Davina Dupree Suspects a Smuggler Read online

  Davina Dupree Suspects a Smuggler

  FOURTH IN THE EGMONT SCHOOL SERIES

  S K SHERIDAN

  Monday, 6th February

  Greetings, Diary!

  Arabella and I have just come back from a meeting with our EXTREMELY strict science teacher, Mrs Bunsen. It was held in her science laboratory – or lab as we call it here - which is in the north wing of our term-time home, Egmont Exclusive Boarding School for Girls. All us first years were there, our tummies rumbling away loudly because we could smell the rosemary and garlic potatoes and roast lamb that Marcel is cooking for our dinner. #Mmmmmm #SUCH a yummy smell.

  The lab is ENORMOUS and has a glass ceiling - we have astronomy classes there once a week where we study the stars. They’re quite fun lessons because we’re allowed to lie on our backs on the desks as long as we’re concentrating on the stars in our galaxy, the Milky Way, (SUCH a funny name.com) but Mrs Bunsen is tremendously strict about manners and if any one falls asleep and starts snoring she clears her throat very loudly in their ear and they have to leave and go to bed! #Scaryteacher, #Learningfail.

  In the middle of the room there are long wooden desks with white basins fitted into them where we wash all the science equipment when we’ve finished doing experiments. Mrs Bunsen usually marches up and down the classroom at this point, handing out tea-towels and checking that each piece of equipment is bone dry. She’s very small, always wears her silver hair in a tight bun and NEVER smiles! Her thin lips are set into a thin line and remain like this even when the whole class has done really well in a test or something. I find her a bit terrifying to be honest, but my best friend Arabella really likes her and in return Mrs Bunsen has a soft spot for Arabella. I know this because I saw Mrs Bunsen almost smile once when Arabella was working out a ridiculously complicated chemistry equation on the board. I think they understand each other, what with their mutual love of science and maths. Personally, I’m more at home in the art room with Miss Wise and Miss Cherry. #More relaxing, #Less shouty.

  Anyway, Mrs Bunsen had called today’s meeting to discuss an important science experiment that we’ll soon be doing on the beach at Little Pineham.

  ‘Sit down, be quiet,’ she barked as we all filed into the lab. ‘‘Hand me that hairbrush Cleo, you can have it back at the end of the meeting. Stop looking at your nails, Clarice, I want to see every single person in this room looking at me so I know that they’re listening properly.’

  Arabella and I chose velvet and gold padded stools next to the twins, Moira and Lynne. When everyone was assembled and we were being so quiet you could have heard a pin drop on the white, shiny floor, Mrs Bunsen tapped a key on her laptop and a giant photograph of Little Pineham beach flashed on to the wall.

  ‘This,’ Mrs Bunsen said, hitting the wall with a long, pointy stick. ‘Is where we will be going tomorrow to set up our experiment. And this,’ she tapped another key on her laptop and an image of our school’s kitchen’s flashed up, complete with Head Chef Marcel pulling a funny face. ‘Is where our journey will begin.’

  ‘That’s really silly Mrs Bunsen,’ Clarice said, still looking at her nails. Cleo and Clarice are the most ANNOYING girls in the school. They think they’re SO amazing and beautiful, but they’re not very nice to anyone, especially me and Arabella. ‘The beach isn’t in the kitchen is it?’

  ‘Sapphires loses one house point because Clarice called out without putting up her hand,’ Mrs Bunsen said.

  ‘Shut up, will you?’ Arabella hissed loudly in Clarice’s direction. I noticed Mrs Bunsen flicking a glance at Arabella but luckily she didn’t say anything. Cleo and Clarice are ALWAYS losing us house points which Arabella really minds about because she’s very competitive and wants Sapphires to win the House Shield this term. Emeralds won it last term, and I don’t think poor Rubies have EVER won it. #Not very sporty.

  Melody put her hand up.

  ‘Yes?’ Mrs Bunsen pointed the stick at her.

  ‘Um, on the letter you sent my parents about the school trip you mentioned that there are old smuggling tunnels that lead from the school’s kitchen cellars down to the beach at Little Pineham,’ Melody said, going red.

