Anyone but Ivy Pocket

by Caleb Krisp

  “You can trust me, dear,” I said, in my most trustworthy voice. “In the library, you seemed to doubt what Miss Frost was telling you. She said something about getting proof. Proof of what, Rebecca?”

  Her gaze traveled across my face for the longest time. She looked at me as if she were seeing me for the first time. Then her eyes pooled with tears. “Miss Frost thinks that . . . she is worried. She is worried about you, Ivy.”

  “Me?” I sighed wearily. “She’s not still fretting about the Clock Diamond, is she?”

  Rebecca nodded gravely.

  “Well, she needn’t worry,” I said brightly. “I have the stone safely hidden away.”

  Strangely, this did not seem to reassure Rebecca.

  “You are good . . . ,” she said, tears trailing down her face. “You are good, aren’t you, Ivy?”

  “Good? Of course I’m good. Wonderfully good. Everyone says so.” I pushed on the door, but it wouldn’t budge. “Let me come in, dear. We can discuss what is troubling you.”

  “Be careful, Ivy,” Rebecca whispered. “Things are not as they seem.”

  Then she shut the door in my face.

  I heard the key turn in the lock.

  9

  “May I speak with you?”

  She came before lunch. I had only just finished checking on the Clock Diamond and was changing the sash on my dress. Without waiting to be invited, Miss Frost walked into my bedroom.

  “I was hoping to have a word,” she said, pausing by the window.

  “How odd.” I smiled brightly. “I was just thinking the exact same thing.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes,” I said, “I thought we might talk about Rebecca.”

  That seemed to startle Miss Frost. Her eyes left mine, and she looked about. “What about her?”

  I fixed my gaze upon the grim governess. “She said you have been speaking to her about me. She warned me to be careful. That things are not as they seem.”

  “She might be right,” said Miss Frost. “Turn around.”

  She took the sash from my hand and fixed it around my waist. “Perhaps Rebecca is slightly upset at present, but it will pass,” she said. “You see, I have asked her to help me with a project I am working on.”

  “Is that why you met her in the schoolhouse last night?”

  If Miss Frost was shocked, she hid it well. “I am teaching Rebecca about the history of a faraway place. It’s a hidden place, with a secret history.” Her eyes clouded over. “I told her the facts as I know them. But she had doubts.”

  “I should think so,” I declared. “Sounds bonkers.”

  “Fortunately, I was able to show her compelling proof,” said Miss Frost crisply. “My methods may be unorthodox, Miss Pocket, but our lesson was a great success.”

  I was frowning with tremendous enthusiasm. “Have you spent any time in a madhouse, dear? I’m almost certain you must have.”

  She walked back to the window, her rusty locks flaring in the afternoon light. “Are you seeing ghosts, Miss Pocket?”

  “Perhaps,” I said with a shrug.

  “The Duchess of Trinity?”

  I gasped. “How did you know?”

  She made no reply.

  So I said, “She only comes because of that silly stone. I’m certain that is why I can see her—because I have the Clock Diamond.”

  Miss Frost shook her head. “The stone does not allow one to see ghosts, Miss Pocket.”

  She sounded terribly sure.

  I didn’t want to ask. But I simply had to. “Then why can I see her?”

  “I haven’t an answer that would satisfy you. I only know that the stone has no such power. At least, not that I have ever heard of.”

  “How do you know so much about the necklace?” I asked.

  “I confess, the Clock Diamond intrigues me. It has a dark but fascinating history.”

  I sighed. “I do hope you are not going to babble on about it, dear.”

  “The stone was first discovered in Budatta,” continued Miss Frost, as if I hadn’t spoken. “It was found quite by accident. A local tribe was cutting down whipple trees to build a canoe. The stone was found embedded in one of the logs. There it was, perfectly formed, in the middle of a tree trunk. It couldn’t possibly have been created there. Diamonds are not forged from wood. Its origins are a mystery. Once the local people saw its power, that it could keep time and offer visions of the past, present, and future, they took it as some sort of divine totem. But that was not all. It is rumored that the tribe discovered the stone had another great power. They turned the diamond into a kind of god and built a temple to display it. The diamond was stolen from Budatta a century ago. Nobody knows how or by whom. After that, its history is unknown.”

