Ivy: Daughter of Alice

by J. A. Armitage

  “You can’t jump ahead,” Miss. Crispin insisted, barely glancing at me. “Take a ticket and wait.”

  The man smiled. “Exactly. I’m next.”

  “Now, hold on,” Audrey said. “This is Inspector Rowntree.”

  “Who cares?” the man said, but Miss. Crispin’s eyes widened as she shot a look at Audrey.

  “An inspector? Here?” Miss. Crispin asked.

  “As you see,” Audrey replied, a smug note to her voice

  “I’ve come to inspect the premises. Will you give me a tour?” I asked.

  Miss. Crispin paused, then pushed the door open with one hand. Before I stepped through it, another woman came out with a bandage around her elbow.

  She saw Audrey. “I want my Dinah,” she said, without a word of greeting.

  Audrey huffed. “Come with me,” she strode back to the desk and dropped several coins into the woman’s outstretched hand.

  “Inspector Rowntree? Please?” Miss. Crispin led the way through the doorway into a long hallway.

  I took out my checklist as I followed Miss. Crispin. “Is there another entrance?” I asked. “For vampires?”

  Miss. Crispin frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

  I motioned a hand toward the now closed door. “There aren’t any vampires in the waiting room. Do you segregate those people giving blood from those… err, receiving it?”

  Miss. Crispin arched an eyebrow. “You must ask Miss Dixon.”

  I pursed my lips, then pointed to the spatters of blood on her front. “Don’t you have spare coats, in case of spills?”

  Miss. Crispin looked down, then crossed her arms over her chest, attempting—unsuccessfully—to cover up the stains. I made a mark on my list. Her eyes darted across the page as though to read it, but I quickly covered it up with one hand.

  “This a public hallway?” I raised my eyebrows as I used one gloved finger to slide across the length of a side table. My fingertip came away brown with dust. I looked around the hallway critically, taking my time, while Miss. Crispin fidgeted. “Please, show me your deposit rooms.”

  Miss. Crispin opened a door leading off from the hallway. The small room was empty, except for a lamp that cast a dim light over a table and a single chair. The table was dented and scratched. A dribble of blood was visible on the table leg.

  “This is a working blood bank, Inspector Rowntree—an operational room, not a sitting room,” Miss. Crispin said. I glanced at her, surprised by the sharpness of her tone. “I hope you’ll take that into consideration in your report.”

  “I take all factors into consideration,” I replied, meeting her stare with one of my own.

  Miss. Crispin crossed her arms over her chest again, hesitating a moment before she spoke. “While it’s not my place to tell you about the operation of the blood bank, I know that there is only one entrance. It’s too early for vampires to be out. The sunlight,” she added.

  Of course.

  “I appreciate your cooperation.” I smiled and stepped closer to her, as though sharing a secret. “Tell me—and this is not for my report—have you had a sufficient supply recently? Is there enough blood to match demand?”

  “You saw the crowd in the waiting room,” Miss Crispin replied. “It’s always like that. Selling blood is easy Dinah. For these people, it’s their main source of revenue. We have a lot of regulars.”

  “Do you ever turn business away?”

  “We value blood donations, Inspector.”

  I smiled. “Of course. I meant, do you run out of stock? Do you turn away the, err, buyers?”

  Miss. Crispin shook her head. “Of course not. We have stockpiles—shall I show you?”

  She led me down a set of stairs into a large, cool basement, where wooden crates were stacked to the ceiling. I removed the lid of the nearest one—it was full of packets of blood, preserved on ice.

  “These are all the same?” I motioned to the rest of the crates. Miss. Crispin nodded.

  “You never run out of blood?” I asked. Miss. Crispin shook her head. “Have you had much business recently? From buyers?”

  Miss. Crispin’s eyes darted back up the stairs. “About usual.”

  “Any dissatisfaction about the product? From the vampires?”

  This time, Miss. Crispin frowned. “Dissatisfaction? I shouldn’t think so. Blood is blood. I’ve never heard… No,” she replied firmly. Then she caught my eye. “Have you heard different?”

