golden curls, bright blue eyes and lips like a cherub.

      ‘Hello, Charlie!’ The girl held out her hand in the manner of someone expecting a kiss on the fingers, preferably from a boy on bended knees. ‘I’m Belle.’

      Charlie was too flustered to do anything.

      The girl smiled and sat beside him. ‘Oh my,’ she said. ‘A ladies’ magazine.’

      Charlie realised, to his horror, that he was holding his mother’s magazine. On the cover a woman in pink underwear held a kitten. Charlie felt very hot. He knew his face must be bright red.

      ‘Make us some coffee, Charlie,’ Aunt Lucretia said sharply. ‘And then we’ll be off.’

      Charlie flung down the magazine and ran to the coffee maker while Grandma Bone and the aunts sat babbling at him. Belle would be going to Charlie’s school, Bloor’s Academy, and Charlie must tell her all about it.

      Charlie sighed. He wanted to visit his friend, Fidelio. Why did the aunts always have to spoil everything? For half an hour he listened to the chattering and giggling over the coffee and buns. Belle didn’t behave like a child, thought Charlie. She looked about twelve, but she seemed very comfortable with the aunts.

      When the last drop had been squeezed out of the coffee pot, the three Yewbeam sisters left the house, blowing kisses to Belle.

      ‘Take care of her, Charlie,’ Aunt Venetia called.

      Charlie wondered how he was supposed to do that.

      ‘Can I wash my hands, Grizel – er – Mrs Bone?’ Belle held up her sticky fingers.

      ‘There’s the sink,’ Charlie nodded to the kitchen sink.

      ‘Upstairs, dear,’ said Grandma Bone, with a scowl in Charlie’s direction. ‘Bathroom’s first left. There’s some nice lavender soap and a clean towel.’

      ‘Thank you!’ Belle skipped out.

      Charlie gaped. ‘What’s wrong with the kitchen?’ he asked his grandmother.

      ‘Belle has tender skin,’ said Grandma Bone. ‘She can’t use kitchen soap. I want you to lay the dining room table – for five. I presume Maisie will be joining us.’

      ‘The dining room?’ said Charlie in disbelief. ‘We only eat there on special occasions.’

      ‘It’s for Belle,’ snapped Grandma Bone.

      ‘A child?’ Charlie was amazed.

      ‘Belle is not just any child.’

      So it seems, thought Charlie. He went to lay the dining room table while Grandma Bone shouted instructions up to Maisie. ‘We’d like a nice light soup today, Maisie. And then some cold ham and salad. Followed by your lovely Bakewell tart.’

      ‘Would we indeed, your highness?’ Maisie shouted from somewhere upstairs. ‘Well, we’ll have to wait, I’m afraid. Oops! Who on earth are you?’

      She had obviously bumped into Belle.

      Charlie closed the dining room door and went to the window. There was no sign of Runner Bean in the garden. Charlie had visions of a dog’s lifeless body lying in a gutter. He ran to the back door, but just as he was about to open it, a sing-song voice called, ‘Charleee!’

      Belle was standing in the hall, staring at him. Charlie could have sworn that her eyes had been blue. Now they were green.

      ‘Where are you going, Charlie?’ she asked.

      ‘Oh, I was just going into the garden for a . . .a . . .’

      ‘Can I come with you?’

      ‘No. That is, I’ve changed my mind.’

      ‘Good. Come and talk to me.’

      Was it possible? Belle’s eyes were now a greyish brown. Charlie followed her into the sitting room where she sat on the sofa, patting a cushion beside her. Charlie perched at the other end.

      ‘Now, tell me all about Bloor’s.’ Belle smiled invitingly.

      Charlie cleared his throat. Where should he begin? ‘Well, there are three sort of departments, Music, Art and Drama. I’m in Music so I have to wear a blue cape.’

      ‘I shall be in Art.’

      ‘Then you’ll wear green.’ Charlie glanced at the girl. ‘Haven’t my aunts told you all this? I mean, are you staying with them, or what?’

      ‘I want to hear it from you,’ said Belle, ignoring Charlie’s question.

      Charlie continued. ‘Bloor’s is a big grey building on the other side of the city. It’s very, very old. There are three cloakrooms, three assembly halls and three canteens. You go up some steps between two towers, cross a courtyard, up more steps and into the main hall. You have to be silent in the hall or you’ll get detention. The Music students go through a door under crossed trumpets, your door is under the sign of a pencil and paintbrush.’

      ‘What’s the sign for the Drama students?’

      ‘Two masks. One sad and one happy.’ Why did Charlie get the impression that Belle knew all this? Her eyes were blue again. It was unnerving.

      ‘There’s another thing,’ he said. ‘Are you – er – like me; one of the children of the Red King? I mean, was he your ancestor too?’

      Belle turned her bright blue gaze on him. ‘Oh, yes. And I’m endowed. But I prefer not to say how. I’m told that you can hear voices from photographs, and even paintings.’

      ‘Yes.’ Charlie could do more than hear voices, but he wasn’t going to give anything away to this strange girl. ‘Endowed children have to do their homework in the King’s room,’ he said. ‘There are twelve of us. Someone from Art will show you where it is: Emma Tolly. She’s a friend of mine, and she’s endowed too.’

      ‘Emma? Ah, I’ve heard all about her.’ Belle inched her way up the sofa towards Charlie. ‘Now, tell me about you, Charlie. I believe that your father’s dead.’

      ‘He’s not!’ said Charlie fiercely. ‘His car went into a quarry, but they never found his body. He’s just – lost.’

      ‘Really? How did you find that out?’

      Without thinking, Charlie said, ‘My friend Gabriel’s got an amazing gift. He can feel the truth in old clothes. I gave him my father’s tie and Gabriel said that he wasn’t dead.’

      ‘Well, well.’ The girl gave Charlie a sweet, understanding smile, but the effect was spoiled by the cold look in her eyes – now a dark grey. And, was it a trick of the light, or did he glimpse a set of wrinkles just above her curved pink lips?

      Charlie slipped off the sofa. ‘I’d better help my other gran with lunch,’ he said.

      He found Maisie in the kitchen, throwing herbs into a saucepan. ‘All this fuss for a child,’ she muttered. ‘I’ve never heard of such a thing.’

      ‘Nor me,’ said Charlie. ‘She’s a bit strange, isn’t she?’

      ‘She’s downright peculiar. Belle indeed!’

      ‘Belle means beautiful,’ said Charlie, remembering his French. ‘And she is very pretty.’

      ‘Huh!’ said Maisie.

      When the soup was ready Charlie helped Maisie to carry it into the chilly dining room. Grandma Bone was already sitting at the head of the table, with Belle on her right.

      ‘Where’s Paton?’ asked Grandma Bone.

      ‘He won’t be coming,’ said Charlie.

      ‘And why not?’

      ‘He