The Lost Twin

by Sophie Cleverly

  But a few moments later, Ariadne came out backwards, the little stub of her candle glowing brightly. “There’s a hole in your mattress,” she said plainly. “No sign of your ring, though.”

  I held my breath, waiting for the inevitable questions, but they didn’t come. She just sat down, picked up the last mint humbug and sucked it thoughtfully.

  “Well, it is quite uncomfortable,” was all I could think to say.

  Ariadne nodded, then yawned widely. “What time is it?”

  I glanced out at the night sky through our thin curtains. “I’ve no idea,” I said. “Maybe around one in the morning.”

  “Well, I think I shall go to bed. Goodnight, Scarlet.”

  “Goodnight, Ariadne.”

  We both got into our beds. As quietly as I could, I let out a sigh of relief. The diary was safe for another day.

  But how much longer could I keep it a secret?

  hat Sunday, it rained. It tapped relentlessly on the stained-glass windows of the school chapel. It drummed on the roof and spilled from the gutters, and the caretaker was forced to put out buckets to collect the drips. But most of all, it prevented us from going outside.

  We lay in our room all day. I read while Ariadne practised her sewing, which she already seemed to excel at and therefore didn’t need to practise. The matron came to change our sheets and do laundry, and at six o’clock we went down for dinner – what I assumed was an attempt at roast beef – where I saw Miss Fox again for the first time since the caning.

  She was back in her place at one end of the dining room, her faithful cane by her side. Her expression was as acidic as usual. I nervously avoided her gaze.

  I’d just disposed of my cutlery in the bowl for cleaning when the Fox appeared right behind me. I almost smashed my plate in shock.

  “I do hope you’ll be on your best behaviour for lessons tomorrow, Scarlet Grey,” she said sharply.

  “Of course, M-Miss,” I stuttered, edging away from her.

  She stepped sideways. “I mean it. I don’t want to have to see you in my office again.”

  “I understand.” I couldn’t bear another beating, nor did I have any wish to stare into the eyes of those eerie stuffed dogs for a minute longer than necessary.

  “I sincerely hope so. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

  Had she ever not been keeping an eye on me? I shuddered at the thought, and hurried out of the dining room.

  I had butterflies, moths and possibly a whole host of other insects in my stomach as I prepared for ballet the next day. I was scared I’d get everything wrong, especially since I was still rather sore. I felt calmer when I finally entered the studio. At least it wasn’t a swimming lesson.

  I headed to the barre and began my warm-up. Although my muscles were less stiff, the stretches weren’t exactly comfortable. As I practised, I observed the rest of the class in the mirror. Nadia had chosen a spot as far away from me as possible. She looked my way at one point and glared, so I grimaced back at her, making her start in shock. I caught sight of my expression in the mirror – truly terrifying in the orange gaslight – and had to resist the urge to laugh. I resumed my straight face and carried on.

  When we moved to centre work, I began to feel like I was getting back on form. “Your grand battement is well controlled,” said Miss Finch, pleasantly. She turned. “Nadia, that is not fifth position. I’m not even sure that’s any position!”

  I risked a smile of my own at that.

  To my relief, Nadia continued to leave me well alone. Perhaps I had scared her off? I hoped that the same would be true for Penny.

  It was only as the class concluded and I went to unlace my shoes that I had a thought – unlike the dining hall, the ballet studio was a place that was often deserted, as well as being a place that was important to Scarlet. Miss Finch couldn’t be there all the time. If I returned at night, I could search the place uninhibited …

  “Scarlet?” called Miss Finch’s voice.

  I looked up. “Yes, Miss?”

  “Class is over,” she said. “You can go now.”

  I looked around – I’d just been sitting on the floor, my shoes half unlaced. “Oh yes. Sorry.” I hurried to take them off and put my regular shoes back on.

  It seemed like my life nowadays was just one big apology.

