Edge The Black Crow Conspiracy

eBook
ISBN: 978-0-85763-055-1
Verlag: Nosy Crow Ltd
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, Band 3, 272 Seiten

Reihe: Twelve Minutes to Midnight trilogy

Step into the past in this spine-tingling historical adventure from award-winning author Christopher Edge. 'A writer of genuine originality' - Guardian Penelope Tredwell is the feisty thirteen-year-old orphan heiress of the bestselling magazine, The Penny Dreadful. Her masterly tales of the macabre are gripping Victorian Britain, even if no one knows she's the author. It's 1902. London is looking forward to the new King's coronation and ignoring the threat of war from across the sea. Penelope, is cursed with writer's block and needs a sensational new story or her magazine will go under. So when a mysterious letter arrives, confessing to an impossible crime, Penny thinks she has found a plot to enthral her readers: the theft of the Crown Jewels by the diabolical Black Crow. Ghostly apparitions, kidnap and treason - this is the stuff of great stories. But what if it's all true? A suspenseful historical adventure series with a supernatural twist! 'The feisty and courageous Penelope makes the perfect heroine for an adventure packed with exciting twists and turns' - BookTrust Check out these other brilliant books from Christopher Edge: - Black Hole Cinema Club - Escape Room - Twelve Minutes to Midnight - The Jamie Drake Equation

Christopher Edge is an award-winning children's author whose books have been translated into more than twenty languages. His novel The Infinite Lives of Maisie Day won the STEAM Children's Book Prize and his last four novels were all nominated for the prestigious CILIP Carnegie Medal. Before becoming a writer, he worked as an English teacher, editor and publisher - any job that let him keep a book close to hand - and he now lives in Gloucestershire with his wife and family, close to his local library. Find out more about Christopher at christopheredge.co.uk and find him on Twitter @edgechristopher

Autoren/Hrsg.