  “I cannot disclose such things,” I said, but I gave my head a little shake for her benefit. She appeared relieved. Still, her answers gave me pause. The baker had sworn to seeing hungry vampires coming out of this blood bank, but there were plenty of people here donating blood. Perhaps he’d been mistaken? Nothing here appeared unusual.

  “Would you like to see the other rooms?”

  I shook my head, then remembered the other rumors the baker had mentioned. “Have you heard anything about a white rabbit?”

  Miss Crispin raised both eyebrows in astonishment. She didn’t need to answer my question—I knew the look on her face was genuine. I took my checklist, and for her benefit, I screwed it into a ball. “Thank you, Miss. Crispin. Would you mind showing me out?”

  When I entered the Emporium, Chesh was showing one of his favorite items to a young lady and her fiancée. I paused in the doorway, watching Chesh’s eyes light up as he draped the necklace around the young lady’s neck, then pressed a button.

  The necklace lit up, and the jewels reflected the interior light so that it bounced all over the store. The young lady gasped. Her fiancée gave an exclamation of surprise, then leaned closer to examine it.

  “I must have it,” the lady said, batting her eyelids demurely. “I’ll be the talk of the city if I turn up to our engagement party wearing this necklace.”

  “There is just one tiny issue,” Chesh admitted. “The necklace needs an electrical current to run the light, I’m afraid. It’s not very portable.”

  “Does that mean I won’t be able to dance?” the young lady asked.

  “If I’m excused from a dozen dances, it’d be worth the price,” her fiancée joked.

  The young woman shot him a glare. Then her mouth formed an O, and she fanned herself, hopping up and down on one foot. “Get it off, get it off!”

  Chesh banged a fist on the button, and the light immediately disappeared. “It gets hot, too…” he admitted as he ripped the necklace from her.

  The couple strode out of the shop without a backward glance, as the young lady rubbed at her décolletage.

  Chesh sighed as he set the necklace back in its cabinet. He shrugged when he saw me. “I’ll find the right buyer one day.”

  “Hopefully, one who is impervious to burns,” I replied, “until you stop it overheating.”

  Chesh wagged a finger at me. “It’ll work. Then every woman will line up to buy one.” He reached for my hand and pressed a kiss to my knuckles, then winked. “Don’t rush off, I’ve other things to show you.”

  “An automatic hairbrush?” I remembered the device he’d demonstrated a week before—it had started well, but one brush slipped out of alignment, leaving the mannequin’s hair in a dreadful tangle. “Or perhaps a mechanized nose clipper? Or the machine for tying bootlaces?” I struggled to keep the smile from my face as I thought about other demonstrations of Chesh’s inventions that hadn’t worked.

  “Laugh all you like—one day, my inventions will be famous. Everyone will want one. They’ll admit me to the Guild, for sure.”

  I laughed, nodding my head. Even though I mocked my friend, I knew he was talented, creative, and determined. I really believed he would invent something that people would line up outside his shop to buy. He just hadn’t managed it yet.

  Chesh put a hand on my elbow and led me toward the back of the shop. “I’ve been working on something new. Something amazing.”

  “I’ve heard that before,” I said, flashing him a smile.

  Chesh smiled back, unfazed. “This
time,” he winked. He crouched next to a strange-looking machine. It stood almost as tall as me, with a metal plate on the floor, big enough for a person to stand on, with a pole sticking up from it, and handlebars at about my shoulder height. He put on a pair of goggles. “Allow me to demonstrate,” he said and flicked a switch.

  The machine whirred into life, rattling, shaking, and hissing. It rocked as a gust of air shot out of the bottom of the plate. The hissing and humming were so loud, it blocked out all other sound. I had to stop myself from putting my hands over my ears.

  Chesh grinned up at me from where he crouched next to the machine, his eyes large beneath the goggles that obscured half his face.

  “See? It lifts off the ground—it’s flying!” he yelled above the noise. I crouched down to see underneath. Sure enough, the machine was hovering about half a handspan in the air. Now launched, it seemed slightly more stable, with less rocking and rattling.

