by Caleb Krisp
“If Mr. Banks did make a ghostly visit,” Miss Always finally said, “then perhaps he did so to let Ivy know that he was all right. That death was not the end. Yes, I am sure that’s all it was.”
“Pocket’s disturbed,” said Matilda helpfully. “What sort of girl has dead people coming to visit her? It’s outrageous! If she’s not throwing herself down the stairs, she’s attacking poor Grandmother with cheesecake and iced tea or making up fanciful stories. I can’t be the only one who thinks she’s demented.”
“How can you be so cruel?” said Miss Always, her voice trembling.
Matilda smiled darkly.
“Your party is in just a few hours,” said Miss Frost, putting a hand behind Matilda’s back and walking her toward the door. “I’m sure you have more pressing things to do than stay up here and be horrible.” She glanced at me briefly. “Besides, Miss Pocket needs her rest.”
“Yes, that is very true,” said Miss Always, who kissed my cheek and quickly departed.
But Matilda couldn’t leave without slinging one final arrow. “I’m sure my cousin will take excellent care of you, Pocket.” She smiled sweetly. “Tick tock.”
Miss Frost pulled the evil nitwit away.
“Ignore her,” I told Rebecca as their footsteps faded away. “She doesn’t mean half the awful things she says.”
“Yes, she does,” said Rebecca.
I smiled faintly. “True. But I have to believe that one day Matilda will wake up and realize what a horrible, fatheaded, nitwitted, black-hearted lump of horse poop she really is.”
Rebecca smiled, but the grin soon slipped from her face. She sat down on the bed again. “I’m sorry about Mr. Banks.”
“So am I,” I said.
“Ivy . . . how old were you when you first went to the orphanage?”
I hadn’t expected such a question. In fact, I’d never told Rebecca that I had grown up in the Harrington Home for Unwanted Children. Yet clearly she knew about it. I thought about launching into a fantastical story—but I didn’t have the heart for it.
“Five,” I said.
“And before that?” said Rebecca.
“I lived with my parents, of course.”
But Rebecca didn’t look at all convinced. “What can you remember of those years, Ivy?”
“Everything,” I lied. “Wonderful memories.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said. “Please, Ivy, can you tell me the truth? It’s very important.”
I sighed. I hated the truth, as a general rule. But I decided to give it a try. “I don’t remember much before the orphanage.”
“You have no memories of your parents at all?”
“Not really. But I was taken from them. I’ve always suspected as much—after all, who would give up a child as heartbreakingly adorable as me? And then I saw a vision in the Clock Diamond, and I knew it was true. I was stolen.”
If Rebecca was shocked or confused by this, she didn’t show it. “What did you see, Ivy?” she said.
“Someone taking me from a house and leading me through the woods. A woman wearing a long coat and a yellow bonnet. She was taking me from my parents. Stealing me away.”
Rebecca started to cry. The poor dear wept buckets. “I’m sorry, Ivy.”
I shrugged. “It’s not your fault, dear.”
“Everything that’s happened,” she sobbed, “Mr. Banks’s train . . . and the stairs . . . it’s horrible!”
“Who knows why the train crashed? Perhaps it was just an accident,” I said, patting Rebecca on the head (which is always a great comfort). “And as for the stairs, well, I’m sure I was so busy daydreaming I didn’t look where I was going.”
Rebecca’s eyes locked onto mine. “You were pushed.”
I gasped. Like a damsel in distress. Which was embarrassing. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. Tears streaming down her face. The girl leaked like a burst pipe.
“I’m sure,” she said.
“Who did it, Rebecca? Who pushed me?”
“I did,” she whispered.
She wouldn’t say why. That was the worst part. No, the worst part was that Rebecca Butterfield—my dear friend—had confessed to pushing me down the stairs. Trying to kill me, one would assume. As news went, it was grim. Deliciously shocking, but grim.
“You hate me,” said Rebecca.
I was standing by the window now. She was sitting on the bed, looking washed out and broken. For the tenth or eleventh time I said, “I don’t understand any of this.”
