by Caleb Krisp
‘Do you think we will be back in the city by tomorrow?’ I said, shooing Jago from the room so I could change.
‘We are not going there,’ declared Miss Frost, knotting her hair in a bun before the mirror.
I buttoned up my dress and scowled. ‘Anastasia needs our help – surely you do not wish to leave her a moment longer in Lashwood? We must break her out!’
‘We will do no such thing,’ said Miss Frost, turning to face me. ‘I will see to Anastasia and in time we will find her lost child, but not now – Miss Always will be on your trail, and with Lady Elizabeth and Estelle Dumbleby both baying for your blood, London is no longer a safe haven for you.’
I would have offered a sharp rebuke, but Jago came flying back into the room, followed by Mrs Spragg.
‘There’s a woman downstairs asking about a girl, and the description sounds an awful lot like that one,’ announced Mrs Spragg, pointing to me. ‘I told her I would come up and ask Mr Spragg, as he sees to all the guests.’
‘How did she find me?’ I said, turning to Miss Frost in a shameful display of the jitters.
‘What does this woman look like?’ asked Miss Frost.
‘Short and fat,’ declared Mrs Spragg.
‘Then it’s not Miss Always.’ I said this calmly, with no sign of stupendous relief.
‘Miss Always would no doubt have minions scouring the countryside,’ said Miss Frost. ‘Mrs Spragg, tell her that the girl was here, but she received a note shortly after arriving, then asked for directions to the Chester Tavern. And here is something for all your trouble.’
Mrs Spragg took the coins from Miss Frost’s hand and hurried out.
The Miss Frost turned to Jago. ‘Have the carriage brought around the back – we leave immediately.’
The sun was just waking, blowing purple and orange breaths into the dark sky, as the carriage spirited us away from the Rambler Inn. Miss Frost insisted that the curtains be drawn, so the cab was awfully stuffy. There was much shaking about. And a great deal of silence.
Jago had drifted off to sleep, but as tired as I was, my mind was much too busy for me to rest. So I decided to make use of it.
‘Why were you so interested in the maid who took Anastasia’s baby away?’ I asked Miss Frost.
‘Anastasia was my friend,’ came her reply, ‘and I spent a great deal of time looking for her and the child. Naturally, I was curious to know what became of them.’
Miss Frost did not look at me.
‘How is it that Anastasia is able to live here? Didn’t you say that people from Prospa cannot survive in this world for very long?’
‘I suspect that carrying a baby whose father was from this world created a tolerance in her, though I cannot be certain.’
‘But you made a great fuss about the maid’s birthmark and you seemed awfully –’
‘Tell me about your travels to Prospa House, Miss Pocket,’ she interrupted. ‘I am very familiar with the place and it astounds me that you were not captured.’
‘Oh, they tried, but I’m rather good at creeping silently about – having all the natural instincts of a fox in a henhouse.’ I stuck my nose in the air rather proudly. ‘But I confess, it wasn’t easy, as I’m shockingly well known in your world.’
‘What an imagination you have,’ said Miss Frost with a most dismissive sigh.
‘It’s true enough,’ I shot back. ‘The guards took one look at me and said it’s her – right before they tried to capture me and bring me to Justice Holiday.’
‘Hallow,’ corrected Miss Frost. ‘Justice Hallow.’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘She runs Prospa House and more besides.’ Miss Frost looked very interested again. ‘Did they say anything else, Miss Pocket?’
‘There was one thing. The man, an unsightly brute with appalling manners, said something like she’s awake.’
‘Did he indeed?’ said Miss Frost faintly.
And though I had wondered about this before, now, after all that had happened, I suddenly felt the strangeness and the weight of it. How was it that they had recognised me in a world that I had never been in before? Was it just a case of mistaken identity? Or something more?
‘Once I have rescued Rebecca I will look into it,’ I announced.
‘You will do no such thing,’ said Miss Frost swiftly. ‘Rebecca is beyond your reach, and as for this other matter, it signifies nothing and you shall leave it alone. There is enough to contend with in this world, without troubling yourself with Prospa. Have I made myself perfectly clear, Miss Pocket?’
