by Anya Allyn
Me: I've never seen a locket.
Sophronia: If you are true, you will get the locket.
Sophronia then snatched both pieces of paper and ripped them to shreds, letting the pieces fall like confetti to the trash can. She slipped away to pick Philly up off the cold floor and place her on a chair—and then went to continue her needlepoint. She glanced back at me, but I knew she would refuse to communicate with me further.
Missouri had spoken of a locket—just briefly in that first real conversation we’d had. She’d told me it was well-hidden. Where could I find it? There could be hundreds of tiny cracks and hiding places in which a locket could be secreted. I didn’t know whether this was just a test, or whether Sophronia didn’t know herself where the locket was.
I decided to start now. I nodded vaguely in Sophronia’s direction. She stared with glazed eyes.
Dozens of trinket boxes were stacked in one area on the games shelves. I checked every single box. Most held baubles and costume jewelry, hair pins and ribbons.
I pretended to be tidying the shelves—it would look suspicious to appear to be searching them. Next I inspected every single toy—perhaps one of them had a chain around its neck. I opened every board game and looked inside. I’d already looked behind and under almost every book, so there weren’t many books shelves left to check.
After a couple of hours or so, I’d exhausted every possibility in the ballroom.
Where else could I look? I’d already searched every crevice and nook of the kitchen and bathroom when looking for a clue to Lacey’s disappearance. And I’d been down The Dark Way. Of course, I hadn’t searched every inch of that passage—it was impossible without light. Ethan and I had searched the bed chamber already—although the locket could be under a mattress.
I waited until Jessamine rose from her nap, and excused myself to go to the bathroom. With both Clown and Raggedy in the ballroom and not in the bed chamber, it was the perfect chance to search the beds.
I lifted Jessamine’s mattress first, quickly shining my torch underneath. The mattress was heavy—and even more difficult to lift seeing as the beds were all so high.
With haste, I checked the others.
A jagged thought cut through the back of my mind. Had Sophronia sent me on a wild goose chase? Had she wanted to get me out of the way for some purpose? Or worse, get me into trouble with Jessamine?
Slipping out from the bed chamber, I decided to chance another few minutes away from the ballroom. I stepped up the passage to the storeroom. At least here, I could explain myself away if discovered—I could claim to have lost a hair ribbon or accidently spilled water on my dress—and needed a replacement item. It may not work with Jessamine, but at least it wasn’t the same as being caught somewhere I strictly wasn’t allowed.
I dug through the drawers and cupboards, tipping boots and slippers upside-down, and looking inside pockets on clothing. I avoided the drawer that held the tents—I couldn't bear even thinking about them. I needed to hold onto the hope that we'd discover the clues to how Prudence escaped, and that Sophronia would tell me all she kept locked inside herself.
22. THE LOCKET
Already, it was dinnertime. We ate our meal of watery creamed mushroom soup in silence. I estimated there was perhaps a week of food left—only if we were very careful.
How long could a person live without food? I didn’t know, but surely it couldn’t be more than a couple of weeks.
Jessamine had a doll take a mug of soup to Ethan, and we were told to return to the ballroom.
Philomena jumped up on her favorite horse on the carousel—a pink and white one with a missing eye. With her bear under one arm, she rode the carousel around and around.
Jessamine seemed livelier tonight. Leaping onto the carousel too, she sat in a chariot, laughing as it spun. Philomena joined Jessamine in a spinning chariot for a time—then climbed out and onto a royal blue horse.
“No, silly-Philly,” said Jessamine.
Chastened, the little girl jumped down and hung onto the tail of a yellow horse, her tiny legs in an ungainly crouch.
I stared at the deep blue of Jessamine’s favorite horse—no one but Jessamine was allowed on it. Only Philomena tried her luck now and again, knowing that Jessamine gave her far more leniency than anyone else. The blue horse was different to the others—the only one that had a jeweled saddle and that wore an ornate crest of carved cherubs. Like the others, the tail was made of real horse hair, but the tail on this one seemed plusher—as though great care had been taken with choosing it.
