The Pirate Princess and the Golden Locket

By Suzanne Lowe

The Pirate Princess and the Golden Locket is an exciting adventure story for 6-11-year-old children.

The story follows Lotty; an adventurous orphan whose life is suddenly about to change forever.

When on her twelfth birthday, Lotty is unexpectantly cast out from the Sevenoaks Home for Children, she befriends a cheeky

• Language: English
• Publisher: Silvergum publishing
• Release date: Sep 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9780648390817

Suzanne Lowe

Suzanne was born in Perth Western Australia and as a young adult grew up in the small country town of Tom Price situated in the outback of Western Australia. Having an adventurous spirit, Suzanne has had the opportunity to experience many exciting adventures including swimming with Whale Sharks on Ningaloo Reef in Australia, climbing to Mt Everest base camp, descending into one of the pyramids at Giza in Egypt, flying in a hot air balloon over the Valley of the Kings, parachuting from a plane at 12000 feet in York, standing on the edge of an active volcano on Tanna Island in Vanuatu, getting up close with Emperor penguins in Antarctica, and sitting with snow monkeys in the hot springs of Yamanouchi, Japan! She is a member of the International Travel Writer's Alliance, Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators, Australian Society of Authors, and the Australian Science Fiction Society.In 2024 Suzanne produced the Australian feature film The Canary with Salt and Honey Productions and Silvergum Creative.You can connect with Suzanne at www.suzanneloweauthor.comTwitter: @suzanne_lowe_Instagram: www.instagram.com/suzannelowe.author/Facebook: www.facebook.com/suzanneloweauthor/

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

SEVENOAKS HOME FOR CHILDREN

I woke with a jolt, my heart hammering in my chest like a wild bird trying to escape. I felt alone and afraid. It must be early morning because it was still dark and the air felt cold. Quickly darting my eyes from side to side, I realised with relief that I was still in my bed. I could hear the others breathing rhythmically. Nobody else was awake. Sitting up slowly, feeling a little unsettled, I hugged my knees in tightly to my chest shivering in the crisp morning air. I'd had that same strange dream again - the one where I hear screams and gunfire. Even though I knew it was only a dream, it felt so real. I hugged my knees tighter. What did it mean? I'd had the same dream four times now and all in the last month. Maybe I was going mad! Why did I keep dreaming the same thing?

My name is Charlotte, and I'm an orphan. I live in a dark, musty dump of a place called Sevenoaks Home for Children. Not much of a home if you ask me. There's nothing ‘homey’ about it what-so-ever. I'll give you a few examples. First off, we have to share beds. Not a room, that would be okay. I mean actual beds. I share a bed with three other girls. Also, we’re only allowed a luke-warm bath twice a week, and that's after several others have been in it before you, leaving the water a murky grey colour. Not nice. Every day, instead of going to school, we are put to work cleaning, sewing or weeding the garden for most of the daylight hours and get fed limp old vegetables and stale bread for our efforts. Not my idea of home. I bet you don't have to share a bed or get fed stale food in your home, do you?

To be honest, I don't mind the sewing, but I really, really hate and detest the weeding. There are these tremendously big blackberry bushes with huge thorns that grow around the edges of the yard. Every few days, we take it in turns to crawl under the bushes, trying not to get spiked, while we pull up these obnoxious weeds that grow underneath. The weeds look so cute with their little green leaves and delicate yellow pom-pom flowers but don't let that fool you. They also have these teeny-weeny little prickles on their stems that you can hardly see, until you've got one lodged in your hand. Then, you really know about it because they sting like mad and itch for days afterwards. Don't even think about complaining about it because you will just get laughed at and sent right back out to the garden and the blackberry bushes again. I know, I tried it.

I’ve been here since I was two years old. At least, I think I was two. No one can tell me for sure because I'm the oldest child here. I was dumped here when Sevenoaks first started and was the only child for quite a few months. That was a very lonely time. As much as some of the other children annoy me, I'd rather have them here than be stuck in this place with only Miss Thumble for company again. She’s our house-mistress and guardian. By the way, it's my birthday tomorrow. The eleventh of June and I’ll be twelve-years-old. So, I’ve been here for ten years! Wow, aren’t I lucky! I don’t think I’ll be getting breakfast in bed tomorrow morning, and most likely I won’t have a birthday cake either!

