8

“You really liked it?”

“Liked it? Loved it, dear. Summer Tempest should be required reading in every finishing school. Young ladies must be warned about the dangers of accidentally marrying a villainous cheese maker. I still have a few chapters to go, but so far it’s a triumph. A monstrous triumph!”

Lady Amelia clapped her hands (not unlike a seal). “Oh, Ivy, I am pleased!”

After the curious incident in the library, I had searched the house for Rebecca but found no sign of her. I had hoped she would be at afternoon tea in the rose garden. She was not. But the delicate sandwiches, fresh pastries, and vanilla cheesecake were delicious. Old Walnut Head was seated in the arbor, the cat curled up on her lap. Fortunately, she was asleep.

“The critics were rather unkind,” said Lady Amelia meekly. “I fear they didn’t appreciate my little tale.”

“Writing a book is a fine achievement,” I said, taking another slice of cheesecake. “Who cares if it is terrifically bad?”

Lady Amelia paled slightly. Indigestion, I expect. Fortunately, Matilda was on hand to take her mind off it. She spent the next half hour complaining that she had to wait four whole days until her birthday ball. She felt it a grave injustice. I pointed out that there were children in the world who had never had a birthday party in their lives and that she was a hideous ingrate. Matilda responded by suggesting I drown myself in a bucket. Which was most unhelpful.

“Luckily, I have enjoyed some wondrous birthdays,” I said, taking a sip of tea. “One year my parents rented a theater in New York and had a troupe of Romanian puppeteers reenact the most thrilling episodes from my life—my heart-stopping dual with a double-crossing juggler was a high point. Another year, we traveled across India in a hot air balloon. Took hours. We landed on a mountain somewhere southeast of whatsit. Delightful village—populated entirely by panda bears. Wonderfully friendly, but terrible cooks.”

The whole family was staring at me (except for Lady Elizabeth, who was still fast asleep). “Nothing you say is true, Pocket,” sneered Matilda, “not one word of it. You’re even crazier than Rebecca.”

“I do love a birthday ball,” said Lady Amelia dreamily. “Although masquerade balls are my favorite. I wanted Matilda to have one, but she says her face is far too pretty to hide behind a mask. Ivy, I hope our little party compares well to some of the others you have been to.”

“She’s not invited!” barked Matilda.

“I know you two are not great friends,” said Lady Amelia, looking hopefully at her daughter. “But as Ivy will be there to present your special gift, she simply must come as your guest.”

Adorable creature!

Matilda looked violently unhappy. Which was delightful. It seemed the perfect time to gloat shamelessly. And I would have, but for two things. The first was that Lady Elizabeth woke up with a start. The second was that Miss Frost came across the lawn from the schoolhouse to collect Matilda for her French lesson.

“If I could have a brief word, Lady Amelia,” said Miss Frost. “It is about the birthday ball. I assume Matilda is to give a speech?”

“Only if she wishes to,” said Lady Amelia. “Matilda isn’t terribly fond of—”

“Of course she will give a speech,” said Lady Elizabeth, interrupting gruffly. “It is a Butterfield tradition.”

Miss Frost frowned. “The trouble is . . .”

Lady Elizabeth slapped her bony hand on her knee. “What is the trouble? Matilda, is there a problem I should know about?”

Matilda stole a glance at her grandmother, but said nothing.

“Only this, Lady Elizabeth,” said Miss Frost. “I have assisted as much as I can. Matilda needs help. Professional help.”

“To write a birthday speech?” huffed Lady Elizabeth. “Bunkum!”

“Oh, dear,” said Lady Amelia. “Perhaps I could help her. After all, my book—”

“I’ve read shopping lists with more flare than your ghastly book!” snapped Lady Elizabeth.

Poor Lady Amelia looked crestfallen!

“Matilda doesn’t want to disappoint anyone,” said Miss Frost with a sigh. “She is a Butterfield, after all, and the whole county will be at the ball.” She sighed again, rather loudly. “If only there was someone who could help.”

