eased the drawer out and placed the Zerynthia polyxena carefully onto the desk.
Now she could examine the display case properly. She peered in through the slot, turned it over and checked the back then the front. She poked and prodded, but there was nothing. No secret drawers, no notes, nothing.
A bit disheartened, Kate turned her attention to the drawer with the butterfly in it. Now she had to be much more careful, because after so many years the tiny body was even more fragile and delicate, even with all the preservative that had been sprayed on it.
Carefully she turned the drawer around and studied it closely. Still nothing. Kate slumped back into Uncle Dermottâs study chair, disappointed. She had been certain sheâd find something here. Still, what did that song tell her? Nothing is quite what it seems. She hummed the tune to herself a couple of times, but it was hopeless. There was no point wasting any more time; she should escape while she still had a chance. Uncle Dermott had been working all night and heâd surely stop for breakfast before very much longer. Kate wanted to be a long way away when that happened.
She was just about to ease the Zerynthia polyxena back into the display case when she noticed something strange. On the bottom of one of the hind wings, just in the tiniest corner, the butterfly had a strange white smudge.
Picking up Uncle Dermottâs magnifying glass, Kate peered closely at the smudge. It was curious; it looked as though the butterflyâs natural colour had drained out of it in this one small section, right in the middle of a patch of black.
Very carefully and slowly, Kate ran the tip of her little finger across the white smudge. The wing felt dry and slightly furry, and also very delicate. It might have been her imagination, but the white smudge seemed to spread slightly under her touch.
âHow odd,â she said to herself. There was something strange about the Zerynthia, but she couldnât for the life of her work out what. Apart from this new mystery, there was nothing more to learn here, so Kate slid the drawer back into the display case and hung the whole thing back on the wall. She had just unlocked the door to the study when she realised something terrifying.
The noise from upstairs had stopped.
Kate had been so intrigued by the strange white spot on the Zerynthia polyxena that sheâd forgotten to listen for Uncle Dermottâs crashing and bashing. And sometime in the last two minutes heâd stopped tearing up the floor. And by now he could be anywhere in the house; he might even be right outside the study door, on his way to check on her, or â¦
Uncle Dermottâs footsteps creaked on the attic stairs at the end of the hall outside.
Quick as a flash, Kate whizzed back across the room and up onto the bookcase. There was no time to escape the house now; Uncle Dermott would see and catch her for sure. If he didnât know about her getting out of the cupboard, though, he might leave her in there, and she could have another try at escaping later.
As fast as she dared, Kate clambered back to the top of the old wardrobe, pulled up her escape hatch, and dropped down inside, into the darkness. Then she reached up and pulled the panel of plywood back into place above her. Just as it clunked into position, Uncle Dermott slammed the study door open, crossed the room and banged loudly on the side of the cupboard.
âWake up, you lazy little worm! Wake up!â
He kept talking while he fiddled with his keys, finding the right one to open the wardrobe.
âYour aunt and I have been working all night, while youâve no doubt been fast asleep dreaming. Well, you can at least make us some breakfast. Your aunt is dying for a deep-fried Mars Bar and I need some scrambled eggs.â
He flung the cupboard door wide open and daylight flooded in. The first thing he saw was what Kate had done to his butterfly equipment.
âMy nets! What
Now she could examine the display case properly. She peered in through the slot, turned it over and checked the back then the front. She poked and prodded, but there was nothing. No secret drawers, no notes, nothing.
A bit disheartened, Kate turned her attention to the drawer with the butterfly in it. Now she had to be much more careful, because after so many years the tiny body was even more fragile and delicate, even with all the preservative that had been sprayed on it.
Carefully she turned the drawer around and studied it closely. Still nothing. Kate slumped back into Uncle Dermottâs study chair, disappointed. She had been certain sheâd find something here. Still, what did that song tell her? Nothing is quite what it seems. She hummed the tune to herself a couple of times, but it was hopeless. There was no point wasting any more time; she should escape while she still had a chance. Uncle Dermott had been working all night and heâd surely stop for breakfast before very much longer. Kate wanted to be a long way away when that happened.
She was just about to ease the Zerynthia polyxena back into the display case when she noticed something strange. On the bottom of one of the hind wings, just in the tiniest corner, the butterfly had a strange white smudge.
Picking up Uncle Dermottâs magnifying glass, Kate peered closely at the smudge. It was curious; it looked as though the butterflyâs natural colour had drained out of it in this one small section, right in the middle of a patch of black.
Very carefully and slowly, Kate ran the tip of her little finger across the white smudge. The wing felt dry and slightly furry, and also very delicate. It might have been her imagination, but the white smudge seemed to spread slightly under her touch.
âHow odd,â she said to herself. There was something strange about the Zerynthia, but she couldnât for the life of her work out what. Apart from this new mystery, there was nothing more to learn here, so Kate slid the drawer back into the display case and hung the whole thing back on the wall. She had just unlocked the door to the study when she realised something terrifying.
The noise from upstairs had stopped.
Kate had been so intrigued by the strange white spot on the Zerynthia polyxena that sheâd forgotten to listen for Uncle Dermottâs crashing and bashing. And sometime in the last two minutes heâd stopped tearing up the floor. And by now he could be anywhere in the house; he might even be right outside the study door, on his way to check on her, or â¦
Uncle Dermottâs footsteps creaked on the attic stairs at the end of the hall outside.
Quick as a flash, Kate whizzed back across the room and up onto the bookcase. There was no time to escape the house now; Uncle Dermott would see and catch her for sure. If he didnât know about her getting out of the cupboard, though, he might leave her in there, and she could have another try at escaping later.
As fast as she dared, Kate clambered back to the top of the old wardrobe, pulled up her escape hatch, and dropped down inside, into the darkness. Then she reached up and pulled the panel of plywood back into place above her. Just as it clunked into position, Uncle Dermott slammed the study door open, crossed the room and banged loudly on the side of the cupboard.
âWake up, you lazy little worm! Wake up!â
He kept talking while he fiddled with his keys, finding the right one to open the wardrobe.
âYour aunt and I have been working all night, while youâve no doubt been fast asleep dreaming. Well, you can at least make us some breakfast. Your aunt is dying for a deep-fried Mars Bar and I need some scrambled eggs.â
He flung the cupboard door wide open and daylight flooded in. The first thing he saw was what Kate had done to his butterfly equipment.
âMy nets! What
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