The Ivory Rose (4 page)

Milla patted pale matte eye shadow over their lids expertly, highlighting them with a smear of silver gloss in the centre. She blended the colours with her little fingertip, and then curled their eyelashes with black mascara. Lastly, she slicked their lips with a pale pink lip gloss.

‘What colour nails?’ asked Ruby, holding out a handful of different bottles.

‘Pink?’

‘No – something a bit more outrageous,’ decided Ruby. ‘How about turquoise or lilac?’

‘Turquoise,’ Jemma decided, holding out her fingernails for Ruby to paint.

The girls were having so much fun that they completely lost track of time. Milla took some photos of the two girls with their arms around each other, posing in different positions, pretending to be supermodels and rock chicks with Ruby’s guitar. Ruby put on their favourite CD and they danced and sang, strumming the guitar wildly.

‘You girls look gorgeous,’ cried Milla. ‘I would have employed you on the magazine any day!’

Ruby and Jemma grinned at each other, admiring their new looks.

It was after seven o’clock when the phone rang. Ruby’s dad, Michael, answered it, stepping over children, dog and toys to reach it.

‘Jemma, it’s your dad. He said to come home
immediately
.’

Jemma started up guiltily. She had promised her mum she would be home by six to help set the table for the
dreaded partner dinner. Jemma raced around Ruby’s room, gathering up her purchases and her old clothes, stuffing them into a shopping bag.

‘Bye, Rubes. Bye, everyone. Thanks so much, Milla. I had the most awesome day.’

Jemma tickled Latte on the tummy on her way out the door and gave Daisy a cuddle. She raced up the side path, out the flaking, creaky gate and into her own perfectly painted one. She huffed onto the verandah, only to realise that there were four strange adults waiting at her front door.

‘Oh, hello,’ Jemma gasped.

‘Good evening, young lady,’ said one of the men, holding out his hand. ‘You must be Elizabeth’s daughter, Jemima. I’ve heard so much about you. I’m John Morris – I work with your mum. This is my wife, Lesley, and my partner Steve Bowe and his wife, Susan.’

Jemma blushed as she shook hands with everyone.

The front door opened to reveal Elizabeth in a sleek black dress, chunky silver ‘pearl’ beads and high heels.

‘Hello, everyone, welcome. Come in. Come in.’ Elizabeth ushered her guests through the front door, smiling, kissing, hugging, chatting. Then she caught sight of Jemma at the back of the group.

‘Oh!’ she gasped. ‘Jemima. Whatever are you
wearing
?’

Jemma smiled bravely. ‘I went to the markets with Milla and Ruby, remember? We bought some new clothes and Milla did a fashion shoot with us.’

Elizabeth compressed her lips into a very thin line. The guests had turned to examine Jemma in the light of the hallway. Elizabeth smiled her very brittle smile.

‘Hello, Poss,’ called Dan, coming down the stairs with a wide, welcoming grin. ‘Looks like you’ve been having fun! Hello everyone, can I get you all a drink?’

‘Hello, Dan. Thanks, that would be lovely,’ John said.

The guests followed Dan down the hall towards the kitchen. Elizabeth turned to Jemma.

‘Go upstairs and get changed into something suitable for our dinner guests,’ she hissed. ‘And for goodness sake, scrub your face and brush your hair.’

Upstairs in the bathroom mirror, Jemma stared forlornly at her reflection. The fun of the afternoon had completely evaporated. Jemma sighed. She tried to recreate her supermodel pose in the mirror. It just looked silly.

She wet a face washer and rubbed off the eyeshadow, the mascara, the lip gloss – the joy.

It took her a very long time to change into a dinner dress, put on her sandals, brush her hair, paste on a false smile and wander downstairs.

‘Ah, there you are, Jemma,’ called Elizabeth brightly. ‘That’s better. Here’s my beautiful girl. Come and sit at the table next to Daddy.’

Dan pulled out her chair and bowed as though she were a princess and he the humble butler.

It was a long evening with much talk of contracts, cases, clients, stocks, shares and settlements. Jemma wanted to crawl upstairs and cry.

Dan squeezed her hand and kissed it. ‘You look beautiful, Poss.’

Sunday morning was the best time of the week – no alarm clocks, no routine, no rushing. Jemma curled up with her new book and read.

When at last she came down, Dan was repacking the dishwasher with dirty plates from the night before while Elizabeth stowed away the silverware.

‘Morning, Mum. Morning, Dad,’ sang Jemma chirpily.

‘Good morning, Poss,’ replied Dan with a hug.

