The Ivory Rose (22 page)

At last, Jemma slipped out of bed, grabbing a blanket to throw over her long nightdress, and crept down the stairs. She felt she should sleep in Georgiana’s room again, to keep her safe.

‘Who’s there?’ whispered Georgiana in fright as Jemma opened the door with a creak.

‘
Shhh
. It’s only me – Jemma. I thought I’d sleep in here with you, if that’s all right? I can sleep on the floor on the rug.’

‘Oh,’ replied Georgiana, sounding relieved. ‘Sure – are you worried about me? I do feel so much better.’

Jemma tiptoed over towards Georgiana’s bed and made a pallet for herself on the floor once more, using the cushion from the armchair. Through the window, the garden was bathed in bright, cold moonlight, creating strange shadows that looked like creatures of the night. The lace curtains stirred in the slight breeze from the open window.

‘You know, Georgiana, yesterday when you were so terribly sick – what else did you have to eat or drink besides Agnes’s gruel?’ asked Jemma. ‘Can you remember?’

Georgiana shrugged in the shadows, thumping her pillow to make it softer.

‘Nothing much – porridge and tea for breakfast – then more tea – and Aunt Harriet brought me some pills just before lunch …’

‘Pills?’ demanded Jemma, sitting up abruptly and forgetting to whisper. ‘What kind of pills? Were they small, white wafers? And how many did you have?’

‘Yes, how did you know?’ asked Georgiana. ‘Aunt Harriet said Doctor Anderson had said I must take three tablets to help me sleep. She said she wanted to watch me take them so she knew I was following Doctor Anderson’s instructions. Aunt Harriet said she was worried I hadn’t been taking all my medicine lately … though I don’t know
how she guessed. That was just shortly before you brought the gruel up …’

‘Promise me, Georgiana, that you will
never
take any of those pills from your Aunt Harriet again,’ Jemma insisted. ‘Ever!’

Jemma reached over and shook Georgiana’s leg to emphasise her point.

‘Why? Do you think the pills might have made me ill? I’m sure Doctor Anderson wouldn’t give me medicine that would make me sick. He’s such a caring, lovely man.’

‘No, not Doctor Anderson, but … but … Perhaps your aunt accidently gave you the wrong dose … or gave you pills that weren’t really meant for you …’ Jemma couldn’t bear to tell Georgiana that perhaps her only living relative was trying to murder her.

Why? Why would Harriet Rutherford want to murder her niece – daughter of her only sister?

‘Georgiana … Who owns this house?’ asked Jemma.

‘Why, I do,’ replied Georgiana. ‘At least it’s held in trust for me until I turn twenty-one. Papa left me all his money and shares, along with the house, with Aunt Harriet as my guardian until I come of age, which is not for another nine years.’

‘And say something terrible happened to you before you turned twenty-one, who would inherit everything?’

Georgiana shrugged. ‘Well, Aunt Harriet I guess, as she’s my only living relative, but that’s unlikely. She’s years older and will surely pass away before me. Why do you ask?’

‘Oh, no particular reason,’ Jemma replied. ‘Is Doctor Anderson coming tomorrow to check on you?’

‘Yes, he said he’ll come at about nine o’clock, when he’s on his rounds.’

‘That’s good,’ answered Jemma. ‘We’ll talk to him then.’

Jemma settled down onto her hard bed, disturbed but relieved that she felt she had solved the mystery. Tomorrow she would present all the evidence, including the arsenic wafers, to Doctor Anderson – surely he would believe her now and do something to stop Harriet Rutherford. She drifted off to sleep, truly relaxed for the first time in days.

It was much, much later when something woke Jemma – a creaking. The full moon was shining right inside Georgiana’s room, leaving pools of liquid light on the floor. Jemma wriggled away from the glow, deeper into the shadows beside Georgiana’s bed, falling quickly back towards sleep.

The creak sounded again, intruding through Jemma’s sleepy fug. Her eyes flickered open as consciousness slowly returned.

Jemma suddenly breathed in deeply. The creak had come from
inside
Georgiana’s room. Someone was in there! Jemma could see a white figure floating slowly across the room. A ghost!

Jemma shrank down onto the floorboards, trying to make herself invisible, her heart thumping in fear. Jemma hardly dared to breathe; her eyes were round and huge, peering into the dimness. Then she closed her eyes, willing
the apparition to disappear, but when she opened them again the apparition was closer, floating towards her.

Jemma smelt something sweet, floral and oddly familiar.

The apparition stumbled over Jemma, then bent over the bed, seemingly unaware of her presence. The figure placed something over Georgiana’s face, pressing down. With a jolt of terror, Jemma realised it was a thick feather pillow, suffocating Georgiana.

Jemma screamed. Georgiana gasped and then struggled as the pillow smothered her face. She fought free, hitting up with arms and legs.

‘Jemma! Jemma! Help me, Jemma!’ screamed Georgiana desperately, breaking free momentarily. The pillow plunged down again, covering Georgiana’s nose and mouth, suffocating her, stealing her life.

