Anyone but Ivy Pocket

by Caleb Krisp

  “Oh, Ivy, are you all right?” cried Lady Amelia. “You poor, poor girl!”

  “What happened?” asked Miss Always, who had come running from the library. “Ivy, are you hurt?”

  Rebecca informed the gathering that I was uninjured and that I had only slipped near the bottom of the stairs. As such, no harm was done.

  “You might have been killed,” said Miss Always (that sweet creature!).

  “Yes, dear, you are right,” I said bravely. “I suppose I shall have to be pushed around in a wheelchair until I recover. Lifted into chairs and carried about the place by a footman.”

  “Claptrap,” snapped Lady Elizabeth, waving her cane at me. “I see your ridiculous imagination has not been injured either.”

  “I will send for Dr. Longfellow,” fretted Lady Amelia.

  “There’s no need,” said Miss Frost. “She is perfectly unharmed.”

  Rebecca and Miss Always helped me to my feet. Regrettably, I didn’t faint.

  “The poor girl must be examined,” said Lady Amelia.

  “Pocket’s neck didn’t break,” said Matilda coldly (she had been standing by the banister watching the proceedings). “You are worrying about nothing, Mother.”

  Miss Frost quickly agreed. I had tumbled down the stairs. Was apparently unhurt. And there was nothing more to it. So the matter was settled. For them. But not for me.

  I was left to rest in the conservatory until supper. But I was in no mood for that. After all, I felt perfectly fine. In body, at least. My mind was another matter. As the rain had ceased, I went for a walk in the woodlands. A torrent of thoughts crashed through me. I remembered standing at the top of the stairs. I’d felt someone there. I’d heard my name called. Yet Miss Frost had seen everything. She claimed I was alone up there. But was she telling the truth? And if she wasn’t, why would she lie?

  I wanted to scream. So I did. Several times. There was no harm in it. While the woodlands afford a perfect view of the schoolhouse and the wildflower meadow, they are far enough away to ensure privacy. It was a mess. All of it—a mess.

  The afternoon sun filtered through the canopy of maple and oaks. It filled the forest with a rosy shimmer that was something like dawn. I took a deep breath. Steadied myself. I saw Rebecca and Matilda emerge from the schoolhouse, followed by Miss Frost. They appeared to be studying the wildflowers. Or bees. Something of that kind. Miss Frost was pointing to several blooms and talking a great deal.

  “They are so different.”

  I turned. A woman stood behind me. She was tall. Blond hair sweeping her shoulders. Her delicate hands clutched together. She was looking at Matilda and Rebecca. And she was smiling.

  “I’m sorry?” I said.

  “The girls,” said the woman, and her voice was like honey. “They are very different. Matilda has all the answers. Rebecca, all the questions. Who is the wiser, do you think?”

  I shrugged. “If it’s a contest, I would win. I’m monstrously wise. Everybody says so.”

  The lady laughed softly. There was something odd about her. And also rather wonderful.

  “Do you know the Butterfields?” I said.

  “Once upon a time.”

  I looked at her carefully. She had a pretty face. Round. Soft. Her eyes caught my attention—one was green, the other blue.

  “I haven’t seen you here before,” she said.

  “I’m just visiting,” I said. “On frightfully important business.”

  “I see.” Her eyes drifted back to the clearing where Rebecca and Matilda were now pressing something into a book—wildflowers, perhaps. “They have so much to learn.”

  “You know Matilda and Rebecca?” I said.

  “Oh, yes. Once upon a time.”

  Suddenly I understood. I knew who this strange, beautiful creature was. Miss Rochester—the vanishing governess! She had come back to check on her pupils. How bone-shatteringly interesting!

  I looked at Miss Rochester. Then back at the girls. “Why don’t you come and say hello?” I said, watching Matilda stomp on a cluster of daisies. “I’m sure they’d be thrilled to see you.”

  “Don’t lose heart, Miss Pocket.”

  I turned. Baffled at how she knew my name.

  “How did you know—?”

  But Miss Rochester had disappeared.

  She found me before I found her. Rebecca’s face was a cloud of anguish when she spotted me walking out of the woodlands, and hurried over. “You must be terribly confused about why I asked you to lie about falling down the stairs. Ivy,” she said, “there’s a lot you don’t—”

  “I’ve seen her!” I declared triumphantly.