Then it hit me. The most wonderful idea!

“I think I may have just the answer,” I announced.

“Heaven help us!” barked Lady Elizabeth.

“My dear friend, Miss Geraldine Always, is in desperate need of a quiet place to work on her new book, and she would be a great help to Matilda,” I said, smiling winningly. “I shall write to her this very morning and invite her to stay. It’s a perfect solution, don’t you agree?’

Lady Elizabeth glared at me. “You think it is your place to invite guests to my home?”

I nodded. “Just the one, dear.”

“Miss Pocket, the fact that you are a guest at Butterfield Park gives me constant heartburn. If you think I would welcome another ghastly interloper, you are even more deluded than I thought.”

Which wasn’t very nice. I put this down to the fact that Lady Elizabeth was shockingly old. And slightly evil. Amazingly, Miss Frost saved the day.

“I think it is an excellent idea,” she declared.

“Miss Always is terribly plain, but very gifted, Lady Elizabeth,” I said. “She could help Matilda craft a brilliant speech—thrilling, funny, moving. One that would have the whole county talking.” I took a large bite of cheesecake (I felt I had earned it). “And in her spare time, Miss Always could work on her book.”

“Not the worst idea I ever heard,” muttered the old woman. “A compelling speech would honor the Butterfield name.” She nodded her shriveled head. “Yes, I like it.”

Lady Amelia looked thrilled. “Well done, Ivy!”

“The ball is in four days,” said Miss Frost. “We haven’t much time.”

“Time enough,” I declared. “I will write to Miss Always at once—the letter should reach her by nightfall. I will explain everything and beg Miss Always to come immediately.”

And with that, the matter was settled.

With the letter written and sent, I wandered down to the schoolhouse, looking for Rebecca. I wanted to lure her away and speak with her about Miss Frost before dinner. Their whispered conversation in the library would not leave my mind. Something was afoot. I found the schoolhouse empty—apparently Miss Frost had dragged her pupils out to the orchard to teach them about insects. I looked about. The blackboard was covered in Miss Frost’s ornate handwriting. Some nonsense about the cycles of the moon.

I sat down at one of the desks and drummed my fingers in a dainty fashion. Matilda’s sketchbook was open before me, containing a woeful drawing of a bower bird. Waiting is a nasty business. Glancing out the window, I spotted an old man—a gardener, no doubt—bending over a rosebush with a pair of clippers in his hand. He had white hair. A tatty straw hat. Whiskers that went on for miles. I picked up a pencil and begin to draw him. Surely I could surpass Matilda’s pitiful effort! I became so engrossed in the sketch that I didn’t even hear Miss Frost return to the schoolhouse.

“I am surprised to find you here, Miss Pocket,” she said crisply.

“Can’t think why,” I said. “I’m terrifically studious.”

“Tell me, have you had any formal education?”

“Certainly. My father is a professor of pirate history. My mother teaches Latin and armed combat.”

Miss Frost retrieved a magnifying glass from the bookcase and turned back to me. I glanced at the blackboard. Just for a moment. But it was enough to catch Miss Frost’s attention. “Do you know much about astronomy, Miss Pocket?” she asked.

“Only what I learned at Cambridge, dear.”

She laughed. Which was unhelpful. “The moon’s cycles are rather fascinating, don’t you agree?” she said.

I shrugged. “Not really. Of course, I have a soft spot for the full moon—murderous rampages, werewolves, and whatnot.”

“Superstitious nonsense,” she declared. Miss Frost walked to the front of the room and pointed to the blackboard as if she were teaching a class. “The real power lies in the first half-moon When it is both revealed and hidden all at once—half there, half not. Great things are possible at such a time.” She let out a sharp breath. Smiled a little. “Matilda’s birthday ball falls on the half-moon. I feel it will make for a most interesting evening.”

I sighed and went back to my drawing. “If you say so.”

