by Caleb Krisp
“You had no right to wear what doesn’t belong to you,” bellowed Matilda.
“The Duchess of Trinity said that I could,” I told her, feeling the moment was right for some serious lying. “In fact, that dear, sweet, potbellied dingbat positively insisted. She was very particular when it came to the Clock Diamond.”
“I am rather stunned that she wished to give Matilda such a valuable gift,” said Lady Elizabeth shrewdly. “We were not exactly friends these past sixty years. It is most unexpected.”
I retrieved the Duchess’s letter from my bag and handed it to Lady Elizabeth. “I have a feeling she wished to make peace with you.”
“Hush,” snapped Walnut Head. She read the note, and I saw the fire in her eyes dim just slightly. She muttered softly, “Well, well, old friend . . .”
“It’s just so tragic,” said Lady Amelia gravely, “what happened to the Duchess.”
Matilda’s face clouded over. “I’m not sure I want a necklace from a dead woman.”
“Claptrap!” barked Lady Elizabeth. “The Duchess was rich and friendless, it’s no wonder someone put a knife in her chest.”
“Do you have any idea who killed her, Miss Pocket?” said Miss Frost rather suddenly. She had the book of poetry open in front of her. “She was murdered very soon after giving you the necklace, was she not?”
“Yes, dear,” I said. “The whole business is terribly mysterious. Lunatics left, right, and center. And as the Duchess’s messenger, I feel a great sense of responsibility to her memory.” I sighed mournfully. “I was the last person to see her alive.”
Miss Frost slammed the book shut. “I would imagine the killer was the last person to see her alive.”
Then she excused herself and stalked from the library.
“Well, I don’t think it’s fair,” muttered Matilda, throwing a cushion at the cat. “Why should I have to wait until my birthday to get the necklace? That’s not for five whole days!”
“That is not the worst part,” said her grandmother. “We are to be stuck with Miss Pocket for five whole days.” She looked at me hopefully. “Unless you have somewhere else to be?”
“Heavens no,” I said. “I’m soon to come into a fortune. Until then, I’m free as a bird.”
Rebecca picked up my carpetbag and said, “Ivy must be exhausted, and I’m sure she wishes to freshen up. I’ll show her up to the guest bedroom.”
Which was thrilling.
“Certainly not!” cried old Walnut Head in outrage. “Put her in the attic. Miss Pocket may be our guest, but she is not one of us. She is a maid, and maids do not sleep in guest bedrooms.”
And with that, she turned her back and returned to her chair by the window.
Beastly bag of bones!
The attic was tucked away in the east wing—up the main stairs, across a landing, down a long hallway, and up three more flights of rickety back stairs. Finally I was led into a dimly lit corridor. Frightfully narrow. A door on either side. I was informed that the narrow staircase at the far end led up to the roof.
My bedroom was plain. Wood floors. Sloping ceilings. Whitewashed walls. Jug and basin. Little window overlooking the schoolhouse. Which was a blessing. I had no tolerance for comfy chairs, pretty curtains, or comfortable beds. The room across the hall was apparently a dusty chamber used to store the costumes and props from Lady Amelia’s theatricals. So I was quite alone.
I washed my face, changed my dress, and went to explore the house. But not before sewing the Clock Diamond into the pocket of my new dress. I felt it was probably best that I kept the stone with me at all times.
I stood at the banister of the first-floor landing and looked down—a maid or two hurried past, carrying brooms and mops. Then my eyes were drawn by the radiant chandelier suspended above the great hall. Could that be just the place to hide the necklace? If only I had a ladder.
Footsteps clicked rapidly down the hall to my left. I heard a door open. Being naturally curious, I tilted my head and peered down the vast corridor—just as a girl slipped into a doorway at the far end. The door shut quietly. I thought it was Rebecca.
Only one way to find out.
“Rebecca?” I knocked gently on the door.
Nothing.
“Anybody there?”
I heard movement on the other side. Shuffling of feet.
The door opened. Just a crack.
“Yes?” It was Rebecca. She looked guilty. Or scared. Or something.
“Is this your bedroom, dear?” I asked.
