The Bonehill Curse Read online

  For Pete and Sue, Liz and Nick, Dave and Sandra

  – Brothers and Sisters

  Contents

  Part the First

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Part the Second

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Part the Third

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Epilogue

  Turn the page for a spine-tingling bonus story!

  Mr Grimhurst’s Treasure London, 1855

  Also by Jon Mayhew

  He is a djinn, and I am just a man. But God has given me a sharp mind, so I will plot for his destruction with my wit and cunning just as he has plotted mine with his craft and perfidy.

  The Fisherman and the Djinn, The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night

  I curse you, Anthony Bonehill. The child that your wife so fervently wished for will kill its father. Your own kin will wish you dead.

  Zaakiel

  Part the First

  Rookery Heights Academy for Young Ladies, 1868

  Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.

  Proverbs, Old Testament

  Chapter One

  The Fighter

  Necessity Bonehill grinned and pulled her cap down low on her brow. She raised her fists at the red-faced young man charging towards her like an enraged bull. Stamping her feet on the ground, she widened her stance, enjoying the freedom of the trousers she wore, with so much more room to move than the stupid dresses they forced on her at the Academy.

  A weak, dust-filled beam of sunlight sliced through the shadows of the barn. Ness breathed in the mingled scent of summer hay and cattle then, with a gentle exhalation, she sidestepped. The boy staggered past her. He was handsome in a rustic, curly blond hair and suntanned forearms way.

  Pity he’s such a moron.

  She slammed her fist into his ear, making him howl and stumble, crashing into a broken cartwheel that leaned against the barn wall. The small crowd of village lads that had formed a ring around them murmured and shuffled their feet.

  ‘C’mon, Tom,’ a thin, pox-faced boy hissed. ‘Flatten ’im.’

  ‘Damn tinker,’ Tom panted, picking himself up. ‘Just you wait till I get ’old of you.’

  He charged again. Ness kicked forward, somersaulting over his head and landing behind him just in time to jab her elbow below his kidneys. The watching lads gave an involuntary cheer as their champion fell again, then glanced at each other, shamefaced.

  ‘Get up, Tom. ’E’s makin’ a fool of yer!’ yelled another lad.

  With a growl of frustration, Tom stood and swung a huge fist at Ness. He was probably only a year or two older than Ness, fifteen or sixteen, but already a childhood spent working the land had calloused the boy’s hands, thickened his sinews. One blow would send Ness sprawling on to the muddy barn floor.

  But that wouldn’t happen.

  Ness snapped her forearms upward, blocking and trapping the oncoming fist. With a pull and a twist, she brought Tom’s arm up behind him, bending him double and holding him in a painful armlock. One firm kick from Ness sent him barging out of the ring and straight into the barn door. The satisfying crack echoed around the barn as Tom’s skull hit the solid wood. With a grunt, Tom’s body went slack and he slumped, unconscious, to the ground.

  Ness turned on her heel and faced the gaggle of boys. ‘Right,’ she panted, fists ready. ‘Who’s next?’

  ‘Necessity Bonehill! Goodness me! What on earth are you doing?’ A voice cut through the dusty air and Ness’s exhilaration drained away in an instant.

  Miss Pinchett.

  The head mistress of the Academy stood framed within the side door of the barn. A black silhouette. Shooting Ness a look of disbelief, the boys scurried away, doffing their caps and melting into the shadows of the huge building to search for loose planks in the wall – any means to escape the fierce harpy who strode over to Tom. She looked down her long nose at him, her tight mouth shrinking to a dot.

  The boy moaned and sat up as Miss Pinchett jabbed him with the point of her black, polished boot. Looking up, he gave a startled yelp, then jumped to his feet, wincing at the pain.

  ‘You should know better, Tom Roscoe, than to pick on a poor defenceless young lady,’ Miss Pinchett said.

  ‘Young lady?’ Tom stammered as, grinning, Ness pulled off her cap, spilling thick, black hair over her shoulders. Tom gaped. ‘Defenceless?’ he whimpered, trying to nurse his bleeding ear and wrenched shoulder at the same time.