“It’s not what you think, Ivy,” she said faintly. “It’s not . . .”
“Were you angry at me? Did I do something?”
“No, nothing.” She looked up at me, and her eyes were pleading that I might understand.
“Help me, Rebecca,” I said, “because right at this moment the voice in my head is shouting that you’re a murderous maniac.”
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” she sobbed.
“Well, I have news for you, dear,” I said. “If you didn’t want to hurt me, you shouldn’t have pushed me down a gigantic flight of stairs. Over my short career as a maid, a great many people have threatened to kill me, but none have actually tried.”
“No,” said Rebecca, “it’s not that. It’s the opposite.”
I glared at her as if she were bonkers. “The opposite of what?”
Rebecca stood up. Rushed towards me. Naturally I thought she might push me out the window. So I backed up. Which made her cry. Again.
“Oh, Ivy, there are things you don’t know.”
“Then tell me!”
She was shaking her head. “Miss Frost says I mustn’t.”
“Why not?” I asked. It seemed a reasonable question.
But Rebecca wouldn’t say anything more. Apart from repeating that she had never meant to hurt me. Which was ridiculous.
“You pushed me down the stairs for her?” I said. “For Miss Frost?”
“No. Not really. What I mean is . . . I did it because . . . oh, what’s the use, Ivy? You wouldn’t believe me anyway, and I don’t blame you.”
A knock at the door.
“Excuse me, Miss Rebecca.” It was one of the maids. “Miss Matilda would like you to come and attend to her hair.”
“I’m sorry, Ivy,” whispered Rebecca.
“Yes, you’ve said that already.”
Then I turned my back and stared out the window.
“Come this instant, you wicked windbag. You blubbery beast!”
I put my hands on my hips (which felt enormously satisfying) and bellowed into thin air. Waiting impatiently for the Duchess of Trinity to appear before me. She didn’t.
But I wasn’t going to give up without a fight.
“Show yourself, Duchess, or our deal is off!” I declared this with heartbreaking conviction. “You can have your money back and I will bury the Clock Diamond in the woodlands—Matilda will never get to wear it!”
She came from the water pitcher. Which was slightly unusual. I heard a clanking sound, and when I looked over, the pitcher atop the dresser had lifted from its basin and was rising into the air. The pitcher stopped, hovering before me. Then it tilted, and water poured from the spout. A great deal of water. And instead of pooling on the floor in a giant puddle, it molded itself into the shape of the dead Duchess.
She looked rather beautiful, a great tower of rippling water.
Then her luminous flesh began to absorb the liquid—like a sponge. In just moments, the Duchess of Trinity was a familiar glowing nightmare, hovering above the ground in her bloodied nightdress.
The pitcher seemed content to float above her head.
“You are upset, child,” she purred.
“You tricked me,” I snapped. “You tricked me into giving Lady Elizabeth the iced tea with lime juice. That old bat is allergic! Monstrously allergic!”
The Duchess gasped. “I do hope she wasn’t hurt?”
“Hurt? The poor cow puffed up like a balloon! Her tongue
swelled like a pork sausage!” I narrowed my gaze. “Why would you want to hurt Lady Elizabeth if you sent me here to make peace with her? What is going on, Duchess?”
I don’t know how I thought she would react. But what I hadn’t expected was that she would begin to cry. Nor did I imagine that her tears would be an inky black. But they were and she did. Sobbing into her fat hands. A valley of tears streaking darkly down her glowing face.
“Death, child,” she cried, “it scrambles the brain. Muddles the mind. Instead of telling you Lady Elizabeth’s favorite refreshment, my frazzled memory offered up the one drink in the world that would injure my old friend. I’ll never forgive myself. My shame will be eternal.”
Which was rather surprising. She looked awfully sorry.
“Can you forgive a lonely old ghost?” she sobbed.
I shrugged. “Unlikely, dear. I have a talent for grudges. I once carried one for an entire winter. The back pain was monstrous.”
She growled faintly and said, “You won’t break our agreement, I trust? You will deliver the Clock Diamond as promised?”