She nodded. It was clear she had no intention of inviting me in.
“I have a dreadful problem,” I said. “As you know, I’m soon to have five hundred pounds. Which means I will need to smarten up my bedroom. And I was very much hoping you would let me see yours, dear. You know, as inspiration and whatnot.”
“It’s awfully messy, Ivy,” she said. “Perhaps some other time.”
“Oh, don’t worry about the mess,” I said brightly, putting my hand on the door and pushing just a little. Well, I tried to. Rebecca had her foot wedged against the other side. “If you like, I’ll help you clean up. I’m an excellent duster.”
Rebecca shook her head. Then she opened the door just enough to squeeze herself through and slipped out into the corridor. The door closed behind her before I could catch more than a glimpse inside. She then took a key—threaded on a ribbon around her wrist—and locked the door. Which I thought was rather excessive.
“It’s such a lovely afternoon,” she said. “Why don’t I take you outside and show you the schoolhouse? It used to be Lady Elizabeth’s summerhouse, but now it’s where Matilda and I have our lessons. It’s really very pretty.”
Before I had a chance to protest, Rebecca led me quickly down the hallway.
We made our way along a path beside a blooming avenue of yellow tulips, which led directly to the schoolhouse. The building was white, with a thatched roof and lattice windows. Terribly fetching. Miss Frost passed us, carrying a large dictionary and hurrying towards the schoolhouse. She stopped and directed her attention to Rebecca.
“Class commences in ten minutes,” she said crisply. “You have completed your book report?”
“It is nearly done, Miss Frost,” said Rebecca rather meekly. “If you will just give me a little more time . . .”
“Oh, Rebecca,” said Miss Frost with a sigh. “You have only been my pupil for a few days, and already you are behind. I am certain you are a bright girl with great potential, but I cannot think what you do all day, locked up in your room.” Miss Frost’s gaze softened. “Will you promise to try harder?”
“Yes, Miss Frost,” came the faint reply.
“It’s my fault, dear,” I said, giving Miss Frost a congenial slap on the arm. “Rebecca was hunched over her report when I found her. I practically begged her to show me the gardens. I cried. Hit my head against the wall. All sorts of madness. So you see, it’s really my fault, not hers.”
To my surprise, Miss Frost didn’t bite my head off. In fact, her freckled frown faded and she laughed lightly. “You have a way with words, Miss Pocket. I don’t know that I believe any of it, but it is most entertaining.”
I huffed. The nerve!
Miss Frost looked back at Rebecca. “You have eight minutes to finish your report,” she said, pointing to the schoolhouse. “I suggest you hurry along.”
“Yes, Miss Frost,” said Rebecca, making a hasty retreat.
When we were alone, Miss Frost quickly turned her attention to more serious matters.
“I have no business saying this,” she said, her eyes falling intently onto mine, “but I am worried, Miss Pocket.”
“What about?” I said.
“The diamond. I read a great deal—it is rather a habit of mine—and I have learned something of the Clock Diamond’s history. It is dark, indeed. Have you . . . has there been any trouble since the stone came into your care?”
“Not really,” I said brightly. “The odd break-in and whatnot. A darling old lawye
r in London thinks differently—he sees danger around every corner—but I have kept the necklace perfectly safe.”
“I have heard there is a vault here at the house,” said Miss Frost. “I am sure Lady Elizabeth would let you keep the diamond there until Matilda’s birthday.” She patted down her dazzling red hair. “It is just a thought.”
“There’s no need for that,” I said. “I keep the stone with me at all times.”
“That is very unwise,” declared Miss Frost, her face hardening. “In the last few weeks there have been several brazen robberies in the county. Lady Francesca’s daughter was hit in the head and had her gold watch stolen as she walked home from church. Furthermore, people in possession of the Clock Diamond have a habit of dying rather violently. You would do well to remember that.”
I sighed. “I suppose you think the diamond is cursed?”
“There is no such thing as a curse,” said Miss Frost tersely. “Where the Clock Diamond originated, no one knows. Few people have even laid eyes on it. But I have read that once they do, they find the stone very hard to resist.” She looked awfully grim! “Do you agree, Miss Pocket?”
