My eyes stung. My lungs hurt. My skin tingled as if it were being pricked by a thousand needles. Particles swirled through the purple liquid like a tempest. Having a dead girl with me was a great help—Rebecca’s shimmering skin bloomed within the murky water like a lamppost.
The portal was easy enough to find. A large and dark mass pulsing down at the very bottom of the pool. I kicked my legs, feeling Rebecca beside me. The far wall was covered in rock and barnacles and seaweed. And set into the bottom, among the heaving weeds and the gnarly shells, was our destination. The portal was large, plump tendrils covering its flesh, and in the center was a tunnel—though it was nearly closed. It pulsed, but just faintly, barely a bubble or two rising from within it. I went first, kicking my legs and pushing my way into the portal.
Inside was a long, narrow membrane—rather like the underside of a mushroom. The walls of the tunnel groaned deeply, like the last gasps of a dying giant, pressing in on me. I wanted to look back to check that Rebecca was close behind, but there wasn’t room enough for me to turn my head.
The farther in we went, the tighter the membrane grew. I heard a great shudder. And though I could not look back, I felt Rebecca at my feet and knew the portal was collapsing behind us. I kicked hard, pushing at the fleshy walls in the mad hope I could keep the portal open until we reached the void.
There was no air left in my lungs. Yet all I could do was kick and hope we would make it out in time. I felt a great surge from behind, pushing me forward. And just when I felt as if my chest would bust—a mighty wind was hammering my face. I gasped and took in a wondrous breath. Then looked back and saw Rebecca flying out as the dark and festering portal shriveled into a tight knot behind her.
“Ivy, help me!”
My eyes flew up as Rebecca spun wildly above me. I reached up and was able to grab her arm. Pulling her to me. It is rather difficult to describe a void. All I can say is that this place was empty and full at the same time. An endless landscape with nothing. It had color—the palest of blues. And it had weather—mighty winds that screamed in rage, churning and swirling and battering.
“Where do we go?” screamed Rebecca.
I looked about. Searching for any signs of a scarlet light. Far off in the distance was the faintest, the softest, of glows. Was it red? I couldn’t be sure. The whirlwind roared so furiously it made seeing terribly difficult.
“This way!” I shouted, pointing toward the faint glow.
Rebecca nodded her head and gripped my hand. “Don’t let go, Ivy,” she cried. “Promise you won’t let go.”
“Of course not, dear!”
But it was a promise I should not have made. For just at that moment a violent gust of wind hit me from below and sent me reeling.
“Ivy!” cried Rebecca.
My hand was pulled from hers. I tried to use my arms and legs to stop my rapid ascent. But I was a leaf in a tempest, and the more I struggled, the farther from Rebecca I flew. In seconds she was little more than a dot in the great emptiness of space.
“Foolish child,” whispered a voice in my ear.
Then I felt myself being swallowed. The wind sealed off. The great wall of furious noise silenced. It was as if I was inside a ball—or a fat ghost. The Duchess of Trinity took off, flying me back toward Rebecca. “What wonderful timing you have, dear,” I said. “For once, I’m actually pleased to see you.”
“You have no business being in this void,” she sang. “Did I not warn you about meddling?”
“I’m practically positive you didn’t,” I replied.
“Foolish child,” she growled again.
I put my hands on the sides of her luminous flesh and looked down. Rebecca was in sight! She was being blown about, but when she spotted me zipping through the air inside a ghostly bubble, she began to sob madly—with relief, I assume. The Duchess did not slow when we reached Rebecca. For a moment I was terrified that we were going to fly right past her. Instead, the ghost opened her big mouth and gobbled the girl up.
“Who is she?” Rebecca asked as I pulled her upright.
“Just a chum,” I said brightly. “Slightly murderous, but awfully good in a pickle.”
The Duchess flew through the swirling winds, right toward the scarlet light. The faint glow began to brighten into a deep shimmering red the closer we got. It was shaped like a teardrop, great blooms of crimson mist rising out of it.
When we were a short distance from the light, the ghost stopped. The winds around us were pounding the Duchess on all sides. I heard her groan and noticed fragments of her luminous aura lifting off and flying away.
“What is happening, Duchess?” I said.
“Mind your own business.” The ghost’s voice sounded strained and weak. “The winds here are ferocious—crawl through the tunnel and do not look back.”
“What tunnel?” I said.
“Ivy, look!” shouted Rebecca.
The Duchess’s blue blubber began to stretch out in front of us, making a perfectly round channel leading to the light. We took off, crawling on our hands and knees. I made Rebecca go first so I could keep an eye on her. We were just a few feet from the scarlet teardrop when the tunnel tore open. The winds encircled the Duchess like a pack of rabid dogs. Rebecca and I were spat back into the void—and almost immediately my friend began to blow away.
“Ivy, what is happening?” she cried.
