“There isn’t any!” I snapped back. Then I sighed and leant against the shiny new piano. There was something important I’d remembered. “Besides, Miss Finch … I’m not the only one who hasn’t been completely honest. You never told us that you were Miss Fox’s daughter!”
She rubbed her face, and I saw in that moment just how tired she was. “We all have our little lies. Sometimes they become big ones. Sometimes you have no choice but to hide the truth, even when you know it’s wrong.”
I nodded. “I know what you mean.” Lies were hard to keep under control.
She smiled at me cautiously, and went back to playing the piano. I took that to mean the conversation was over, but there was something else I needed to say. I cleared my throat and her hands stopped moving. “Miss … Thank you for helping Ivy find me. I’d still be locked away if it wasn’t for you. And, well, I wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know if Miss Fox was my mother, either!”
Miss Finch looked as if she was about to say something, perhaps to confide in me, but with a shake of her head she let it go. The moment hung in the air, empty of words. And then she finally spoke.
“Thank you, Scarlet. I know it seems as if Mr Bartholomew is brushing everything that happened under the carpet. And some of the other teachers are going along with it and pretending Ivy is new. But you can always come and talk to me if you’re finding things hard. Both of you. Look after each other, Scarlet.”
“I’m not the thief,” Scarlet said to me that night as we climbed into our beds. I hadn’t spoken to her throughout dinner, as I knew I’d only ask about the thefts again. But now she had brought it up, and I needed to say something.
“All right, look,” I said, leaning up on one elbow. “I want you to swear that you didn’t steal those things.”
Scarlet glared at me, but eventually her pride gave way. “I swear,” she growled. “I swear on our mother’s grave. Happy now?”
I wasn’t particularly happy, but I had to believe her. As suspicious as some of the evidence was – I could easily believe that Scarlet would take Penny’s clothes just to annoy her – taking any of Rookwood’s terrible food and books was rather pushing it.
“If it’s not you, then who is it?” I asked. “Who would want to take all those things?”
“I don’t know,” said Scarlet. “But I will find out.”
Hmm. Scarlet certainly was determined. That was probably a good sign. If she was intent on finding the culprit, then perhaps it really wasn’t her.
At the same time, I knew my twin wasn’t a saint. Not by any stretch of the imagination. She was so offended that I hadn’t believed her, but with some of the things she’d got up to in the past, well …
My thoughts were interrupted by a brisk knock at our door, before it swung open without a pause. It was the matron. “Lights out, girls,” she said, flicking the switch and leaving us in the dark.
I stared at the ceiling, and tried not to imagine Scarlet sneaking away in the night.
Despite my efforts to stay alert (just in case Scarlet did disappear – but she wouldn’t. Of course she wouldn’t), I dropped quickly into a dreamless sleep. When I awoke to the sound of the morning bell ringing, it was to my immense disappointment that I was still in Rookwood. It was never a great place to find yourself.
We walked to breakfast, Scarlet yawning the whole way. I gave her sideways glances, and couldn’t stop myself from wondering if she was tired from roaming the school at night, getting up to no good.
“It’s such an honour to be a prefect,” said Penny, as we sat down with our bowls of porridge. She was preening in front of her friends, showing off the little red notebook she’d been given to write down all our misdeeds. “Mr Bartholomew chose me personally, you know.”
I didn’t think I’d want to be chosen for anything by Mr Bartholomew. Not that I would say that aloud. But unfortunately, my twin never had as much tact as I did.
“If you want to be a personal slave to the teachers, go ahead!” she said, rolling her eyes.
Mrs Knight was dumbstruck. “Really, Scarlet!”
Scarlet just stuck out her tongue and then carried on eating her breakfast. I fought the urge to sink my face into my porridge.
Mrs Knight stood up and walked round to Scarlet, giving her a clip round the ear. “Ouch!” Scarlet cried, though I could see it hadn’t been that hard.
“Mind your manners,” the teacher said.