  “What’s it for?” I asked.

  Chesh wiggled his eyebrows as he stood, taking the handle of the machine with both hands. “Watch.”

  He put one foot on the metal plate, pressing down and testing his weight.

  “Be careful,” I warned.

  Chesh rolled his eyes. He pushed off the ground and put all his weight onto the metal plate.

  I held my breath. A moment passed, and Chesh’s smile widened. “I’m flying!” He punched one fist into the air.

  The hum of the engine became a whine, then a loud bang ricocheted through the shop, and a cloud of black smoke billowed from under the footplate. I put a hand over my mouth and nose as the machine lurched sideways to throw Chesh to the floor. He landed, hard, while the machine skittered across the room to crash into his tool bench.

  Chesh groaned, ripping off his goggles as he sat up and stared reproachfully at the machine.

  “Maybe the next one will be a winner,” I said, offering him a hand to help him to his feet.

  Chesh ran a hand through his hair. “All it needs are a few minor adjustments.”

  I looked doubtfully at the parts bent by the impact. “Want me to have a look?”

  Though my specialty, and my interest, ran to clockwork, I had a knack for anything with moving parts. They made sense to me. I seemed to be able to look at a machine and know what was wrong with it, or what small adjustment would make it work properly. I could never describe exactly how I understood machines, but I did.

  Chesh gave me a glare. “And have you and your magical talents claiming all the credit? No, thank you.”

  “It’s nothing to do with magic,” I retorted. “It’s just—”

  “A knack,” Chesh finished my sentence for me. “I know. You and machines just understand each other. Honestly, Ivy, if you devoted as much attention to the people in your life as you do to your clocks, you might understand them a little more. You might even have some friends.”

  I blushed and turned away from Chesh so he wouldn’t see the red in my cheeks. He was right, though. Machines were logical. They made sense. People did not. Not to me, anyway. “I have friends,” I protested. “You. Pearl.”

  Chesh chuckled and grabbed his coat and hat. “I think it’s about time for a visit to The Tea Party, don’t you?” he asked, as he slid his coat over his shoulders. “I hear it’s got something fun happening tonight. Plus, it has the best cocktails in town.”

  I picked up my top hat. “How can I say no to that?”

  Chesh stopped underneath a sign that read: The Tea Party. As the door swung open, I heard muffled conversations, laughter, the clinking of glasses, a shuffling of feet, and the scrape of chairs on the wooden floor. A bell rang.

  “New partners!”

  A deep voice rang out over the noise. As I stepped through the doorway, everyone in the room stood up and moved one place to their left before taking a seat again. As a result, they all sat with a new partner. Glasses clinked again as the new partners greeted each other.

  Waiters in white waistcoats rushed around with teapots, pouring liquid into teacups that ran low.

  Chesh leaned over to me. “The Tea Party hosts the greatest tea parties. There’s no telling when it will start or stop—the last one went for fifteen hours straight—but everyone’s invited!”

  I watched a waiter pouring a pink liquid into a teacup. “What sort of tea is that?”

  “Not tea at all,” Chesh replied. “What would be the fun in that?” Chesh lifted a hand to get the attention of the barman. The barman nodded, clicked his fingers once, and a waiter hurried over to place two chairs at the end of the long table.

  “Dirty flamingo,” Chesh said, ordering my favorite cocktail as he held up two fingers. He pulled out the nearest chair for me to sit down.

  The pink liquid had barely hit my cup when the bell sounded again.

  “New partners!”

  The person next to me hauled me to my feet and moved into my chair.

  Chesh moved in the other direction. “See you next time!” he winked, then found himself seated in front of a blonde beauty. He leaned over to kiss her hand, then raised his glass in a toast—no doubt, to her beauty—as he gave her his full attention. Chesh had an eye for beautiful ladies, and they for him. He would probably break a few hearts tonight. Chesh understood people. He knew what to say. He charmed everyone. I could never understand how he made instant friends with almost everyone he met.