I don’t know how I got here. I can't remember what my mother or father looked like, or what happened to them. Just that my mother was warm and soft to cuddle into when I had fallen over or hurt myself, and that my father had a deep joyful laugh and was always happy. As far as I can work out, they must have died, and someone brought me here to Sevenoaks. I often wonder about them, but it's been such a long time since I've seen them, that I have learned to live without their company. I do worry that our years apart will start to fade the little memories that I have of them and I don't want that to happen. Luckily for me, I have one small keepsake from my parents which I like to hold whenever I'm feeling sad. It's a little golden heart-shaped locket. All around the edges are delicate flowers that have been engraved into the metal, and in the very centre is the letter C for Charlotte. The locket is quite worn, and the clasp is broken. However, it's all I've got left of them, so it's very precious to me. I keep it hidden under my pillow.

Several times I’ve tried to talk to Miss Thumble about my family. She either ignores me or yells at me to get back to work, usually to do the weeding! Miss Thumble is not a very nice person. Of course, she's all charm and kindness when the governor of our town comes to visit once a month. She puts on her coloured bead necklace and a modest dress and is all, "Would you get this please, Lotty," and "Thank you, dearest Lotty." I try not to laugh because it's all so obviously fake.

Her niceness doesn't last long though and as soon as the governor has taken one step out our front door, well, then she's back to her usual old self, yelling and screaming and being as mean as she can to whoever is unfortunate enough to get in her way. I've learned to avoid her as much as possible.

Laying back down on my bed trying not to disturb the others, I close my eyes and listen to the sounds around me. I can hear Berty snoring loudly in the bed a few down from mine. He's only six-years-old but already a real troublemaker. If Berty can work out a way to get others into trouble while making himself look good, he will.

Last week the rascal moved a large bucket of glue I had been using to mend the wallpaper, right into the path of Miss Thumble as she was walking along with her afternoon cup of tea. Before I realised what Berty had done and could mend the situation, he quickly scampered away. Meanwhile, Miss Thumble had walked straight down the stairs and into the bucket of glue! Her rather large, wobbly bottom flew up into the air, sending her cup of tea crashing down on top of her.

Miss Thumble sat glaring at me with her small, mean eyes before launching into a tirade of screams. Her face turned purple just like a beetroot as her voice grew louder and louder. I stared dumbly at her not daring to move. My mouth hung open in dismay, as I sat there rooted to the spot. I knew she thought I was the culprit of the prank and I should have said something, but I felt just like a mouse about to be pounced on by a cat. Of course, just at that moment Berty came waltzing up with bucket and mop in his hands like a little angel, asking if she needed any assistance. I glared angrily at him. My mouth closed into a line of resentment. Miss Thumble slowly pushed herself up from the floor and pointed her fat finger at me. You, she sneered ominously, go wait outside my office!

My punishment for Berty’s little prank was to go without dinner that night and extra weeding duty for the rest of the week. Meanwhile, Berty the real troublemaker was rewarded with an extra serving of food for helping to clean up the mess I had caused! Not that I wanted an extra helping of stewed cabbage anyway, but it irked me all the same.

As I look over to the other side of the room, I can see Rachel, Patty, and Estelle sharing one of the additional beds. They are all squished together, trying not to fall off the sides. Estelle is my best friend. Even though she is two years younger than me, we get along exceptionally well. She has a crazy sense of humour and is always cheerful, just the sort of person you need to have around in a place like this.

Estelle only came to Sevenoaks at the beginning of last year. Both of her parents had died of some horrible disease, typhoid I think it was, and her only living relative, an aunt, had refused to take her in. So, off to Sevenoaks she was sent, and although it may be selfish, I'm so glad she's here. I like her a lot.

I'll always remember the first day she arrived. I'd been out weeding in the blackberry bushes as usual. I think Miss Thumble takes great pleasure in sending me there, and I was covered in purple juice and scratches from the sharp branches. As I walked