  “You said the stone has another great power,” I said, sitting down on the bed. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know,” she said quickly. “Nobody does.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed her. In truth, I didn’t like Miss Frost. Perhaps it was her freckles or her pointed nose. No, I suspect it was her manner. She was polite. But cold.

  I stood up. “Well, whatever the history of the diamond, it doesn’t matter to me. The day after tomorrow, it will be Matilda’s problem, not mine.”

  Miss Frost headed towards the door. She paused before leaving and regarded me doubtfully. “If you say so, Miss Pocket.”

  “How nice it is to see a familiar face!”

  I found Miss Always in the library. She was in the mythology section (holding a book on ancient curses)—though when she saw me coming, she closed the book and put it back on the shelf. Naturally, she was thrilled to see me.

  “I am taking a break from speechwriting,” she said rather wearily. She threaded her arm through mine and walked with me towards the large windows overlooking the terrace. “Miss Matilda is a special girl.”

  “She is a fathead and a tyrant.”

  Miss Always laughed. “I confess, Ivy, I don’t know why the Duchess of Trinity wished to reward her with the Clock Diamond.”

  “You are right—I can’t think of a girl less deserving than Matilda Butterfield.”

  “Ivy . . .” Miss Always looked suddenly very grave. “Matilda told me something rather shocking this morning. She said that you have no family. That you are an orphan.”

  I thought back on all that I had told Miss Always during the voyage from France—the stories about my mapmaking parents and my frightfully rich grandma. I was certain that now was the right moment to speak the truth. Get it all out in the open and whatnot. As such, I said, “How monstrous! Don’t believe a word of it, dear!”

  Miss Always smiled at me tenderly. “I quite agree. In fact, I told Matilda that she was quite wrong about you. For I know a member of your family most intimately.”

  I tried hard not to look stunned. “You do?”

  She nodded. “I should think so. After all, we may not share blood, but are we not sisters?”

  I felt a mad impulse to hug Miss Always. And so I did.

  I may have even whispered, “Bless you, dear.”

  We sat down on a red velvet sofa, the warm sun pouring in through the windows.

  “I have unearthed a thrilling legend for my new book that is sure to delight my readers,” said Miss Always, grinning madly. “It is long forgotten, dating back centuries. Would you like to hear it, Ivy?”

  “Heavens no. Hearing about holy grails and Greek gods bores me silly.”

  Miss Always took off her spectacles. Gave them a polish. “But this one is different, Ivy. It has tragedy and hope. Death and salvation. And the hero is a girl about your age.” She popped her glasses back on. “It is called the Legend of the Dual.”

  I realized the excitable creature was going to inflict her tale upon me whether I liked it or not. So, being a bosom friend, I said, “Get on with it, dear.”

  “It concerns a land cursed by a plague,” said Miss Always eagerly. “They called the disease the Shadow because when people became inf
ected, their skin would change color, as if a shadow was passing over them. Death was always swift. Millions died. The Queen and her entire family were wiped out in a single year.”

  “Sounds beastly,” I said. “Was there no cure?”

  “None,” said Miss Always. “The entire kingdom was filled with despair. Then a story began to circulate through the villages and towns. It was said that on his deathbed, the Queen’s mystic, who had a gift for prophecy, whispered to his son: “There will come a girl child. She is not from our world, but she will come. A child who is ignorant of the power she possesses and walks the earth unnoticed. She is the Dual—a girl who can pass freely between our two worlds. Only she can heal the plague cursing our land. Only she can save us.”

  I couldn’t deny that the story had me intrigued. “Did they find her?”

  “Not yet,” said Miss Always. She blinked and shook her head. “What I mean is, as far as the legend goes, the Dual was never found. A few were chosen to leave the kingdom and search for the child. But it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. The plague continued to kill many across the land. The legend goes that if the Dual is ever found, she will bring healing to this cursed world and ascend the throne.” Miss Always blushed slightly. “In the interest of my book, I am filling this particular legend with a great deal of murder and treachery. Much of it my own invention. Is that terribly dishonest of me?”