Jemma leapt to her feet and charged the apparition, punching, pulling and pushing it. Georgiana screamed again – a long, piercing cry that was hastily cut off by the smothering pillow. The apparition pushed down with iron strength. Georgiana was weak, sick, tired. She struggled more and more futilely, then collapsed.

Jemma found the edge of the pillow in the darkness and pulled with a strength born of fear. The apparition and Jemma tussled for control, back and forth, before Jemma won, seizing the pillow and hurling it across the room. The apparition turned on Jemma, flailing, punching, kicking.

Jemma grunted with pain and retreated.

A lamp flared, flooding the room with golden light. Georgiana, pale and shaking, held up the lamp, her eyes huge with terror. The attacking figure wasn’t a ghost – it
was Harriet Rutherford in a white nightdress, her long hair streaked with grey tumbling down her back.

Miss Rutherford snarled at Jemma like a wild animal, her pupils constricted, her hands clenched like claws.

‘
You
,’ she spat. ‘You devil’s spawn.’

Miss Rutherford launched at Jemma again, scratching at her face. Her fingers grasped around Jemma’s neck and squeezed. Georgiana screamed again.

‘You’re on Rose’s side,’ accused Miss Rutherford, shaking Jemma. ‘My perfect sister. Everyone loves her. Everyone gives her all the attention. She even stole my beau. I should have been the one to marry him. I should have been the one to be given this house. Not her. Not Rose.’

Jemma choked and struggled, trying to free herself.

‘Aunt Harriet!’ pleaded Georgiana, her voice raw. ‘You’re hurting Jemma.’

Over Miss Rutherford’s shoulder, Jemma could see first Agnes, then Connie and Ned rush into the room, summoned by the frantic screams.

‘Miss Rutherford!’ screeched Agnes. ‘What on earth are you doing? Stop it. Please stop it! You’re not yourself – you’re having one of your turns!’

Miss Rutherford faltered at the sound of Agnes’s voice. Her hands slipped and tangled in the fine gold chain hanging around Jemma’s throat.

‘She was trying to kill Georgiana,’ gasped Jemma. ‘She’s been poisoning Georgiana with arsenic pills.’

‘No,’ cried Agnes. ‘Miss Rutherford isn’t well, but she wouldn’t kill anyone.’

Miss Rutherford paused, her eyes wide with fear and madness, then lunged violently towards Jemma.

‘Jemma,’ yelled Ned, his face pale with concern.

The gold chain tangled around Miss Rutherford’s finger and snapped, sending the ivory pendant skittering across the floor and into the shadows. Miss Rutherford struck Jemma again, sending her reeling. Ned charged forward, running to Jemma’s rescue.

‘Ned,’ called Jemma desperately as she fell. Jemma’s head hit the floor with brutal force, jolting pain through her body like an electric shock. She felt herself go limp, then it seemed as though she was floating.

Through the mists of pain and darkness and time, Jemma could hear Ned’s lovely Irish brogue: ‘Jemma, are ye all roight? Plaise speak to me, lovely lass! Jemma … Jemma …’

‘Ned … Ned …’

‘Jemma, darling?’

Jemma’s eyes flickered open. The space was filled with painful, bright, fluorescent light. She could hear tiny beeps and smell flowers.

The source of the smell became apparent from the vast bank of flowers by her side – blues, pinks, creams, purples, oranges, whites, yellows and reds.

‘Jemma, darling, can you hear me?’

The words crumbled through Jemma’s foggy brain. They were beautifully, deliciously familiar.

‘Mama?’ Jemma’s eyes darted around. She was in a pale-grey room in a narrow, high bed surrounded by grey curtains. Behind her was a bank of monitors, beeping and flashing red lights. She had an oxygen tube in her nose, a monitor on her finger and a drip feeding into a vein on top of her hand.

Beside her sat her mother, Elizabeth, a look of unbelievable joy on her face. She leant forward in a vinyl, plastic hospital chair, a book on her lap, her hair scraped back into a greasy ponytail. She wore stained jeans and an old, oversized man’s T-shirt. Her face was pale and puffy, with dark circles under her eyes and creases of sorrow around her mouth. Jemma thought she had never looked more beautiful.

‘Mama!’

‘Oh darling, darling girl,’ cried Elizabeth. ‘You’ve come back to us.’

With trembling arms, Elizabeth cradled Jemma gently, as though she might break, tears pouring down her face.

‘Oh, we’ve been so worried. You’ve been in a coma. The doctors can’t understand it. Oh thank goodness you’re awake, my darling, darling girl,’ sobbed Elizabeth, smearing away the tears with the back of her hand. ‘I must call Daddy, he’s gone out to get us some coffee. I’ve hardly left your side for days. I’ve been reading to you.’

Elizabeth held up the book on her lap. It was
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
.

‘It was your favourite, remember?’ babbled Elizabeth. ‘Maggie gave it to me – you’d been reading it to Sammy. I used to read it to you when you were younger, then you read it yourself over and over.’