  ‘And you can wipe that smug expression from your face this instant, miss,’ Pinchett snapped. Her voice stung Ness like whiplash. ‘Go immediately to Rookery Heights and wait in my office.’

  Gritting her teeth, Ness turned on her heel, stamped out of the barn and across the farm. Her mood darkened as she marched through the woods, kicking out at stones on the rough path.

  Ness heaved a sigh as she approached Rookery Heights Academy for Young Ladies. The square building squatted on a rocky outcrop surrounded by marshlands. Its cold square windows stared out to the line of the sea. A low wall edged the scrubby garden. Above her the heavy sky merged into the flat horizon that in turn melted into the washed-out tones of the marsh. Crows cluttered the roof tiles, cawing and bickering.

  A horrible place, Ness thought. What could be worse than lessons in manners and deportment? All that chatter about who is marrying whom and which bachelor is most eligible! That’s all the Academy girls think of – marriage. Ness shivered at the cold. Girls of the Academy were taught to be doe-eyed and cow-brained. Bovine. Ready for the slaughter when they came of age. Ready for marriage to some halfwit lord or baron. Ness spat into the scrubby grass. Not me, she thought, stamping her way towards the building.

  I can be anyone I want, Ness thought.

  An image of Ness’s father invaded her thoughts – towering over her in his study, his bloodstone ring glinting red on his finger. ‘Only cowards run away from adversity,’ he said.

  Pausing at the front door, Ness sighed. Father would never speak to me again if I ran away. Maybe if I endure one more year here, he’ll let me leave.

  Miss Pinchett sat in a high-backed chair, her bony fingers interlaced and white at the knuckles. Ness returned her icy stare, arms folded. Bookcases lined the walls, darkening the room. A meagre fire crackled and spat in the hearth. Behind Miss Pinchett stood a small, furtive-looking man. His eyes bulged like a strangled mouse and his face was red and blotchy.

  ‘What are we going to do with you, Necessity Bonehill?’ Miss Pinchett sighed, leaning forward over the desk.

  ‘Not a lot, I should imagine,’ muttered Ness, picking at her fingernails. ‘You could expel me, I suppose.’

  ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ Miss Pinchett hissed. Expulsion from Rookery Heights was highly unlikely. Ness knew that. Her father paid a stupid amount of money to keep her here. The Academy couldn
’t afford to let her go.

  ‘Now that you come to mention it, yes, I would,’ Ness said, giving a tight insincere smile. ‘But we both know that’s not going to happen.’

  ‘No,’ Miss Pinchett said, levelling a stony glare at Ness. ‘But be warned, Necessity. There will come a point where no amount of money will keep me from excluding you. I can understand why your father wants rid of such an unnatural girl but we shouldn’t have to endure such behaviour here at the Academy.’

  Ness ground her teeth, tears stinging her eyes. Miss Pinchett dared not take the rod to Ness – but she didn’t need to. Her barbed tongue was sharper than any cane and she knew just how to hurt Ness. The clue was in her name. Necessity. Her parents had only had her because they needed to. That’s what everybody said. No child, no inheritance. The other night Mollie Rogers had even suggested they had adopted her. She’d paid her back for that.

  ‘Anyway,’ Miss Pinchett continued, startling Ness out of her thoughts, ‘I’ll deal with your flagrant disregard for the rules of this establishment, and of decency itself, another time.’ She raised a hand towards the nervous-looking man who stood behind her. ‘This is Mr Hardgrave. He’s a solicitor. I can hardly see why but he wishes to speak with you.’

  Mr Hardgrave scuttled out from behind Miss Pinchett’s chair. Under one arm he clutched a small sack. He smoothed back his greasy hair and gave a short bow.

  ‘I have been instructed by my client, Mr Grossford,’ he began, glancing around again as if someone might be eavesdropping.

  ‘Uncle Carlos?’ Ness gave a smile. Now there’s someone who cares, she thought. Uncle Carlos sent all kinds of things to her – cake, sweets, books. She hadn’t seen him for many years but he used to come to the house when she was a little girl and lived at home. ‘Has he sent me a gift?’