Edge, Christopher

Leseproben

II
Penelope stared down at the blank sheet of paper in front of her, its expanse of perfect whiteness an unconquered continent of story. She felt like Captain Scott staring out from the prow of the Discovery at the looming Antarctic coastline, strange mountains of ice barring the way to his goal. Penny sighed, her gaze slipping sideways to the wastepaper basket beside her desk. Balls of crumpled paper spilled out from it, the unfinished sentences scrawled across each sheet a journal of her failure to capture even a foothold in this new tale she was trying to craft from the pen of Montgomery Flinch. Penny brushed a stray strand of hair from her eyes. Her long dark hair was piled high upon her head in the very latest style. The exquisite tailoring of her pea-green suit seemed more suited to the salons of high society than this dusty old office, its desks and cabinets piled high with papers. The mocking scratch of a pen drew Penny’s gaze to the rear of the room where her guardian, Mr Wigram, sat hunched over a ledger of accounts. The elderly lawyer’s pen scurried across the page as he calculated items of income and expenditure, the frown lining his brow telling Penelope all she needed to know about the state of The Penny Dreadful’s finances. The halcyon days of the turn of the century were gone, and with them the success The Penny Dreadful had known when sales had topped a million copies and made Montgomery Flinch a household name. Back then his stories of terror and suspense had gripped the nation, long lines of readers queuing at the bookstands to get their hands on the next instalment of his latest macabre tale. Penelope’s mind had been a constant whirl of dark imaginings: A Night in the Gallery, The Strange Fate of Doctor Naylor, The Gravedigger’s Revenge – every new tale that she told an even greater success than the last. But then the spark of inspiration had started to wane, her ideas for new stories failing to ignite as soon as she tried to chase them on to the page. Montgomery Flinch’s pen had fallen silent at last. In his absence, The Penny Dreadful’s sales had fallen into a sad decline. Penelope had commissioned new writers to fill the void: Oliver Onions, William Hope Hodgson, Edward Benson to name but a few, each author trying to replicate the thrilling mix of mystery and the macabre that Montgomery Flinch had mastered, but the readers had simply moved on. Since the death of Queen Victoria more than a year ago, it seemed as though the public’s tastes had changed. Tales of crime and detection were now all the rage, filling the pages of The Penny Dreadful’s rivals. Even Sherlock Holmes himself had made a belated comeback in The Hound of the Baskervilles. Penny’s gaze flicked up to the bookcase behind her guardian’s desk, the collected editions of The Penny Dreadful taking pride of place there. If the magazine’s sales continued on their downward spiral, the latest annual volume with the dates January–December 1901 picked out in gold letters against its crimson spine might be the very last. The Penny Dreadful needed something big to restore its sales to their former glory. It needed a story from Montgomery Flinch. Penelope’s gaze returned to the page, her mind a similar blank. All she needed was an idea, the spark for a story, but inspiration remained cruelly elusive. With a tut of irritation, she crumpled up the blank sheet of paper and tossed it into the wastepaper basket where it joined the rest of her unfinished tales. At the sound of this, Mr Wigram lifted his head. “A problem with the new story?” he asked, fixing Penelope with a solicitous stare. A frown furrowed Penny’s brow but before she had a chance to reply, the rattle of the door handle announced Alfie’s arrival. Swinging the door open, the printer’s assistant bowled into the office with a grin, the galley proofs for the latest edition of The Penny Dreadful tucked under his arm. “Hello, Penny; afternoon, Mr Wigram.” Alfie stepped towards Penelope’s desk, his slicked-back blond hair gleaming in the sunlight that spilled in from the street outside before the front door slowly swung shut again. “The June edition of The Penny Dreadful,” he announced, placing the proofs in front of her. “You’re late,” Wigram replied in a reproachful tone. “I sent you out to collect those proofs from the printers over an hour ago.” With a wince, Alfie glanced up to meet the lawyer’s gimlet gaze. “I’m sorry, Mr Wigram,” he began, “but it’s really not my fault. The streets are being dug up left, right and centre – Pall Mall, the Strand, Piccadilly – I had to double-back on myself half a dozen times before I even reached the printers. It’s all for the King’s coronation, you see. They want every inch of the carriage route looking spick and span before the 26th of June.” He turned back towards Penelope, his eyes shining with excitement. “You should see the decorations, Penny! There are garlands hanging from every lamppost – flags and flowers everywhere. They’ve even built a huge archway across Whitehall, fifty feet or so high, all lit up with electric lights. It’s magnificent. Trust good old Teddie to show the world how to throw a party!” As Alfie enthused about the preparations for King Edward the Seventh’s forthcoming coronation, Penny stared down at the pile of proofs. On the inside leaf of the front cover, the announcement that she now dreaded stared back at her in bold black type: MONTGOMERY FLINCH IS BACK!   The Penny Dreadful is proud to announce the long-awaited return of the Master of the Macabre to its pages with a thrilling new tale. This mystery from the pen of Montgomery Flinch, whose absence from the world of fiction has been keenly felt by his many readers, will be found equal, if not superior, in chilling intent to the very best of those tales which first made his name.   “TITLE HERE” will appear in the July edition of The Penny Dreadful. Penny sighed. The deadline for the July edition was little more than a month away. Five weeks to conjure a story out of nothing. At the sound of her sigh, Alfie glanced down, following her gaze to the announcement on the page. “Don’t worry,” he said, pulling out a sharpened pencil from behind his ear. “That last line is just a placeholder. As soon as you let me know the actual title of your new story I can mark up the proofs and send the magazine to press.” Penelope looked up to see Alfie’s eager smile, his pencil poised above the proof. “There is no title,” she replied, pushing herself back from her desk with an exasperated sigh. “There is no new story.” Her gaze flicked from Alfie to her guardian, puzzled looks slowly spreading across both their faces. “I’ve racked my brain trying to dream up a fitting plot, but it’s no use. Every thought that I’ve had has been written a thousand times before: tales of unquiet spirits, omens and forewarnings. The world has moved on and Montgomery Flinch’s fiction needs to as well, but what shape this new story should take is a mystery to me. My fingers itch to write, but my mind remains a blank.” With worry lining her brow, Penny glanced across to meet her guardian’s gaze. “What should I do?” For a moment Mr Wigram remained silent, his lips pursed in contemplation as he steepled his fingers beneath his chin. Then with a sigh that almost sounded like relief, he gave his reply. “You must abandon this plan to bring Montgomery Flinch back to the pages of The Penny Dreadful. There really is no need to put yourself under this pressure, Penelope.” His wizened features creased in a look of avuncular concern. “Perhaps it is now time to put your writing to one side and seek out other more suitable pursuits. In less than six months’ time you will be sixteen years of age and I cannot help but think that your father would reproach me if he knew how I had allowed you to neglect your education to attend instead to the demands of The Penny Dreadful. With the investments I have made on your behalf, you are now a young lady of some considerable means. It will soon be time for you to make your entrance into society. Let us lay Montgomery Flinch to rest at last and leave these tales of the macabre behind.” Penelope scowled at her guardian’s suggestion. Her gaze flicked up to Alfie’s face, seeking out her friend’s support, but she saw instead only a sudden blush colouring his complexion. “I will not abandon The Penny Dreadful,” she replied, her gaze returning to meet Wigram’s own. “Besides, the announcement of Montgomery Flinch’s return has already been placed in the pages of The Times, The Sketch and The Illustrated London News. Montgomery Flinch will write again – all I need is a spark of inspiration to set my imagination ablaze.” “Bravo!” Alfie clapped his hands together delightedly, but then his applause...