Somebody Stop Ivy Pocket (5 page)

‘Where on earth are you going, lass?’

‘Important business, dear,’ I said, opening the front door. ‘Frightfully important.’

The housekeeper looked positively alarmed. ‘But you promised Mrs Snagsby you would clean the viewing parlour.’

‘Fear not, Mrs Dickens,’ I said. ‘They will be at poor Mrs Quilp’s all morning and I will be back in plenty of time to do my chores.’ I pointed to the portrait above her head. ‘Did Gretel
have many chores to do around the house? Before she went to Paris, I mean.’

It was as if a cloud passed overhead. The housekeeper looked grave, then she jumped up and felt a sudden urge to polish the brass doorknocker. ‘Miss Gretel was always so busy with this and that.’ She pointed to the street and I suddenly became aware of the sounds of carriage wheels and chatter. ‘You best be getting along, lass.’

I stepped outside as the sky began to rumble. ‘We should go on strike, Mrs Dickens. Let Mother Snagsby discover the delights of cooking and cleaning for herself.’

‘You might be shocked to know that your mother was once a keen cook – at least, I
think
she was.’

‘Mother Snagsby a cook? Surely not.’

Mrs Dickens nodded. ‘She has a book of family recipes, carries it with her everywhere she goes – guards it like the pharaoh’s gold, she does.’

‘Whatever for?’

‘I expect the recipes mean a great deal to her.’

‘But how do they
tast
e – surely that is the question?’

‘Well, that’s the queer part,’ said Mrs Dickens, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘In all the time I’ve worked here, Mrs Snagsby’s never cooked a single recipe from that book.’

I was befuddled. And felt it frightfully unfair of Mrs Dickens to burden me with suspense.

‘Well, why does she carry it around with her, you great lump?’

Mrs Dickens chuckled. ‘That’s a very interesting question.’

Then the housekeeper hurried me along, muttering something about the feathers of a chicken not plucking themselves.

As I set off down Thackeray Street, any thoughts about Mother Snagsby’s curious book of recipes fell away. I quick-ened my step, my mind swirling around a single image – Rebecca being chased through those ghastly white woodlands by a pack of vicious Locks.

The rules of the Clock Diamond were very clear. The stone offers visions of what was, what is, and what will be. It was clear from Rebecca’s lavender dress that the vision took place on the night of the ball. And I was certain that Rebecca had not been chased through any such forest
before
she had worn the necklace and perished.

Which only left one possibility. The stone was showing me a glimpse of Rebecca after she put it on. Therefore, that haunting forest must be a place in Prospa. But Miss Frost had told me that only Rebecca’s soul passed into her world. And that she was dead. Gone. Hadn’t I seen her wither to
a husk before my eyes? Yet she looked very much alive in the vision.

Miss Frost had lied. And if that was true, what else had she kept from me? But no, I would not think of that tomato-headed scoundrel for the moment. Rebecca was all that mattered. Finding a way to help her. To reach her.

So lost was I in my thoughts that I ran straight into a lanky fellow walking the other way. We collided in glorious fashion. I reeled back. He staggered sideways, his sandwich fumbling in his hands before dropping to the ground.

‘Watch where you’re going!’ he snapped.

‘I haven’t the time,’ I told him quite reasonably. ‘Much too busy trying to save the day.’ I shrugged. ‘Besides, I think we can both agree the fault lies with you.’

‘With
me
? You just about knocked me over.’ The young man pointed at his sandwich in a most judgemental fashion. ‘I’ve lost my lunch thanks to you!’

Which was a scandalous accusation. I was on the very brink of telling the unpleasant gentleman to prepare for a firm thrashing when my eyes were drawn to the small hooded figure zipping along the crowded footpath behind him. The figure was remarkably short and wore a brown cloak. My blood seemed to stir from its slumber, rapidly picking up speed and tearing through my veins. It was a Lock!

Which is why I set off at speed.

‘Hey, come back here!’ the young man hollered behind me. ‘You owe me two shillings!’

The little villain was a good twenty feet away from me now. He had passed under the shade of the shop awnings which formed a dim tunnel stretching almost to the end of the street. The villain was zigzagging between the other pedestrians with great skill and, owing to his size, vanished from view on several occasions.

The path was swarming with pedestrians and I feared that he would disappear completely before I could catch him. And catch him I must. The Locks worked for Miss Always – and they were sure to know where Rebecca was being held. I would do whatever it took to get the truth out of that murderous little scoundrel!

Drastic action was required.

I darted off the footpath and on to the road – an empty apple cart in my sights. With audacity that would make a five-star general weep, I jumped at the cart. Leapt on to the wheel. Pushed off and flew towards the shop awning above my head. Clutching the edge of the blind with my left hand, I hoisted myself up. Got to my feet and started running.

As it turns out, navigating a series of shop awnings is a rather difficult business. They hang from above the shopfronts at a sharp angle, which makes dashing across them most challenging. But I was equal to the task.

Keeping to the base of the awnings, I quickly found my footing and was soon bolting along. The thick canvas had a certain spring and I was able to leap from the Atlantic Shoes Co. to Provincial Home Investments then across to Harding Progressive Tailors. As I jumped on to the last awning (a cigar manufacturer) I prayed that I had been fast enough to overtake the diabolical Lock walking beneath me.

