by Caleb Krisp
A thrill rippled through my body as I stared deep into the heart of the stone. At first all that I saw were the stars in the moonless sky above London. But I waited. I knew, absolutely knew, that something was coming. Perhaps it would offer a vision about Miss Always. A clue of some sort.
The diamond throbbed in my hand. Heat pulsed from it like a furnace. Then a white mist churned in the heart of the stone, swallowing the night sky. In its place, a forest of dark trees. Frost-covered ground. The mist blew with a fury and the trees began to bleed white, seeping up from the roots to the ends of the bare branches. In moments the whole forest was a ghostly white woodland.
Something streaked between the trees. A girl. Running. She wore a lavender dress. Blonde hair fanning out behind her. I recognised her instantly. Which is why I cried, ‘Rebecca!’
It was her. Unmistakably her. Was this some fragment of her past? She was running. Twisting through the pale trees. Stealing looks behind her. Terrified looks. Then the trees began to move. No, not trees. Locks – those hooded henchmen in dark cloaks who worked for Miss Always. They moved as one. Dozens of them, fanning out through the forest.
The girl stumbled. Fell. I saw her flinch with pain. She got to her feet and took off again. In a flash her face filled the stone. Just for a second. Cheeks flushed. Brow knotted anxiously. Eyes crackling with fear. And then it hit me. Rebecca was wearing the same lavender dress she had worn to Matilda’s birthday ball. Her new dress. Which could only mean one thing – Rebecca was alive! Somehow. Some way. She was alive. And something more. Something monstrous. Rebecca Butterfield was being hunted.
Chapter 4
Mother Snagsby eyed me with considerable suspicion. ‘You do not look sick to me.’
‘That’s only because I have a naturally radiant complexion,’ I said, holding my stomach for good measure. ‘But I assure you, Mother Snagsby, I am as sick as a dog. Or at the very least, a badly neglected house cat.’
‘I suppose we should call for the doctor,’ said Ezra from the doorway.
‘There is no need for that,’ said Mother Snagsby, circling the bed like a lion eyeing its supper. ‘Ivy can come with us to Mrs Quilp’s – if she is truly unwell, the fresh air will do her the world of good.’
This discussion had been going on all morning. When Mrs Dickens came to unlock my door, she found me still in bed, looking gloriously feverish. The plan only came unstuck when Mother Snagsby marched into the room and declared me perfectly healthy.
‘But why must I go?’
Mrs Quilp had infected lungs and was expected to die any day now. And for reasons that I could not understand, the Snagsbys seemed determined to drag me to every deathbed in London. And while I wasn’t exactly unwell, I was certainly sick with worry about poor Rebecca.
‘The dying and their loved ones find it a comfort to have a child recite a suitably meaningful poem as the hour of death approaches,’ said Mother Snagsby sharply.
‘You’ve been awfully good for business, Ivy,’ said Ezra, scratching at his flappy jowls. ‘Since you’ve joined us, profits have shot up fifteen per cent.’
Which was delightful. What daughter doesn’t want to hear that she’s been good for business?
‘I’m sorry, but I cannot come.’
Mother Snagsby glared down at me, her splendid mole twitching above her lip. ‘Is this the sort of daughter you wish to be, rude and defiant?’
‘Only in a pinch, dear.’
Mother Snagsby turned her back on me and let out an exasperated sigh. Clearly this poetry-reading nonsense meant a great deal to the Snagsbys and their business. Therefore, I felt it was my solemn duty as a treasured daughter to take full advantage.
‘Death is wearing me down,’ I said with a sigh. ‘I have it on good authority that it’s hideously traumatic and unhealthy for a girl of my age to be reading poems to the dying – and my source is a librarian, so we cannot doubt her credentials.’
Mother Snagsby turned back and lifted her head regally, the streak of white through her black hair giving her all the charm of a skunk. ‘Is that so?’
‘Yes, dear, I think it is. Now it seems to me that I could simply refuse to attend another deathbed. I might make a great deal of fuss. Embarrass you in front of the customers. Unless …’
The old crow’s mouth curled into a sneer. ‘Unless?’