Elizabeth looked tired and pale, with dark rings under her eyes. She rubbed her temples as though she had a headache.

‘Jemma, I wanted to talk to you about last night,’ Elizabeth began ominously, closing the cutlery drawer.

Jemma’s heart sank.

‘A lovely dinner, Mum,’ Jemma offered hurriedly. ‘The lamb was delicious. John said it was the nicest meal he’d had in ages.’

Dan snorted. ‘His wife, Lesley, looked particularly dark at that comment. I thought she might throw the salad dressing at him.’

Elizabeth flashed him her ‘lethal lawyer glare’. Dan grabbed a pile of dirty tea towels and escaped to the laundry.

‘Thank you, Jemma,’ Elizabeth said sternly. ‘However, I wanted to speak to you about your behaviour. You were late. You promised me you’d be home by six o’clock to help me.’

Jemma gulped, her heart in her stomach. ‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry, Mum, but we were having so much fun, and time slipped away.’

‘I tried you on your mobile several times and you didn’t answer,’ continued Elizabeth, her voice rising slightly. Elizabeth pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. ‘We bought you the mobile phone so we could contact you at any time.’

‘I … I didn’t hear it ring,’ said Jemma weakly. ‘It was in my bag up in Ruby’s room.’

‘That’s no excuse,’ snapped Elizabeth. ‘And what were you
wearing
? I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you in that get-up in front of my colleagues. What must they have thought? I offered to take you shopping yesterday. I wanted to buy you a lovely new dress for last night’s dinner, but stupidly I let you go to the markets with Ruby and her
hippie
mother and those
wild
children. Instead, you come home looking like a … a … a delinquent. I should have known better.’

Jemma rarely lost her temper – she had been brought up too well. No-one shouted in the Morgan household.

Issues were usually discussed logically and calmly. But this time a flame burnt deep inside her.

‘Milla’s
not
a hippie,’ Jemma yelled, a lump in her throat the size of a golfball. ‘And the children are not wild. We were just having fun. Milla’s
lovely
.’

‘That’s enough, Jemma,’ retorted Elizabeth, swiping her hand over her eyes.

The words bubbled up Jemma’s throat like lava, forcing their way out. ‘I just want to have
fun
like my friends,’ cried Jemma, tears smarting in her eyes. ‘And
not
have to wear prissy,
boring
clothes, and
not
have to be perfect all the time.’

Elizabeth gasped in shock. ‘I said that’s enough, Jemima. This behaviour is deplorable. I don’t know what’s got into you lately. I think you’ve been spending far too much time at Ruby’s.’

‘Where else would I be?’ shouted Jemma, shaking with rage. ‘You’re never home. At least Milla’s always there for me. I wish I lived there all the time. It would be much better than here.’

Elizabeth swallowed the retort that sprang to her lips. She turned away, hurt, and ran her hand through her hair in exasperation. Elizabeth collected herself and turned back.

‘Just go to your room, Jemima,’ she replied calmly. ‘I will
not
have you speaking to me like that. You can come down when you are ready to apologise.’

Jemma ran from the room, tears pouring down her face.

She lay on her bed for ages, her face turned to the wall, hugging her tired old bear. She felt ill and
miserable and angry. Dan came up and patted her awkwardly on the back. Jemma shrugged him off and refused to speak.

At last she could cry no more tears. She felt helpless and powerless. Jemma threw her bear at the wall. It flopped uselessly to the floor. Jemma stomped down the stairs.

‘I’m sorry,’ Jemma announced to the kitchen.

‘Come and sit down, Jemma,’ Elizabeth replied. ‘Would you like a slice of quiche?’

Dan smiled at Jemma sympathetically.

‘I’ve been thinking we need to organise a little weekend away somewhere special,’ he suggested. ‘Perhaps the Hunter Valley or down to the Southern Highlands. We could stay in a cute little B&B and go out to some lovely restaurants.’

Jemma offered a small, tight smile.

‘Sounds fun,’ Jemma murmured, imagining a weekend of sitting politely in restaurants and cafés, minding her best manners.

Dan looked puzzled, and a little hurt. Elizabeth glanced sharply at Jemma.

‘We could ride bikes and go bushwalking, and you could go horse riding,’ Dan continued.

‘Sounds great, Dad,’ agreed Jemma with an inward sigh. ‘What about ballet lessons and flute practise?’

‘I’m sure it won’t hurt if you miss one weekend, Jemma,’ added Elizabeth. ‘It would be lovely to spend some time together as a family. We’ve all been working so hard – we need some time together.’