Miss Frost sniffed and shook her head as if I were a nitwit. “What are you drawing, Miss Pocket?”

I pointed out the window to the ancient gardener. “Him.”

“Him?” Miss Frost looked at my sketch. Then out the window. Then back at my sketch. Clearly it was better than I thought. “How fascinating,” she muttered.

I put down the pencil and admired my picture. The roses weren’t a great success. But it was a good enough likeliness of the old man.

“Miss Pocket, may I have this drawing?”

I shrugged. “If you wish.”

Miss Frost took the sketch, walked to her desk, and placed it in a drawer. She locked the drawer with a key. No doubt she planned to have it framed. People do that with marvelous drawings. Then she hurried from the schoolhouse without another word.

Nightfall. It had been a day of brilliant ideas. First, inviting Miss Always to stay. Second, finding the perfect hiding place for the Clock Diamond. I had known right away that it was just the spot to conceal the stone. So I had waited until the household was fast asleep; then I grabbed a candle and made my move.

After all, I didn’t want any prying eyes.

The room across from mine in the attic contained all the relics from Lady Amelia’s theatricals. All worthless and discarded. What better place to hide the necklace?

I sat down upon a crate. Plucked the stitching from my pocket with a small pair of scissors and pulled the Clock Diamond out. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard the Duchess’s ghostly warning. To not be tempted by the stone. Foolish dingbat!

I held the silver chain up to my candle and looked into the diamond. Outside the attic, a blanket of stars and a near half-moon filled the sky. Inside the stone, a twinkling of stars and a crescent moon rose high above Butterfield Park.

Behind me, a bird fluttered its wings. I turned and saw it take off and glide under the rafters, landing in the shadows at the far end of the roof. When I looked back at the stone, a snowstorm was swirling within it, each flake sparkling like a gemstone. Behind this curtain of snow I could see a house. It was gray and grim. No lights flickered in the frosted windows.

Suddenly the front door of the house flew open. A woman came out. A woman carrying a sleeping child. She wore a heavy, dark coat, and a yellow bonnet obscured her face. The child was small, with long black hair. The woman hurried away, stealing backward glances at the house. The child in her arms . . . I knew her. Was it me? I know it’s me. But younger.

I watched as the woman passed through a rusted gate and crossed a dirt road. Then she began to run—trudging through a field thick with sludge and sleet. She was running away. Holding me and running away. Where to? Where from? There were no answers. Just questions.

Questions. And footprints in the snow.

A dark mist whirled madly, eating the light. The vision was gone, replaced by the stars and near half-moon of the night sky. I dropped the necklace and stood up. Began to walk in circles. My mind crowded with thoughts. My stomach in knots. Perhaps it was just a trick. A cruel trick. But then I recalled the Duchess’s words about the diamond—it did not offer fantasies. Only visions of what was, what is, and what will be.

If that was true, what had I just seen? Who was that woman? My mother?

The stone. The stone had the answers. I raced back and scooped up the necklace, holding the diamond to the flickering candle. Praying it would show me more.

It did. But not a field in a snowstorm. Nor the woman in the yellow bonnet, carrying me away. Instead, I saw the schoolhouse at Butterfield Park glowing in the light of a half moon. A figure holding a lantern was moving along the garden path towards the darkened schoolhouse.

It was Miss Frost. What on earth was she doing?

If the Clock Diamond offered glimpses of events past, present, and future—which one was I seeing now? There was only one way to find out. I returned the stone to its hiding place, raced across the hallway, and ran to the small window in my bedroom. I got there just as Miss Frost, holding a lantern, vanished inside the schoolhouse. I watched as she walked to each window and drew the curtains. Minutes passed. Why I kept watching, I cannot say. All I know is that as the clock in the great hall struck midnight, another figure stole down the avenue of moonlit tulips and headed for the schoolhouse. This person was clutching something, and when she reached the schoolhouse she stopped and looked back the way she had come. Her face a ghostly white.