Shaking and fumbling and crying, Elizabeth found her phone and pressed the button to summon Dan, who ran in a few moments later, coffee slopping from two styrofoam cups. He threw the cups in the sink and gathered Jemma up in his arms, oblivious to tubes, drips and monitors.

‘My baby girl. My precious Poss.’

Two doctors followed soon after, along with a bevy of nurses, shooing Elizabeth and Dan out of the room.

Jemma groped around her neck for the familiar feel of her ivory rose. It was gone, and she felt a keen sense of loss. She thought back to everything that had happened.
Could it all have been a dream? A coma-induced hallucination? Did I imagine it all – Georgiana and Ned and Connie and Molly and Agnes and Harriet Rutherford?

Jemma fell back on her plasticky pillow, exhausted. The doctors checked everything – pulse, blood pressure, blood tests, reflexes – and ran a series of CAT scans and X-rays.

They pronounced her perfectly healthy but couldn’t explain the strange, angry red rash and cracked skin of her hands.

‘It must be some strange sort of allergic reaction to the drugs we’ve been giving you,’ the doctor decided. Jemma smiled – her raw, calloused hands seemed proof that she had really travelled back in time to 1895 to scrub floors, pots and clothes.

Finally, she was allowed to go home, taking with her armfuls of flowers and cards.

Ruby came to visit, coming up to her turquoise and sage-green bedroom. Jemma wallowed in its comfort and prettiness, with her white desk, crowded bookshelves and appliquéd cushions.

Jemma lolled back on her bed, wearing her pink shorty pyjamas and thick socks, revelling in the clean, sweet-smelling sheets and soft mattress.

Ruby perched on the side of the bed. ‘We were all so
worried about you, Jem. Everyone at school has been writing cards and sending flowers.’

‘I feel fine now,’ Jemma assured her. ‘It is so great to see you – I really missed you.’

The two friends grinned at each other.

‘Could you do me a favour, Rubes? Could you ask mum if we can look at the laptop for a while? I’m not usually allowed to upstairs, but I just want to google something – it’s really important.’

Ruby looked puzzled but ran downstairs and fetched the computer.

‘I promised your mum we wouldn’t do anything she wouldn’t approve of.’ Ruby opened the laptop and passed it to Jemma.

With trembling fingers, Jemma typed in the words ‘Rosethorne’ and ‘Georgiana Thornton’, then clicked on a copy of an article.

Jemma read the article with tears streaming down her face. Georgiana had lived! She had become a famous, pioneering doctor, saved hundreds of lives, won the Military Medal for bravery. Georgiana had had a long and rich life, and died in 1977.

‘Are you all right, Jem?’ asked Ruby, her face creased with concern. ‘Shall I call your mum?’

‘No, I’m fine,’ sniffed Jemma, wiping her hand across her eyes. ‘I’m happy – well, just a little bit sad.’

There was a soft knocking on the door and Elizabeth came in carrying a tray.

‘Hi girls, are you hungry?’ asked Elizabeth. ‘I made you a cup of tea and some banana bread.’

‘Thanks, Mum. That sounds great.’

Elizabeth handed them each a cup of tea and a plate with a slice of banana bread, which was looking rather scorched and crumbly.

‘It’s a bit dry,’ Elizabeth commented, screwing up her nose. ‘I think I might have burnt it a little.’

Jemma examined the banana bread more closely. ‘Mum, did
you
bake this? You never bake anything!’

Elizabeth looked a little shamefaced. ‘Well, I’m taking a couple of weeks off until you go back to school, so I thought I’d try some baking. I know Milla bakes for you girls a lot; I thought I’d give it a go. How hard can it be?’

Jemma looked at the banana bread again and traded glances with Ruby. ‘Mmmm. Looks delicious, Mum.’

‘Fibber!’ admonished Elizabeth.

Jemma took a tentative nibble, chewing slowly and swallowing with some difficulty. Ruby bravely took a bite of hers.

Elizabeth laughed, throwing her hands in the air. ‘All right. Enough!’ She took the two plates away and placed them on the desk. ‘I’ll admit I’m a lousy baker. I’ve got some Tim Tams in the cupboard – would you prefer those?’

‘Yes, please,’ chorused Ruby and Jemma.

‘Obviously, I’ll never make a baker.’ Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

‘Maybe we can do some baking together while I’m off school?’ suggested Jemma tentatively. ‘I’m told I make a pretty good scone.’

Elizabeth looked surprised, then smiled. ‘Sure. That would be fun. The other thing we need to do is plan your birthday party. I’ve checked with Luella and she’s happy for us to book out the whole nail salon, so we can ask at least twelve people. I researched a quote on those cute little noodle boxes. All we need to do now is pick a date, draw up the invitation list and design the invitations.’

Jemma took a deep breath. She glanced at Ruby. Ruby smiled.

‘Actually, Mum,’ Jemma began. ‘About my birthday party … What I’d
really
like to do is have a sleepover here at home.’

Elizabeth frowned, pushing her sleek hair back behind her ear.

‘But darling, I’ve already …’ Elizabeth paused, thoughtfully. ‘Oh? A sleepover? What exactly did you want to do?’