My back straightened as I peered intently at the horse. The locket—could it be hidden somewhere on Jessamine’s horse?
Stepping over, I tickled Philomena under the chin, and then mounted a ride just behind the blue horse. Giggling, Philomena climbed the horse beside mine.
I tickled her again. Leaning far over, Philomena stretched her arm to tickle my side.
I laughed, tilting myself to avoid her hand. Shrieking, she kept doing the same thing over and over. Little children found the smallest things hilarious.
Missouri smiled faintly at hearing Philomena’s squeals.
In between playing with Philomena, I tried to look over every inch of the horse in front. I hoped Jessamine didn’t notice—she seemed very alert this afternoon.
Jumping from the horse, I crawled along the floor of the carousel—pretending to be a horse. Philomena followed. Jessamine clapped approvingly, letting out a high, pealing laugh. The underneath of the blue horse held nothing of interest—simply the striped pole pounding up and down.
I was about to lift my head when I noticed a repair panel. The panel was fixed in place with four rusted screws. Could I get those screws out? It would be a crazy thing to do, and I hadn’t seen any screwdrivers here.
Making an exaggerated expression of exhaustion to Philomena, I begged off the carousel—going to sit on my chair. Philomena made a sad face, then laid herself on her back on the carousel floor, making a game of grabbing a pole at the moment it hit the bottom, and then letting the pole go.
Curling up in the chair, I pretended to nap.
The repair panel needed a flat-head screwdriver to open it. That was good. A Phillips head would be impossible to replicate. I’d seen a metal nail file in one of the jewelry boxes—I could try using that.
I just needed to wait until the right time. It wasn’t much, but it was something—a plan of action. Only I didn’t even know why Sophronia wanted me to find the locket. My best hope was that it would prove to her that I was on their side, and that she would tell me all she knew.
Missouri slept on the daybed—her fever changing to a cold sweat.
Jessamine told a series of quaint jokes that didn’t seem to have any real punch lines. I laughed anyway, slapping my knee. She had us all gather around her on the floor after that—to tell stories.
Philomena spun a tale about a butterfly that turned back into a caterpillar—saying that the butterfly would rather live in the cocoon for years than fly under the sun for only a few short days.
“Butterflies don’t last,” said Philomena solemnly.
Jessamine clapped at the story.
Sophronia made a puppet show with her hands and a lamp—making a silent story of a monster chasing a bunny. The bunny got away, in the end.
We stayed up way past the usual bedtime.
“Off to bed with you all,” said Jessamine finally. “I’ll be in by and by.”
She stepped over to Missouri and sat on the floor beside her. She began singing a nursery song. Missouri slept on peacefully.
I followed the others into the bed chamber.
Deathly cold air froze my face. Sophronia lifted Philomena into bed—Philomena hugging her tightly before she settled back under the sheets.
Aisha reclined in her bed, staring upwards into darkness. “Goodnight, Ethan,” she whispered.
* * * *
Jessamine still hadn’t retired to her bed. I wished I knew what time
it was. When I heard the scrape-scrape-scrape of the Clown in the hallway, I guessed it might be around midnight—I just didn’t know which side of midnight.
Surely I could use the excuse of needing to check on Missouri if Jessamine caught me? But Jessamine didn’t think like normal people.
I listened hard. I didn’t hear Clown anymore. That meant either he had stopped or he had continued on down The Dark Way.
I slipped from the bed and walked normally down the hall. There was no point in sneaking. If I was seen, it was marginally better not to be seen sneaking.
The ballroom clock had the time at a minute past midnight.
Missouri slept—sweat beading her forehead. I fetched the nail file from the jewelry box, and hid myself on the carousel. The royal blue horse was on the side away from the ballroom entry at least.
