The Whispers in the Walls (Scarlet and Ivy, Book 2)

by Sophie Cleverly

  There was a short ladder on wheels nearby, used for reaching the higher shelves. Violet didn’t have to be told twice. She took one end and I took the other, and we carried it towards the secret door. We were so near the fire now that the heat was almost unbearable.

  Something crunched under my feet. I looked down. Glass? And then I saw it. The oil lamp was on the floor, smashed open and engulfed in flames.

  We had to get Rose, and time was running out.

  “Now!” I called.

  Violet and I rammed the ladder into the door and it swung round, still on fire. And then we were both through the gap, coughing and steaming. I patted myself down quickly – none of my clothes had caught.

  Violet shot off down the staircase. All thoughts of being quiet forgotten, she yelled Rose’s name over and over.

  We found her at the bottom, staring upwards. “Rose,” Violet said, breathless, “we have to go, quick, there’s a fire.”

  Rose nodded her understanding.

  I tried to take her hand, but she suddenly swerved away from me and back into her room.

  “Rose!” Violet called after her. But within seconds she was back, and she’d retrieved something.

  It was the book of pony stories.

  We ran back up the stairs. They creaked ominously under our weight. The smoke increased as we neared the top, a big grey cloud that threatened to choke us. I soon saw why – the fire was spreading to the staircase.

  The top of it had already caught, and was slowly creeping along. The step and the banister wouldn’t resist it for long, I knew that.

  “No, no, no!” Violet cried.

  “We have to jump!” I said, but my words were muffled by my scarf. The doorway was still clear, but for how much longer?

  And just as I thought that, one of the top shelves collapsed into the gap, making it even smaller. Burning books tumbled to the ground, crackling.

  Violet flung herself forward and leapt through the tight space. I watched with horror as her sleeve caught fire, but she rolled forward on to the floor, over and over, until it was out.

  I braced myself to move, but I soon realised that Violet had left Rose behind. The poor girl stood there, coughing and crying in the acrid smoke, still gripping her book.

  Pulling down my scarf as much as I could bear, I looked her in the eye. “Rose, we need to get through there. Can I take your hand?”

  As soon as she nodded, I seized her hand, and we jumped.

  Using Violet’s trick, I pulled her down to the hard floor, and we both rolled away from the fire. I felt my eyebrows and hair singe.

  In a daze, I staggered back to my feet. I knew Rose was beside me, and I knew we had to get out. But my throat was raw, and my head was spinning.

  Together we stumbled forward across the library.

  There was an alarm, a bell. So loud. The fire alarm! Someone had rung it!

  Not far to go.

  Through blurry vision I saw the vast doors of the library. I sped up, dragging Rose along beside me. My lungs felt tight and painful, the pressure inside them was intense …

  Violet. She stood by the door, panting, retching. I grabbed her too. Every step we took was a step further away from the smoke, closer to freedom.

  Around. Not far. Along the corridor. Nearly there. I kept repeating it to myself. The bell went clangclangclang in my ears.

  Suddenly there was a swarm of girls in nightgowns. Evacuating, I realised. They flowed into the entrance hall and we were swept along with them.

  The doors were wide open, and I felt the cold, cold air on my face.

  We stepped out, Violet and Rose and I. Stepped into the freezing night, the whole school behind us.

  We’d made it. We were alive.

  I fell forward into the snow.

  “Scarlet!”

  I ran forward, and I couldn’t keep the tears from my eyes. Scarlet. My twin. Her clothes were blackened, her hair singed at the ends.

  No. I won’t lose her again.

  I turned her over and shook her shoulders. “Scarlet, wake up! Wake up!”

  After a few long, painful moments, her head rolled back, and she started to cough.

  The fire alarm Ariadne had set off rang in my ears. Other girls were crowding around us on the gravel, staring, whispering.

  “Get back,” Ariadne said. “Shoo!” She waved them away. “Teacher! We need a teacher! Help!”

  Scarlet coughed more, and then, finally, her eyes snapped open. “What … what happened?” she asked, gulping down the fresh air.

