The Little Secret by Kate Saunders Page A

kiss, and handing over the box. “Any news from my mother?”
    â€œYes, Miss Staffa. The spot of bother is over, and everything’s back to normal.” Her voice was high and slow, like singing, with a happy lilt to it. “Welcome, Miss Jane. Please don’t be put off by my black scarves. Me and my dear old husband are allergic to dust mites, and if we don’t keep covered up, we sneeze our heads off. Now, the two of you had better come straight upstairs.”
    Jane felt less strange. The farmhouse was very bare and clean, but also warm and welcoming. Mrs. Prockwald’s scarves weren’t sinister once you knew about the dust mites, and there was something very sweet and reassuring about her voice. She certainly made up for her husband’s silence.
    â€œYou’ll find everything ready. I’ve put a simple supper of poached eggs and chocolate cake in each of your bedrooms. Lady Matilda says you must both go to bed at once, and not stay up talking till all hours.”
    Staffa yawned noisily. “Well, I don’t mind. I’m extremely tired. Aren’t you, Jane?”
    â€œEr — yes,” Jane said. “Yes, of course.” She was far too curious to think of sleeping, and particularly curious to know where the box would be spending the night.
    Mrs. Prockwald led them upstairs to a large landing with several doors. She opened one of these. Jane looked into a tiny room, little more than a cupboard, with nothing in it except a table.
    Mrs. Prockwald put the box on the table, set out the gold candlesticks and briskly shut the door on it. “The room’s a bit basic, but the box won’t mind roughing it for one night. There isn’t a key, but you won’t need one here — it couldn’t be safer.”
    While she talked, Mrs. Prockwald led Jane into a large, warm bedroom. It didn’t have much furniture, but there were cheerful lamps and curtains, and a real fire. On a small table in front of the fire was a peculiar supper of two poached eggs, a large chocolate cake and nothing else.
    â€œThe bathroom’s between your two bedrooms, Miss Jane — you’ll be sharing it with Miss Staffa.”
    â€œThank you, Mrs. P.,” Staffa said, yawning again. “We’d better get some sleep. Good night, Jane.”
    She went into her own room and shut the door. Mrs. Prockwald went downstairs. Left alone, Jane sat on her bed, listening. She sat very still, until the house was silent, and all she could hear was the drumming of her own heart. She had made a decision. She was going to break her promise to Lady Matilda — she couldn’t stand not knowing anymore.
    Shivering with excitement and fear, she took off her shoes, and crept out of her bedroom as quietly as she could. The landing was deserted. Slowly and very carefully, Jane opened the door of the box’s room and slipped inside.
    The tiny room was dark, but there was just enough moonlight coming through the window to see by. Jane’s mouth was dry. If Lady Matilda ever found out about this, what would she do?
    Very, very cautiously, she opened the lid of the painted box about half an inch. There was light inside it, but of a different quality than the light she had seen in the car. Jane crouched down, put her eye against the opening — and gasped aloud.
    She was looking into a miniature room, like a room in a doll’s house. But the room inside the box was more detailed than any doll’s house she had ever seen. Every tiny thing in it was perfect. There were little sofas and tables, bookcases filled with tiny books and tiny paintings on the walls. A tiny fire glowed in the grate. Jane thought it was adorable. She let out her breath in a great sigh of relief. They had not been carrying a nuclear bomb, or anything like it. Lady Matilda had been making all this song and dance about a beautiful toy.
    And then something terrible happened.
    In the tiny room, the door