When Abigail's Aunt Harriet told her she could bring along a friend with her to stay for Easter, she didn't stipulate until later it had to be a girl. But what was going on in the little village, cut-off from the rest of the world? This is a story set partly at Seacombe Independent Girls' High School, commonly known as SIGHS and involves young people involved in such things as humour, adventure, crossdressing and growing-up.

Part Two: Boys! Even when they're pretending to be girls, they can still make mysteries over the most stupid things. Or could there possibly be any basis to Ben's - oops, I mean Stevie's - suggestions?

Author's Note: This story is complete and will be published in four parts at approximately daily intervals.

"Girls. Come and meet my lodgers." Aunt Harriet said. She waved a hand around the seven or eight girls standing in her kitchen. I'd expected mature women, but these girls were not much older than ourselves. "This is my niece, Abby, and her friend, Stevie. Now why don't you all introduce yourselves in your perfect English?"

"Hello Abba and Stiphy," the nearest one to us said. "I am pleased to meet you." She held out her hand for me to shake and I rather stupidly took it. "My name is Anastasia."

"Hello, Anastasia," I said, as she pumped my hand. "I'm pleased to meet you too. But I would prefer it if you called me Abigail."

"Sorry?" She looked puzzled. "There is a strong wind coming?"

"I'm Stevie," Ben said before I could think of a reply. As Anastasia went to shake his hand he held up his own with his flat palm held upright. "No," he said. "We never shake hands when we meet like this." He pronounced each word carefully, adding, "Perhaps in business, but never when we meet informally."

Anastasia grinned at Ben, and I noticed she had whiter teeth than my own, damn her. "Thank you, Stiphy," she said. "You two girls can show us how normal English girls behave. Yes?"

"I think I need a few lessons, mys..." Ben started to say so I quickly interrupted. "We'll be delighted to, although we hardly regard ourselves as role models."

"No," she grinned back. "Mrs Starkey is the role model. You two are real girls."

Fortunately, the next girl was already introducing herself before either of us could think how to reply to that misassumption.

"I am Katya," she said, and gave a little wave instead of a handshake.

And so it went around the circle of smiling girls, who were all far more attractive than me. Ben seemed in his element, chatting with them and gently pointing out mistakes with their English. I guessed that, had he been dressed normally in those circumstances, he'd have been standing embarrassed in the corner. Hmm, I thought. I'd better watch out he doesn't get too chatty with any of them.

"Aunt," I said at the first opportunity. "We thought we'd go a walk around the village if that's all right with you."

"We're walking back to the schoolroom now," Anastasia said. "Why not walk with us and help us more with our English?"

So we all set out walking along the track from the house up the steep hill to what classified as the main road in the village, with the schoolroom standing a little distance along to the right. We bade them goodbye, there and turned in the opposite direction.

"They seem a really friendly bunch," Ben said.

"They are," I said, "but more importantly, you're behaving completely naturally with them. Well done."

He smirked a little. "They're very easy to talk to, and I also thought they're less likely to notice any slips I might make."

"You must love it," I said, "being surrounded by girls. Maybe you'd like to go back to being a boy,"

His face took on a look of horror. "Oh no," he said. "I'd be terribly awkward and embarrassed. I feel so much more natural as a girl.

"That sounds really weird, doesn't it?" he added, "when I'm actually the complete reverse of natural."

"No," I said. I stopped and turned to face him. "You were right first time. Natural is what you feel: not what society dictates."

He smiled shyly and then threw his arms around me and gave me a hug, pushing his big boobs into my chest. They felt sort of squiffy.

"Thanks, Abigail," he said. "You're a real friend.

"And if I did that when I was a boy," he continued, "you'd have slapped my face."

I opened my mouth to protest and then shut it again. Of course I'd have slapped the little runt's face if he'd tried anything on with me. A girl has to make it clear that no way does she want a romantic relationship with a little runt like that. "Maybe," I acknowledged. "Let's move on to the main part of the village, although there's not much of it. It's more a hamlet than a village."

We'd already walked past a few derelict houses and I explained to Ben a little of the village's background. "The place is based around a little boatyard on the river. It's been here for centuries and they used to build boats there.

"In the Second World War it became a place where they made those mini-submarines. They turned the dock into a dry dock, where they could float the submarines in on the high tide, then, as the tide went out, the submarine settled onto blocks on the bottom. Then they closed the lock gates at the entrance to the dock so that when the tide rose again, it didn't flood the dock."

"How incredibly exciting," Ben said. "Can we go and see it?"