“Not at all, dear. The necklace didn’t tempt me for a moment. And as for someone stealing it, fear not—I will take your advice and find a suitable hiding spot.”
“I am glad to hear it.” Funny, though, she didn’t looked terribly pleased—and I knew why. This wasn’t about some silly diamond.
“Forgive me,” I said, taking Miss Frost’s hand in mine, “but I can see from the pinched look upon your face that you have a heavy heart.”
She looked startled. Just for a moment. Then it passed, and Miss Frost smiled as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “Do I?”
“You mustn’t be embarrassed,” I told her. “Spinsterhood is no great crime.”
She frowned, pulled her hand away. “I beg your pardon?”
“Spinsterhood.” I said it slowly so she would understand my meaning. “You find yourself without prospects—heartbreakingly grim and monstrously unattached. This sort of thing is terribly common among book-loving, sour-faced governesses, so you are not alone. Do not give up hope! I feel certain there is a humpbacked footman or a toothless blacksmith just waiting to sweep you off your feet.”
Miss Frost looked as if she had been sucking on a particularly sour grapefruit. Which was thrilling. Then she tucked the dictionary under her arm and stalked off towards the summerhhouse. She may have muttered something about washing my mouth out with soap.
But I can’t be sure.
Filled with the warm glow that comes when you have helped a fellow traveler in need, I set off to find the perfect hiding spot for the Clock Diamond.
7
I had dinner in my room that first night, then retired to bed. Rebecca insisted that I should dine with the family downstairs. Lady Elizabeth insisted that I shouldn’t. I didn’t press the point. After all, I was dead tired. Or so I thought. But instead I just lay there. Looking up at the moonlight playing upon the eaves. Trying not to think about anything remotely troubling.
Normally I’m an excellent sleeper. But not tonight. For as much as I didn’t want to admit it, Miss Frost had unnerved me. I’d spent all afternoon roaming about the great house, looking for a suitable hiding place for the stone. There were so many rooms. So many nooks and crannies. In the end, none felt right. So the stone was now tucked under my pillow. But my bedroom door had no lock. Anyone could come in. See me sleeping like some sort of heavenly angel. Slip their devious hand under the pillow. And take the stone.
Eventually I drifted off to sleep. I must have. After all, you have to be asleep to wake up. And that’s what happened. I awoke. Suddenly. Flew up in my bed. Wide awake.
Something had startled me.
The room was thick with silvery shadows. All was still. Silent, save for the snapping and creaking of the old house. I looked about in the darkness. Nothing. Nothing . . . but something. I didn’t feel alone. Which was foolish. Of course I was alone. And yet . . . it wouldn’t hurt just to make sure. I felt around on the side table for a match and lit a tallow candle.
The flame bloomed inside the dark room like a bubble of honey-colored light.
“Pull yourself together, Ivy,” I said, leaning over to blow out the candle. “There’s no one here.”
“Look closer, child.”
I screamed. Jumped. Grabbed the candle. Thrust it forward; its flickering light swallowed the darkness. The tattered armchair in the corner of the room was still shrouded in shadow. But I heard something move. Or wheeze. I crawled to the end of the bed, the candle trembling in my hand.
“Who’s there?” I hissed.
“Don’t you know?” A blue glow bloomed in the corner. And there she was. The Duchess of Trinity. Her body spilling over the armchair like an enormous mollusk. Her face ashen. Blood drenched the front of her nightdress. She was just how I remembered her. Only dead.
“What do you want?”
“The truth,” she said softly.
I backed away. Creeping up the bed until my arm hit the wall.
“I know why you’re here,” I whispered.
She seemed to find this amusing. “Do tell . . .”
“It’s about the necklace,” I said. “You’re upset because I tried it on.”
The Duchess of Trinity smiled darkly. “You broke your promise, child.”
“It was only for a moment. I just wanted to see what it felt like. And no harm was done.”
She seemed to find that amusing. “Are you sure?”