  ‘Excellent, one house point to Sapphires,’ Mrs Bunsen nodded grimly. Arabella gave Melody the thumbs up. ‘Well remembered Melody, you are absolutely correct. Bertie the gardener told me about the tunnels a few months ago when he discovered that someone, probably Marcel, had moved a stack of crates hiding an old door in the deepest, darkest kitchen cellar. He opened the door and came face to face with a black tunnel, which he bravely decided to go down, armed with a powerful torch. He followed the tunnel all the way to its end and came out on Little Pineham beach. On the way back, he shone his torch at the walls and saw old graffiti there that smugglers had written hundreds of years ago. I myself have investigated the tunnel and can confirm that there are indeed messages scratched into the wall, saying things like, “Old Seamus left ten quarts of brandy from The Crimson Wave ship int’ big house’s veg garden for Young Jimny, 22nd December, 1756”.’

  ‘Oh I see,’ I called out, feeling excited. Then I remembered about Mrs Bunsen’s strict no calling out rule and put my hand up.

  ‘Do share, Davina,’ she said, eyebrows lowering.

  ‘I think the message means that a smuggler called Old Seamus took or stole some bottles of brandy from a ship called The Crimson Wave, smuggled them through the secret tunnel and left them hidden in the grounds of the big house, which is probably now our school, for someone called Young Jimny, nearly three hundred years ago.’ I said, ignoring the faces Cleo and Clarice were making at me.

  ‘Precisely,’ Mrs Bunsen agreed dryly. ‘You should be a detective, Davina.’ I nodded in agreement, because I am nearly a detective as Arabella and I have already solved several mysteries together in the past.

  Cleo put her hand up.

  ‘I hope you don’t expect us to travel down this revolting tunnel, Mrs Bunsen?’ she said.

  ‘That’s precisely what I expect you to do, Cleo,’ Mrs Bunsen looked almost cheerful as Cleo and Clarice shot each other horrified glances. ‘We will all assemble outside the school’s kitchen door tomorrow morning at nine o’clock sharp. Late comers will lose points for their houses. Each of you must be wearing a rainproof coat and wellies, with sensible clothes underneath. I will provide you with head torches so you can pick your way through the tunnel without any fuss. Mrs Bunn, Egmont’s new dinner lady, has kindly agreed to come with us to provide an extra pair of hands, so I trust you will all make her feel welcome. I’ll tell you what the experiment actually involves when we get to the beach, and needless to say I’ll be bringing essential items like anti-explosive aprons and safety goggles. ’

  Arabella grinned madly at this news and I felt quite excited about seeing the old smuggling messages. Cleo and Clarice had gone pale yellow and looked like they were going to either throw up or faint. Dark tunnels weren’t really their idea of fun. #No mirrors.

  ‘That’s all for now, first years,’ Mrs Bunsen shut her laptop smartly and surveyed us with her eagle eyes. ‘You are dismissed. You may file out quietly.’

  Tuesday, 7th February

  Good morning Diary!

  Well! Last night Arabella and I were finishing off our particularly delish roast dinners while we tried to guess what the science experiment might be, when all of a sudden a bit of drama blew up.

  ‘You idiot,’ Clarice screeched, jumping up and flapping her arms about. Arabella and I stood up to get a better view of what was going on. The new trainee chef, Franco, was standing next to Clarice, beetroot red. Clarice’s white top had been drenched in a green goo, which was dripping off her into thick puddles on the fl
oor. I felt quite sorry for Franco, he looks quite small and youngish and he was shaking with nerves.

  ‘Good shot, Franco,’ Arabella whispered, grinning. ‘He must have tripped and accidentally thrown mint sauce all over her!’

  ‘What eez all this fuss about, please?’ Came Marcel’s loud voice from the kitchen. The metal doors banged open and the head chef came cantering out. He threw his hands in the air when he saw Clarice’s top.

  ‘Franco! Why you do this to me?’ Marcel shouted. ‘I give you job as a favour to your father, and this is ‘ow you repay me? We put the food on the table, Franco, not on the pupils’ clothes. Now go and get a cloth this instant.’

  Franco dithered around for a moment, then stumbled off towards the kitchen. #Poor chap.

  ‘I don’t want a cloth!’ Clarice screamed. ‘My top is ruined. RUINED. Mummy bought it back from St Tropez and it cost her five hundred euros and I’ll never be able to get another one like it, it was an original! I’m going off to change.’ And with that she flounced out, closely followed by Cleo who was also flouncing, just for effect.

  Mrs Fairchild, the headmistress, who’d been tucking into her food quite happily while the drama unfolded, stood up, gave a little burp and clapped her hands. ‘Sit down everybody please, the pantomime’s over,’ she trilled. #Eccentric lady.