I was rather touched at how interested he was in what was now a fairly desolate place. "We'll visit that last," I told him, "then we can walk back along the river path to Aunt's house. First, let's visit the village shop."

Mr Ahmed had run the village shop in Combehaven ever since I could remember. His face perpetually smiled, and when I was tiny, he'd slip me little sweets. Of course, that guaranteed that when I grew up, I'd always come back to his shop. But today, even though the sign on the door stated 'Open', the place was all in darkness.

"Hello?" I shouted, pushing open the door which gave its characteristic 'bing-bong'.

It was like stepping into a ghost shop. It used to be crowded with packs of toilet paper and bottles of wine, special offers on dog food and nappies, and throughout the holiday season, it was full of shoppers from the nearby caravan park. But in the dim light I could barely see a thing, apart from empty shelves.

A door opened from the interior, a shaft of light lancing across the empty shop. The shadow was temporarily blocked as someone stepped into the room, someone quite big who moved quietly. I suddenly felt seriously scared.

"Oh, hello Abigail," said Mrs Clark, as she flicked the light switch and I could see her properly. "Your aunt said you were coming to stay for Easter with a friend. You must be Anna," she said to Ben.

"Anna couldn't come," I said, rather annoyed not just because I'd been scared by the darkened room but also that she'd let slip that Ben wasn't my first choice. "This is... Stevie." In my anger, I'd almost called him by his real name! I'd have to watch that.

Mrs Clark was probably as old as my aunt – somewhere in her fifties – but she looked positively ancient in comparison and was one of those people who are always moaning. She gave Stevie a grimace rather than a smile.

"Mrs Clark, what's happened to the shop? Where's Ahmed?" I asked.

"After the bridge came down last year and cut us off, the whole area has gone out of business. The caravan park closed down, as did the boatyard. Mr Ahmed hung on as long as he could but eventually went into receivership and had to go and live with one of his sons in Seacombe. We formed a little cooperative in the village and when the receivers couldn't sell or rent out the shop, they let us take it on at a peppercorn rent. We man it on a voluntary basis, although I seem to get the brunt of the work. We keep the lights turned off to save electricity unless there's a customer in the shop. So, are you buying anything or just wasting time?"

"Could I buy a newspaper, please, Mrs Clark?" Ben said.

"Newspapers have to be specially ordered and paid for in advance," she said, seemingly rather pleased that she couldn't fulfil his order. "Which one did you want?"

"I wanted the Daily Mail," Ben said, "but if you don't have any it doesn't matter."

"The Daily Mail?" She gave him a strange, questioning look. "No. We don't sell the Daily Mail."

"OK," Ben said. "Well it doesn't matter." He looked at me and said, "Shall we continue our tour, Abigail? I'm looking forward to seeing that little boatyard."

"The boatyard's closed!" Mrs Clark snapped. "Don't you two go hanging about there. It's dangerous and if you do have an accident we'll get the blame."

"Can't we just look…" Ben started to say.

"No you can't!" Mrs Clark shouted. "Keep away from it. We don't need girls like you around here."

We left the shop feeling rather subdued. Mrs Clark was starring daggers at Ben, and I'm sure she was muttering under her breath, "All boobs and no knickers."

"I'm frightfully sorry about that, Stevie," I said, aware of Mr Robinson staring at us from across the road. "Hello Mr Robinson. This is my friend Stevie. We're staying with Aunt Harriet for Easter." Mr Robinson was a pensioner who'd seemed to have been elderly ever since I was a little girl, so heaven knows how old he was. Unlike Mrs Clark, he was always smiling.

"Pleased to meet you, Stevie." Mr Robinson's face had lit up as I greeted him. "Hello Abigail. It's nice to see someone I know in the village. I mean, the foreign girls are all very nice, but their English isn't very good and it's difficult chatting them up."

I couldn't help smiling at the idea of him chatting up all those young women.

"There you are," he claimed. "One sentence and I have a smile from you. I reckon we'll be on a date quite soon. Perhaps Stevie will make it a threesome."

"Er..." Ben looked a little gobsmacked at his offer

"She may have the figure," I teased, "but she's not into the wild parties like we are."

"You know, Abigail, I could be locked up for what I'm thinking."

"As long as you only think it," I said, "they can't lock you up."

"Who said it was only in my thoughts?" He grinned at us. "If only. Have a nice afternoon, you two."

"Thank you, Mr Robinson," we both chanted as he went on his way towards his cottage.

"That was non-stop sexual innuendo," Ben said. "You shouldn't encourage him."