  “Who?” Rebecca looked alarmed, poor dear. “Who did you see?”

  “Miss Rochester,” I said excitedly. “The missing governess!”

  Rebecca frowned. “You have seen Miss Rochester?”

  “I’m utterly positive,” I said with pride. “Of course, most people wouldn’t have a clue, they would just think her a passing stranger. But I knew it was your tragic governess—for I have all the natural instincts of a junior Sherlock Holmes. Trust me, Rebecca, Miss Rochester has returned!”

  A faint smiled washed the frown from Rebecca’s face. “Ivy, are you sure it was her?” she asked.

  “Positive! At least, I think it was her. I can’t be completely sure, since I have never laid eyes on the woman before. Have you a picture of her?”

  “No,” said Rebecca glumly. Then she brightened a little. “But you could tell me what she looked like.”

  “That is easy,” I said, “for her face is fixed in my mind. Lovely blond hair. Face like a cherub. And her eyes. They were remarkable—one blue, one green. I never saw such thing.”

  The poor dear was trembling. In fact, she looked positively stricken. My brilliant description had floored her. Miss Rochester had returned!

  “It’s true,” whispered Rebecca. There were tears welling in her eyes. Then she lunged at me. Hugged me like a madwoman. She pulled back. Hugged me again.

  Her eyes roamed my face. “Have you told anyone else—about the lady?”

  “You are the first,” I said.

  “It would be better if you said nothing about her to anyone else,” said Rebecca. “Just for now.”

  “Why shouldn’t we tell everyone about Miss Rochester? Her return is a good thing, isn’t it?”

  It was as if a great wave of grief or happiness washed over the poor dear. She sobbed. Wiped her eyes. Sobbed again. She wept like a fountain. I did my best to calm her. Patted her head two or three times. Smiled kindly.

  “Please, Ivy, I know I have asked a great deal of you,” she said, her words tumbling out in a flurry, “but it isn’t without reason. There are things . . . things that make no sense. Yet, they are true. Impossibly true! Please, just do as I ask.”

  I sighed. “As you wish. But I have to say, dear, in my professional opinion—you’re barking mad.”

  She hugged me again, kissed my cheek, then ran off towards the house.

  Rebecca didn’t come to dinner. And I hardly saw her at all the next morning. The great house was a hive of activity—which was no great surprise, as the ball was tomorrow night. I spent much of the morning with Miss Always in the library. She was still busy working on Matilda’s speech, but she always had time for me. There was so much I wished to tell her about the events of the last few days—but I had made promises to Rebecca, and I was a girl of my word. Instead, I told Miss Always about the letter from Horatio Banks—his grim warnings and that he would be calling on me at Butterfield Park the next day.

  Miss Always was terribly interested. She threw a dozen questions at me. Asked me what train Mr. Banks was coming on. Expressed a strong interest in seeing the letter.

  The poor creature looked rather anxious. Jumpy, even. She explained that her nerves were still afire because of my monstrous fall. She said her heart was in her throat when she saw me sprawled on the ground. She expressed amazement that I hadn’t broken my neck.
r />   Miss Always loved me like a sister!

  “It is very good news that Mr. Banks is coming,” she said as we walked out into the rose garden for morning tea. “From his letter, it sounds as though he has new information about the Clock Diamond. Perhaps now we will learn its great secrets!”

  We found Lady Elizabeth snoozing in the arbor, the cat on her lap. Lady Amelia was fussing over the teapot. She looked terribly agitated.

  “Rebecca won’t be joining us,” she said gravely. “I do wish she wouldn’t hide herself away day and night.”

  “I refuse to pry, it’s the height of bad manners,” I said, sitting down in a wicker chair, “but tell me this, Lady Amelia—what does Rebecca have hidden in that room of hers?”

  The poor woman paled. “It is difficult to explain, Ivy.”

  “She should be locked up,” said Matilda brightly. “She’ll go mad one day and kill us all.”

  I smiled warmly at Matilda. “Not all of us, dear. I’m certain Rebecca would lose interest once she finished you off.”