Salvation was within reach. I grabbed Rebecca by the arm and pushed as hard as I could, throwing her into the scarlet light—she gave a faint cry and was swallowed within it. I felt a current at my back. I turned and saw that the Duchess of Trinity was blowing me toward the red hollow. “Are you not coming?” I shouted.
The winds had savaged her—fragments of light tore from her flesh. The ghost shook her head. “There will be nothing left in a moment or two.” She blew again, and I flew closer to the light. “Good-bye, child.”
“How did you find me here?” And in that moment, the answer dropped into my head, and I understood. “This was your last great mission—wasn’t it, Duchess?”
“I made my choice, and I am not sorry.” Starlight flew from her until I could barely make out her ghostly glow. “Rebecca will return to the place where she departed. With enough headwind, so will you.”
She gave one final breath, and I felt the warm light at my back. The wind raged, and the Duchess of Trinity, that marvelous and murderous creature, was carried away like dust on the wind. I turned and plunged into the hollow.
My landing wasn’t as dignified as I would have liked. I was spat out, tumbling across the floor. But I recovered well and climbed to my feet. Found myself in a narrow corridor—dirt floor, brick wall. I got up, dusted off my dress, and pushed on the door. The glass panel opened silently, and I found myself in the darkened ballroom. It looked rather less chaotic than when I was last there. The red velvet curtains were drawn. The place silent and still. I broke into a run, heading for the door.
Finding Rebecca wasn’t difficult. I suspected she was close when I passed through the drawing room and saw a maid shrieking about ghosts and running for her life. Rebecca was in the great hall. And she wasn’t alone. Lady Elizabeth sat on the steps of the grand staircase, looking at her granddaughter, her weathered face a mixture of wretchedness and wonder.
“I . . . I do not believe it,” she muttered to herself. “My granddaughter has come back.”
The dead girl now glowed blue, as the Duchess had. Her skin threw off an icy light, her dark eyes danced. But she was a ghost on the hunt. Her brow was knotted, darting from room to room and returning each time to the great hall. And I understood why.
“She will come,” I told her with certainty. “Your mother will find you here.”
Rebecca threw her arms around me. “You made it, Ivy! Oh, I was worried that you would be lost in that awful void.”
“Yes, I made it,” I said softly. “Though I cannot say the same for the Duchess.”
But Rebecca’s thoughts were elsewhere. “Do you really think she’ll come, Ivy? Oh, but how will she know where I am?”
“She watches you, dear. Trust me, she will come.”
Lady Elizabeth got to her feet with some effort. Leaning heavily on her cane, she walked toward Rebecca, her beady eyes roaming her granddaughter’s ghostly glow. “You have come home, Rebecca,” she said.
“Yes.” Rebecca shook her head, starlight leaping from her hair. “No. I am waiting for my mother.”
“Oh.” Lady Elizabeth let out a faint huff. “I thought you had come to haunt me. . . .”
And the old bat sounded disappointed. I was struck by the silence in the vast house.
“Where is everyone?” I asked.
“Most of the servants gave notice after the calamitous ball,” she said. “Some claptrap about Butterfield Park being cursed.” She huffed again. “Idiots!”
“Where is Matilda?” asked Rebecca. “Perhaps I could say hello—and Lady Amelia, is she about?”
Lady Elizabeth rested both hands on the top of her cane. “They are gone.” She let out a shallow breath. “Set sail for Australia.”
“You are here alone?” said Rebecca.
The old woman ignored the question. “When your mother died,” she said, her wrinkled face a mask of torment and shame, “I did what I thought was best. I wanted you to get on with things, to stop being so glum—but I did not behave as I should have. I was cruel.” She nodded her head. “Yes, cruel . . . and I am sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter now, Grandmother.” Rebecca touched the old woman’s cheek. “If it’s forgiveness you seek, I give it freely.”
With these words, a great sob flew out of Lady Elizabeth. It was deep and long buried and rather beautiful.
“She is here!” cried Rebecca, pointing at the window.
I looked out and saw Rebecca’s mother. She was standing out in the meadow by the schoolhouse. Her glowing blond hair falling about her shoulders. A marvelous smile spread across her face. Lady Elizabeth gasped. I waved. Rebecca’s mother waved back—lovely ghost!
Her mother’s presence seemed to answer all of Rebecca’s doubts. All her fears. Before she departed, Rebecca turned and kissed her grandmother.
“You better get going,” I said as brightly as I could. I was determined not to howl like a girl who was saying good-bye to the best friend she had ever had. It wasn’t a complete success.
We threw arms around each other and embraced. I felt the coolness of her skin against my own. Then I felt her kiss my cheek. “You brought me home, Ivy.”
“Be a shiny bright star,” I whispered, squeezing her tight. “A shiny bright star, so I’ll always know you’re there.”
I don’t recall exactly what happened next. One moment Rebecca was with us in the great hall, and the next she was a shadow slipping through the door. Lady Elizabeth and I watched as she flew toward her mother. When they came together, it was as if they merged—Rebecca’s light and her mother’s spilling into each other. Then washing away, leaving a hazy afterglow that splashed briefly over the wildflowers and was gone.
