Cornelia and the Audacious Escapades of the Somerset Sisters Read online

  “‘That was years ago,’ she said. ‘I’d be much better at it now. I want to be like the pilot I’m reading about: Amelia Earhart. Except that day she went out flying and disappeared into the ocean. I could probably do without that part.’

  “At the time this conversation took place, we had moved into a little seaside cottage in Cornwall, the beautiful and dramatic countryside in the southwest part of England. At night when we went to bed, the waves crashing on the craggy coast lulled us to sleep. In the morning, we woke to the cries of seagulls. It was autumn by then, so we had the lonely beaches to ourselves most of the time.

  “Beatrice walked to the closest village the next day and inquired about flying lessons. When she came home, she proudly announced, ‘It’s all arranged. I start my classes tomorrow. There’s a man with a small passenger plane who lives in the country who will teach me.’

  “We tried to talk Beatrice out of it, but to no avail. She left for the airfield the next morning before the rest of us were even up for breakfast. Several weeks went by, and every morning she dutifully went off to her lessons. To our surprise and relief, nothing disastrous happened. Then one afternoon, she walked into our house carrying a box. She dropped it with a clatter on the kitchen table.

  “‘I’ve mastered the art of taking off and landing,’ she announced. ‘And now it’s time to have some fun. I’m taking you on an airplane tour of the Cornwall coast tomorrow, ladies.’ She opened the box and took out a soft leather flying helmet, which she tossed to me.

  “‘I’m not going up in that plane with you,’ I said. ‘So just forget about it.’

  “Beatrice tossed helmets to Gladys and Alexandra as well. Alexandra examined hers. ‘Is it an open-top plane?’ she asked.

  “‘No,’ Beatrice answered as she rummaged around in the box, eventually extracting several sets of goggles.

  “‘Then why do we need helmets and goggles?’ Gladys asked, clearly getting into the spirit of the adventure. She pulled a pair of goggles over her eyes and adjusted the strap.

  “‘For the photos, of course,’ Beatrice said matter-of-factly. The last item in the box was a beleaguered-looking old camera she’d bought at an antique store. ‘We have to be at the field tomorrow at three o’clock sharp.’

  “Of course, I found myself crammed into a car with my sisters the next afternoon, heading toward the airfield. Beatrice’s flying teacher, a little man named Mr. Hardcastle, waited for us there. Gladys popped out of the car and marched right up to him.

  “‘Tell us the truth—can Beatrice fly this thing or not?’ she demanded, pointing at the plane in the middle of the field. She peered down at him. ‘I’ll know if you’re lying,’ she added menacingly.

  “Mr. Hardcastle put up his hands as if protecting himself from Gladys. ‘Yes, yes, I assure you that she can fly it,’ he stammered.

  “We put on our goggles and helmets and posed in front of the plane. Mr. Hardcastle fumbled with the ancient camera. After what seemed like a century, the camera emitted a rusty, reluctant click. Then we hopped into the plane. Mr. Hardcastle waited until we were all buckled in, then closed the flimsy door.

  “‘Aren’t you getting in too?’ I shrieked to Mr. Hardcastle as Beatrice started the noisy motor. The propellers on the wings began to spin.

  “Mr. Hardcastle cupped his hands around his mouth. ‘There isn’t room,’ he shouted over the racket. ‘Don’t worry—you’ll be fine,’ he yelled as the plane jerked forward.

  “‘Ha!’ said Gladys, who sat in the front of the plane next to Beatrice. ‘Famous last words.’

  “I tightened my seat belt until I could barely breathe, and my stomach clenched into a ball as the plane bumped across the field. Just when I was sure that Beatrice would crash us into a patch of trees at the field’s end, the plane’s nose tilted upward and we took off into the sky. The ground fell away from us quickly.

  “We flew through white cloud wisps that tangled and then disintegrated around the little plane. The farmhouses and villages below looked like toy buildings from the sky, and lush green fields stretched all the way to the horizon. Eventually the stern, dark blue sea came into view and we flew up along the coast. Enormous jagged cliffs—which in the summertime had been covered in purple sea lavender and pink thrift—lined the beaches. Even I had to admit that Beatrice was doing a good job, and I relaxed and enjoyed the ride.