  “Oh, Scarlet,” was all I could say, and I swept her into a hug.

  “Not too tight,” she murmured. I leant back from her. There was soot all down my front.

  A stout figure hurried down the school steps; the matron, I realised, in the glow of the lamppost. Her hair was still rolled up in curlers, and she was wearing a thick housecoat. “I’ve telephoned the fire brigade,” she called breathlessly. “Just stay calm girls! Huddle together for warmth!”

  Everyone was in their nightgowns, and I’d forgotten for a moment how freezing I was. The matron began herding people into groups, enlisting Maureen and Lettie with their shiny prefect badges to help her, and I watched as Ariadne slipped away towards them.

  “Can you stand?” I asked Scarlet.

  “I think so,” she said. She wiped her face with what remained of her scarf, and pulled it down around her neck.

  Nadia and her older sister, Meena, pushed through the crowd. I looked up into Meena’s worried face. “Let us help,” she said.

  I nodded, and Nadia crouched down beside me. Nadia took Scarlet’s other shoulder, and together we lifted her upright. The snowflakes clung to my fingers, cold and damp.

  Ariadne appeared again, and she had the matron and Nurse Gladys in tow. “Here,” she said. “I think she breathed in a lot of smoke.”

  The two women looked at each other – probably thinking the same thing: why had Scarlet been near the fire? In the library? In the middle of the night?

  If they were thinking that, they didn’t say anything at that moment. Instead they stepped over and took Scarlet off me and Nadia, and reluctant as I was to let go of her, I knew I had to. The nurse wrapped a blanket around her. As I stood aside, Ariadne took hold of my hand. “She’ll be all right,” she said.

  But I had a question of my own, now. Where had Violet and Rose gone? I’d not seen them come out of the building, but there were so many girls squeezing out of the doors that they would have been easy to miss.

  As my eyes searched for them in the crowd, I heard peals of alarm bells in the distance. Help was on its way.

  I turned back to Scarlet, who was being fussed over by the nurse and matron. “Did they get out?” I asked quietly. She nodded. Thank goodness.

  The bells grew louder and louder, until the vehicle came into a view. It was a fire engine, its wheels gripping the salted surface of the drive. Red, shiny, an enormous ladder strapped to the back. It was filled with men in smart buttoned uniforms and metal helmets. I saw them shouting to each other and pointing at the east wing. Some of the library windows had cracked open and smoke was pouring out.

  “Stand back, everyone, stand back!” the matron called.

  We all moved aside, and watched as the men worked, unfurling a hosepipe from the side of the engine. They began pumping water out of the hose. It sprayed across the windows in an arcing torrent.

  Others ran inside, carrying buckets and wearing masks.

  “The headmaster has been called,” I heard someone say. I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly succumbing to the cold even more than before.

  I couldn’t feel my hands and feet, and my teeth were chattering uncontrollably. My friends had stayed close, but it hadn’t helped much. At least Scarlet was recovering – her breathing was back to normal, and the spark had returned to her eyes. The nurse said the doctor would arrive soon to examine her and make sure there hadn’t been any lasting damage. They still hadn’t yet asked what she�
��d been doing in there.

  Mrs Knight arrived. “We’ll head for the hall, girls, while the fire is being dealt with,” she said. “We should be safe there on the other side of the school. Walk in pairs, but quickly, please.” She wrung her hands together.

  In the hall, the staff handed out blankets and someone was sent to brave the kitchens and boil a kettle to make hot tea. We sat on the floor, all shivering together. The usual rabble was absent – everyone was too tired and cold to chatter.

  Only Ariadne broke the hush. “Are you all right, Scarlet?”

  “Fine, fine,” said my twin, but I detected a hint of fear. And I thought I knew why.

  “Where’s the headmaster?” I overheard the matron muttering to Mrs Knight, as they stood beside us.

  “I don’t know. We couldn’t get hold of him on the telephone, but Gladys said she saw him on the way inside. He’ll be here soon,” she said, but there was an air of uncertainty to her voice.

  And moments later, there he was, trooping into the hall.