With a great show of defiance I crossed my arms (and my legs). ‘Are you utterly bonkers, woman? There is a secret about me in your world and I intend to find out what it is. Besides which, Rebecca is not even a tiny bit lost, not to me – I will fix my mind on her and I will find her, wherever she is. I am going back there as soon as I return to London and you cannot stop me.’
‘Oh, but I can,’ said Miss Frost, and she was suddenly very calm. ‘In fact, I am quite certain that you will forget all about this foolish mission.’
‘Never!’
Miss Frost lifted her pale, freckly hand and placed it gently under my chin. She was rarely this tender with me, so naturally I looked at her with great suspicion.
‘Why should I forget it?’ I snapped. ‘Give me one reason why I shouldn’t go to Prospa right now and solve this wretched puzzle!’
‘Because, Miss Pocket, I fear you would pay for the answer with your life.’
Then Miss Frost blew at me as if I were a candle. Silver dust billowed up from the palm of her hand and flew at my face, engulfing me in a sparkly mist.
And then … darkness.
Chapter 29
It was the ocean that brought me back. I awoke to the sound of the sea. The crashing of waves upon the rocks, somewhere nearby. When I opened my eyes the brightness dazzled and stung them. The room was white. Very pretty. Two small windows. A patchwork quilt upon the bed. A wardrobe and chest of drawers. Even an armchair with a fetching blue cushion.
Miss Frost stood at the end of the bed. Jago came in and out, carrying a jug of water and then an apple and knife upon a plate, which he set down next to my bed.
I knew it was gone from the moment I awoke. But I held my peace.
‘Thought you’d never wake up, chatterbox,’ said Jago, tucking his hands into his pockets.
‘Miss Pocket was exhausted,’ said Miss Frost. ‘It is no surprise she has slept a full day and night.’
I sat up in the bed. Wiped sleep from my eyes. ‘Are we in Dorset?’
‘We are,’ said Miss Frost, walking to the window. ‘When you feel ready to get up you will see that our cottage is very remote – perched on a cliff near the outskirts of Weymouth. So we shall be quite safe here for the present.’
Jago was staring at me. ‘You don’t remember falling asleep then, chatterbox?’
I shook my head.
‘What a foolish question,’ snapped Miss Frost, glaring at the boy. ‘Miss Pocket was overcome with fatigue. She fell into a deep sleep in the carriage and I carried her inside. I would be shocked if she could recall a single moment of our journey from Hammersmith.’
The boy looked chastened and set about peeling the apple for me.
‘You are right, dear,’ I said. ‘It’s all a blur.’
But, of course, it wasn’t. I remembered every moment. How we had argued about Rebecca. And about my intention to return to Prospa and solve the mystery about why those guards had recognised me. Miss Frost had said I would pay for the answer with my life. And then she had blown that devilish powder in my face. Clearly, she wanted me to have forgotten our little chat. So I let her have her wish.
‘I have employed the services of a housekeeper,’ said Miss Frost, ‘who will tend to the cooking and cleaning. I trust her implicitly and expect you to do just as she says when I am gone.’
Jago was frowning. ‘Don’t see why I can’t come with you.’
‘If y
ou wish to stay in my employment, Master Jago, you will do as I ask without protestation. I have left five pounds in the larder under a sack of kidney beans – you are to use it only in an emergency.’
‘Are you not staying?’ I asked Miss Frost.
‘I have some urgent matters to attend to,’ she said crisply, walking back to the end of the bed, ‘but hopefully it will not take long. When I come back we will discuss the future, Miss Pocket – I trust that is all right with you?’
‘Perfectly.’
Miss Frost turned and walked to the door. When she was almost past the threshold I called her by name and said, ‘Where is the Clock Diamond?’
Miss Frost paused, but did not turn around.
‘I felt it was safer for everyone if I placed it somewhere out of harm’s way. Perhaps when this is all over, I can return it to you, but for now … I hope you can understand.’
