Somebody Stop Ivy Pocket (20 page)

Authors: Caleb Krisp

In the half-light, I saw glimpses of Gretel’s portrait above the mantel. The one of her reading a book by candlelight. A pretty girl of fourteen or fifteen. An age Gretel Snagsby had never reached.

Ezra seemed to read my mind. ‘We waited a long time for our Gretel to come along and when she did, it’s fair to say she was a breath of fresh air and we were never the same again. She had just turned six when scarlet fever took hold … it was quick and cruel – she was gone in eight days.’

‘I’m very sorry.’

Ezra nodded again. ‘You’re probably wondering about the paintings.’

Now it was my turn to nod.

‘They allowed Gretel to grow up,’ said the old man, ‘to have the years that were taken from her. It keeps her alive and I suppose it keeps her here with us. Customers would come to the house and remark on them and for those few minutes, Mother Snagsby would pretend our girl was still around. Eventually it was harder to tell people Gretel was dead than to pretend she had reached adulthood and was away in Paris. Do you understand, Ivy?’

‘Mother Snagsby lost her mind,’ I said thoughtfully, ‘and you were kind enough to go along with it.’

But Ezra shook his head. ‘Those paintings are how she
kept
her mind. They made the sadness and the weight easier to carry.’

‘Of course,’ I said at last.

‘We visit her grave every week. We know well enough that she’s gone, but when we glance up at her picture, there is
life,
Ivy, and we let ourselves imagine that she is just across the ocean enjoying her life in Paris.’

‘What baffles me is why Mother Snagsby would have me believe that Gretel had run away with Sebastian Dumbleby.’

This was the first moment I had seen any hesitation in Ezra’s face. He rubbed his jowls. ‘Well … I suppose it was less painful to pretend she had a daughter who ran away for love, than one whose little body hadn’t the strength to go on.’

I could accept that. But it demanded a follow-up question.

‘So who is Anastasia Radcliff?’

‘Just a girl who lived with us for a time,’ said Ezra, and even in the softness of his words, I heard new sadness. ‘She had run away from an unhappy home and turned up on our doorstep looking for lodgings. We gave her a place to stay and never asked too much – I won’t deny that her resemblance to our Gretel had a part to play in that.’

‘It was a second chance,’ I said rather boldly.

‘Yes,’ whispered the old man.

‘What happened to Anastasia, dear?’

‘You might say she followed her heart.’ He sighed faintly and offered me the smallest of smiles. ‘It’s late, Ivy, off to bed with you.’

I had a few other questions. But the old man turned his gaze back to the darkened window, and although he still sat right across from me, Ezra Snagsby had drifted away and was somewhere else entirely.

I had never purchased a bullfrog before. But as I wasn’t very knowledgeable about frogs, giving five pence to the grubby boy next door for procuring the beast seemed a small price to pay. The reason for this slimy purchase was really very simple. Mother Snagsby needed cheering up.

She barely said a word at breakfast, munching on her beloved bacon and poring over a stack of bills. Mrs Dickens was busy cleaning the attic (which was in a frightful state). I was to walk into town and buy a few yards of cream satin for the three coffins Ezra was finishing. It was business as usual. But how could it be now that I knew the truth?

‘You have errands to run,’ Mother Snagsby said, as I took her by the hand and led her outside, ‘and I have letters to write.’ She
squinted in the warm morning sun. ‘What is so important and why could you not tell me inside?’

I looked over her face intently, at the thick layer of powder papering over the ravages of time. The crow’s feet making tracks around her eyes. And the colossal mole on her upper lip. And then I thought of Gretel. And my heart melted for the irritable dingbat.

While I could do nothing about all that she had lost, I could certainly fix
one
of her other burdens. With that in mind, I walked her to Mrs Dickens’ vegetable patch near the back fence.

‘Just what are you up to?’ she snapped, as I opened the gate and beckoned for her to join me by a row of carrots. I had my basket of ingredients hidden within reach behind the cabbages.

‘I am about to share one of my most highly anticipated natural remedies,’ I answered. ‘It is my gift to you and you shall have it forever more.’

‘If it’s anything like your sleeping remedy, I want nothing of it,’ she snarled. ‘I had a headache for three days!’

She turned to leave. Which was out of the question. As such, I felt the kindest course of action was to put my boot behind her ankle and push her over. I am pleased to report that Mother Snagsby fell softly into the soil. The wind was
barely
knocked out of her. For I possess a light touch – having all the
natural instincts of a butterfly. Or at the very least a well intentioned fruit bat.

‘Good God, what are you doing?’ She screeched like a crow (the grateful siren song of nervous excitement). Tried desperately to heave herself up – I suspect, to kiss my forehead.

‘Relax, dear,’ I said, dropping down behind her and pinning her arms with my knees.

‘Let me up, young lady!’ she thundered. ‘Ezra! Ezra, come quick, the girl has taken leave of her senses!’

‘Ezra is collecting wood from the mill,’ I told her, as I pulled the rope from my pocket and with tremendous affection tied her wrists to the fence posts.

‘You cannot … it’s a crime! Untie me this instant!’

I was now free to retrieve my basket of goodies. I opened it and pulled out the tin of tea leaves, then the butter knife and the jar of treacle.

Mother Snagsby’s fury vanished behind a rather frightful grin. ‘Are we to have a picnic?’ she said hopefully. ‘Excellent idea. Now you untie me and we shall sit here in the garden and enjoy our refreshments. It will be such fun! Hurry, petal, remove Mother’s restraints and we can get started!’