Being partly dead has supreme advantages in a situation such as this – falling and breaking my neck wasn’t a concern. So I dropped to the canvas, gripped the edge of the blind, and flipped over. I arched through the air like a trapeze artist with a death wish and hurtled towards the footpath. My landing was terribly graceful. Well, apart from a slight tumble to the ground. A small amount of searing pain in my hip. And some rather salty language.

When I got to my feet, the bustling crowd seemed to have stopped in their tracks. Some gasped in my direction – ogling me like there was something unusual about a girl leaping from a shop awning. Others pointed rudely and whispered. I scanned the crowd. No sign of the Lock. Had he been faster than me? Had he got away? I refused to believe it.

Perhaps he had darted into one of the shops and was hiding there. Yes. I would search each one until –

My eyes suddenly flew back towards a woman in a red and
black dress. But she wasn’t my target. What caught my attention was the flutter of a brown cloak from behind her.

I pushed my way through the crowd. Shoved the woman in the red and black dress aside (she gave a startled cry and fell against an old man clutching a loaf of bread). And gazed hungrily into the void where she had been standing. There it was. Tiny. Long brown cloak. Face concealed by the shadow of that odious hood.

A Lock.

If I felt fear, it was no match for my wrath. It was the cold glint in my eyes. And the furious hammer of my heartbeat. The Lock moved towards me. Which is why I grabbed the loaf of bread from the old man and swung it – bashing the little devil on the side of its head. The hideous hooded henchman stumbled sideways and yelped. Cries flew out from the bystanders.

‘She hit him, she did!’

‘Horrid girl!’

‘Someone fetch the constable!’

‘Tell me where Rebecca is!’ I rushed towards the Lock. ‘Why were you chasing her through the woods? Where are you keeping her? Answer me, you pint-sized jackal!’

‘Leave him be!’ shouted the old man (though I’m certain he was just grumpy because his battered bread loaf was lying on the pavement).

‘I won’t!’ I shouted back. Those ninnies would thank me when I unmasked this monstrous little rogue. The creature swiftly found its feet and prepared to take off. I lunged without mercy. Grabbed his hood and threw it back in magnificently dramatic fashion.

‘See for yourselves!’ I cried, eyeballing the crowd. They would scream in horror when they saw the monster I had unmasked!

Except that they didn’t. They just stared daggers at me. Shook their heads and tut-tutted as if I were the nastiest girl who ever lived. Why were they not running for their lives?

I turned to look at my captive. What I saw was a rather well dressed dwarf. He had a thatch of wavy blond hair. A thick moustache. Dimpled chin. And he looked rather cross with me.

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ he thundered in a wondrously thick accent (German, I think). ‘I have traded coffee in some of the deadliest corners of the world and
never
have I been attacked in the street like this!’

‘Awfully sorry, dear,’ I said quickly. ‘I thought you were a vicious henchman from another world. But it turns out you’re just a very short coffee merchant with a fondness for hooded cloaks.’ I tried to pat him on the head but he slapped my hand away most unkindly. ‘No harm done, then?’

He sneered at me (probably the German way of expressing complete forgiveness) – while the angry mob looked as if they
wanted to tie me to a tree and throw rotten vegetables. It was time to make a hasty retreat. I apologised to the furious fellow again (I may have even curtsied), then took off down the street hoping they would not give chase.

There was some agitated shouting in my wake – the old man demanded I buy him a new loaf of bread. The dwarf wanted my name and address. A rather shrill woman suggested I fall in a hole. But their voices dulled as I took a sharp left, vanishing into the back streets.

I had destroyed a loaf of bread, a sandwich and very nearly an international coffee merchant. Not exactly a successful morning. As I slowed down, trying to catch my breath, the fear and excitement of my slightly violent frolic gave way to disappointment. I had hoped that capturing one of Miss Always’ Locks might lead to Rebecca. But it was not to be.

I crossed the pavilion and mounted the library steps two at a time, Rebecca’s terrified face burned into my mind. I had to reach her. Had to find a way to save her. Most recently adopted daughters wouldn’t have a clue what to do about such a problem. But I certainly did. It was help that I needed and I knew just where to get it.

‘Vanished?’

I nodded. ‘One minute you were talking to me about ghosts and the next you were gone. What on earth happened?’

Miss Carnage pushed her spectacles up her gigantic nose. ‘It’s really very simple, Ivy. There was an emergency in the reading room that required my immediate attention.’

‘What sort of emergency?’

The pudgy librarian waddled out from behind the lending desk and walked with me towards the library’s large windows. Clouds hung low in the sky outside, shrouding the vast room in a gloomy half-light. ‘Well, Ivy, there was an altercation between two elderly women over a copy of
Wuthering Heights
.’

‘Did it get violent?’ I asked hopefully.

‘It might have, if I had not got there in time.’

Which was awfully disappointing.

‘I am delighted to see you again so soon after your last visit,’ said Miss Carnage, ‘though I couldn’t help but notice
you left the books I selected for you behind – were they of no interest?’

‘None at all, dear,’ I said tenderly. ‘I know all I need to know about ghosts. I am here on another matter.’

Behind Miss Carnage’s thick spectacles her dark eyes seemed to swell. ‘Oh?’

‘I have a friend who needs my help. It’s terribly complicated – you see, my friend is in a place that is rather hard to find and I fear if I do not reach her, she will meet a most unpleasant end.’

‘Your friend is in danger?’

‘Frightfully so.’

Miss Carnage had the good sense to gasp. ‘Is it life and death, Ivy?’

I nodded. ‘The situation is
most
unfair, as my friend has already died once.’