‘Well, that’s not for me to say, now, is it? Of course, you might like to consider letting me rest today and regain my strength.’
‘Rest, you say?’ said Mother Snagsby.
‘That’s right. And it may be that you decide to let me have some company at the house. Nothing fancy. Just a few girls my age. I’m practically positive that these small concessions would be enough to lift my spirits and get me back to work.’
Mother Snagsby made no reply. Her craggy face was set in stone.
‘The Roaches,’ she said at last.
I frowned. ‘The Roaches?’
‘We have buried several of their kin,’ said Mother Snagsby frostily. ‘They are respectable folk and always pay on time. It is possible I could extend an invitation to Mrs Roach and her two daughters to come for tea.’
The urge to squeal with delight was awfully strong. But I resisted. It didn’t seem right in light of Rebecca. Instead, I nodded my head and said, ‘That sounds lovely.’
‘But I expect much in return,’ said Mother Snagsby. ‘You are to come with us to every appointment without complaint after today. And you are to perform your household duties without complaint. While Ezra and I are seeing to Mrs Quilp, you can recuperate by dusting the viewing parlour from top to bottom.’
‘Surely my time would be better spent lazing about eating crumpets?’ I said hopefully. ‘Or perhaps you might wish to paint me as you have Gretel?’
Mother Snagsby grabbed the cleaning rag out of Mrs Dickens’ hand and pushed it into mine. ‘Dust,’ she barked.
‘Where on earth are you going, lass?’
‘Important business, dear,’ I said, opening the front door. ‘Frightfully important.’
The housekeeper looked positively alarmed. ‘But you promised Mrs Snagsby you would clean the viewing parlour.’
‘Fear not, Mrs Dickens,’ I said. ‘They will be at poor Mrs Quilp’s all morning and I will be back in plenty of time to do my chores.’ I pointed to the portrait above her head. ‘Did Gretel have many chores to do around the house? Before she went to Paris, I mean.’
It was as if a cloud passed overhead. The housekeeper looked grave, then she jumped up and felt a sudden urge to polish the brass doorknocker. ‘Miss Gretel was always so busy with this and that.’ She pointed to the street and I suddenly became aware of the sounds of carriage wheels and chatter. ‘You best be getting along, lass.’
I stepped outside as the sky began to rumble. ‘We should go on strike, Mrs Dickens. Let Mother Snagsby discover the delights of cooking and cleaning for herself.’
‘You might be shocked to know that your mother was once a keen cook – at least, I think she was.’
‘Mother Snagsby a cook? Surely not.’
Mrs Dickens nodded. ‘She has a book of family recipes, carries it with her everywhere she goes – guards it like the pharaoh’s gold, she does.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘I expect the recipes mean a great deal to her.’
‘But how do they taste – surely that is the question?’
‘Well, that’s the queer part,’ said Mrs Dickens, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘In all the time I’ve worked here, Mrs Snagsby’s never cooked a single recipe from that book.’
I was befuddled. And felt it frightfully unfair of Mrs Dickens to burden me with suspense.
‘Well, why does she carry it around with her, you great lump?’
Mrs Dickens chuckled. ‘That’s a very interesting question.’
Then the housekeeper hurried me along, muttering something about the feathers of a chicken not plucking themselves.
As I set off
down Thackeray Street, any thoughts about Mother Snagsby’s curious book of recipes fell away. I quick-ened my step, my mind swirling around a single image – Rebecca being chased through those ghastly white woodlands by a pack of vicious Locks.
The rules of the Clock Diamond were very clear. The stone offers visions of what was, what is, and what will be. It was clear from Rebecca’s lavender dress that the vision took place on the night of the ball. And I was certain that Rebecca had not been chased through any such forest before she had worn the necklace and perished.
Which only left one possibility. The stone was showing me a glimpse of Rebecca after she put it on. Therefore, that haunting forest must be a place in Prospa. But Miss Frost had told me that only Rebecca’s soul passed into her world. And that she was dead. Gone. Hadn’t I seen her wither to a husk before my eyes? Yet she looked very much alive in the vision.
