A Ring Through Time by Felicity Pulman

she tried to remember where the bedrooms were located. On the right of the ghostly passage, that was it. She turned into it and a breath of cold air swirled around her. Once inside the guest bedroom at the end, she began to snoop about, opening cupboards and tapping on the wooden panels in the hope of hearing a hollow sound that would mean there was a secret hidey-hole behind them. She felt like a trespasser and told herself she’d been reading too many crime stories. If there was anything to find, it was well hidden or it would have been discovered years before. Most of the stuff in the long cupboards looked like junk — ornate lamps, ugly ornaments, old appliances and other bits and pieces.
    She poked about a little more, but soon realised there was nothing of interest to be seen; everything was too modern.
    She walked across the passage and opened a door. It was Mr Armstrong’s study, and she remembered that Sylvia hadgiven her permission to be in here. Her attention was caught by a row of carved wooden cupboards that made up the length of one wall. Her pulse quickened. They looked very old, certainly old enough to contain secrets!
    With some difficulty, she wrenched open the door in the middle. Inside was a narrow space housing a desk. Allie eagerly opened its drawers, but they were disappointingly empty. She probed further, hoping to locate a secret compartment of some sort, but there was nothing.
    The other cupboard doors were stuck tight. Growing impatient, she ran into the kitchen, slid a long, sharp knife from the carving block and came back with it. Hurry, hurry, hurry pulsed through her brain. She was shaking with nerves as she slid the knife into the crack and jerked it upwards, hoping to dislodge the latch. She was terrified that the Armstrongs might return and catch her. She had no credible explanation for snooping about except for a growing belief that there were secrets to be found and that she was close to them. She had to finish her search before they came home.
    There was a sharp snap and the cupboard door swung open, only to reveal a second slab of wood. It was a false cupboard. She felt a crushing sense of disappointment. The carved façade looked so old, she was sure the cupboard was part of the original house. But she couldn’t go on breaking into all the cupboards along the wall, especially if the others were also façades.
    She walked out of the room and noticed a wooden door set into the wall next to the study door. Curious, she opened itand found herself looking down a flight of stairs. She groped in her pocket for her torch, flashed it on, and followed its beam downwards — into a cellar lined with empty shelves. She looked about for likely hiding places, but the walls seemed solid. A door was set into a side wall and she guessed it led outside. She wondered if the cellar had been a bolt hole for the commandants’ families during the riots.
    She climbed the stairs and carefully shut the door behind her. She realised now that the cupboards in the study were built over the passage that led down to the cellar. Some of them must connect to the long cupboards in the bedroom opposite, where the old junk was stored. Just as well I didn’t force all the doors, she thought.
    She turned away from the staircase, pondering where to try next. She heard a low, wailing cry and her heart jumped. A ghost bird? Or the children?
    She flew outside and across the courtyard. She checked on Micaela first, making sure that she was sleeping peacefully before going to the baby. They were both sound asleep.
    She looked about, wondering whether to conduct a swift search of the nursery. She moved silently, opening drawers and knocking softly on the panelling, but found nothing. She went back to check Micaela’s room, but again drew a blank. With a sigh, she crossed the courtyard once more, telling herself she was being ridiculous. She should go and watch TV. Or finish her homework. Do something useful. But curiosity