  Marching Violet and Rose in front of him.

  He approached Mrs Knight, his face thunderous. “I found these two delinquents trying to hide in the hallway.”

  “My … my goodness,” said Mrs Knight. She peered down at Rose. “Do I know you? Are you a pupil here?”

  Rose shook her head.

  “She’s my friend,” said Violet fiercely, before breaking into a hacking cough that rivalled Mr Bartholomew’s own.

  “She isn’t one of ours, sir,” Mrs Knight said quietly. “Where did she come from?”

  Violet slammed her lips tightly shut, refusing to say another word. And of course, Rose didn’t say anything, either.

  “They are both covered in soot!” He growled. “These must be our culprits.”

  Scarlet burrowed down into her blanket, and tipped her head forward so he wouldn’t see her face. I didn’t have anything to cover up, but I prayed that my clothes didn’t smell of smoke.

  “There are culprits?” asked the nurse. “You think someone did this deliberately?”

  Mr Bartholomew’s eyebrows knitted together and he said nothing. He didn’t let go of Violet and Rose.

  “It could have been an accident, couldn’t it?” she said, worry etched in lines on her face. “I should make sure these girls are all right.”

  Miss Finch came bursting into the hall. “Is everyone safe? What happened?” she cried.

  The headmaster stared hard at her, and then at Violet and Rose. “Keep an eye on these two, Miss Finch. Find out who this girl is.”

  “We’ve lost everything,” Scarlet whispered.

  “What?” I asked, leaning closer. Violet and Rose had been caught, yes, and the library was a casualty, but … there could still be a way out of this. They couldn’t prove anything about our involvement.

  “The staircase,” Scarlet replied absently. “The staircase caught fire. It’s probably all gone by now. The wall. The Whispers’ book. No way down.”

  “Rats,” said Ariadne, and I’d never heard her sound so sad.

  We all sat there, hanging our heads, pins and needles prickling at our skin as warmth returned. I fought the urge to cry.

  The headmaster cleared his throat with that horrible deathly rattle of his.

  “Girls,” he announced, “it is my hope that the fire will shortly be completely out, and you will be able to return to your beds. Tomorrow’s lessons will be cancelled while we investigate this … act of dangerous vandalism.”

  A shocked murmur rippled out around the hall.

  “Silence,” he said, and it returned quicker than I could blink.

  “I want to make something abundantly clear,” he said, and his expression was so malevolent it sent shivers down my spine. “If any of you are found responsible for this fire, it will result in immediate expulsion.”

  Scarlet raised an eyebrow, and I could tell she was thinking that it wouldn’t be so bad to be kicked out of this hateful school.

  But we’d come so close to finding out precious information about our mother, and her involvement in the Whispers. Were we about to be plunged into the dark once more?

  We were allowed back to our beds eventually, in the very early hours of the morning, the prefects put in charge of ushering people back to their rooms. I’d had to wait for the nurse to pronounce me fit to leave the hall. I panicked at first, convinced she was going to see how close I’d been to the fire and tell on me. My mind was racing for a good excuse, but Nurse Gladys seemed just as twitchy as the other teachers. She just waved me off and told me to get a good rest, whilst glancing around nervously. Was she afraid of the headmaster too?

  I didn’t know what would happen to Violet and Rose, but at least for now they were with Miss Finch. How long she would be able to keep them away from the firing line of Mr Bartholomew’s questioning, I didn’t know.

  After washing my face and peeling off my smoke-damaged coat, I fell into bed, numb with exhaustion. My throat felt sore, but my breathing was fine. I drank in the cold air of our room, feeling grateful for it. My lumpy mattress suddenly felt like the most comfortable feather bed in the world.

  Just then a horrible realisation hit me. If the fire had destroyed that bit of the bookshelves, it must have destroyed the newspaper archives as well. That newspaper with the report about the drowned pupil would have gone up in smoke. Crushing disappointment filled me. All our evidence had been destroyed. In one fell swoop.

  Sleep took a long time to arrive that night.

  In my dream, I was on the rooftop, and snow was falling around me.

  No. Not snow.