  The dear girl unleashed a passionate response—all in French. I’m certain she was complimenting my silky hair. And possibly my chin. It’s difficult to be sure.

  “Have you seen Miss Frost?”

  We all turned. Rebecca was coming quickly towards us, looking like a ball of nervous excitement. “Have you seen her?” she asked again.

  “No, dear,” I said. “Perhaps she is in the schoolhouse.”

  “Miss Frost is a devil,” declared Matilda. “All she ever does is teach. It’s not normal.”

  “Miss Frost is good and brave and noble!” shouted Rebecca. It was quite an outburst and caught everyone’s attention. Even Lady Elizabeth stirred from her nap.

  “She dresses like an undertaker, and her accent hurts my ears,” said Matilda, folding her arms. “And everyone knows she has the complexion and manners of an orangutan.”

  “You take that back, Matilda!” yelled Rebecca. “Take it back!”

  “I won’t!” snapped Matilda.

  I had high hopes that things might get violent, but Miss Always calmed things down by alerting us to Miss Frost, who was stalking towards us across the rose garden.

  I cut a slice of cheesecake and sat down again.

  “Rebecca, would you join me in the schoolhouse?” said Miss Frost, stopping a short distance from our tea party. She did not offer a greeting to anyone else.

  “But, Miss Frost, surely Rebecca has finished with her lessons for the morning?” protested Lady Amelia.

  “It’s just a small matter,” said Miss Frost crisply. “It will not take long.”

  “I don’t mind, Aunt,” said Rebecca quickly. “I asked Miss Frost to help me with my penmanship.”

  “I should think so,” barked Lady Elizabeth, opening her eyes. “You write like an infant!”

  I watched Rebecca and Miss Frost walk away—they were deep in conversation almost immediately. Which was terribly interesting.

  “Goodness, Grandmother,” cried Matilda, peering at old Walnut Head, “how long have you been out here in the hot morning sun?”

  Lady Elizabeth huffed. “No idea. One hour is much the same as the next when you get to my age.”

  In truth, the beastly fossil had been sleeping in the arbor since breakfast. And now her face was as red as a tomato. I crouched down and examined her face.

  “The news isn’t good, dear,” I said gravely. “You have the complexion of a boiled lobster. Your skin is practically crying out for moisture. Fear not, I have just the remedy.”

  “Don’t you touch me!” she bellowed, and the cat jumped from her lap into Matilda’s.

  Lady Elizabeth reached for her cane. I had to act quickly.

  “I don’t wish to alarm you, Lady Elizabeth,” I said, scouring the tea table for something suitable, “but this is a skin emergency.”

  The old woman tried to get up (possibly to hug me), but I pushed her back down. It only took a second for me to reach across the table and pick up the cheesecake and a spoon.

  “Ivy, what are you doing?” asked Lady Amelia urgently. “Are you sure you know—?”

  “Very sure, dear.”

  “Stop her, Mother!” cried Matilda. “She’s dangerous!”

  “Stay away!” shrieked Lady Elizabeth.

  Which was ridiculous. I scooped up a large helping of cheesecake and splattered it on the old bat’s face. Then another blob. Then another. She was making strange noises—not unlike an injured piglet—which I attributed to the soothing qualities of the cheesecake. I smeared the healing balm all over her face, leaving only her eyes clear. It took just a moment or two for her red skin to be fully covered by the dessert.

  “The treatment must stay on for at least an hour, Lady Elizabeth,” I said, cleaning my hands on a napkin. “You may attract flies, so I suggest you go indoors.”

  She cursed me with gratitude and leaped up, waving her cane!

  The cane swished through the air and hit a maid on the bottom. She shrieked—which was understandable—and in the process, tipped a jug of lemonade into Matilda’s lap. Matilda jumped up suddenly (crying like a madwoman) and the cat went flying into the air. Alarmingly high.

  I had to think quickly. It would be necessary to break the cat’s fall. I grabbed the closest thing—Lady Amelia.

  “Prepare yourself, dear!” I cried, spinning her around and pushing her onto the table. Her generous bosom and wobbly stomach would make an idea landing pad.

  “Prepare for what?” cried the poor creature.