  When night came, I waited for Ariadne to fall asleep. This didn’t take long, since she was thoroughly exhausted from playing hockey. She started snoring, but I decided to wait a while longer to make sure everyone else was asleep too. I hoped that all the adults still in the school, like the matron, would go to bed fairly early.

  After what felt like ages, I changed out of my nightgown and into my black leotard and skirt. Hopefully they would help me blend into the shadows. Once again I went barefoot. I didn’t want to damage my ballet shoes, and anything else would be too loud.

  I took a deep breath and opened the door slowly. When I was sure that the coast was clear, I darted out as nimbly as I could in the direction of the staircase.

  It was pitch black, so I had to feel for the walls. Eventually I reached a gap that I knew to be the stairs and made my way down.

  The school was silent. My light steps seemed louder than hammers as they echoed on the wooden stairs. I kept close to the edge, hoping I could hide quickly if anyone came along.

  At the bottom of the stairs was the corridor that led past several of the classrooms, and eventually to the door to the basement containing the studio. My heart was thumping in my chest. I didn’t even dare to imagine what the punishment would be if I were caught.

  I peered in each direction, but it was useless in the dark. I could barely see my own hands. At least, I thought, that means no one can see me either. Hopefully.

  I felt my way along, until my hand hit metal hinges. Standing back, I could just about make out the familiar door. I pushed the handle down gently, and the door swung inwards, making only the faintest of creaking noises. I still checked over my shoulder, though. Just in case.

  When I looked back down, I noticed a warm orange glow from the bottom of the stairs. A few steps inside, I could smell the gas lamps. Strange for them to still be burning at this time of night.

  I froze and fought the urge to run. What if someone was down there? I stood flat against the cold stone wall and listened. If there was a person in the studio, they were alone.

  I pulled the door shut behind me and made a tentative step downwards. What was the worst that could happen? Well, the absolutely worst would be Miss Fox, of course. But that was unlikely. The ballet room was Miss Finch’s domain. Even though she was a teacher, I didn’t think she would do anything more than chastise me.

  It was now or never.

  I went slowly, like walking through water. When I finally reached the studio I was surprised to find it completely empty.

  I waited a few seconds. I was almost convinced it was a trap, that a page of Scarlet’s diary would be on a golden plinth at the end of the room, and that when I touched it Miss Fox would leap out and shout, “Aha!”

  I walked out into the centre of the floor. The cold chilled me to the bone, and the wooden floorboards felt rough on my bare feet. The flickering of the gas lamps distorted everything, bending the shadows. I headed for the piano at the far end, large and black, almost like a shadow itself.

  And then I caught sight of my reflection.

  It was Scarlet.

  I don’t know what it was: the darkness or the strange light or the cold air. But for some reason, I wasn’t just seeing me, the twin who looked like Scarlet. I was seeing her there, trapped behind the glass, her big eyes looking out at me. Pleading.

  I took a few steps forward. So did the girl in the mirror. As I got closer, I reached out my hand, and touched my fingers to the icy surface. Instantly, I was back in our childhood home, Scarlet copying my movements on the other side of the window.

  “Scarlet,” I whispered, a tear rolling down my cheek.

  I moved a little,
and saw the image reflected a thousand times. I spun around, and I saw a thousand Scarlets.

  I was not alone.

  And I began to dance.

  I danced, and I watched as the reflection, Scarlet, danced alongside me. She flipped her head as I did, she leapt into a grand jeté when I did. Her footsteps followed mine across the floor. In my head I could almost hear the extra set of echoes from her feet.

  No matter what I did, she was there. She was everywhere, and the reflections spun around me until I began to feel dizzy and shut my eyes. But there she was, in my head, dancing with me for one final time, my twin.

  As I went into a fouetté en tournant, I lost my balance and I stumbled …

  And fell straight at the feet of Miss Finch.

  “You didn’t turn your head,” she said.

  blinked up at her. For a moment I stopped still as my brain whirred and then I scrambled to my feet.

  “What are you doing down here?” she asked.

  “I-I wanted to practise,” I said. Miss Finch’s eyes widened but I continued. “I haven’t danced in ages, and … I felt like I was getting behind the others.”