Rebecca Butterfield stepped inside the schoolhouse, closing the door behind her.

Early morning. The sun was yet to rise on my third day at Butterfield Park. A blanket of fog hovered above the flower beds. The gray mist parted as I hurried down the path towards the schoolhouse. I hadn’t slept a wink. Well, perhaps a wink. Maybe two. In fact, I had fallen asleep at the window waiting for Miss Frost and Rebecca to emerge. When I awoke, hours had passed.

Questions bubbled and popped in my mind. About the vision in the stone. About the mysterious woman in the yellow bonnet. About Miss Frost and Rebecca. What was the stone trying to tell me?

The door was unlocked. The schoolhouse, a chamber of shadows. I struck a match, lit a candle. I searched the room thoroughly—for I have all the natural instincts of a lighthouse keeper. Arithmetic books, history books, parchment, ink, pencils: it was a symphony of disappointment. There was nothing that offered a clue as to why Rebecca and Miss Frost were conducting a secret midnight meeting.

I glanced out of the window. The sun was just breaching the woodlands behind the schoolhouse. Time to go. My stomach was grumbling, and I was in desperate need of breakfast.

I blew out the candle.

“You are making a grave mistake, child.”

I didn’t turn around. No need. I knew who it was. I could see her reflected in the window. “You’re not real,” I said softly.

“I am as real as you, and that is a fact.” She was practically singing.

I turned around. The Duchess sat at the teacher’s desk before the blackboard, her magnificent blubber swallowing the chair beneath her. Fingers, fat like sausages, drumming on the desk. Blood soaked the front of her nightdress. Her head was a radiant blue. She looked very pleased with herself.

“What do you want?” I said, hands on my hips.

“I cannot rest.” Her fiery eyes fixed on me. Dark smoke coiled from her nose. “Since I put the Clock Diamond in your care, you have become rather attached to it. That is a mistake.”

I shrugged. “You’re wrong, dear. I barely even think of the stone.”

The Duchess smiled darkly. She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. Thick ribbons of dark smoke coiled from her nose, twisting into the air like serpents. The treads of billowing mist curled this way and that, and in moments had arranged themselves into a series of letters. This was what it said :

Deliver the necklace to Matilda at the birthday ball.

Collect five hundred pounds.

Begin a new life.

The ghost cackled and the message began to crumble and fall like sand, each word dropping to the desk in a pile of ash.

“Stop looking into the stone,” the Duchess said. “No good can come of it. You are seeking answers to questions that will bring you nothing but suffering, child.”

“You’re dead,” I said. “Why don’t you float away or cross over or whatever it is murdered fatheads do?”

“I am waiting.”

“For what?”

The Duchess smiled again. “The birthday ball.”

I looked at the hideous bloodstain on her chest and asked the question that had haunted me since Paris. “Who killed you?”

“Excellent question!” she cried. “Alas, I was dozing at the time.”

“Why were you killed?” I said with some urgency. “You must know why.”

“You know why, child,” she purred.

“To get the Clock Diamond?”

“Very good,” hissed the ghost. “But think only of your promise to me. Forget what you have seen in the stone. You are no longer that little girl.”

I felt a deep sadness reach for me like a grasping hand. Pulling me down. I shook my head. “I don’t understand. Who was that woman in the yellow bonnet? Was she my mother?”

“You have no mother,” said the Duchess, her hair suddenly alive with stardust. “Only I can offer you a new beginning. Trust no one in this house of shadows. Keep the stone safe. Watch over it. But do not look to the diamond for answers. Do not look, child!”

I was shaking. Trembling like a rabbit in a snowstorm. And I hated it. I hated her. I shut my eyes. “Why shouldn’t I look? I want answers, you ghoulish fatso, and I will have them!” I suddenly felt rather brave. Which is why I added, “Perhaps I will keep the necklace until it tells me what I want to know. It’s not like you can stop me. You’re dead!”