I wanted to cry out – But what of Rebecca? And what of the answers I seek? Instead, I said, ‘It’s not as if the stone was mine – it comes from your world and you may do with it as you wish.’
Jago let out a small gasp. ‘Blimey, I thought you’d blow your top.’
How much he knew about the necklace, I wasn’t sure.
‘You wisdom is admirable, Miss Pocket,’ said Miss Frost.
Then she walked away. I heard her boots on the stairs and the opening and closing of a door. Jago watched from the window as she mounted her horse and galloped across the cliff tops.
I got out of bed and stood next to him, looking out. Then walked over to the armchair and sat down. ‘What did you and Miss Frost do here yesterday?’ I pushed the hair from my face. ‘There isn’t anything about for miles.’
‘She likes it that way,’ said the boy. He leaned against the window ledge. ‘I brought logs up from the basement and cleared out the chimney – it was awful blocked.’
‘And Miss Frost,’ I said casually, ‘what did she do?’
Jago shrugged. ‘Wrote letters mostly.’ He scratched his head. ‘Oh, and she dug up some lavender from the heath and planted it under the kitchen window. Said it’d make the place smell sweet and such.’
I patted my belly. ‘I’m frightfully hungry. Be a dear and rustle me up some eggs and a pound or two of potatoes.’ I got up and walked over to the wardrobe, opening it. There were six rather plain dresses hanging up in shades of blue, white and yellow. ‘I will get changed and be right down.’
‘After breakfast we might go hunting for rabbits,’ said the boy.
I smiled sweetly. ‘Brilliant.’
Nightfall. I was on my knees in the front garden. Beneath the kitchen window. The cottage fast asleep. A half-moon shone high in the sky, sprinkling silvery light upon the flower beds.
The lavender bush came out of the dirt with ease, its fragrant scent a burst of sunlight in my nose. I set it aside and thrust my hand down, scooping the soil in great clumps. It had to be there. I knew it as surely as I knew my own name.
The hole was soon up to my elbow, little hills of dirt stacked around the rim like watchtowers. Then I felt something. It was soft but rough all at the same time. I clenched it with my fingers and pulled it up. A small cloth sack caked in dirt, fastened with a length of rope.
My hands pulled at the cord greedily and I was inside it in seconds. A smile broke across my face as I pulled it out. Held it in my fingers. Inside the magnificent stone was a churning white mist. It parted, offering a delicious glimpse of the night sky above Dorset.
I fixed the Clock Diamond around my neck and took off into the darkness.
Epilogue
‘Are you travelling all the way to London on your own?’
‘Yes. Quite alone.’
‘Haven’t you any family? A guardian?’
‘I did have,’ I replied brightly. ‘A charming older couple who sold coffins and loved me to pieces. But they turned out to be murderous tricksters. All very tragic.’
The prim-looking woman whose name I did not know looked vexed. She sounded vaguely American. Muttered something about this sort of thing being highly irregular. And it was true – it had taken all of the two pounds I had stolen from under the bag of kidney beans to convince the coach driver to take me to London. With no luggage. And no parents.
‘I take excellent care of myself,’ I told her.
The woman glowered. Then leaned forward. ‘Excuse my curiosity – normally I’m a stickler for minding my own beeswax – but what business have you in the city?’
There were six of us in the carriage. The inquisitive American. Myself. Three older women (all sisters) snoring in near perfect unison. And a rather dashing fellow who had his head buried in David Copperfield.
I felt a generous sigh was in order. ‘Well, I have to rescue a slightly disturbed, though highly musical woman from a madhouse. Also, save my friend from certain death – she’s suffering terribly and I must bring her home before she fades away.’ I sighed again. ‘Then I’d very much like to find a child who vanished over a decade ago. And if I have time, discover exactly who I am.’
The woman didn’t look even slightly unconvinced. Though she did have concerns. ‘A mere child has no business doing such things!’
‘Why not? I’m brilliant in a catastrophe. Everybody says so.’
‘You’re a child! A little girl! How on earth do you expect to succeed?’
