Somebody Stop Ivy Pocket

by Caleb Krisp

  ‘Miss Frost?’ The tape measure slackened in his hands. ‘Well, she is an acquaintance of sorts … we don’t know her well at all.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s true, dear.’

  Ezra shuffled around the bed and led me away from Mr Grimwig. ‘What makes you say such a thing, Ivy?’

  ‘Because I’m practically certain you know her far better than you will admit. I found a brush in my room full of red hair and I recently learned that Miss Frost was looking for Anastasia Radcliff a full year after she vanished. And I’m awfully curious about why she would be interested in a girl who was a lodger at your house?’

  Ezra looked at Mr Grimwig. Then at the doorway. Then back at me. ‘When we get home, come and see me in the workshop.’ He scratched his whiskers and for once I found the gentle wobble of his cheeks rather horrid. ‘We can talk then and I’ll try and explain a thing or two.’

  The heavy footsteps of Mother Snagsby broke the spell. She bustled in, clutching a glass of milk, and directed me to sit in the chair and stay out of mischief.

  ‘Here,’ she said, holding out the milk.

  I sighed. Why on earth did she insist that I drink that dreary milk? It was the same every time. Milk, then sleep. Milk does that to people, I supposed. But I did not wish to sleep. I needed my wits about me, as I planned to lift the veil that very night and bring Rebecca home. I would break the glass and jump out of my bedroom window if I had to. Whatever it took to save my friend.

  ‘I’m not thirsty.’

  ‘Of course you are,’ came the firm reply, ‘take it.’

  Compounding my misery, the Clock Diamond simply refused to cooperate. What use was it to have a mystical stone around my neck if it wasn’t any help in thoroughly mystical matters?

  I took the glass of milk. ‘Very well, though I don’t see why.’

  Mother Snagsby watched me take two mouthfuls. Then, satisfied, she went back to Victor’s bedside to discuss the delicate issue of payment. I did not finish the rest. It was true that I wasn’t in the least thirsty. But something else – a grim tightening in my stomach – told me not to drink it. Which was silly. Still, with Mother Snagsby trying to wake Mr Grimwig (he had nodded off ) and Ezra finishing up his measurements, I poured the remaining milk into Mr Grimwig’s left slipper.

  It didn’t take long for the warmth to wash over me, but it was lighter than before. I willed my eyes to stay open. And they did … for a time. Then the room began to blur. The last thing I saw was Mother Snagsby walking towards me.

  My mouth was dry. My head ached. Where was I? Oh yes, Mr Grimwig. I rubbed my temple, opened my eyes. Then closed them. As my vision cleared, I looked across the small chamber. Ezra and Mother Snagsby were on either side of the bed. Huddled around Mr Grimwig, who was sound asleep. They were talking to each other – or was it to Mr Grimwig? I could not make out what they were saying. Besides, that wasn’t what had captured my attention.

  I reached to my chest. Felt for it rather frantically. Which was foolish. I knew perfectly well that it wasn’t there. How could it be? For Ezra was gently lifting Mr Grimwig’s head from the pillow and Mother Snagsby was fixing the Clock Diamond around his neck.

  Chapter 21

  ‘Save yourself, Mr Grimwig!’ I cried, leaping up. ‘They mean to steal your soul!’

  The room trembled with an insistent buzzing. The Clock Diamond pulsed a brilliant white as it came to life.

  Mr Grimwig’s eyes flew open. ‘My what?’

  Mother Snagsby gasped. Ezra stumbled back. And poor Mr Grimwig jumped from the bed, sending cats flying and the necklace tumbling to the ground. Luckily for him, the clasp had not closed.

  Mother Snagsby had her eyes on the necklace pooled on the ground at her feet. I sprinted across the room and scooped it up.

  The Clock Diamond began to dim in my hand.

  ‘What’s that then?’ said Mr Grimwig, pointing at the necklace. ‘I demand to know what’s going on!’

  ‘It’s really very simple,’ I declared, ‘for now it all makes sense – the warm milk, falling asleep for no apparent reason, the stone feeling warm against my skin.’

  ‘Be careful what you say,’ warned Mother Snagsby, indicating Mr Grimwig.