I heard it then. The buzzing. The vibration charging the air. I wouldn’t look. Wouldn’t open my eyes. But the buzzing. And the fear. So I did. I looked just as the Duchess, this creature of death, lifted up. It wasn’t graceful. It was a rampage. The desk toppled over. The chair shot back against the wall. And she flew at me. Glowing like a winter dawn. Her bloodstained nightdress billowing. An instrument of rage and thunder.

And I knew she would devour me in seconds.

I don’t recall running. But I must have. For my hand was on the door handle and I was flinging it open. I didn’t look back. I just ran. Until I hit it. Not it, her. We collided like trains. I screamed. She didn’t. I blinked. Looked up into her face.

She looked baffled. “Good heavens, Ivy, whatever’s the matter?”

I gasped. “Miss Always?”

The formal introductions happened at breakfast. Miss Always met the whole family. She was asked many questions about her travels and her books, and she answered them all admirably. Lady Amelia wanted to know when she had arrived. Miss Always told her, making no mention of the schoolhouse. And finding me running out of it like a lunatic. Nor did she mention walking me back inside and helping me put the desk to rights and straightening the place up.

“My speech will be the highlight of the ball,” Matilda interrupted. “With Miss Always’s help, I’ll stun those silly girls from the village. They will worship me.”

“Goodness,” said Miss Always rather meekly. “I shall do my best.”

Rebecca didn’t come to breakfast. In fact, I didn’t see her at all until I was giving Miss Always a tour of the house. We were passing through the great hall, talking of our voyage from Paris and her mother’s miraculous recovery, when Rebecca hurried down the stairs and into the sitting room—where I saw her exchange words with Miss Frost, who was waiting by the window.

“Ivy?”

I looked back at Miss Always. “Sorry, dear?”

“I said, are you well?”

“Never better,” I answered. “As it happens, I have a great deal of time on my hands at Butterfield Park, and the books in the library are of little interest. I was thinking I might give your last book a try.” I smiled as if I hadn’t a care in the world. “Wasn’t it about ghosts?’

Miss Always nodded. “The great ghosts of Scotland and Wales.” She was looking at me rather curiously. “Ivy, you know that as my bosom friend you can ask me anything. Anything at all.”

“You would be shocked, dear,” I said.

A smile creased her thin lips. “I very much doubt that, Ivy.”

Without going into all the grisly details, I briefly explained to Miss Always what had been happening with the dead Duchess.

Miss Always stared at me with great intensity. For a moment her dark eyes seemed to crackle and flare, like coals in a furnace. No doubt I had stunned the poor creature. “That is most interesting,” she said softly. But she didn’t look at all shocked. “There are very few rules with regards to ghosts, Ivy, but there are two that are most important. The first is that only earthbound ghosts can haunt the living.”

I frowned. “Earthbound ghosts?”

Miss Always nodded. “Ghosts who remain tethered to this world because they have unfinished business here. Most of these ghosts are perfectly harmless—they are messengers and soothsayers. But some are very wicked indeed, and seek vengeance for past crimes.”

“Can they . . . can they hurt the living?”

“Oh, yes. Dreadfully so. Rage generates great power, Ivy.”

Which was rather unsettling. “What is the second rule?” I asked.

“When a person dies, his or her spirit is given a very short time to decide whether to stay earthbound or to pass into the afterlife. It is possible to make a fleeting visit to a loved one. But only for a short time. Then the spirit must depart, never to return.” Miss Always clasped my hands in hers. “You can be sure the Duchess haunts you for a reason, Ivy. Can you think what it might be?”

“Her dying wish was that I give Matilda the Clock Diamond at her birthday ball. I’m certain she will haunt me until I do as she asks.”

Miss Always’s cheeks seemed to color at the mention of the stone. “Matilda must have been delighted when she saw the necklace. Tell me, did she try it on?”

“Why, she hasn’t seen it,” I explained. “No one has.”