Miss Frost had lied. And if that was true, what else had she kept from me? But no, I would not think of that tomato-headed scoundrel for the moment. Rebecca was all that mattered. Finding a way to help her. To reach her.
So lost was I in my thoughts that I ran straight into a lanky fellow walking the other way. We collided in glorious fashion. I reeled back. He staggered sideways, his sandwich fumbling in his hands before dropping to the ground.
‘Watch where you’re going!’ he snapped.
‘I haven’t the time,’ I told him quite reasonably. ‘Much too busy trying to save the day.’ I shrugged. ‘Besides, I think we can both agree the fault lies with you.’
‘With me? You just about knocked me over.’ The young man pointed at his sandwich in a most judgemental fashion. ‘I’ve lost my lunch thanks to you!’
Which was a scandalous accusation. I was on the very brink of telling the unpleasant gentleman to prepare for a firm thrashing when my eyes were drawn to the small hooded figure zipping along the crowded footpath behind him. The figure was remarkably short and wore a brown cloak. My blood seemed to stir from its slumber, rapidly picking up speed and tearing through my veins. It was a Lock!
Which is why I set off at speed.
‘Hey, come back here!’ the young man hollered behind me. ‘You owe me two shillings!’
The little villain was a good twenty feet away from me now. He had passed under the shade of the shop awnings which formed a dim tunnel stretching almost to the end of the street. The villain was zigzagging between the other pedestrians with great skill and, owing to his size, vanished from view on several occasions.
The path was swarming with pedestrians and I feared that he would disappear completely before I could catch him. And catch him I must. The Locks worked for Miss Always – and they were sure to know where Rebecca was being held. I would do whatever it took to get the truth out of that murderous little scoundrel!
Drastic action was required.
I darted off the footpath and on to the road – an empty apple cart in my sights. With audacity that would make a five-star general weep, I jumped at the cart. Leapt on to the wheel. Pushed off and flew towards the shop awning above my head. Clutching the edge of the blind with my left hand, I hoisted myself up. Got to my feet and started running.
As it turns out, navigating a series of shop awnings is a rather difficult business. They hang from above the shopfronts at a sharp angle, which makes dashing across them most challenging. But I was equal to the task.
Keeping to the base of the awnings, I quickly found my footing and was soon bolting along. The thick canvas had a certain spring and I was able to leap from the Atlantic Shoes Co. to Provincial Home Investments then across to Harding Progressive Tailors. As I jumped on to the last awning (a cigar manufacturer) I prayed that I had been fast enough to overtake the diabolical Lock walking beneath me.
Being partly dead has supreme advantages in a situation such as this – falling and breaking my neck wasn’t a concern. So I dropped to the canvas, gripped the edge of the blind, and flipped over. I arched through the air like a trapeze artist with a death wish and hurtled towards the footpath. My landing was terribly graceful. Well, apart from a slight tumble to the ground. A small amount of searing pain in my hip. And some rather salty language.
When I got to my feet, the bustling crowd seemed to have stopped in their tracks. Some gasped in my direction – ogling me like there was something unusual about a girl leaping from a shop awning. Others pointed rudely and whispered. I scanned the crowd. No sign of the Lock. Had he been faster than me? Had he got away? I refused to believe it.
Perhaps he had darted into one of the shops and was hiding there. Yes. I would search each one until –
My eyes suddenly flew back towards a woman in a red and black dress. But she wasn’t my target. What caught my attention was the flutter of a brown cloak from behind her.
I pushed my way through the crowd. Shoved the woman in the red and black dress aside (she gave a startled cry and fell against an old man clutching a loaf of bread). And gazed hungrily into the void where she had been standing. There it was. Tiny. Long brown cloak. Face concealed by the shadow of that odious hood.
A Lock.
If I felt fear, it was no match for my wrath. It was the cold glint in my eyes. And the furious hammer of my heartbeat. The Lock moved towards me. Which is why I grabbed the loaf of bread from the old man and swung it – bashing the little devil on the side of its head. The hideous hooded henchman stumbled sideways and yelped. Cries flew out from the bystanders.