  ‘Why should he not know what sort of monsters you are?’ I was shouting and it felt awfully good. ‘You are in cahoots with Miss Frost, are you not? That is why she sent me to you – so that you could get your hands on the Clock Diamond and use it to kill, just like you did with Mr Blackhorn.’

  ‘He made the deal willingly,’ said Mother Snagsby, and there was steel in her gaze. ‘He was on the brink of death and we offered him a chance to escape his fate and live on.’

  ‘He is not living!’ I yelled. ‘He is suffering, you cold-blooded devil! Just as Rebecca is suffering because of that stone’s wicked promise.’ I shifted my gaze to Ezra. ‘How could you? How could you do this work?’

  The old man sat down on the bed, head bent. ‘Miss Frost put the stone in our care some twenty years ago and we treasured it until it was stolen from us. Miss Frost knew we would only use it on those whose life here was at an end.’ He looked up at me and there was pleading in his eyes. ‘We offered them hope, Ivy.’

  ‘There is no hope in Prospa House – that is what Rebecca said and I have seen it for myself.’

  ‘You think you’re very clever, don’t you?’ said Mother Snagsby. ‘Poring over that foolish manuscript and meddling where you had no business. If I hadn’t roamed the halls every night, limiting your ability to travel, you and the stone would have been lost to Prospa weeks ago.’

  ‘We are just trying to help in our own way,’ said Ezra gently. ‘That’s all, just help.’

  ‘Must we explain ourselves?’ snapped Mother Snagsby, her lumpy nostrils flaring. ‘Surely even she can see that if one soul from this world, a soul that is near death, can save a great many in Prospa, then it is worth the price.’

  ‘You seem very sure of yourself,’ I said.

  ‘I am sure, young lady,’ she declared proudly.

  ‘It won’t bring Gretel back.’ It was a cruel thing to say. But I could not resist.

  Mother Snagsby appeared stunned. Or was it wounded? She turned to Ezra, who looked at his feet and said nothing.

  ‘I followed you last Sunday,’ I said, by way of an explanation.

  ‘You had no right!’ Then the ferocity in her eyes faltered as if she had just recalled a moment of unspeakable sadness. ‘My little girl …’ She shook her head vigorously. ‘If there was any way, any chance, that she could have been cured or that she might have lived on somewhere else, even for a short time, then I would have taken it no matter the cost.’

  ‘I never wanted a coffin in the first place,’ said Mr Grimwig, looking most upset. ‘I’m as healthy as a horse, I am.’

  Mother Snagsby had her arms behind her back now. She stepped towards me. ‘Time is all that matters,’ she said softly. ‘Time is worth a small amount of suffering, don’t you think?’

  ‘You have been lying to me this whole time, haven’t you?’ I said. ‘You never wanted a new daughter – it was just about the stone.’

  Neither of them answered. They didn’t have to.

  I shrugged. ‘It’s probably for the best – as parents go, you’re rather murderous and insane.’

  Mother Snagsby lunged for my hand, knocking the Clock Diamond to the ground. We both leapt for it, becoming horribly entangled.

  ‘Give it to me!’ she hissed.

  ‘It’s mine, you humpbacked jackal!’ I shouted back.

  I grabbed it first, but Mother Snagsby struck like a snake and snatched it from my grasp. In a bid to get it back I seized her arm roughly – the villain charged at me, tripping over my leg. As she did, the contents of her pocket went flying. Her recipe book shot out and hit the metal bedpost with a clank. The lock snapped open on impact, and a stack of loose pages fanned out like a deck of cards across the floor.

  Mother Snagsby gasped.

  I only gla
nced down for a moment or two, but it was enough to capture my interest. For they were not a collection of family recipes. Each page contained a small portrait in pencil and beneath it a name. The one closest to me was a rather stern-looking woman. She had white hair. Sad eyes. And at the bottom of the portrait, a name – KATHERINE JEPSON. Another was a man with tremendous mutton chops and a wrinkled brow. The name – NATHANIAL HUME.

  ‘What are they?’ I heard myself ask.

  ‘None of your business,’ came Mother Snagsby’s sharp reply as she began to scoop them up.

  With the instincts of a jewel thief, I struck while she was distracted, ripping the Clock Diamond from her hand. She barely reacted. I leapt back and slipped the stone into my pocket.