“Very sensible,” said Miss Always. She grasped my arm. “Do you still carry the diamond sewn into your pocket?”

“Heavens no,” I said, as if it were the silliest thing I’d ever heard. “I have hidden it away.”

The dear creature seemed delighted. “I’m sure it’s somewhere utterly ingenious.”

“You are right, Miss Always,” I said proudly.

“Wait.” She giggled shyly. “I will try to guess. You mustn’t give me any hints now. Not even a little one. Oh, dear, this house is so vast it could be anywhere.”

“You must let me tease you with a clue or two,” I said playfully.

“Well, if you insist.” Miss Always’s smile faded. “Go on then.”

“Think of a place where—”

“Excuse me, Miss Pocket.” It was Miss Frost. She was striding towards us. “Forgive me for interrupting, but I wanted to give Miss Always directions to the schoolhouse. If she is agreeable, we can begin work on Matilda’s speech this morning.”

Miss Always regarded Miss Frost rather coldly. “No need, I know exactly where it is. I met Ivy coming out of the schoolhouse when I arrived this morning.”

I very much wanted to die. Poor Miss Always had no idea she had betrayed me. I kept my eyes on my hands (they were fascinating). I could feel Miss Frost’s glare upon me. But to my surprise she said, “Well then, Miss Always, you will have no trouble finding us.”

As Miss Frost departed, I saw Rebecca slip out of the sitting room and steal away up the stairs. Miss Always was keen to see the library, so I pointed her in the right direction and said a hasty farewell. For I was on a mission.

Taking two steps at a time, I hurried after Rebecca.

“Wait!”

She was pulling the key from the lock—it was fixed around her wrist by a ribbon. About to vanish into her bedroom. She looked rather startled. “Ivy,” she said. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I cannot stop to chat. I have some work to do before my history class.”

I raced to her door. Rather puffed. Rebecca was already inside and beginning to close the door.

“Surely you can spare a moment or two,” I said, catching my breath. “I fear that you are avoiding me, though I cannot think why.”

“We spoke yesterday,” said Rebecca faintly.

“Yes, dear, but it’s not the same, is it?” I put my hand on the door. “If anything is the matter, you can tell me. I am a font of wisdom and bright ideas.”

“Nothing is the matter.”

“You look tired,” I said.

It was then that I noticed the strange rhythmic sound coming from inside Rebecca’s bedroom. I frowned. “What on earth is that noise?”

She pushed the door, trying to shut it. “I have to go, Ivy.”

“I saw you in the library with Miss Frost yesterday,” I said hastily, stopping the door with my foot. “You looked awfully upset. Then last night you stole into the schoolhouse under cover of darkness. We both know who you were meeting there.”

Rebecca gulped. I saw it clearly. “Miss Frost has been helping me with my work,” she said.

It might have made sense. If not for the fact that she and her governess had met in the dead of night. Whatever their business, it was of a secret kind.

“You can trust me, dear,” I said, in my most trustworthy voice. “In the library, you seemed to doubt what Miss Frost was telling you. She said something about getting proof. Proof of what, Rebecca?”

Her gaze traveled across my face for the longest time. She looked at me as if she were seeing me for the first time. Then her eyes pooled with tears. “Miss Frost thinks that . . . she is worried. She is worried about you, Ivy.”

“Me?” I sighed wearily. “She’s not still fretting about the Clock Diamond, is she?”

Rebecca nodded gravely.

“Well, she needn’t worry,” I said brightly. “I have the stone safely hidden away.”

Strangely, this did not seem to reassure Rebecca.

“You are good . . . ,” she said, tears trailing down her face. “You are good, aren’t you, Ivy?”

“Good? Of course I’m good. Wonderfully good. Everyone says so.” I pushed on the door, but it wouldn’t budge. “Let me come in, dear. We can discuss what is troubling you.”

“Be careful, Ivy,” Rebecca whispered. “Things are not as they seem.”

Then she shut the door in my face.

I heard the key turn in the lock.