"But he's lovely," I said. "We made his day and there's nothing wrong in that."

"Dirty old man," I heard Ben mutter.

***

We meandered through the village meeting just a few more residents - Mrs Thomas, Mr Davis and Mrs Marshall. Finally, we were walking down the last few yards towards the boatyard, with its tall, black metal gates firmly shut. 'Boatyard Closed. No entry. Danger!' the large sign declared. Beneath it was a notice stating the name and address of the company receivers, to whom any unpaid claims should be sent.

"Sorry, Ben," I said. "It looks like we're not going to be able to see the yard after all."

"Hmm," he muttered, walking over to the gates, peering through the gap between them and giving them a shake. "By the way," he added, "it's probably better if you stop calling me Ben. A couple of times you almost used it in front of other people. Stevie is fine with me.

"There," he said, as the left gate moved forward a few inches. "This is not locked, just stiff because it's dragging on the ground. If you give me a hand, we can push it open sufficient to squeeze through."

I screwed up my nose. "I'm not certain this is a good idea, Ben... I mean Stevie. We could get into trouble."

"The company's gone bankrupt," he said. "That means no one owns it. In any case, we only want a look; it's not as though we're trying to steal anything."

"No, but..."

"Look." He waved up the road and I followed his wave. The road was deserted for the hundred yards or so we could see. "Come on," he continued. "Don't be such a wimp. This is fun."

So we both lifted and pushed the one gate so it opened sufficient to squeeze through. Stevie (got it right, that time), went first and I followed, after giving another careful look up the road.

I'd been there a few times as a child but never recently. Like I said, it always seemed rather boring to me. It wasn't boring that afternoon – it was incredibly scary. Not only was I frightened we'd be arrested for breaking and entering, but it was all so desolate, I could feel the ghosts of those submariners who went on missions from this yard and never came back.

There was a roof over the top of the dock – and if you look on a satellite map you can see it's still painted in camouflage colours – but no sides, presumably to let in light. It meant we were exposed to the chilly breeze which came in from the river. Within seconds, I was shivering.

The dock was partly full of water, and there was a small fishing boat moored at the far side of it.

"That's strange," Stevie said.

"What is?"

"The dock's partly full of water but the tide's out."

"But I told you about the lock gate at the entrance to the dock," I said, pointing to the left where we could see the river. With the tide out, it mainly comprised mud flats. "The gate's being used to keep the water in, not out."

"But that means there must be two gates," Stevie said He walked towards that end. "One to keep water in and another to keep water out."

"Is there a point to this conversation," I asked. "So what if they can keep the water in and use it like a normal dock. It stops that boat going up and down with the tide."

"Suppose so," Stevie said, "but I was hoping to see the dock empty.

"In any case," he added, "who owns that boat?"

"Presumably," I said, "it belongs to the boatyard. Does it matter?"

"The receivers would have sold it off if it did," he said. "Yet that boat is clearly in working order, and whoever owns it has closed the dock gate to keep the water in. That means, there could be someone around..."

"What are you two girls doing here?" A man's voice rang out from behind us and we both jumped like startled rabbits, turning round to face him.

"Jethro," I said, recognising him as the spotty-faced teenage son of Mrs Clark whom I'd known when I came here as a child. Now he was a nasty-looking man, with an evil leer on his face as he stared at Stevie's breasts.

He quickly glanced at me before his gaze returned to Stevie's chest. We'd started to walk towards him and I suddenly became aware out of the corner of my eye how Stevie's boobs were bouncing up and down. Strange. I'd never noticed them before but Jethro had immediately locked onto them.

"You're that annoying little brat, Abigail Peters," he said. "You'd better introduce your friend."

"I'm Stevie," he said. "We were just looking round."

Good for Stevie. I was almost wetting my pants with terror whilst he was totally shameless.

"You've probably been nicking stuff," he said, "but there's no need to involve the police. I'd better frisk you both down." He grinned and pointed at Stevie. "I'll start with you."

"Fuck off," Stevie said. "Abigail telephone the police, and he can go to prison for assaulting a minor. Then all the other prisoners will gang up on him and cut off his balls."

"OK," Jethro said, holding up his hand. "Only joking. But you can both fuck off out of here." He pointed to the gate. "And don't come back. This is private property and it's dangerous in here."

We squeezed back through the gap between the gates, my heart racing fit to burst. As soon as Jethro had pushed the gate shut behind us, I turned to Ben – it was definitely Ben now – and hugged him tightly.

"You were fantastic" I said. "I was simply petrified. Why weren't you frightened?"