  “It’s shameful, dear, but perfectly reasonable. These stories are nonsense, after all.”

  Miss Always smiled. “Ivy, are you happy here at Butterfield Park?”

  I nodded but said nothing. Part of me wished to confide in my bosom friend. About Rebecca and Miss Frost. About the vision in the stone. And I might have, if Matilda hadn’t stormed into the library waving around a sheet of paper.

  “The speech is awful!” she spat. “This will not astound my guests or make them laugh or move them to tears! Where is the excitement, Miss Always? Where is the humor? Stop loafing about and fix it!”

  “Oh, dear,” said poor Miss Always. “Well . . . perhaps we could include a thrilling episode from Butterfield family history. Something sure to excite your guests.”

  “Impossible,” I said with certainly. “Nothing interesting or thrilling ever happens to aristocrats. It’s scientifically proven.”

  “What would you know, Pocket?” snapped Matilda. “There’s plenty of scandal in my family. You would be shocked.”

  I was hoping she’d reveal something about Rebecca’s troubles. So I said, “I doubt that, dear. But if you think you can shock me, go ahead.”

  Matilda laughed. It was the first time I had ever seen her do it. “Grandmother would kill me for telling you this,” she said. She frowned, but her eyes were dancing. “She was married before. He was a local man and worked in the village as a clerk. I think he was engaged to someone else, but Grandmother had to have him.”

  “Oh, dear . . .” Miss Always looked flustered. “That’s not really what I had in mind, Matilda. Come now, let us go to the schoolhouse and work on something more appropriate.” Miss Always began to hurry Matilda from the library.

  “Wait!” I said, calling after them. “Your grandmother and the clerk—how did it end?”

  “They married,” she said. “He was struck by lightning and dropped dead. Grandmother never talks about him.” She grinned wickedly at me. “Is your little heart stunned, Pocket?”

  “Not at all,” I said casually. “My first governess was struck by lightning. Nothing left of her but a pile of ash, poor dear.”

  “You had a governess?” asked Matilda doubtfully.

  “I certainly hope so,” I said.

  Miss Always practically dragged Matilda from the library. As they hurried off, bound for the schoolhouse, a frightfully handsome footman arrived, carrying a silver tray. He walked up to me silently and presented it. The tray contained an envelope with my name scrawled upon it. I tore it open. It was from Mr. Banks.

  Dear Miss Pocket,

  I write to you on a most urgent matter. It concerns the gift you are set to deliver at the ball. Some information has come to light that is most troubling and makes me fear for your safety. If my letter alarms you, I am glad of it. Be alarmed, Miss Pocket, and be on your guard. The Clock Diamond is not what it seems. I believe you are ensnared in a wicked scheme. Keep your nerve and trust no one. I will come to Suffolk the day after tomorrow on the morning train, and I will explain myself then. I have the money owed to you and more besides. There is a way out of this mess.

  Hold tight, help is at hand.

  Your friend,

  Horatio Banks

  What could it mean? Only this—Mr. Banks was deluded! The poor man had been full of dark thoughts when I was in London and now . . . now his imagination had run away on him. What proof did he offer? None. Yes, it was true, ever since I had taken possession of the Clock Diamond, strange events seemed to shadow me. But I was perfectly safe. After all, I was among friends here at Butterfield Park. No harm could come to me.

  Yet as I slipped the letter in my pocket and left the library, I could no longer deny one simple truth.

  I had doubts.

  By lunchtime it was raining heavily. Storm clouds gathered over Butterfield Park, low and menacing. Inside, the house seemed to surrender to the gloom. Candles were lit in all the public rooms and thunder shook the sky. I had taken Horatio Banks’s note up to my room and hidden it in the pages of Lady Amelia’s novel. I didn’t want anyone reading it by accident. There was sure to be a fuss when he turned up at the house in two days—Mr. Banks was a stubborn old goat—but for now I would act as if nothing was afoot.

