Without warning, a voice booms in my direction. ‘Remove your coat, hat and scarf at once, Miss Oddlow! You’re in school now!’ It’s our form teacher, the formidable Mrs Bodley-Finch, lurking in the corridor so she can jump out at unsuspecting students. I’m convinced she has chameleon powers and can blend in to the background.
‘Sorry, ma’am!’ I take off the offending articles, folding the coat and scarf carefully and placing them all in my backpack. Liam and I call a ‘See you later!’ to Brianna and walk towards our form room.
‘The professor’s given me a case,’ I whisper as we walk along. ‘I’m going over to the Guild after the register.’
His eyes go wide. ‘You went over there and asked her?’
I nod. ‘And she said she had something for me.’
‘That’s great! So how will you get out of this place?’
‘I’ve brought a disguise.’
Liam shakes his head and sighs. ‘Aggie, no offence, but you did get caught when you tried to impersonate a health inspector. And a tree surgeon.’
‘I know,’ I say. ‘That’s why I’ve chosen a foolproof costume this time.’
We follow the other students into our form room, where I catch our teacher’s eye and smile innocently.
‘Morning, Mrs Bodley-Finch.’
She glowers and looks away. She has only two expressions: frowning and glowering. I wonder what it’s like to be her husband, forever waiting for a smile that isn’t going to come.
Liam and I take our usual seats in the middle of the room.
‘What’s your disguise?’ he whispers.
But Mrs Bodley-Finch frowns at him and says, ‘That’s enough talking, Liam!’
As soon as we’ve escaped from registration, I head towards the girls’ cloakroom to get changed. ‘Let Brianna know what’s going on, will you?’ I murmur to Liam in parting.
‘But wait,’ he says, ‘you haven’t told me your disguise!’ but I don’t reply.
In the cloakroom, I pull my outfit from my backpack. I only have one school skirt, so after I’ve taken it off I’m careful to fold it neatly before placing it in my backpack with the rest of my uniform. I’m especially pleased with my disguise, which is the uniform for St Mary’s School for Girls – the school just down the road from St Regis. I check in the mirror as I don my costume. With the addition of a blonde wig and blue-framed glasses, I’m unrecognisable. Better yet, I look uncannily like Meredith Atkins – this year’s director of the St Mary’s school play.
Let me explain. Every year, St Regis allows St Mary’s School for Girls to use its state-of-the-art theatre for their school production – and St Mary’s takes its annual production very seriously. I’ve seen Meredith coming and going, even in lesson times. She’s only two years ahead of me, and I’ve envied her the ability to leave school at whim. Now, with wedge heels that raise me to around her height, I’m going to borrow her freedom.
When I reach reception, the secretary barely glances my way before pressing the button to open the door. I march out, arms round a folder that could easily conceal the script of a play (but actually holds my maths homework). The walk across the playground feels longer than ever before. It reminds me of those prison films, where there’s a revolving light, picking out prisoners as they attempt to make a break for it. My heart’s pounding at the thought that I could get caught just as I’m about to escape. But, just as I reach the metal gate, it swings open at the secretary’s command, and I’m through! I take a deep breath of icy air and begin to walk, shivering without my coat.
At least I’ll soon be underground.
Over the past few months, I’ve been introduced to a number of routes to the Guild HQ that are far more comfortable than the one beside the Serpentine. I choose one now – a well-built tunnel, which has its entrance right next to Grosvenor Square Gardens. There’s a bike-hire rack close by, so I pay for a bicycle and wheel it over to the rhododendron bush, behind which the metal entrance door is sited.
Checking for onlookers, I dodge behind the large shrub and take my key from round my neck. It turns soundlessly in the well-oiled lock. I swing the door open, wheel the bike through and manage to close the door behind me. I’ve grown accustomed to bumping bicycles down steps into subterranean passageways. I use the torch on my phone to light my way to the bottom of the flight. Leaning my bike against the wall, I rummage in my backpack for yet another set of alternative clothes. It wouldn’t be my first choice of changing room, but needs must. I don black trousers, a white shirt, a pair of smart trainers, and I pull my red coat out from the bottom of my bag, and I’m set to go. Then I mount the bike, push off and let its self-charging lamps illuminate the tunnels. I feel a bit as though I’m flying, with my coat billowing out behind me like a cape.
It takes less than ten minutes to reach the massive door that marks the main entrance to the Gatekeepers’ Guild. Two armed guards check my pass and let me through. Leaving my hired bike in a set of racks provided for the purpose, I make my way through the various passages on foot, until I reach Professor D’Oliveira’s office.
She calls ‘Enter!’ in answer to my knock, and I step inside. ‘Good morning, Agatha. Please take a seat.’
She’s sitting at her carved desk in her wood-panelled office, where everything is plush and ornate. The only clue that we’re underground is the lack of windows.
I sit and she slides a folder across the desk towards me. ‘Your first case for the Gatekeepers’ Guild,’ she says. As I reach to pick it up, there’s another knock at the door … and who should enter but the boy from the National Gallery.
Arthur! My brain struggles to compute. There’s a word, incongruous, which means something that looks completely out of place. This is not his territory, but mine. What on earth is he doing here?
‘Ah!’ says the professor. ‘Arthur – thank you for joining us. Agatha, this is Arthur Fitzwilliam. Arthur, Agatha Oddlow. The two of you will be working on the case together.’
He grins sheepishly at me. ‘Sorry – I looked on your school calendar and found out your class were visiting the gallery yesterday, so I couldn’t resist popping in, in the hope we’d get a chance to meet.’
My brain feels foggy. ‘But … you didn’t say you had anything to do with the Guild!’
‘Not really the place, was it?’ he points out. ‘I couldn’t start blurting out about a top-secret organisation in public.’
The professor looks from me to Arthur and back. ‘Have you two met already?’ she asks, with a frown.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Arthur faked a “chance encounter” with me at the National Gallery yesterday afternoon.’
‘I see …’ she says slowly. ‘Arthur, please take a seat.’
As he sits, his face is full of happy mischief.
‘Sorry, Professor D,’ he says. But he’s smiling.
‘That was totally unprofessional conduct,’ she says. ‘It wasn’t fair to Agatha – and it was in blatant breach of Guild rules.’
‘Sorry, Professor,’ he says again. ‘But you told me I was going to be working with Agatha and—’
She holds up a hand to silence him – a gesture I’ve seen too many times directed at me. ‘That will do.’
‘But it’s not like I told her anything!’ he protests.
I can’t help smiling. There was no malice in Arthur’s