The Griffins of Castle Cary CHAPTER ONE Beginnings If you know much about ghosts, you''ll know that waiting is one of the things a ghost does best. Ghosts have the patience of eternity. Each April the ghost stirred. It coughed, cried, and blew its nose, then rose to the surface. April is an in-between season, a time when cracks split open along the ancient path from winter to summer, from death to life. A time when accidents might happen. This year the ghost dislodged a beetle from its ear and wafted up to the walnut tree. There it settled in a crook of branches.
Leafless twigs scraped, the buds on the brink of bursting: poised, silent, and swollen. This ghost was waiting for someone. Someone to whisper to. Someone to treasure. It was waiting for a child. "Nothing but sheep," said Will, his nose squashed against the train window. "Look at them! What are we going to do for a whole week? What if the Griffinage doesn''t have a piano?" "Whistle," said his sister Meg. "That''s what you always do.
" "Very funny," said Will. Meg and Will Griffin were constant companions and a little less than a year apart. Meg''s hair was golden brown and curly. Very curly. Her hair was a mass of tightly coiled curls that bounced around her head when she ran. She had light tan skin, so light most people assumed Meg and her siblings were white, though the Griffins were a mixed race family. Will was nearly as tall as Meg, with longish blond-brown hair that combed straight, and a wide grin that seemed too big for his cheekbones. Meg was eleven and Will was ten, but every November after Will''s Halloween birthday, they were the same age for seven weeks.
Then Will would joke: "We''re twins, Megs! I''m as old as you." Meg glanced over at Ariel. She''d formed a nest from their pile of coats, and was sitting cross-legged among them, poking in her crayon box. Ariel was five. She was what strangers called "adorable," which meant she had enormous brown eyes, and dark wavy hair that cascaded to her waist and was clipped with bows. Right now her left bow was sliding partway down to her ear, and she was trying to draw a picture as the train jostled along. "My red''s gone," said Ariel. "Use purple," said Will.
"But I need red," Ariel continued. "Red''s for his tongue. He can''t have a purple tongue." As usual, Ariel was drawing animals with round heads, stick legs, and impossibly large tails. Meg sighed. She didn''t mind helping Ariel, but she''d already rescued the green crayon from the floor twice, and dug out sienna from the seat crack. They''d only been on the train from London for ten minutes. If Ariel kept losing crayons at this rate .
Let''s see, it was nearly a two-hour ride to Castle Cary and Aunt Effie''s house, so four crayons every ten minutes, that meant four times twelve, or forty-eight spilled crayons. "Look on the floor," said Meg. Ariel looked, but tipped the crayon box as she did, threatening to spill what remained of the sixty-four colors. "There," said Meg, righting the box and retrieving the red from under the sleeve of Will''s coat. "Now keep track of it, and color by yourself." Meg stood up to change seats, but Ariel''s hand flew out to stop her. "Don''t go, Meg," said Ariel. Meg gently pried off her sister''s hand.
She wanted to talk to Will. It was a relief to know Aunt Effie would be taking care of Ariel once they reached the Griffinage. Mama always asked them both to look after Ariel, but it usually fell on her. "You''ll be fine," she said. "I''m only moving a few inches." Ariel slumped into the coat pile, but Will looked up as she sat down next to him. "Nothing but sheep," Will repeated, tapping the window. "What do you think he''s like?" Meg asked.
"Who?" said Will. "You know who," said Meg. She knew what was bothering Will. It was the same thing she was worried about. Staying at the Griffinage with Aunt Effie would be a treat. She was the sort of grown-up who believed in ice-cream cones every day and staying up late. Their favorite aunt. She''d come to see them countless times in Minnesota, and now, finally, they would get to see where she lived in England.
Will could probably even play a neighbor''s piano, so that wasn''t the problem. The problem was Uncle Ben. "Why didn''t anyone tell us about Uncle Ben before?" Will demanded, flopping back on his seat. "If he''s married to Aunt Effie, you''d think we''d have heard of him at least." "Maybe they''re not married," said Meg. "You know, maybe he''s her boyfriend or something and Dad just wants us to call him ''uncle.''?" "We still should have heard of him," said Will. "I''ll bet he''s a recluse.