He grinned back at me. "I haven't as much to lose as you do," he said. "In any case, I see now why girls always go round in pairs. They don't even go to the toilet on their own. He couldn't attack me and at the same time prevent you telephoning the police."

"Ah," I said. "I need to tell you about that. You see, I left my mobile phone charging in our bedroom."

His mouth opened wide and – OK, call it stress in the heat of the moment – I planted my lips over his and snogged him.

"Fucking lessies," we heard from behind the gates. Jethro must have been peering between the gap.

***

Rather than walking back through the village, we followed the reasonably level path along the river bank towards the house.

"It was just because I was scared," I said. "I don't want you to read anything into it."

"It was nice though," Stevie said.

"It wasn't totally disgusting," I agreed, trying not to reveal the surge of excitement which had swept through me. Trying to change the subject, I said, "Wasn't he horrible."

Stevie shrugged. "Lots of boys at school make similar suggestions to girls."

"But he isn't a schoolboy," I said. "He's an adult talking to schoolgirls,"

"I don't feel very school-girlish with these things bouncing around on my chest. You know that you've given me serious sex symbols."

"They're just lumps of fat," I said. "Do men really think they're sex symbols?" Emily had said something similar but I hadn't figured it.

"I've always been terrified of girls with huge breasts," Stevie admitted. "Now I have them, I feel different. I can understand what girls have to put up with on a daily basis. You know, Abigail, you don't realise how lucky you are having a wonderful figure like yours."

Another flutter in my heart. "Wonderful? But I'm skinny. You said just now that big breasts are a sex symbol. That's why so many girls have enhancements."

"Don't have an enhancement, Abigail. You're perfect the way you are."

Perfect! This conversation was getting out of hand. Remember, I had to sleep in the same bed as the little runt tonight, and there was no way I was getting into any kind of relationship with him. For the next two weeks, Ben was Stephanie, a girl with two big breasts that bounced and jiggled as he walked along the path. Whatever may have been buried between his legs, would remain buried.

"At least you've seen the boatyard, now," I said. "Hopefully that's sated your curiosity."

"Of course not," she said. "There's a mystery we have to solve."

"Mystery? What mystery?"

"The Mystery of the Water in the Dock, of course." He really did pronounce it as though it was a Famous Five adventure.

"Why is it a mystery? There are lots of small docks like that one. Ships come in and unload their cargo then leave on the next tide."

"Precisely." Stevie spoke as though I'd made a good point. "But that wasn't a ship; it was a fishing boat. You see them in little harbours all around the coasts of Britain. They'll come up to the quayside to unload their catch, but then go and moor elsewhere. When the tide goes out, they simply settle on the bottom. They come and go with the tides. There's no point in going through the rigmarole of entering a dock and closing the gate to keep the water in."

"I think you're making a mystery out of nothing. I suppose it is strange that everyone says the boatyard is closed, yet Jethro is clearly using it, but these fishermen are a law unto themselves. He's probably there without the knowledge of the official receivers."

"Where did he come from just now?" Stevie asked.

"He must have been working in the boatyard somewhere."

"But where? When I went through the gate, I looked all round, just in case there was someone inside. There wasn't."

He had a point. I'd done exactly the same; and we'd both looked up the road beforehand to make certain there was no one approaching. "He must have been on the boat."

"Which was moored on the opposite side of the dock," he said. "He'd have had to walk all around the dock to get up behind us."

"There was a kind of pontoon thing, floating on the water," I said, with a flash of memory.

"Which had no one on it," Stevie said. He was right, otherwise we'd both have seen him.

"Does it matter?" I asked. "The point is, he must have been there somewhere; perhaps he was standing in a corner having a crafty fag."

"It's another part of the mystery," Stevie said, mysteriously.

Boys, I thought. They never grow up. Talking of which, "I'm going to talk to Aunt about Jethro," I said. "I think he's dangerous."

***

"What were you doing in the boatyard?" Aunt asked. "It's dangerous in there. There's a sign on the gate." Instead of being shocked at Jethro's behaviour, she was angry at Stevie and me for going into the boatyard.

"It was my fault, Mrs Peters," Stevie said. "Abigail didn't want to step foot inside, but I made her because I was really interested."

"It doesn't matter who initiated the idea. You both went past the danger sign. You could have been involved in a nasty accident. Promise me you won't do that again."

"We promise, Aunt," I said, giving Stevie a look and he nodded and said he promised as well. "But Aunt," I added, "I thought Jethro was going to rape us. He shouldn't be allowed to get away with it."