  The whole thing was over in no time. The cat came down right on Lady Amelia’s magnificent belly. It bounced and flew across the table, landing on Lady Elizabeth. The creature flew into her lap and almost immediately began licking the cheesecake on her face. Disaster averted!

  There was much carry-on, of course. Matilda questioned my sanity. Lady Amelia fainted. Old Walnut Head called for me to be dropped down a well. Or, at very least, tied to a tree and hit with sticks. I felt it best to excuse myself and retire to the house. But I must admit, I felt bitterly disappointed.

  All that effort, and not even a thank you!

  I went up to my room with the intention of finishing Lady Amelia’s book. The house was eerily quiet. Matilda was having a final fitting for her birthday dress. Lady Amelia was on hand to tell the brat how pretty she looked. Lady Elizabeth was taking a bath to remove the cheesecake. It was a perfect moment to read and rest.

  But as I sat on my bed, all I could think about was the Clock Diamond—lying there in the next room, hidden among a cluster of costume jewels. Just waiting for me to hold it and look within it. Just waiting to show me what I yearned to see. I felt a hunger so urgent and painful that it made my teeth chatter.

  Which would explain why I found myself kneeling on the floor among a pile of dusty trunks, staring into the stone. I gasped when heavy snow began to churn inside the diamond. A winter forest emerged. The woman in the yellow bonnet was no longer holding me. I was walking beside her. Not walking. Being dragged along. Somehow I knew we had been trudging through that forest for hours. In the trees behind us, a dark blur passed by. It was a farmer, head bowed against the snow, pulling a horse laden with logs.

  I turned. Spotted him. Pulled free from the woman’s grip and was running, my legs vanishing beneath the thick blanket of snow. I was calling out—though I couldn’t hear the words. The farmer stopped. Looked hard into the heavy snowfall. I called out again, but a hand flew over my mouth. The woman in the yellow bonnet pulled me back. We were cowering behind a tree. My mouth muzzled. I struggled to free myself, but her grip was too tight.

  The farmer waited a moment. Then whipped his horse and moved away.

  Only when he was out of sight did the woman release me. She shook the snow from her bonnet and grabbed me again. With my hand locked inside hers, she pulled me deeper into the white woods.

  The snow fell harder until the diamond was a radiant white. Then a dark mist churned, swallowing the light. The v
ision ended. I stayed there staring at the stone for the longest time. Willing it to come back and show me more. To tell me what happened next.

  But of course, it didn’t.

  11

  It was already afternoon when I finally came down from the attic. I had just turned down the hallway that led to the landing above the main stairs—it was a vast corridor, littered with hideous urns and dull paintings of hunters and hounds. I was in rather a hurry to get to the kitchen and see if Cook could spare a few potatoes. Perhaps a cabbage or two. I was famished, having missed lunch.

  But all thoughts of food flew from my mind when I glanced down that dim hallway. It stopped me cold—what I saw at the other end. A small figure in dark robes. His face was shrouded by a hood, but I felt quite certain he was staring at me.

  My first instinct was to look for a weapon. But there wasn’t time. For at that exact moment, Miss Always swept around the corner, and as she did, the little villain seemed to vanish. As if into the very folds of her dress. It was most remarkable!

  “You look as if you have seen a ghost,” said Miss Always when she reached me. She was frowning now. “Are you unwell?”

  I told my bosom friend what I had just witnessed. The poor creature was stunned.

  “Ivy, what a remarkable story,” she said gravely. “You say this little gentleman vanished as I came around the corner? But you know such things are impossible. You do know that, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do, dear,” I said, trying to sound bright. “But I tell you, he looked just like the villains who attacked me in London. And if such things are impossible, what on earth did I just see?”

  Miss Always pursed her lips. Murmured every so often. Then said, “Trauma. That is the only explanation.”

  “Is it?”

  “I believe so. It is perfectly understandable that you might imagine those awful thieves from London had followed you here to Butterfield Park. In fact, I would be shocked if you weren’t seeing things.”

  It had looked so real. Was I to doubt my own eyes? Yet Miss Always sounded very sure, and what reason would she have to lie? She must be right. It was just trauma. From the robbery. Nothing more. Which was a great relief.