‘Courage, dear,’ was my earnest reply. ‘Great bucketloads of it. The kind that causes spontaneous applause, fainting spells and national monuments.’
The curious American looked suitably impressed. And rather confused. Which managed to shut her up.
Through the dusty window I saw a patchwork of green and gold fields rippling beneath the morning sun. The stagecoach hurtled across a rickety bridge, causing the carriage to leap and tremble. I leaned back in my seat, strangely content, and watched the world hurry by.
In no time, sleep came to claim me – but I did my best to resist. It occurred to me then that, yet again, I was bound for London and an uncertain future. But I did not despair or worry. I felt confident that no matter what befell me, I would be perfectly all right. Rebecca would be saved. Anastasia liberated. Miss Always defeated.
I felt a pang of guilt for leaving Dorset under such circumstances. I knew deep down that Miss Frost was trying to do good, but that did not make her right. She was monstrously wrong to separate me from the stone. To try to make me forget what I heard those guards in Prospa House say.
But the mysteries swirling around me were nothing more than questions yet to be answered. I would get to the truth. Somehow.
After all, I was a girl of excellent character. Stupendously pretty. Heart-stoppingly smart. It was true that I didn’t exactly have a place to call home. Or a family to belong to. Or a penny to my name. But surely that wouldn’t last forever? Nothing ever does.
At last I surrendered to sleep, falling gently into splendid dreams of dancing monkeys and brighter days. And all the while, the stagecoach spirited me swiftly towards the shadows and intrigues of London.
And destiny.
Acknowledgements
Ugh. Is it that time again? Another round of unbridled gratitude with a side order of grovel-ling. Didn’t I just thank these people? Still, it must be done. So here it is:
Madeleine Milburn is an outstanding literary agent. What’s more, she’s my outstanding literary agent. Which shows great courage and fortitude on her part. And I thank her. In her bustling office are Cara Lee Simpson and Thérèse Coen who are both highly capable and terribly helpful. Cara’s chum, Harriet Orrell, offered invaluable assistance with London geography. Thanks also to Michelle Kroes at CAA for all her efforts in the film world.
I do not write for my own benefit. If I did, this book would be a three-hundred-thousand-word opus exploring the widely held view that I am the new Dickens (and quite possibly the old one too). But as I write books for other people, a publisher is required. One is Bloomsbury UK. The following people had a great deal to do with
creating the book you have in your hands: Rachel Boden, Helen Vick, Katie Everson, Polly Whybrow, Ellen Holgate, Rebecca McNally. John Kelly provided the illustrations that add so much. So I thank all of these talented people.
On the home front I should probably acknowledge my parents for being hugely supportive and only occasionally regretting the day I was born.
Paul, as ever, did all the printing and helped with computer related stuff. Christine offered frequent encouragement. Carol allowed me to bend her ear on many occasions. Peter hasn’t read any of my books because they don’t involve three men in a raft, climbing Mount Whatsit and eating their own arms for sustenance – but he always asks how my work is going, which is nice.
My nephews and nieces – Nats, Ant and Liz, Josh, Ben, Thomas, Dylan, Olivia, Shannon, Kaelin, Jack and Charli – provide a welcome distraction from the peaks and valleys of a writing life.
Jacqui is the closest thing I have to a lifelong friend and is one of the best people I know (which isn’t all that hard, as I know a great many awful people).
Lastly, thanks to you, dear reader. Though, to be honest, it’s you who should be thanking me. After all, the fact that you chose my book speaks very well for your future prospects. A great many of my keenest readers have gone on to thoroughly successful lives upon release from juvenile detention. So well done you.
Until next we meet …
C. Krisp, Esq.
Hold on to your bloomers, dear.
Ivy Pocket’s first adventure is out now!
Praise for Anyone But Ivy Pocket
‘Girls should be sweet and gentle at all times, kind to rabbits, and eager to burst into song as they clean the house. Ivy Pocket does none of these things. Lock her up!’
Snow White
‘Exuberantly told with apt and wildly witty caricatures from John Kelly, it has a fun, original voice’
Sunday Times