Some time passed before anyone spoke. I turned around and regarded Lady Elizabeth. She was a broken woman, made humble and frail by loss. I didn’t want to feel sorry for her—she had been thoroughly wicked to me. But somehow it didn’t much matter anymore.
“Well,” I said brightly, “I suppose you’ll beg my forgiveness now—cry buckets, kiss my feet, butter my toast and whatnot.”
“You?” Some of the old spark crackled in her eyes. “Never!”
“Well, then, you might at least take my advice—unless you want to die all alone in this beastly house of yours.”
She huffed, but her heart wasn’t in it. “I’m listening.”
“Fix things with Lady Amelia and Matilda,” I said. “Go and make it right. You are a horrid old bat, but I’m almost certain you didn’t start out that way. Lady Amelia deserves your respect and Matilda needs your example—show her that being hateful and vengeful and cruel makes for a lonely life. Let her see that you are trying to change, and then she might too.”
The old bat thought on this a moment. Then she gulped. “Australia?”
I nodded. “Afraid so.”
She huffed again. Tapped her cane on the floor. “There are worse places, I suppose.”
“Not really, dear—but that’s the spirit!”
Lady Elizabeth had a note sent booking a berth on the next ship sailing for Australia. She offered me an iced tea and a raw potato, but I told her it was time that I departed. She was kind enough to give me five pounds for the train. We were not friends—how could we be after the wretched things she had done? But without saying it aloud, we both understood that whatever had happened between us, we were leaving it there in that hall. I slapped her on the shoulder and headed for the door. I was almost there when she called my name.
“Where will you go, Miss Pocket?” she asked.
I thought of my destination. And who would be waiting there. “Good-bye, Lizzy.”
Moments later, as I walked down the gravel drive toward the train station, I looked back at the great house and saw in its grand splendor a kind of emptiness. It was beautiful, yes, but how little joy I had seen within its walls. I couldn’t say whether Lady Elizabeth would return with Matilda and her mother. Or if the mansion would sit empty for the next hundred years. I only knew that Rebecca was now somewhere far away. Blissfully happy and at peace. And that my part in the story of this sad place had reached its end. And I was glad of it.
“It’s good to see you, miss,” said Bertha for the seventh time. “I was awful scared you’d never set foot in England again, and that’s a fact!”
I had sent word from the train station at Butterfield Park that I would be arriving in Dorset the following day. Bertha and Jago were there to meet me—Jago shook my hand in a most vigorous fashion, Bertha wept like a burst pipe. As I had no luggage, we headed straight to the wagon and set off for Weymouth.
There was a great deal to discuss. My adventure, of course. I gave them all the particulars. Jago was rather glum when I mentioned that Miss Frost would not be back.
“She’s as tough as old boots, Miss Frost,” he said, his voice ringing with admiration. “Doesn’t take any guff neither.”
“Very true, dear, and well said.” I bumped his leg in an encouraging fashion. “You have a marvelous way with words. Have you ever thought of giving English a try?”
Jago burst out laughing. Then Bertha joined in. Which was confusing, but really rather nice. There were other matters to talk over—Mrs. Dickens was still at the apartment in Berkeley Square, awaiting our return.
“She sent a box of your things, pretty dresses and such,” said Bertha cheerfully. Then she snorted. “Though I can’t think why she included a battered old clock. Her note said you would understand.”
It must be Rebecca’s clock. And the thought made me smile despite the sadness. Bertha prattled on a little longer, declaring that Mr. Partridge had written several letters. But really there was only one topic that mattered to me.
“How is my . . . how is Anastasia?”
“She’s getting stronger every day,” said Bertha.
Jago turned the horses and we left the main road, rolling up a prairie bursting with tall grass. “All she did was hum and shake that first night,” he said. “But after Miss Frost called at the cottage, your ma was a different person. Let Bertha clean her up and started eating and talking some. This morning she was singing as she dug in the garden.”
“She has a lovely voice, your mother,” said Bertha.
I saw the little cottage as we crested the hill. My mouth went dry. A knot pulled in my stomach. I don’t believe I’ve ever felt so ill. Despite my mad wish that the dirt road would stretch on for a thousand miles, we were there all too soon. Jago pulled the horses up in the yard. “Are you ready, chatterbox?”
It seemed that I had been on this journey for an age and that here, at last, was the destination. So why was I not leaping from the wagon and bounding into my mother’s arms? Perhaps it was travel sickness. Or scurvy.
“It’s going to be grand, miss,” said Bertha gently.
“Blimey, she’s lost for words!” said Jago.
“What a horrid thing to say!” I declared.
In the end, it didn’t matter how I felt. There was only one thing to be done. So I stood up, ignoring the uncertainty and doubts whirling through my head, and jumped from the carriage.
