“Krav Maga is an Israeli martial arts technique, and very effective,” Charlotte informed me. “I could flatten you with a kick to the solar plexus. Or I could break your neck with a single blow!”

“And I could call for help!” So far our conversation had all taken place in whispers, and it must have sounded like two snakes talking: hiss, hiss, hiss.

What would happen if I brought everyone else in this house on the scene? It would probably keep Charlotte from breaking my neck, but then everyone would know what I was carrying wrapped in my bathrobe.

Charlotte seemed to guess my thoughts. She laughed scornfully as she came closer, dancing about on tiptoe. “Go on, then, scream!”

“I would if I were you,” said Xemerius.

But I didn’t have to after all, because Mr. Bernard appeared behind Charlotte. As usual, he seemed to materialize out of nothing. “Can I help you young ladies in any way?” he asked, and Charlotte spun around like a scalded cat. For a fraction of a second, I thought she was going to kick Mr. Bernard in the solar plexus, purely as a reflex action, but luckily she didn’t, although her toes were twitching.

“I sometimes feel hungry in the night myself. I’d be happy to make you a little snack, since that’s what I’m off to do anyway,” said Mr. Bernard, impassively.

I was so relieved to see him that I burst into hysterical giggles. “I’ve just been doing that very thing,” I said, jerking my chin at the bundle I was clutching to my breast. “But the Karate Kid here is suffering from low blood sugar. I bet she urgently needs a snack.”

Charlotte strolled very slowly back to her room. “I’ll be keeping my eye on you,” she said, pointing her forefinger accusingly at me. She looked as theatrical as if she were about to declaim something dramatic. However, all she said was, “And on you too, Mr. Bernard.”

“We’ll have to be careful,” I whispered when she had closed the door of her room and the corridor was dark again. “She’s trained in Taj Mahal.”

“That’s not a bad one either,” said Xemerius appreciatively.

I held my bathrobe firmly. “And she suspects something! She may even know exactly what we found. She’s sure to tell the Guardians tales of us, and when they hear that we—”

“There must be better times and places to discuss these matters,” Mr. Bernard interrupted me in an unusually severe tone. He picked Nick’s flashlight up from the floor, switched it on, and let the beam travel up the door of Charlotte’s room to the semicircular fanlight at the top. It was tilted open.

I nodded, showing that I understood. Charlotte could hear every word. “Yes, you’re right. Good night, Mr. Bernard.”

“Sleep well, Miss Gwyneth.”

* * *

MY MUM didn’t need a crane to get me out of bed in the morning. Her tactics were even meaner. She used the horrible plastic Santa Claus that Caroline had won at the Brownies party last year. Once he was wound up, he kept going, “Ho, ho, ho, merry Christmas, all!” in a hideous plastic croak.

At first I tried to block out the noise with my quilt. But after sixteen repetitions of “ho, ho, ho,” I gave up and threw the quilt back. At once, I was sorry I’d done that, because now I remembered what was going to happen today. The ball.

If no miracle happened this afternoon, letting me travel back to my grandfather in 1993, I’d have to face the count without whatever information Lucas could give me.

I bit my tongue. I ought to have traveled back in time again last night after all. On the other hand, then presumably Charlotte would have been on my trail, so all things considered, I’d been right in deciding not to.

I staggered out of bed and into the bathroom. I’d had only three hours’ sleep. After Charlotte’s performance last night, I’d played it safe and, under Xemerius’s orders, I really had broken through the back of the wardrobe and found a space behind it full of old junk—including a crocodile just like the one in the space under the musicians’ gallery in the ballroom. Twin crocodiles, maybe. I slit the crocodile’s belly open and hid the chronograph inside it.

After that, totally exhausted, I had fallen asleep, which at least meant I didn’t have bad dreams. In fact I didn’t dream at all. Unlike Aunt Maddy. When I tottered down to the first floor for breakfast—late, because I’d had to spend ages searching for Mum’s concealer to disguise the shadows around my eyes—she intercepted me in the corridor and took me into her room.

“Anything wrong?” I asked, but I knew I could have spared myself the question. If Aunt Maddy was up by seven thirty, something was definitely very wrong. Her hair was tousled, and one of the two curlers that were meant to keep her blond locks off her forehead had come loose and was hanging down almost over her ear.

“Oh, Gwyneth, darling, you may well ask!” Aunt Maddy sat down on her unmade bed and stared at the flower pattern on the lavender wallpaper. “I had a vision!”

Oh, not again!

“Let me guess—someone crushed a ruby heart under the heel of his boot,” I suggested. “Or maybe there was a raven flying into a shop window display of … er … clocks?”

Aunt Maddy shook her head so hard that the second curler was also in danger. “No, Gwyneth, you mustn’t joke about these things. I may not always know what my visions mean, but later on they’re sure to make sense.” She reached for my hand and drew me closer. “And this time it was so clear. I saw you in a blue dress with a full skirt, and there was candlelight everywhere and people playing stringed instruments.”

