Anyone but Ivy Pocket

by Caleb Krisp

  The hissing fathead dropped like a brick. As he fell, the Clock Diamond tumbled from inside his cloak. I lunged. Scooped it up. Raced to the open window. Climbed out. I slipped the stone into my pocket and jumped out onto the ledge. Carefully, but quickly, I edged along the side of the great house. Beneath me, the torches lit for the arriving carriages illuminated the two-story drop in gloomy detail. I was terrified. But also terribly brave. Stupendously anxious. But heartbreakingly intrepid.

  Miss Always stuck her head out the window.

  “Ivy, come back!” she shouted. “You will kill yourself!”

  I prayed she was wrong.

  16

  I didn’t look down. I barely breathed. The window. All that mattered was the window of Lady Amelia’s bedroom chamber. I moved swiftly, taking small sideways steps. My hands dug into the grooves of the stonework. I no longer heard Miss Always. It felt as if I traversed the narrow ledge for days, until I reached out and felt the cold glass of the window against my hand. I had made it!

  “Please be unlocked,” I said.

  I took a breath and then pulled on the window. It opened! With one hand on the casement, I climbed into Lady Amelia’s bedroom. A lamp was lit on a table by her bed. The room was silent. Empty, as far as I could tell. The Clock Diamond. I felt for it inside my pocket. Thank heavens it had not fallen out.

  I ran towards the bedroom door—but never reached it. For I heard the unmistakable squeak of the handle being turned. Someone was coming in! In a flash—for I have all the nimble quickness of a startled rabbit—I threw open the lid of a trunk at the foot of Lady Amelia’s bed and jumped inside. As I silently closed the lid, I saw the bedroom door swing open. Then heard the shuffle of feet. It was them.

  I heard doors opening and closing. Drawers being pulled out. Windows being raised. I managed to pull a blanket over me. I was in utter darkness. It felt like a coffin. The locks made little sound. Just the ticking from deep within their hideous little bodies. I held my breath. Prayed they wouldn’t find me.

  Next, I heard one of them walking close by. Then stopping. I closed my eyes tightly. Said a prayer. Then heard movement again. Then the rapid shuffle of little feet. Fading away.

  They were leaving!

  I didn’t dare open the lid. Not yet. Not until I was sure it wasn’t some kind of trick. But at least I felt calm enough to open my eyes. To my surprise, the darkness inside the trunk had given way to a kind of half-light. Not strong, but enough to illuminate the wooden box. It was the Clock Diamond. Shimmering like moonlight in my pocket. I pulled it out.

  A wave of pure delight washed over me.

  I might have even squealed, had it not been for the snow. It began to fall inside the stone, just as before. Snow. Then a forest. A track of footprints. Two people. A woman in a yellow bonnet and a girl. A girl who was me.

  The woman and I had been walking all day. I simply knew that we had. And as we trudged along, the scene began to shift. The woods melted away, sinking into the snow. In their place, buildings began to rise up from the ice. Town houses and factories. Banks and bakeries. Cobblestones sleek with frost. Streets and lanes. Horses, carriages, and burrows.

  London. We were in London.

  The woman pulled me through the crowded streets, her face still concealed by the yellow bonnet. She dragged me by the hand until we came to a stop before a red-bricked building. It was narrow and high. White windows. Blue door. A faded brass plaque was fixed below the doorbell. I didn’t need to read it. For I already knew exactly where we were. THE HARRINGTON HOME FOR UNWANTED CHILDREN. The door swung open.

  The wind howled and churned. I pulled from the woman’s grasp and ran down the steps. But not far. My feet slipped on the icy cobblestones, and I fell. The woman was upon me in moments. She reached down to yank me to my feet. Just then, a gust of wind howled around us—blowing the yellow bonnet from her head. The woman’s red hair flared like a torch in the snowstorm. Miss Frost.

  The woman was Miss Frost!

  She pulled me to my feet and dragged me back up the steps to the orphanage. We vanished inside, the door slamming shut behind us. “No, not yet!” I wanted to cry out. A dark mist whirled inside the stone, devouring the light. The vision was over.