  “Just then, the plane began to sputter. ‘Something is wrong!’ Beatrice shouted. ‘We had a full tank of fuel when we got into the plane, and now it’s only half full! No—wait—less than that!’

  “Gladys craned her neck to examine the panels in front of Beatrice. ‘There must be some sort of hole in the fuel tank,’ she hollered. ‘And it looks like it’s draining pretty quickly!’

  “‘Beatrice!’ I cried. ‘You have to land the plane this instant! Before the tank runs out entirely!’ Alexandra looked as though she might throw up.

  “Beatrice looked frantically out the window, assessing the terrain. Low trees and thick brambles covered the clifftops, making it impossible to land there.

  “‘We’re going to have to land on the beach!’ she yelled, her face as white as chalk. ‘I think I see a stretch that’s long enough to land on!’

  “The plane jerked around wildly as Beatrice tilted it downward toward the shore. Gladys yelled things like, ‘To the left! Now to the right! Thatta girl! Almost there!’ And then, ‘Ouff!’ as the wheels of the plane hit the sand.

  “I almost flew into Alexandra’s lap despite the death grip my seat belt had on me. The plane swerved from side to side and sand flew up against the windows. We finally ground to a halt and the plane shuddered and died.”

  Cornelia sat on the edge of her seat. “What happened? Were you hurt? What about the plane?”

  “To be honest, when we went down, I thought that it was the end of the Somerset sisters,” Virginia said. “But except for a few bruises and cuts, all four of us were okay. It was a miracle. The plane, on the other hand, was toast. We had to run across the beach right away, in case any of the remaining fuel caught on fire and blew up the wreckage.”

  Cornelia’s heart pounded in her chest. “It’s like a movie,” she said.

  “It’s better than a movie, my friend,” said Virginia.

  “We huddled next to the cliff walling in the deserted beach and took stock of our situation. Cold air blew in off the ocean, and the sun sank toward the horizon.

  “‘We don’t even know where we are,’ wailed Beatrice, her arms wrapped around herself.

  “‘We can’t be that far away from civilization,’ I said. ‘Let’s look for a way up this bluff before it gets too dark to see properly.’ We stalked around the bottom of the cliff, looking for the easiest path to the top.

  “‘I think I found some old stairs!’ shouted Alexandra, pointing to a very muddy, barely visible old stone staircase carved into the rocky precipice. Some of the stairs were badly eroded and dense moss covered the others.

  “‘We’ll have to be extra careful,’ said Gladys. ‘Once we go up, it’s a long way to fall down.’

  “So we clawed our way up the slippery cliff on all fours like animals. By then, the sun had set and I shivered uncontrollably as I surveyed the land at the top of the cliff. A rugged plain of brambles and thorny trees stretched out for miles in front of us.

  “‘Let’s start walking,’ said Alexandra. ‘I’m sure that I saw a few houses in the distance when we were coming in to land. Also, we’ll stay warmer if we keep moving.’

  “We stumbled across the tops of the cliffs as night fell. Gladys lurched along about twenty feet behind us, and finally sat down on an old broken stone wall.

  “‘I don’t see anything up ahead,’ she complained. ‘And one of us is going to twist her ankle by stepping in some grass-covered hole in the ground. Mr. Hardcastle and the police will come looking for us soon. I vote that we stay put, light a fire here so they can find us, and keep warm.’

  “Coming from Gladys,
it sounded like a shockingly logical idea. My fingertips and toes were numb by then, and the darkness seemed to be swallowing us up. A slender sliver of a moon rose from the ocean.

  “We gathered a little pile of damp, sandy sticks and lit a fire with some matches Gladys had in her back pocket. The flames gradually grew taller as we huddled together to stay warm.

  “‘Look around us,’ whispered Beatrice, as though someone might overhear us on that desolate plain. ‘It looks like we’re sitting in some sort of ruin. Do you see all of those crumbled stone walls?’

  “Gladys lumbered around the site with a lit match. ‘It looks like this was a big room once,’ she said. ‘I can see the remains of all four walls. And I can just make out more walls going down the hill, and that looks like a turret over there. There’s another one!’