Everyone carried on, pretending that nothing untoward had happened – that there had been no fighting, no
shouting. That Jemma had never said she would rather live next door, with Milla and Ruby and her noisy, chaotic family. Everyone pretended that life was back to normal.

On Monday, Jemma hurried over to Sammy’s house, carrying a bag full of her favourite books that she thought Sammy would enjoy. She walked along the row of Witches’ Houses towering over her with their high sandstone walls, brooding turrets and staring windows. From three houses away she could smell the strong, sweet scent of Rosethorne’s purple wisteria blossom.

‘Hi, Sammy. How was your weekend?’

Sammy pulled a terrible face. ‘It was awful. Mum made me help her work on the house
all
weekend. Aggie’s being really mean, so Georgie woke me up twice last night.’

As Jemma walked down the hall, she could see a definite transformation. Many of the boxes had been unpacked in the reception rooms and the disgusting carpet runner had been pulled up from the stairs, leaving a shadow of itself on the paler, bare steps.

‘What do you mean Aggie’s being mean to Georgie?’ asked Jemma suspiciously. ‘Who’s Aggie?’

‘Aggie’s a horrible old woman who’s nasty to Georgie.’

Jemma shook her head, trying to fathom what Sammy really meant. ‘Let’s not talk about Georgie, Sammy. Let’s do some reading, then we can play a game. What would you like to play today?’

Sammy thought carefully as she sorted through the pile of books Jemma had brought.

‘This one looks good,’ Sammy said, holding up a copy of
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
by C. S. Lewis. ‘Can we read some of this first, then play hide-and-seek?’

When the reading was finished, Jemma sat at the kitchen table, her hands over her eyes, counting out loud, while Sammy scurried off to hide.

‘Ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred,’ called Jemma. ‘Coming ready or not.’

Jemma prowled around the house, talking out loud for Sammy’s benefit. ‘Are you behind the curtains? What about under the sofa? Have you perchance escaped into Narnia through the back of the wardrobe?’

The house felt eerily quiet without Sammy’s incessant chatter, although Jemma enjoyed the freedom to explore the house properly for the first time. The ground floor was made up of the formal reception rooms on the left, and on the right of the hall was a small sitting room and a large library, with the kitchen, bathroom, storerooms and scullery at the back. Lines could be seen on the floor and walls where the fake interior walls had been removed.

In some rooms, old wallpaper hung from the walls in strips. In others, Maggie had painstakingly stripped the
old paper back to the bare plaster and scrubbed the walls, ready to paint. Maggie’s room was also finished, painted in soft blues and whites.

Upstairs were five bedrooms, the small square turret room with its view of the bay and an old bathroom, which looked like it had been put in over fifty years ago by subdividing a larger bedroom. A rickety back staircase led up to the attics, where the servants would once have slept.

Jemma crept up the stairs tentatively. The air smelt heavy and musty, and somehow sinister.

‘Sammy? Sammy? Are you up here?’

Through an open door, Jemma could spy cardboard boxes, a stringless guitar, a sagging couch and a headless dressmaker’s dummy. A wisp of spider’s web stroked her face, making her yelp. Jemma retreated downstairs.

A thump sounded from Sammy’s room, then a muffled shout.

‘Sammy!’ called Jemma racing into her room.

‘Jemma. Jemma,’ came the stifled reply.

Sammy’s voice sounded close but she wasn’t in her room. Jemma checked Sammy’s wardrobe, the bathroom next door, then Maggie’s room.

Jemma paused, listening closely, then followed the sound of sobbing to the built-in wardrobe in the corner. She opened the door, the muffled crying sounded somewhat clearer. She pushed her way into the back of the wardrobe and pulled back the clothes.

Down low was the outline of a small door. Jemma wrenched it open, revealing a dark storage cavity. The sobbing was nearer. ‘Je … Jem-m-ma?’ hiccuped Sammy’s voice.

‘It’s okay, Sammy darling. I’m here. What happened?’ Jemma crawled along into the secret space and found Sammy curled up in a sodden ball. Jemma hauled Sammy onto her lap and cuddled her, patting her back and making soothing sounds.

‘Something frightened me,’ sniffed Sammy. ‘Something was trying to hurt G-g-georgie.’

‘There, there,’ crooned Jemma in the same tone her mother had used when she was younger. ‘It’s all right.’

Sammy’s sobs gradually subsided. Jemma’s eyes adjusted to the dim light coming in through the open wardrobe door. They were in a long, low storage cavity, which strangely seemed to have been built when the room was subdivided to create the wardrobe and the bathroom next door. Jemma remembered the built-in shelves that must be above the storage space on the bathroom side. A rolled up carpet and a number of boxes were jammed into the space.