" "You mean like a hermit?" "Yeah," said Will. "Maybe he doesn''t like to be around other people." "Or maybe he can''t get out of bed or something," said Meg. "Why else would Aunt Effie have to take care of him?" "He''s probably a grump," said Will. "I bet he sits around the house and bangs his cane and we''ll never have any fun. I thought it was just going to be Aunt Effie. This changes everything." "No, it doesn''t," said Meg.
"You know it does," said Will. "You''re scared of him, too." Until that very day, the Griffin children had never heard of Uncle Ben. When their parents talked about the Griffinage, it was always Aunt Effie. Aunt Effie who called. Aunt Effie, who sent her love. Aunt Effie, who mailed them books and chocolates wrapped in red tissue paper on their birthdays. Aunt Effie''s last name was Griffin too.
That''s why the house was called the Griffinage. "If a vicar lives in a vicarage, and an orphan lives in an orphanage, then a Griffin should live in a Griffinage," she proclaimed. "Much better than a house number, don''t you think?" Being Griffins, the children had always longed to see the Griffinage. But a Griffinage with Aunt Effie in it, not an unknown uncle. When Mama announced the news about their extra-long spring break--you''ll have to miss a week of school, Dad and I will be away at the geology conference, and you three will stay at the Griffinage--nobody mentioned Uncle Ben. "The Griffinage!" said Will. "Cool!" "It''ll be like living in our own family castle," said Meg. "Hardly," said their father, who''d been there before.
"You''re not staying in the manor itself, you know. The Griffinage is a house, and the only true castle in Castle Cary is in ruins." "But, still," said Meg, and she walked away to dream of castles with emblems of gryphons on the front door. Mama sent away for passports. Ariel asked a million questions. Dad found his favorite rock-hound pants. Meg looked up Castle Cary and its county, Somerset, on the map, and Will packed and repacked his duffel bag. "Save room for clothes," said his mother, examining the contents of his duffel.
"Yes, Will, more than two pairs of underwear." Then she retreated to the basement again, where she and their father, both geology professors, spent hours preparing for the conference by writing speeches with words like "geomorphology," "petrology," and "paleoarchaeology." Maybe it was the "ologies" that distracted the Griffin parents. Somehow it wasn''t until the family arrived at Paddington Station, and the train to Somerset was inching up to its platform, that their father stopped midsentence (the full sentence was "When I was a boy, I rode trains at age eight without my parents," but he stopped at "rode," which didn''t matter because the children had heard the story so many times before). Then he said something new and surprising: "See if you can help out with Uncle Ben. Aunt Effie will have enough on her hands taking care of you lot." "Uncle Ben?" said Will, his mouth agape. "Who''s Uncle Ben?" asked Meg, just as the train whistle blasted.
Why did grown-ups keep repeating old stories instead of explaining new things kids really wanted to know? Mama was bustling about, gathering luggage, kissing Ariel, and herding them toward the train platform. There wasn''t much time. Hurriedly, Meg asked: "What''s he like?" "Oh, you''ll meet him soon enough," said their father. "Uncle Ben is one of a kind." "But . ," said Will. "Listen up now," said their father. "You get off at Castle Cary.
I''ve talked to the conductor, and he''ll tell you when the station comes up." "But what about Uncle Ben?" Will asked. "What about him?" "Will Uncle Ben be there too?" "No idea," said their father. "I don''t think she always brings him to a place like the train station. So many people and the noise, you know." Will gulped. If this uncle didn''t like people, and he didn''t like noise, he surely wouldn''t like children. This would be a terrible vacation.
"Does he drool?" Will asked. His father gave him a strange look. "Well, sometimes. I suppose he can''t help it." The children spotted Aunt Effie right away at the Castle Cary train platform. She still sported a head of springy curls exactly like Meg''s, the afternoon sun shining through her outer curls.