  “We all got up and explored in the weak moonlight, and discovered many more walls, most of them covered in moss and dead, winter-bare brambles of lavender. Suddenly I remembered reading about the ruins of a very famous old castle on the coast of Cornwall.

  “‘I know where we are!’ I exclaimed, my voice getting lost in the wind coming over the bluffs. ‘This is Tintagel! You know—one of King Arthur’s castles!’

  “My sisters looked at me blankly. ‘Do you mean the King Arthur, of Knights of the Round Table fame?’ Gladys asked incredulously.

  “I nodded. ‘He was supposedly born at this very spot, more than a thousand years ago,’ I said. The wind howled around us more strongly than before and a chill settled into my bones.

  “We all came back and clustered together around the fire again. Soon Alexandra got up to collect more twigs. She walked into the darkness, down toward the ridge, and came scurrying back to us a few minutes later.

  “‘Come look at this!’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘You’ll never believe it! It looks like there is some sort of play happening on the next bluff!’

  “‘What do you mean, a play? It’s freezing out here, and it must be midnight!’ Gladys exclaimed.

  “We followed her over the crumbling parapets to the ridge. To my complete surprise, Alexandra was right. A group of men moved about the bluff below, and like us, they had lit a small bonfire. I strained my eyes in the dark and counted at least twenty of them, all dressed in what looked like costumes of faded suits of armor. They threw wood onto the fire and kneeled on the ground, examining a big piece of paper. They argued and made gestures in the air as they talked.

  “‘What on earth are they doing?’ asked Beatrice. ‘And why are they dressed like that? I know it’s cold up here, but really.’

  “‘I’m telling you—it has to be a strange theater company, practicing an outdoor play or something,’ Alexandra said. ‘Anyway, they look more local than we do. They can probably help us get out of here—but this ridge is too steep for us to climb down. They’ll have to come up somehow and get us. Hello!’ she called out to the men. ‘Up here! Hello!’ She waved her arms in the air. The wind picked up, drowning her out.

  “‘Try lighting a bunch of matches at once!’ I said. ‘Maybe the flare will get their attention.’

  “Beatrice tried to light the matches, but they behaved like damp sticks and refused to spark. ‘That’s weird,’ she said. ‘They were lighting up just fine a few minutes ago. Let’s try yelling all at once and maybe they’ll hear us over the wind.’

  “We all started leaping up and down and shouting. The actors ignored us. Finally, we created such a racket that one of them looked up at us. He turned away from their fire and seemed to float in our direction. As he got closer, we could see the details of his costume. A small man with a beard and long hair, he wore a magnificent breastplate of armor and a tall crown. He stopped at the bottom of the ridge and stared up at us. His hypnotic gaze quelled even Gladys into silence.

  “He slowly lifted a long, elegant finger to his lips and whispered, ‘Shush’—a long, low sound. It was as windy as ever, but his whisper was as clear as church bells on a Sunday morning. He turned his back to us and walked back to the fire.

  “‘Well!’ said Alexandra. ‘How rude! I know that rehearsal time for plays is important—but we’re freezing up here! If they won’t help us, who will?’

  “We watched the men in astonishment for a while. They seemed to be plotting something, and kept consulting the paper. We must have sat there like that for hours, surveying their activities, for the next thing I knew, the sky began to fill with a pale blue morning light. I realized that I’d nodded off. Gladys, Beatrice, and Alexandra slept in a bundle next to me.

  “The men on the bluff had disappeared, along with their paper. Not a trace of them remained. They had even meticulously cleared away the charred firewood from their bonfire.

  “When my sisters woke up, we groggily walked across the bluffs again, searching for a town or a house. Finally, around noon, we spotted a huge old hotel sitting on a high cliff, overlooking the ocean. Overjoyed, we ran up the front stairs and into the lobby. The door creaked open on its ancient hinges.

  “The place was empty. We rang the bell at the front desk, and the tinny little ting echoed through the lobby and down the hallway. Finally, a door swung open at the end of the corridor and the littlest old man I’ve ever seen walked through it. His shoes squeaked as he walked toward us.

