way to use it – maybe we could pretend Ali’s house has a ghost. No, I know! Amberlake! A big old house like that could have loads of ghosts! We can haunt Ali at the announcement ceremony!”
“Do you think she’ll go though?” Izzy asked. “What if she’s sulking?”
Poppy sighed. “Of course she’ll go. There might be some way for her to get me into trouble, or show me up or something. She’s not going to miss that, is she?”
Emily glanced over her shoulder as they went out to the cloakroom. “They’re definitely all staring at the letter,” she reported. “Ali looks pretty determined. I think you’re right, Poppy.”
Poppy nodded. “OK then. I don’t mind pretending to summon a ghost.” She shrugged her jacket on and wrapped it round her tightly. “We can make one up. But nothing too gory!”
Poppy’s mum wasn’t working that day, so she got to go straight home instead of going to after-school club. She stretched out on her bed with Mum’s laptop propped up in front of her – she’d told Mum she needed to look up some stuff about an author for homework, which was actually true. But Poppy had got all the answers she needed in about five minutes, which meant that now she was looking at the Amberlake website and trying to work out what sort of ghost there should be.
She clicked on Explore the House, and watched a slideshow about the different rooms, but it wasn’t very exciting – or it would have been, if she’d justwanted to go and visit, but it was no good for ghost stories. She sighed gustily. It would be nice just to go and see it all, without worrying about ghosts. There was a whole room made out of seashells, and a Chinese Bedroom with amazing red walls. And the paintings – whole rooms covered in paintings. From the slideshow it did look like quite a lot of them were those weird paintings of piles of dead birds, but she liked looking at the portraits when they went to old houses. Mum loved visiting them when they went on holiday, and Poppy usually went with her. They always made things up about the people in the portraits. It was fun.
Portraits… Poppy’s eyes widened and she clicked back to the section on the history of the house. If she could find a portrait, and a name, couldn’t they make up a ghost story about someone who’d really lived at Amberlake? That would make it sound a lot more real.
The family who’d built the house in the 1700s were called Bayley, Poppy discovered, skimming the page. None of them looked very exciting in their portraits though – they all seemed to have very long thin noses… Or maybe that was just how it was fashionable to look back then?
The house had been sold to a Lord Morrell after that. Poppy sighed. None of this was very thrilling, either. Lord Morrell had died in bed aged eighty-two. Typical.
Ooh, but this was better. His daughter, Sophia, had died very young – and there was a portrait of her! Poppy clicked on it eagerly. It was a lovely picture anyway, but for a person who needed to invent a ghost story, it was perfect. Sophia Morrell stared mournfully out of the portrait, with a little white dog clutched in her arms. She had a green dress on, silk or satin or something shiny – the fabric seemed to glow out from the painting. Her eyes were huge and dark – it was the eyes that made her look so sad, Poppy decided, as well as the little droop at the corner of her mouth. She wondered if Sophia’s father had been happy with the portrait. Would anybody really want to see their child looking so sad every time they walked past a painting? Maybe her parents had refused to pay the painter.
Poppy nibbled her bottom lip thoughtfully. She liked making up stories. She wasn’t as good at literacy as Maya, because somehow her stories didn’t always work when she wrote them down, but she loved the ideas for stories. Sophia’s parents had wanted herportrait painted because she was so beautiful, and surely she was going to be married soon
“Do you think she’ll go though?” Izzy asked. “What if she’s sulking?”
Poppy sighed. “Of course she’ll go. There might be some way for her to get me into trouble, or show me up or something. She’s not going to miss that, is she?”
Emily glanced over her shoulder as they went out to the cloakroom. “They’re definitely all staring at the letter,” she reported. “Ali looks pretty determined. I think you’re right, Poppy.”
Poppy nodded. “OK then. I don’t mind pretending to summon a ghost.” She shrugged her jacket on and wrapped it round her tightly. “We can make one up. But nothing too gory!”
Poppy’s mum wasn’t working that day, so she got to go straight home instead of going to after-school club. She stretched out on her bed with Mum’s laptop propped up in front of her – she’d told Mum she needed to look up some stuff about an author for homework, which was actually true. But Poppy had got all the answers she needed in about five minutes, which meant that now she was looking at the Amberlake website and trying to work out what sort of ghost there should be.
She clicked on Explore the House, and watched a slideshow about the different rooms, but it wasn’t very exciting – or it would have been, if she’d justwanted to go and visit, but it was no good for ghost stories. She sighed gustily. It would be nice just to go and see it all, without worrying about ghosts. There was a whole room made out of seashells, and a Chinese Bedroom with amazing red walls. And the paintings – whole rooms covered in paintings. From the slideshow it did look like quite a lot of them were those weird paintings of piles of dead birds, but she liked looking at the portraits when they went to old houses. Mum loved visiting them when they went on holiday, and Poppy usually went with her. They always made things up about the people in the portraits. It was fun.
Portraits… Poppy’s eyes widened and she clicked back to the section on the history of the house. If she could find a portrait, and a name, couldn’t they make up a ghost story about someone who’d really lived at Amberlake? That would make it sound a lot more real.
The family who’d built the house in the 1700s were called Bayley, Poppy discovered, skimming the page. None of them looked very exciting in their portraits though – they all seemed to have very long thin noses… Or maybe that was just how it was fashionable to look back then?
The house had been sold to a Lord Morrell after that. Poppy sighed. None of this was very thrilling, either. Lord Morrell had died in bed aged eighty-two. Typical.
Ooh, but this was better. His daughter, Sophia, had died very young – and there was a portrait of her! Poppy clicked on it eagerly. It was a lovely picture anyway, but for a person who needed to invent a ghost story, it was perfect. Sophia Morrell stared mournfully out of the portrait, with a little white dog clutched in her arms. She had a green dress on, silk or satin or something shiny – the fabric seemed to glow out from the painting. Her eyes were huge and dark – it was the eyes that made her look so sad, Poppy decided, as well as the little droop at the corner of her mouth. She wondered if Sophia’s father had been happy with the portrait. Would anybody really want to see their child looking so sad every time they walked past a painting? Maybe her parents had refused to pay the painter.
Poppy nibbled her bottom lip thoughtfully. She liked making up stories. She wasn’t as good at literacy as Maya, because somehow her stories didn’t always work when she wrote them down, but she loved the ideas for stories. Sophia’s parents had wanted herportrait painted because she was so beautiful, and surely she was going to be married soon
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