I had dinner in my room that first night, then retired to bed. Rebecca insisted that I should dine with the family downstairs. Lady Elizabeth insisted that I shouldn’t. I didn’t press the point. After all, I was dead tired. Or so I thought. But instead I just lay there. Looking up at the moonlight playing upon the eaves. Trying not to think about anything remotely troubling.
Normally I’m an excellent sleeper. But not tonight. For as much as I didn’t want to admit it, Miss Frost had unnerved me. I’d spent all afternoon roaming about the great house, looking for a suitable hiding place for the stone. There were so many rooms. So many nooks and crannies. In the end, none felt right. So the stone was now tucked under my pillow. But my bedroom door had no lock. Anyone could come in. See me sleeping like some sort of heavenly angel. Slip their devious hand under the pillow. And take the stone.
Eventually I drifted off to sleep. I must have. After all, you have to be asleep to wake up. And that’s what happened. I awoke. Suddenly. Flew up in my bed. Wide awake.
Something had startled me.
The room was thick with silvery shadows. All was still. Silent, save for the snapping and creaking of the old house. I looked about in the darkness. Nothing. Nothing . . . but something. I didn’t feel alone. Which was foolish. Of course I was alone. And yet . . . it wouldn’t hurt just to make sure. I felt around on the side table for a match and lit a tallow candle.
The flame bloomed inside the dark room like a bubble of honey-colored light.
“Pull yourself together, Ivy,” I said, leaning over to blow out the candle. “There’s no one here.”
“Look closer, child.”
I screamed. Jumped. Grabbed the candle. Thrust it forward; its flickering light swallowed the darkness. The tattered armchair in the corner of the room was still shrouded in shadow. But I heard something move. Or wheeze. I crawled to the end of the bed, the candle trembling in my hand.
“Who’s there?” I hissed.
“Don’t you know?” A blue glow bloomed in the corner. And there she was. The Duchess of Trinity. Her body spilling over the armchair like an enormous mollusk. Her face ashen. Blood drenched the front of her nightdress. She was just how I remembered her. Only dead.
“What do you want?”
“The truth,” she said softly.
I backed away. Creeping up the bed until my arm hit the wall.
“I know why you’re here,” I whispered.
She seemed to find this amusing. “Do tell . . .”
“It’s about the necklace,” I said. “You’re upset because I tried it on.”
The Duchess of Trinity smiled darkly. “You broke your promise, child.”
“It was only for a moment. I just wanted to see what it felt like. And no harm was done.”
She seemed to find that amusing. “Are you sure?”
“Perfectly sure. And it wasn’t pleasant at all—in fact, I fainted—and I won’t be doing that again. So you see, there’s really no need for you to haunt me. In fact, I’d be terribly grateful if you’d shuffle off.”
She closed her eyes. Perhaps she was taking a nap.
“A great deal has happened since last we met,” said the Duchess slowly. “I would hate for you to be distracted from your task. No matter what, the Clock Diamond must be given to Matilda Butterfield at her birthday ball. You won’t disappoint me, will you?”
“Of course not.” I sighed disagreeably. “Though I can’t think why you’d want her to have it. She’s violently unpleasant.”
“Lady Elizabeth adores her.” The Duchess seemed to purr. “Every hope and dream she has for the future of this great house is wrapped up in that girl.”
“If you say so.”
“The view from here is marvelous,” said the Duchess playfully. “I can see everything. When the stone was around your neck, you looked into it. What did you see?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Nothing at all.”
She shook her head, and as she did, starlight seemed to fall from her white curls. “What did you see, child? The truth.”
She was rather stubborn for a dead woman.
“I may have seen a girl,” I said.
“Who was she?”
I shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
“Lies,” she spat. “The girl was plain. Friendless. Alone in the world. Sound familiar?”
I huffed. I may have rolled my eyes. It was perfectly clear what the Duchess of Ghostville was getting at. “She looked a little like me, I suppose.”
“The stone has much to show you,” sang the Duchess, “but it will bring you no joy. Only suffering. Do not be tempted. Leave it alone, child—for your own good.”
“Really, dear, you’ve picked the wrong girl for this sort of thing. I don’t scare easily, and to be frank, you are giving off a revolting odor. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to sleep.”