"He made a lewd suggestion," Aunt said. "That is not rape. Perhaps some of your friends would be only too pleased to be frisked down by a very fit young man like Jethro."

Fit! Aunt surely had to be joking. "But we're under the age of consent…" I started to say, when Aunt interrupted.

"But you have to remember that you are now both sexually mature young women. I know it's pointless to tell you to continue to dress like children, but you have to be aware that it's perfectly normal for every adult heterosexual male to want to have sex with you. So be careful, and do keep together. Combehaven may appear like the epitome of English civilisation, but sex is still rampant. OK?"

"Yes Aunt." "Yes, Mrs Peters."

"And for heaven's sake, she added, "Stevie, please call me Harriet."

"Yes, er, Harriet."

***

Dinner was a very jolly affair. It was cooked by the students, and Aunt Harriet had a rule that only English was to be spoken in the house. Now that I'd accepted that Stevie was a friend who happened to be a girl, it didn't seem to matter that he was better than me at conversing with them. I was sitting next to Katya and once I'd got used to her accent, we had a great conversation. She told me she was from Croatia, and had moved to England because of the better job prospects here. I guessed there were a lot of Little Englanders who hated the idea of 'foreigners' moving to England but it didn't bother me. Being part of the EU meant that I could just as easily go and live in Germany or France, and it also meant I met interesting people like Katya and Anastasia.

We stayed up talking until quite late, but then one of the women started yawning, and suddenly, we all were. We all went up to bed at about the same time, and it was then I remembered that Stevie and I were sharing a bed.

"I'll go to the bathroom and clean my teeth if you wish to get ready for bed," Stevie said.

"Don't be too quick," I told him. "I'll murder you if I'm half undressed when you come back."

He smirked at me and said he wouldn't.

***

"Wha..." I jerked awake, aware someone had entered my bedroom. Stevie was standing there looking as though I'd scared him half to death.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he said. "Sorry."

"That's all right," I said. "I have to go and clean my teeth, anyway. It'll give you chance to get into your pyjamas." I paused as he seemed reluctant to move. "Are you all right?" I asked him.

My question seemed to jolt him back into life. "I'm fine," he said. "Just fine.

"Except that..." He paused. "Well, I can't unfasten the gusset thing."

Uh-uh. I'd have to put this carefully. "I told you you'd have to be a girl for the whole of the two weeks. You won't be able to take it off."

"But I must," he said. "There are… pressing reasons... male reasons."

Well, he wasn't catching me like that. Even if I could have taken it off, I wasn't going to have him waving his enormous thing in my face. "I'm sorry," I said. "You're stuck in that Torsolet for the next two weeks and I can't do anything about it."

His reaction took me totally by surprise. He burst into tears. I took him into my arms again and hugged him, and made, "There. There," noises. Of course, his ginormous breasts were squashing against me, and they really felt quite squashy. I was tempted to lift a hand and give them a squeeze, just to find out what they felt like, but I knew exactly where that would get us. In order to reduce the pressure between our breasts, I arched my back a little, and that's when I had this little electric tingle down below, if you know what I mean. Trying not to gasp, I realised our stomachs were touching each other, and that includes that little mound right at the base of our tummies. Looking into Stevie's face, I could see he felt the same tingle, so I rapidly pushed him away.

"I think it's time I cleaned my teeth," I said. "You need to get into your pyjamas."

"Did you pack me some?" he asked.

Cripes! I suddenly remembered finding the drawer in which Stephanie kept her nightwear. In a fit of devilment, I'd packed several pairs of harem pants and tops. "Yes," I told him. "You'll find them at the bottom of your rucksack."

I grabbed my toilet bag and dashed to the bathroom before he had chance to locate them. There was no lock on the bathroom door, and I'd opened it and stepped inside before I realised it was already occupied.

"Sorry," I said. "I didn't realise..."

I stopped because there wasn't just one girl in there, there were several and at least three of them were totally naked! No wonder Stevie had been in shock when he returned. And no wonder he had taken so long. And particularly no wonder he wanted to get out of the Torsolet and wave his thing at me.

Looking around the bathroom, it was clear that Aunt had had it extensively modified to cater for her dozen female lodgers. There was a communal shower area and communal washbasins, as well as three WC cubicles. No wonder Aunt had objected to my bringing a boy with me!

***

"You were a long time in the bathroom," I said to Stevie a few minutes later as I returned to our bedroom. "I wonder why?"

"Hi, Abigail." He looked both relieved and guilty at the same time. I mean, how weird does that sound?