“Yes, Miss,” Scarlet grumbled back. But somehow, I doubted that was a promise she’d remember to keep.
That proved true later, in our Latin lesson. The teacher, Miss Simons, a round-faced woman with incredibly long red hair, was reading out conjugations. She tapped a ruler down the list on the blackboard as she came to each one. “Facio! Facis! Facit!” There was no sound in the room but the tapping and the seemingly endless list of verbs that we all had to copy down. At least, not until I heard loud snoring coming from the desk beside me.
I looked over at Scarlet. She was fast asleep on her Latin book, her hair hanging limply over her eyes.
“Scarlet!” I hissed. No response. I tried poking her with my ink pen. Still no response.
I was about to give her a harder jab when, unfortunately, Miss Simons noticed. She paused mid-verb, walked over to Scarlet’s desk and whacked the ruler down on the desk lid.
Scarlet sat bolt upright, hair still covering her face. “Mmm?” she said.
“Miss Grey! Do you find my lesson boring?”
Don’t say it don’t say it don’t say it …
“Yes,” said Scarlet, and put her face back down on her book.
Miss Simons’ lower lip trembled and her cheeks flushed. “How dare you!”
Scarlet yawned, barely attempting to stifle it. “It’s utterly dull, Miss. Can’t we do something more fun?”
I shook my head frantically at my twin, but she wasn’t looking at me, seemingly in a sleepy daze. Had she been out of the room again last night?
The teacher was fuming. “Miss Grey, Latin is a beautiful and important language, and I demand that you show it some respect!”
“I don’t know any Romans,” said Scarlet, “so why do I need to learn it?”
Giggles spread around the class.
“That’s IT, young lady! Out!” The teacher thrust her ruler towards the door.
Scarlet climbed sluggishly to her feet and, without even remembering to pick up her satchel, walked out of the classroom. The door swung shut behind her.
“And you!” Miss Simons barked.
I looked around, wondering who she was talking to. And then as I turned back to the front, realisation dawned.
“Me?” I asked, puzzled.
“Yes, you! The other one!” She brandished the ruler at me.
What on earth? I hadn’t done anything wrong. “I was just … writing down the conjugations,” I said quietly.
“Don’t you try that with me! I’m not having both of you get away with insolence in my class!” She sounded panicked now, as if convinced I was about to instigate some kind of havoc.
“Miss, I didn’t—” I protested.
“You can stand outside too – out!”
Not wanting to get in further trouble, I decided my best bet was to go along with it. I picked up my satchel – and Scarlet’s – and walked out of the room. Ariadne looked at me in concern, and I shrugged.
Scarlet was standing outside in the corridor, leaning against the wall. She still looked half-asleep.
“What did you do?” she asked, squinting at me.
“Found guilty of being your twin,” I said grumpily. I shoved her satchel back into her arms.
Scarlet smirked. “So you didn’t do anything? Funny that. People getting accused of things they didn’t do.”
I gave her my best unimpressed face. “Shut up, Scarlet. We’re both in trouble now.”
“I won’t be for much longer,” she replied. But before I could ask what she meant, she’d grabbed my wrist.
I fol
lowed her gaze down the corridor. Someone was approaching.
The headmaster.
“You two,” he said, pointing. His voice was quiet but heavy as lead as he shuffled closer. “Have you been sent out of class?” The anger in his eyes frightened me.
I wanted to say something, maybe even a witty retort. But now that Scarlet was back with me, I felt like I was shrinking again.
“No,” said Scarlet.
I gave her a sideways glance. What was she playing at?
“I felt unwell,” she said. “I’ve come out to get some air. And Miss sent Ivy to see if I was all right.”
I blinked, surprised at how easily she lied. Then again, I had spent most of the past few months lying, hadn’t I, when I was pretending to be her? I was in no position to judge.
Mr Bartholomew held Scarlet’s gaze, locking her in some sort of staring contest. Trying to see if she would flinch. But I knew from experience that my twin wasn’t easily cowed.