“I suppose so.” I sighed. “Everywhere I turn, there is mystery and calamity, Duchess. Mr. Banks is dead—I suppose you know that already?”
The Duchess nodded.
“He came to visit me, just as you do. Only with less growling and overturned furniture. Have you seen him? Because I’d very much like to pass on a message.”
She huffed. “Mr. Banks was my lawyer, not my friend. What reason would he have to seek me out?” The Duchess cackled. “Besides, I am not an easy ghost to find.”
“Duchess . . . do you know why Rebecca pushed me down the stairs?”
She did not answer. Instead, she reminded me again of our bargain. Urged me to ignore the darkness swirling around me and focus on delivering the necklace to Matilda. And beginning my new life. Somewhere far away from Butterfield Park.
It was a lovely thought.
Then she began to bleed. Not blood—water. It trickled from her, a thousand little drops, until her whole ghostly being was lost to a tide of rippling liquid. This column of water rose as if through a blowhole and poured back into the pitcher hovering above her. When she was gone, every last drop, the pitcher flew quickly through the air and settled in the basin with a faint splash.
Once again, I was alone.
Lady Elizabeth wouldn’t see me. Said she wasn’t foolish enough to invite an assassin into her bedroom chamber. Perfectly understandable. I waited until her maid had departed and slipped in anyway. The old bat was propped up in bed. She looked far less bloated than when I had last seen her.
Before she could scream for help, I made a groveling apology. Said I was a fool, although my intentions were pure. Offered to file her bunions. Rub her temples. Trim her whiskers. Reminded her that I would be gone from Butterfield Park tomorrow, so there was really no need to have me arrested. Mentioned the one-of-a-kind diamond I would be presenting to her precious Matilda at the ball tonight.
She said nothing in reply. But she did throw a clock at my head.
Which was enormously encouraging.
“See you at the party, dear,” I said, rushing out of the room just as a vase of tulips shattered against the door behind me. “We will laugh about this little mishap in years to come!”
Despite what I had told the dead Duchess, I’m terrible at grudges. Forgiveness is in my nature—for I have all the natural instincts of a Buddhist monk. That’s why I decided to find Rebecca and make peace with her. It’s not that I understood why she had tried to kill me. But I knew two things for certain. One, Rebecca had a good heart. Two, she knew more about what was happening in this house than I did.
And I had to find out what she knew.
Rebecca had hugged me. Rather savagely. Said we needed to talk. Which was encouraging. Then she ran off to finish up Matilda’s hair for the ball, promising to be back in no time at all. Which was why I was standing in her bedroom. Amid her collection of clocks.
I heard footsteps approaching and turned, expecting to find that Rebecca had come back. Instead, I found Miss Frost.
“Rebecca isn’t here,” I said.
“I can see that.” She didn’t attempt to come in. “You had a great shock this morning. Are you feeling any better?”
“I’m stronger than I look, dear. Prettier too.”
Miss Frost smiled faintly.
“I know Rebecca pushed me down the stairs,” I said.
Miss Frost didn’t flinch. Which was infuriating!
“And I know you told her to do it,” I added.
“I did no such thing,” said Miss Frost calmly.
“But you were involved,” I snapped. “Somehow you were involved.”
Miss Frost merely glared at me.
“Tell me, Miss Frost, why would Rebecca do such a thing?”
“Perhaps she was testing you.”
“What for?” I fumed. “To see if I would bounce?”
Miss Frost offered no reply. She seemed to like awkward silences.
“Shame on you for filling Rebecca’s head with such horrors,” I said boldly. Then I narrowed my eyes. “You seem to find me awfully fascinating—surely I have a right to know why.”
Miss Frost put her hands behind her back. “You are one of a kind, Miss Pocket.”
Which was very true—but what on earth did she mean? Miss Frost was silent as the grave. And I had a murderous desire to push the hideous woman into a shark tank. Or, at very least, a bathtub full of electric eels. But instead I decided to do a little fishing. “What happened this morning with Mr. Banks’s train?” I said. “Was it an accident?”