  “‘Can we use your phone, please?’ Beatrice cried, eager to call Mr. Hardcastle and the police to tell them we were still alive. The man pointed toward a cobweb-covered phone booth in the hallway. Beatrice ran over to it and began dialing. In the meantime, Alexandra and Gladys told the tiny man about our plane crash and escape across the bluffs.

  “‘And on top of everything else,’ Gladys said, ‘we saw some theater company out on the cliffs, wearing armor and practicing for a play—and none of the men would come up and help us! And I thought this was the spot where knightly chivalry originated!’

  “The man got an odd look on his face. ‘That’s funny,’ he said, his voice croaking with the effort of being used. ‘There’s no theater around here for many miles. No theater company either.’

  “‘But we saw actors dressed up in old costumes,’ I said. ‘And one was wearing a crown. He even told us to be quiet while they rehearsed.’

  “The old man looked at us intently. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘There haven’t been any actors around here for a long time. I suppose you saw old Arthur and his lads at it again. They like to show up out on the bluffs with their map from time to time, you know. Try not to bother them next time, lassies. They’ve got important work to do.’

  “And with that, he squeaked back down the hallway and through the door at the end of it. Except for the sound of Beatrice shouting into the phone, the hotel was still and silent again.”

  Cornelia gripped the sides of her chair. “Do you mean that they really were ghosts this time?”

  “What other conclusion can be drawn?” asked Virginia. “Over the next few weeks, we asked everyone in Cornwall about what we’d seen. Most of them shook their heads and said things to us like, ‘Yer all crazy Yanks.’ And then, when we went back with Mr. Hardcastle to survey the wreckage of the plane, we climbed up to the site of their campfire. I didn’t see a single ash or footprint.

  “So, finally we had to agree with the old man at the hotel that we’d seen the ghosts of King Arthur and his knights planning one of their famous battles in the ruins of Tintagel. Nobody else ever believed our story.”

  “I believe it,” said Cornelia. She got up and tickled Mister Kinyatta. “I bet you believe it too, don’t you, Mister Kinyatta?” He grunted and licked her hand.

  “Well, dogs are supposed to be able to see ghosts a lot better than people can,” said Virginia. “The Messieurs probably would have gone crazy if they’d been out on the Cornwall bluffs with us that night.”

  “I bet you missed them while they were in quarantine,” said Cornelia.

  “It was terrible being without those little beasts,” answered Virginia. “Despite our visits, Gladys literally counted
the days until we could go and get them from the kennel. And then, when they came home, they caused the biggest debacle of our visit to England.”

  “Why? What did they do?” Cornelia could hardly imagine Mister Kinyatta or his kin causing an international disaster.

  “It was Gladys’s fault, of course,” said Virginia. “As usual.”

  “We moved back to London just after we fetched Messieurs Un, Deux, Trois, and Quatre from quarantine. Then the four Somersets and the four Messieurs moved into a big white house on Sloane Square.

  “One afternoon at teatime, as we ate scones and jam, Alexandra scooped up Monsieur Deux and placed him on her lap.

  “‘Who’s the most handsome dog in all of England?’ she cooed at him, feeding him some crumbs from her plate. ‘You are!’ She lightly poked his stubby nose with her finger. Monsieur Deux stuck out his pink little tongue and panted. The other dogs didn’t pay any attention as they busily scavenged for tidbits under the table.

  “‘Now that I think about it,’ Alexandra declared, ‘Monsieur Deux probably is the best-looking dog in England. I think we should enter him in that famous English dog show. What’s it called again? The Crufts Dog Show.’

  “‘Ha!’ said Gladys, her mouth full of scone. ‘He’d never win! Look at him! His eyes are practically going in opposite directions!’

  “‘He looks like a little alien,’ laughed Beatrice, reaching over to pet him.

  “‘Or a stumpy caboose at the end of a train,’ I volunteered.

  “All of the good-natured ridicule only steeled Alexandra’s resolve. A few days later, she walked into the tearoom with a big white envelope. ‘Monsieur Deux has been invited to participate in the Crufts Dog Show,’ she announced. ‘And what’s more, the queen of England herself will be there. One of her dogs, a Welsh corgi, is going to compete as well.’

  “We all looked with surprise at Monsieur Deux, who napped away unsuspectingly on a nearby couch. He rasped and drooled in his sleep.