‘Let’s go out now, Sammy. You’re okay,’ Jemma assured her.

Obediently, Sammy crawled out through the secret door and the wardrobe, back into her bedroom.

Jemma put her hand down on the floor near the back wall, to push herself onto her feet. Her hand touched something sharp, which dug painfully into her palm. A blinding jolt passed through her body. On the inside of her closed eyelids, Jemma saw the flash of a scene.

A child in white with long, dark ringlets. A struggle. A scream. A person overpowering the girl, forcing her down, down to the ground.

‘Jemma! Jemma! Help me, Jemma!’ screamed the girl, her pale face terrified, pleading, begging Jemma for help.

A pillow was pressed down over the girl’s face. The girl struggled. White smothering softness. Utter blackness. Absolute silence.

Jemma’s eyes flew open.
What did I see? Was that Georgiana Rose Thornton? Was that her murder?

Jemma’s fist clenched around the sharp object embedded in her palm. Heart hammering and mouth dry, Jemma crawled out after Sammy.

In the light of the bedroom, Jemma examined the object clutched in her fist. It was a tiny, dainty pendant carved from creamy ivory into the shape of a perfect rose. It hung from a gold loop and was attached to a delicate, broken gold chain.

‘An ivory rose,’ whispered Jemma in wonder. The pendant and the scene it seemed to have revealed frightened her, and she hurriedly placed it on the dressing table.

Sammy had crawled onto her bed and was curled into a ball – eyes closed, thumb in mouth, Purple Lambie clutched under her chin. Shadow curled up beside her, gently purring. Jemma sat on the side of the bed, stroking Sammy’s hair gently, but her eyes kept creeping to the tantalising ivory pendant.

Ivory – made from the tusk of an endangered elephant,
thought Jemma
. Once a precious material, now illegal. Even now, poachers would murder and risk death to gain the precious elephant tusks.

At last the temptation was too great and Jemma crept across the room to retrieve her find. She blew on the pendant to dislodge the dust, then spat on her finger to rub away the grime. She held the pendant up around her throat longingly.

A safety pin,
thought Jemma.
That’s what I need.

On the dressing table was a painted jewellery box filled with a tangle of bobby pins, trinkets, buttons and baubles. At the bottom was a small gold safety pin, which Jemma used to fix the fine chain around her neck. The pendant nestled on her new black dress, gleaming with an aged patina.

Jemma admired its reflection in the mirror.

Shadow hissed loudly, her back arched and hackles raised, staring at Jemma. Then she fled. Sammy jumped up after her, and raced out the door, calling, ‘Shadow, Shadow.’ Her footsteps thundered down the now uncarpeted stairs, chasing the recalcitrant cat.

The door slammed all by itself. Jemma held her breath, her heart thumping. She felt a ghostly breath of air on the back of her neck, then an icy squeeze right around her chest. Jemma yelled. A fug of malevolence swirled around her. Struggling fiercely, Jemma shrugged off the freezing embrace and ran.

She threw open the door and darted for the stairs. A rush sounded behind her. Jemma was sure the thing, whatever it was,
whoever
it was, was chasing her. At the top of the stairs, something – someone – tripped her. Jemma grabbed for the banister futilely. She tumbled, slipped and fell, feet first down the stairs.
Bang
,
bang
,
bang
, her head hit each step on the way down.

‘Arrrgggghhh!’ she screamed.

I’m going to die,
thought Jemma.
I’m going to die too.

At the bottom of the steps, Jemma’s head hit the floor, an agonising pain shot through her head, her back, her ribs. Then the pain was gone.

Jemma felt herself floating up and up. From the very top of the four-metre-high ceilings she hovered, staring down at her crumpled, lifeless body in its black dress. She saw running figures – Sammy, followed by Maggie. Maggie crouched over her, feeling for a pulse. Maggie shouted something at Sammy, who turned and ran into the library. Jemma couldn’t hear anything and just watched the action below in a dispassionate, hazy daze.

Shadow sniffed at the hair of the body below, flicked her tail and stalked off. Jemma turned away from her earthly body far below and floated up, up, through the ceiling, through the attics and into the beautiful, blue sky above.

In Johnston Street below, she could see flashing red lights and the speeding form of an ambulance. It screeched to a stop outside Rosethorne. Then she could see the sparkling blue of Blackwattle Bay, studded with white sailing boats. In the distance was Anzac Bridge, the harbour, the giant coathanger of the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the white sails of the Opera House – the whole city of Sydney spread out far below. Jemma spread her arms wide and soared into the blue.