I rested on an elbow, and fiddled the file into the screw head. It fit well enough. The first screw had rusted badly, so I tried another. It turned. I undid three of the screws, catching them in my hand. I couldn’t manage to turn the rusty one at all. In frustration, I tried to pull the panel down. Something slid across from the other side of the panel, tipping out.
Something metal and oval-shaped.
A blackened locket bounced and skidded across the floor of the carousel. I snatched it up quickly, and screwed the panel back into place as best I could.
* * * *
I woke with something ice-cold searing my leg.
The others stirred in the bed chamber. Like shadows, they moved from the chamber.
I remembered the locket. I’d kept it inside my bloomers.
It wasn’t safe to look at it now—not even in the bathroom. There was nowhere you could lock yourself away.
We breakfasted on tinned sardines and tinned mushy peas. I yearned for pancakes dripping with butter and maple syrup. Or eggs on toast with fresh orange juice. Nothing here was ever fresh, and what was left was winding down to nothing. My stomach was a tight, empty ball.
After breakfast I hastened to the ballroom with a plate of breakfast for Missouri. Aisha stopped in the hallway to steal some time with Ethan.
I placed a hand on Missouri’s forehead. She was cool—too much so. She managed to eat only half of the breakfast, and there wasn’t much of it to start with.
Philomena took a marionette from the shelf and busied herself trying to make its wooden bodies dance on the floor.
Sophronia placed the last two logs of wood into the fireplace and got it started. If Henry didn’t send down more wood, this morning marked the last of our warmth.
Jessamine twirled into the room, announcing she wanted to role play princesses and dragons. She’d dressed in the most elaborate gown I’d ever seen her in—layers of pink silk.
Philomena volunteered right away to be a princess. I asked to be a dragon—being allowed to scream and roar sounded good to me. Sophronia was told she was to be an oracle—someone who would point at the sky and warn the village when the dragons were approaching. Missouri was to be a princess entranced by the breath of a dragon—sleeping until a prince woke her out of it.
Aisha’s face was a study of confusion when she stepped into the ballroom—Jessamine informed her she was to be a dragon too.
“But—who is to play the part of the prince?” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Surely we need Evander?”
Aisha shot me a hopeful glance.
“Clown will play the prince!” Jessamine announced.
The clown came dragging along the hallway, and entered the room.
Jessamine handed Sophronia a scarf to tie around her head—to make her look mysterious. Aisha and I were to draw ourselves scary dragon masks.
We moved about the room for the next hour—like playing pieces—acting out our roles in the play according to whatever Jessamine thought up.
Philomena was horrified when told the dragon was to kill her, but then took her part on bravely—dying with great pains and melodrama.
Clown moved to protect Missouri from the advances of the dragons—fighting them off with a sword—or at least fighting them off through Jessamine’s grand words.
Missouri managed a smile as the dragons were slain.
Jessamine clapped wildly, and we all joined her, collapsing on the floor. She had us stand and bow to the ‘audience’ while she announced our names. Philomena grew uncharacteristically shy, as though there really was an audience.
Jessamine declared then it was time for quiet reading. I’d hoped she’d leave the room for the bed chamber—but she didn’t. She selected a book and took it back to her chair.
I attempted to plan out how I could slip the locket from my bloomers unseen—but it seemed risky. If Jessamine didn’t see me—perhaps Clown would. Even if little Philly spotted the locket, she’d want to look at it—and she was by my side more and more since Missouri had fallen ill.
I should wait. But time was ticking away—I could feel it everywhere. Time was a sick thing, diseased and decaying—the essence of it crumbling. I tried to hold onto what Ethan had told me the Aboriginals believed—that time was just a human construct, and you could travel backwards and forwards at will. I wanted to believe in that—that my time on earth—and the time of everyone else here in the underground—was not winding down like a clock.
I made up my mind—if a chance didn’t come soon, I’d make my own. I needed to examine the locket.
Philomena, full of pride after her performance, stepped on top of a carousel horse—balancing there like a ballerina. She looked around to see who was watching—leaning too far and falling. She bawled loudly. I ran to scoop her up—cuddling her trembling body close to mine.