  I was tense in my seat, gripping my teacup of dirty flamingo. An older gentleman with a red nose sat in front of me. He raised his cup to me, then tipped it back and drained it, holding up a hand until the waiter hurried over to refill it. I searched around for something to say, but my mind remained blank. I took a gulp of my drink.

  “How long have you been here, then?” he said, slurring his words slightly.

  “I’ve just arrived,” I replied, relishing the first mouthful of the fiery liquid as it tore down my throat.

  “A newcomer!” His eyes lit up in delight, and he held out his hand to shake mine. “I’m Mr. Bellacott. I’ve been here for…,” he fumbled with his pocket watch, squinting at it. “Eight hours and thirteen minutes. Splendid. I’m determined to break the record. So many fall over, you know, but I won’t be one of them.” He pointed at the side of the room, where I saw several people passed out on benches.

  “Are they all right?”

  Mr. Bellacott waved a hand in dismissal. “They will be once they’ve had a nap. They won’t claim the title, though. This tea party goes on only as long as one initial member remains. It’s between me and that fellow over there.” Mr. Bellacott pointed to a tall man with a long face. “Once both of us fall over, or leave, the party’s finished. The last one standing has naming rights for the event—and the honor of it, if the party breaks a record. Bellacott’s Biggest Tea Party has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Only…—Mr. Bellacott consulted his watch again—“err, five…, no six hours and forty… forty-seven minutes to go!” He snapped his pocket watch closed and tucked it into the pocket of his vest, just as the barman rang the bell again.

  I found myself hoisted to my feet by the person to my right. I turned to glare at him as I sat down opposite a young woman with black, curly hair. I lifted my glass.

  “Got your eye on anyone?” she asked, leaning forward as she looked along the table.

  I shook my head. “I’ve only just arrived,” I replied, as I glanced over to see Chesh seated opposite a busty brunette who was laughing at one of his jokes.

  “I have,” she stared longingly at the other end of the table, “but he’s gone past. It’ll be ages until I sit with him again.” She sighed.

  I sipped my dirty flamingo as I searched around for another topic of conversation. A thought popped into my head and I blurted it out without thinking: “Have you ever met any vampires?”

  Her eyebrows shot up as she spat out a mouthful of liquid. “Certainly not. Why would you ask such a thing?”

  “Just curious,” I said, taking another sip “No vampires here tonight, th
en?”

  She looked around, suddenly alarmed. “I haven’t seen any. Do vampires often frequent this bar?”

  I shrugged. “Not in particular, but they’re creatures of the night.”

  The woman pursed her lips, shooting a worried glance over her shoulder, as though a vampire might be looming there.

  The bell rang before I had to make any further conversation.

  As the tea party progressed, I sat across from three more gentlemen and a lady, before finding the place opposite me empty.

  Instead, a tall glass of dirty flamingo—exactly the way I like to drink it—sat in front of me. A small card was tucked underneath. In elegant handwriting, the card said: We choose our future.

  On the back of the card, there was a motif of a white rabbit. The same motif that I’d seen before. My mouth went dry. I waved a hand at the closest waiter.

  “Who left this?” I asked, pointing at the glass.

  The waiter blinked. “I’m sorry, Miss.?”

  I repeated my question, but the waiter shook his head, pleading ignorance. “You might lose your place on the table,” he warned me, as I stood up.

  I shrugged, picking up my glass, and moved towards the barman with his hand on the bell.

  “Excuse me?” I raised my voice to be heard over the din.

  The barman raising one eyebrow at me. “A problem with your drink?”

  I shook my head. “Someone left it for me, but I didn’t see who. There was just an empty chair and a card underneath it.”

  The barman glanced at me briefly before ringing the bell. Everyone stood and moved along one place, before chinking glasses and starting new conversations.

  “Did you see who left it?” I asked the barman.

  “I might have,” he replied. A waiter appeared at my elbow, putting an empty teapot on the bar. The barman handed a full one to the waiter who hurried away again. “I don’t suppose it matters if I tell you—he didn’t swear me to secrecy.”

  “Who didn’t?”

  “Raven.”

  I blinked. “Raven?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Is Raven associated with the white rabbit?”