I couldn’t help getting goose bumps. Not only did I have misgivings about that ball, Aunt Maddy had to go and have another vision. And I hadn’t mentioned the ball to her, or told her the color of my ball dress.

Aunt Maddy was glad to see that she finally had my full attention. “At first it all seemed very peaceful, with everyone dancing, including you, but then I saw that the ballroom had no ceiling. Terrible black clouds were gathering in the sky above you, and a huge bird came out of them ready to swoop down on you,” she went on. “Then, when you tried to escape, you ran straight into … oh, it was horrible! Blood everywhere, everything was red with blood, even the sky turned red, and the raindrops were drops of blood—”

“Aunt Maddy…?”

She was wringing her hands. “Yes, I know, my love, it’s so dreadful, and I do hope it doesn’t mean what may be the most obvious thing to—”

“You’ve skipped a bit, I think,” I said, interrupting her again. “What did I … I mean, what did the Gwyneth in your dream run into?”

“It wasn’t a dream, it was a vision.” Aunt Maddy opened her eyes even wider, if that was possible. “A sword. You ran straight into it.”

“A sword? Where did it come from?”

“It was … I think it was simply hanging in the air,” said Aunt Maddy, flapping her hand about vaguely. “But that’s not the important part,” she went on, sounding slightly annoyed. “The important part is all the blood.”

“Hm.” I sat down on the bed beside her. “And what exactly do you want me to do with that information?”

Aunt Maddy looked around, fished the jar of sherbet lemons off her bedside table, and put one in her mouth.

“Oh, darling, I don’t know myself. I just thought maybe it would come in useful to you … as a warning.…”

“Right. I promise I’ll do my best not to run into any swords hanging in the air.” I gave Aunt Maddy a kiss and got up. “And maybe you ought to get a little more sleep. This isn’t your good time of day.”

“You’re right, that’s what I ought to do.” She stretched out and put the quilt over her. “But don’t make light of it,” she said. “Please look after yourself.”

“I will.” At the door I turned back again. “Er…,” I said, clearing my throat. “There wasn’t by any chance a lion in your dream, was there? Or a diamond? Or … or maybe the sun?”

“No,” said Aunt Maddy, her eyes already closed.

“That’s what I thought,” I muttered, closing the door quietly behind me.

* * *

WHEN I ARRIVED at the breakfast table, I noticed at once that Charlotte was missing.

“The poor girl is sick,” said Aunt Glenda. “A slight temperature and a bad headache. I should think it’s the flu that’s going around. Can you make our apologies for your cousin at school, please, Gwyneth?”

I nodded grimly. Flu—that was a real laugh! Charlotte wanted to stay here so that she could search my room in peace.

The same idea had obviously occurred to Xemerius, who was crouching in the fruit bowl on the breakfast table. “I told you she isn’t stupid.”

And Mr. Bernard, coming in with a plate of scrambled eggs, gave me a warning glance.

“These last few weeks have been too upsetting for the poor girl,” said Aunt Glenda. Nick snorted rudely, but our aunt ignored him. “No wonder her body is crying out for time off now.”

“Don’t talk nonsense, Glenda,” said Lady Arista sternly, sipping her tea. “We Montroses have the stamina to stand up to much worse. Personally,” she added, straightening her thin back, “I have never had a single day’s sickness in my life.”

“To be honest, I don’t feel too good myself,” I said. I didn’t, particularly when I remembered that there was no way to lock my bedroom door from the outside. Like almost all the doors in our house, it had only an old-fashioned bolt to lock it on the inside.

My mother immediately jumped up and put her hand on my forehead.

Aunt Glenda rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that just typical! Gwyneth simply can’t bear not to be the center of attention.”

“It feels cool.” Mum actually took hold of the tip of my nose as if I were five years old. “And this is dry and warm, just as it should be.” She stroked my hair. “I can spoil you at the weekend if you like. We could have breakfast in bed—”

“Ooh, yes, and you can read us the Peter Rabbit stories like you used to,” said Caroline, who had the pink crochet pig on her lap. “Then we’ll feed Gwenny chopped-up apple and make her cold compresses.”

Lady Arista placed a slice of cucumber on her toast, where she had already neatly stacked sliced cheese, ham, tomato, and scrambled egg. “Gwyneth, you don’t look in the least unwell. You look the picture of health.”

Would you believe it? I was so tired that I could hardly prop my eyes open, I looked like something a vampire had bitten—and now this!

“I shall be in the house all day,” said Mr. Bernard. “I can make Miss Charlotte chicken soup and look after her.” Although he was speaking to Aunt Glenda it was meant for me, and I understood him only too well.

Unfortunately, Aunt Glenda had other plans for him. “I can look after my own daughter, Mr. Bernard. I want you to go to Walden-Jones to collect my orders and Charlotte’s costume for the party.”