“Perfectly sure. And it wasn’t pleasant at all—in fact, I fainted—and I won’t be doing that again. So you see, there’s really no need for you to haunt me. In fact, I’d be terribly grateful if you’d shuffle off.”
She closed her eyes. Perhaps she was taking a nap.
“A great deal has happened since last we met,” said the Duchess slowly. “I would hate for you to be distracted from your task. No matter what, the Clock Diamond must be given to Matilda Butterfield at her birthday ball. You won’t disappoint me, will you?”
“Of course not.” I sighed disagreeably. “Though I can’t think why you’d want her to have it. She’s violently unpleasant.”
“Lady Elizabeth adores her.” The Duchess seemed to purr. “Every hope and dream she has for the future of this great house is wrapped up in that girl.”
“If you say so.”
“The view from here is marvelous,” said the Duchess playfully. “I can see everything. When the stone was around your neck, you looked into it. What did you see?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Nothing at all.”
She shook her head, and as she did, starlight seemed to fall from her white curls. “What did you see, child? The truth.”
She was rather stubborn for a dead woman.
“I may have seen a girl,” I said.
“Who was she?”
I shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
“Lies,” she spat. “The girl was plain. Friendless. Alone in the world. Sound familiar?”
I huffed. I may have rolled my eyes. It was perfectly clear what the Duchess of Ghostville was getting at. “She looked a little like me, I suppose.”
“The stone has much to show you,” sang the Duchess, “but it will bring you no joy. Only suffering. Do not be tempted. Leave it alone, child—for your own good.”
“Really, dear, you’ve picked the wrong girl for this sort of thing. I don’t scare easily, and to be frank, you are giving off a revolting odor. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to sleep.”
All at once, the distance between us fell away. I can’t say if I flew to her or her to me. All I know is, I lifted from the bed. I moved rapidly. My nightdress billowing. Legs kicking. There wasn’t time to scream. Then a buzzing sound. Loud and urgent. Right in my ear. I looked up. Her face loomed before me. Her whole body seemed to vibrate and the radiant blue of her skin was blinding.
“Remember your promise
, child,” she hissed. “Do not disappoint me.”
Then I fell. In a tangle. Landed on the bed. The candle went out and dropped from my hand. Darkness and pale moonlight filled the attic. I groped around the bedsheets. Found the candle. Struck another match. I searched the room. She was gone. I jumped up and began walking about madly. My mind a jumble of ghostly thoughts.
Finally, exhausted, I returned to bed. Pulled up the sheets.
But I didn’t blow out the candle. I didn’t dare.
Pancakes. Pancakes and sweet tea. Perhaps an omelet. A raw potato or three. That was what I needed. A hearty breakfast. I smoothed the creases of my white muslin dress and gazed at my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t look tired. My skin was glowing. Outside, the morning with all its promise seemed a million miles away from last night. A nightmare. That’s all it had been. Murdered duchesses didn’t come back from the dead. Maybe that happened in books. But not real life. Not to me.
I heard noises. A fluttering sound. Like something moving. Then silence. Then more fluttering. The blubbery ghost was back! That was my first thought. The blood ran cold in my veins.
With bone-shattering courage, I opened my door and crossed the narrow hall. The room across from mine, the storeroom for the costumes and backdrops from Lady Amelia’s theatricals, was filled with crates, boxes, trunks, spears, shields, and swords.
I stepped inside. Two swallows glided between the rafters. Soft light sliced through the beams of wood, illuminating the creatures’ arched wings and casting majestic shadows upon the sloping ceiling. The birds landed with ease on a high beam.
It was really rather wondrous. So wondrous that I stayed in that dusty room for the longest time. Wandering about, looking in trunks full of faded costumes, wooden swords, and drooping hats and chests full of rusted tiaras and worthless costume jewelry all tangled in a cluster. I had never seen so much rubbish in all of my life. Which is when it hit me. The most brilliant idea.
“Of course!” I said. For now I knew exactly where to hide the Clock Diamond.
Just at that moment, I heard footsteps approaching in the hallway. No doubt a maid coming to tidy up my bedroom. I closed the lid of the trunk and hurried from the room.