  It was her. That wicked creature! She took me from my parents. Ripped me from the life I had before. The life I couldn’t remember. It was Miss Frost. It was all Miss Frost. But why would she have stolen me away? And why had she come to Butterfield Park? And why was Rebecca helping her?

  I needed answers, and I would get them. The truth about this whole wicked business. I pushed open the trunk and climbed out. My heart hammered as before. But no longer in fear. It was rage that coursed through my veins. Rage that propelled me as I ran from Lady Amelia’s bedroom. Rage that glistened in my dark eyes. I was going to end this, once and for all.

  I was going to find that evil governess.

  The hallway was empty. But Miss Frost had to be close by. I had seen her climbing the stairs earlier. And it made sense that she was overseeing the work of those beastly locks.

  I took off towards the back stairs, breaking into a spirited run. I bolted like a stallion. The hallway flew by in a blur. Which is why I didn’t see the two locks hiding in the doorways on either side of me. They shot out like arrows. Before I even felt them latch on to my arms, I was off my feet, flying backward. Their grip was deathlike. I landed on my back with a thunderous crack.

  But I recovered quickly and kicked the nearest one in the stomach. The vile ghoul landed in a tangle halfway down the corridor. I jumped to my feet as the second one came at me. He was awfully quick. I was thrown against the wall. His talons flew to my neck, thrusting my head against the wall. I could feel the air being squeezed out of me. My vision began to blur. My throat was afire. The lock’s grip tightened. He was going to kill me.

  In a flash I sank my teeth into the villain’s arm, biting with gusto. I have tremendous teeth. Slightly large. Not in a camel kind of way. But big. Useful. The lock hissed. His black eyes rippled. His grip slackened. On a stand nearby was a ghastly gold-and-purple urn. I hooked the lip of it with my finger. Brought it crashing down on his hideous little head. It smashed brilliantly. The lock fell to the floor in a heap. His arm was wonderfully red and full of teeth marks. A clear liquid oozed from the wounds. If it was blood, it was unlike any I had seen before.

  Then I remembered. Miss Frost. I thundered back down the hallway. They came around the corner. Four of them. Charging towards me at great speed. Their robes fluttering around them like capes. Was there an endless supply of these wretched creatures? I skidded to a stop. Turned and took off the way I had come.

  I sprinted onto the landing that overlooked the great hall. To my left were the main stairs. And standing guard there—two locks. They didn’t lunge at me. Just stood there, blocking my escape. I charged across the landing towards the west wing. I was nearly there when they came. A dozen of them. Swarming out of the hallway like a pack of hungry jackals.

  I pulled up. Looked back. The locks chasing me had stopped. I was surrounded on all sides. There was no escape. One of them lifted a clawed hand towards me, his talons unfurling. The others followed in unison. They never spoke. Perhaps they couldn’t. But I knew perfectly well what they were saying. Hand over the Clock Diamond. Do it, or die.

  As one, they began to move. Like a caged animal, I looked desperately about. There was no way out. Well, apart from jumping over the banister. Which would break my neck. Or at the very least, a leg or two. The locks were nearly on me. Which might explain why I started running. Right at the banister. It’s certainly why I leaped into the air. My feet hit the top of the banister. I pushed off. Jumped higher. I didn’t look down at the great hall below. I just flew through the air towards salvation. I would either reach it . . . or die trying.

  The chandelier rushed at me. My arms flailed about. I could feel myself beginning to drop. In desperation, I stretched out my fingers. Hooked an iron branch between the glowing
candles. I grunted. My arms strained. My knuckles white as they gripped the branch. The chandelier swayed violently. A scattering of crystals fell from the branches, dropping to the great hall below, hitting an elderly couple in the head. Naturally they looked up. As did others around them.

  That’s when the screaming began.

  “Good lord, what is that?” cried one silly woman.

  “A child!” screamed another. “It’s a child!”

  “Help her. Somebody help her!” hollered a girl.

  “I’m perfectly fine!” I shouted. “Please, go on with the ball! Pretend I’m not here!”

  But I wasn’t fine at all. My fingers were slipping. I was dropping before I knew it. Heard thunderous screams. Shut my eyes. Waited for the crunch of my bones on the hard floor.

  Instead, I hit with a splatter.

  As if I had landed in mud.

  Or a five-story birthday cake.

