A plucky orphan, a dark family secret, and a thrilling race against time...
“Clemency leaned back and closed her eyes, letting Mrs Potchard’s words float through her head... Wentworth Gardens: it sounded such a lovely English place. Back in India, everyone talked of England with such longing. She imagined Wentworth Gardens to be just like the pictures she had seen in books: lush green lawns surrounded by beds overflowing with beautiful flowers. And in the middle, perhaps, a magnificent fountain spraying water into a basin shaped like a giant shell.
It would be a relief to get to Wentworth Gardens.
The cab bumped noisily over a pothole and Clemency jerked awake. She wiped the fog off the window, and peered out to see if she could spot the gardens. But there was nothing outside except close grey walls, streaked with wet. They must still have a long way to go.
Abruptly the cab stopped. The cabman set her boxes down in the road and then clattered off again into the smog.
Clemency found herself alone at the end of a narrow, rain-sluiced alley of terraced houses. Each had a door that led straight off the street, with only three worn stone steps between it and the pavement. There wasn’t a flower or a single blade of grass in sight, certainly not a fountain. No garden of any sort!”