“Well,” he said, finally, after what seemed like an age, “I hope I won’t hear about any trouble where you’re concerned. Things may have been … lenient around here in the past. But no longer.” He took a few steps away from us.
Lenient? Under Miss Fox? I leant back against the wall, hoping it would swallow me up before I caught his attention.
“There’ll be no trouble from me, sir,” Scarlet said.
He looked back at her. “I know you, Scarlet Grey. I know your history. I know there are accusations of stealing against you already.”
She pouted at him. “They were made up. I’m not a thief!”
“Nevertheless, young lady, you are on very. Thin. Ice.”
He glared at us before stalking away. My heart was thumping and I felt like I was glued to the wall. But when I looked over at Scarlet, she was smiling.
“Did you see his face?” she said with a laugh. “What a nasty old bull! Ha! And you looked terrified!”
I bit my lip, feeling the anger rising in me.
“If you sank any further into that wall you’d be back in the classroom,” she jibed.
“Shut up, Scarlet!” I yelled, making her jump. “We could get a caning, or worse, and it’s all your fault! Can’t you just behave for once?”
She frowned back at me. “Keep your voice down if you’re so worried about getting told off, Miss Goody Two-Shoes.”
“I just don’t want to be punished for something I didn’t even do!”
“Well, that makes two of us!”
“And you’re sure you didn’t steal those things?”
She gasped. I’d challenged her. “You know,” she said finally, “I liked the old Ivy a lot better than this new argumentative one.”
“At least some of us have changed and aren’t just the same old nuisance we always were—”
“GIRLS!” It was Miss Simons. She’d flung the door open, her long hair whipping out behind her. “I will have silence when you’re standing out here!”
She got silence.
A very angry, bitter silence.
I had spent so long wishing Scarlet was back in my life – and now she was, things were terrible between us.
A thought crossed my mind, a thought so awful I wanted to reject it immediately, but it stayed there, burned across my mind …
Was having my twin back really worth it, when she was nothing but trouble?
I had to clear my name.
As much as I hated to admit it, I was scared of Mr Bartholomew, as scared as I was of Miss Fox. I knew what Miss Fox was capable of, but the headmaster was a mystery.
And even more than that, I had to stop Ivy from hating me.
I hadn’t stolen Penny’s clothes or the food from the kitchens or the books. And I was going to prove it. I was going to creep around the school that night and try to catch the real thief red-handed.
Ivy finally went to sleep after an entire day of ignoring me, so I seized my chance. It took me a few minutes of standing by the door to build up the courage to open it. With a wrench of the handle it swung open, and I stared into what seemed like endless dark.
Don’t be such a baby, I told myself. There’s nothing out there.
As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I forced myself to walk out to the stairs. I only had to take it one step at a time. There was nothing to be afraid of.
I passed a clock in the hall that told me it was nearly midnight. I caught my breath. The stairs were so close now. When I finally reached them, it felt like a triumph.
I can do this. I’ll prove them all wrong.
As I tiptoed around the sleeping school, my confidence growing, the first place I thought to try was the kitchen. I crossed the dining hall, feet tapping on the wooden floor, until I reached the entrance.
Someone had added a handwritten sign that read ‘COOKS AND DINNER LADIES ONLY. KEEP OUT’. I rolled my eyes. As if the thief would be deterred by a sign!
I tried the handle. Locked.
I put an ear to the door. I thought I could hear … something. There were muffled noises coming from inside. Probably just mice, I thought, but I sped away quickly.
I had to keep going. But where next? It was bitterly cold and goose bumps rose on my arms even with my coat pulled around me.
Perhaps the library?
I returned through the huge wooden doors and went back along the corridor towards the east wing of the school. I peered into the dark classrooms, finding them reassuringly empty. And I shuffled silently past Mr Bartholomew’s office, my back to the wall.
The lights were on in the library.
It had a warm, inviting glow, but lights meant people. I poked my head round the doorway and had a look. Nothing. The place was empty but for the towering stacks of books.