Fortunately, he seemed quite oblivious of the harem plunge top he was wearing which gave him a fantastic cleavage, and through which I could just discern nipples through the semi-transparent material. Steady, I thought. You are not becoming a lesbian; that would make life in a female dormitory just too complicated. Come on, Abigail; get a grip. "Did it really take you all that time to clean your teeth?" I asked.

"I got chatting to the girls again. They seemed quite oblivious of their nakedness, and I didn't like to show how shocked I was."

"Shocked?" I asked, "or excited."

He grinned at me. "Both, I guess."

I couldn't help but grin back. "Well I guess I got you into this so I've only myself to blame. Just wait until tomorrow. Aunt wants us to dress up in her Victorian clothes and be sketched."

"Great," he said, with a huge smile on his face.

It really was disconcerting, I thought, just how much he was enjoying this. But I had to admit, it was far more fun than if I'd invited Anna.

***

"Aunt! You can't expect us to wear a corset!" I said.

"Of course that's what Harriet expects," Stevie said. "All Victorian women wore corsets so obviously we have to."

I grimaced at Ben. He should be on my side; instead he was merely egging Aunt on.

"They're lovely clothes," Harriet," he continued. "Which ones do you want us to wear first?"

"I've taken a flyer with some of the sizes," she said. "Let's get you both corseted up, and then we'll see which clothes fit you best. I want to sketch you in some normal day wear, as well as dresses suitable for a ball or a party. I thought you could wear those on Easter Day, then I can get several sketches of you both in ballgowns.

"And it's no good you pulling that face, Abby," she said. "Stevie's enjoying it, so I don't see why you shouldn't."

"Let's see how much she enjoys it after we've got our corsets on," I said.

Actually, since Aunt already knew my size, my corset wasn't too bad a fit. Sure it was slightly uncomfortable as it was tightened, but it really did push up my tiny breasts into a quite presentable shape. For once, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to wear a low-cut dress.

Aunt had bought the other clothes for Anna, whom she'd met on one occasion, and had a vague idea of her shape. Correspondingly, Stevie's corset had to be tightened rather more than mine, which I thought was poetic justice. He could hardly whinge when I helped Aunt pull in the cords, and it must have hurt like crazy, but give Stevie his due, he put up with it. It left him with a staggeringly beautiful shape, his waist looked so tiny beneath those huge breasts, quivering out of the top of the corset like party-sized jellies. Jethro would have been driven crazy with lust.

We tried on our day dresses, and I have to say, I looked quite half-decent in mine. Stevie looked a little like Barbara Windsor in one of those Carry On movies, except that his breasts were about twice the size of hers!

"Wonderful," Aunt enthused. "I may have to tone down the size of your breasts, Stevie, when I draw you. The book is for teenagers after all."

"In that case," I quipped, "maybe you should make them even larger."

"I want parents to buy the book to encourage their children," Aunt said. "Not ban them from reading it."

***

Being an artist's model may sound glamourous, but in reality, it's as boring as one of Mr Duncan's Chemistry lessons – except that it goes on for far longer. At least Stevie and I were allowed to talk, as long as we didn't open our mouths too wide or look at each other. It was a bit like one of those old spy movies where they mutter code phrases at each other, whilst pretending they're not having a conversation. The really good thing was that Aunt was sitting some distance away and we could quietly converse without her overhearing.

"Any further forward with The Mystery of the Water in the Dock?" I teased Stevie.

"I've been thinking about it," he said, taking my question perfectly seriously. "You're right of course, that there may be a perfectly innocent explanation for it..."

"There you are," I said.

"...but I'm inclined to think not," he continued as though I hadn't spoken. "Did you notice your aunt didn't try to explain why Jethro was at the dock?"

"She probably doesn't know."

"It's a country village," he said. "Everybody knows everybody else's business. She didn't even say, 'That's strange,' or something like that. No she has a good idea what Jethro is up to."

"What do you think it is?"

He shrugged, and I heard Aunt Harriet hiss with exasperation, as she did with every movement either of us made. "My guess is that it's smuggling," he said. "He brings his boat into that dock to unload something, so smuggling's the obvious answer."

"Alcohol? Drugs?"

"It could be either," he said. "But bearing in mind that it's got to be transported in that Land Rover to Seacombe or beyond, it can't be anything too bulky. My guess is on drugs."

"He could just be supplying the local villagers with cheap booze," I suggested.