All at once, the distance between us fell away. I can’t say if I flew to her or her to me. All I know is, I lifted from the bed. I moved rapidly. My nightdress billowing. Legs kicking. There wasn’t time to scream. Then a buzzing sound. Loud and urgent. Right in my ear. I looked up. Her face loomed before me. Her whole body seemed to vibrate and the radiant blue of her skin was blinding.
“Remember your promise, child,” she hissed. “Do not disappoint me.”
Then I fell. In a tangle. Landed on the bed. The candle went out and dropped from my hand. Darkness and pale moonlight filled the attic. I groped around the bedsheets. Found the candle. Struck another match. I searched the room. She was gone. I jumped up and began walking about madly. My mind a jumble of ghostly thoughts.
Finally, exhausted, I returned to bed. Pulled up the sheets.
But I didn’t blow out the candle. I didn’t dare.
Pancakes. Pancakes and sweet tea. Perhaps an omelet. A raw potato or three. That was what I needed. A hearty breakfast. I smoothed the creases of my white muslin dress and gazed at my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t look tired. My skin was glowing. Outside, the morning with all its promise seemed a million miles away from last night. A nightmare. That’s all it had been. Murdered duchesses didn’t come back from the dead. Maybe that happened in books. But not real life. Not to me.
I heard noises. A fluttering sound. Like something moving. Then silence. Then more fluttering. The blubbery ghost was back! That was my first thought. The blood ran cold in my veins.
With bone-shattering courage, I opened my door and crossed the narrow hall. The room across from mine, the storeroom for the costumes and backdrops from Lady Amelia’s theatricals, was filled with crates, boxes, trunks, spears, shields, and swords.
I stepped inside. Two swallows glided between the rafters. Soft light sliced through the beams of wood, illuminating the creatures’ arched wings and casting majestic shadows upon the sloping ceiling. The birds landed with ease on a high beam.
It was really rather wondrous. So wondrous that I stayed in that dusty room for the longest time. Wandering about, looking in trunks full of faded costumes, wooden swords, and drooping hats and chests full of rusted tiaras and worthless costume jewelry all tangled in a cluster. I had never seen so much rubbish in all of my life. Which is when it hit me. The most brilliant idea.
“Of course!” I said. For now I knew exactly where to hide the Clock Diamond.
Just at that moment, I heard footsteps approaching in the hallway. No doubt a maid coming to tidy up my bedroom. I closed the lid of the trunk and hurried from the room.
My first breakfast at Butterfield Park was heartbreaking. Not a pancake or potato in sight. Lady Elizabeth suggested I would be more comfortable eating in the kitchen with the help. I told her I was completely comfortable eating in the dining room with the aristocrats. She nearly choked on her boiled egg.
The morning passed swiftly. I received a letter from Miss Always. Terribly depressing. While her mother was feeling better, her family’s cottage was small and crowded. It was impossible for her to get any writing done. And the changes to her manuscript were due at the publisher in less than a month. Her most cherished dream was of was a quiet country house where she could write in peace. But alas, she hadn’t the money to let one. Oh, Ivy, she wrote, whatever will I do?
Poor, wretched Miss Always!
I went out for a walk in the meadow. Tried my best to think happy thoughts. Only four days until Matilda’s birthday ball. Soon I would begin my new life. I wasn’t about to let a silly nightmare spoil my sunny future. And that was all it had been. Just a dream. I felt guilty for wearing the necklace and breaking my promise to the Duchess, so I had conjured her up in my sleep. Put a lot of gibberish about the stone in her mouth. That I mustn’t be tempted by what it had to show me. That it would bring me suffering. Stuff and nonsense!
I wandered back towards the house and found Rebecca sitting in the conservatory, working on her book report. She glanced up when I entered, a curious look in her eyes. “Did she scare you?” she asked.
I gasped. How did she know about the ghost?
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” I said brightly.
Rebecca closed her book. “I don’t believe you,” she said. “I heard Miss Frost warning you about the diamond.”
Oh, Miss Frost. The gloomy governess. I felt a wave of relief. “Well, yes,” I said, “perhaps she did bother me a little. She seemed rather fixated on it.”
“I don’t think she likes you,” said Rebecca.
