Read Online The Cavendish Home for Boys and Girls by Claire Legrand - Free Book Online
Authors: Claire Legrand
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collection?”
“Look at this croc,” said Mr. Everett, his pointy white teeth matching the crocodile’s grin. “Priceless, you know. We have only the best in our collection.”
Oh, they knew something, all right. Victoria could see it with her dazzle eyes. They were only pretending they didn’t know what she was talking about. They weren’t going to help her. This realization enraged her. She forced herself to smile the sweetest smile she had ever worn.
“I’m so sorry, but I have to go,” she said at last, stoppingjust short of slamming down her teacup. “Thank you ever so much for your time.”
She tried next door at Four Silldie Place, but no one answered, even though Victoria could see shapes watching her from the upstairs windows.
“Well, what about your Mr. Tibbalt?” she said to the dog, who still followed her. The gate to Six Silldie Place stood just open enough for Victoria to slip inside. The dog ran after her to the front door.
“What do you want?” someone growled.
Victoria stopped just before the porch. Mr. Tibbalt stood at the front door with his dog in his arms. The dog seemed perfectly happy, but Mr. Tibbalt did not. He frowned down at Victoria from beneath a rumpled wool cap. It was as patched and worn as the rest of his clothes. His glasses glinted in the lamplight, blocking out his eyes.
“Excuse me, Mr. Tibbalt,” said Victoria, hiding her disgust at his messy clothes and the awful state of his lawn. Her mother’s red notices flapped all along his porch. “I hate to bother you, but I have a question.”
“No more questions,” muttered Mr. Tibbalt. “Too many questions.”
Victoria couldn’t believe his nerve.
“It’s about the Prewitts,” she persisted.
For an instant, Mr. Tibbalt straightened and came alive. He said something Victoria couldn’t quite hear, except for one word: “Vivian . . .”
The wind slammed the gate open. Mr. Tibbalt jumped and waved his arm at Victoria. “No more questions,” he cried. “Get out of here. Go away!”
Victoria scoffed, glaring at his messy clothes. She should never have bothered with this crazy old man. “I will, but not because you told me to.” She turned and left, ignoring the dog’s indignant yaps.
“Why, Victoria, how nice to see you,” said Mrs. Baker at Eight Silldie Place. She was young and pretty and held her new baby. Her small, pretty children ran in circles behind her.
“Victoria,” said handsome Mr. Baker, wiping his hands on a towel. “We just made supper. Would you like to join us?”
“No, thank you,” said Victoria, still so furious at Mr. Tibbalt that she didn’t bother with small talk. “I’ve come to ask you about the Prewitts and what’s wrong with them and what they’ve done with Lawrence.”
The Bakers stopped moving. Their smiles froze in place.
“What they’ve done with him?” said Mr. Baker, suddenly much cheerier than a moment ago.
“Something’s wrong, I know it is,” said Victoria. “And no one will tell me.”
Mrs. Baker chuckled. “Sounds like the storm’s giving you crazy ideas, Victoria.”
“I don’t get crazy ideas.”
“Well,” said Mr. Baker, his smile widening. His and Mrs. Baker’s heads tilted strangely, as though they were birds. “I think you should go home now, Victoria.”
They tried to lead her out the door, but Victoria dug in her heels. “But wait! I want to stay and eat supper with you after all.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Victoria,” said Mrs. Baker. “It’s getting so late, you see.” Together, the Bakers pushed Victoria out, shut the door, and locked it.
Victoria stood alone on the porch, the wind whipping her hair around. Her curls were falling out, which added insult to injury.
“Fine,” she said. Clearly, everyone around here knew more about what was going on than they were telling her, and nothing about any of it made any sense. And things were supposed to make sense in Belleville. The entire situation was
“Look at this croc,” said Mr. Everett, his pointy white teeth matching the crocodile’s grin. “Priceless, you know. We have only the best in our collection.”
Oh, they knew something, all right. Victoria could see it with her dazzle eyes. They were only pretending they didn’t know what she was talking about. They weren’t going to help her. This realization enraged her. She forced herself to smile the sweetest smile she had ever worn.
“I’m so sorry, but I have to go,” she said at last, stoppingjust short of slamming down her teacup. “Thank you ever so much for your time.”
She tried next door at Four Silldie Place, but no one answered, even though Victoria could see shapes watching her from the upstairs windows.
“Well, what about your Mr. Tibbalt?” she said to the dog, who still followed her. The gate to Six Silldie Place stood just open enough for Victoria to slip inside. The dog ran after her to the front door.
“What do you want?” someone growled.
Victoria stopped just before the porch. Mr. Tibbalt stood at the front door with his dog in his arms. The dog seemed perfectly happy, but Mr. Tibbalt did not. He frowned down at Victoria from beneath a rumpled wool cap. It was as patched and worn as the rest of his clothes. His glasses glinted in the lamplight, blocking out his eyes.
“Excuse me, Mr. Tibbalt,” said Victoria, hiding her disgust at his messy clothes and the awful state of his lawn. Her mother’s red notices flapped all along his porch. “I hate to bother you, but I have a question.”
“No more questions,” muttered Mr. Tibbalt. “Too many questions.”
Victoria couldn’t believe his nerve.
“It’s about the Prewitts,” she persisted.
For an instant, Mr. Tibbalt straightened and came alive. He said something Victoria couldn’t quite hear, except for one word: “Vivian . . .”
The wind slammed the gate open. Mr. Tibbalt jumped and waved his arm at Victoria. “No more questions,” he cried. “Get out of here. Go away!”
Victoria scoffed, glaring at his messy clothes. She should never have bothered with this crazy old man. “I will, but not because you told me to.” She turned and left, ignoring the dog’s indignant yaps.
“Why, Victoria, how nice to see you,” said Mrs. Baker at Eight Silldie Place. She was young and pretty and held her new baby. Her small, pretty children ran in circles behind her.
“Victoria,” said handsome Mr. Baker, wiping his hands on a towel. “We just made supper. Would you like to join us?”
“No, thank you,” said Victoria, still so furious at Mr. Tibbalt that she didn’t bother with small talk. “I’ve come to ask you about the Prewitts and what’s wrong with them and what they’ve done with Lawrence.”
The Bakers stopped moving. Their smiles froze in place.
“What they’ve done with him?” said Mr. Baker, suddenly much cheerier than a moment ago.
“Something’s wrong, I know it is,” said Victoria. “And no one will tell me.”
Mrs. Baker chuckled. “Sounds like the storm’s giving you crazy ideas, Victoria.”
“I don’t get crazy ideas.”
“Well,” said Mr. Baker, his smile widening. His and Mrs. Baker’s heads tilted strangely, as though they were birds. “I think you should go home now, Victoria.”
They tried to lead her out the door, but Victoria dug in her heels. “But wait! I want to stay and eat supper with you after all.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Victoria,” said Mrs. Baker. “It’s getting so late, you see.” Together, the Bakers pushed Victoria out, shut the door, and locked it.
Victoria stood alone on the porch, the wind whipping her hair around. Her curls were falling out, which added insult to injury.
“Fine,” she said. Clearly, everyone around here knew more about what was going on than they were telling her, and nothing about any of it made any sense. And things were supposed to make sense in Belleville. The entire situation was
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