  It was ash. Pieces of ash, scraps of paper, twirling through the breeze against a white sky.

  I was right on the edge. The world below was so far down, so, so far … but it wasn’t the gravel driveway or the grass I saw below me. It was a cage. Hands reached out, grasping the air.

  My legs began to shake. I was going to fall.

  There was someone behind me, though. Someone calling my name. I whipped around – it was Ivy. She held out her hand to me, and I reached out to her, but I knew something was wrong. Was she too far away?

  A shadow crept up behind my twin. It may have been a shadow, but it looked familiar. I recognised it, deep down. It curved over Ivy’s shoulders, flowing like smoke, and reached a ghostly hand down into her pocket.

  Ivy didn’t seem to notice. Her hand remained stretched out towards me, but now she was screaming wordlessly at me, trying to get me to listen.

  I looked down at my hands, and they were burning.

  I shot upright, panting, sweat on my palms. I examined them quickly, just to make sure they weren’t on fire.

  Ivy was looking at me sleepily from her bed. The bell hadn’t rung this morning. They must have rested it since none of us had any sleep, and it was definitely later than usual. The cold winter sun was already high up in the sky and shining weakly through the window.

  I looked at her. “I, uh … bad dream.”

  She gave me a concerned look, but I didn’t elaborate. The dream was too fresh – and had left me feeling puzzled, like there was something I was missing. This school swirled with mysteries, and it seemed their solutions were always just out of reach.

  At our late breakfast, all everyone could talk about was the fire.

  “I just don’t get it,” said Ariadne. “It seemed like we were making great progress. And then suddenly there’s a fire and it all turns to ash. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened.”

  Ash. Bits of the dream floated through my mind.

  “Miss Flitworth?” Mrs Knight approached the table.

  Ariadne looked up. “Yes, Miss?”

  “Come with me, please.”

  Ariadne climbed to her feet, slowly, almost forgetting to put down her spoon. Her eyes were wide. “W-what is it?” she asked.

  But Mrs Knight said nothing – she simply put a hand on her shoulder and led her away.

  Ivy looked at me, panicked. “Why a
re they taking Ariadne? I mean, she wasn’t … you don’t think Violet told on her, do you?”

  I didn’t think so. “That’s not her style. If she was going to blame anyone, she’d blame me. I’ve got singed eyebrows, for goodness’ sake! And I had to trim the ends of my hair this morning! I only got away with it because the nurse was shaking with nerves and barely paying attention. Violet could’ve brought me down easily if she’d pinned the blame on me.”

  Ivy wasn’t reassured. “Something’s wrong.”

  “Something’s always wrong,” was all I could think to say.

  We needed to see what had happened to the library. Then maybe we could figure out what, or who, had started the fire. And we still needed to properly speak to Miss Jones and find out whether she was the Catastrophe mentioned in the Whispers’ book.

  So I dragged Ivy to the east wing, where we were met with a sad sight: the library doors were chained shut, and someone had added a freshly painted sign that read ‘DO NOT ENTER’.

  “Oh well,” I sighed. “Looks like we’re not going to be able to see the damage to the secret door and the newspaper archives. I so hope that newspaper is still there.”

  Just then we heard someone starting to wail and sob.

  We soon located the source. It was Miss Jones, and she was sitting on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest.

  “Miss?” Ivy asked anxiously.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, before immediately realising it sounded a bit abrupt.

  The librarian looked up. Her face was awash with tears. “Girls,” she choked. “My library. M-my books …”

  Ivy had always been better at dealing with people than me. “Miss, I don’t think it spread too far … there’s probably lots than can be saved. Maybe we can help you.”

  “They won’t let me in. Apparently it’s not … not safe …”

  Ivy crouched down on the other side of Miss Jones. The librarian pulled out a hanky from her pocket, the word Catastrophe embroidered on the corner. I was pretty sure it was the only time that word had ever been embroidered on to anything.

  “We’ve lost something too,” said Ivy quietly. “Maybe it’s not the end of everything, though. Life goes on. You think you can’t carry on, but … you do.”