  ‘Mmm, look Davina,’ Arabella pointed to the end of our table where a chef was carefully putting down two silver bowls. ‘Our Magic Mousse has arrived. I could seriously eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the rest of my life, it’s so unbelievably yummy.’ Magic Mousse is Arabella’s favourite EVER dessert. It’s made from special, glittery sweets that Marcel says he orders from Italy, which are crushed up and stirred into a dark chocolate sauce. The sauce is then poured over a honeycomb sponge cake, so that it soaks in and oozes out of the bottom. I think it’s very tasty but Arabella likes it more; she goes into a kind of trance when she’s eating it and doesn’t talk till her bowl is scraped clean. #VERY interesting to watch!

  Mrs Bunn, the new dinner lady, patrolled the dining hall while we ate, chewing a strawberry smelling sweet. I kept getting whiffs of it whenever she walked past. She’s small and squashy looking, with wispy white hair pinned back in a bun. Mrs Bunn wears a bun! It’s a bit like Mrs Bunsen’s only not as neat. She kept on and on smiling at everyone, but I couldn’t help noticing that when Franco was being told off by Marcel, her eyes stopped being smiley and turned narrow, and she edged closer to hear what was going on. Oh well, maybe she’s short sighted.

  Ooh, I can’t wait to go down the tunnel, I’m already dressed in my coat and wellies. Actually I’m beginning to get a bit hot... #Perhaps I should have waited...

  Lunch time, Tuesday 7th February

  Wow, what a day, Diary!

  Arabella and I made it to the science lab this morning with only minutes to spare because it took ages to find Arabella’s wellies (eventually located behind the mess under her bed, #typical), earning us a poisonous look from Mrs Bunsen. She was in the middle of handing out head torches, so we took one each and strapped them onto our foreheads, then we couldn’t stop laughing because we looked so silly! Mrs Bunsen didn’t think it was funny though, I don’t think she’s got much of a sense of humour. Cleo and Clarice refused to wear theirs, so Mrs Bunn, who was already wearing a head torch, together with pink and white wellies and a green quilted raincoat, said;

  ‘Come on, duckies, you don’t want to trip and hurt yourselves in the tunnel do you?’

  ‘How hard can it be to walk in a straight line?’ Cleo replied, rude as always, and Mrs Bunn scowled, making her face look really different from usual, sort of glaring and cross instead of plump and crinkly.

  We marched off to the kitchens in single file, led by Mrs Bunsen who was in sergeant major mode, and found Marcel was waiting for us with our packed lunches.

  ‘Smoked salmon and avocado sandwiches, Belgian chocolate truffles, exotic fruit medley, beetroot crisps and fizzy grape juice in each one,’ he smiled proudly, stroking his moustache. ‘Ok girls, follow me and please don’t touch anything in the cellars, I keep my Italian sweets for Magic Mousse down there and they’re so expensive we can’t afford to ‘ave even one jar smashed, yes?’

  ‘Yes Marcel,’ Arabella nodded her head seriously.

  Going down into the cellars was like going into Aladdin’s Cave. We stepped carefully down a winding, gold staircase, ‘oohing’ and ‘aahing’ at all the piles of unusual food stacked everywhere. Old fashioned lamps attached to the cellar walls provided a dim glimmer which made all the bottles and jars look like mysterious treasure.

  ‘Look, those are jars of rare herbs that Marcel puts on chicken,’ Melony said, pointing to about fifty large jars full of red, amber and dark green leaves.

  ‘And those must be his seaweed pasta shells,’ Moira said, as we passed a stack of large packets containing gold and green shapes.

  We walked on, going deeper and deeper underground.

  ‘Yippee, sweets for Magic Mousse,’ Arabella said, licking her lips as we entered the last cellar. She stopped and stared at a stack of about two hundred silver lidded jars absolutely packed with glittery sweets in extraordinary, twisty shapes. ‘Listen everyone, walk past these jars really carefully, OK?’ She stood with her arms stretched out protectively while we walked past.

  ‘Stop here, first years,’ Mrs Bunsen boomed loudly. ‘Arms by your sides, eyes on me. Absolutely no talking.’ I tore my eyes away from the sweets and saw that she’d positioned herself, soldier like, in front of a battered looking wooden door. ‘This is the door to the old smuggling tunnel,’ Mrs Bunsen glared round at us, almost as though she thought WE were the smugglers who’d dug the tunnel. ‘So best behaviour from now on and NO pushing once we’ve set off, the tunnel is very narrow in places and I don’t want any accidents. Thank you for your help Marcel.’ She nodded at the chef.