"There aren't enough people living here to make it worth his while to do it. It's not even as though there's a pub in the village. But Combehaven has this superb advantage over almost anywhere else in England. It's almost inaccessible, yet it's only a few miles downriver to the sea and then to France. When it was easy to get here, there wasn't much worth coming for. Now you need a 4x4, I bet the police or Customs and Excise never come near. At the same time, the village is dying – you saw all those deserted houses. It must be impossible to sell or rent a house if you want to move away."

You mean," I said, "that the villagers know about the drug smuggling but turn a blind eye to it."

"Precisely. But at the moment we have nothing concrete we could take to the police. We need to get some firm evidence."

"But if my aunt's involved, you can't report her to the police."

"I'm not saying she's involved; just that she's turning a blind eye to it. They can't arrest the whole village. What's really great is they've built up this EFL teaching course. Several people are boarding the students; the shop will do well out of them. If it becomes a regular business, perhaps they won't need to turn a blind eye to smuggling."

"You mean we just let situation work itself out?" I rather hopefully said. I couldn't imagine what my parents would say to me if I got my aunt arrested for drug smuggling. And in spite of the sketching, I rather liked her.

"Of course not," Stevie scoffed. "Besides, I have the bit between the teeth now. I'm going to solve The Mystery of the Water in the Dock."

"Right," I rather hopelessly said."

***

"I think it's time to break for lunch," Aunt said just before midday. "I've got a meeting later on this afternoon, but I would like get in another hour's sketching after lunch, so keep your dresses on, but take care you don't spill anything on them."

By now, I'd resigned myself to wearing Victorian dress for much of the holiday. To be honest, Stevie's enthusiasm was catching, particularly as I really felt quite elegant in the day dress which teenagers would have worn in the nineteenth century. It was a fairly cool April day, and the long-sleeved bodices we were both wearing had been plenty warm enough, even though we'd been sitting still. The corset was quite restricting, but then I've never been any kind of tomboy, so I didn't really mind that. But of one thing I was certain; absolutely no one at school was ever going to hear about this – and I'd mercilessly blackmail Ben to make certain he never told anyone.

So the students at lunch gently teased us about our dress, but I felt several of them were quite envious. Once more, we had a great conversation although I felt Stevie looked a bit embarrassed with some of the girls he'd seen naked the night before. But then, I could hardly blame him; and it was me who'd got him into everything.

It was as we were finishing lunch, and the students were clearing away and stacking the dishwasher that the phone call came in. My aunt went off to take it.

"That was one of our neighbours, Nancy Pennington," she said when she returned, "who lives a mile up-river. She has a Victorian steam launch and she's offered to let me use it in my sketches. It seems that this morning, Larry, her husband, has fired it up and it's now steaming merrily away and is all ready for me to collect. The only problem is that I have a meeting of our village cooperative at three, this afternoon, so I hardly have time to mess around with a steam launch. I'm hoping that you two will be able to help me."

I was starting to pull a dubious face – a steam launch sounded not only quite techy but also an extremely dirty job – but Stevie leapt into the challenge. "Of course, Harriet. We'd love to do it, wouldn't we, Abigail?"

"Well, I…"

"That's great," Aunt said before I could raise my objections. "I'll run you over there in the boat, and you can then come back in your own time."

"But don't we need to change out of our dresses?" I said. "We don't want to mess them up."

"Nancy says it's not at all messy. We haven't got much time so come as you are."

So, less than ten minutes later, we were in Aunt's motorboat and moving out of her boathouse into the River Combe, and heading upstream. We looked an incongruous group – two elegant looking Victorian teenagers and a middle-aged woman in jeans and anorak.

When I'd first arrived at SIGHS and Aunt had told me she had a boat, I'd dreamt of a fabulous speedboat. Instead it was a crummy little thing with a puny outboard motor, which travelled at about two miles an hour – in the reverse direction if the tide was against us! Fortunately, that afternoon, it was running in our favour so it only took us an eternity to arrive at the Pennington's and we had plenty of time for conversation with my aunt.

"How often does your committee meet?" I asked her, and Stevie gave me a tiny nod, as though I'd said something he approved of, rather than me just having a chat, which is what I was actually doing.

"It's normally every week," Aunt said. "We meet in the schoolhouse so Mrs Starkey lets the students go early."

"Every week!" Stevie said. "I wouldn't have thought there was that much to talk about."