  ‘Yes, quite, miss,’ coughed Hardgrave, stuffing the sack into Ness’s arms. ‘I am to hand this sack and the bottle therein –’

  ‘Bottle?’ Miss Pinchett frowned. ‘I trust there’s nothing intoxicating in it?’

  ‘To the best of my knowledge, no,’ Hardgrave said, mopping his brow and edging towards the door. ‘I shouldn’t think so, ma’am.’ He turned to Ness. ‘I’m to hand it to you personally and instruct you to never open it.’

  ‘Never open it? But why?’ Ness murmured. She frowned at the sack. The bottle felt hard and cold through the material.

  ‘Haven’t the first idea, miss. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must return to London. Good day to you both . . . and good luck!’ Hardgrave gave a slight bow and scurried away, slamming the door behind him.

  Ness stared down at the sack again.

  Miss Pinchett peered at it too. ‘Aren’t you going to look at it?’

  Ness narrowed her eyes at the headmistress. ‘Not just yet,’ she sniffed. Not in front of you, you miserable old trout. With a short smile, Ness hugged the sack to her chest and swept out of the room.

  A sound heart is the life of the flesh but envy the rottenness of the bones.

  Proverbs, Old Testament

  Chapter Two

  Sergeant Major Morris

  With a curse, Ness stormed down the dusty corridors of Rookery Heights and stamped up the stairs, pausing only to kick the head of the moth-eaten tiger-skin rug that covered the entrance-hall floor. Toop, the butler, frowned at her with his hooded eyes. Winifred and Ann, the chambermaids, put their work-reddened hands to their mouths. Winifred gave a feeble curtsy, a coil of red hair springing from her mob cap. Ann’s mouth was covered but Ness could see excitement in her blue eyes. They’d be gossiping about Necessity Bonehill in the kitchens tonight, that was for sure.

  Ness ignored them. It’s not fair. That old trout Pinchett shouldn’t have mentioned my parents. She slammed herself into the dormitory door, sending it crashing open.

  Three girls sat frozen on their beds. Ness glowered at them. Mollie Rogers stared back. She was the nearest in age to Ness, her unruly red hair a testament to her wild temper, but even she knew not to cross Ness when she burst into the room like this. On the bed opposite sat Sarah Devine, eleven, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and the darling of the Academy.

  ‘Who’d marry you, Necessity Bonehill?’ Sarah had said on her second day here. ‘Your hair is so coarse and black, like a sweep’s brush, and your skin is so . . . sunburned.’

  The staff had only just managed to persuade Ness not to drop her as she dangled Sarah out of the window by her legs.

  Now the youngest, Hannah Downey, fumbled as she slid something under her pillow, desperate not to catch Ness’s eye.

  Ness strode over to her bed, dropping her own package and pulling Hannah’s pillow back.

  ‘What’s this then, eh?’ Ness said, snatching up a parcel and a letter. ‘Papa’s been writing again, has he?’

  ‘P-please don’t t-take it, Ness.’ Hannah’s bottom lip began to tremble as she twisted her fingers in her skirts.

  ‘Come on, Ness, she’s only nine,’ Mollie murmured, kneeling up on her bed.

  ‘Pathetic,’ Ness hissed, flashing a warning glance at Mollie. She ripped at the package. A sweet aroma tickled her nose. ‘Cake.’ Ness smiled and threw it on to her bed next to the sack. She pulled the letter out of the envelope and clambered on to her bed to read it. Hannah’s sobs filled the room. ‘Stop that snivelling, girl,’ Ness snapped. She scanned the paper, icy envy filling her stomach and tightening her throat as she read.

  My dearest poppet,

  Your last letter so distressed us. Had we known how unhappy you were at Rookery Heights, we would never have made you return after Christmas. Rest assured that we have made arrangements with Miss Pinchett and next weekend Papa and I will come to collect you personally. In the meantime, Cook has made you a cake to share with your friends at the Academy. We have employed a governess so that we can all be together. We’re so looking forward to having you back at Squire’s Hall.