  Ezra was collecting the miniature portraits alongside his wife. Which is when I saw the old man pick up a sketch of Mr Blackhorn. And the truth of what I was seeing hit me. For it made sense. Horrid sense.

  ‘These are drawings of your victims, aren’t they?’ I crouched down and picked up a handful, giving Mother Snagsby the wickedest of scowls. ‘These are the people you tricked with the stone – the souls you sent to suffer in Prospa like poor Mr Blackhorn!’

  She snatched the sketches from my hand. ‘They are brave and noble, every one of them, and I honour their courage and their sacrifice the only way I know how.’

  ‘You’re all mad! Stark raving mad!’ shouted Mr Grimwig. ‘I’m fetching the constable – he can deal with the lot of you.’

  Then he scooped up as many of his cats as he could manage (two) and ran out on to the street in his nightshirt.

  ‘We must go,’ said Mother Snagsby, ‘before he returns with the law.’

  Ezra took the sketches from his wife’s hand and placed them carefully back in the pocketbook with the others he had collected. ‘I hope one day you might understand, Ivy … understand and forgive us.’

  Despite his obvious insanity, I was touched by the helplessness in his voice. I noticed that one of the portraits had been overlooked, lying near the bedpost. Out of some lingering affection for the old man, I hurried over and picked it up. I was just about to hand it to him when I glanced down at it. Mother Snagsby saw too and lunged.

  But I was too quick. And besides, I had already seen enough.

  The portrait was of a handsome young man. Brown hair. Bright eyes. Looked remarkably like his younger sister. I did not even have to read the name printed underneath to know. But there it was anyway, in Mother’s Snagsby’s neat handwriting – SEBASTIAN DUMBLEBY.

  ‘You killed him?’ I had begun to back away, towards the door. ‘You killed Sebastian Dumbleby with the Clock Diamond?’

  It did not seem possible.

  Ezra was shaking his head. ‘It’s not at all what you think.’

  ‘Oh, but it is exactly what I think, for here is his picture!’ I threw it on the ground. ‘Estelle believes that Anastasia killed her brother, but it was you. That is why Anastasia came back to see the Dumblebys after so much time had passed – she was still looking for Sebastian just as they were. I’m right, aren’t I?’

  ‘Sebastian put on the necklace of his own free will,’ said the old man meekly.

  ‘And why would he do that? Have you two told so many lies that you no longer recognise the truth?’

  Mother Snagsby let out a scornful snicker. ‘You are the authority on lying, young lady, so I suppose you would know.’

  Which was an outrageous thing to say!

  Ezra shuffled over and bent down to pick up Sebastian’s sketch. But that’s not what happened. The old man appeared to bend down. Then, when he was close enough, he pounced. Swung me around and pulled my arms behind my back. I struggled but his grip was surprisingly firm for a fossil.

  ‘We can talk at home,’ he whispered, ‘just like I promised.’

  ‘You will not tear down our life’s work.’ Mother Snagsby’s voice was bone-chillingly calm as she stalked towards me. ‘We have only just got the Clock Diamond back and I am not about to lose it a second time.’

  She fished the necklace out of my pocket and clutched it greedily.

  ‘Take her to the carriage,’ she ordered her husband.

  Just at that moment the black cat Mr Grimwig had left behind jumped from the bed and began to hiss at us.

  Which was about the time I lifted my boot and brought it down upon Ezra’s foot. He howled and released his hold on me. Mother Snagsby ran to the side table and I gave chase, determined to get the necklace back. She picked up an empty jug and turned around, just as I felt Ezra grab me from behind.

  ‘I wish there were another way, Ivy,’ he said.

  Mother Snagsby threw the jug at my head. I ducked in a display of thrilling speed and the missile hit Ezra on the head. He plummeted to the ground, as you would expect. I was certain Mother Snagsby would cry out in anguish and run to him. But instead, she picked up the sample board full of coffin handles. Then thundered towards me, the board above her head, her face a mask of rage.

  Which is when I picked up the cat. ‘Sorry, dear,’ I whispered to it, ‘this is something of an emergency.’

  And then I threw it in the general vicinity of Mother Snagsby’s face. The cat landed on her hair and proceeded to climb it.

  ‘Get off me!’ shrieked Mother Snagsby.

