straightened up and looked at his wife. “No, Ivy’s right,” he said. “I want to understand how this happened. Let’s go to the study.”
He led us away from her, and I couldn’t help feeling a little amused by how horrified she looked at being left out of the conversation. Why did she want to avoid the subject of what had happened, anyway?
We walked through the house, past familiar doors and fireplaces and furniture. The landscape of my childhood. Harry, one of my young stepbrothers, peered round a door and stuck his tongue out at me. What a way to welcome your sister back from the dead! I reached over to give him a slap, but Ivy grabbed my wrist and pulled me past.
Father’s study was still dull and sparsely furnished, with a mahogany writing desk, a chair and some filing cabinets. Ivy and I sat down on the floor, beside the fire that half-heartedly smouldered in the hearth.
Father sat in the chair and began polishing his glasses.
“I don’t know where to start,” Ivy said.
“I do,” I replied.
I told him everything that had happened. I told him about Vile Violet, my roommate who had bossed me around and spied on me and stolen my things. I told him about wicked Miss Fox, who had taken Violet away after she threatened to reveal a dark secret up on the rooftops. I told him how I’d tried to confront Miss Fox, only for her to smuggle me out of school and have me locked up in the asylum.
Father stared intently at the wall above my head, but I could tell he was listening from the sharp intake of breath every time I got to a shocking moment.
Ivy chimed in towards the end, telling him what had happened at Rookwood in the meantime. I’d heard more of her story in the boarding house and on the train. How Miss Fox had hidden me away to save her own skin, to stop anyone finding out that she had an illegitimate daughter. Not to mention that she was funding her lifestyle with the money paid by parents as school fees (perhaps explaining why the only thing on the dining hall menu was stew).
“It was a nightmare, Father,” I finished, “and I’m just so glad to be home. So can we stay?”
He looked at me. “No.”
“Why?” I gaped at him.
He took off his glasses and put them down on the desk. “Scarlet, you know why. You’ve got to go back to school.”
I felt a wave of unease wash over me.
“But Father, someone from that school put Scarlet in an asylum and pretended she was dead,” said my twin. “You can’t send us back there!”
I looked at her, surprised that shy, timid Ivy had spoken out for once. But our father didn’t seem to notice. “It was just that Miss Fox character. And she won’t be returning.”
I stood up, fists clenched. “I won’t go back there! You can’t make me!”
Father didn’t rise to it. “Edith hasn’t got time to run around after you two. She has the boys to think of.”
Edith. Our stepmother. I hated the way he said her name. It was clear he cared about her more than he cared about us.
I heard Ivy mutter something at the carpet.
“What was that?” Father asked.
She climbed to her feet. “I said, are you sure Edith wasn’t involved with this? She was the one that told us Scarlet was … you know … She was the one who identified the body, wasn’t she? She offered to take care of the funeral arrangements, everything …”
Our father went deathly silent, and for a second I thought he was going to slap her. But his breath came out shakily and then he spoke again. “Don’t be foolish. She cares for you. We both do. That’s why we want to see you get an education, and become independent young ladies.”
Ivy stared at the floor, and I knew she was remembering the first time he had said that. The first time he sent me away.
“Father,” I said quietly. “Don’t. Don’t send us back to Rookwood. Please.”
He shook his head. “I know you’ve had a difficult time. I’ll think about it.”
Father ushered us out of his study, leaving us standing in the hallway. I gritted my teeth, and contemplated giving his door a good bashing. But then I spotted Harry’s gormless face staring at me from the parlour door.
I ran over and into the room. He tried to duck down behind the armchair, but I grabbed him by his collar and pulled him up.
“What are you up to, you little weasel?” I demanded.
“Nothing!” he said, scrabbling and trying to get away.
“I bet you were eavesdropping, weren’t you?”
He kicked me in the shins. I was momentarily distracted and dropped him. “I wish you’d go away again!” he yelled, running to the other side of the room and trying to flatten out his scruffy hair. Which was pointless, because it always looked like a bird’s nest.
“You little …” I started, raising my fist. Ivy clutched my arm.
“Mummy hates you,” he said. “We’ve all been better off without you. We’ve actually had money and I got new shoes and—”
He probably would’ve continued that sentence, but I barrelled towards him. I tried to grab him again, but he ducked under my arms and ran away shrieking. Ugh. What a hideous brat.
In the suddenly quiet parlour, Ivy spoke.
“Scarlet,” she whispered. “I think I might have been right. I think our stepmother was involved with this. If they had more money, maybe that’s because she was bribed by Miss Fox to go along with it.”
I squeezed my fists so tightly that I could feel my nails digging in. “I bet she was. That disgusting TROLL. I’ll kill her! I’ll—”
Ivy interrupted. “But say it is true. How did Miss Fox know that our stepmother wanted us out of the picture?”
I felt my cheeks turn hot. Of course. There was something I’d forgotten. “Ah. My first day of school. We may have had a small argument in front of everyone, including Miss Fox. I might have been a bit insulting to our dear stepmother, and she may have started yelling that I was a leech and it would be better if I disappeared forever.”
Ivy sat down heavily in the armchair and put her head in her hands. “Scarlet,” she said finally, her voice muffled, “are you saying at least some of this whole mess was just because you can’t control your temper?”
I shrugged. How was I to know that Miss Fox would turn out to be so evil that she’d try and convince everyone I was dead?
After what seemed like an age of Ivy trying to calm me down, I decided that we should go to the garden. Down past the thorn bushes and out into the thin woods, there was a winding footpath that led to a clearing and a babbling brook. It was a special place for us. A good place to escape to.
As