  Your loving mama

  Ness stared at the letter. Tears stung her eyes. She felt as if she were falling. Hannah’s parents were taking her away from the Academy – they cared about their daughter. It wasn’t fair!

  ‘Are you all right, Ness?’ Hannah said, her faint squeak bringing Ness back.

  ‘Course I am.’ Ness stifled a cough and scrubbed an angry fist across her eyes. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘You’re jealous,’ Mollie whispered, the realisation dawning on her. ‘You’re stuck here and Hannah’s going home. That’s it, isn’t it, Ness?’

  For a moment Ness stood, uncertain what to do. Hannah gave a stifled sob and leapt from her bed, snatching her letter and cake back.

  ‘Why would I want to be like any of you? You’re all pathetic!’ With a snort of contempt, Ness turned and flew from the dormitory.

  The light was fading as Ness ran along the path that led from Rookery Heights into the woods. A cool breeze blew in from the sea, making her shiver. Stupid girls. What does Mollie Rogers know anyway? Ness snuffled back the sobs that threatened to burst forth. But they’re right, of course, she thought, picking up a stick and slashing at the undergrowth around her. What I wouldn’t give for a letter like that! All the Christmases, all the summers I’ve spent rotting in this marshland dump. True, her parents came to see her every now and then, but since the age of eight, Rookery Heights had been her home.

  She wandered on, scything at the grass and bushes. Birds flapped into the trees, chattering at the intrusion. If only I’d remembered the package, she thought. I could have looked at it now.

  A dim light shone through the trees. Ness smiled. As she drew nearer, the familiar outline of the cottage became apparent. Smoke curled from the chimney and an oil lamp burned in the window.

  Ness took a step forward.

  Then froze.

  The cold metal of a gun muzzle chilled the back of her neck, making her draw a sharp breath.

  ‘Who goes there?’ said a quavering voice. ‘Friend or foe?’

  Ness glanced sideways at the strange figure in flannel p
yjamas, with a bristling moustache and grey hair sprouting from under a battered, bullet-holed pith helmet. Sergeant Major Morris.

  Ness didn’t move. ‘It’s me, Ness,’ she whispered.

  ‘Nick?’ the sergeant major said, lowering the gun. ‘Is it you?’ Dropping the weapon, he threw his arms around Ness. ‘Thank goodness, boy! I haven’t seen you for years!’

  ‘It’s Ness, and I saw you yesterday,’ she said, grinning.

  ‘Did you?’ The sergeant major scratched his head, pushing back the helmet to reveal his thinning hair and ruddy complexion. ‘What was I doing?’

  ‘Teaching me to fight,’ Ness said, half crouching and jabbing a playful fist at the old man. ‘As usual.’

  Over the years he’d taught her boxing, sword craft, rifle shooting, all spiced with tales of his regiment, the Hinderton Rifles, and his time in India. He looked old but he wasn’t frail and he was fast. He was the one person who made life at the Academy bearable.

  ‘I was, eh? Good show, good show!’ Morris barked and gave Ness a sly wink. ‘Come inside and have some tea. Getting dark. You don’t know what might be lurking about.’

  Ness watched Morris march off into the clearing and up the overgrown path to the front of the cottage.

  ‘He’s mad,’ Mollie had said one night. ‘You can hear him sometimes, screaming in the dark, firing his rifle at shadows.’

  ‘He lost his family in the Indian Mutiny,’ Sarah whispered. ‘Watched his daughter and grandchildren die, trapped in a burning house.’

  ‘Miss Pinchett has declared the cottage out of bounds to all girls,’ Mollie had said, with a shudder.

  Which was why Ness had sought it out in the first place.

  ‘Well?’ Morris said, as he stopped and pushed the door open. ‘Are you coming in?’

  Inside, the cottage looked strangely ordered but still as dusty and faded as its owner. Books lined the shelves, squeezed together tightly. Ness had tried to pull down a book on swordsmanship once and nearly been buried in an avalanche of other titles. A small table huddled by the fire, surrounded by four wooden stools. Clothes hung on the backs of doors and flags draped from the walls. At the side of the door, four rifles stood sentry next to each other.