  I wanted to retrieve the stone, but Ezra was already getting to his feet and Mother Snagsby was spinning around the bedroom like a top. Fearing capture and a grisly fate, I turned on my heels and took off. It was torture to leave the diamond in their clutches, but I bolted from the cottage and did not look back.

  Chapter 22

  Dusk had settled over London, the last slivers of pink in the sky yielding to darkness. I had been wanderingfor hours. Not lost, but lost all the same.

  I thought of going to Estelle and telling her what I had learned about Sebastian. Poor Sebastian! A young man who died before I was even born had somehow captured my sympathy. What had possessed the Snagsbys to use the Clock Diamond on him? What was to be gained? And how could I break the news to his sister?

  Hyde Park was a ghost town when I got there. The people had all gone home, home to their warm fires and loving families. I sat down on a bench on Rotten Row. Certain I looked achingly forsaken by the light of the quarter-moon.

  ‘Well, Ivy,’ I sighed wistfully, ‘what are you going to do now?’

  A piercing scream provided the answer. It breached the still night like a siren. A girl’s cry. One in great distress. I peered across the vast stretch of parkland and could just make out the silhouette of a carriage on the thoroughfare. Not far from it a struggle was taking place.

  The girl cried out again.

  It was impossible to tell how many people were involved, but it didn’t matter – I was already racing towards the fray. As I got closer, I saw two burly men pulling a girl towards the carriage. She was putting up a tremendous fight. Her arms swung. Her legs kicked in defiance.

  ‘Let me go, you beasts!’ she hollered.

  But the girl was eventually overpowered and thrown into the back of the carriage like a sack of potatoes.

  I was nearly upon them by that point. ‘Stop, you monstrous brutes!’

  The bigger of the two ruffians slammed the carriage door shut – the girl pounded on the darkened window and called for help. Then he fell in beside his partner in crime.

  They began walking towards me.

  ‘What have we here?’ the shorter one said.

  ‘Get her!’ barked the tall one.

  They charged at me. And I charged back. Landed a few decent punches. The odd kick that hit the appropriate target. Tragically, this seemed to amuse the brutes.

  ‘She’s got spirit,’ one of them said with a snigger.

  It shames me to say that it took only one of them to restrain me. The hoodlum, gripping my arm and the back of my neck, frogmarched me towards the carriage. The door was opened and I was lifted off the ground and flung inside. The door locked behind me. Next, I heard the crack of the hors
ewhip as the carriage took off at great speed, throwing me back into the seat.

  ‘Pocket?’

  I glanced to my left, still violently out of breath, and took my first look at the girl I had tried to rescue. ‘What on earth?’ was my response.

  Matilda Butterfield wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘I’m not crying, Pocket, just be clear about that.’

  ‘Of course not, dear, your face is merely releasing excess liquid. Happens to me on occasion.’

  The noise from the horses and carriage wheels was deafening. A furious symphony of roar and rumble. Matilda pounded on the carriage roof. ‘Stop the carriage this instant, you sons of dairymaids!’

  The carriage turned left, then right, then right again. I pulled back the curtain and looked out. I no longer knew what part of London we were in. I just knew it wasn’t a nice part. The buildings were grim. The people lurking about even grimmer.

  ‘I assume we’ve been kidnapped,’ said Matilda calmly.

  I nodded. ‘Does seem that way.’

  With the curtain parted, soft moonlight pierced the darkened cab. It was then that I noticed Matilda was dressed in a rather fetching pink silk gown. Her black hair was arranged with flowers. She noticed me noticing.

  ‘I was at a frightful ball with Mother and I decided to walk home as it is only a few streets from our townhouse.’ She pounded the window. ‘These spineless criminals grabbed me from the street and pulled me into the park.’

  ‘Have you seen them before?’

  Matilda shook her head. Frowned. ‘Why were you in Hyde Park at this hour?’

  ‘Oh, just a moonlit walk.’

  Matilda folded her arms as if she were cold. ‘What do you think they want with us, Pocket?’

  I looked out of the window and saw dark London flying by. ‘Nothing splendid.’

  The room was small. No, the cell was small. For that’s what it was. Damp and small. No windows. Bare floor. Dark stone walls with mildew bleeding down from the ceiling. The smell of damp and filth. The only light was a tallow candle atop a stool. A bed against the wall. A large and positively grim metal door the only point of entry.