Aunt appeared flustered by his question. "Well it's mainly about coordinating the departure and arrival of the girls. Everyone's boarding at least a couple of students; I have the most with twelve, so we all need to know. Then simply shipping them in and out of the place is a bit of a nightmare, and it's not just the bumpy track. Seacombe isn't well served by long distance coach transport and rail is too expensive. So Mrs Starkey drives the Land Rover up to London and drops half a dozen students at Heathrow Airport, whilst Jethro hires a the large minibus and drives to Birmingham, then on to Leeds and Manchester."

"So Jethro is part of your cooperative," Stevie said.

"Everybody in the village is," Aunt said. "Being so much younger than most of us makes Jethro extremely useful."

So there it was. No wonder Aunt had stood up for Jethro; he was essential to the co-op, and hence the village's future. "Presumably, Aunt," I said, deciding to change the subject, "they pick up the next set of students as they go."

"Well, no," she replied. "We're not yet running courses end to end, so there's a break of a few days before the next lot arrive. Maybe later on, but at the moment we're trying not to run before we can walk."

"So Jethro must be gone for a couple of days," Stevie said. I could see what he was thinking; with Jethro out of the way, we'd be able to explore the boatyard at leisure.

"No." Aunt shook her head. "No, he does the whole trip in one day. He sets out very early in the morning and gets back late at night, so you may sometimes hear the Land Rover being driven at weird times of the night, but it's nothing to worry about." She pointed to a mansion house on a hill above the river, some distance away. "That's the Pennington's place up there."

It was a fabulous place – one of those classical Palladian style mansions with columns. On the riverside, below, was a superb matching boathouse, clearly our destination.

Aunt Harriet told us a little about the famous author who'd once lived there, and how there was now a little museum in her name. (Read Unconsummated Love if you want to learn more about her and the events which recently went on there.)

Eventually, we arrived at the boathouse and Aunt steered the boat straight inside. It was full of smoke and we all started to cough a little.

"Hmm," Aunt muttered. "I never thought about smoke on your clothes. Never mind. You can see why I was so pleased Nancy offered to loan us the steam launch."

"It's super, Harriet," Stevie said, admiring the lovely old boat. "All that polished brass. It really looks quite appropriate for two elegant Victorian ladies."

"You'd better go off and see if you can find Nancy or Larry," Aunt said. "I have to head straight back to Combehaven or I'll miss the start of my meeting. Keep out of the smoke as much as you can."

We barely had time to get out of the boat onto the boardwalk before she was pushing off and heading back downriver.

"Let's walk up to the house," Stevie said. "Presumably we'll meet up with Mr and Mrs Pennington there."

In fact, Mr Pennington (call me Larry) had seen us arrive and was already walking down the path from the house.

"Welcome, welcome," he called to us in a broad American accent. "You two beautiful ladies must be Abby and Stevie. Now which is which?"

So we introduced ourselves. Once again, a male's eyes were drawn like magnets straight to Stevie's breasts pushing out the top of her dress. How stupid men were! Except that Ben had said I had the perfect figure!

Larry wanted to show us around the museum, and no doubt would like to have extended it to an overnight stay with Stevie sharing his bed! We said we had to get back fairly promptly so he walked with us back down to the boathouse and showed Stevie the controls of the steam launch.

Stevie seemed to make quite a meal of it all. After Larry had explained everything at least three times over for Stevie's benefit, I felt that even I could manage it, but Stevie went on about whether we needed to oil it or grease it or whatever.

Of course, Larry was only too happy to peer down Stevie's cleavage whilst muttering about the engine.

After about twenty minutes of wasted time, we were finally leaving the boathouse.

"Did you have to go through everything ten times over?" I pointedly asked.

"Sorry about that," he said, "but I wanted to give Harriet plenty of time to head back to Combehaven. Otherwise, with the speed that boat was going, we'd have caught up with her straightaway."

"Is that a problem?" I asked.

"Of course." He looked at me as though I'd asked a stupid question, and then went on, "It was so clever of you to get her to tell us that Jethro is on the committee, and so will be at the meeting this afternoon."

"You mean... You mean you want to go to the boatyard this afternoon?" After what happened last time, I couldn't believe he'd even suggest such a stupid thing.

"Of course. We can take the steam launch right up to it, moor there and wander all around without even having to open those gates - Jethro has probably locked them, anyhow."

"But what if he catches us again?"

"Well, he's not going to, is he? He'll be at the meeting which starts at three. He won't be back before four. Even if he is, we'll hear him opening the gate and do a bunk."

"But we promised Aunt we wouldn't go there again."

"No. We promised we wouldn't go past the Danger sign. Well, we're not going to."

"But... But..."

"But nothing. Don't be such a wimp, Abigail. You can stay in the boat if you're really frightened."