  I was vaguely aware of the reflections all around us, the illusion of Scarlet had faded. There was only me and Miss Finch now.

  “Well, that’s diligent of you,” she said, “but you do realise it’s the middle of the night?”

  I nodded. And I was about to say that I couldn’t sleep, that I was terribly sorry and wouldn’t do it again. But instead another question came to mind. “Why are you still here, Miss?”

  She looked taken aback, but after a moment she walked over to the piano seat and sat down with a sigh. “It’s complicated.”

  “You could explain it to me. I’m pretty good at listening.”

  Her eyes flicked up, the light of the gas lamps dancing across them. “Not at listening to the rules, apparently.”

  I blushed.

  “The place I have to sleep is not ideal,” she said, staring up at the arches in the stone ceiling. “But down here it’s quiet, and I can be alone to think about things. The cold is a problem, though.”

  “Oh yes,” I said, readily agreeing with her.

  Miss Finch wrapped her knitted cardigan tighter around herself. “Can I ask you something, Scarlet?” she said.

  I had to admit, I flinched a little. Something in the way she said the name made it sound so wrong. “Of course.”

  “Why do you want to be a dancer?”

  I turned her question over in my mind. “Because it’s beautiful. It’s an art, isn’t it?”

  She frowned a little. “You don’t want to be in the spotlight? To be a prima ballerina, touring the world? To be showered with flowers and gifts every night?”

  That seemed like something Scarlet would want. Had Miss Finch asked her the same question?

  As I looked at Miss Finch, her small body seeming frail with her knees tucked up on the piano stool, it wasn’t Scarlet’s answer I wanted to give.

  “No,” I replied. “I just want to be able to dance. Those other things … they don’t matter. Not to me, anyway.”

  “You would turn it down?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Oh, of course not. But the dancing is enough for me.”

  “Hmm.”

  This was some sort of test, and she was deciding whether or not I had passed. But before I could consider this, she stood up.

  “You’re right,” she said. “Of course you’re right.” She tucked a lock of her auburn hair behind her ear. “Goodness, it’s so late. You really should be in bed. I should be in bed.”

  I nodded. But I hadn’t searched the studio! What if Miss Finch was down here every night, and I never had the chance again?

  “Go on, then,” she said, gesturing towards the stairs.

  I hesitated. “But … if Miss Fox …”

  “She usually goes to bed at ten o’clock sharp. Couldn’t have her finding out about me staying down here after hours, could I?” Miss Finch smiled mischievously. It was an odd expression to see on the face of a teacher.

  “So there’s no chance of me being caught?”

  “I can’t say that,” she waved a hand dismissively, “but if you run into the matron, perhaps tell her you’re feeling unwell.”

  “All right,” I said. There didn’t seem to be anything I could do. “Well, thank you for not giving me the cane.”

  She gave me a look like I’d just told her I was a cabbage. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because I’m breaking multiple rules?”

  Her expression didn’t change. “Oh,” she said.

  I was beginning to wonder if Miss Finch wasn’t all there.

  “I shall go then,” I said. “Goodnight, Miss.”

  “Goodnight,” she replied.

  I walked out of the amber glow and into the darkness of the stairwell. I took a backward glance over my shoulder, and saw that Miss Finch was staring at her own reflection.

  I’d got off lightly, but now I had a bigger problem – the ballet studio had become out of bounds.

  Just as Miss Finch had said, there was no sign of any prowling teachers upstairs. I made it back to my bed without meeting a soul, and I was so tired that sleep came easily. But when my eyes flicked open the next day, with the light of dawn spilling in the window, my first thought was of Scarlet’s diary.

  Unless I found a day when Miss Finch wasn’t present, I wouldn’t be able to search the studio ever.

  I rolled over with a sigh. My bed sheets were surprisingly warm, and I fought the urge to slip back into sleep.

  Ariadne woke up soon after I did, rubbing her eyes as she sat up. “Mmmfmorning,” she said.