  Great chunks of cream and frosting and vanilla cake arched through the air like a water fountain—a mighty shower of deliciousness raining upon the aristocrats of Suffolk, hitting foreheads and hats and eyeballs and gowns with thrilling accuracy. My eyes flew open. I was wedged in Matilda’s cake. My back hurt. But nothing appeared to be broken. Two of the servants rushed to lift me from the landing site. Dismounting from the cake proved rather humiliating. The entire room was gathered around. I felt an explanation was in order.

  “It’s actually a very funny story,” I said, wiping large chunks of vanilla cake from my dress. “It involves a slippery floor, a jar of marmalade, and my tragic past as a frightfully unreliable trapeze artist.”

  “You’ve ruined my cake!”

  It was Matilda. Naturally.

  “I never wanted you at my party! I never wanted you in my house! What a spectacle you have made of yourself, hanging from the ceiling like a monkey. Are you really so desperate for attention? I almost feel bad for you, Pocket. It’s no wonder you’re an orphan. Your parents probably died of shame.” She looked over at her friends. “Don’t feel bad for the little maid. She does this sort of thing all the time. Where is the diamond, Pocket? Give it to me and get out of this house!”

  My mind was elsewhere. Miss Frost. The locks. I didn’t have time for this. Well, perhaps just a moment or two.

  I smiled at Matilda. “You seem upset, dear. Have some cake.”

  My hand was behind her head in a flash. Her face flew towards the battered birthday cake and landed with a glorious splutter. A large piece of cream sailed through the air and planted on Lady Elizabeth’s nose. Matilda shrieked like an angry parrot. Lady Elizabeth called for my public execution. All around, the guests were gasping and snickering in shock. I believe I even glimpsed Lady Amelia stifling a giggle.

  But I didn’t stay around to enjoy the moment. For I had spotted Miss Frost racing at great speed across the landing above. A look of thunder upon her face. I licked a blob of frosting from my finger and bounded up the stairs after her.

  Miss Frost had vanished into the east wing, though I wasn’t at all sure why—why had she not come after me? I charged down the hallway, eagerly glancing into each open door. No sign of Miss Frost. Or her devilish locks. Even the door to Rebecca’s room was now wide open—I was relieved that Miss Always had managed to escape. At the end of the corridor, I turned left and mounted the narrow back stairs up to the attic. My bedroom was silent and still. But there was a great racket coming from the room where I had hidden the necklace.

  I raced into my bedroom and grabbed the poker from the hearth. Then hurried out into the corridor and threw open the storeroom door, fully prepared for battle.

  Here is what I saw—Miss Frost clutching a sword. She was panting rapidly. Around her were a dozen hooded robes in piles upon the bare floor. White smoke rose from the garments, as if from the embers of a dying fire.

  Miss Frost fixed her eyes upon me. She lowered her sword. “Miss Pocket, I have been searching for you all evening.”

  I lifted the poker and pointed it at her. “I know everything!” I shouted.

  “Lower your weapon,” said Miss Frost coolly.

  “I won’t!” I thundered, stepping towards her.

  Miss Frost lifted her sword, and we began to circle each other.

  “Where is the Clock Diamond?” said Miss Frost.

  “Where you can’t find it, you villain!”

  “Calm yourself, Miss Pocket. I am sure you are full of questions. But right now I am trying my best to keep you safe. Miss Always believes that her time has come, and she will do whatever it takes to—”

  “Stop blaming Miss Always!” I hissed. “I know you took me! I saw it in the stone. You stole me from my home. From my family. You dragged me to that beastly orphanage!”

  Anger boiled within me. It felt like a tempest in my chest. I lunged, thrusting the poker at her. With ease she used her sword to sweep it aside.

  Miss Frost sighed. “Hunting for the Clock Diamond has led me to many dark places, Miss Pocket,” she said. “It was in such a place that I found you.”

  Hearing the truth at last was rather shocking. I had so many thoughts and questions, I didn’t know which one to grab first. “The house I saw in the stone,” I said finally. “The one you took me from—did I grow up there?”

  Miss Frost shook her head. “The house was full of vagrants, criminals, and other undesirables. It was a forsaken place, Miss Pocket. A place of last resort.”

  “A poorhouse?”