“Miss Frost is a terrible governess,” I said, in my most disapproving voice. “Why would Lady Amelia employ an American? Strict, humorless, fat, lonely, and British. That’s what a governess should be!”
“Our last governess was from Wales,” said Rebecca softly. “Miss Rochester. She was lovely.”
“What a coincidence,” I said, falling into an armchair. “My last governess was also a Miss Rochester. Jolly good sport, she was. Only one arm, but a gifted knitter.”
Rebecca looked baffled. “Is that true, Ivy?”
“I certainly hope so. But back to your Miss Rochester—where did she go? Did she marry? The good ones always do.”
Rebecca shook her head. “She vanished.”
“Vanished?” Suddenly I was very interested. “What do you mean, dear?”
“We woke up last Friday, and she was gone,” said Rebecca, her voice ripe with sadness. “No note. No forwarding address. No explanation.”
“Goodness,” I said. “How deliciously mysterious! My godfather vanished once. In a puff of smoke. Didn’t reappear until the following spring.”
Rebecca was silent. Her fingers knotted together. Her gaze far away.
“And you have heard nothing from Miss Rochester since?” I asked.
“Not a word,” she said. “She lived with us for two years. That’s more than seven hundred days. Seventeen thousand five hundred and twenty hours. Then she was gone.” She looked at me. “People do that, don’t they?”
“Vanish?” I asked.
“Run out of time,” she whispered.
The poor girl was positively bonkers. Who could keep track of all those silly numbers? I did my best to get back to the matter at hand. There was a puzzle here. I could feel it. “So Miss Rochester vanished last Friday?”
Rebecca nodded somberly.
I frowned. “How on earth did you find a new governess so quickly?”
“Aunt Amelia met Miss Frost on a train the very day Miss Rochester vanished,” answered Rebecca. “Turns out Miss Frost had come all the way from America to take up a position with a family in London. But they had to sail for Australia all of a sudden. Miss Frost was reading Aunt Amelia’s novel—that’s what got them talking.”
“Lady Amelia wrote a novel?” I said.
“Summer Tempest. Nobody bought it—well, apart from Miss Frost. Anyway, they started talking, and by the time the train reached London, Aunt Amelia had hired Miss Frost to be our new governess.”
“How lucky for Miss Frost,” I said, my mind spinning with dark thoughts about the vanished Miss Rochester. “It must have been the hand of fate.”
Rebecca shook her head. “I’m not so sure.”
After lunch that same day, I decided to spend a few hours in the library reading Lady Amelia’s book. I was on my way there when a maid came rushing out of the morning room carrying a bowl of water, a damp cloth, and a grimace—she looked on the verge of tears. The tormented creature explained that Lady Elizabeth was having one of her headaches. As such, she was making everybody’s life a misery.
Naturally, I knew just what to do. I picked up a basket from the kitchen and set off toward the garden.
With my supplies gathered, I found Lady Elizabeth in the morning room, resplendent in a black silk gown. She was lying on a sofa with the cat. Her withered head was propped up by a pillow. She was muttering about her life of suffering.
“You look terrible,” I said brightly, setting the basket on the table. “Do you get headaches often?”
“Constantly,” she snapped. “My suffering is monstrous. The future weighs heavily upon me. Thank heavens for Matilda. Without her, I would give in to complete despair.”
“What about Rebecca?” I said firmly. “She is your granddaughter too.”
Lady Elizabeth huffed. “That girl is as deluded as she is bumbling! No, Matilda is the future of Butterfield Park.” The old bat thrust a bony finger into the air. “She will be my legacy!”
“I think you should worry less about your legacy and more about your nose.” I wiped Lady Elizabeth’s dripping nose with my handkerchief. “Big blow, dear—get it all out.”
The old woman slapped my hand away and gasped. “How dare you!”
I looked into her fierce eyes and suddenly felt a wave of pity for her. It must be monstrous, being so old and so unhappy. “Lady Elizabeth, there is no great crime in being a dried-up bag of wrinkles. Although it may be kinder to drag you outside and shoot you.”
Walnut Head gasped, and the cat leaped from her lap. “Help! Somebody help!”
“But I believe it is the headaches that are making you such a miserable old bat.” I climbed onto the sofa, kneeling beside the old woman. “Luckily, I have an excellent remedy. I have a gift for such things.”