  “Mmmfmorning indeed,” I replied, pulling myself upright.

  “I wonder what’s for breakfast today? I’m so hungry.”

  Unsurprisingly, it was porridge. I’d managed to convince the cook to give me an extra spoonful of honey, though, so it wasn’t too terrible. I sat down at my usual place. Ariadne was looking despondently into her bowl.

  “You didn’t get any honey?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “I asked, but she just gave me a look and said, ‘Next’.”

  “Hmm. I suppose someone was smiling in my favour today. Here, have mine. We’ll swap.”

  “Really?” she said, her face lighting up as I handed her my bowl of sweet porridge. “Oh, thank you, Scarlet. You’re the best!”

  “That’s kind of you,” said Mrs Knight from across the table, watching Ariadne shovel down her considerably improved breakfast. Then, “Slow down a little, Miss Flitworth, you can’t be that hungry.”

  There it was, that word again. It echoed in my head as I stared at my tiny Scarlet-like reflection upside down in my spoon.

  And then I realised why.

  Hungry.

  That scribble I’d seen on the back of one of the diary pages, something about being hungry. Now I thought about it, how could it not be a clue? Scarlet never wrote on the back of her pages, she said it made the ink smudgy!

  When you’re hungry … you go to the dining hall.

  I slammed the spoon into the table so hard I made myself jump. Ariadne squeaked. I looked around – we were surrounded by chatting girls, teachers and dinner ladies.

  There was nothing else for it – I would have to make another night-time expedition. At least I now knew that Miss Fox was unlikely to be around.

  Or, at least, that’s what I hoped.

  By the end of the day, after another excruciating assembly, I was itching to begin my search. I waited for Ariadne to bury her head under the pillow, and then pulled on a woollen jumper over my nightgown. I sneaked through the dark corridors and down the stairs once more, but this time went in the opposite direction to the ballet studio.

  I wondered if Miss Finch was down there still. What did she do? Sit and read? Perhaps she stood alone, under the gas lamps, trying to dance on her crippled leg. The thought made me feel rather sad.

  The wi
de wooden doors of the dining hall were shut but, thankfully, not locked. I pushed one open and it swung too far and banged against the wall. I glanced around anxiously in case someone had heard.

  The hall had high windows, and the glow of the moon spilled in. Everything was bathed in silvery-grey light – the rows of long wooden tables, the metal-legged chairs. The silence was heavy around me.

  I walked the perimeter of the room, feeling the rough wall paint as I went, looking for hiding places. But there were no mouse holes, no loose bits of floorboard.

  Then I started looking under the tables. I tried to picture Scarlet getting on her hands and knees with a roll of packing tape to secure her diary pages underneath. Even in my imagination, it seemed unlikely.

  But after I’d searched under a third table, getting my nightgown thoroughly dusty, I realised the scope of my task. There were so many tables – and chairs too! – that there was no way of knowing which to check. Surely Scarlet didn’t expect me to look under every single one? I was beginning to feel like this might just be madness.

  And besides, what if someone brushed their leg up against it, or a maid found it? They often put the chairs upside down on top of the tables in order to clean the floor.

  I looked around the vast, deserted hall. What else was in here?

  The serving hatch in the far wall drew my eye. It was shut, but there was a red door next to it that led into the kitchen, where dinner ladies usually bustled in and out, their arms laden with plates.

  Well, it had to be worth a try. I went over and tentatively tried the door handle. Drat! Locked.

  Flustered by my failure, I gave the kitchen door a kick, bruising my toe in the process. I sank down against the cold wall. What an idiot I was! Did I expect every door to be open?

  And as I sat there, my head in my hands, wondering what to do next, I heard a little voice say, “Scarlet?”

  I jumped up instantly, preparing my excuses. I was sleepwalking, I was hungry, I was lost, I was …

  But the voice wasn’t that of a teacher. It had sounded like …

  “Scarlet?” As I looked over to the doors, I saw a familiar mousy face peering back at me.

  Ariadne.