  “I was there following a lead concerning the Clock Diamond. I found you and your mother in a back room. You were sleeping in her lap—curled up like a kitten.”

  I squealed. A wave of joy rushed through me. My mother!

  But Miss Frost was frowning. “She was dead, Miss Pocket. Quite dead.”

  Miss Frost stepped towards me, but I backed away.

  “You were sound asleep, and so I took you. What else was I supposed to do? Leave you there? Yes, you tried to run away, and yes, I stopped you.” Miss Frost cleared her throat. “For reasons of my own, I didn’t wish to be seen, so I left on foot, cutting across the woods. You woke up, told me your name, and . . . and asked for your mother. When we got to the orphanage, you threw a fit. Hit your head on a desk. I came the next day and you didn’t recognize me. The doctor said you had no memory of the previous day. Or of your mother. I was relieved.”

  “Who was she?” I said next. “Who was my mother?”

  Miss Frost’s eyes shifted about. Just for a moment. She said, “I do not know. Your mother had no possessions. Her clothes were threadbare. She wore no jewelry. Perhaps her family had turned her out on the street. Who can say?”

  “But what about my father?” My voice rang with bitterness. “I must have one, mustn’t I? Why didn’t you try and find him? Anything would have been better than sending me to that awful place.”

  “Miss Pocket, judging from where I found you, I suspect your father is either dead or unaware you exist.” She bowed her head to meet my gaze. “Life had abandoned you both, Miss Pocket. Your mother wore no wedding ring. Do you understand?”

  Of course I did.

  “You’ve been lying to me this whole time. Lying and plotting and scheming behind my back,” I said.

  A shadow passed across Miss Frost’s face, though she made no reply.

  “Does Rebecca know?” I demanded. “Is that what you two have been conspiring about in the shadows? Is that the big secret? Tell me, Miss Frost—I have a right to know!”

  “This isn’t the time.”

  She was wrong. Now was exactly the time. I wanted answers, and I would have them. “Did you come to Butterfield Park for the Clock Diamond or for me?” I shouted.

  “The simple answer is—both.”

  “I suppose you killed Rebecca’s old governess to take her place?”

  Miss Frost gave me a disapproving glare. “I paid Miss Rochester two hundred pounds to leave Suffolk and spend the summer in Italy.”

  Which was hugely disappointing.

/>   “The stone, Miss Pocket,” she said with icy calm. “Where is it?”

  I lunged for her a second time. Miss Frost stepped back and, with a flick of her wrist, pressed her sword to my chest.

  I looked at her, the hatred crackling in my eyes. “You are a bad person, Miss Frost.”

  “Perhaps.”

  A scream broke the spell. It came from the hall outside. It was unmistakably Rebecca. I turned towards the door.

  “Rebecca?” I shouted. “What have you done to her, Miss Frost?”

  Silence.

  When I turned back, Miss Frost had vanished.

  I charged down the rickety back stairs. Tore around the corner and into the hallway. Rebecca was at the far end. Being set upon by a gaggle of locks. They had her in their grasp and were dragging her away. Not if I could help it!

  “I’m coming, dear!” I cried.

  Gripping the poker tightly in my sweaty hand, I took off at speed. Rebecca was being pulled into a doorway near the landing. She clung to the sides of the doorframe, trying desperately to hold on. As I raced past Matilda’s bedroom, a lock flew at me. I didn’t even stop. Just swung the poker, knocking the fathead right in the stomach. He doubled over and dropped.

  “Hurry, Ivy!” shrieked Rebecca.

  I was upon them now. Two of them rushed at me, claws out. I thumped one in the head. The other seized my wrist and began to squeeze it like a vise. In a flash I was burying my teeth in his hand.

  Inspired by my brilliant fighting skills—for I have all the natural instincts of a warlord—Rebecca stomped on another lock’s foot. She followed up valiantly with a kick to the shins, but slipped and fell (for she lacked my gift for combat). Still, the evil pygmy fled like a startled rabbit. I went to work on the other two, bashing one on the head and the other in the chest. I was marvelous! I scanned the corridor, expecting to see a fresh supply of the tiny monsters charging towards us. But there were none . . . at least for now. I grabbed Rebecca by the hand and pulled her up.