  How did things get so terribly muddled? It was such a simple task—deliver a diamond for a miserable brat’s twelfth birthday and collect five hundred pounds. Where was the harm in that? What could go wrong? Nothing. Or a very great deal. Perhaps it was the house’s fault. It was big and old and full of gloom. Or maybe it was my mind. Which was big and young and full of ghosts.

  I headed down the narrow back stairs and walked along the dim corridor, past Matilda’s and Rebecca’s chambers. When I got to the landing, I saw Miss Always crossing the hall below with a lamp, probably on her way to the library. I thought of calling to her. Telling her about the letter. It might help to speak of it. But Miss Always was a writer and therefore prone to hysteria. Horatio Banks’s warning would be fuel to the fire. No, I would say nothing.

  I stood at the top of the stairs and listened. Rain thundered down on the roof of the great hall. The storm clouds outside had bled daylight from the vast room—it was a patchwork of gloomy shadows, more night than day. I closed my eyes, just for a moment.

  I felt someone approaching on the landing behind me. I heard no footsteps. Perhaps they were drowned out by the rumbling sky. But someone was there. I could feel it.

  “Ivy?” called a voice from the bottom of the stairs.

  I looked down.

  There was no one there. Then I remembered—behind me. Someone coming up behind me. I started to turn around. . . .

  But my feet were no longer beneath me. I was lurching forward. Stumbling. A bird without wings. Flying? No. Dropping . . . tumbling . . . thumping.

  Screams, but not my own. Then light. Bright light. Everywhere.

  The floor rushed to meet me.

  10

  There was no pain. That was the first thing. I wasn’t dead. That was the second. I can’t say exactly what position I landed in. All I know is that when Rebecca and Miss Frost found me at the foot of the stairs, my arm was twisted behind my back. I remember Miss Frost gently rolling me on my side and pulling my arm free.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  “Terribly,” was my reply. But when I was finally alert enough to take a moment and feel—I was amazed. Despite the fact that I had apparently tumbled down an enormous staircase, I wasn’t hurting at all. Well, apart from a slight headache. Nor was I bleeding. As Rebecca helped me sit up, my mind flew back. Back to when I was
standing at the top of the stairs. Back to my name being called. Back to feeling someone come up behind me. Back to falling.

  Had I been pushed? Surely not! Yet I couldn’t deny that someone had been up there.

  “How is your arm?” asked Rebecca urgently. “And your head, Ivy, how is your head? Oh, Miss Frost, it’s too awful!”

  I saw Miss Frost’s face harden. “Yes, it is,” she said coldly. “Awful and unnecessary. But what’s done is done. Your legs, Miss Pocket—can you move them?”

  “They’re broken, I’m sure,” I said gravely. To be honest, I was rather disappointed in myself. How can a girl tumble down a great staircase and come out of it unscathed? It was a scandal!

  Miss Frost felt both my legs. Had me bend my knees. Wriggle my toes and whatnot. “You are perfectly fine,” she announced.

  “No injuries at all?” said Rebecca, gently pushing a strand of hair from my eyes.

  “None,” said Miss Frost.

  “What happened, Ivy?” said Rebecca. “Can you remember?”

  I shook my head. “Not completely. But I think perhaps I was pushed.”

  Rebecca gasped. “Surely not!”

  Miss Frost scowled. “I hate to disappoint you, Miss Pocket,” she said, getting to her feet, “but I was passing by when you fell, and there was no one near you on the landing. I will inform Lady Amelia and Lady Elizabeth of the incident and bring back a damp cloth for your head.”

  Rebecca checked me over several times while Miss Frost was gone. She was very preoccupied with my injuries. Or rather, my lack of injuries.

  When Miss Frost returned with a flock of onlookers (including a near-hysterical Lady Amelia), Rebecca said the most remarkable thing. Or rather, she whispered it. “If they ask,” she said, “say that you slipped on the last few stairs and only fell a short way.”

  I looked up her in confusion. “Why on earth should I say that?”

  “Please, Ivy,” she said, her eyes dark and anxious, “I cannot explain. Just please do this for me. It is most important.”

  I sighed. “Don’t pop a button, dear. If it matters that much to you, I’ll do as you ask.”