‘She hit him, she did!’
‘Horrid girl!’
‘Someone fetch the constable!’
‘Tell me where Rebecca is!’ I rushed towards the Lock. ‘Why were you chasing her through the woods? Where are you keeping her? Answer me, you pint-sized jackal!’
‘Leave him be!’ shouted the old man (though I’m certain he was just grumpy because his battered bread loaf was lying on the pavement).
‘I won’t!’ I shouted back. Those ninnies would thank me when I unmasked this monstrous little rogue. The creature swiftly found its feet and prepared to take off. I lunged without mercy. Grabbed his hood and threw it back in magnificently dramatic fashion.
‘See for yourselves!’ I cried, eyeballing the crowd. They would scream in horror when they saw the monster I had unmasked!
Except that they didn’t. They just stared daggers at me. Shook their heads and tut-tutted as if I were the nastiest girl who ever lived. Why were they not running for their lives?
I turned to look at my captive. What I saw was a rather well dressed dwarf. He had a thatch of wavy blond hair. A thick moustache. Dimpled chin. And he looked rather cross with me.
‘What’s the meaning of this?’ he thundered in a wondrously thick accent (German, I think). ‘I have traded coffee in some of the deadliest corners of the world and never have I been attacked in the street like this!’
‘Awfully sorry, dear,’ I said quickly. ‘I thought you were a vicious henchman from another world. But it turns out you’re just a very short coffee merchant with a fondness for hooded cloaks.’ I tried to pat him on the head but he slapped my hand away most unkindly. ‘No harm done, then?’
He sneered at me (probably the German way of expressing complete forgiveness) – while the angry mob looked as if they wanted to tie me to a tree and throw rotten vegetables. It was time to make a hasty retreat. I apologised to the furious fellow again (I may have even curtsied), then took off down the street hoping they would not give chase.
There was some agitated shouting in my wake – the old man demanded I buy him a new loaf of bread. The dwarf wanted my name and address. A rather shrill woman suggested I fall in a hole. But their voices dulled as I took a sharp left, vanishing into the back streets.
I had destroyed a loaf of bread, a sandwich and very nearly an international coffee merchant. Not exactly a successful morning. As I slowed down, trying to catch my breath, the fear and excitement of my slightly violent frolic gave way to disappointment. I had hoped that capturing one of Miss Always’ Locks
might lead to Rebecca. But it was not to be.
I crossed the pavilion and mounted the library steps two at a time, Rebecca’s terrified face burned into my mind. I had to reach her. Had to find a way to save her. Most recently adopted daughters wouldn’t have a clue what to do about such a problem. But I certainly did. It was help that I needed and I knew just where to get it.
Chapter 5
‘Vanished?’
I nodded. ‘One minute you were talking to me about ghosts and the next you were gone. What on earth happened?’
Miss Carnage pushed her spectacles up her gigantic nose. ‘It’s really very simple, Ivy. There was an emergency in the reading room that required my immediate attention.’
‘What sort of emergency?’
The pudgy librarian waddled out from behind the lending desk and walked with me towards the library’s large windows. Clouds hung low in the sky outside, shrouding the vast room in a gloomy half-light. ‘Well, Ivy, there was an altercation between two elderly women over a copy of Wuthering Heights.’
‘Did it get violent?’ I asked hopefully.
‘It might have, if I had not got there in time.’
Which was awfully disappointing.
‘I am delighted to see you again so soon after your last visit,’ said Miss Carnage, ‘though I couldn’t help but notice you left the books I selected for you behind – were they of no interest?’
‘None at all, dear,’ I said tenderly. ‘I know all I need to know about ghosts. I am here on another matter.’
Behind Miss Carnage’s thick spectacles her dark eyes seemed to swell. ‘Oh?’
‘I have a friend who needs my help. It’s terribly complicated – you see, my friend is in a place that is rather hard to find and I fear if I do not reach her, she will meet a most unpleasant end.’
‘Your friend is in danger?’
‘Frightfully so.’
Miss Carnage had the good sense to gasp. ‘Is it life and death, Ivy?’