I dipped my handkerchief into a cup of beef tea and began blotting Lady Elizabeth’s forehead with it.
“What are you doing?” she barked.
“Be a dear and shut your cake hole.” I took an onion sliced in two from the basket. “Now for best results, I normally require a butter knife and a corkscrew—but we will make do with what we have.” I held out the halved onion. “Take half in each hand.”
“What for?” she barked. “Get off this sofa!”
“For once in your life, do as you’re told.”
With a huff, she took them. I grabbed her hands, pressing the flesh of the onion against her skin. “This will ease pain in the temples.”
“Claptrap!”
I picked a stalk of lavender from the basket, broke off the flower, cut it into two pieces, then wedged them into the old woman’s nostrils. Then I began to massage Lady Elizabeth’s forehead with small circular motions. At regular intervals, I told her to breathe the lavender in deeply. And from time to time, I blew gently on her face.
In a minute or two, five at the most, Walnut Head was quiet. Her breathing slow and even. I pulled the sprigs of lavender from her nose and took the halved onion from her hands.
“Job well done,” I said.
“Claptrap,” she said faintly.
Then Walnut Head drifted off to sleep.
Summer Tempest was a terrible book. Frightfully bad. Full of breathless maidens trapped by dark secrets and hideous villains obsessed with revenge. In short, I loved it!
The library at Butterfield Park was a two-story wonderland—just the place to spend the hour before afternoon tea. I had come to find Lady Amelia’s book, which took pride of place in a glass cabinet by the spiral staircase. Then I settled down in Lady Elizabeth’s chair by the window. The view of the rose garden—shimmering in the soft light—was so splendid, I was torn between reading Lady Amelia’s book and admiring the tapestry of red and white flowers outside.
A warm glow washed over me. I wasn’t tired. I never got tired. I have the energy of a large rabbit. Or at the very least, a field mouse. But I hadn’t slept at all well last night. That silly dream. I didn’t drift off to sleep. Just dozed.
The murmur of voices roused me. Whispers. Echoing through the vaulted library. I opened my eyes. Peered around the side of the chair. Miss Frost and Rebecca were standing up on the library’s first-floor landing. They were deep in conversation. Voices low. Rebecca looked distressed. It seemed as if Miss Frost was doing all of the talking. Remarkably, I could hear practically every word. It was as if I could hear a pin drop.
“I don’t believe you!” Rebecca’s voice shattered the quiet.
“Shhh!” was Miss Frost’s reply.
What on earth were they discussing? Miss Frost slipped something into Rebecca’s hand. A book. It was red. Small. Rebecca didn’t want it. Shook her head. Miss Frost pushed it at her. Her manner was most insistent.
“Read it,” she ordered. “It will explain a great deal.”
“What you’re saying isn’t true,” said Rebecca. “It can’t be!”
“And yet it is.” Miss Frost sounded tired. “I will endeavor to bring you more proof, but there isn’t much time. The matter is urgent. Believe me, I wouldn’t involve you if I didn’t have to. She must be watched, and I cannot keep an eye on her day and night. As such, I need your help. I need it and I will have it.”
Rebecca began to cry. “How . . . how could she not know? It’s impossible.”
“Tears will not alter the facts.” Miss Frost grabbed Rebecca’s chin. Her voice was cold. “Read the book. Do as I ask. If you don’t, this house will see a great deal of suffering. I promise you that.”
Rebecca’s head dropped in apparent surrender. She took the book, then rushed down the spiral stairs and fled. Poor creature!
Miss Frost seemed to struggle for breath. She shuddered. Reached out and grabbed the iron railing. Then she straightened herself up. Patted her red hair. Came quickly down the spiral stairs. She was clearly in a hurry and was almost at the threshold of the library when she stopped and looked back, her eyes hungry. I edged behind the chair. Held my breath.
“Hello?” Miss Frost’s voice was urgent. “Is someone there?”
How slowly the seconds passed! I could no longer see her. Had no idea if she was roaming the library or standing still. I prayed. Yes, prayed. I don’t know why I feared Miss Frost so completely at that moment. But I did.
All was quiet. Then, the rustling of a skirt. Then silence again. I dared to peek around the side of the chair.
The doorway was empty.
Miss Frost had gone.