Ivy had always loved storybooks, but I’d never had much time for them. Storybooks told you that you’d marry the handsome prince and live in a glorious castle. When really your evil stepmother sends you to live with a wicked witch who locks you away in a dungeon …
Happily ever afters don’t exist.
I stepped into the room and walked over to the front desk to begin my search.
Or at least, that’s what I intended to do. But at that moment someone leapt out from behind the desk, wielding a heavy book and yelling, “STAY BACK, I’M ARMED!”
I screamed.
And then I clamped my hand over my mouth, just as the librarian did the same.
“Oh gosh,” she said to herself, setting the book down with a thump, “it’s just a student. Just a student, Cassie.” She paused and looked down at me. “You aren’t a ghost, are you?”
“No, Miss,” I said, my heart pounding. “Pretty certain I’m not.”
“Thank goodness for that. I’m so sorry. I … goodness.” She sat down on the wheeled wooden chair behind the desk and absent-mindedly brushed some dust off the book (Flora and Fauna of Western Europe).
When I’d got my breath back, I had to ask her the obvious question. “What are you doing here at this time of night, Miss?” Though she could ask the exact same thing of me,I realised.
The librarian was a slim woman dressed all in black, with dark hair cut in a tight bob with a straight fringe. She wore a name badge pinned to her dress that read ‘C. Jones’, and blinked at me for a moment before answering. “Protecting the books,” she said.
I nodded slowly, thinking she might be a bit mad.
“Do I know you?” she said suddenly.
“I don’t think so. I’ve not been in here much.” I realised that I had to keep talking, because she hadn’t yet thought to ask me what I was doing in there. “You might have seen my twin?”
“Oh! Twin! That might be it, perhaps.”
“Miss … What are you protecting the books from?”
She stared at me with wide eyes, and then lowered her voice, despite there being no one around. “I think there’s a ghost.”
Maybe she was more than a bit mad. “You think a ghost stole the books?”
The librarian stood up
again and silently beckoned for me to follow her. She led me through the stacks and over to a dimly lit area of the library that smelt of musty old paper, our footsteps echoing in the vast empty room. This particular corner seemed a little abandoned, and hadn’t seen much interest in some time. The books that lined the shelves were old and tattered; they looked as though they would crumble to pieces if you touched them.
She pointed at the floor, and I followed her finger with my gaze.
There were dusty footprints going into the bookcase.
I knelt down and stared at them, wondering what I was seeing. The small footprints led towards the bottom shelf and then stopped halfway through, a lone heel disappearing into them. As if someone had walked right through.
Miss Jones was looking around nervously, and I didn’t blame her, because for a moment a shiver passed through me.
No, I was being foolish. There was no such thing as ghosts.
I put my own foot against the prints – they were roughly the same size. “It is very strange, Miss,” I said. I reminded myself why I was there – I needed to find out who was really behind this if I was going to clear my name. “Did you see anything? Hear anything?”
She frowned, thinking. “I haven’t seen anyone go over to this part of the library. But I have been hearing things. It’s not just these footprints and the books being stolen, there’ve been sounds too. Strange noises in the walls. Sometimes I think I can hear voices.”
Sometimes, so can I.
I straightened up and peered at one of the stacks. “Which books were stolen, exactly?”
Miss Jones gave a little sniff. She was clearly emotional about these things. “They were storybooks, mainly. Beatrix Potter. E.E. Nesbit. Peter Pan and The Secret Garden. I was proud of those. Lovely editions. Oh, and books about ponies.”
I thought about it. So whoever (or whatever) had been here had taken books and had feet a similar size to mine. And they may or may not have been able to walk through walls. Well, that was a start.
“I’m just so frightened,” she continued, “but I don’t want anything else to be taken. This is all I’ve got, you know.” She gestured at the towering shelves of the library.
The Whispers in the Walls (Scarlet and Ivy, Book 2) Page 5