I giggled and patted her flushed cheek. ‘Silly creature.’

Just at that moment the bullfrog croaked rather loudly from within the basket.

Mother Snagsby’s head shot up. ‘What was that?’

‘Indigestion,’ I said, smiling kindly. ‘Perfectly natural at your age so do not be embarrassed.’

I took a handful of tea leaves and pooled them in my hand. Then I poured a large helping of treacle over it. Mixed it together into a sticky paste. All the while Mother Snagsby thrashed about, kicking her legs and trying to pull the restraints.

‘This is the foundation,’ I explained helpfully. ‘I will apply it first and then move on to the secret ingredient.’

‘Apply it where?’ snarled Mother Snagsby, pausing for breath.

‘That monster on your face, dear.’ I used the butter knife to spread the gooey paste all over the haggard old woman’s mole. ‘Do not misunderstand. A mole that large is gloriously interesting – I’m sure I could hang my hat on it – but I am confident that if we could remove this one stupendous blemish, there’s a perfectly dull funeral director just waiting to burst out.’

‘You dreadful girl! I will skin you alive! Don’t you
dare
do it – I demand you untie me!’

I reached back into the basket. ‘It is time for the secret ingredient.’

Which is when I pulled out the bullfrog. He was of average size. Yellow and green. Big mouth. Enormous neck. Croaked a few times in protest.

There was a small amount of unpleasantness when Mother Snagsby saw the frog. Threats about sending me to work in a glue factory. Tying me to a lamp post and praying for lightning.

‘A bullfrog excretes all sorts of useful chemicals when terrified.’ While I didn’t like explaining my remedies as a general rule, I felt it only fair to reassure the sobbing creature, as she had now started calling for the gates of hell to open and swallow me up. ‘Chemicals that will eat right through the barnacle on your face. Are you not stunned?’

‘Stunned?
Stunned?
If you dare to put that slimy beast anywhere near me, I will see you hang!’

She seemed to be expressing a slight hint of reluctance in moving forward with the treatment. The paste had begun to dry in the sun and was of a perfect consistency. The bullfrog was sure to stick with just a little pressure.

‘When this is over, we will hug like long-lost sisters and discuss a suitably luxurious reward.’

‘Do not do it, young lady,’ she growled. ‘I will lock you in your room for a thousand days and nights. I will see to it that your life is one long list of chores!’

‘Hush, dear, you’re spoiling the moment.’

I gave a warm smile of encouragement then stuck the bullfrog to her face.

Chapter 19

Ezra tested the new lock and made a few adjustments.

‘There,’ he said, pointing with his screwdriver, ‘good as new.’

‘I don’t see why you had to change it,’ I said rather sullenly.

It was my own fault, of course. I had told Ezra that the lock to my bedroom was faulty when I came upon him the previous night. And now there would be no journey to Prospa until I worked out a new escape route.

‘Mother Snagsby insisted,’ said Ezra, picking his toolbox up from the floor, ‘and I’m not inclined to argue with her today.’

‘She seems upset,’ I said, plopping down on the bed. ‘Have you two quarrelled?’

A faint smile rose up. ‘I think she’s bothered about that business with the bullfrog this morning.’

Oh,
that
. The bullfrog had been a terrible disappointment. I had decided to read to Mother Snagsby while we waited for the remedy to melt away her mountainous love spot. And had
selected the next thrilling instalment of simply the best novel ever written:
The Devilish Debutante
. So engrossed was I in the tale – Evangeline had just pushed her fiancé out of a hayloft so she could marry her sister’s one true love – that I did not notice that the paste had begun to give. It was a great shock when the bullfrog dug its flailing back legs into Mother Snagsby’s chin and leapt to freedom.

I chased the dishonourable creature, of course. But it vanished behind a row of parsnips. When I returned to Mother Snagsby, she had managed to untether the restraints with her forefinger and thumb. She’d jumped up and charged towards the house, pulling me by the ear behind her. Outrageous!

Ezra took the new key from the lock and slipped it in his pocket. ‘Don’t worry yourself, Ivy. A good night’s sleep and Mother Snagsby will see things differently.’

‘Perhaps you might remind her that Mr Grimwig is to be measured for his coffin tomorrow afternoon – and that it is all thanks to me.’

Ezra nodded his head and looked at me in a kindly fashion. Then shuffled off, just as Mrs Dickens burst through the door carrying a tray with my dinner upon it. Cold chicken and a glass of cider. That was all Mother Snagsby had allowed.

‘You eat this,’ said Mrs Dickens, putting the tray upon the
chest of drawers, ‘and in a spell I will see if I can’t rustle up a slice of pudding.’ She sat down on the chair and sighed. ‘Mrs Snagsby’s been running me ragged all afternoon.’

‘Probably my fault, dear.’

The housekeeper giggled. ‘Did you really glue a frog to her face?’

‘If you know a better way to treat large moles, I would love to hear it.’

Mrs Dickens giggled again.

‘I was just trying to do a good turn.’

‘I believe you, lass, but Mrs Snagsby takes a long while to warm to people and a bullfrog is not the way to do it! Her life’s been mighty hard and –’

The housekeeper stopped.

‘It’s all right, I know all about Gretel.’

Mrs Dickens gasped. ‘Who told you?’

‘A friend. I can understand that Mother Snagsby has suffered a great loss, that she suffers
still
, but I only wish she had told me herself.’

‘These are complicated matters.’

I nodded my head. ‘I also know about Anastasia and how she came to live here.’