  Marcel, who was standing near to me and Arabella, bowed theatrically and took down a large key from a shelf. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, revealing the big, dark mouth of the tunnel. A whoosh of cold, salty air blew onto our faces and we all shivered. #Seaweedy.

  ‘Mmm,’ Melody said, taking in deep breaths. ‘I can smell the sea already.’

  ‘Single file and off we go!’ Mrs Bunsen roared, switching on her head torch and stepping into the tunnel. Arabella and I switched on ours and walked into the darkness behind her, followed by Melody, Lynne, Moira and Lottie then the rest of the first years.

  I could hear Mrs Bunn talking in a kind way to Cleo and Clarice right at the back. ‘Come on you two, it’s only a harmless tunnel, for goodness sake. Honestly, I’ve never met two bigger wimps in all my life.’

  ‘Do you realise I’m missing my helicopter flying lesson in order to stagger down this stinking tunnel?’ Clarice whined in reply. I heard lurching and slipping noises. ‘This is SO not my idea of fun.’

  Our head torches were quite strong and gave off enough light for us to study the eerie green and black, slimy walls. Choppy axe marks were everywhere and there was even one whole axe sticking out of a particularly rough looking wall. Mrs Bunsen had been right about the old fashioned graffiti – the walls were littered with scratchy writing that said things like, “One eyed Amos smuggled here, 1799”, “Five tons of whiskey waitin’ for Billy at the house, 16th October 1753”, and “Mack Mousel lost ‘is axe here on 3rd April 1802”. The more I read and the further down the tunnel we went, the faster and louder my heart beat, until I thought EVERYONE must be able to hear it. It was like going back in time, seeing actual smuggling messages. I was just beginning to feel a little scared when...

  ‘Agh,’ Cleo screamed. There was a thump.

  ‘Oh get up,’ came Mrs Bunn’s voice. She sounded like she was chewing – probably one of those strawberry sweets again. ‘For goodness sake, ducks, grow up and turn your head torch on. Then you’ll be able to see and you’ll stop sliding all over the place.’

  ‘Never!’ Cleo shouted. ‘It
’s a crime to fashion.’

  ‘Please yourself,’ Mrs Bunn clucked in reply. ‘But don’t blame me if your raincoat gets covered in slimy moss from the tunnel floor, you silly ninny. And why you’re wearing high heeled wellies is beyond me.’

  ‘Hrmph!’ Cleo snorted.

  I lost track of time and for a little while it seemed like we’d be trooping through the tunnel forever, sometimes upwards, sometimes downwards, sometimes through narrow bits, sometimes through wide caves. Mrs Bunsen stopped in one particularly large cave to show us the pointy rocks that hung down like sharks teeth from the cave’s roof.

  ‘These are called stalactites,’ she boomed, her voice echoing off the walls. ‘Remember that name, I’ll be testing you on it next week.’

  ‘Slave driver,’ Cleo hissed.

  Eventually a pin prick of light appeared in front of us and within minutes we’d reached the end of the tunnel and stepped out into a cold, blustery February day. A mixture of grey and white puffy clouds billowed across the silvery sky, while curved waves raced each other over a slate coloured sea. The long stretch of sand that made up Little Pineham’s beach looked damp and blotchy as though it had recently been rained on. A few drops fell onto my face as if to prove this fact and I pulled my warm coat round me even tighter, hoisting the hood over my head. High cliffs loomed to the right of the sand and as I walked on I saw that our tunnel entrance was carved into one of these. There were other caves set into the cliff’s base too, some quite deep looking and I shivered with excitement, loving the mysterious sight of them.

  ‘Gather round, first years,’ Mrs Bunsen strode into the middle of the sand and zipped up her waterproof coat, tying the hood tightly under her chin, her bun causing a mound of blue canvas to loom up at the back, alien-style. She put her hands on her hips and stared at us until we were all assembled in front of her, Mrs Bunn ushering the angry looking Cleo and Clarice ahead of her. They were having trouble tottering over the sand in their high heeled wellies, most hilarious.com. ‘Now,’ Mrs Bunsen went on. ‘I shall explain the science experiment to you so please listen very carefully because if it’s not done correctly it could be extremely dangerous. I don’t want to have to call any ambulances.’ We all nodded. #Scary teacher.