“I very much doubt it.”
“Was it done on purpose, to stop Mr. Banks from telling me what he had learned about the Clock Diamond?”
“Possibly. Probably.”
“Was it you?”
Miss Frost sighed. “You will have your answers tonight, Miss Pocket,” she said. “I pray you are ready.”
“For what? I insist you tell me!”
Miss Frost took a deep breath. “You are ensnared in something rather diabolical, Miss Pocket. It is not your fault, but there it is. If you are smart, you will give me the stone and leave Butterfield Park before nightfall. I will take care of the rest.”
Did she really think I would simply hand over the Clock Diamond? After all that had happened? I shook my head. “I don’t think so, dear.”
Remarkably, Miss Frost did not look at all upset. “As you wish,” she said.
I stared at her for the longest time. Finally I said, “You’re no ordinary governess, are you, Miss Frost?”
She smiled darkly. “And you are no ordinary maid, Miss Pocket.”
15
Miss Always had a plan. It was breathtakingly simple and utterly perfect. And it had all started with my hair. Miss Always had come to fix it for the ball. I thought it looked perfectly lovely already—having all the natural silkiness of a prized stallion. Or, at very least, a well-bred donkey.
“It won’t do for such a grand party,” said Miss Always, holding a lock of my hair.
I looked at my friend—in her dull brown dress, her pale face scrubbed clean, her brown hair pulled back from her face. Was this dreary creature going to transform me? Apparently so. She sat me down in the middle of the tiny bedroom and got to work. With a few clips, some cleverly placed combs, and a blue ribbon, she had my hair looking glorious in no time.
“We should go,” she declared with breathtaking simplicity.
“Go?” I glanced up at her reflection in the mirror. “Go where, dear?”
“Away from this place,” said Miss Always, pulling a chair from against the wall and setting it down in front of me. “Now that you have the payment from Mr. Banks, why should we stay here a moment longer?”
I was stunned. And terribly excited. “You would go with me?”
“Are we not bosom friends?” said Miss Always, as if the idea of abandoning me was an impossibility. “We c
ould head south and visit my mother. Her cottage is small, but we would make do. I know she would be delighted to have you.”
I blushed with embarrassment. It seemed like the right thing to do. “Are you sure, dear?”
“Of course I’m sure!” She was grinning eagerly. “I have thought about nothing else for the last few days. This house isn’t good for you, Ivy. What with your bad dreams and poor Mr. Banks’s accident and your mishap on the stairs. I’m sure it’s all a terrible coincidence . . . but I cannot help but think it would be safer for you to get away from here tonight.”
I gasped. “Tonight?”
“Why not?” said Miss Always. “I have finished working on Matilda’s birthday speech, and you owe them nothing beyond the Clock Diamond. Naturally, you will have to hand it over before we leave—but why should you wait until the ball?”
The thought of doing just as Miss Always suggested thrilled me and terrified me in equal measure. Which struck me as odd. The stone wasn’t mine. I was merely the delivery girl. Better to give Matilda the diamond now and escape Butterfield Park.
“I agree, Miss Always,” I said. “How soon can we leave?”
My friend clapped with delight. “No time like the present! We just need to pack our things.” She got up, looking intently at me. “Then we can retrieve the Clock Diamond from its hiding place and give it to Matilda. Perhaps we should go and fetch it now. After all, it’s getting late, and we will have to hurry to catch the last train.”
I felt elated. Thrilled. Above all, hopeful. I could just leave everything behind. The ghosts. The clock-obsessed girl trying to kill me. The sinister governess. Which was why I said, “Excellent idea. I will go next door and—”
I stopped. Never finished the sentence. It would have been easy to say, but I had learned that the Clock Diamond had a strange effect upon me. Better for me to retrieve the stone by myself once I had packed my carpetbag.
I said as much to Miss Always.
She frowned, putting her hand on mine. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Ivy?”
“A great many things, dear. My head is positively bursting with somethings. The terrible part is, the more I learn, the less I understand.”