Jessamine looked pleased the screaming had stopped.
Philly pointed to the pram—in the way a toddler who couldn’t speak yet would. I guessed she wanted to be babied. I carried her into the pram and pushed the pram about the room. Her eyes fluttered shut. She was asleep within the next minute.
I eyed the pram—its bigness and breadth. It was huge, surely large enough to hide me.
Parking the pram next to the library, I ducked behind it, pretending to be looking for a book. Crouching, I tugged at the elastic of my bloomers, and let the locket slip into my hand. I opened a book and half-closed the locket around it.
The metal was dark, tarnished. Carved into the surface was a miniature carrousel horse—one that exactly matched Jessamine’s blue horse.
Gently, I opened the tiny latch.
A gold border framed a sepia photo of a man and child—the man around seventy and the child not more than ten. An inscription opposite said, Tobias James Fiveash, 1916.
So this was Tobias.
The child stared out blankly from the photo. I knew the eyes and the gaze. They were Jessamine’s eyes—could she be a great-great-grandmother or relative of Jessamine’s?
I was sure of it. Jessamine was related to these people. And related to Henry from the Fiveash house.
I snapped the locket shut and returned it to my bloomers. Popping up with a book, I stepped over to my chair.
My heart pumped fast. I had to find out what the connection was, and why the girls had been abducted. Jessamine herself hadn’t been stolen from her family—the Fiveashs’ were her family. Missouri had said Jessamine wasn’t The First One. Because Jessamine had already been here.
Another hour passed before Jessamine retired for a nap.
Missouri woke and complained of pains in her chest. Aisha ran to get her tea.
Fear gripped me—if Missouri got worse, there was nothing—completely nothing—any of us could do to help her.
“Missouri... stay strong,” I begged her.
Sophronia came to sit beside me. She stroked Missouri’s arm while Aisha held a cup of steaming tea to Missouri’s lips. Missouri drank it all and fell back into sleep.
We settled back in our chairs.
Clown moved towards us. We were not supposed to be talking with each other without Jessamine in the room. Rising, I
made my way over to my desk, seating myself. Clown dragged itself back to its position.
I understood I was playing a game—with players making their moves and either succeeding or being defeated. Only I didn’t understand the rules, nor what I was fighting against.
Aisha closed her eyes—falling into sleep.
I doodled on the page, raising my eyes to Sophronia. She nodded, coming to sit beside me. Slowly, I pulled the locket onto my lap. I held tight to it, lest she snatch it away.
Sophronia gazed at me in surprise.
She wrote, how?
I shook my head. I wasn’t about to tell her that.
What now? I wrote.
Sophronia: Did you look inside?
Me: Yes.
Sophronia: What did you see?
Me: A man, a girl. I think the girl is an ancestor of Jessamine’s.
Sophronia: See it again.
Me: I see sadness. Both look sad.
Sophronia stole a look at me, her forehead tensing—as though there was something I was meant to understand, but couldn’t grasp. She wrote, See Jessamine. Really see her. Close your eyes and see her. Then you will know.
Missouri had said there was something about Jessamine that was different and that she didn’t want Sophronia or Philomena to know. But whatever it was, Sophronia already knew.
A cry came from the pram. Philomena stretched. “Mummy,” she called. “Mummmeeeeee …”
Sophronia stepped over to her. Philomena sat, half-awake—disoriented.
I wondered if she’d been dreaming of home—her real home.
Aisha woke with a start.
I ripped the paper into confetti and tipped it into the trash. Sophronia turned back to me—her eyes imploring. The can overflowed with paper. I carried it out to the bathroom and tossed the contents down the toilet. The river underneath carried the papers away. It was how we got rid of all the paper trash here. The river carried all the secret scribblings of the dolls far, far underground.
I sat on the toilet seat, trying to think, trying to hold onto Sophronia’s words. But they slipped from me, as though they had no meaning.
